The Dark Queen by Michael Williams

place in the arena.
    “Do you decline my order, noble Vaananen?” the Kingpriest said smoothly. “I think there is
     a penalty for that. ... I think you will do five more years of this game, this time with
     no padded shirt, eh?” For the first time, Vaananen spoke. “I have paid the debt of
     Vincus's blood. He will go free. And you cannot coerce me. You violate your Order by using
     this broadsword. The game is over.” The Kingpriest smiled, his sea-blue eyes flickering
     coldly. “You will stay in my service,” he said. “You are bound to me by oath. Many others
     who are unworthy serve mefrom the thief's son to peasants ...” He eyed Vaananen cagily.
     “Perhaps even druids. Cast out from their own Order for the gods know . . . what crimes?”
    Vaananen's face betrayed no emotion. “Now, willow-heart, we will arrange to pay your
     debt,” the Kingpriest said with a low chuckle. Slowly, he stirred the border of shells
     with his booted foot, walking around the ring, narrowing the circle around the silent
     druid. Lazily the goddess walked through the Tears of Mishakal, the crystal structures
     rising in bizarre angles, catching the red moonlight until they seemed like blades
     dripping with blood. The crystals that housed her changed as well. No longer was she
     Tamex, the menacing, mysterious warrior that would trouble Larken's dreams for yet a dozen
     nights. She was Tanila nowa lithe and lovely woman, a creature of darkness to be feared
     and desired by man and elf alike. Casting her black eyes toward the heavens, the goddess
     breathed a summoning word . And in the far sky, somewhere over Istar on the northern
     horizon, a star winked out and the long line of dune and mountain darkened ever so
     slightly. Good. Her powers were growing. She could again subvert the deep heavens with an
     old spell or a quiet incantation. Somewhere in the far void of space, as dark and lifeless
     as her prison in the abyss, a black star cooled and died, collapsing on itself, and ten
     planetsten worldsfelt the first glazing of a final ice. Who knew what civilizations now
     lay chilled and silent, abandoned by warmth and light and life? Indeed, who cared? What
     was important was that she could do itcould leave the world desolate with a breath, a
     thought. Oh, her powers were mighty, and though Krynn was held against her, safe for now
     in the shelter of a bright wing, she would govern it soon. She knew it. It was a matter of
     monthsof a few years at the mostand this was the place to begin. Takhisis knew how the
     salt flats had received their name. Profane ground, where healing failed and revelation
     faded. No wonder Mishakal wept. But the goddess who now passed through the latticework of
     crystal thought little of healing, less of revelation. On her mind were the rebel leaders,
     the close-knit triad of bard, elf, and ... She had no word for Fordus. Not yet. She knew
     him only through repute and legend, through his victories and through the song of his
     bard. The bard was easy. Larken did not know her own powerthe hidden magic of the lyre she
     resented and discarded, the awesome potential of her voice if she could free it of her own
     fear and anger. Takhisis smiled. Fear and anger were her favorite lieutenants. Fear and
     anger followed the elf as well. Neither of them knew themselves, much less their
     commander. The sand stirred, marking the wake of the goddess, a sinuous, twisting path
     like the trail left by a snake. The next time she would come to them as Tanila, and the
     elf would be probed and sounded. He was Lucanesti, friend to the opals. And oh, the opals
     would be important soon. But first, there was small business to attend to at the edge of
     the grasslands. The grasslands rose out of sleep to embrace him, the long grain swaying in
     the windless fields. Fordus knew he was dreaming because what he saw did not match what he
     felt. He did not like unexpected