Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [142]
The Queen had not yet arrived. He was not surprised. These opening proceedings were beneath her. Ariakas hunched back in his throne. His gaze went—appropriately enough—he thought bitterly, from the throne of the Dark Queen to the throne of the Dark Lady. Kitiara was here, of course. This was her moment of triumph—so she thought. Ariakas breathed a curse upon her.
“Let her do her worst,” he murmured, only half-listening as the sergeant repeated the name of Lord Toede once more. “I am prepared.”
Ariakas suddenly realized something was amiss. What? What was happening? Lost in his thoughts, he had paid no attention to the proceedings. What was wrong? Silence … a dreadful silence that followed … what? He cast about in his mind, trying to recall what had just been said. Then he remembered and came back from his dark thoughts to stare grimly at the second throne to his left. The troops in the hall, mostly draconian, heaved and swayed like a sea of death below him as all eyes shifted to the same throne.
Though the draconian troops belonging to Lord Toede were present, their banners mingling with the banners of the other draconians standing at attention in the center of the Hall of Audience, the throne itself was empty.
Tanis, from where he stood upon the steps of Kitiara’s platform, followed Ariakas’s gaze, stern and cold beneath the crown. The half-elf’s ears had pricked at the sound of Toede’s name. An image of the hobgoblin came swiftly to his mind as he had seen him standing in the dust of the road to Solace. The vision brought back thoughts of that warm autumn day that had seen the beginning of this long, dark journey. It brought back memories of Flint and Sturm.… Tanis gritted his teeth and forced himself to concentrate on what was happening. The past was over, finished, and—he hoped fervently—soon forgotten.
“Lord Toede?” Ariakas repeated in anger. The troops in the Hall muttered among themselves. Never before had a Highlord disobeyed a command to attend the Grand Council.
A human dragonarmy officer climbed the stairs leading to the empty platform. Standing on the top step (protocol forbade him proceeding higher), he stammered a moment in terror, facing those black eyes and, worse, the shadowy alcove above Ariakas’s throne. Then, taking a breath, he began his report.
“I—I regret to inform His Lordship and Her D-Dark Majesty”—a nervous glance at the shadowy alcove that was, apparently, still vacant—“that Dragon Highlord To—uh, Toede has met an unfortunate and untimely demise.”
Standing on the top step of the platform where Kitiara sat enthroned, Tanis heard a snort of derision from behind Kit’s dragonhelm. An amused titter ran through the crowd below him while dragonarmy officers exchanged knowing glances.
Lord Ariakas was not amused, however. “Who dared slay a Dragon Highlord?” he demanded furiously, and at the sound of his voice—and the portent of his words—the crowd fell silent.
“It was in K-Kenderhome, lord,” the officer replied, his voice echoing in the vast marble chamber. The officer paused. Even from this distance, Tanis could see the man’s fist clenching and unclenching nervously. He obviously had further bad news to impart and was reluctant to continue.
Ariakas glowered at the officer. Clearing his throat, the man lifted his voice again.
“I regret to report, lord, that Kenderhome has been l—” For a moment the man’s voice gave out completely. Only by a valiant effort did he manage to continue. “—lost.”
“Lost!” repeated Ariakas in a voice that might have been a thunderbolt.
Certainly it seemed to strike the officer with terror. Blenching, he stammered incoherently for a moment, then—apparently determining to end it quickly—gasped out, “Highlord Toede was foully murdered by a kender named Kronin Thistleknott, and his troops driven from—”
There was a deeper murmur from the crowd now, growlings of anger and defiance, threats of the total destruction of Kenderhome. They would wipe that miserable race from the face