02 - The Kinslayer Wars - Douglas Niles

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Elven Nations Trilogy

Volume Two

[Dragonlance logo]

The

Kinslayer Wars

Douglas Niles

Cover Art

Brom

[WotC logo]

THE KINSLAYER WARS

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, Inc.

Distributed in the United States by Holtzbrinck Publishing. Distributed in Canada by Fenn Ltd.

Distributed to the hobby, toy, and comic trade in the United States and Canada by regional distributors.

Distributed worldwide by Wizards of the Coast, Inc. and regional distributors.

DRAGONLANCE and the Wizards of the Coast logo are registered trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast, Inc., a

subsidiary of Hasbro, Inc.

All Wizards of the Coast characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by

Wizards of the Coast, Inc.

Made in the U.S.A.

The sale of this book without its cover has not been authorized by the publisher. If you purchased this book without a

cover, you should be aware that neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for this "stripped book."

Cover art by Brom

First Printing: August 1991

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 90-71492

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN: 1-56076-113-X

620-08338

U.S., CANADA, EUROPEAN HEADQUARTERS

ASIA, PACIFIC, & LATIN AMERICA Wizards of the Coast, Belgium

Wizards of the Coast, Inc. P.B. 2031

P.O. Box 707 2600 Berchem

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+1-800-324-6496 +32-70-23-32-77

Visit our web site at www.wizards.com/[line]

Prologue

Winter, Year of the Ram, 2215 (PC)

"The Emperor arrives–he enters the fortress at the South Gate!"

The cry rang from the walls of Caergoth, blared by a thousand trumpets and heard by

a million ears. Excitement spread through the massive tent city around the great castle,

while the towering fortress itself fairly tingled with anticipation.

The carriage of Emperor Quivalin Soth V, sometimes called Ullves, rumbled through

the huge gates, pulled by a team of twelve white horses, trailed by an escort of five

thousand men. From every parapet, every castellated tower top and high rampart in

sprawling Caergoth, silk-gowned ladies, proud noblemen, and courtiers waved and

cheered.

Sheer, gray-fronted walls of granite towered over the procession, dominating the

surrounding farmlands as a mountain looms over a plain. Four massive gates, each

formed from planks of vallenwood eighty feet long, barred the sides of the great structure

against any conceivable foe–indeed, they proudly bore the scars of dragonbreath,

inflicted during the Second Dragon War more than four centuries earlier.

The interior of Caergoth consisted of winding avenues, tall and narrow gates, stone

buildings crowded together, and always the high walls. They curved about and climbed in

terrace after terrace toward the heart of the massive castle, forming a granite maze for all

who entered.

The carriage trundled through the outer gatehouse with imperial dignity and rolled

along the streets, through open gates, and down the widest avenue toward the center of

the fortress. Banners, in black and deep red and dark blue, hung from the ramparts.

Everywhere the cheering of the crowds thundered around the emperor's coach.

Outside the walls, a vast sea of tents covered the fields around the fortress, and from

these poured the men-at-arms of the emperor's army–some two hundred thousand in all.

Though they did not mingle with the nobles and captains of the fortress, their joy was no

less boisterous. They surged toward the castle in the wake of the emperor's procession,

their shouts and hurrahs penetrating the heavy stone walls.

Finally the procession entered a broad plaza, cool and misty from the spray of a

hundred fountains. Beyond, soaring to the very clouds themselves, arose the true wonder

of Caergoth: the palace of the king. Tall towers jutted up from high walls, and lofty,

peaked roofs seemed distant and unreachable. Crystal windows reflected sunlight in

dazzling rainbows, filtering and flashing their colors through the shimmering haze of the

fountains.

The coach rumbled down the wide, paved roadway to the gates of the palace. These

portals, solid silver shined to mirrorlike brilliance, stood open wide. In their place stood

the royal personage himself, King Trangath II, Lord of Caergoth and most loyal servant

to the Emperor of Ergoth.

Here the royal coach halted. A dozen men-at-arms snapped their halberds to their

chests as the king's own daughter opened the door of the gleaming steel carriage. The

crowd surged across the plaza, even through the pools of the fountains, in an effort to see

the great person who rode within. Around the plaza, from the surrounding walls and

towers, teeming thousands shouted their adulation.

The emperor's green eyes flashed as he stepped from the high vehicle with a grace

that belied his fifty years. His beard and hair now showed streaks of gray, but his iron

will had hardened over his decades of rule until he was known, truthfully, as a ruthless

and determined leader who had led his people into a prosperity they had never before

known.

Now this regal leader, his robe of crimson fur flowing over a black silk tunic

trimmed in platinum, ignored the King of Caergoth, stepping quickly to the three men

who stood silently behind that suddenly embarrassed monarch. Each of these was

bearded and wore a cap and breastplate of gleaming steel plate. Tall boots rose above

their knees, and each held a pair of gauntlets under his arm as he waited to greet the most

powerful man in all of Ansalon.

The shrieks of the crowd reached a crescendo as the emperor seized each of these

men, one after the other, in an embrace of deepest affection. He turned once more and

waved to the masses.

Then Quivalin V led the three men toward the crystal doors of the king's palace. The

portals parted smoothly, and when they closed, the hysteria beyond fell to a muted rum-

ble.

"Find us a place where we can speak privately," the emperor commanded, without

turning to look at King Trangath.

Immediately that royal personage scuttled ahead, bowing obsequiously and

beckoning the emperor's party through a towering door of dark mahogany.

"I hope fervently that my humble library will suit my most esteemed lord's needs,"

the old king huffed, bowing so deeply he tottered for a moment, almost losing his

balance.

Emperor Quivalin said nothing–until he and the three men had entered the library

and the doors had soundlessly closed behind them. A deep black marble floor stretched

into the far comers of the huge room. Above them, the ceiling lofted into the distance, a

dark surface of rich, brown wood. The only light came from high, narrow windows of

crystal; it fell around them as beams of heat and warmth before its reflections vanished in

the light-absorbent darkness of the floor.

Though several soft chairs stood along the walls, none of the men moved to sit.

Instead, the emperor fixed each of the others with a stare of piercing strength and

impelling command.

"You three men are my greatest generals," Quivalin V said, his voice surprisingly

soft beneath the intensity of his gaze. "And now you are the hope and the future of all hu-

mankind!"

The three stood a little taller at his words, their shoulders growing a trifle more

broad. The emperor continued. "We have borne the elven savagery long enough. Their

stubborn refusal to allow humans their rightful place in the plains has become too much

to bear. The racial arrogance of their Speaker has turned diplomacy into insults. Our

reasonable demands are mocked. Silvanesti intransigence must be wiped out."

Abruptly Quivalin's gaze flashed to one of the trio–the oldest, if his white beard and

long hair of the same color were any indication. Lines of strain and character marked the

man's face, and his short stature nevertheless bespoke a quiet, contained power.

"Now, High General Barnet, tell me your plans."

The older warrior cleared his throat. A veteran of four decades of service to this

emperor–and to Quivalin IV before him–Barnet nevertheless couldn't entirely calm him-

self in the face of that august presence.

"Excellency, we will advance into the plains in three great wings–a powerful thrust

from the center, and two great hooks to the north and south. I myself will command the

central wing–a thousand heavy lancers and fifty thousand sturdy footmen with metal

armor, shields, and pikes. Sailors and woodsmen from Daltigoth and the south, mainly,

including ten thousand with crossbows.

"We shall drive directly toward Sithelbec, which we know is the heart of the elven

defense–a place the elven general must defend. Our aim is to force the enemy into

combat before us, while the northern and southern wings complete the encirclement.

They will serve as the mobile hammers, gathering the enemy against the anvil of my own

solid force."

High General Barnett looked to one of his co-commanders. "General Xalthan

commands the southern wing."

Xalthan, a red-bearded warrior with bristling eyebrows and missing front teeth,

seemed to glower at the emperor with a savage aspect, but this was simply an effect of his

warlike appearance. His voice, as he spoke, was deferential. "I have three brigades of

heavy lancers, Excellency, and as many footmen as Barnett–armored in leather, to move

more quickly."

Xalthan seemed to hesitate a moment, as if embarrassed, then he plunged boldly

ahead. "The gnomish artillery, I must admit, has not lived up to expectations. But their

engineers are busy even as we speak. I feel certain that the lava cannons will be activated

early in the campaign."

The emperor's eyes narrowed slightly at the news. No one saw the facial gesture

except for Xalthan, but the other two noticed that veteran commander's ruddy complexion

grow visibly pale.

"And you, Giarna?" asked the emperor, turning to the third man. "How goes the

grandest campaign of the Boy General?"

Giarna, whose youthfulness was apparent in his smooth skin and soft, curling beard,

didn't react to his nickname. Instead, he stood easily, with a casualness that might have

been interpreted as insolence, except there was crisp respect reflected in his expression as

he pondered his answer. Even so, his eyes unsettled the watchers, even the emperor. They

were dark and full of a deep and abiding menace that made him seem older than his

years.

The other two generals scowled privately at the young man. After all, it was common

knowledge that Giarna's favored status with the emperor was due more to the Duchess

Suzine des Quivalin–niece of the emperor, and reputed mistress to the general

himself–than to any inherent military skill.

Still, Giarna's battle prowess, demonstrated against rebellious keeps across the

Vingaard Plains, was grudgingly admitted even by his critics. It was his mastery of strate-

gy, not his individual courage or his grasp of tactics, that had yet to be proven.

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ElvenNationsTrilogyVolumeTwo[Dragonlancelogo]TheKinslayerWarsDouglasNilesCoverArtBrom[WotClogo]THEKINSLAYERWARS©2001WizardsoftheCoast,Inc.AllRightsReserved.Allcharactersinthisbookarefictitious.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,ispurelycoincidental.Thisbookisprotectedunderthecopyrightlawsoft...

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