Richard Knaak - The Citadel

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 Queens 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. Cadrios 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 Queens 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 Cadrios prizes.

They will suffice, though, he muttered. They must. The two fortresses had initially served him well after his Highlords 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 empire.

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 Cadrios visored helm. Zander never questioned Cadrio but obeyed his orders to the letter. For that reason alone, he served as the commanders chief aide.

Helmet on, Cadrio took up the wizards 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 wizards 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.

Leots 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 wizards 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.

Tyross 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 owners 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 seaports prominent families, the tower had been turned over to the wizards midway through the war.