Abruptly, Whez Lavastone seemed to shake off the effects of the dragonawe-at least to the point where he twisted free of the two guards holding his arms. Dis shy;abling one with a sharp kick, the sturdy Zhakar plucked a dagger from the belt of the second man-at-arms and disemboweled him in the next stroke.

"Stop them! Kill them!" cried Rackas Ironcog, king of Zhakar. The monarch jabbered and gesticulated as the horrifying form swooped straight toward him. In response to his command the royal guards threw down their weapons and fled as fast as their stubby legs could carry them-those, at least, who didn't collapse, para shy;lyzed by terror, to the floor.

Ariakas thought of the green blade on his back, of the hissing cloud of poisonous gas he could send wafting through these chambers. He quickly discarded the thought as an unnecessary extravagance.

Tombfyre spread his broad wings and came to light just before the monarch's great, stone seat. It seemed that a sneer of amusement curled the serpentine lip as the mighty creature looked around at the scene of confusion and fear.

Ariakas saw something move in the shadows behind the second of the great thrones. Several guards crouched there, paralyzed by fear, but one cloaked figure scurried

away. The warrior caught a glimpse of the gold fringe on the dark robe, and recognized Tik Deepspeaker.

"Kill him!" Ariakas snarled to his mount, pointing after the fleeing savant.

Tombfyre turned his broad head. Tooth-studded jaws gaped, and a puff of preliminary smoke emerged from the dragon's black nostrils. Then a belch of hellish, oily fire erupted from that horrific maw, spurting outward to hiss and crackle around the second throne, incinerating the guards who had taken shelter there. The greedy fire billowed farther, and in another instant swept around the gold-robed figure.

Even considering the incredible, killing heat of the fiery breath, Tik Deepspeaker managed to scream for a long time. When finally the inferno faded, all that remained was a black chip of charcoal, much smaller than a Zhakar's body.

Rackas Ironcog leapt from his throne and tried to scramble into the narrow niche behind it-a niche that was only wide enough to accommodate his head and shoulders. His terror was both pathetic and gratifying, and he seemed a figure hardly worth Ariakas's or Tomb-fyre's attention.

Nor was that attention necessary. Whez Lavastone, after killing the second guard, raced toward the king, ignoring the leering dragonhead looming over him. The Zhakar reached his monarch's cowering form, and Lava-stone drove his bloody dagger into Rackas Ironcog's back. Withdrawing the weapon with a hysterical cry of triumph, he plunged it downward again, stabbing the dying king through the neck.

"Rackas Ironcog is dead!" cried Lavastone, holding the gory weapon aloft.

Abruptly, Whez Lavastone's eyes met those of Aria shy;kas. The Zhakar's gaze wavered, and the warrior could see the growing fear there-but still, the dwarf did not cower before the awe-inspiring interlopers.

"Swear to me your allegiance, and you and your people will be allowed to live," declared Ariakas. "Falter, and you will join your king in death!"

"I swear!" cried Whez Lavastone, prostrating himself before the dragon and the human. The dwarf quickly rose to his feet and addressed his countrymen.

"I claim the crown of Zhakar!" he shouted. "Is there any here who would face my challenge in the arena?"

For long moments the great hall was silent. The Zhakar continued to slowly creep back toward the soot-blackened thrones, cautiously observing developments.

"Hail King Lavastone!" cried a voice-perhaps that of Tale Splintersteel.

Immediately the call was taken up, and if it wasn't a resounding thunder neither did it possess any note of dissent.

Whez Lavastone turned back to Ariakas and Tomb-fyre. "I realize you seek the mold of the fungus warrens. You shall have as much of it as you desire," he promised.

"I know," Ariakas said with a smug nod.

Tale Splintersteel, meanwhile, cocked a cautious eye upward from the floor, though he still trembled in awe of the monstrous serpent.

"Unchain him," Ariakas commanded, and several attendants crept to obey. The highlord slid down Tomb-fyre's sleek shoulder, striding forward to confront Tale Splintersteel and Whez Lavastone.

"I will take some of the dust to Sanction when I depart," Ariakas continued. Then he turned to the Zhakar merchant. "Your treachery has gone unpunished long enough. You sought to betray me in the Fireplaza of Sanction, and there I swore vengeance-now, accept your retribution."

The green sword flashed, and Tale Splintersteel's head, face locked in an expression of dawning horror, flew from his shoulders and thumped onto the floor.

"This one once served me, but I had no more need of him." Ariakas turned back to the wary figure of Whez Lavastone. "You will not outlive your usefulness, either.

"Send a caravan to Sanction in my wake. Oh, and you'll want to appoint a new merchant lord-one who meets my approval. I want a hundred barrels of the mold in the first shipment, and thaf s only the beginning."

"B-But what are the terms?" stammered Whez.

"You'll hear the terms when the mold is delivered," snapped the highlord. "Now-bring me my sample!"

"Quickly, fools!" yelped Whez Lavastone, crying out to the assembled Zhakar who stood well back from the imposing intruder. "Bring him the dust! Pack saddlebags-gq!"

Dozens of dwarves hurried to obey. Ariakas and Tombfyre remained alert to activity around them, but felt certain that the Zhakar had been thoroughly cowed.

His mind drifted back to Lyrelee and the delights she had given him…. He felt a twinge of regret, but already he saw that there would be other women-as many as he wanted. Perhaps he would choose a young maiden this time, or a wench with a little more flesh on her bones. The problem of their inevitable deaths would only serve to provide variety.

Ariakas's thoughts turned to Ferros Windchisel, and the steadfast friendship that, in the end, had been the Hylar's greatest gift. Together they had shared a road of dangers and delights. Ferros had proven to be a true warrior's companion-a loyal ally willing to live or die as fate decreed. Of the two, he knew that Ferros would be harder to replace.

Ariakas felt a brief sadness for their loss-more so for the dwarf than the woman, he realized. Perhaps Ferros Windchisel had offered him a friendship and loyalty that would be unique in his life.

But then his thoughts turned to the future. As the dwarves carted out great saddlebags of mold dust, he imagined the wealth that treasure would generate in Sanction-for he intended to charge the temple for his services. With that money, and the power that would come to him by virtue of his new companion, the road to that smoldering city was lined with promise.

Beyond Sanction, Ariakas knew, that pathway would lead him to new heights of conquest and mastery. Legions of draconians would march under his banner! There would be a time-soon-when whole nations, when all of Ansalon, would tremble at the mention of his name … when, backed by the might of his Dark Queen, he, Highlord Ariakas, would rule the world!

Epilogue

Tombfyre carried his human warrior to Sanction, soar shy;ing in one day over mountain ridges that had taken Aria-kas and his companions a fortnight to cross. Securely strapped to the dragon's flanks were a pair of saddle shy;bags, stuffed to bulging with the powdered dust of the plague fungus.

Before the pair had departed Zhakar, Ariakas made certain that Whez Lavastone had appointed a new emis shy;sary, and that the caravan was ready to march. That Zhakar merchant lord would bring a large load of mold to Sanction very quickly, Ariakas suspected, for only then would the dwarves receive their first payment.