Ariakan I: The Canker Chapter 4: The Return of the Storm, a dragonlance fanfic

Chapter Four: The Return Of The Storm

To everybody´s surprise and annoyance, and in spite of all the happy predictions, spring was abruptly quenched days later. At first, in came some clouds, then, about the next day, some more, and the wind began to blow colder and colder till the offspring of the darkened sky was not rain, but ice. The Knights who had lands suddenly began to excuse themselves from duty, to return to their castles and care for their crops and plants, and, though none of the guests saw fitting to do the same, many messages were written and urgently delivered in the Tower that week. Even the commander in chief of the stronghold felt the urgent call of his personal responsibilities, and had to leave lord Michael in charge of the Solamnic part of the Palanthas festivities.

A low rumble of thunder was beginning to be distinctly heard in the Tower when lord Gunthar began to cross the outer courtyard in search of his dragon, followed by Thomas of Thelgaard. Both Knights of the Rose, Grand Master and novice, were discussing not too knightly matters, yet the knowing tone they used was the same than if the talk had been about swords and battle tactics.

"I would advise you, my lord, to cover the most delicate plants with cloth and leave the others. Blizzards in late May are never very dangerous."

"I know, Thomas. But I know also that it´s better to be prudent than to regret it later. An ancestor of mine, long ago, lost a crop for refusing to believe that Habbakuk would do something like sending snow in summer. Alas! that he had not learned that it even could rain fire mountains in Yule!"

"I hope this is not the thing right now." Thomas smiled, wrapping himself better in his cloak. " The brusque change of weather has been said to be strange and ominous, but I have suffered many a trick played by the weather and I´m not so easily impressed. I believe this will be no more than a short regression, and that cloth will do. That´s what my brother is doing in Thelgaard, by the way."

Gunthar stopped for a moment in his tracks, in order to take breath and look once more at the grey and dense sky. His lips were contorted in a slight sigh, and he shook his head.

"You do right. Yet my lands are in a very elevated place, and dark clouds usually "get tangled in the mountains", as my father used to say. You know, sometimes it´s sunny everywhere and it´s snowing in my castle, to show the world how particular and noblest among the nobles the Uth Wistans are. Annoying, by Paladine!"

"Yes, annoying indeed." the youngest Knight echoed. A shadow of a feeling dwelled briefly in his eyes as he tore them away towards the sky to follow lord Gunthar´s example, but it dissapeared almost in a second. "Really annoying."

Gunthar shook his head again.

"Yes, things do not always happen the way it should be. It´s a distinct trait they have …. But now, let´s hurry! "he waved him forward, suddenly impatient. "It´s going to rain in seconds, and it´s no fun up there, believe me!"

When they finally arrived to the place where lord Gunthar´s bronze dragon was indolently lying on the floor, the conversation had already waned long ago. Gunthar reached the place first, and sir Thomas came behind, bowing his head as he could distinguish the figure of lord Michael wrapped in his cloak in front of them . The old head of the order of the Crown, veteran of the Lance, was there waiting to bide farewell to the Grand Master that had once been his enemy, withstanding the attacks of the cold wind with a stoic counenance.

"So you´re really leaving, my lord."

"It seems I am." Gunthar said, good naturedly. "Though I will return soon, unfortunately for all of you."

"Unfortunately?" Lord Michael snorted, and Thomas had to supress a smile. He could imagine what was crossing his mind at the moment: the provisional commander of the Tower was about to turn now into the main victim of the celebrated lord Amothus, Lord of Palanthas and main organiser of all the festivities. "For Paladine´s sake, that I will wish you back, my lord!"

"Lord Amothus can be handled perfectly if you say yes to everything he tells you before he has even finished with it. "lord Gunthar joked. "Or so I heard last year from Tanis Half-Elven. Besides, Markham will take many of the responsiblities. He´s there , after all, and knows Amothus since he was born."

"Yes, and their relationship is rather problematic." Lord Michael shrugged his shoulders. "I´m not good at being between two people."

In that moment, the dragon got up and lazily flapped his wings. As they saw him, lord Michael as well as Gunthar sobered and turned inexpressive once more, and the first bowed to the second.

"Yet, lord Gunthar, believe me: I will do what I can. Sad but true, I do not complain about a war but I do complain about a simple festivity. Forgive me, my lord, and may Habbakuk help you in your lands!".

"Thank you for your good wishes, lord Michael." the Grand Master replied, squeezing this arm." I leave you with mine also, though I know you will do everything far better than me. By the way, Tanis Half-Elven arrives tomorrow, don´t forget it. Tell all the Knights not only to treat him with the respect he deserves, but also to avoid asking him where his wife is!"

Oh, no worry! Lord Amothus will kindly do that for all of us, Thomas thought sarcastically for himself. As everybody knew, Lauranlanthalasa Kanan was the heroine of the Palanthians, the Elven princess in shining armour that saved them from the clutches of Highlord Uth Matar´s Blue dragons. They went mad with joy every time that she appeared among them, and their homage was so keen that the poor lady nearly had a colapse in last year´s festivities. No wonder she had preferred to stay apart this time, for in Silvanesti she would be far more relaxed even if, according to rumours, Lorac´s Nightmare had left the place in quite a horrible state.

"Thomas!"

Suddenly interrupted in his musings, the Knight turned towards lord Gunthar and nodded hurriedly.

"Eh…yes, my lord?"

"Come with me and help me to get to the saddle. If you excuse us, Zephyr…"

"Please, make yourself comfortable!" the dragon answered in a melodious voice, doing what he could to get into the easiest position for his rider to climb him. He knew that lord Gunthar, unlike the younger Knights, was never going to get completely used to ride him, and so he always tried to handle him with care. Bronze dragons were widely known for their exquisite courtesy.

"Here, lord Gunthar." Thomas said. The young Knight knelt with promptitude, and joined his hands to make an adequate support for the Grand Master´s right foot. Carefully, he pushed him up as Gunthar did the same with both his arms grasping the saddle, until he was able to pull his other leg over Zephyr´s back. "Have a good journey!"

"The best journey ever, be sure of it." his superior growled, hearing the distinct clank of the first drop of water against the metal of his armour. Then, with a slight change of expression, he turned around to eye everything carefully, and when he saw that lord Michael was waiting at some distance he leaned to him in a mysterious way. "But tell me before I leave, how did he react?"

Thomas tried to swallow his surprise at the question as he could. For a moment he was indeed at loss,unable to form words in his mind. He had forbidden the subject just the day before!

"He…he semed to take it rather reasonably, my lord. " he said at last, carefully. "I insisted indeed, and asked him if he would challenge him to a duel or something if he was free to do so, but he answered, rather laconically, that abiding by our rules he had to respect this was neither the time nor the place. It seemed almost as if he was teaching the Measure to me! "

"Good." Gunthar nodded, satisfied. "I know it was really impressing what you had done with him, but I have to confess I did not hold many expectations this time. Especially after the way he behaved these last days."

The young Knight backed away somewhat at these words and drew a deep breath. The rain was falling hard now, and lord Michael was looking impatiently at him. He cursed in an inaudible tone.

"Please, my lord Gunthar... "he began. "I know he has no voice or opinion whatsoever, but I have already told you why I think it was wrong for him to do your bidding that time. In my own opinion…"

"You have said it very well, no voice or opinion whatsoever. "lord Gunthar interrupted him. "And the only way he can ever achieve his change completely is by doing what he´s told."

No. Keep silent! Bow and go away! an inner sensible voice was shouting into Thomas´s head. He had held that same argument at least a couple of times in the past week, and, though he was always courteous and careful, it was evident he did not share the opinion of his superior. This was not good, and it should not happen.

The young Knight of the Rose cursed once more, putting his hand over his eyes to keep the rain away from them. After all, lord Gunthar was right in his own way, as his charge was in his. Ariakan had been told to be present at the festivities of the Peace, and he should not have refused. In the last instance, the Measure of a prisoner was reduced to do what was wanted of him.

Still….

" I tried to convince him to go willingly, but he said that his honour did not allow him to be shown among his ancient enemies as a trophy. "he decided to say in the end, matter-of-factly. "That he could do everything, to stay under the same roof as the man who killed his father, to even forget any idea of revenge since it´s contrary to our laws, but not while looking into his face."

"Tell him then, sir Thomas" lord Gunthar growled, as he grasped with firmness the reins with his hands "that this is a matter of honour for other people. But for him, in his situation, it´s called a matter of pride. May Paladine guard you!"

Without waiting for any further answer, the Grand Master made the dragon spread his wings and left the coutyard abruptly. Thomas and Michael were left standing alone under the rain, the first mulling aloud the last words he had heard, pondering their harshness, their truth.

"Are you going to stay here for the whole tempest, sir Thomas?" the impatient voice of the new commander reached his ears at last.

"Yes." he answered. He felt the cold water dripping inside his armour and clothes, and supressed a shiver. " I train at this hour for the tournement to come, with Ariakan."

* * * * * * * * * *

In the oppossite side of the Tower, meanwhile, a young dark-haired man was also receiving the harsh blessing of the storm. Cloakless, a sword in his hand, and with his wet hair dripping down his back, he was practicing furious attacks against an imaginary enemy that stood in front of him, stopping now and then to close his eyes and feel the icy showers over his body.

Thomas, Thomas. he thought for the eleventh time. Will you come today?

He was alone. The other Knights had left the field of practices as soon as the rain began to fall hard, and were now warming their hands over a good fire and watching him from the window, no doubt astounded at his rashness. They did not understand that he enjoyed it; the thunderstorm and the drizzling rain, and the painful breath of the wind for what it did to his cold and wet limbs. They ignored that he had used to go outside the temple of Luerkhisis to claim them with his body since he had been just a child, and if he had told them the nature of his feelings when he was there in that situation they would never have understood him.

Not that they would have tried very hard, Ariakan snickered after a moment of thought, while driving his sword through the imaginary heart of an enemy. They only know how to talk about knowing one´s foe, but when it comes to the truth, who does it? Oh, no, they don´t need to do anything of the sort, for they´re right and I´m wrong. And the worst of all, Chemosh take them, is that it´s true!

His slippery attacker seemed to appear again in front of him, either with a mocking smile or most probably with a Knightly beatific expression, and he continued dealing his worst blows to his figure. This was a good way of draining himself emotionally, something he needed only too much at the moment. He could even live for some minutes under the illusion that he had chosen the easy way, and that he was fighting for his life to slowly die with bravery rather than to be captured. That, soon, his blood would cover the ground, and that his last breath would leave his lips, defeated but not taken. How merciful it would be!

Yet he knew, and very well, that he wouldn´t die now. He had by mere chance been given the opportunity of choosing by himself, but that accursed Knight had come to shout into his ear that dying would be cowardice and utterly forsaking Takhisis, with other words that hadn´t been less deadly if less intended. And then he had been forced to remember with vividness how they had all forsaken the Queen of Dragons and betrayed her, how she had been forced to return to the Abyss just when she was nearing the moment of her utmost glory.

He had to remember how he had stood among all this, sharing their false dreams of greatness while she had been each time a bit farther away from his heart.

Ariakan killed his opponent and took the sword away from his body in a single quick thrust, to meet the one that approached him from behind. Sweat drops mingled with the rain falling down his face and body, as well as with the imaginary blood he felt flowing in rivers at the battlefield. What was he meant to do? Was he the one who had to atone for everything, the victim of their defeat? And, if he was, why he?

Perhaps because he had…?

Stopping his fight for a moment, and feeling the energies leaving him in quick rush, the young prisoner closed his eyes, and fell to the bitter torture of wondering once more whether everything could really have been different.

* * * * *

In all his life, the son of Zeboim had never ceased to love Takhisis. He loved her with a love that could only come from one that had felt her presence since the day of his birth, her power guiding his footsteps since his most tender age, and with the passion of someone that has never felt his spirit drifting apart from hers. When he was a child and began to train in magical arts, he had never felt much interest or much regret at his inability, yet the fact that he seemed to lack every possible aptitude to become a cleric of Takhisis had mortified him to no extent. No matter how he tried, how he prayed and how he studied; the ability eluded him, until in the end he had even had to be forbidden by unanimity of the Guild of Clerics to continue trying anymore. They had told him there were other ways to serve the Queen of Darkness, and when he started to show what a warrior and strategist he was, both they and he had been confirmed in the truth of that statement.

Ariakan had been sixteen years old when he became a soldier of the Dragonarmies, and with eighteen he was an officer. He boasted that he would have done that even without his father´s help, and indeed proved it in many ways: his enemies feared him like hell and he never suffered a single defeat. At each glorious battle, the empire of his father, of the Highlords, of Takhisis, stretched farther its boundaries, and the most powerful of all gods and goddesses was glad, planning her return to the world of Krynn. She would very soon arrive in all her majesty and reign over dark lands until the end of time, so it was what those that were able to hear her voice said to him. They just had to wait until the end of winter…

Yes, slowly, the belief that the end of that last winter was going to be also the end of their exertions, a kind of a black and sinister spring dawning, had begun to spread over the hosts of darkness like fire. He had believed it also, trusting his father- who held council with Takhisis in person every once in a while-, and had wished it more than anyone. And yet, that belief and that certainty had had a curious and destructive effect on those who surrounded him, and this he had noticed also. He remembered well how shocked he had been when, suddenly, it seemed to him that the Highlords had forgotten that they were conquering for Takhisis. They had begun to fight for themselves and among themselves to secure the highest places in the new world order, losing lands and strongholds in their destructive and bloody duels. The most coward and weak of all murdered treacherously those who were better than them, and his father, the most powerful and in theory unquestionable, began to be closely followed at each of his steps by the ambitious eyes of the woman that had been increasing her influence during the war, Kitiara Uth Matar, who desired avidly to wear the Crown of Power upon her forehead. Others, by theirr own, tried to impress their goddess more than their rivals by destroying whole cities and butchering their inhabitants, unwittingly making the survivors who saw that lose their last remnants of fear, for it was known that when any being, from a dragon to a gully dwarf, was cornered, the last shade of reason left him, replaced by a wave of irrationality that was also called heroism. These people had felt cornered, threatened with complete annihilation for the first time in their lives, and that had been the reason of the rapid growth of the resistance, of the awakening of the hidden peoples and the rebirth of the Solamnic Order, all marching behind that group of adventurers from Abanasinia who told those stories about the old gods. Who, by the way, had been dismissed by his father as "a bunch of beggars who had casually found a magic object", in answer to Verminaard of Nidus and Kitiara Uth Matar´s worries about them.

"Evil defeats itself". That was the sentence engraved in pristine characters on the Disks of Mishakal, ancient goddess of healing, and the truth of each word had shaken Ariakan to the core. Evil, or what the goddess had called with that name, had defeated itself through greediness, through lust for dominion and through heedless cruelty. If it had once been an alternative to the reign of the people of the gods of Light and a new form of dominion, it had become nothing else than a bloody monster that would have destroyed first everything that surrounded it and then itself. Ariakan had had those thoughts, with such glowing clarity that now he couldn´t even have the comfort of his past ignorance, and his musings about whether Takhisis was happy, whether his father was doing right, and whether those adventurers, or the Elves, or the Knights of Solamnia, weren´t going to do something one day had made him stay awake many a night. Why, if he had gone once to a place where a group of draconians had finished torturing some warrior of a city he had forgotten, and before the man had died, full of the urge to know, he had asked him if he saw now that Takhisis couldn´t be defeated. And, what had been the answer? The warrior had stared fixedly at him with eyes full of hate and defiance, and, with his very last breath, told him that he cursed Takhisis, that her power would be overthrown soon; and young Ariakan had felt a shiver crossing his body even as he laughed.

Yet, how could this ever be?he also thought at the very next moment. Surely Takhisis had everything planned. From what his father and the other clerics used to say, she liked the fights among her servants, and she only favoured those who were strong enough as to survive. Besides, there was nothing she liked more than barren wastelands, hymns to her glory made of ashes and fire of dragons. He had been taught that since he was a child, and the speed with which the Dragonarmies had conquered the lands of Ansalon only could confirm that strategy. No! He was childish and irreverent, the great goddess and those who served her knew what they were doing a thousand times better than he did, and how could he cease feeling a wave of exultation each time he saw their forces assembled at the shrine of Takhisis? They were going to conquer the world. The others were weak, they either had no gods or had the wrong ones, and even if they oppossed resistance, they never would be able to thwart their might, the supremacy of the strongest ones that had survived through fire and blood. He was Ariakan, son of Zeboim, daughter of Takhisis. He was Ariakan, son of Ariakas, Emperor of Ansalon. And, at the end of the winter, they would have won.

Ariakan opened his eyes, and saw that the rain was still falling over his soaked body. He was beginning to freeze in that position, so he got up again and essayed other movements with his sword in order to get warm. Thomas had not arrived yet, but if he had he probably wouldn´t have seen him, for his vision was already too much blurred by the curtains of water.

"No, Father, do not wear that crown! She wants it, she covets it. You know she has planned and fought very hard for this meeting to be held, only to find a way to take it away from you!"

"Nonsense!" The smoldering eyes pierced him, almost painfully." She is not strong enough to take it from me, but the day she makes me be humiliated in front of the Queen and of the assembled Dragonarmies by not daring to wear it in front of her, she will be."

"You are the brain, the essence of this army! Don´t you see it? She is the dangerous lightning that strikes our enemies pitilessly and makes them tremble. Takhisis will lose much if one of you die for a petty fight for power, now that our enemies are beginning to strike back."

The sensation of being speaking with a wall had never been so evident for the youngster, never so tiring. He felt that sensation of choking that produced so many words in his mouth that couldn´t get out at the same time, while the man in front of him kept getting himself ready for the audience as if he wasn´t even hearing them.

"Listen to me, Ariakan, my son." Ariakas began at llast, as he lowered his head and, in a slow movement, put the Crown of Power on it. The red gems glowed with the colour of fresh blood, in a sinister contrast with the dark chambers of the temple." One of us, either me of her, cannot survive this day. And he who lives will be the winner."

The winner. The one who would stand over the body of the other, of one of the two most brilliant generals of the Queen of Darkness. The one who would begin an internal war just when their plans were standing over a sharp edge, and slaughter half of the army that had backed his rival, to the glory of…himself.

Just in this moment, even though he tried to tell his heart and mind a lot of times that his father was right; that it would be cowardice if he made just a single step backwards, and that the Queen should gladly favour the strongest of the two as her chosen one over all the others, Ariakan felt the past doubts growing inside again. It was not like this. It should never have been meant to be like this.

"She cannot want a war among you two just now! We cannot afford it, it´s impossible! Why don´t you …why don´t you stop and think for once?"

Wondering at his own words, and at how he had been able to utter them, Ariakan found himself breathing heavily, his jaw clenched and his eyes staring back at his father with a deep rage. He saw Ariakas walking towards him, and his strong hands violently pushing him to the wall, but he was too angry to care.

"You are worried, I see it in your face. And you´re right to be so! She won´t favour any of you, she shouldn´t…!"

"Shut up! "Ariakas roared. "You will stay here until everything ends; your jabbering would distract me too much. But we will have a conversation later, be sure of it!"

These words, though in a violent way, seemed somewhat to help Ariakan return to his normal self. It was useless, he thought, he was there trying to convince him of what? He had begun to shout for nothing, only to give way to his frustration, for the situation was already too advanced to do anything else about it. In a moment, his father would be gone to the Hall of Audiences, and he would stay here…imprisoned? Preserved?

Either way, Ariakan knew better than to try to fight it. It would only serve to end locked, tied up or worse.

"You believe you´re in danger, Father. If you didn´t, you wouldn´t keep your heir away from you… "he began instead. Then, he felt a great, overpowering impulse of impotence, and he rectified once more. "Take care."

"I will. " Ariakas answered, and got away from him with a somewhat more relaxed expression. "I am the leader of this army. She will have to submit."

Forbidding himself to open his mouth ever again, his defeat acknowledged, the young Dragonarmy officer shook his head and sat down on a chair, where he began counting the seconds meticulously to avoid thinking. Never again. Never to open his mouth again. Never to think, of the danger, of Kitiara, of the crown, of Takhisis, until something happened and he had to react someway. He had the distict feeling that it would be soon enough.

"If I…if I saw the slightest possibility that I would not return, I would have told you in detail what I expect you to do." Ariakas resumed his speech from the threshold of the door. His son couldn´t discern if there was concern in his voice, but, anyway, he had determined not to care anymore, so he kept on counting. "As it is, just know that, if the impossible happens, your main task should be to stay alive, and the second, to go to Solamnia. There, Kitiara has a son hidden somewhere, a brat about two or three years old. I want you to find him and to kill him, for our dynasty will never be quenched and suplanted by an imposter."

Ariakan didn´t even look back.

* * * * *

He stayed there counting for longer than he had expected. In fact, nobody could have told him that he would be there for so long, as well as that the ones who would disturb his concentration would be neither the entourage of his father nor the minions of Kitiara trying to enter. It was a dangerous, terrible noise; the sound of the whole temple being shaken by an earthquake and crumbling down over their heads.

The wrath of Takhisis.

Though he didn´t know why, Ariakan was then sure that his father was dead, and not only him. All their ambitions, their reign and their might had died also, he could feel it, and an inner feeling of pain, guilt and anger tore in shreds his very entrails. As undistinguishable shadows in his blurred vision, he could see the draconians, the most fierce and faithful of those that had served his father, fight, die, and then flee, and the warriors in old and brilliant armours advance towards the place where he was.

Solamnics. Enemies, that came to take away what remained to him: his life. And he wanted it, yet he nevertheless swore to himself, with an innate fierceness that came he didn´t know where from, that they would pay for it and die with him. They weren´t going to rejoice from their victory as he would rejoice from his final battle, taking the life of the first, then the second, and the third, and seeing the fourth and the fifth look at him with fear and surprise before being killed at their time. On top of their bodies he would lie forever, not on the cold floor as a dead trophy taken without blood and tears, and with his last breath he would laugh instead of weeping. So be it!

Glory.

Defeat.

All of a sudden, a treacherous red substance clouded his vision, making him lose the last sense of reality. He writhed in darkness, calling the name of his father and of the woman that had caused his downfall in an incoherent turmoil of alucinations, but he couldn´t fight any longer as his body didn´t respond to his orders. The voice of a woman began to haunt him, repeating that it had all been his fault in persistent tones, yet when he cried that it was true she didn´t even seem to notice his smothered voice, and kept on and on with her litany until he did not hear anything anymore. Then, once more, everything changed. A light appeared in his vision, and, in front of it, a face, looking at him and calling him from his world of nightmare.

"Ariakan!"

No, leave me alone! I do not want to hear you, your reasons, your truth! Go away and do not insist!

"Ariakan, stop at once!"

A deep commotion shook the young man to the core at the distinct sound of that command. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and saw sir Thomas of Thelgaard staring at him with a stern expression, oceans dripping from his green cloak. The tempest had relented somewhat, yet rain still fell over both of them and made their vision hazy and uncertain.

"So," he exclaimed, surprised and still dizzy. "you have come?"

"Did I ever fail an appointment?"

"The rain made your comrades fail their practices today. "Ariakan answered as he gathered himself, putting a certain tinge of sarcasm in his voice. " I thought it to be strongly disuasory."

"Ariakan..." In a single movement, the cloak slid off the Knight´s shoulders, and left his now unprotected body into view. He wore no armour, just as his companion, only a practice sword. "Certain circumstances in my past life, most of them difficult, made me be quite able to endure those things that people generally call "the wrath of Nature". Though, this I must confess, I cannot say I enjoy them like you."

For a moment, both gazes met, and there was a brief flash of mutual respect and wariness in their eyes. For all that Ariakan had been angry before at their lack of understanding, he had to admit to himself that this was not true for all the Knights of Solamnia, and, furthermore, that this made him feel uncomfortable. There were many dark secrets locked within his heart now, too many for his own good.

"So Lord Gunthar is already gone?"he asked hoarsely, feeling it was time at last to attempt the really important conversation. Thomas changed of expression again at once, and frowned.

"So that does interest you?" he grumbled.

Ariakan bit his lip. "Yes. I wanted to see him."

"To see him?" the Knight snorted, incredulous. "A good idea, indeed! To tell him what on Krynn?"

The wind whistled through the windows of the abandoned part of the Tower, and Ariakan fell silent before ever knowing what was he beginning to utter. Yes, indeed, what on Krynn was he going to tell him? Would he ever accept any less than what he had asked? How was he going to fall abjectly to the ground at his feet?

All of a sudden, his face gained some expression, a dangerous flicker that Thomas had never seen before. Turning towards him, he wiped his soaked forehead, and held his sword as the drops trickled down the blunted edge in an irregular play that unwittingly mimicked the shedding of blood in the battlefield.

"Come". his fey voice said, challenging and demanding at the same time. "That´s why you came here for, not for talking."

Thomas answered to the challenge by advancing, his sword readied also. Ariakan saw him swallow with effort, but he couldn´t be certain if his opponent had been momentarily uneasy or if it had been just his imagination, so he decided not to take anything for granted and put all his senses in a nearly animal state of alert. His opponent was a habile fighter, after all. A very habile fighter, whose main strength resided in the fact that he was always able to keep an analytical mind while he fought, even when the sword that threatened him wasn´t a practice sword but a deadly weapon.

However, this time, the moment for preparation and evaluation was over very soon. With a shout, Ariakan attacked, and the metal of the swords clashed with a strident noise as Thomas blocked him. Now, he could see it more clearly: Thomas was uneasy, and his surprise had been big enough as to betray him the moment that he found that he was nearly unable to withstand the strength of his companion´s impetus. After two years of practicing together, he had allowed himself to relax at least on this front, though it seemed now that he had nearly payed a price for it. To make it even worse, Ariakan launched next a set of assaults as quick as lightning, and left him with no other option than retreating to a permanently defensive position.

The ex-Dragon soldier´s smile widened as he saw reflected on his partner´s features and moves the effect of his attack, and for a moment he wondered if he had felt such raw joy since his five enemies fell by his hand. No, probably not, he told himself, curtains of rain trying in vain to blind his sight. Their sparring matches, though good, had become little more than exercises or games, and the Order would indeed have forbidden any other thing, not to speak about Thomas´s sure negative to even hear about it. But now he was going to have his way: they were alone in the middle of the storm, and Thomas was trapped and forced to give his best to him for once. That he was angry could only help to increase his margin of tolerance against breachings of the Measure, and, later, his guilt would prevent him from staring accusingly again for what Ariakan had said to Lord Gunthar.

Takhisis! the son of Ariakas shouted exultantly with the voice of his mind, a remembance of his battes of old. As if the invoked goddess had run to his help in that moment, his sword made contact with the part of the Knight´s blade that was exactly next to the handle, and nearly took it off from his grasp. Thomas supressed a moan, but was quick and skilled enough to slide the weapon in its proper position and grasp it firmly again before the sword of his opponent returned for the next strike. Like that, he was able to withstand it, and, surprisingly enough, even got to retreat to a dignified position.

"Good". Ariakan blurted out in a ragged breath, pausing a bit to reconsider the situation. Thomas was not hiding his feelings anymore; he was openly staring at him, his surprise, as he could see now that he had stopped to look better, mingled with censure.

"What now? "the prisoner demanded with a grumble. " Will you accuse me of using dirty methods?"

"Lord Gunthar was right. "Thomas shook his head. "Pride is your bane; it nearly killed you already. You are intelligent, Ariakan, and you have been able to struggle against it several times, so why do you allow it to overpower you again?"

"What?"

Feeling stung as by a thousand swords, Ariakan shouted and prepared to attack once more. He had never felt such kind of unleashed emotions toward Thomas, such raw desire of making him shut up, and such hate for the superior look that he had ben unable to take away from his countenance. How did he dare? How could he pretend to always know better than himself? He was a Solamnic, he had captured him, destroyed his life and then his death, and, still not happy, he pretended to keep telling him what to do!

Thomas stopped that attack, too, and his knowing defence caused the next moments to slow down; a strangely unreal sucession of moves, breaths and clashes for both contrincants. None of them was able to open a breach in the other´s defenses, and, as the wind and the water kept chilling their bodies to the bone, they continued fighting, making all their sucessive attacks and retreats as part of a unnatural dance. There was something terrible about it that was far beyond all their previous combats, Ariakan thought for a second in a small interlude of his fury. If he had been unaffected, he would have delighted in it as a spectator watching a perfect play, or as an actor who knew how to perform and enjoyed the moment of proving so.

Yet, as it was, he only felt the urge to win. No, not even to win, but to defeat.

"Nonsense!" The smoldering eyes pierced…

"Ariakan, hear me! You don´t want to humiliate yourself. Yet we all have to be humiliated in our lives, and if we don´t do it willingly, others humiliate us by force. I was humiliated, I know what it is like!" Thomas aimed suddenly at the right flank of his opponent, and Ariakan was at pains to regain his stance. As he did it, however, he tripped somewhat in the slippery floor.

The Knight did not lose his opportunity. Just a moment, and he was already on top of him, pulling him down and pressing his blade to the throat of the furious young prisoner, who cursed himself for his carelessness.

"Through difficult experiences, we learn. "Thomas said in a worn out tone that was not much more than a whisper. "That´s what my parents always told me. They take the pride away from us, and pride is what makes us blind to our greatest misfortunes."

They were going to conquer the world. The others were weak, they either had no gods or had the wrong ones, and even if they oppossed resistance, they never would be able to thwart their might, the supremacy of the strongest ones that had survived through fire and blood. He was Ariakan, son of Zeboim, daughter of Takhisis. He was Ariakan, son of Ariakas, Emperor of Ansalon. And, at the end of the winter, they would have won….

…succeeded, joining your forces, in defeating yourselves!"…

Ariakan tried to struggle for a last time, more an irrational way to vent his feelings openly than any other thing, but he found the cold kiss of the sword tip in his neck a soon as he made the first move. Thomas was looking intently at him.

Ariakan, son of a mysterious woman that eluded his most secret dreams. Ariakan, son of a man whose ambition led to his own death and the end of the reign of the Dragonarmies at the end of the winter.

Ariakan, who had known.

"I submit." he said in a calm voice, though each word caused him pain. "I will go to the celebration, but before I will present my excuses to Lord Gunthar."

And, to the young man´s great surprise, after he had uttered those words he felt better with himself than what he had in a long time.

* * * * *

Next day, Sir Thomas of Thelgaard awoke with a terrible cold. Lord Garad, his commander, got angry at him for his carelessness, and Ariakan couldn´t supress his mirth when he learned about it.

"You shouldn´t have stayed outside with me." he admonished him with suspicious gravity when he was allowed to go visit him in his bedroom. "Rain is not good for you."

Thomas answered something inintelligible in a voice half-distorted by his blocked and swollen nose, and motioned him to bring the glass of water that was on the table. Ariakan gave it to him, and later took the custom of coming to his side now and then, laughing at the strange justice of Fate. It seemed both had lost in the end, after all.

Three days later, the morning that Thomas was to get up and return to his duties again, Lord Garad entered his bedroom in a quick stride, and told him to follow him at once. The festivities, until new order, had been suspended, and Lord Gunthar had just arrived in his dragon and was summoning all Knights to the courtyard to tell them something important.

Worried, and still dizzy after his convalescence, the Knight finished dressing himself and opened the door, where Ariakan stood looking at him.

"What´s the matter?" he asked, worried.

"Kitiara." was the prisoner´s answer. "What do you bet?"

Thomas threw him a gloomy look, and started to walk through the corridor. Ariakan smirked, and then turned promptly to follow him towards a group of Knights that were walking ahead of them.

The truth was that, this time, he did not know how to feel.

(to be continued)