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bolted out, his human companion sprinting right behind.
    They crossed the large, empty chamber and burst into the crowded bar—where, to judge from the music and continuedribaldry, the nearby melee and growing fire had remained largely unnoticed. The dwarf knocked a hobgoblin to the floor, and they both sprang over the furious—but quite drunken—brute. Smoke billowed through the door, a choking cloud rolled into the tavern, and there were shouts of alarm, screams. The two raced straight out the front door.
    They leaped down the steps. A quick flip of the warrior’s hand freed the reins from the railing. In another second each had mounted, wheeling their stamping horses. The sheep gate opened with a rattle. The little gully dwarf stared at them, eyes big and mouth wide open, pulling on the rope as the two riders galloped toward him.
    A draconian ran out to block their path, wings flapping, waving a spear menacingly. When the two showed no signs of slowing down he wisely darted out of the way.
    “My coin! Give coin!” cried the gully dwarf. Instead, the man picked him up by the scruff of his neck and threw him across the pony’s withers.
    “First I’ll save your life!” muttered the human warrior, following the dwarf and his steed through the gate. Side by side, they pounded into the night. Moments later, some draconian thought to trigger the two catapults poised on the courtyard. Tons of rock smashed and splintered on the roadway, hitting only the cloud of dust left by their thunderous flight.

C HAPTER F OUR

L ORDS AND L ADIES

    L ord Regent Bakkard du Chagne, the Ruling Mayor of Palanthas and Vice Chairman of the New Whitestone Council, walked alone through the marbled hall of his palace. It was ever thus; whether here on the mountainside overlooking his splendid city, or within the streets of the city, he was alone. Oh, there were always other people around, crowding and clamoring for his attention, but the crushing weight of his station, the burden that was his solitary load, bore down on him with unmerciful force. Even in the midst of a teeming, adoring crowd, he felt alone.
    It had been a long, hard climb into this palace. He had begun to plan his ascent while the Dark Knights still controlled the city, and after their power was broken by the fall of the One God and the disappearance of Mina, he had been ready to step into the vacuum. Facilitating commerce, hiring former knights to deal with brigands, encouraging the restoration of trade throughout all the lands of Solamnia, he had quickly established himself as the only irreplaceable power in the city. Rumors had spread quickly, blaming Mina for abandoning her followers, for turning her back on those who had devoted their lives to her. If some of these rumors had been started by the Lord Regent’s own agents, no one voiced that accusation too loudly.
    When the Knights of Solamnia had regained control of the city, they realized that they required a lord to guide them. Bakkard du Chagne—though not a warrior—had been nominated by Lord Tasgall in distant Sanction. In Palanthas that appointment met with nearly unanimous approval. Once again, those few who might have disagreed had possessed the good sense to keep their mouths shut.
    Du Chagne climbed higher up the mountain, relishing the cool breeze blowing off the sea. He was high above the city now, and from this pinnacle—this tower called the Golden Spire—he could look across his domain from an almost godlike perspective. Despite the long climb, he experienced no fatigue as he approached the top. Instead, he felt energized.
    He stood before a round, glass-walled room at the peak of the highest tower. He took the key—the only one in all Krynn—from his pocket, and opened the door. When he stepped inside, the sight, and even the smell, of his gold enfolded him in a welcoming embrace. The bars of the precious metal were stacked everywhere, in great piles that reached higher than his head. The sunlight