that accursed ring of guardian oaks.
Skie stood glaring into the grove with hatred, his red eyes
burning, while his claws nervously tore up the paving stones.
He would have prevented his master from entering, but he
knew Kitiara well. Once her mind was set upon something,
nothing could deter her. So Skie folded his great, leathery
wings around his body and gazed at this fat, beautiful city
while thoughts of flames and smoke and death filled him with
longing.
Kitiara dismounted from her dragonsaddle slowly. The silver
moon, Solinari, was a pale, severed head in the sky. Its twin,
the red moon Lunitari, had just barely risen and now flickered
on the horizon like the wick of a dying candle. The faint light of
both moons shimmered in Kitiara’s dragonscale armor, turning
it a ghastly blood-hued color.
Kit studied the grove intently, took a step toward it, then
stopped nervously. Behind her, she could hear a rustle – Skie’s
wings giving unspoken advice – Let us flee this place of doom,
lady! Flee while we still have our lives!
Kitiara swallowed. Her tongue felt dry and swollen. Her
stomach muscles knotted painfully. Vivid memories of her first
battle returned to her, the first time she had faced an enemy and
known that she must kill this man – or she herself would be
dead. Then, she had conquered with the skillful thrust of her
sword blade. But this?
“I have walked many dark places upon this world,” Kit said
to her unseen companion in a deep, low voice, “and I have not
known fear. But I cannot enter here.”
“Simply hold the jewel he gave you high in your hand,” said
her companion, materializing out of the night. “The Guardians
of the Grove will be powerless to harm you.”
Kitiara looked into the dense ring of tall trees. Their vast,
spreading branches blotted out the light of moons and stars by
night, of the sun by day. Around their roots flowed perpetual
night. No soft breeze touched their hoary arms, no storm wind
moved the great limbs. It was said that even during the awful
days before the Cataclysm, when storms the like of which had
not been known before on Krynn swept the land, the trees of
Shoikan Grove alone had not bent to the anger of the gods.
But, more horrible even than their everlasting darkness, was
the echo of everlasting life that pulsed from deep within. Ever-
lasting life, everlasting misery and torment…
“What you say my head believes,” Kitiara answered, shiver-
ing, “but my heart does not, Lord Soth.”
“Turn back, then,” the death knight answered, shrugging.
“Show him that the most powerful Dragon Highlord in the
world is a coward.”
Kitiara stared at Soth from the eye slits of her dragonhelm.
Her brown eyes glinted, her hand closed spasmodically over
the hilt of her sword. Soth returned her gaze, the orange flame
flickering within his eyesockets burned bright in hideous mock-
ery. And if his eyes laughed at her, what would those golden
eyes of the mage reveal? Not laughter – triumph!
Compressing her lips tightly, Kitiara reached for the chain
around her neck where hung the charm Raistlin had sent her.
Grasping hold of the chain, she gave it a quick jerk, snapping it
easily. Then she held the jewel in her gloved hand.
Black as dragon’s blood, the jewel felt cold to the touch, radi-
ating a chill even through her heavy, leather gloves. Unshining,
unlovely, it lay heavy in her palm.
“How can these Guardians see it?” Kitiara demanded, hold-
ing it to the moons’ light. “Look, it does not gleam or sparkle. It
seems I hold nothing more than a lump of coal in my hand.”
“The moon that shines upon the nightjewel you cannot see,
nor can any see save those who worship it,” Lord Soth replied.
“Those – and the dead who, like me, have been damned to eter-
nal life. We can see it! For us, it shines more clearly than any
light in the sky. Hold it high, Kitiara, hold it high and walk for-
ward. The Guardians will not stop you. Take off your helm,
that they may look upon your face and see the light of the jewel