"Here, Erastmut-saved you a glop!" grunted one of the ogres, holding out a slime-streaked bottle. Ariakas took the flask, at first feeling a measure of relief that the ogre spoke in Common. At the same time, he knew he couldn't afford to raise his visor in the presence of some shy;one who knew Erastmut.

Silently nodding his thanks, Ariakas took the bottle and reached for his faceplate. An acrid stink, mingling cheap whiskey and ogre drool, nearly sickened him as he lifted the bottle. Then, as if remembering a great secret, he held up his palm and gestured toward his belt pouch. He reached inside and pulled out his prized flask of lavarum. Setting the ogre's bottle down, he passed the flask over to the brute.

"Good!" grunted the ogre, sniffing at the neck appre shy;ciatively. He raised it and took a long gurgle.

Ariakas grimaced at the sight of the precious stuff run shy;ning down the monster's chin, but still he dared not speak. By then the other ogre gatekeeper had stepped over to them, and Ariakas gestured for him to take a drink as well. The first one scowled and shook his head. "No-din't get a good taste that time." Again he hoisted the flask and guzzled.

"Hey-save some!" barked the second, reaching out with a massive paw. Predictably, the first ogre pulled the bottle away, sneering at his companion in the sublime superiority of one who holds a winning hand of cards and doesn't care who knows the fact.

"Gimme!" insisted the second, his temper aroused by his companion's air.

The drinker cuffed his fellow's grasping fist away, lumbering a few steps to hold the flask out of reach. The thirsty ogre snorted and lunged in pursuit.

Ariakas took the opportunity to slip down the entry corridor. The high-ceilinged passage was bracketed by stone walls, with a bare floor of crushed rock. Many doors and passages opened to the sides, most of them dark and silent though an occasional glimmer of torch or candlelight showed beneath a portal. He reached a side passage where he had seen some ogres disappear to the left, and here he veered right. The corridor continued a short distance and then branched. The telltale ammonia stench from the left branch told him that it led to a latrine, so he continued right.

At last he was out of sight and hearing of the door. Though he desperately missed the ability to see and hear freely, he still did not dare to remove the constricting hel shy;met. He had no idea how many humans might be quar shy;tered in this tower. He also realized that the scar on his face made him a rather memorable figure, and he feared that even among the dull-brained ogres his appearance would draw attention.

The corridor Ariakas followed turned a corner and ter shy;minated at the foot of a wide, straight staircase. His heart flamed into hope-the kender had said the lady was imprisoned at the top of the tower. Abruptly he heard the tromp of bootsteps coming down the passageway. Without hesitation he leapt to the stairs, climbing them four steps in a bound. His heart pounding, he vanished into the upper shadows just before the marching ogres emerged into the corridor below.

Chapter 4

The Light at the Top of the Tower

Concealed from the threat below, Ariakas slowed his pace on the stairway and listened for activity. The bootsteps below faded, though he heard rumbles of laughter and short bursts of squabbling from many places on the ground floor. Above him, all remained silent. Torches flickered from wall sconces at the top of the stairs, which climbed straight up at least forty feet in total. Ariakas cursed the narrow field of vision provided by the slits in his helmet, but he dared not remove his disguise.

Carefully climbing the remaining steps, he began for the first time to consider the grandeur of this isolated fortress. The stairs were dark hardwood, though the walls within the keep seemed to be the same granite as the outer faces. Many tapestries draped the walls of the stairway, torches flared and sputtered within elaborate wire cages, and smooth, elegantly carved handrails were mounted on the wall to either side.

Obviously, this place had not been built by brutish humanoids. Ariakas wondered about the mysterious ogre warlord Oberon, questioning for the first time if the fellow were really an ogre. The relatively decent mainte shy;nance here suggested otherwise. After all, he had plun shy;dered enough ogre lairs to well remember the pervasive stench of urine and collected refuse that had character shy;ized them all. Here, however, someone had either cleaned up after them, or compelled them to clean up after them shy;selves. These ogres even used regular latrines, as he had sensed below.

The second floor encircled a wide hall in the center of the keep. The stairway reached one end of this hall while another series of wide steps led upward from the oppo shy;site side. A dozen torches flared on the walls, showing Ariakas that the room was empty of ogres. Several dark hallways gaped around the room's periphery, and here too the walls were lined with ornate tapestries.

Without wasting time in further inspection, Ariakas hastened across the room and up the next stairway. The memory of that beacon in the night burned in his mind, drawing him toward the top of this lofty keep.

The next floor proved to have a much smaller central hallway, with many more corridors branching from it. From some of the side passages muted torchlight spilled outward, while from others emerged the basso rumbling of ogre snores. Here, too, the stairway narrowed to a mere ten feet width; apparently the ceremonial portion of the fortress was below.

Stealthily, the warrior crossed the short distance to the next flight of stairs, moving upward to another floor sim shy;ilar to the one he had just passed. The fourth floor, how shy;ever, showed evidence of being completely deserted-no torches or snores disturbed the stale, musty air.

Quickening his pace, Ariakas bounded upward. He soon reached the fifth floor, where the very vastness of the room brought him to a cautious halt. Fading daylight showed through the slit windows on three sides, so he knew the room was as wide as the keep itself. On the fourth side, facing the neighboring mountain, a small room blocked a portion of the outer wall. His upward goal still urged him on, but Ariakas felt suspicion about this level. As silently as possible, he crossed to the flat wall of the small room. A heavy door, banded with iron and equipped with brackets to hold a sturdy bar, stood slightly ajar.

Cautiously he peered around the door. With a pleased sense of confirmation he recognized the huge capstans and large coils of chain that could only be the draw shy;bridge machinery. From the weight of the chain and the bridge, he assumed that dozens of ogres were required to raise the platform. Lowering it, he thought with a smile that tugged at his split lip, would be another mat shy;ter entirely.

Hastily he turned back to the stairway. The next floors he reached were all the same-huge, circular halls that filled the entire width of the keep. Concentric rings of stone columns circled a large, central post, which gave these vast chambers the appearance of a dark, petrified forest. The last beams of sunlight, spilling horizontally in the western windows, added to this eerie effect like late afternoon rays intruding onto the shady woodland floor.

These levels he passed quickly, taking no more than a cursory look for ogres. Finally the stairs embarked on a long ascent, uninterrupted by interceding floors. They angled upward to a horizontal landing, then zig-zagged back to another. Torches were placed at each landing, though much of the expanse between was lost in shadows.

After four of these landings, Ariakas began to realize that, though surrounded by the walls of the stairway and the bulk of the castle, he was nevertheless very high above the rest of Krynn. His lungs labored for breath in the thin mountain air. The dark metal helmet seemed to close around him, and the scar on his chin and lip burned in the confinement.