"Your turn," Ariakas muttered to Tale Splintersteel. "Tell them why we're here."

The Zhakar cleared his throat and stepped forward. Behind the screening masks, the guardsmen's eyes stud shy;ied him with palpable suspicion and hostility.

"These are not our enemies," began the merchant. "I have brought them here because they can bring great benefits, great prosperity to our realm. That is why it is essential for us to see the king!"

One of the guards stepped cautiously ahead of his fel shy;lows, though he cast a quick glance to the rear-as if ensuring that he had a line of escape, if necessary. This ad hoc leader then turned back to the visitors, scowling angrily.

"You know you can't bring outsiders here!" he snapped to Tale Splintersteel. "Did they make you a pris shy;oner? Are you a hostage?"

"No-not exactly," replied the Zhakar merchant, per shy;haps remembering that at one time he had been a pris shy;oner. "They wish to establish trade with us, and they insist on seeing the king themselves."

Next the spokesman turned to Ariakas. "The punish shy;ment is death for one of our number who brings out shy;siders to Zhakar." His tone was tinted with respect, even a little fear. "You must have been very persuasive."

"Have you not heard of the many-colored blade?" demanded Tale Splintersteel in growing exasperation. "This is the man who can slay a hundred dwarves with shy;out touching his sword to their flesh!"

The pale eyes widened within the slit of the cloak. "It's true, then-what they said about the valley of the Black-rock? That his sword spit fire, and a whole company per shy;ished?"

"Believe every word," urged the merchant sneeringly. "And heed well his sword-lest he use it to bring Zhakar itself crumbling down around your ears!"

Now the eyes widened in definite fear, and Ariakas raised the sword slightly to illustrate the point. The blue blade seemed to float in the air, the most intense color in the courtyard.

"I-I'll go tell the king," said the spokesman finally. "You watch 'em!" he commanded imperiously to his fel shy;lows, obviously relieved to have the chance to escape the presence of that awe-inspiring weapon.

The guards who had been assigned to watch them took their job very seriously, though they seemed far more concerned with the blue-bladed sword than with any other aspect of the visitors' appearance. Ariakas took care to brandish the sword so that it could easily be seen. He even whipped the weapon through several training drills, enjoying the sight of the Zhakar ner shy;vously backing away-as if they expected the thing to explode at any moment.

"What do you think the king'll say, now?" Ferros inquired of Tale Splintersteel.

Splintersteel shrugged. "That's anyone's guess," he whispered to the others. "Rackas is an old enemy of my family. Still, he's a profiteer first and foremost-he's likely to listen to our proposal."

The warrior nodded noncommittally.

Finally the messenger returned. "The king will con shy;sent to an audience," he announced importantly. "The prisoners are to be brought to the Royal Promen-"

"What prisoners?" growled Ariakas menacingly. "If you mean us, let the dwarf who will capture me step for shy;ward-now!"

Predictably, there was no movement among the rank of guards. Two dozen pairs of eyes followed as if hypno shy;tized while the blue blade carved a slow arc through the air.

The messenger stammered and hemmed. "If the, er, emissaries would be so good as to accompany me to the lift station, I will take you to the king."

He led the companions along a winding walkway flanked by mounds of dirt until they reached the wall of the huge stone blockhouse. An iron door opened at their approach, and they entered the structure.

Immediately they were struck by a blast of hot, dry air. Hammers rang against forges, and furnaces roared while bellows pumped fresh air into their fire boxes. The room was shadowy, almost totally dark except for the crimson glow of fires and red-hot metal, which showed hooded forms moving vaguely among hulking forges.

Ariakas murmured a quick magical command, and the gemstone in his helmet immediately flared into brightness. He saw Zhakar cover their eyes and turn hastily away from the illumination, satisfying himself that the light would help him maintain his command in the presence of these miserable creatures. Gradually the sounds of hammering died away, as the strange party was led through a maze of fire pits, anvils, casting pots, winches, and overhead chains.

In the center of the manufactory, they reached a cage consisting of black iron bars surrounding a flat platform. The platform was suspended by a grid of chains, and it swayed slightly as the Zhakar messenger opened the door and stepped onto it.

"How do we know this isn't a trap?" demanded Aria shy;kas, as he and Lyrelee instinctively held back from the strange contraption.

Tale and Ferros, however, passed through the gateway and turned to look at the humans. "It's just a lift," the Hylar said, amused. "We have hundreds like this in Thorbardin. How else would you go up and down- stairways?"

Inwardly, Ariakas groused that a stairway would be just fine with him, but he had already shown too much hesitation on the matter. Gruffly he stepped inside, quickly followed by the priestess.

The Zhakar pulled a lever, and immediately the plat shy;form lurched below their feet, sinking through the floor into a shaft that had been bored into the rock. Trying to suppress his nervousness, Ariakas watched the stone walls appear to rise around them. He listened uneasily to the clanking of chain overhead.

"This lift is counterbalanced with another one, not too far away," Tale Splintersteel explained. "When this one goes down, that one comes up. If the job is to take some shy;thing down to the city, then there's no need for any power-our weight does the job, though the chain rolls through several brakes so it doesn't go too fast."

"How can it lift cargo up to the ground level?" asked Lyrelee.

"For that we have the winchmasters," the Zhakar explained. "It doesn't move so quickly, but they can crank a load from the Promenade up to the Keep in a matter of ten minutes or so."

Personally, Ariakas didn't think their descent was any too speedy. His heart pounding, he could not banish the feeling that they had walked into a perfect trap.

Then the lift clanked to rest on a solid stone floor, caus shy;ing them all to lurch unsteadily. A metal door before them rumbled aside, and they stepped into a vast, dimly lit chamber. A vague, fiery illumination spilled into the place from two yawning cave mouths off to their right. Before them, twin rows of columns towered upward from the floor, vanishing into the darkness overhead.

At the end of the row of pillars, nearly lost in the shad shy;ows, the companions saw a pair of immense statues. Carved into the shape of hideous beasts, these figures stood with their backs to the cavern wall. Between the trunklike legs of the statue on the right, they saw a large, stone throne, then noticed a similar seat beneath the statue on the left.

"The King's Promenade," explained the messenger, indicating the wide roadway between the two rows of columns.

Slowly, deliberately, they started down the walk. Aria shy;kas naturally moved into the fore, his bright gem casting a wash of white on the floor before them. The columns to either side and the roadway to the thrones plainly indi shy;cated their route. In one of the thrones Ariakas saw a shrouded, shadowy figure. The warrior was amused to see the king shrink into his seat as the party moved closer.

Ferros and Lyrelee flanked the human warrior, a step or two behind, while Tale Splintersteel and the Zhakar messenger brought up the rear. Around them Ariakas sensed a huge number of dark, silent figures. Several forms stood just within range of his light, and the war shy;rior concealed his surprise as he saw Zhakar warriors mounted on four-legged lizards. The animals had a dull, unintelligent look, but the sleek sinew in their shoulders and legs suggested both speed and power. They were no bigger than large hounds, though sharp claws on their forefeet indicated that they could be savage foes in a fight. Yet even these bizarre cavalrymen cringed back when Ariakas swiveled his sword, or let his haughty gaze sweep over them.