His nervousness vanished entirely as he approached the Zhakar king. Ariakas carried the blue blade casually, the weapon unsheathed but resting easily on his shoul shy;der. With a flick of his wrist he could bring it down against a target on any side.

"Kneel when you meet the king!" hissed Tale Splinter-steel as they drew closer to the end of the promenade.

Now Ariakas's light fell on the figure seated in one of the huge thrones. The Zhakar was cloaked but unhooded, revealing a face that was scarred by the rav shy;ages of the mold plague. The king's beard was mostly gone, though several tufts of hair still sprouted from the skin over his jawbone. He looked bald, though he wore a heavy golden crown that concealed the top of his head.

"King Rackas Ironcog of Zhakar!" proclaimed a dwarf concealed in the shadows off to the sides. "Kneel before the greatness of his royal presence!"

Ferros Windchisel stepped to the warrior's side, and then knelt humbly-a dwarven warrior showing respect to the monarch of another dwarven state. Ariakas nod shy;ded to Lyrelee on his other side, and she, too, knelt. Meanwhile Tale Splintersteel all but groveled, prostrat shy;ing himself on the floor and crawling to the Hylar's side.

Only Ariakas remained standing. He met the flashing eyes of Rackas Ironcog with his own proud stare and then, with regal dignity, leaned forward in a gracious bow. His knees, however, did not bend.

"Who are you?" demanded the king, nonplussed by the display of confidence.

"I am Lord Duulket Ariakas, emissary of a powerful queen-the mightiest monarch on all Krynn," he pro shy;claimed grandly. "I bring salutations and praise to the esteemed lord of Zhakar!"

Somewhat mollified, Rackas Ironcog huffed in his throne. Apparently he was unused to anything even vaguely resembling diplomacy.

For the first time Ariakas noticed another Zhakar, standing in the shadows beside the throne. This one wore a cloak over even his face, which was unusual in the city so far as the human had seen. Also unique was the extensive golden thread embroidered around the fringes of the cloak. The masked dwarf leaned toward the king, apparently whispering something in his ear.

"Welcome to my realm," Rackas Ironcog said grudg shy;ingly, after a moment's silence. Ignoring any further pleasantries, he spoke bluntly. "This is the sword that killed one hundred of my finest troops?"

"Aye, Your Majesty," answered Ariakas. Inwardly, he scorned the repulsive monarch, who obviously knew less about court manners than the lowliest pageboy of Khuri-Khan. Still, he would go along with the charade as long as it suited his purpose. "The blade is a gift to me from my queen, and she bid me use it as an instrument of her will."

"She is mighty, this queen of yours," replied the king. "Now tell me, human-why does she send you to me?"

"We have come on a peaceful mission of trade," Aria shy;kas responded. "It is a mission that could bring unimag-ined profits into Your Majesty's treasuries, and at the same time form the basis of an alliance that will greatly benefit both our peoples."

"And you, Tale Splintersteel!" The monarch finally addressed the merchant lord. "This matter is important enough to cause you to defy ancient tradition, bringing outsiders to the heart of our realm?"

"Indeed, Majesty," replied Tale. "After heartfelt con shy;sideration I believe the human's suggestions of profit are based in fact. He who bears the colored sword has proven himself a fighter and negotiator of great strength and determination."

"Strength and determination .. . those are admirable traits." The king nodded, scowling.

"Lord Warrior, will you and your companions accept our hospitality? I shall provide you with chambers in the royal apartments, where you shall have every comfort we can provide. When you have rested, I invite you to attend my table. Tonight, we shall make the arrange shy;ments for trade."

"Your hospitality is welcome," Ariakas agreed. "It is a fitting gesture for a meeting that will doubtless result in a long and profitable friendship."

As courtiers led them toward the royal quarters, Aria shy;kas risked a quick look behind. He saw the king's eyes staring at him-but not at the warrior himself, he sud shy;denly realized. Instead, Rackas Ironcog's eyes, glittering with greed, remained fastened to the azure blade in the human warrior's hand.

Chapter 21

To hold a Throne

The quarters that were given to the companions by Rackas Iron-cog had been hailed by the Zhakar king as the finest ambassadorial apartments in the realm, but to Ariakas they were more reminiscent of a stinking dungeon. Low ceilings forced the warrior into a permanent stoop, while his sleeping chamber gave him barely enough space to turn around. A central anteroom linked their small indi shy;vidual compartments, but the bare stone walls and dank, stale air suggested a place more suited for imprisonment than hospitality. A heavy door barred them from the rest of the royal chambers, and as a precaution, the warrior jabbed a dagger into the frame, ensuring that the portal could not be shut tightly from the outside.

The only concessions to luxury in the sleeping rooms were mattresses of fur-lined stuffing and plush blankets of animal pelts. The companions took advantage of the hours until dinner by resting, though after a little time Ariakas rose and paced in stooped agitation. To the vet shy;eran warrior, the situation reeked with disadvantages. He checked the door, making certain it had not been tampered with.

The only illumination in the rooms came from the magical light spells that Ariakas and Lyrelee alternated casting. Of necessity, a few hours had passed in darkness while the two communed with the Dark Queen, replen shy;ishing their clerical magics. After he rose from his brief rest, Ariakas perched his helmet with its glowing gem-stone in a corner of the main room, where the illumina shy;tion could spread through the apartments.

Soon Ferros Windchisel emerged from his sleeping room. The Hylar grunted in annoyance as he scratched a patch of red, irritated flesh along his forearm.

"Damned if they don't have firebugs here, too," groused the dwarf. "Too small to see-but I got bites all over my arm." Irritated, the dwarf scratched at a place on the back of his skull.

"I hope we don't have anything worse than bugs to worry about," Ariakas replied wryly. Then he looked at Ferros in sudden concern, seeing as if for the first time the raw skin, the patches of scabs that had began to mar his body. A sickening premonition rose within him.

Ferros scowled thoughtfully. "They have us pretty well boxed in, don't they?"

"I don't like it," Ariakas agreed.

Soon the other two travelers emerged from their chambers, and the four of them gathered in the anteroom to discuss their situation.

They were startled by a knock on the door. Ariakas rose and, after removing his dagger from the jamb, opened the portal to reveal an unusually tall Zhakar male. The dwarf's face was disfigured by the mold plague, but there existed a pride and self-confidence in his posture that struck the warrior as unique.

"I am Whez Lavastone," their visitor informed them, bowing deeply. "Perhaps you will grant me the honor of a private interview?"

Silently Ariakas gestured the fellow into the room, try shy;ing not to look at his patchy, disfigured face. The Zhakar squinted away from the glowing gem in the corner and took a seat that left him in silhouetted view to the others.

"Greetings, Merchant Splintersteel," the visitor said, with a formal nod to Tale.

"The same, Lord Lavastone," he replied. Splintersteel turned to his companions, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "Whez Lavastone was a high adviser to Pule Tenstone, our previous king. There were many, when last I was in Zhakar, who imagined him to be our future ruler."