Sturm noticed a dull light moving along the gallery on the north side of the palace. He cut across the gardens to inter cept the light. It proved to be His Majesty, carrying a weakly burning oil lamp.

"Oh," said Rapaldo, "I remember you."

"Good evening, Your Majesty," said Sturm graciously. "I saw your lamp."

"Did you'? It's a feeble thing, but the oil I make is not of the best quality, heh, heh."

"Your Majesty, I wonder if I might have a word with you."

"What word?"

Sturm fidgeted. This was as bad as trying to talk with the gnomes. "My friends were wondering, Sire, if we might be able to get some scrap metal from you to fix our flying ship, once we find it."

"You'll never get it back from the Micones," said Rapaldo.

"We must try, Sire. Could we get some metal from your supply?"

"What kind and how much'?" asked the king sharply.

"Forty pounds of iron."

"Forty pounds! Ta-ra! That's a king's ransom, and I should know. I am the king!"

"Surely iron is not so precious -"

Rapaldo hopped backward, the wavering lamp throwing weird shadows behind him. "Iron is the most precious thing of all! It was the iron axe I carry that made me master of the red moon. Do you not see, Sir Knight, that there is no metal at all here? Why do you think my subjects bear swords of glass? Every scrap of iron is a buttress to my rule, and I will not part with any of it."

Sturm waited until Rapaldo's quivering hands had grown more steady. He said, slowly, "Sire, perhaps you would like to go with us when we leave on the gnomes' flying ship."

"Eh? Leave my kingdom?"

"If you so desire."

Rapaldo's eyes narrowed. "My subjects would never allow it. They won't even let me leave the town. I've tried.

I've tried. I'm their link with the gods, you know, and they are very jealous of me. They won't let me go."

"What's to stop you from leaving at night, when the Luni tarians are rooted where they stand?"

"Heh, heh, heh! They would hunt me down by daylight!

They move very fast when they want to, don't worry! And there's never been anyplace else to go. The ants have your craft and will not let you have it. The Voice has it now."

Sturm said firmly, "We intend to ask this Voice to return our ship."

"The Voice! Ta-ra-ra! Why not ask the High Lords of

Heaven to bear you home on their backs, like birdies, tweet, tweet? The Voice is evil, Sir Knightblade; beware of it!"

Sturm felt as if he were swimming against a strong cur rent. Rapaldo's mind could not follow the course of reason that Sturm had set out, but there were some nuggets of truth in what he said. The 'Voice,' if it existed, was a great unknown quantity. If it refused them, their hopes for getting home were destroyed.

Sturm made one last attempt to persuade Rapaldo. 'Your

Majesty, if my friends and I can convince the Voice to release our flying ship, would you then provide us with forty pounds of iron! In return, we'll carry you back to Krynn – to your home island, if you wish."

"Enstar?" said Rapaldo, blinking rapidly. Tears formed in his eyes. "Home?"

"To your very doorstep," Sturm promised.

Rapaldo set the lamp on the ground. His hand flashed to his hip, and came back gripping the broad shipwright's axe.

Sturm tensed.

"Come!" said Rapaldo. "I will show you the obelisk."

He padded away, leaving the lamp flickering on the floor.

Sturm looked at the lamp, shrugged, and followed the mad king of Lunitari. Rapaldo's skinny, rag-wrapped feet made only the faintest thumps as he scampered ahead of Sturm.

"This way, Sir Brightsturm! I have a map, a chart, a dia gram, heh, heh."

Sturm followed him around half a dozen twists and turns.

When he faltered or felt uncertain, Rapaldo urged him on.

"The obelisk is in a secret valley, very hard to find! You must have my map to locate it!" Then Rapaldo's tread abruptly ceased, as did his lunatic cackle.

'Your Majesty?" Sturm called quietly. No reply. Careful ly, Sturm drew his sword, letting the blade slip through his fingers to deaden the scrape of metal. "King Rapaldo?" The passage ahead was violet shadows and silence. Sturm advanced into the darkness, sliding his feet along the floor to avoid being tripped.

Rapaldo leaped down from a recess in the wall and brought the axe down on Sturm's head. His helmet saved his skull from the fate of Darnino, but the blow drove the light from his mind and left him laid out cold on the floor.

"Well, well," said Rapaldo, breathing quickly. "A rude dint, I'm sure, and not at all fitting for the new king of Luni tari, eh? The tree-men would never allow their only king to fly away, fly! So I'll take the flying ship and lady, I will, and the trees will have their king. You! Ha, ha!" He giggled and picked up Sturm's helmet. The iron pot had taken the axe's edge with only a slight dent. Rapaldo tried the helmet on. It was far too large for him, and fell over his eyes. The mon arch of the red moon stood over his victim, spinning the hel met around his head with his hands and laughing ceaselessly.

Chapter 16

The Royal Axe

The long night was almost spent when the gnomes dared wake Kitiara. She grunted with pain and got to her feet. "Suffering bloodstained gods," she muttered. "What happened? I feel like somebody's worked me over with a stick."

"Are you sore?" asked Rainspot.

She worked one shoulder around and grimaced. "Very."

"I have a liniment that may be of comfort to you." The gnome searched rapidly through his vest and pants pockets.

He produced a small leather bag with a tight drawstring.

"Here," said Rainspot.

Kitiara accepted the bag and sniffed the closed mouth.

"What is it?" she said suspiciously.

"Dr. Finger's Efficacious Ointment. Also known as the

Self-Administered Massage Balm."

"Well, ah, thanks, Rainspot. I'll give it a try," she said, though she thought it more likely that the liniment would blister her skin than soothe her muscles. She tucked it away.

"Where's Sturm?" Kitiara asked with sudden realization.

"We saw him several hours ago. He was looking for you," said Cutwood.

"Did he find me?"

"How should we know? He told us we couldn't take any of Rapaldo's iron without asking permission, then he went looking for you," said Bellcrank peevishly.

Kitiara rubbed her aching temples. "I remember I went for a walk, came back obviously, but outside of that my mem ory is dry." She coughed. "So's my throat. Is there any water?"

"Rainspot called down a batch this morning," said Sight er. He proffered a full bottle to Kitiara, and she drank deeply. The gnomes watched this process solemnly. When

Kitiara at last lowered the water bottle, Wingover said,

"Lady, we are unanimous in our resolve to be gone from here as quickly as possible. We think the king is dangerous; also, the trail of the Micones grows colder as we wait."

Kitiara surveyed the serious little faces. She'd never seen the gnomes so united and intent. "Very well, let's see if we can hunt down Sturm," she said.

Rapaldo was in his audience hall, flanked by twenty tall tree-men when Kitiara and the gnomes arrived. He was wearing Sturm's horned helmet, padded out with rags so that it wouldn't fall over his eyes. The axe lay nestled in his arms.

He regarded them idly. "I didn't send for you. Go away."

"Cut the lip wagging," Kitiara snapped. She recognized the helmet. "Where's Sturm?"

"Do all of the women of Abanasinia have such bad man ners? That's what comes of letting them carry swords -"

She drew both weapons, sword and dagger, and took one step toward Rapaldo. The Lunitarians promptly raised their glass swords and spear.s and closed ranks around their divine, though mad, king.