"There's no need for that," said the dragon. "I have told them to take you to the cavern, wait there, and bring you back. They will not deviate from my instructions, so don't try to get around them. Hold on and enjoy the ride."

"Ready, colleagues?" asked Stutts, with a wave.

"Ready!" "We're ready!" "Let's go!" were the replies.

Sturm wrapped the rope around his clenched fist and nod ded. The Micones were set in motion, and they were off. v The giant ant below Sturm was rock steady on its six spin dly legs, though its side-to-side motion was a bit odd to him, who was used to the up-and-down gait of a four-footed horse. Sturm's feet were only a few inches off the floor, but, the Micone bore him strongly to the nearest hole. He expect ed the ant to enter and descend like a man going down a spi ral stair, but no. The creature entered the hole headfirst and kept bending, tipping Sturm farther and farther forward.

He leaned down until his chest was pressed against the ant's domed back and clamped his arms and legs around its body.

The Micone walked down the hole's vertical wall and emerged, upside down, in the vaulted cavern below, with the astonished Sturm hanging on for all he was worth.

The gnomes' mounts entered the same way, and the squeals of delight and terror that followed rang off the milky, china blue walls. Huge stalactites, thirty and forty feet long and ten feet wide at their bases, reached down to the floor. The pale blue formations shone with a dim light of their own. The walls and ceiling (which Sturm found him self staring at) were likewise encrusted with a coating of the hard blue-white crystal. It looked as smooth as ice, but the ants' barbed feet clung tenaciously to it and never slipped.

Sturm's mount followed a well-worn path amid the cold spires. The Micone walked thirty yards across the cavern's ceiling, then abruptly turned and descended straight down the wall. A hundred feet below, the ant righted itself and moved across the cavern floor, which was littered with what resembled large scraps of old parchment and red leather.

This debris was kicked up around the ants' feet until they halted in a precise straight line, directly below the holes in the obelisk floor, now high above their heads. All around them the vaulted cavern glowed with faint luminescence. It was like Solinari in wane, but glowed from all directions and cast no shadows.

When Sturm and the gnomes had departed for the caverns, Kitiara waited nervously by the bow of the Cloud master. The gnomes' shrieks – half delight, half terror – faded as the ants carried them into the hollows below.

Cupelix alighted on the floor beside the flying ship. "Well, my dear, are you ready?" asked the dragon.

Kitiara bit her lip and rubbed the palms of her hands on her sleeves. "Sure," she said. "How do I get up there?"

"The simplest way is for me to carry you."

She eyed him uncertainly. Cupelix's forelegs were small compared to his massive hind legs, which could easily crush an ox. Noting her hesitation, the dragon said, "If you climb upon my back and sit astride my neck, I'll fly very carefully to the top of the tower." So saying, he laid his chin on the cold floor. Kitiara threw one leg over the beast's long, sin ewy neck. His scales were as cold and hard as she'd thought they would be. They were living flesh, but felt very much like true brass. Cupelix raised his head, and Kitiara felt taut muscles surge under the burnished scales. She leaned for ward and grasped the edges of two scales to secure a grip, as

Cupelix spread his wings and launched straight into the air.

J'

The obelisk walls were square on its lowest third. Where one particularly heavy platform ringed the walls, they slanted inward, constricting the dragon's movement. Cupe lix flared his wings and grabbed hold of the ledge with his powerful hind legs. He hopped sideways, sliding his four toed feet along the sill, which was deeply worn by centuries of such movement. Kitiara looked over the dragon's shoul der and down. The Cloudmaster looked like a toy, and the holes that had so recently swallowed Sturm and the gnomes were mere ink blots on a crimson page.

Cupelix reached a horizontal pillar that crossed from the north ledge to the east side. He sidled on out onto this until he was almost centered in the shaft again. "Hold on!" he said, and leaped.

There was not enough room that high to allow him to fly, so he kept his wings furled. Cupelix leaped thirty yards up, to where the obelisk was very cramped indeed.

Kitiara opened her eyes. The floor, four hundred feet below, was a vague pink square. Above, the obelisk came to an abrupt end at a flat stone ceiling. She tightened her hold on the dragon's neck. A shiver ran through the great elephantine body.

"You're tickling me," he said, in a very undragonlike man ner. A wickedly hooked claw set on the leading edge of

Cupelix's right wing nudged against her. It scraped along the spot where Kitiara had held on, scratching the ticklish spot.

"Are you going to do any more jumping?" she asked, try ing not to let her anxiety show in her voice.

"Oh, no, from here on it's all climbing."

By claw and muscular leg, the dragon climbed the remaining few yards with deft deliberation. He stopped when his horned head bumped the flat ceiling separating them from the obelisk's uppermost section. Kitiara expected him to utter some magic word that would open the way, but instead Cupelix planted his angular head against a stone slab and pushed. His neck bowed under the pressure, and

Kitiara was pinned between the massive wing muscles. She was about to protest when a large section of the slab gave way grudgingly. Cupelix shoved it upward until it stood on edge. He lowered his neck, and Kitiara dismounted inside the dragon's inner sanctum. Her feet slipped on the marble, and for a second the distant floor below seemed ready to rush to her. Kitiara stepped farther away from the opening and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Arryas shirak!" said the dragon. A globe fully eight feet across, set in the very apex of the obelisk roof, blazed with light. The details of Cupelix's lair leaped out at her: heaps of old books and scrolls, candle stands, censers, braziers, and other magical apparatus all wrought in heavy gold; four tapestries covered the walls, tapestries so old that the lowest edges were crumbling to dust. One hanging, fifteen feet wide by fifteen feet high, showed Huma the Lancer astride a fire-breathing dragon, impaling a denizen of the Dark

Queen's domain. The hero's armor was worked in gold and silver thread.

The second great tapestry was a map of Krynn. It showed not only the continent of Ansalon as Kitiara knew it, but other land masses to the north and west.

The third hanging showed a conclave of the gods. They were all there, the good, the neutral, and the evil, but the image that truly arrested her was that of the Dark Queen. Takhisis stood apart from the assembled gods of good and neutrality, regal and scornful. The weaver had made her not only beauti ful, but also terrible, with scaly legs and a barbed tail. As Kiti ara moved past the great figure, the expression on the Dark

Queen's face was by turns cruel, contemptuous, bitter, and bewitching. Kitiara might have stood there forever staring at her, had not Cupelix levered the stone slab back into place, restoring it for a floor. The several tons of marble thunked down, and broke Kitiara's trance.

The last tapestry was the most enigmatic. It was a depic tion of a balance, like the constellation Hiddukel, except that this scale was unbroken. In the right pan of the scales was an egg. On the left was the silhouette of a man. Cupelix clomped across the slab, his nails clicking on the stone.