"No;' said Silvara sadly. "Like much else in this world, the beauty of Foghaven has vanished. Once the fortress of Foghaven floated above the mist as if floating an a cloud. The rising sun colored the mists pink in the morning, burned them off at midday so that the soaring spires of the fortress could be seen for miles. In the evening, the fog returned to coven the fortress like a blanket. By night, the silver and the red moons shone on the mists with a shimmering light. Pilgrims came, from all parts of Krynn-" Silvara stopped abruptly. "We will make camp here tonight:"
"What pilgrims?" Laurana asked, letting her pack fall.
Silvara shrugged. "I do not know; she said, averting her face. "It is only a legend of my people. Perhaps it is not even true. Certainly no one comes here now:'
She's lying, thought Laurana, but she said nothing. She was too tired to care. And even Silvara's low, gentle voice seemed unnaturally loud and jarring in the eerie stillness. The companions spread their blankets in silence. They ate in silence, too, nibbling without appetite on the dried fruit in their packs. Even the kender was subdued. The fog was oppressive, weighting them down. The only thing they could hear was a steady drip, drip, drip of water plopping onto the mat of dead leaves on the forest floor below.
"Sleep now;' said Silvara softly, spreading her blanket near Gilthanas's, "for when the silver moon has neared its zenith, we must leave:"
'What difference will that make?" The kender yawned. "We can't see it anyway:"
"Nonetheless, we must go. I will wake you.
"When we return from Sancrist-after the Council of Whitestone-we can be married;' Gilthanas said softly to Silvara as they lay together, wrapped in his blanket.
The girl stirred in his arms. He felt her soft hair rub against his cheek. But she did not answer.
"Don't worry about my father;' Gilthanas said, smiling,
stroking the beautiful hair that shone even in the darkness.
"He'll be stern and grim for a while, but I am the younger
brother-no one cares what becomes of me. I Porthioss will rant
and rave and carry on. But we'll ignore him. We don't have to
live with my people. I'm not sure how I'd fit in with yours, but I
could learn. I'm a good shot with a bow. And I'd like our chil
dren to grow up in the wilderness, free and happy
Silvara-why, you're crying!"
Gilthanas held her close as she buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing bitterly. "There, there;" he whispered soothingly, smiling in the darkness. Women were such funny creatures. He wondered what he'd said. "Hush, Silvara," he murmured. "It will be all right:" And Gilthanas fell asleep, dreaming of silverhaired children running in the green woods.
..what..
"It is time. We must leave:'
Laurana felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. Startled, she woke from a vague, frightening dream that she could not remember to find the Wilder elf kneeling above her.
"I'll wake the others" Silvara said, and disappeared.
Feeling more tired than if she hadn't slept, Laurana packed her things by reflex and stood waiting, shivering, in the darkness. Next to her, she heard the dwarf groan. The damp air was making his joints ache painfully. This journey had been hard on Flint, Laurana realized. He was, after all, what-almost one hundred and fifty years old? A respectable age for a dwarf. His face had lost some of its color during his illness on the voyage. His lips, barely visible beneath the beard, had a bluish tinge, and occasionally he pressed his hand against his chest. But he always stoutly insisted he was fine and kept up with them on the trail.
"All set!" cried Tas. His shrill voice echoed weirdly in the fog, and he had the distinct feeling he'd disturbed something. "I'm sorry;" he said, cringing. "Gee;" he muttered to Flint, "it's like being in a temple:"
"Just shut up and start moving!" the dwarf snapped.
A torch flared. Tine companions started at the sudden, blinding light that Silvara held.
"We must have light," she said before any could protest. "Do not fear. The vale we are in is sealed shut. Lang ago, there were two entrances: one led to human lands where the knights had their outpost, the other led east into the lands of the ogres. Both passes were lost during the Cataclysm. We need have no fear. I have led you lay a way known only to myself:"
"And to your people;' Laurana reminded her sharply.
"Yes-my people . . :' Silvara said, and Laurana was surprised to see the girl grow pale.
"Where are you taking us?" Laurana insisted.
"You will see. We will be there within the hour:"
The companions glanced at each other, then all of them looked at Laurana.
Damn them, she thought. "Don't look to me for answers!" she said angrily. "What do you want to do: Stay out here, lost in the fog-"
"I won't betray you!" Silvara murmured despondently. "Please, just trust me a little further:"
"Go ahead." said Laurana tiredly. "We'll fallow:"
The fog seemed to close around them mare thickly, until all that kept the darkness at bay was the light of Silvara's torch.
No one had any idea of the direction they traveled. The landscape did not change. They walked through tall grass. There were no trees. Occasionally a large boulder loomed out of the darkness, but that was all. Of night birds or animals, there was no sign. There was a sense of urgency that increased as they walked until all of them felt it, and they hurried their steps, keeping ever within the light of the torch.
Then, suddenly, without warning, Silvara stopped.
"We are here;" she said, and she held the torch aloft.
The torch's light pierced the fog. They could all see a shadowy something beyond. At first, it was so ghostly materializing out of the fog that the companions could not recognize it.
Silvara drew closer. They followed her, curious, fearful.
Then the silence of the night was broken by bubbling sounds like water boiling in a giant kettle. The fog grew denser, the air was warm and stifling.
"Hot springs!" said Theros in sudden understanding. "Of course, that explains the constant fog. And this dark shape-"
"The bridge which leads across them;' Silvara replied, shining the torchlight upon what they could see was a glistening stone bridge spanning the water boiling in the streams below them, filling the night air with its warm, billowing fog.
"We're supposed to cross that!" Flint exclaimed, staring at the black, boiling water in horror. "We're supposed to cross-"
"It is called the Bridge of Passage;" said Silvara.
The dwarf's only answer was a strangled gulp.
The Bridge of Passage was a long, smooth arch of pure white marble. Along its sides-carved in vivid relief-long columns of knights walked symbolically across the bubbling streams. The span was so high that they could not see the top through the swirling mists. And it was old, so old that Flint, reverently touching the worn rock with his hand, could not recognize the craftsmanship. It was not dwarven, not elven, not human. Who had done such marvelous work?