The Citadel Read online

  Valkyn shouted once more, his words stolen by the wind.

  Lightning assailed the outskirts of Castle Atriun, striking the already crippled ground again and again. Tons of earth flew into the air, moments later bombarding the surrounding earth. The area below resembled the worst of battlefields. Cadrio almost expected to hear the cries of the dying.

  The bolts continued for one minute, two, then three. Cadrio knew of the power needed to fulfill this spell, but nothing had prepared him for this. It amazed him that the man at his side had managed this much success. Yet it would mean nothing unless the mage followed through to the end.

  And then a sound that made even the striking of a hundred bolts seem mute in comparison sent the general sprawling. For a horrible moment, he saw only blackened sky. Somehow, though, Cadrio struggled to his feet and refocused on the castle.

  He saw a gaping hole where the citadel had once stood.…

  DRAGONLANCE Classics

  Murder in Tarsis

  John Maddox Roberts

  Dalamar the Dark

  Nancy Varian Berberick

  The Citadel

  Richard A. Knaak

  The Inheritance

  Nancy Varian Berberick

  THE CITADEL

  ©2000 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. Hasbro SA, represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.

  DRAGONLANCE, Wizards of the Coast, D&D, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries. All other trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

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

  Cover art by: Alan Pollack

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-6318-8

  640-A1475000-001-EN

  For customer service, contact:

  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

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  Visit our websites at www.wizards.com

  www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  Dedicated to Patty Lee (Beckermann) Perkins.

  A young friend lost too soon.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books In the Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: The Shadows of War

  Chapter 2: Troubled Waters

  Chapter 3: Atriun

  Chapter 4: Castle in the Sky

  Chapter 5: Serene

  Chapter 6: The Gathering

  Chapter 7: Death from Above

  Chapter 8: Deceptions

  Chapter 9: Storming the Castle

  Chapter 10: Prisoners of the Citadel

  Chapter 11: In the Heart of the Beast

  Chapter 12: Plots and Counterplots

  Chapter 13: Disaster

  Chapter 14: The Power of Atriun

  Chapter 15: The Approaching Battle

  Chapter 16: A Prayer Answered

  Chapter 17: Turning the Storm

  Chapter 18: Victory and Sacrifice

  Chapter 19: Bedlam in the Sky

  Chapter 20: On the Wings of Victory

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The Shadows of War

  From the deck of the Harpy, General Marcus Cadrio, his thinning gray and brown hair plastered to his head and shoulders by the choppy sea, watched as the Northern Ergothian port city of Gwynned appeared tantalizingly at the edge of the horizon. The slim, clean-shaven commander lowered the magical device and stared again. Now he was unable to see even a trace of Gwynned, much less the rest of Northern Ergoth. The weather had turned foul with more vehemence than either he or his staff had anticipated. It was yet another strike against his forces in an already desperate war. He needed a victory soon if he hoped to stake his claim among the survivors of the Dark Queen’s commanders.

  “Orders, sir?” a subordinate dared to ask.

  Cadrio turned toward the fool, briefly eyeing the stylized dragon design on his ebony breastplate. All his officers wore the same design, a fierce five-headed monster that represented a cause now lost. The thought further chilled the already cold tone in his voice. “And what orders would you like, Timinion? Have you some suggestions, perhaps?”

  The aide looked away, unable to meet those deathly gray eyes. “N-None, General!”

  His officers thought he would call the attack off. He dared not. His rivals were quickly solidifying their forces, preparing to create their own strongholds of power, and so far Cadrio had nothing but defeat to show for his efforts. He had been the chief officer of the Black Dragon Highlord, the most senior officer to survive the debacle when Emperor Ariakas had tried to open the way for their goddess, the great and terrible Takhisis, into the world of Krynn. Had his commander died earlier in the war, Cadrio felt certain that Ariakas would have chosen him to succeed as new Highlord of the Black Dragon Army. Cadrio had been born to lead. He had risen swiftly through the ranks. His destiny had seemed assured.…

  And then everything had quickly come to ruin.

  The War of the Lance, as the victors had recently dubbed it, had been suddenly and decisively won by the forces serving the cursed Platinum Dragon, the god of the Solamnic Knights, Paladine. Cadrio’s hand curled into a gloved fist. His dreams, his hopes, his glories, had all vanished with Takhisis and the late emperor. All that remained were scraps.

  But from those scraps, the general yet hoped to build his own empire. There were indeed orders he should give, but the lanky general did not do so. Instead, he pondered what had brought him to this desperate plan, commander of an army without a home, seeking to seize a foothold on a rich prize where no one would expect such a bold attack. Perhaps he should have accepted the offer of the Blue Lady.… But, no, she knew he stood as one of her rivals in controlling the surviving elements of the dragonarmies. She had only invited him to join her in order to obtain his resources, his soldiers. Then he would have eventually died or disappeared, leaving her in complete command.

  Ignoring the harsh spray of the Sirrion Sea, Cadrio looked up. Among the dark clouds, he could make out two massive shapes moving somewhat sluggishly through the sky. Since the Dark Queen’s defeat, the fortresses seemed to move with less speed now, as if some of their power had been drained. The clerics insisted that such was not the case, but the wizards questioned the stability of Cadrio’s prizes.

  “They will suffice, though,” he muttered. “They must.” The two fortresses had initially served him well after his Highlord’s death. He had used them to surprise his nearest rival, to slay him and seize mastery of the opposing army. Then the pair had enabled him to sack the coastal town near Lemish, gaining him the Harpy and two other vessels for his fleet. Now his army was packed into a small convoy of ships, awaiting the opening the flying behemoths would give him when they came down upon Gwynned and her sea defenses. Then he could land his troops, seize the Ergothian stronghold, and lay claim to the beginning of his own empir
e.

  General Cadrio knew a hint of madness lurked within him, but the brooding veteran saw his madness as yet another weapon at his disposal. He would do what others could not, not the Blue Lady or even Lord Ariakas. He, Cadrio, would conquer all.…

  The general thrust out his empty hand. “My helmet, Zander.”

  A young but immaculate officer with features like a cat stepped forward with Cadrio’s visored helm. Zander never questioned Cadrio but obeyed his orders to the letter. For that reason alone, he served as the commander’s chief aide.

  Helmet on, Cadrio took up the wizard’s device and once more peered at Gwynned. He could make it out more clearly now, and what he noticed made him smile. Only a scant few ships moved about on the sea; the rest had returned to port to wait out the storm. He would be able to sail right in once the city had been softened up a little.

  Lowering the device again, he shouted, “Signal the others!”

  Two soldiers brought out covered oil lamps from the safety of an overhang and quickly waved the lit lamps in the direction of the nearest vessels. Moments later, identical lights appeared from the sister ships.

  Those vessels would signal the rest, Cadrio knew. He looked up and noticed the two hulking fortresses slipping forward into the clouds. Behind them darted a pair of sleek reptilian forms, also part of his force. His allies in the sky had seen the signal and knew their parts. The attack had begun. Soon Gwynned would be his.

  “Now let us see what madness can do,” he whispered, picturing his twin titans even now descending on the unaware city.

  * * * * *

  “It seems to be getting darker outside,” Leot noted, looking up from his desk. Ink spattered his full beard and the white robe of his order, the effects of the balding wizard’s enthusiasm for his work. Leot looked twice his actual age, which had not yet reached three decades, but he appeared as if he had enjoyed that aging.

  “It always gets darker around here when the weather turns,” Tyros answered with barely concealed annoyance. He hated the changeable weather of this godforsaken port city where he and Leot had spent the past three months. “In fact, it has already begun to rain.”

  They were a contrast, these two friends. His vanity second only to his ambition, Tyros kept his person immaculate. His light brown hair and his classically styled, mustacheless beard were neatly trimmed. Unlike his companion, no spots marred his crisp red robe. He maintained his quarters with equal precision. His papers and personal items each had its own place.

  Leot’s personal chamber and his workplace reflected his own appearance, but to the opposite extreme. The ink spots were only the latest additions to the heavy-set wizard’s garments, various food stains and chemicals having established homesteads before them. If not for an occasional spell designed to clean his robe, some might have never taken it for white.

  Tyros’s gaze briefly flitted about the chamber where they worked. It was a circular room, with shelf upon shelf piled high with scrolls, artifacts, and flasks. A skull belonging to some variation of lizard-man no one had been able to identify lay atop one shelf. A round table filled much of the interior. Two writing desks, both facing windows, stood on opposite ends of the room. Tyros preferred the desk that gave him the evening sun, a precious commodity in a port city prone to sudden weather shifts. Oil lamps placed strategically about the chamber kept it lit at night, while six stained-glass windows, a sign of its previous owner’s wealth, illuminated the room during the day … except when the day grew very overcast. Originally built for a now deceased officer related to one of the seaport’s prominent families, the tower had been turned over to the wizards midway through the war.

  “Fascinating weather. One minute this, the next that,” Leot finally answered in response to Tyros’s remark. The rotund wizard always found a bright side to things. His round, almost cherubic features, so different from Tyros’s narrow, more angular countenance, broke into a smile. He muttered a spell and the oil lamps burst into life.

  Tyros blinked the spots from his eyes. “Warn me next time you do that.”

  “Sorry.”

  Tyros knew that Leot would forget. Leot forgot everything except his meals and his work. Tyros admired his focus but wished that same focus included Leot’s personal life as well.

  He returned to his own task. Deep brown eyes surveyed a scroll written by one Neomidas of Estwilde. Neomidas claimed to have come up with a spell to change gold to steel, an interesting if not particularly useful incantation. Tyros tried to follow the older mage’s scratchy writing but failed halfway through. Finally he glanced at the date on which the scroll had been entered into the tower records. Neomidas had lived some two hundred years ago, meaning that if his spell had worked, someone likely would have noticed.

  “Futility!” the Red Robe muttered. With barely checked anger, he rerolled the scroll, sealed it, and placed the parchment on the pile of rejected ones.

  Since soon after the beginning of the war, Tyros, considered a most promising combat wizard, had taken to using every spare moment to pursue his pet project. Ever since he had first witnessed the use of what some considered the dragonarmies’ most potent weapons, the astonishing flying fortresses, he had worked to fathom out their secrets, hoping to redesign one for his own side. Twice he had been fortunate enough to inspect the ruins of downed fortresses, sifting through the rubble and classifying every interesting fragment for later study. Along the way, he had helped formulate several new spells and even developed a strategy to fight the enemy’s creations, winning much deserved acclaim among his peers, but as of yet Tyros hadn’t unlocked the basis on which they actually functioned. Without that knowledge, he could never repeat the experiment successfully. The realization constantly galled him.

  Tyros had requested and, due to his growing reputation, received scrolls and papers from hidden libraries all over Ansalon. The knowledge and spellwork of dozens upon dozens of wizards since the Cataclysm lay available to him, but so far most had fallen into the same category as Neomidas’s ridiculous spell. It amazed him how much of the stored history of wizardry consisted of crackpot spells and notions that the authors must have thought they would later come back and revamp into something useful but never did.

  “Nothing good?” Leot amicably asked.

  “A brilliant deduction.” Tyros leaned back. “In the past few weeks, I’ve seen a mere handful of suggestions that come close to what I seek. A few, such as those of Borlius of Palanthas or Valkyn of Culthairai, actually broach the subject, but their research always lead to ends as dead as they themselves.”

  “Borlius was a follower of Solinari. I remember his name from my teachings. He died just before I joined the order,” Leot mused.

  “And Valkyn was a member of my order, now probably as dead as Borlius. Culthairai was overrun early in the war.” Tyros shrugged. “It hardly matters! From what I have read of their work, neither could have taught me much I didn’t know already!”

  Leot kept his smile hidden as he listened to his friend’s boastful tones. He knew the other’s reputed arrogance. Most of the other wizards, not to mention the citizenry, avoided Tyros. Beneath the arrogance, though, Leot recognized a good and sometimes sympathetic man who, unfortunately, did not always understand how he made himself appear to others. The heavyset spellcaster remained one of Tyros’s few friends, although Leot himself had many.

  If Tyros failed to recognize his faults, he did, however, realize his good looks. More than a few ladies of the Ergothian nobility had dared scandals to approach the foreign wizard sent here under treaty agreement. Northern Ergoth had sought to could keep the dangers of magic to a minimum by housing its wielders in this tower, never suspecting that they would also have to worry about their own women seeking out the wizards.

  Well, one wizard, anyway. Leot knew how he looked to the refined ladies.

  “What will you do now?” he asked finally.

  A bitter smile crept over Tyros’s handsome features. “What is there left to do? They
made it clear that these scrolls were the last ones I’d receive. The war’s all but over, Leot! The Dark Queen herself has been ousted, and most of her commanders are dead or in rout! Imagine! We fight this war, but the credit goes to a ragtag group that includes a half-elf, a couple of barbarians, and a kender, of all things! Who are these creatures? I don’t even know their names, but in the eyes of the populace, they’ve apparently saved the world and made my work superfluous!”

  “I heard one of them was a wizard,” the White Robe commented hopefully. “Our kind will get some credit, at least!”

  “Hmmph! Probably turn out to be some wrinkled old illusionist who stayed completely clear of the mess! No wizard’s been given due credit since Magius in the last dragon war, and even he’s always overshadowed by that knight!”

  “Maybe there’ll be another war,” Leot said, trying to cheer his friend up. What fighting still remained had dwindled considerably, although word of a female Dragon Highlord somewhere to the east gathering together what remained of Takhisis’s forces had reached them recently. Still, such rumors tended to be nothing but air once they were investigated. Unfortunately for the ambitions of Tyros, it looked as if peace had broken out all over Ansalon.

  Ablaze of lightning followed by a crash of thunder startled both mages. Tyros gritted his teeth. “Blasted weather!”

  “It helped protect Gwynned from invasion a couple of times.”

  “Who would ever be crazy enough to attack in such foul conditions anyway?” the crimson mage grumbled.

  Thunder boomed again, this time so close that the tower shook.

  Horns sounded, but while Gwynned had such signals that alerted its populace to terrible storms, these sounded different. Tyros stiffened, recognizing the call.

  “War horns! They’re alerting the defenses!”

  Leot dropped his quill. “We’re under attack?”

  Throwing back their chairs, the two wizards rushed to opposite windows. Tyros flung his open and, after cursing the driving rain, peered out. Through the dark storm, at first he noted nothing but the normal appearance of the city, a bustling seaport with numerous docks and, beyond them, the crested buildings typical of the region. Four watchtowers guarded the perimeter of the main portion of Gwynned, and of these Tyros could see two. Yet despite the warning blares and torchlights, he could make out no invasion force. The sea, rough and turbulent, remained empty save for a few hardy ships returning to the docks, but they all bore the flag of Northern Ergoth.