Chapter Twenty-Seven
Plans & Schemes & Spies
Benthor Kell strode down the streets of Thrakton as if he owned the place—which, in one sense, he did. Thrakton, a tidy and well-ordered city, was the largest town on the island of Berann. Most of its buildings had been newly built or renovated. The style of architecture throughout was simple, utilitarian, and uncluttered. The fortress of the order reflected this Spartan style. Its cyclopean walls loomed over the streets, looking both protective and intimidating at the same time. The city’s location at the head of the isle’s only deep water harbor, at the mouth of Berann’s main river, made it an ideal headquarters for the Order of Brass.
Benthor and Misa Kell ran the Order, and therefore the town as well. Everyone was aware, though, that all humans lived on the island only with the sufferance of Berann’s dragons.
Thracktil the Fierce, a huge, ancient brass dragon, was true lord of the island. He seldom appeared in public, though, because of his advancing years. Younger dragons, like his nephew Thrakdar, remained in charge of day-today affairs.
Thrakdar liked to keep a close claw on the business of Thrakton, and the Order of Brass in particular. He had founded the Order as a kind of private police force, after the departure of the good dragons from Ansalon. When he could not tend to affairs personally, he frequently sent his consort Tanalish. She was the dragon who usually flew escort for the Kells’ trireme. She watched over them, sometimes scouting ahead and frequently reporting back to her lord and mate.
One didn’t need dragon wings, though, to spread the news of Misa Kell’s wounding through Thrakton. Word of her plight ran through the streets like wildfire. Tanalish had alerted the Order to expect casualties, but none of them guessed that the wounded would be their own beloved lady.
The Order mobilized quickly, bringing all their considerable healing skills to bear on the wounded woman. Soon concern in the ranks gave way to anger. Though Misa had been wounded in a lawful duel, many brass warriors spoke openly of hunting down and slaying the perpetrator of this terrible deed.
Benthor Kell threatened to severely punish anyone who broke ranks and carried out such a vendetta. Publicly he claimed that such feuds were bad for discipline, which was an essential element of the Order. Privately, he himself hoped to pay back Ula Drakenvaal.
His sister’s grave condition added to Kell’s sour mood as he walked the narrow streets of Thrakton. He strode away from the Order’s fortress and toward the pier where his brass-sided trireme lay anchored. Benthor clutched his coral lance tightly in his fist, nodded curtly to those who greeted him, and growled quick orders to those under his command.
Karista Meinor walked with him, hurrying to keep pace. The aristocrat had acquired new, fashionable clothes during her short stay in town. Now she was in serious danger of dragging her hems through the muddy street. Because of her tenuous position in Kell’s favor, she didn’t ask the lord to slow down.
“Capturing this treasure will not make up for my sister’s wounding,” Kell said.
Karista smiled at him pleasantly. “I did not offer the treasure as a remedy, milord—merely as a token of my good faith in our future ventures. Surely you do not want Ula and her friends to gain these riches.”
“Of course not,” Kell shot back. “But my operatives have lost track of the Landwalker and her friends.”
“A minor inconvenience that I’m certain you can surmount,” Karista said.
Kell nodded. “My associates in Darthalla have sent reports that the trio has left the city—and they have not been seen since.”
“We know the elf and her friends are clever,” Karista said, “but we also know they are looking for the treasure. They cannot remain hidden forever.”
“Perhaps,” Kell replied. “Though that sea witch may have resources unknown to us.” He clenched his brass-mailed fist tight. “If only the cursed kender had not stolen the first key! My people have scoured the seas around Jaentarth, but found no sign of it—or the kender’s body.”
“The kender will seek his friends, and they will seek him,” Karista said. “I’m sure you can use your… influence to locate them.” The aristocrat glanced from Lord Kell to the clouds high overhead.
Kell took the suggestion. “Yes,” he said, glancing toward the mountainous lair of his dragon allies. Atop the distant peaks, the mysterious brass pyramids glistened in the afternoon sun.
“Thrakdar’s people can turn them up,” Kell said. “Above the waves or below, these rogues can’t hide from the Order of Brass. We’ll set course for their last known location and await word from my operatives. Our communications move with the speed of dragon wings. These sorry treasure hunters won’t elude us for long.”
Kell and Karista stopped on the pier alongside the lord’s brass-scaled galley. His crew extended the gangplank and Lord Kell hoarded the trireme with Karista Meinor at his side.