Night of the Eye (40 page)

Bathed in the radiance of the Lost Citadel’s diamond spires,
three comrades of old watched, with a dismay bordering on irritation, as the strands of light dropped from their moons.

“Belize of the Red Robes came too close,” the ancient, white-robed man said, his aged hands about the golden bars before him. “He actually opened these before he was turned back by one of his own.” Solinari shivered from the chill his human form felt in the coldness of the cosmos.

“It’s been a thousand years, Solinari,” Nuitari pointed out reasonably. He was an intense young man with jet-black hair who did not entirely share the concerns of his companions. But that was not uncommon. His goal, after all, was to bring more and better magic to Krynn. Black magic.

“Only a thousand?” Lunitari’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Time had no meaning here in the citadel she’d helped raise among the stars.

“We must do something to prevent it from happening again,” said Solinari firmly.

Nuitari cast an accusing glance at the old man. “You know I don’t like to interfere in their day-to-day activities.”

“I do,” said the woman cooly, “but we’re not talking about that.” She held her face up to be warmed by the crimson light of her ‘witching moon.’ “A mortal in the citadel has farther-reaching consequences. Gilean, Paladine, and Takhisis would be most displeased if we allowed the infinite powers of the universe to be unleashed on their world.”

Nuitari looked at the caustic beauty archly. “He was one of yours, you know.”

“Not for some time.” Lunitari tossed aside the notion with a wave of her tapered fingers, liking the feel of the utterly human gesture. “
You
should have had your eye on him.”

“Stop bickering like siblings,” Solinari chided them both. “Surely we all agree it would be disastrous if one of these mortals finally succeeded.”

“Of course.” Nuitari frowned, tiring of the subject. Solinari did love to go on. “Why don’t we seal it off and be done with it?”

“What happens to mortals when you tell them something is unattainable?” asked Lunitari. “They only want it the more. Besides,” she added, “the citadel represents magical perfection. It
is
perfection. We’d be telling them to no longer strive for excellence in the Art. I certainly don’t want that for
my
followers.”

“Well,” sniffed Nuitari, “I’m not going to stand here at the gate forever to keep them out.”

“No one was suggesting that,” said Solinari with infinite patience. “These mortal mages must not come
to depend too much on our help. Dependence breeds laziness. The next thing you know, they’ll expect us to fight their battles for them.” His companions could think of nothing more tedious.

“We gave them all the knowledge they needed more than three millennia ago before we banned them from the citadel,” said Solinari. “Have they lost it? More important, have they lost their fear of our wrath?” Stroking his chin, he said, “Perhaps a test is in order.”

“I have it,” Nuitari said. “Isn’t your man Par-Salian their leader?” Solinari nodded. “Let him know we’re displeased and that they must appease us. It’s always worked before.”

“If you want cattle slaughtered for sacrifice,” Lunitari said caustically. The dark young man gave her a hateful stare.

“We need a greater demonstration of their loyalty than the usual supplication,” announced the white-haired man. “Let them prove their fear and obedience to our rules. We will tell them to build their own bastion against further attempts to gain entrance here.” He glanced once more through the gold gate at the mortals on the murky planet below. “They must learn to police themselves or suffer the consequences.”

Having earned a bachelor of arts degree in English from Lawrence University in 1981, Mary Kirchoff went from Dante to dragons immediately afterward (some would say there’s not much difference). Since writing the story “Finding the Faith” for the first Tales anthology in 1987, she has written extensively in the wonderfully fertile DRAGONLANCE
^®
world. Her works in that series include
Kendermore; Flint, the King
(with Douglas Niles);
Wanderlust
(with Steve Winter); and
The Black Wing
.

Previously the head of TSR’s book department, she now lives and writes full-time in a rural Wisconsin village. Her active young sons, crazed Irish setters, and perpetually renovated Victorian home provide ample and welcome distractions. She credits her imagination to caffeine.

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