Amber and Iron Read online

  IMPRISONED IN THE BLOOD SEA TOWER by a jealous god, Mina’s search for an escape leads her to the Hall of Sacrilege and to an unexpected discovery. But it is even more unwelcome to most of the gods of Krynn.

  The heroes fighting the spread of the terrifying Beloved gain new allies in a paladin and a wizardess, but the vampiric cult is growing faster than they can move; they must find the root of the evil and stop it there.

  The second installment in The New York Times bestselling author Margaret Weis’s Dark Disciple trilogy continues the story started in Amber and Ashes, set in the world of DRAGONLANCE.

  “Weis [uses] conventional fantasy elements on the grand scale to produce excellent reading.”

  —Chicago Sun-Times

  “Demonstrate[s] … complete mastery of the art of turning classic fantasy elements into equally classic well-told tales.”

  —Roland Green, Booklist

  AMBER AND ASHES

  AMBER AND IRON

  AMBER AND BLOOD

  Amber & Iron

  The Dark Disciple, Volume 2

  ©2006 Wizards of the Coast LLC

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  DRAGONLANCE, Wizards of the Coast, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries. Other trademarks are property of their respective owners. Hasbro SA, Represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cover art by Matt Stawicki

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-5452-0

  640-25347000-001-EN

  U.S., Canada, Asia, Pacific, & Latin America, Wizards of the Coast LLC, P.O. Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, +1-800-324-6496, www.wizards.com/customerservice

  Europe, U.K., Eire & South Africa, Wizards of the Coast LLC, c/o Hasbro UK Ltd., P.O. Box 43, Newport, NP19 4YD, UK, Tel: +800 22 427276, Email: [email protected]

  Visit our web site at www.wizards.com

  v3.1

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated with deep appreciation to the members of the Whitestone Council and all those volunteers who have dedicated their time and talents to Dragonlance. These people have been of immense help to me. They are always there to answer my questions. They keep the dragonlance.com site running smoothly. They assist with researching and writing and playtesting the game product. Some of them have been working with Dragonlance for years, ever since the beginning.

  Cam Banks

  Shivam Bhatt

  Ross Bishop

  Neil Burton

  Richard Connery

  Luis Fernando De Pippo

  Matt Haag

  Andre’ La Roche

  Sean Macdonald

  Joe Mashuga

  Tobin Melroy

  Ashe Potter

  Joshua Stewart

  Trampas Whiteman

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Book I - In the Name of Chemosh Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Book II - The Hall of Sacrilege Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Book III - Mina’s Kiss Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Book IV - The Tower of the Blood Sea Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Appendix - The Beloved of Chemosh Seduction

  Revelation

  Detection

  Destruction

  Future

  About the Author

  “Without self-realization, no virtue is genuine.”

  —Sir Nisargardatta Maharaj

  imothy Tanner was not a bad man, just a weak one.

  He had a wife, Gerta, and a new baby son, who was healthy and cute. He loved both of them dearly and would have given his life for them. He just couldn’t manage to stay faithful to them. He felt wretchedly guilty over his “tomcatting” as he called it, and when the new baby arrived he promised himself that he would never so much as look at another woman.

  Three months passed, and Timothy kept his promise. He’d actually turned down a couple of his previous lovers, telling them he was a changed man, and it seemed that he was, for he truly adored his son and felt nothing but gratitude and love for his wife.

  Then one day Lucy Wheelwright came into his shop.

  Though he came from a family of tanners, Timothy had been apprenticed to a cobbler and now made his living making leather shoes and boots.

  “I want to know if this shoe can be mended,” Lucy said.

  She placed her foot on a short-legged stool and hiked up her skirt well past her knees to reveal a very shapely leg and more beyond that.

  “Well, Master Cobbler?” she said archly.

  Timothy wrenched his gaze from her leg to the shoe. It was brand new. He looked up at her. She smiled at him. Lowering her skirt, she bent over, pretending to lace her shoe, but all the while providing him a view of her full bosom. He noticed an odd mark over her left breast—it looked like a kiss from two lips. He pictured placing his own lips on that spot, and he caught his breath.

  Lucy was one of the prettiest girls in Solace and also one of the most unobtainable, though there were rumors …

  She was married, like Timothy. Her husband was a big brute of man and intensely jealous.

  She straightened, tugging her chemise back in place, and glanced at the door. “Could you work on the shoe now? I really have a need for it. An aching need …”

  “Your husband?” Timothy coughed.

  “He’s away on a hunting trip. Besides, you could bolt the door so that no one interrupts you in your work.”

  Timothy thought of his wife and his child, but they were not here and Lucy was. He rose from his bench and went over to the door, shutting it and locking it. The hour was almost noon; customers would think he’d gone home for his midday meal.

  Just to be safe, he led Lucy to the storeroom. Even as they made their way through the shop, she was kissing him, fondling him, undoing his shirt, her hands fumbling at his breeches. He’d never known a woman so ardent, and he was consumed with passion. They tumbled down on a pile of leather skins. She wriggled out of her chemise, and he kissed the place on her breast over the strange birthmark of two lips.

  Lucy put her hand over his mouth. “I want you to do something for me, Timothy,” she said, breathing fast.

  “Anything!” He pressed his body close to hers.

  She held him at bay. �
�I want you to give yourself to Chemosh.”

  “Chemosh?” Timothy laughed. This was a most inopportune moment to be discussing religion! “The god of death? What made you think of that?”

  “Just a fancy of mine,” said Lucy, winding his hair around and around her finger. “I’m one of his followers. He’s a god of life, not death. Those horrid clerics of Mishakal say such bad things about him. You mustn’t believe them.”

  “I don’t know.…” Timothy thought this all very odd.

  “You want to please me, don’t you?” said Lucy, kissing his ear lobe. “I’m very grateful to men who please me.”

  She moved her hands down his body. She was skilled, and Timothy groaned with desire.

  “Just say the words ‘I give myself to Chemosh’,” Lucy whispered. “In return, you’ll have unending life, unending youth, and me. We can make love like this every day if you want.”

  Timothy wasn’t a bad man, just weak. He had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted Lucy at that moment. He wasn’t all that religious, and he didn’t see the harm in pledging himself to Chemosh if it made her happy.

  “I give myself to Chemosh … and Lucy,” he said teasingly.

  Lucy smiled at him and pressed her lips on his left breast over his heart.

  Terrible pain shot through Timothy. His heart began to beat wildly and erratically. Pain burned through his arms and down his torso and into his legs. He tried frantically to push Lucy off him, but she had incredible strength and she pinned him down and kept pressing her lips on his chest. His heart lurched. He tried to scream, but he didn’t have the breath. His body shuddered, convulsed, and stiffened as the pain, like the hand of an evil god, took him and twisted him, wrung him, shredded him and carried him off into darkness.

  Timothy came out of the darkness. He entered a world that seemed all twilight. He saw objects that looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them. He knew where he was, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. The woman he’d been with was gone. He tried to think of her name, but he couldn’t.

  Only one name was in his mind and he whispered that name, “Mina …”

  He knew her, though he’d never met her. She had beautiful amber eyes.

  “Come to me,” said Mina. “My lord Chemosh has need of you.”

  “I will,” Timothy promised. “Where do I find you?”

  “Follow the road into the sunrise.”

  “You mean leave my home? No, I can’t—”

  Pain stabbed Timothy, horrible pain that was like the pain of dying.

  “Follow the road into the sunrise,” said Mina.

  “I will!” he gasped, and the pain eased.

  “Bring disciples to me,” she told him. “Give others the gift you have been given. You will never die, Timothy. You will never age. You will never know fear. Give others this gift.”

  An image of his wife came into his mind. Timothy had the vague notion that he didn’t want to do this, that he would hurt Gerta terribly if he did this to her. He wouldn’t …

  Pain tore at him, bent and twisted him.

  “I will, Mina!” he moaned. “I will!”

  Timothy went home to his family. His baby was sleeping in the cradle, taking his afternoon nap. Timothy paid no attention to the child. He didn’t recall that it was his child. He cared nothing about it. He saw only his wife and he heard only the voice, Mina’s voice, saying, “Bring her.…”

  “My dear!” Gerta greeted him, pleased but surprised. “What are you doing home? It’s the middle of the day?”

  “I came home to be with you, my love,” said Timothy. He put his arms around her and kissed her. “Come to bed, wife.”

  “Tim!” Gerta giggled and tried, half-heartedly, to push him away. “It’s still daylight!”

  “What does that matter?” He was kissing her, touching her, and he felt her melt into his arms.

  She made a last faint protest. “The baby—”

  “He’s asleep. Come on.” Timothy pulled his wife down onto their bed. “Let me prove that I love you!”

  “I know you love me,” said Gerta, and she nestled next to him and began to return his kisses.

  She started to unlace his tunic, but he clasped his hands over her hands.

  “There’s one thing you must do to prove that you love me, wife. I have recently become a follower of the god, Chemosh. I want you to share the joy I have found in following the god.”

  “Why, of course, husband, if that’s what you want,” said Gerta. “But I know nothing of the gods. What sort of god is this Chemosh?”

  “A god of unending life,” said Timothy. “Will you pledge yourself to him?”

  “I will do anything for you, husband.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. She sensed some inner struggle within him. His face twisted in pain.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Nothing!” he gasped. “A cramp in my foot. That’s all. Say the words: ‘I pledge myself to Chemosh.”

  Gerta repeated the words and added, “I love you.”

  Then Timothy said something very strange as he bent over and pressed his lips on her left breast above her heart.

  “Forgive me.…”

  s Ausric Krell, death knight, watched in astonishment, the white kender khas piece went racing across the board, lunged full-tilt at his own dark knight khas piece, and grappled with it. Both pieces fell off the board and began rolling around on the floor.

  “Here, now! That’s against the rules,” was Krell’s first outraged thought.

  His second, more bemused thought was, “I never saw a khas piece do that before.”

  His third thought included dawning revelation. “That’s no ordinary khas piece.”

  His fourth thought was deeply suspicious. “Something funny’s going on here.”

  His thoughts after this were muddled, undoubtedly due to the fact that he was engaged in a battle for his undead life against a horrible giant mantis.

  Krell had always detested bugs, and this particular mantis was truly terrifying, for it was ten feet tall with bulbous eyes, a green shell, and six huge green legs, two of which held onto Krell while its mandibles clamped onto his cringing spirit and began to chomp into his brain.

  Krell figured out after a horrifying moment that this was no ordinary bug. There was a god mixed up in this somewhere, a god who didn’t much like him. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Krell had managed to offend several gods during his lifetime, including the late and unlamented Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, and her chaotic, vindictive daughter, the Sea Goddess Zeboim, who had been outraged when she found out that Krell was the one responsible for the betrayal and murder of her beloved son, Lord Ariakan.

  Zeboim had captured Krell and killed him slowly, taking her time. When there was finally no spark of life left within his mangled body, she had cursed him by changing him into a death knight and imprisoning him on the isolated and accursed isle of Storm’s Keep, where he had once served the man he had betrayed, there to live out his eternal existence with the memory of his crime always before him.

  Zeboim’s punishment had not had quite the impact she had hoped for. Another famous death knight, Lord Soth, had been a tragic figure, consumed by remorse and eventually finding salvation. Krell, on the other hand, rather liked being a death knight. He found in death what he’d always enjoyed in life—the ability to bully and torment those weaker than himself. In life, the spoilsport Ariakan had prevented Krell from indulging in his sadistic pleasures. Now Krell was one of the most powerful beings on Krynn and he took joyful advantage of it.

  Just the sight of him in his black armor and helm with the ram’s horns, behind which blazed red eyes of undeath, struck terror into the hearts of those foolish or daring enough to venture onto Storm’s Keep in search of the treasure the knights had supposedly left behind. Krell enjoyed such company immensely. He forced his victims to play khas with him, livening up the game by torturing them until
they eventually succumbed.

  Zeboim had been a bother, holding him prisoner on Storm’s Keep until he’d attracted the notice of Chemosh, Lord of the Dead. Krell had struck up a deal with Chemosh and gained his freedom from Storm’s Keep. With Chemosh protecting him, Krell had even been able to thumb his rotting nose at Zeboim.

  Chemosh had in his possession the soul of Lord Ariakan, the beloved son of the sea goddess. The soul was trapped in a khas piece. Chemosh was holding that soul hostage for Zeboim’s “good behavior.” He had designs upon a certain tower located in the Blood Sea, and he didn’t want the sea goddess meddling.

  Zeboim, incensed, had sent one of her faithful—some wretched monk—to Storm’s Keep to rescue her son. Krell had discovered the monk snooping about and, always happy to have visitors, had “invited” the monk to play khas with him.

  To be fair to Krell, he had not known that the monk was sent by the goddess. The thought that the monk might be there to steal the khas piece containing Ariakan’s soul never entered Krell’s brain—a brain that admittedly was not all that large to begin with and was now further hampered by being encased in a ponderous and fearsome steel helm; a brain on which a giant bug, sent by a god, was now feasting.

  The god belonged to this blasted monk, a monk who had not played fair. First, the monk had brought in an unlawful khas piece; second, that khas piece had made an illegal move; and third, the monk—instead of writhing and moaning in agony after Krell had broken several of his fingers—had physically attacked the death knight with a staff that turned out to be a god.

  Krell fought the mantis in a blind panic, punching, kicking and flailing at it until, suddenly, it disappeared.

  The monk’s staff was a staff again, lying on the floor. Krell was prepared to stomp it to splinters when a fifth thought came to him.

  Suppose touching the staff would cause it to turn back into a bug?

  Keeping a wary eye on the staff, Krell made a wide detour around it as he took stock of the situation. The monk had run off. That was only to be expected. Krell would deal with him later. After all, he wasn’t going anywhere, not off this accursed rock. The massive fortress stood atop sheer cliffs raked by the lashing waves of the turbulent sea. Krell righted the board that the monk had overturned. He gathered up the pieces, just to make certain the precious khas piece given to him by Chemosh was safe.