He lifted the lid of the coffer, hardly feeling the silky wood beneath his fingers, not aware of the soundless swing of the hinges. He opened his eyes, dropped his gaze to the rich amber velvet cushioning the treasure housed within. Cool and bright, silver chased with gold, the four bejeweled sword hilts lay, each touching the other to form a cross.
KNOW WHO GUIDES YOU:
The fire in the hearth leaped, dancing high and roaring with the hollow voices of unhoused spirits. A wind, cold as though it had swept across glaciers, moaned through the room.
KNOW WHO SENDS YOU:
Black as night, insubstantial as the smoke of a funeral pyre, the four phantoms formed before the mage. Their bodies were only shades of what they had once been, living men. Their eyes were red as the flame in the hearth, their hearts as empty as winter's wind.
"Where?" the darkest one, the longest dead, asked.
"A day's journey from here. You should be able to reach them before dawn. A girl, a dwarf, and a half-elf."
"Bring them?"
Gadar hesitated.
The phantom laughed, and the hair shivered along the mage's arms. The spirits were his to control, but he feared them nonetheless. Still, he feared more any interference in his plans. He could not allow himself to be stopped now. Tomorrow was the night when the spell must be cast; tonight the night when one must be chosen from the two young men who waited in his dungeons. He must set these four phantoms prowling again. It must be certain that nothing could occur to thwart the spell.
"Stop them."
"It is done," the leader whispered.
And it was, Gadar thought as he watched the incorporeal bodies of the spirits thin and fade. It was done. These creatures had never failed to serve him before. They would not fail now.
Regret stirred in the old mage's heart. But it never rose strong enough to call him back from the shadowed path he walked. His remorse was bound by chains, made up of links forged by the deaths that he had caused. And those chains were heavy ones, colored red by the fire of his need.
Riana's sleep had been brief. Having wakened just when Flint roused Tanis to take the second of the night watches, she had drawn close to a fire that she kept blazing high with whatever fuel came to hand. She had not been a talkative companion, Tanis thought now as he watched her stirring thefire to greater brightness, but had spent most of the last watch star ing into the dancing flames.
Now he stood and gently took the long, smoke-blackened stick from her hands.
"Enough," he said, tossing the stick aside. "You put us in danger of roasting to death." He was sorry to see her flinch. He'd meant his words lightly, for the mist that had made black ghosts of the trees earlier in the night had deepened. And though dawn was only an hour away, warmth and light were welcome.
"Pardon," she murmured. She drew her cloak closer around her shoulders, holding it closed with a hand that trembled. Still she did not take her eyes from the fire.
Tanis could taste the bitterness of her fear. "You do well to be afraid, Riana. If you are considering abandoning your search, you have nothing to be ashamed of."
"No!"
Flint stirred where he lay wrapped in his blankets against the cold, damp ground.
"Hush," Tanis whispered. "He's done his watch. Let him sleep."
When she spoke again Riana's voice was low and trembling. "I will not abandon Karel or Daryn." She bit her lower lip, worrying it until Tanis thought it must bleed. "I hate this forest. I am not the fool your friend thinks I am. I–I would like nothing better than to go with you to Solace. But-I cannot. Can you not see that I must at least try to find them? They are all the family I have…" Her words trailed away, as though she did not wish to contemplate a life without her brother or her friend.
In the silence Tanis shivered as the wind grew suddenly sharper. The flames leaped high and then dropped almost to embers. Smoke, thick and acrid, billowed from the campfire, stinging hiseyes to quick tears. Above him he could hear a deep-throated roar ing, the sound wind makes racing across the treetops. Though for an instant he could not see her, Tanis knew that Riana was on her feet. He heard her coughing, a choking sound filled with ragged gasping. Behind him, Flint was up and complaining bitterly about people who could not keep a simple camping fire from burning down an entire forest.
The wind kicked harder at the fire, scattering bright embers around their feet, sucking at the smoke until it rose in a black column to vanish into the unseen limbs of the trees above their heads. Fear danced up Tanis's spine.
"Riana?" he called.
Her voice was small and pinched, only a whimpering response. Then, as swiftly as it had risen, the wind died as though it had never been. Tanis looked around in the stillness, placed Riana where she stood, frozen, across the fire from him, and Flint who braced just behind him, his axe in his hand. He read the danger in the old dwarf's eyes and spun back, his hand on the hilt of the dagger at his belt.
They might have been creatures of the smoke, so dark and insubstantial were they. But their eyes, four sets of crimson embers, spoke of some kind of unholy life. One separated from the group, taller, darker than the rest, and took a bold step toward where the camp-fire, now scattered coals, had been.
Riana's gasp was a shuddering sound of terror and dread. Tanis saw his sword lying just out of his reach and felt his heart sink even as he realized that these must be the creatures who had attacked Riana's camp three nights before. If her tale was true, no sword or dagger would prevail against these phantom raiders now.
As though he realized Tanis's thought, the leader of the black shadow attackers laughed, a high keening sound that chilled the very bones of those who heard it.
"Do not regret your sword," it said, its voice hollow and fell. "It would do you no good did you have it."
"Who-" Tanis's words caught in his throat, constricting with his fear, and he drew a sharp, tight breath. "Who are you?"
"It cannot matter to you. What matters is that we have been sent to stop you." The phantom's red eyes glowed hotly as it laughed again. "And you are stopped."
Riana's little moan of fear was only a whisper. She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands. "No," she sobbed, "no, not again…"
The phantom turned its attention to her, recognition flaring in its bright eyes. "Yes, little one, again. And this time is the last." It reached for her, the motion as smooth as smoke drifting on the wind.
Tanis dove for his sword, scattering the hot coals of the campfire as he ran. He caught up the scabbard and tore the blade from its sheath, whirling just in time to see another of the phantoms flowing toward him. The third, though, swirled away as the glowing embers tumbled like orange jewels at its feet. It feared the fire!
"Flint! Fire! The fire!"
But Flint, faced with attack from the fourth phantom, could not make a move toward the dying fire. Fighting with an instinct that denied Riana's tale of enemies impervious to honest steel, he swung his axe with deadly force at his attacker. It was a blow that would have separated a mortal enemy's head from his shoulders. The blade passed harmlessly through the phantom's neck, whistling in the cold predawn air.
Cursing in both anger and fear, the old dwarf ducked beneath his attacker's reach and dodged to the side, passing close enough to the phantom raider to feel the deathlike chill emanating from its transparent body. He scrambled out of reach, dashed his foot against one of the tumbled stones of the fire ring, and crashed to his knees. As his hand hit the ground to brace for an upward thrust to turn and defend again, burning coals stabbed his palm.
"Flint! Fire!"
"Fire," the dwarf snarled. "I KNOW it's fire-"
Tanis stood between Riana and the leader of the phantom attackers, his sword useless as a defense. Suddenly Flint understood what he meant, and knew what was wanted to fend off these ghostly warriors.
Moving quickly, not daring to look behind to see if the creature he had just escaped was moving to renew the attack, Flint grabbed for the largest pieces of wood that still bore traces of the night's fire. Heedless of their burning teeth, he swept them together into the broken fire ring. He snatched up the scattered kindling from their carefully gathered pile, and heaping it onto the smouldering embers and coals, forced himself to gather more than the shallow breaths of fear necessary to fan the sparks into flame.
"Flint!"
"I'm trying, I'm TRYINGI" Two of the phantom warriors converged on the dwarf, one from the left and one from the right. Ice was at his back. The wind howled above his head with the threat of fury and a grisly death. And the thing that reached for Tanis was about to lay its blood-freezing hand on his neck.
Riana screamed. It might have been the signal for light.
Flames leaped high, whirling and licking at the brittle kindling, snapping loud on the night air. Flint snatched a brand from the fire and tossed it to his friend. He did not wait to see whether Tanis had it, but caught up another and rounded on his attackers.
But there were none to fight. They were gone, vanishing before the bright flames. Only their high, wailing voices were left, lingering in the graying light of day.
Shuddering, Flint retrieved his axe and went to stand as near the fire as he dared. It was not warmth he sought, however, but light. He lifted his burned fingers to his mouth, eyeing Tanis and Riana over his knuckles.
Tanis drew the girl close into the shelter of his arm, dropped his sword's point, and walked her to the fire. Silently he helped her to sit, gathered up their scattered blankets, and wrapped her in them. He whispered a word to her and waited for her answering nod. When he left the bright circle of the fire, he gestured for Flint to join him. The old dwarf moved away from the light with great reluctance, still nursing his stinging hand.
"Are you all right?" Tanis asked, turning Flint's hand palm upward.
"No," Flint snapped, "I am not! I am burned and scared witless!"
"Badly burned?"
Flint scowled and snatched his hand away. "Badly enough," he growled. But when he saw the real concern in his friend's eyes, he shrugged. "But not so that I can't wield my axe if need be. Though what good that will do us against ghosts, I'd like to know."
"So you revise your opinion of Riana then?"
"That she is a liar? Aye, she's no liar."
"And a lack-wit?"
Flint snorted and shook his head. "I stand by that. And I'll add that we're both lack-wits if we continue on through this cursed forest."
"I'll go on."
"I thought you would. Well, then, so will I." He glared down at his palms, scowling at the blisters that were already beginning to form there. "I owe someone for this, and I do not like unpaid debts."
Wretched dawn silvered the eastern sky, blighting Gadar's certainty that his work of the coming night would be undisturbed. His phantom warriors had failed in their task, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. They could not be called into service again until darkness swallowed the days light. By that time the intruders might well have found him.
Or they might not. It was a chance that he would have to take. The time was right for the casting of his spells, the victim had been chosen. One night hence would be too late.
For a moment, regret, sharp and even bitter, touched Gadar's heart. It was ever this way when he was faced with this task. The young man was full of youth's bright flame. The blood ran quick and sparkling in this one, as it had in the others. Youth would dance in his eyes, sing in his veins, and light his face with his golden hopes.
The groaning that had begun with the dawn's coming now increased in persistence, telling of one who struggled against the black prison of unconsciousness, pushing against it with feeble strength and stronger heart. It would have been easier to sink back, rest for a moment, then try again. But this was a strong-willed young man. This, then, would be the one who would give his life's essence.
"Boy," Gadar whispered, "if there were another way-" But there was no other way. Any other way had been lost to him the first time he'd set his foot on this dark path. What was one more life now balanced against the many he had taken and the one he must preserve at the price of even his own soul? There was no profit, and only dangerous distraction, in regret.
Gadar crossed the chamber, stopped at a large table, and checked the components of the spell that he would work tonight. Everything was ready: the wormwood, the powdered dust of a crushed sapphire, the rosemary sprigs, the dark heart s blood of a breeding doe.
Gadar had no intention of trapping the spirit of his chosen victim in any temporal prison, and this was the difficult part of the spell. Were he to simply thrust the spirit of the young man into an en-mazed prison, he would not achieve his purpose. He had a better use for his victim's life.
For that reason he had chosen the stocky young man with the thick chestnut hair. Daryn, his name was, and he seemed strong enough to provide the life essence the mage needed.
At least until he could find someone stronger.
The mage paused, glanced again at the lightening sky. It might be, he thought, testing a new idea, that it was not such a bad thing that his ghostly assassins had failed in their dark charge. It might be that, were he to let the intruders find him, he would be well rewarded. There was no use for the persistent girl or the old dwarf. But a half-elf, young and strong as this one, would give life for many, many more years than the pathetic young humans he'd been using till now.
"Yes," he whispered, running his fingers along the edge of the table, "and peace, for a time, at least, and a rest from this weary work."
He could not send his phantoms for the half-elf now. Not with the sun's bright light shining. But the half-elf would come on his own. Gadar smiled coldly. That persistent girl would see to it. He would let them find him then. He would put no more obstacles in their way than he needed to gain the time to work this spell now.
Daryn's young life would buy him the time he needed. And time was, after all, the purchase he'd always sought to make.
The forest had darkened long before the sun set. The whisperings of the night before became ominous growlings in the underbrush, sobbing wails in the boughs of the trees. A wild wind danced. The little party of three moved upward, carefully picking a barely seen path through the giant pines. They were touched by a chill that put Tanis in mind of winter.
That morning, in grim jest, Flint had suggested that if they simply let the forest's evil feel guide them, they'd no doubt come upon their ghostly attackers.
Tanis had not taken the suggestion seriously until, moving north for lack of any better direction, they each began to feel the same nameless dread.
"Like a foul odor, a clammy touch," Riana had whispered. Her hands, clenched in white-knuckled fists at her sides, trembled when she spoke. Some fearful thing seemed to hover just beyond their sight, breathing in the trees like no wind that Tanis had ever heard before. It groaned piteously, and wept with winter's dying sign.
Shivering in the raw wind, Tanis nodded to Flint. "We could follow this feeling like a well-marked road."
"Aye, well we could," Flint said, running his thumb along the haft of his axe. "But what would we find? Nothing we'd like to, I'll guess." The memory of the phantoms sent more chill through him than the real wind stinging his face now.
The faint path broadened for a while, a rocky trail barren even of dirt, leading them ever upward. It seemed, at times, that the wind's voice really was the wail of dead things keening for life's loss. The trees, naked and stunted, warped as though by some de mented hand, were only ugly growths clinging to life by the whim of cruel nature. Then, when no thing grew at all, when the forests had beenleft far behind and their breath was coming hard and fast in the bit ter, thinning air, the path narrowed again, fading to a pass between high peaks. It vanished suddenly at the top of a boulder-strewn cliff. Behind them lay the dark forest, before them, and far below, a narrow vale.
Riana, shivering and exhausted, took the last few yards of the pass with Tanis's help. But the steely determination that had brought her this far still glimmered in her eyes. SHE'S GOT MORE HEART THAN STRENGTH, Tanis thought.
"We'll rest here a moment, Riana. We all need it."
She nodded dumbly, too tired to speak, and sank to a seat on an ice-kissed boulder. Tanis eyed her doubtfully for a moment, then went to join Flint at the cliff's edge.
"She's not going to be able to go much farther, Tanis. The girl's exhausted."
"I know. And she isn't the only one. You've been quiet these few hours, Flint. How are you?"
Flint blew on fingers that were stiff and achingly cold. "My bones are freezing. I suppose this is what comes of listening to the wild stories of pretty young women who lose their brothers and lovers in the forest?"
"Lover? Who, Karel? What makes you say that?"
Flint snorted and shook his head. "Anyone who's heard her story can tell that. Though its likely news to her, too. She's doubtless devoted to her brother, but it's been this young Karel we've heard about time and again, hasn't it? Young girls don't generally blush quite so deeply when they are talking about family friends."
"Flint, you surprise me."
"Why, because I can use my eyes? I'm not so old as all that, youngster. But that's not what concerns me now. What I want to know is where in the Abyss we are."
Tanis looked down into the valley, a deep cleft in the mountains shrouded in a thick mist. "I think we're about where we set out to be. Look." He pointed to a cleared patch in the mist far below.
Black, built from the heart and bone of the mountains, a vast, turreted castle rose, a jagged skeletal finger. The setting sun was a fiery wound in the brittle blue sky, bleeding light across the forbidding dark stone. Around them the sobbing wind mourned and gibbered.
"Can you feel it, Flint?"
The sense of evil that had been their guide to this place seemed to boil and rumble in the vale below as though this were the source of the keening winds and icy fear.
"Aye, I can feel it. And I don't much like it." The dwarf glanced over his shoulder at Riana, who sat hunched and shivering, her eyes on the frozen rocks at her feet. "Tanis, I could well believe that those ghosts came from this vale." He looked out into the valley again and felt the touch of something colder than the bitter wind brush up against his soul. "And I think, too, that something knows we're here."
Were he not so tired, Tanis would have smiled. He'd known the hard-headed old dwarf too many years not to be surprised by the fanciful turn of his thoughts. He looked closely at his old friend. What he saw in Flint's eyes made him shiver. It was sure knowledge that made Flint say what he had. Though the wry twist of his smile told Tanis that he'd no idea where the knowledge came from.
"Just a feeling," the dwarf muttered.
"I think you're right. And I think, too, that whatever knows we're here will not let us turn back now. It will be dark soon, and none of us is up to a trip down to that castle at night. We'd best be going."
"Aye, well, consider this, Tanis: when they attacked her camp, those phantom raiders seemed to have little interest in Riana. It was only Daryn and Karel they ghosted away. And there is something that tells me, too, that they will have small enough interest in an old dwarf."
Tanis did smile then. "Are you claiming to have The Sight, Flint?"
"No. I'm remembering her story."
He remembered it all the way down to the valley. Though it should not have been beyond his skill to find the thin, shale path, Flint, a hill dwarf who'd spent many years in the Kharolis Mountains, thought the trail came too easily to hand. He would not have sworn his oath that it had not been there before. Still, it had the look of a thing misplaced.
"Like it hasn't been here long," he grumbled to Tanis. "But it looks old."
"And it's the next best thing to vertical," Tanis said, catching hold of Riana, who slid on the loose shale. "The sooner we're off it, the safer our necks will be."
Flint had his doubts. And from the look of barely controlled fear in her eyes, he thought Riana shared them. Still, she righted herself with the same hard-eyed purpose that had brought her this far. Flint felt a new and grudging respect for her. He reached back and took her hand.
"This way, Riana. And have a care, the shale gets looser and smaller. I've no wish to tumble down the rest of the path."
"Riana?" RIANA… RIANA… RIANA… Karel's whisper echoed in his mind with all the force of thunder crashing overhead. The flags of the stone floor were hard as midwinter's ice beneath his cheek. His leather jerkin was no protection against the chill draft wandering across the floor.
"Daryn?"
Slowly he became aware that he was alone. No chain held him, no manacle bound him to this floor. Still, he was unable to move even a finger. And Riana and Daryn were gone.
Alone! But where? Though he struggled hard with reluctant memory, Karel could not fill in the gap between the icy grasp of the disembodied warrior who'd touched his hand-how long ago? a day? two? — and the chill of this stone floor now. Yet some time had passed. He could see Lunitari riding dark clouds just beyond the window above his head. When he'd last seen the crimson moon she'd been still waning. Now she waxed, though only slightly.
Where was he?
"Where are you?"
Fear raced through Karel then, but so firmly held was he that he could not move. The voice was old but hard and touched with deadly power. Like the whisper of a ghost, he heard an aching answer.
"Here, within your reach."
"Give me your true name."
"Daryn, Teorth's son."
Though it was his friend's voice that answered the formally posed question, Karel barely recognized it. Dull, will-bereft, it held none of the steady confidence he knew as Daryn's. He trembled inwardly, nauseated by the realization that it was not Daryn's will that made his friend answer, but someone else's.
Somewhere, out of his sight, Karel heard the snap and sign of a fire. The bitter scent of burning wormwood tainted the cool air.
"Hear me, Daryn, Teorth's son."
Karel squeezed his eyes shut as that commanding voice dropped to a secret, murmuring chant. He felt the stone floor start to hum and vibrate. Magic!
Tension, so thick and real that he might have been able to reach out and touch it, filled the very air of the chamber. Leaping flames cast black shadow and lurid light through the room. The tension of the magic's power burst and filled the chamber with the dancing rainbows of light.
Daryn moaned. The sound came from deep within his heart, winding and writhing, and touched Karel's soul with dread. He struggled against his invisible bonds. His muscles shrieked with the effort, his head filled to bursting with pain. The sweat of his effort stung his eyes, splintered the shimmering rainbows of magic's light into shards of furious color.
"Daryn!" he gasped. But Daryn did not respond. He could not.
In a bloody circle, stunned with magic, dazed by his own horrified realization that Gadar clutched his soul, Daryn screamed.
Though Tanis scouted carefully once they'd crossed the scree and entered the little valley, he found no sign that the black castle was guarded. But even as he returned to his companions, darkness, thick and black as a mourner's cloak, fell with startling suddenness.
Riana gasped, but Flint only shook his head as though to say that he expected something of the sort. "Night's dark is never this heavy," he muttered. He saw his companions as faint reddish outlines in the unrelieved blackness. Tanis, too, would be able to see. But he knew that Riana, with only her human night vision, weak by the standards of dwarves and elves, must be nearly sightless.
"Tanis, give her a minute," he whispered. To Riana he said, "Close your eyes for a moment, then see if you can't get yourself adjusted to this darkness."
She did, bowing her head in concentration. But when she opened her eyes again she only shook her head.
"It's like being blind!"
"Aye," Flint agreed, "and likely that's how you're meant to feel." He took her hand and guided it to his shoulder. "Get your bearings, girl. Tanis, what did you find out there?"
"Nothing much. There is a postern gate around the north side. We can make for that. The main entry is unguarded, but I'd like to make as quiet an entrance as we can. Let's head for that postern."
"I'll not argue. Lead on then."
The path Tanis led them along was narrow and rocky, curving around the north side of the valley and down through a small decline to a tall, slim tower thrusting up from the main keep. Staying close to the black wall of the tower, Tanis crept slowly toward the weathered wooden door where he waited for Flint and Riana, still clinging to the old dwarf's shoulder, to join him.
The door opened immediately onto a tall flight of dark slippery stairs. Cracked and shattered by age, they were dangerous with sickly gray moss and only wide enough for one to walk.
"Be careful," he whispered. He waited until Riana was between him and Flint, then took the first steps carefully. So dark was the tower that they could make their way up only by slow, cautious steps. Silent as shadows they crept up and up until Flint was certain that the stairs must end on the mountain peaks.
And then, after an endless time of searching blindly for step after step, groping along crumbling stone walls for balance, Flint heard Tanis whisper back that the stairs ended in a corridor.
Light leaked into a high-ceilinged hallway from an intersection several hundred feet to the west. In the barely relieved darkness Flint saw Tanis reach for Riana's hand and help her up the last few steps.
Drawing a long slow breath, glad to be off the treacherous stairs, Flint reached behind him to adjust the balance of his axe, then stepped into the corridor. The dark stone walls wept with moisture, the floor beneath his feet was slick with green-scummed puddles.
It was then he realized that a wind was moaning where no wind should be. And beneath that moaning he heard voices, cold and gibbering.
"Tanis, I don't like this."
Riana turned, fearful questions in her eyes, her hand slipping away from Tanis's grip. Shadows leaped and danced around them as though cast there by a torch in a mad dancer's hand. Like bats smoked from a cave, the hollow, heartless voices of the dead swept round the high vaulted ceiling. The corridor filled with a tomb's chill.
Thickening suddenly, the shadows swirled to form into something black and vaguely manlike.
Before Flint could move or even shout a warning, a dark spectre reached to touch his friend, freezing him to stillness with its grasp. Horrified, he saw Tanis, his eyes suddenly still and glazed, his face like a carved death mask, turn.
Flint leaped, diving for Tanis, thinking to pull him away from the deadly hold of the black ghost. But, fast as he moved, he was too late. He felt for a moment the hard, real warmth of Tanis's arm beneath his hand. Then he felt nothing.
"No!" he howled, hitting out at the clammy stone wall in his fear and anger. "Tanis!" But Tanis was gone, vanished as though he had never been there. "No!" Flint struck the wall again, not feeling the sharp sting of stone tearing at his knuckles. "Tanis! Damn! Where are you!"
He would have hit the wall again in fury and an almost blind need to feel something solid and real, but a slim hand grasped his wrist, pulling his fist down.
"No, please stop!" Riana cried, "Flint, stop."
Flint rounded on the girl, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"Where is he?"
"He's gone-they took him, the way they took Ka-rel and Daryn. I don't know where he is!"
Voices whispered beneath the screams that filled the air, telling of torture and shattering agony. Gone, Flint thought furiously, holding onto his anger to warm the ice of fear from his blood. Gone! And left me here, damn it!
Down the corridor, toward where the gray light straggled in from some unknown source, he saw a dead torch in an old cresset. Flint ran for it, found another, and snatched them both up. Working quickly, he lighted both and shoved one into Riana's hands.
"Hang onto this," he growled, "and don't let it go out. Whatever these demons are, they do their filthy work in the dark. Aye, they had no love for our campfire: they'll keep their distance from our torches. We're going to look for Tanis. And I've no doubt that where we find him we'll find your brother and his friend."
Riana grasped her torch with both hands, to steady it. In thecareening shadows Flint's eyes were hard and frightening. "How how will we find him?"
Flint shifted his own torch to his left hand and hefted his battle-axe in his right. "We'll find him," he growled. "Have no doubt about that, girl. We'll find him." AND WHEN I DO, he thought, still fanning his anger against his fear, HE'LL BE LUCKY IF I DON'T KICK HIM FROM HERE TO SOLACE FORGETTING ME INTO THIS NIGHTMARE!
When they began to find the first bodies, Flint's fury turned to hollow fear. Riana, weeping openly now, stood rooted in the corridor, staring at the lifeless husks that had once been the strong bodies of young men. None of the bodies, some mouldering still, some whitened skeletons bleached by time's passage, showed the marks of a fight: no broken bones, no shattered skulls. Not one of them had battled his way to death.
They littered the corridor like discarded toys, used, broken, and cast aside.
Steeling himself to find what he knew he would not be able to bear to see, Flint moved carefully among them, searching. His blood pounded painfully in his head, his breathing was ragged, whispered fragments of prayers to gods few people acknowledge. Slowly, almost gently at times, he toed over one corpse after another, his hands locked in a death-hold on his axe. But none of the bodies was Tanis, and the most recently dead were still too long gone to have been either Karel or Daryn.
Breathing hard with his relief, he went back to Riana, took her hands in his own, and led her past the dead.
"No, there is no use struggling. You cannot move." Despite his own warning, Karel instinctively tried to reach a hand to the stranger. He grimaced and whispered again, "Don't try, you'll waste your strength. And you'll need it."
The words echoed in Tanis's head, bounding and leaping so that he could barely make sense of them. Where was he? He remembered, with heart-stopping clarity, the touch of hard, cold fingers on his wrist, the grip of a skeletal hand, and a groaning,beckoning voice urging him to follow. And he'd followed, incap able of refusal. Then darkness, bitter as dead hope, covered him, filling him with dread and piercing fear.
Flint? Riana? With a dark and hopeless feeling he recalled Flint's words on the cliff: THOSE PHANTOM RAIDERS SEEMED TO HAVE LITTLE INTEREST IN RIANA… THEY WILL HAVE SMALL ENOUGH INTEREST IN AN OLD DWARF. Where are Riana and Flint? Dead? Dead. He heard his own groan of fear and knew, then, that he could speak.
"Who is that? Where are you?"
"Here, beside you." Karel's whispered laugh was sour. "If you could turn your head, you'd see me. As it is, you'll have to be content to stare at the ceiling, friend. Wait until he's deep into the spell again. Then try to move."
Light, splitting and dancing in all the colors of a rainbow, leaped before Tanis's eyes, arcing and splashing across the field of his vision. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the needle-sharp pain. "Who are you?"
"Karel. Hush!"
"Daryn." The mage's word was thunder, rolling across the chamber, filling the air with danger. "Rise!"
Beside him, Tanis heard Karel gasp. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to move. The effort should have taken him to his feet. He was only able to turn onto his side. It was enough to allow him to see the whole chamber, and enough to let him shudder with horror at what he saw.
It was a small man who spoke those commands, and very old. He wore his years with little grace. They lay upon him like unholy burdens. His eyes blazed with his magic, his red robes swirled about him as he lifted his hand.
Crimson blood circled a weakly struggling young man. Daryn, Tanis thought, Riana's brother! The soft murmuring of the mage's chant rose and fell in tones that were sometimes coaxing, sometimes commanding.
Then, with jerky, heartless strength, Daryn staggered to his feet. His hands twitched, his legs threatened to buckle, then stiffened as his feet found their purchase upon the stone floor. Dried rosemary leaves rustled in the mage's hand. The fire in the brazier sighed. With a practiced flourish, he sent the dust of a powdered sapphire, blue and sparkling as a high autumn sky, leaping across the distance between him and the bloody circle. It paused in mid-air, an azure halo above Daryn's head, then settledgently, with great precision, inside the blood circle, to form an other border.
Imprisoned within Gadar's circles of magic, Daryn stood, his face drawn and white. In that moment, complete understanding rippled through him, carving at his face with the sharp tools of terror.
And in that moment, the door that Tanis could barely see across the wide chamber burst open with a splintering crash. Weird light broke along the finely honed blade of Flint's axe, leaping and dancing.
Karel's sob of fear when he saw Riana standing behind Flint might have been the voice of Daryn, standing mute and terrified in double circles of enchantment. Or it might have been the voice of Tanis's own dread. Gadar spun quickly, his eyes wild and filled with hatred and thwarted purpose. White light leaped from his fingers, deadly arrows of flame.
"Flint! Down!"
But Tanis's cry wasn't needed to send the old dwarf dodging and scrambling for cover, dragging Riana with him. Karel slapped his leg hard and shouted,
"Now! Up, friend, we can move!"
The mage screamed, a mountain cat's howl of rage, and turned on Tanis and Karel. Halfway to his feet, Tanis dropped again to the stone floor. White-hot arrows of light darted past his face, stinging and burning, filling the air with a sulphurous, acrid stink. Out of the corner of his eye, Tanis saw Karel bolt across the chamber to where Daryn hung, trapped, in the enchanted circle of blood.
Daryn moaned, and Karel, crouched outside the bloody circle, reached out his hand to his friend. He cried out in pain, flung back by the spitting, stinging force of Gadar's magic.
Riana screamed, and Tanis leaped for the mage, caught him around the knees and brought him crash-ihg to the floor. From some hidden place in his sleeve, Gadar found a knife. Its cold blade flashed once, then again in the dancing torchlight, raking along the back of Tanis's hand.
Hardly feeling the pain, Tanis flipped the mage onto his belly and dashed his knife hand against the floor. The steel blade hit stone and rang loudly. Tanis jerked first one hand, then the other tightly behind the mage's back and held him firmly with a knee in the small of his back.
Frightened, filled with terror and despair, Riana's moaning sobs came to the half-elf. A bitter oath in dwarven told him that Flint was unharmed.
"Let Daryn go, mage," Tanis ordered tightly. "It's over. Let him go."
Shuddering and gasping for breath, Gadar twisted his head to glare at his captor. His voice, as hard as ice and steel, was a grating snarl. "It is not over until the spell-caster declares it over. And do not think to try to free him from the magic's circle. Whoever crosses its borders now will not live an instant."
"There is no reason to hold him now. Let him go."
"No reason in your eyes, reason enough in mine." Gadar coughed and shuddered. For a moment Tanis thought he saw the old man's eyes dim, the black glitter of hatred awash with grief. "But even that may be gone now, vanished at last, despite all I have done." Grim purpose darkened the mage's face again. "No! I will fight to the end! Fight as I have always fought!"
Knowing that he must strike before Gadar could begin to work his magic, Tanis raised his fist. But Gadar was an old man! And tired, by the look of him. OLD AND WEARY, a dry, cracked voice whispered in his mind, AND IT WILL TAKE ONLY ONE BLOW, YOUNG MAN, ONLY ONE IF YOU CHOOSE TO DEAL IT OUT AGAINST SO FRAGILE AN OPPONENT. WHAT STRENGTH HAVE I AGAINST THE HARD HAND OF YOUR YOUTH? Weary age, ancient burdened grief filled the voice, and blurred images of pitiful but valiant striving coalesced into pictures in the half-elf's mind, as clear as though they were his living memories. In the wavering torchlight the shadow of his own fist seemed a black and evil thing. HE IS AN OLD MAN!
Tanis relaxed his hold on the mage and started to release him. Then, as he turned his head, shamed by the thought of striking so helpless an opponent, he saw Gadar's lips move slowly, silently chanting the words of a deadly spell. His black eyes glittered like those of an ancient snake coiled to strike.
It took only one blow to still the mage. But as magic's rainbow light surged to life again, pulsing and throbbing in the air, Tanis knew he'd struck too late.
Karel hunched his shoulders, his head bowed intending to butt through the wall of Gadar's power.
"No!" Riana screamed.
"Karel!" It was not Riana who cried out then, but Daryn. Something of himself flickered in his eyes. He reached out his hand as though he would stop Karel where he crouched, ready to leap through the blood-etched circle. Daryn's eyes were black with fear, then finally, free of the puppet-master's influence of the mage's will, understanding. At last his own will animated his limbs. He staggered toward Karel, crashed into the pulsing wall of magic, and thrust his hand into the free air of the chamber.
"No, Karel!" His voice was hollow, echoing already with the abandoned agony of the phantoms who haunted the castle.
The chamber shrieked with thwarted power, magic set free of the channels Gadar had forced it into. Daryn grasped his friend's shoulder, shoved him hard, and sent him spinning to the floor.
Writhing in agony so hideous that he could force no sound from his gaping mouth, Daryn collapsed, twitching and hunching against the pain. Then, hissing and spitting, the rainbow lights faded, drifted aimlessly for a moment, and vanished.
There was no longer a life to capture within the enchanted circle.
In the stricken silence, surrounded by the thinning power and the dawning knowledge of the sacrifice Daryn had made, Tanis moved instinctively to Riana.
Stunned, she took a stumbling step toward the now-harmless circle where her brother lay. Tanis caught her back and guided her carefully to Karel. On his knees, his head bowed, Karel reached blindly for her hand.
"Why?" she asked, the question torn painfully from her weeping heart. "Why, Karel?"
Karel held her closely but did not reply. He looked up at Tanis as though to ask the same question. But Tanis had no answer. Behind him he heard the mage groan, stir, and then fall quiet. For all the sound of his own harsh breathing and Riana's weeping, the chamber seemed suddenly silent. The old mage no longer breathed.
There must be answers, but the mage was not going to give them now. Tanis wondered if he would have found them sufficient or even comprehensible had he been able to hear them.
What twisted purpose, he thought, his head aching with the wondering, would move a man to this warped use of magic?
An old man, his skin the color of parchment, his hands gnarled claws, crawling with thick, twisted veins. Age? Was that the thing the mage had thought to stave off with the life spirit of young Daryn? Had he been pirating the youth of others to keep himself alive? Disgust, empty even of pity, filled Tanis until his stomach knotted.
Wearily he turned, looking for Flint. He found the dwarf in the darkest comer of the chamber, kneeling beside a small, richly clothed bed. In that bed, covered with thick robes and blankets, lay a slim, frail boy.
For one long moment Tanis thought that the boy was dead. His breathing, so slight that it might have been the play of shadows across his chest, made no sound.
"Flint?"
The old dwarf shook his head. "He lives, but only barely."
The boy sighed, then opened his eyes, and Tanis felt an echoing throb of the pain that he saw there. It seemed an ancient pain, long suffered and too long denied. Then, for a moment, the eyes filled with pleading, darkened with fear.
"Father?"
"No," Tanis said, dropping to his knees beside the bed.
"Father, no more."
Tanis looked to Flint, who shook his head. The boy was so weak he could barely see, so weary he could not know that Tanis was not the father he spoke to. Aching pity filled Tanis then, and he took the boy's hand in his own.
"Be still now," he whispered.
But the boy tried weakly to lift his hand. "No. No more. Father. Please, I cannot. No more."
"Hush, now, lad. Rest."
"Please, Father. I would-I would stay if I could. Please, Father. No more. I-want no more of these stolen lives."
Even as he heard Flint's shuddering gasp, Tanis knew why the mage had fought so bitterly for Daryn's life. It was for the boy! The boy might have been but twelve or thirteen, but his eyes spokeof many more years than that. And those years, Tanis realized sud denly, had all been winters.
"Father? Let me go. I am so weary… let me go. Father?"
"Tanis, give him what he wants." Flint sat heavily down on the cold stone floor, his back against the boy's bed. It was as though, Tanis thought, the old dwarf could not look at the boy any longer.
And, in truth, he would have turned away, too. But he could not, though he thought he could drown in the need he saw in the boy's eyes.
"He wants death, Flint."
The boy shivered and stirred again, groping for Tanis's hand. The quiet rustle of his bedclothes was like the sound of Death's soft-footed approach.
"Tanis, help him," Flint whispered. "He thinks you are his father."
Tanis gathered the boy gently in his arms and held him carefully. He wanted to hold the thin spark of life within the boy, as though his pity alone would keep it burning. Across the room he could see Riana, weeping in Karel's arms, one hand stroking her brother's face. Against his neck he could feel the faint breath of the dying boy, warm yet with the life that faded with each moment. He doesn't want death, Tanis realized then, but only permission.
"Yes." Tanis whispered the word the boy wanted to hear, the blessing the mage never gave. Weakly, the boy looked up, searching, and then smiled.
"I love you. Father."
"I know it," Tanis breathed, choking on the words. "But go, now, and go with my love." For one moment he would have taken back his words. Then the boy sighed, a small shudder like the fluttering of a moth's wings. Tanis's arms tightened around the frail body, empty now of life, and he bowed his head.
After a long while, he heard Flint stir beside him. The half-elf did not resist when his friend lifted the boy from his arms and set him gently back on the bed.
"Are you all right, lad?"
Tanis nodded.
"What are you thinking about?"
"That all these people were moved by love to do what they did. Riana and her brother, Karel, and even the mage and his son. But look how bitter the harvests were."
"Aye," Flint said, reaching down to help him to his feet. "Some fruits are bitter."
Tanis touched the peaceful face of the boy on the bed, thinking that it might only have been sleep that smoothed away the sharp lines of pain and not death. "And some are never harvested at all."
Flint was silent for a long moment. Then he smiled, as though to himself. He took Tanis's arm and turned him gently away from the boy's bed. "Bitter, some, and un-harvested, others. A harvest depends on the soil in which the seed is planted, lad, and the care it is given." He nodded to Riana, quiet now in Karel's arms. "Don't you think that theirs could yet be sweet?"
Finding the Faith
Mary Kirchoff
The heat of the camp's communal peat fire warmed my old hands, numb from a hard days work. I, Raggart Knug, true cleric of the Ice Folk, had just completed the long, cold task of forging another frostreaver. Sighing with contentment, I munched on raw fresh fish, wiggling my toes a little closer to the flames.
As the sun dipped below Icemountain Bay, others of the camp came to warm themselves as well.
"Tell us again about the time of the strangers!" Men-dor pleaded, his eyes shining with excitement.
Laina, a pretty girl with hair the color of melted walrus blubber, joined in. "Yes, tell us how the beautiful elf woman and her companions charmed an ice bear and fought the wicked Highlord with-"
"Wait a moment! Who's telling this story?" I interrupted her with a chuckle.
Tired though I was, I could not resist the chance to tell my favorite story, about the time I became a true cleric. Wiping greasy hands on the skins of my leggings, I leaned forward to begin the tale, moving away from this time to another, just yesterday it seemed, when…
Nine strangers came from the north, from Tarsis they said. The guards noticed them some distance from the camp, their colorful robes and thin animal skins making them stand out like spring flowers against the whiteness of the glacier.
I did not wish to join those sent to meet the intruders. With the talk of raiding bands of minotaurs, I was forging the Ice Folk's favored weapon, the fros-treavers, as quickly as possible. Even so, the making of each one still took many, many days. I was alone in my work since, as cleric of the Ice Folk, I am the only one on Krynn with the knowledge, passed down through my family, of how to forge these remarkable battle-axes from solid chunks of incredibly dense ice. I hoped to complete the one I was working on before the sun left the sky, so I kept my face down when our leader came searching for men to go confront the strangers. It didn't work. For reasons of his own, the Great Harald ordered me to join the party.
Grumbling, I snatched up my staff and pack of curatives before heading for the harbor. Almost absent-mindedly, I poked the frostreaver I was working on into the pack. I have no idea why I did that, since I was not strong enough to use it. I had seen sixty winters, and my muscles just weren't what they used to be. Besides, my job would be to moderate with the strangers, not fight them. Although I was once the most knowledgeable guide among the Ice Folk, I saw less and less of the world beyond the camp as the years went by.
My old bones creaked belligerently as I climbed the ladder over the wall of hard-packed snow and made my way to the boats in the harbor. Soon, our lone iceboat, sail extended like a billowing cloud, skittered across the frozen wasteland, carrying twelve Ice Folk toward the dot of color that marked the strangers.
"There are nine," called Wilmar, Harald's lookout, perched on the port bow.
"And a polar bear, a good omen!" Harald exclaimed. "Trim the sail!" Admired for their strength and endurance, polar bears have long been revered by Ice Folk.
The iceboat swept in a wide, graceful arc, stopping about one hundred feet from the group of travelers. With a wave of his hand, Harald ordered us to advance on the strangers.
Harald, his massive form swaying, stepped ahead of us some twenty feet. "I am Harald Haakan, chieftain of the Ice Folk, the people whose land you trespass. Return from wherever you came and we will not harm you."
"Harm us?" a young, heavily armored man scowled. His moustache bristled with disdain. "Derek Crownguard, Knight of the Crown, is ordered by no one!"
I watched as irritation swelled Harald's seven-foot frame to full size and weight. In a moment he would order us to attack.
Suddenly, a young, slender elven maiden twisted her way past the knight to stand before the strangers. I must confess, my breath caught in my throat at the loveliness of the woman. Her skin was clean and creamy, not like the soot-stained complexions of the women of the camp. She looked as fragile as an icicle, yet her eyes held the strength of its cousin, the frostreaver.
"I am Laurana, princess of the Qualinesti elves," she began, her voice light, musical, enchanting. She introduced the rest of the party, though I was so entranced by the sound of her voice that I was only half aware of their names. But I knew Harald might ask my counsel, so I forced myself to listen to her words.
There was another elf among them, a quiet, handsome young man Laurana introduced as her brother. He said little, but his eyes flashed with love every time he looked at his sister.
There were three other men dressed like Derek, ob viously knights as well, though there the similarity ended. The one named Aran, tall and red-haired, seemed easygoing and affable, though it was only an impression- there was nothing to laugh about in our encounter. Another, a quiet one named Brian, exuded a subtle strength.
The fourth knight was more interesting than the rest, mainly because he was not so easy to read. Laurana called him Sturm. There was something unsettled and mysterious about the knight with the double moustache. He stood tall and proud, and honesty shone from his eyes. But surrounded by people, he seemed oddly alone.
"We mean you no harm," Laurana continued. "We are traveling from Tarsis to Icewall Castle on a mission vital to the safety of Krynn."
Harald's chest stopped heaving with anger, but he remained cautious. "You did not bring the bear from Tarsis," he growled.
The maiden paled at his accusatory tone. "No, he was being tortured by minotaurs, so we freed him," she explained hastily. "We released him, but-"
"He's fallen in love with Laurana!" a small, childlike creature with a long tassle of hair cried, leaping forward with delight.
Completely undaunted by Harald, the creature started forward, small hand extended. "How do you do? My name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot and…"
"Hush up, you doorknob," a stocky dwarf growled, yanking the excited kender back by the arm, "or I'll feed you to a minotaur myself!"
Laurana smiled embarrassedly and glanced at the massive white bear. "He does seem rather fond of me."
Like Harald, I found the presence of the ice bear in triguing. I knew the bear was young from its awkward, clumsy gait. I'd seen many of these lumbering creatures on the glacier, but never had I seen one willingly serve any master, human or otherwise. An iron collar strained at the bear's thick neck and deep red welts marred its white fur, witness to the elf woman's story of the minotaur's tortures.
But Harald's interest turned to the talk of minotaurs. "How many bull-creatures were there? Did you kill them?"
I could see the elf woman trying to gauge Harald's reaction. Perhaps the Ice Folk were friendly with minotaurs. "There were seven-and yes"-she gambled, watching him closely-"we killed them all. We've seen no others since."
Though Harald's wide face spread into a grin, I could see that he did not trust these strangers yet. "Bull-men have long plagued us. We owe you a great debt. Come to our camp and rest. We will feed and clothe you properly before you continue across the glacier."
This was not just mere politeness. I knew that Harald wanted to question the strangers further and he felt more comfortable back on his own ground. And, if he did not like their answers… they would never leave our village alive.
The sour-faced dwarf stepped forward and hitched up his gear. "Well, I certainly could use some warm food and clothing," he grumbled. "This wild-goose chase the kender has us on for some silly dragon orb we know nothing about is enough to freeze a man's bones!"
The knight, Derek, could hold himself in check no longer. "We can't waste time in revelry! Besides, how do we know we can trust these barbarians? I say we leave immediately!" Reaching out, _Derek grabbed hold of Laurana, intending perhaps to emphasize his point by forcing her to look him in the eyes.
It didn't work.
The huge white bear had been standing calmly next to Laurana. When Derek caught hold of the elf maid, the bear roared in anger and suddenly stood up on its hind legs. Its massive frame stretched to a height that dwarfed even Harald, and it swayed menacingly over the knight, snarling and growling as if daring him to move again. All color drained from Derek's face; he hastily dropped the maiden's arm. The Ice Folk around me fell back slightly, knowing the bear's sharp, protruding claws had the power to rip out Derek's throat in a second. The frigid air fairly crackled with tension, broken only by Derek's ragged breathing.
"D-d-down, bear," the elf maiden finally managed to stammer. But the creature remained suspended over Derek. Realizing that she alone had the power to persuade it, Laurana bravely reachedup a slender hand to pat the beast reassuringly. "Down!" she com manded more firmly. The bear hesitated for a moment, then, reluctantly, it dropped back to all fours, eyeing Derek and giving one last snarl. Though obviously relieved that the bear no longer threatened him, Derek's face burned red with humiliation.
So THAT'S why this slender young female is a leader of men, I thought to myself. The bear has chosen her. I saw Harald take note of this, too.
At that moment, a bearded man whose presence I had overlooked stepped gingerly past the bear. I judged him to be older than most of his companions but younger than myself. He spoke to the elf maid in mild, firm tones and I could tell, from her respectful attitude, that he had long been her counselor. "Derek is right about one thing, Laurana, my dear: we have no time to waste. Tanis may already be waiting for us in Sancrist."
"I have not forgotten, Elistan," Laurana said softly, a strange, almost wistful look in her eyes.
She turned to Harald slowly. "We regretfully decline your kind offer of hospitality," she began. "My… that is… friends wait for us." Coughing, she cleared her throat. There was a note of pain in her voice. "And we have an important mission to fulfill before we can join them," she explained.
"I'm afraid you misunderstood me, princess," Harald said, his friendly tone gone. "It was not an offer, but a demand. You see, we Ice Folk are at war-we cannot afford to trust anyone." He gave a tight-lipped smile. "You will return with us." Accustomed to being obeyed, Harald turned to leave. He did not, therefore, see Derek draw his sword or Laurana grip the knight's arm, forcing him to put the sword back to its sheath.
"What can I do to convince you we mean you no harm, that we are not spies?" she demanded of Harald's back. "Our mission is vital-it cannot wait!"
Harald swung around slowly, irritation turning his face even redder than its normal shade. He did not like complications-and this maiden was proving stubborn. Suddenly, his expression brightened as an idea struck him.
"You have my leave to go on this 'mission' of yours, then," he said. "But leave several of your number here as-"
"As hostages?" Laurana finished for him coolly.
"No, I prefer to think of them as a sign of good faith." Harald smiled slightly. "And as a sign of our good faith, I vow to spare their lives for the seven days I give you to return, as long as we meet with no harm during that time. That is fair, I think?
"I would, of course, prefer that you leave your fighters," he added, his eyes going to the well-armed knights, "and the bear, as a token of luck."
Laurana's mouth twisted in shock and outrage. Her thin frame shook as she struggled for control. "Without knowledge of the glacier, it is impossible for us to know how long it will take us to reach Icewall Castle. And without fighters, what chance have we of retrieving that which we seek?"
Harald shrugged. "I did not say I wanted a77of your fighters. These two will do," he said, pointing to Aran and Brian. "And the ones called Flint and Gilthanas must stay behind. You will be more inclined to return for your brother and your friend." He eyed Derek. "You may keep the sulky one."
"This is an outrage!" Derek snarled, once again putting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "There are only twelve of them. I say we take our chances and-"
But Laurana cut his words off, her voice clipped. "When it comes to retrieving the orb, I will take no chances. If you insist on fighting, Derek, then you will fight alone." The knight called Sturm moved nearer to her, nodding in support. "I suggest you instruct your men to join Harald," Laurana added, her voice breaking, "as I will my friends and my brother."
The dwarf glowered at this. "No, Laurana," he said stubbornly. "I won't allow you to traipse across this frozen wasteland looking for Reorx-knows-what without me! It's too dangerous!" Realizing his voice had risen, Flint eyed the bear warily and dropped his tone. "Tanis would never forgive me!"
"Nor would our father," Laurana's brother added grimly. "I'd rather we turned around and forgot that orb than to let you go off unprotected!"
With a sad smile, Laurana placed her hands in theirs. "You both know retrieving the dragon orb may be Krynn's only hope, and everyone is counting on us. Besides, I won't be alone-Sturm, Elistan, and Derek will be with me. If there were any other way," she added, "I'd take it. But we have no choice but to accept their terms, it seems. Please don't make this more difficult for me than it is already."
Flint searched her eyes, sighing heavily. "Very well," he said gruffly. "Besides, you don't want a grumpy old dwarf slowing you down."
Gilthanas nodded slowly, but I could tell he wasn't happy. He started to argue, but she continued to look at him intently, pleadingly, until he shrugged angrily. "I'll stay, if that's what you want," he said.
Sighing, Laurana turned back to Harald.
"What proof have we that you'll keep your end of the bargain and will not harm them?" she asked.
Scratching his bearded chin, Harald thought about that for a moment. Propped up against my staff, I watched absently as the old man called Elistan came over to stand beside Laurana.
It was then that I noticed the medallion around the old man's neck. My breath caught in my throat, though this time in fear-the hazy winter sun glistened off a golden medallion in the shape of a platinum dragon, the symbol of the true god, Paladine. I could not believe my eyes. Long ago, right before the Cataclysm, all clerics of the true gods had vanished from the world, my own great-great-great grandfather among them. With them vanished the ability of the clerics to work the will of the gods in the world, to perform healing and other magical spells. Many said that this was because the true gods themselves had forsaken Krynn, but my family did not believe this. Since that day, we had pledged ourselves to wait for some sign of the return of the true gods. None had lived to see that day. Nervously, I rubbed at my eyes with grubby fists, hoping to erase the image.
But when I looked up again, the medallion still hung from Elistan's neck. A sickness grew in my stomach. I had always prayed that I would be the one to discover a true cleric-one who could perform miracles-as a sign that the true gods had returned. But in my heart of hearts, I never really believed I would. Face to face with the symbol heralding that discovery, I still did not-could not-believe it! He must be a charlatan, and I wanted nothing more than to escape someone who would try to trick us.
"You drive a hard bargain, elf woman " Harald finally said to Laurana. "I like you-I don't trust you entirely-but I like you." His laughter pounded against the frozen glacier. "As a sign of our good faith, and to aid you in returning within seven days, we will send with you a guide." He clapped me on the back. "Our cleric is the best one among us. He will accompany you to the castle."
Harald's words echoed in my aching head, echoed across the glacier. Could the fates be so cruel? Had I heard right? Harald's beefy hand on my shoulder assured me that I had. My words came to my ears as if spoken by another.
"I cannot-I mean, I don't want to guide them," I mumbled, avoiding Harald's eyes. "I don't trust them."
Harald's huge face turned as red as his hair. "Just sol" he bellowed. "They will not attack us without their fighters, and they will not harm you while we hold their friends." He swung his face down to meet mine, his fishy breath fanning my face. "Do you question my judgment?"
My cheeks drained of color as I struggled to force words from my throat. "No-no. It's just that-" Could I tell him of my fears?
"Spit it out, man," Harald roared impatiently. "Men freeze while you sputter!"
I forced down the lump in my throat. "The human, Elistan-he wears the symbol of the true god, Pala-dine! He is a charlatan!"
Harald's features relaxed from anger to a look of confusion. "But, Raggart, surely you and every member of your line have pledged your life to meet one such as this!" he said. "This is your chance!"
The simple logic of Harald's words turned my fear to dogged stubborness. "That is why I am suspicious!" I whispered. "Would such an important person just appear on the glacier one day?"
My eyes narrowed. "What is this dragon orb, anyway? And if it's so valuable, who would keep it in a frozen, abandoned castle at the farthest edge of the glacier? Someone with something to hide, that's who!"
Harald shook his head firmly. "I cannot say. The gods move in mysterious ways." He shook me slightly. "But whether he is a true cleric or an enemy scout sent to determine our strength, we need our best guide to watch them. That someone is you."
I, Raggart Knug, cleric of the Ice Folk, looked into my chieftain's icy blue eyes and knew that only death would save me from guiding the strangers to Icewall Castle.
We were just preparing to depart when the kender, who had been standing next to Laurana, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other, said cheerfully, "Well, who wants me?"
"They do!" both sides cried, pointing to the other. It seemed tempers were going to flare again, Derek refusing to take Tasslehoff and the dwarf insisting that the kender be packed off to Icewall Castle without delay. In the end, it was Harald who decided Tasslehoffs fate.
"The kender goes!" he said firmly.
I thought even Laurana appeared a bit downcast at this decision.
The ice bear also proved difficult. He refused, quite violently I might add, to leave Laurana until she spoke with him at length. I wonder how much he understood; I think her tone convinced him. The bear accompanied Harald, and I noticed that our leader kept his distance from the sulking bear as he led the search party back to the ice boat.
Finally my party and I started off in search of this dragon orb
or whatever they were after. Using my staff to propel my old bones along, my body slowly adjusted to the rigors of exploring the glacier. Though time and the elements had changed thelandscape, I still knew what to look for, how to avoid snow covered crevasses. Despite the nature of the trek across the glacier, I enjoyed the feeling of the cold, icy wind across my leathery cheeks, the sight of swirling eddies of snow. I had been cooped inside my hut forging frostreavers for too long.
Remembering my situation, I looked back at my wards and was grateful that Harald had insisted we take peat for nighttime fires on the open glacier and that we dress in the Ice Folk pelts of bear and otter. The strangers' borrowed furs made them much less conspicuous than their colorful robes against the snowy backdrop.
I did not mind the danger. Everyday life at our camp held dangers. Besides, I had lived a full life and did not particularly fear the possibility of death. Still, I did not want my life to end accompanying a band of tricksters in the name of the true god! The irony of the situation nearly made me chuckle; fate had a wry sense of humor.
Unfortunately, Derek did not. Nothing I did pleased him. I walked too slow. I walked too fast. It was too cold. The furs made him hot. I had no love for the knight, but I knew that answering his complaints would only provoke him further. I remained silent, my head bent against the swirling snow as I picked our path across the glacier toward Icewall Castle.
Krynn's sun rose and set on three cold days as we crossed the snowy wastelands. Each day, five travelers from warmer lands struggled behind me through bitter winds and man-swallowing drifts.
The kender proved as much a handful as any ten children from the village. More than once did I catch sight of him in the corner of my eye as he wandered off the path I had chosen. Once I collared him just as the snow beneath his little feet slid away, revealing a crevasse.
"Wow, would you look at that?" he marveled. "I wonder what's down there? Perhaps I'll make a map of this-maybe it's a shortcut to the other side of Krynn!" Tasslehoff reached into a pouch for some paper.
"Don't be any sillier than you can help," Derek grumbled, trudging through snow that reached his knees. "I'd be the first to fall down it if it led to someplace warmer!"
Tasslehoffs face fell only slightly. "I suppose," he mumbled.
Though I vowed to keep to myself and merely guide them as ordered, I could not help but wonder about the others. I had a lot of time to observe them, after all.
My first impressions of Sturm Brightblade never changed; he was a man alone. For some reason, the older knight, Derek, seemed determined to break the younger knight's will, but Sturm never wavered in his loyalty to Laurana. And though provoked enough for ten men, he never raised his voice to the older knight. Some dark secret rode Sturm's shoulder like a black beast, but I never discovered what it was.
Though Elistan was silent most of the time and never complained-or maybe because of those things-I still did not trust him. Every now and then he smiled serenely to himself for no obvious reason as his eyes scanned the bleak horizon. He couldn't be enjoying the trip, I reasoned. Was he laughing at me, at tricking a gullible old cleric who waited for the return of the true faith? The thought made my legs move faster, to hasten the moment when I would leave him behind.
But I must confess that, much as I tried, I could not look forward to the time when I would leave Laurana. When we'd first met, I'd thought it strange that a slight young woman would lead eight men, four of whom were knights. Then I'd believed, as Derek did, that her power over the group came from the bear.
"My quest is to retrieve that orb," the knight growled one night after he'd lost another debate to Laurana. "That bear is no longer here to fight your battles!"
Derek's threat struck me as foolishly hollow, marking in my mind the moment when I first knew Laurana had enchanted me, though not in a romantic way. Each night when we stopped and lit a small fire to warm ourselves and eat our meager rations, Elistan sat whispering to Laurana, advising her, giving her the moral strength to go on. The sight filled me with jealousy. I wanted to be the one whose advice she sought, to receive her grateful smile. Beyond her physical beauty was an inner strength that made me want to follow her even without the bear.
We were all grateful when, on the morning of the fourth day, the sun rose behind the distant silhouette of Icewall Castle, shining upon the jagged promontory of Icewall. Before the Cataclysm, the castle, made of stone, stood upon a rocky island in the seas south of Tarsis. But the Cataclysm turned those seas to ice and snow, as well as the island below the castle, creating Icewall. Wordlessly, our pace quickened, each of us heartened by the sight. Soon I would be free of the strangers…
Within a few hours we stood at the base of Icewall. Forty or so paces to our right, icy remnants of a stairway snaked up the cliff face as far as the eye could see. Perched on the top of Icewall was our goal, Icewall Castle.
"That's it-the mighty Icewall Castle?" the kender's high-pitched voice screeched loudly in the chill air. Terrified, I tried to clap a hand to his mouth, but I was too late. "Why, it's nothing but a big block of ice, not nearly as attractive as other castles I've seen!" he shouted.
As I had feared, a slow groaning sound shook Ice-wall, sending a snowy avalanche thundering down toward us.
"Run!" I shrieked. Pumping as fast as my legs and deep snow would allow, I could only hope that the others followed my lead. When Icewall finally quieted down, only the kender, to his own delight, had been swallowed by snow up to his neck.
"Oh, my, did I cause that?" he asked innocently as Sturm plucked him out by the armpits. "Look!" he gasped abruptly. "The avalanche opened up a cave or something!" He pointed skyward to a dark, shadowy spot halfway up the face of Icewall. "It must be a shortcut into the castle-I'm sure of it! And I found it," he added proudly.
Derek's face twisted into a grim smile. "That's precisely why we should avoid it. To say nothing of the fact that it's foolish to climb toward a dark spot that may or may not be a cave opening-which may or may not lead into the castle." His eyes narrowed as he leaned menacingly toward the kender. "And suppose it is an opening-who do YOU suppose made it?"
"I'm sure I don't know," said the kender, shrugging. His eyes lit up. "But it would be interesting to find out."
Derek snorted. "'Interesting' isn't a word I would use to describe whatever's guarding a powerful artifact such as this orb!"
Laurana's brow creased with concern. "I hadn't even considered that!" she said, looking chagrined. "I assumed that since it was stuck out here on the glacier, Icewall Castle would be deserted. But Derek's probably right. Raggart, you know this area better than any of us. What do you think? Is there likely to be someone or something inside the castle?"
I hesitated for a moment to determine what I DID think. I did not wish to alarm her unnecessarily, but she had to know the truth.
"There have been reports of a white dragon coming and going from the castle," I told her reluctantly. "Any number of other creatures may have taken up residence-you have already met the minotaurs."
"I don't know why I did not think of that before!" She sighed, then squinted up at the icy cliff. "What route should we take?"
I followed her gaze. "I believe the kender is right- that is a cave opening which may lead into the castle. Though we don't know what awaits us inside, we chance the same thing climbing to the top, with half the risk of being spotted from above. Whatever you decide, the climb would be safer if we rope ourselves together."
"The old barbarian doesn't know what he's saying," Derek scoffed, "though his idea about the rope seems reasonable enough. Let's waste no more time-an orb awaits us above!" He tied a length of rope to his waist and held the end to Sturm. "Come, Brightblade, link yourself to me and we'll find the base of that stairway!"
Sturm's brows lifted in question. "Laurana?"
"Raggart is our guide," she said confidently. "We'll climb to the opening."
Suddenly her expression changed to fear. Like a curtain falling, we were engulfed in shadows. Startled, I followed her gaze. There, high above Icewall, I saw the massive underbelly of a white dragon as it soared from the castle's balustrade.
"Get down!" I hissed. Thankfully, everyone dropped to his stomach without question, even the kender. They knew, as did I, what would happen if the dragon spotted us. Ishuddered at the thought and prayed that with our light colored furs, we blended in with the snow.
Without a backward glance, the dragon sped away in the direction we'd just come, pulling its massive shadow along. A sudden fear knotted my stomach. When the dragon was a mere dot in the distant horizon, I stood up and, turning, started heading back.
"Wait, Raggart! Where are you going?" Laurana shouted, stumbling after me to catch hold of my arm.
"Now we know that the reports about a dragon are true. Given its general direction, I'm afraid it's headed for my village. I have to go back immediately!"
Laurana looked sympathetic, but she shook her head. "We cannot abandon our search for the orb, especially when we're this close to it," she said.
"What is this dragon orb? How can it be more important than the lives of my kinsman?" I demanded.
"I understand your concern," Laurana said, "but a lone dragon would scarcely attack an entire village. And IF it wanted to, it would have long before this. Think, Raggart," she commanded, grasping my shoulder. "Even if we left immediately, we would reach your village days behind the creature, too late to help anyone. Then we would neither save your village nor retrieve the orb."
"Then what about our lives? Are they worth nothing?" I shouted. "The presence of the dragon convinces me that Icewall Castle is far more dangerous than any of us imagined." Even to my own ears, I sounded like a frightened old man. That only made me angrier. "I am not an old coward, but neither am I a young fool!"
"Of course you're not!" Laurana's eyes glittered brilliantly. "The orb we seek has the power to control dragons. Though you may not understand or believe me, Raggart, more people will suffer if we do not find it before someone who would use it for evil gains."
Laurana grasped my hand. "I know Harald instructed you to watch-I mean guide us, but I would not blame you if you chose to return without us." Her voice picked up momentum. "But, Raggart, time is of the essence if we are to save our friends-save Krynn. We-/need your help. Will you continue on with us?"
Derek snorted with disgust and began looking for footholds in the icy cliff face.
I was momentarily torn with indecision. Though her words had convinced me my fears were largely unfounded, I still hesitated. In the end, I decided to continue with them for three reasons: for good or bad, I needed to know the truth about Elistan; Laurana wanted me to go; and Derek did not.
I did not like the thought that my life in any way de pended on Derek, but lashed to him as I was, it did. After me came Laurana, then Elistan, then Tas; Sturm pulled up our rear. Though Derek had complained heartily on the glacier, he took too much pride in his physical strength to give in to the exhaustion that plagued us all on the back-breaking climb up Icewall. His tenacity may well have saved our lives more than once. Whenever I faltered or lost my footing, Derek's hand was there to pull me to safer ground.
The cliff face provided even less protection from the elements than the open glacier. Forced to look up to find our way, our faces were exposed to icy, blistering winds that blasted flesh till it was raw. Fingers permanently bent, my arms ached from the strain, my toes throbbed from struggling to find new footholds. Even my jaws hurt from being clenched too long.
But as much as I suffered, at least I was used to the cold. I knew the rest must feel it tenfold. Behind me, Laurana struggled to swallow involuntary whimpers of pain. Below her, Elistan wheezed until I thought his lungs would burst.
"I don't mean to complain," I heard the kender say wearily, "but is anyone else tired? I'm all for adventures, and I know we have to find the orb, but I haven't been this exhausted since that time with the woolly mammoth. I HAVE told you about that, haven't I?"
"Yes, Tas, we've all heard it," was Sturm's patient reply. "Save your energy for climbing now."
"I'm quite sure Raggart hasn't heard it," Tas said a bit petulantly, "but perhaps you're right," he added, gasping for breath.
Hours, seeming more like days, passed as we slowly made our way up the glassy crags of Icewall. Behind me, the cleric, Elistan, sighed loudly. Though I was still suspicious of him, he seemed a kind enough man, not at all inclined to jokes or tricks. What had I-what had Knugs for generations-expected? Since I seldom left the village anymore, let alone the glacier, just where was I expecting to find this messenger from the gods if not on the glacier?
"Aren't we nearly there?" Tas spoke the words everyone else longed to ask. "I feel as though we've climbed to the top and back down again!"
"It 7's getting near sunset," Laurana pointed out. "Perhaps we should stop."
I, too, had noticed our lengthening shadows upon the cliff face. Soon the moons would rise.
"If we're not likely to reach that opening soon," Sturm called up to us, "I say we find a ledge on which to spend the night and rest."
"For once I agree with Brightblade," Derek said, finally giving in to the strain. Wiping his brow with his fur-covered arm, he stopped climbing, prompting everyone else to do the same.
We'd used up all the peat crossing the glacier. The thought of a night spent clinging to this frigid mountain, the wind whistling louder than Harald's snoring, did nothing to raise my spirits. I squinted up Icewall past Derek. Though twilight turned every icy crag dark, one not very far off was larger and blacker than all the rest.
I cleared my throat, for I had not spoken since we started our climb that morning. "I think we're almost there. Look," I said, pointing to what I believed to be the cave opening.
"You're just saying that because I suggested we stop!" Derek barked without looking up, exhaustion making him even more churlish.
"You know, Derek," Tasslehoff said shrilly, "people would be more inclined to listen to you if you were pleasant, like Laurana or Sturm-"
"Not now," Sturm warned the kender in a low tone.
"I'm sure Derek appreciates being told this," Tasslehoff continued, unperturbed. "Flint once called me a thief. It was all a terrible misunderstanding, of course, something about a bracelet. Anyway, he explained to me that people might mistake my motives, you know, think I'm a thief when I'm really just protecting their interests. Now I know not to take it personally. Derek understands what I mean," the kender finished confidently.
"NOT NOW, TASI" Sturm hissed, eyeing Derek's purple face, noting his clenched fists.
"Yes… well…" Laurana coughed uncomfortably, perhaps swallowing a laugh. "I think we'd better hurry if we intend to continue."
Derek's hands slowly unclenched as he struggled for control. With a grim glance at the oblivious kender, he turned and squinted into the growing darkness, then continued up the cliff face, practically jerking the rest of us along in his wake.
Fortunately, we hadn't far to go.
"Well, what do you know?" Derek breathed up ahead of me. Scrambling over a jagged crag, he disappeared from sight. Frowning, I forced my reluctant muscles to move faster. When I reached the spot where I'd last seen him, I stopped and caught my breath.
We'd found the cave.
And it was beyond all imaginings. Walls, ceiling, and floor were made of ice smooth as glass. Though the cave should have been pitch-black, a rainbow of muted colors glowed from inside the glassy surfaces, colors I'd never seen in my whole life danced on the bleak, black-and-whiteness of the glacier. I stood rooted to the spot.
"Raggart, what is it?" Laurana pushed past me to climb onto the ledge. "Oh, my!" she gasped. "It's beautiful!"
"It's also magical," Elistan said uneasily, as we helped him onto the ledge. Tas and Sturm followed. "And of the Black Robes, I believe."
"What does that mean?" the Render asked.
"I'm afraid it means we're probably not alone up here," Sturmsaid grimly. "Someone possessed of very powerful-and evil magic created this effect."
"I know some very powerful magic-users," Tas chimed in. "There's Raistlin-have you heard of him?" he asked me, not waiting for an answer. "Then there's Fizban, although he's not very powerful," the kender's brow wrinkled, "or alive for that matter."
Derek glanced at Tasslehoff as he would an irritating fly. "We can't afford to rest here, then," he said decisively. 'This could be that dragon's lair, for all we know!"
"I don't think so, Derek, this cave's too small. Besides, we're exhausted!" Laurana said wearily. "What good will we be if we're too tired to defend ourselves should the need arise?"
But I was scarcely aware of their debate. Inside my head a question went round and round, louder with each revolution. Elistan had not indicated that he was a magic-user. Though I knew what the answer would be, I had to ask my question aloud.
"How does he know the effect is magical?" I asked, pointing to the old man.
Laurana shrugged, unconcerned. "Elistan is a true cleric of Paladine. His god has told him that this place is created by magic." She turned to Elistan. "Do you think it's safe to rest here for a while?"
I looked into the calm, though weary face of one who claimed to be a true cleric. I saw his love for Laurana-for everyone-and I began to dare to believe.
"I think it safe to rest for a few moments, but then I think we should press on, as Derek suggests," Elistan said diplomatically.
Derek snorted derisively at his partial victory. Refusing the walrus blubber I offered him, he began to pace about the cave. Laurana, on the other hand, calmly laid down a skin and curled up like a kitten to nap in what precious time there was.
I divided the remainder of our blubber between the other three and myself. Sturm stood alone, chewing absently on his, watching Derek pace.
Elistan found a distant comer and assumed a meditative pose. Was he praying to Paladine-or some false god instead? I longed for the ability to read minds. If Paladine really did exist and Elistan was his cleric, why didn't he give me a sign?
"If you don't mind my saying so," Tasslehoff interrupted my thoughts, "this stuff is awful. Don't get me wrong-I truly appreciate you sharing your food- but do your people really eat this all the time?"
"No," I said, grinning. "Sometimes we eat raw fish."
The kender's small face wrinkled with distaste. "Really? No spiced potatoes, no dwarf spirits?" He shuddered. "I guess you can't help being what you are-but I'm glad I was born a kender and not an Ice Folk!"
I did not tell him so, but I was glad as well.
Derek paced till he could stand it no more. "May we please continue looking for the orb now?" he asked with sarcastic politeness. Laurana jerked awake.
"What?" she mumbled, dazed. "How long have I been asleep?" With a grimace, she forced herself to her feet.
"Not long enough," Sturm muttered, giving Derek an irritated glance.
Wincing, Laurana rubbed at the knotted muscles of her lower back. "Never mind." She tried to sound energetic. "Let's see if this cave leads anywhere."
"It had better," Derek said pointedly, glaring at me before storming off toward the back of the cave. "Hurry up, Brightblade."
Smothering a grin, Sturm clapped me encouragingly on the back and strode after the impatient knight. Assuming his usual, disturbingly serene expression, Elistan gathered his furs closer and joined Laurana.
Thankfully, the cave did lead to a tunnel, though where the tunnel led to was anyone's guess.
We would soon find out.
"You know, I get the feeling we're overlooking something," Tasslehoff muttered, dashing between us to press his face to the cold, glassy walls. "I get this creepy feeling we're being watched."
"You are," Sturm said, fondly tugging the kender's topknot, "by me."
Tasslehoff frowned. "Make fun if you like, Sturm, but my Uncle Trapspringer says-"
Sturm clapped his hands to his ears and snorted. "Not an Uncle Trapspringer story!"
Derek's head jerked around. "Hush!" he snarled. Suddenly his face contorted in surprise. "Whoa!" The tunnel had ended abruptly in a deep, dark chasm! One foot over the edge, Derek swung his arms wildly to keep from sliding over entirely.
Instinctively, Laurana reached for his out-flung arm, and Sturm grabbed her. Together they pulled the struggling knight back from the edge. Wheezing and panting, he collapsed momentarily in aheap. Then, remembering himself, he struggled to his feet, brush ing off the helping hands.
"Great! Now where do we go?" he demanded.
Laurana frowned. "I don't see any reason-or way-to cross the chasm. There's nothing but an icy wall on the other side. I guess we'll have to retrace our steps and continue up the cliff face after all," she finished wearily.
"Not necessarily!" sang out Tasslehoff, whom I must confess I'd forgotten. He was on his knees, tapping on the left wall with his knuckles. Suddenly he looked up at Elistan, reaching for the mace hanging from the cleric's belt. "May I borrow this?" he asked politely. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the mace and smashed it into the icy wall, sending glassy shards flying about the tunnel.
"Tasslehoff, what on Krynn are you doing?" Laurana demanded, reaching out to prevent his next swing. She stopped abrubtly as the kender's blows revealed a hole into another area. Before she could say more, Tasslehoff hopped through the jagged opening.
"Tas, wait!" she cried, hurrying after him.
"Oh, no," Sturm muttered, as if this scene were nothing new to him. Hitching up his gear, he followed the golden-haired elf. The rest of us hastily followed.
Stepping through the opening, I found the others in a vast room formed of rough-hewn stone blocks. In one corner was stacked a pile of dried peat, ready for burning. In another were huge wooden barrels in neat rows. Weapons and tools hung from racks on the walls. A dilapidated door swung from one hinge on the wall opposite me. We seemed to be in some sort of storeroom-but for whom? A shiver of apprehension raised the hair on my scalp.
"I knew we were overlooking something!" Tasslehoff cried, scurrying about the room in excitement.
Elistan strode up to the kender, his palm outstretched. "Yes, you were… My mace, please," he reminded Tas.
"Oh, this?" Tas asked, pulling the mace from his pack, where he'd obviously placed it for safe-keeping. "Yes, well, I was talking about something else. Listen."
The kender's voice hushed, the room became strangely, uncomfortably quiet. Tasslehoff crept slowly toward the center, cocking his head from side to side. As if frozen, we all stood watching him. "Do you hear it, Sturm?" he asked softly. "It sounds like… like clicking, or scratching. Raggart?"
All eyes turned to me as if I should somehow know the source of the strange noise. I reached up to pull down my fur hood so that I could hear better, when Derek bellowed in sudden fury, his sword flashing from its sheath. Before any of us had time to comprehend what was happening, the room exploded into snarling, screaming chaos. Minotaurs, creatures with the bodies of men and the heads of bulls, and thanoi, another bizarre mix of human and walrus, burst through the doorway and fell on the two knights and the kender.
Surprised, Sturm had barely time enough to draw his weapon from under his furs. Surging forward with Derek, he strove to push the gruesome creatures back to the door. But the thanoi, hungry for the blood of intruders, were crazed. Swinging wildly with axes and clubs, they forced the two knights back into the center of the room.
My eye caught sight of Laurana's flaxen hair as she drew her blade and lunged forward to join the attack. The sight of the plucky fighter made me realize I'd done nothing to help. But what could I-a tired old man-do?
Tormented with indecision, I saw the kender disappear among the rows of barrels. It wasn't like him to hide from something this exciting. What was he up to? I wondered.
Suddenly, a blood-thirsty roaring filled my ears. Jerking my head around, I saw a minotaur press past the warriors, bent for Elistan and me. But the creature's face changed from delight to surprise as he tripped and fell at my feet for no apparent reason. From among the barrels I heard a childish giggle, and the reason became clear. "Now!" shouted the kender, and I guess he was talking to me, for suddenly I knew what to do.
First, I raised my staff and bashed the minotaur over the head with it as hard as I could. Then I dashed over to the first row of barrels and tugged on the rim of one of the heavy things until whatever was inside sloshed, swaying the barrel ever so slightly.
"Elistan, help me!" I called to the cleric, who stood on the edge of the battle, mumbling prayers. Seeing my intention, he drew his hands from his cuffs and pulled on the rim of the barrel with me, until, with a ground-jarring thump, the cask dropped onto its rounded side on the floor. Wordlessly, we stepped back and ran at the barrel full-tilt, sending it rolling like a loosened boulder at the prone minotaur.
Groggy from his fall and my bashing, the creature looked up just in time to see a spiraling wooden barrel about to smash into the tips of his horns. Then the minotaur's eyes saw no more, squashed as they were by the mammoth barrel.
But my triumph was shortlived as I quickly realized my error. The barrel was still rolling, headed straight for Laurana, Sturm, and Derek. Still engaged with thanoi and minotaurs in the center of the room, they did not see their danger. I panicked and yelled to the only one who faced me.
"Sturm!"
The knight's blood-spattered face jerked up, his eyes widened slightly. Without missing a beat, he slashed viciously at the thanoi before him. Leaning to his right, he shoved Derek away from the minotaur he fought, then bowled Laurana over to his left, not a second ahead of the swiftly turning barrel. It knocked the remaining minotaur and thanoi to the floor, then the barrel stopped, pinning or squashing whatever happened to get in its way.
Unfortunately, that included Derek's foot. Surprised by Sturm's shove, the stubborn knight had tried to stand his ground, apparently slipped in a pool of blood, and crashed to the floor, just as the barrel arrived. Though obviously in great pain, the knight hacked at the furry thanoi fingers that desperately groped at him from under the barrel.
Raising her sword, Laurana strode forward and ended the lives of the struggling creatures, as Sturm hoisted the end of the barrel pinning Derek's foot.
"This is your fault, Brightblade," Derek growled, nearly spitting on Sturm's proffered hands. He struggled to stand alone, though the effort cost him. Sturm caught the Knight of Solamnia by the armpits as he slumped toward the floor.
As the cleric of my tribe, it was my duty to heal, as best I could, the wounds of my people. I rushed to Derek's side to examine his foot. Even with his boot on, I could see that it was twisted unnaturally. Gently slipping the furry glove off, my hand touched the jagged edge of a bone. Blood flowed freely from the purple, swollen wound. Swallowing a gasp of revulsion, I searched my mind for an answer. But I had none. I hadn't the power to heal this man.
Derek, thankfully, had passed out from the pain. I gently maneuvered the bone back to what I thought was its intended position, then let Derek's foot slide from my hand to rest on the cold ground. Looking up suddenly, I found Sturm's eyes on me.
"Great job, Raggart," he said, smiling warmly. "Your trick with the barrel was an excellent idea."
My mouth dropped in shock. How could he say that? Not only had I crushed Derek's foot, but I'd given Sturm's enemy more cause to hate him. Derek would never forgive Sturm for my mistake! I couldn't bare the shame anymore. I spun around to flee, but a firm hand gripped my shoulder.
"Do not blame yourself, Raggart." Elistan's soothing voice enveloped me. "Sturm is right. Your quick thinking saved our lives-including Derek's." He knelt down next to the unconscious knight and laid a hand to his forehead.
Though his words were intended to reassure me, they only increased my shame. I hung my head and turned away, my face burning. No matter what anyone said, I knew that my thoughtless, though well-intended action had caused Derek's injury. Not only had I caused it, I couldn't even cure him! Some cleric I was!
"Laurana, Sturm!" the kender squealed. I'd forgotten all about him again. "I think I know where the orb is!"
"Tasslehoff Burrfoot, what have you been up to?" Laurana demanded sternly. "You haven't been off exploring by yourself, have you?"
"Well, not exactly." The kender looked sheepish. "I thought I saw one of those walrus-looking men running out the door, so I thought I'd better find out what mischief he was up to. When I realized I'd lost sight of him, I looked up and found myself in a library-here in this frozen castle!" His face was flushed with barely contained excitement. Though I said nothing, I noticed that his pack had new bulges.
"That does it," Laurana said firmly. "Our battle here will likely draw more attention. Let's get moving." She brushed a tangle of hair from her face. "Will Derek be able to travel, or must we carry him?"
"I will carry myself!" Derek growled. To my surprise, he pushed past Elistan to pull himself to his feet. "Never let it be said that Derek Crownguard slowed anyone down!"
"No one would ever accuse you of that," Laurana muttered, the double edge in her words lost to Derek. "Let's go find this library of Tas's."
Gingerly, Derek placed his weight on his foot. I waited for him to crumble like softened snow. But as he headed for the door, a slight limp was the only indication that he'd hurt his foot. Having seen the extent of his wound, I was stunned! Could sheer force of will allow Derek to walk on the bloody stump I had just examined?
What startled me almost as much was that no one else was surprised. I was about to demand an explanation when Elistan caught my eye. That serene, half-smile lit his face as he winked at me knowingly. My mind balked at the only possibility. Could it be true?… Elistan…?
"Come on, Raggart!" Tasslehoff's high-pitched voice prodded me. Shaking my head, I looked around the storeroom to find I was alone with dead minotaurs and thanoi. Everyone waited for me at the doorway at the far side of the room. I'd think about Elistan and Derek's foot later, I told myself as I hurried to join them.
Sturm poked his head out the door and peered about for signs of life. With a jerk of his head, he signaled us to follow him into the area beyond.
We stepped into what must have been the central courtyard of a once-beautiful castle. Five or more doors led off in a semi-circle to the right, and three more curved around to our left. The courtyard was otherwise empty, save for a massive fountain shaped of water-spurting dragons. The fountain immediately struck me as strange- Why hadn't it frozen?
"Magical," Elistan said abruptly, as if reading my thoughts. "The water has curative properties."
But instead of thrilling me, for I had many aches and pains a few swallows might cure, Elistan's prediction made me apprehensive. Someone or something very magical and intelligent was at work in Icewall Castle.
"The library's over here!" Tasslehoff whispered loudly, slipping off to one of the rooms to our left. "There was a trap on this door," he added proudly, his hand on the knob, "but I fixed it." He disappeared through the opening, only to thrust his head back out again. "By the way," he chimed, pointing to a spot before the door, "don't step on this big, flat stone."
"Kender!" muttered Derek, but I noticed he stepped across the stone before continuing into the room beyond. Sturm and Laurana followed, with Elistan and me behind.
Several candles, nearly burned to their bases, lit the small room that was filled with racks and shelves of books, scrolls, and loose papers. Tasslehoff was everywhere at once, ducking under tables and peering between shelves.
"What makes you think the orb is in here, kender?" asked Derek. "We shouldn't stay long. We can't afford to get caught in here. I can barely turn around, let alone fight."
"Derek's right, Tas," said Laurana. "Let's search quickly and get out of here," Derek cast a surprised glance at Laurana, caught off guard by her support. "Raggart, keep an eye on the courtyard." Following her instructions, I moved back to stand in the doorway, an eye on both areas.
"I didn't say the orb was in here," Tasslehoff said de fensively, "I only said it MIGHT be. Whoever owns this library must certainly read a lot, though how he finds the time… Of course, what else has he to do in the middle of all this boring ice and snow-no offense, Raggart."
I smiled to let him know none was taken. Frankly, I found the landscape a bit dull at times, too. But my smile slipped as I read the spines of several books- spellbooks, I noted with growing apprehension.
"I've not felt such all-consuming evil since… since Pax Tharkas." Elistan shuddered, though I didn't understand the reference. "I think we're near the orb, but I do not believe it is in this room."
Abruptly, Laurana stopped pulling books from shelves. Looking resolute, she said grimly, "Then we'll just have to search every room in this frozen castle until we find it."
"I knew better than to trust a kender," Derek scoffed, striding toward the door.
"You're the one who insisted back in Tarsis that I come along," Tasslehoff pointed out, his little chin thrust forward.
"A demand I've come to regret more than once," Derek muttered.
"Then I don't suppose you want to know about the room hidden behind this wall?" the kender asked coyly.
Derek's face turned dark.
Laurana stepped up between them. "What room, Tas?" she asked in that sweet voice of hers.
Tasslehoff shot a triumphant glance at Derek before turning an excited grin on Laurana. "I think there's one behind this bookcase," he said, striding up to the shortest wall in the room, directly opposite the doorway I stood in. Tas knocked twice on the middle sup port of the bookcase. The whole wall swung back, almost knocking the kender off his feet in the process. "See?"
"I see," Derek said, pushing past the startled kender to peer into the room beyond. "I see another empty, orbless room!"
Derek took a few steps into the room, disappearing from my view. "Whoa-what the-?" He gasped suddenly. "Hey!" It was a shriek of frustration, not pain. Everyone pressed forward. Though I knew I should stay by the door no matter what, I could not resist looking too.
There, in a bedchamber the same size as the library, stood Derek, his hands frozen to his sides. I could not understand it until I saw the slender form of an elf in chainmail and black robes, a black longsword gleaming in his hand. He wore a strange helmet with horns over his head. I did not know it then, but I was getting my first glimpse of a Dragon Highlord.
"He's a dark elf wizard and he's put some kind of hold on Derek!" Elistan cried. "Keep him from casting spells!"
Before anyone could reach the dark elf, he slammed the hilt of his sword into Derek's face. The knight crumpled into what I hoped was only unconsciousness.
Instantly, Laurana and Sturm ran into the room, their arrival drawing the dark elf wizard away from the helpless Knight of Solamnia. The Highlord started to attack them, but he hesitated for a moment at the sight of Laurana.
"An elf, and a woman yet, dares invade the castle of Feal-Thas, Dragon Highlord of the White Wing?" the wizard snarled, and suddenly began slashing at her with his sword.
Ducking his blow, Laurana lost her footing and fell, hitting her head on a wooden desk. For a moment, she could not move, but crouched on the floor, holding her head in her hands. Seeing his opening, Feal-Thas closed in, his sword raised.
"It was high and mighty elves like you who cast me out!" Feal Thas cried. "You will pay!" But in his thirst for Laurana's blood, the wizard had forgotten Sturm.
The knight lunged forward to strike the sword from the dark elf's hand. But with a speed and agility unknown to most humans, the Highlord read Sturm's intentions and whirled about, slashing the knight's own sword hand. Sturm's gasped, holding his bleeding wrist. His moment of weakness cost him dearly. In a single, lightning-swift motion, Feal-Thas snatched a dagger from his sleeve and hurled it toward the knight. A hideous shriek gurgled out of Sturm's mouth as he clutched at his throat, and blood streamed down his fur cloak. He collapsed.
"Sturm!" Laurana cried out at the sight of her fallen friend. Her beautiful face contorted with rage as she whirled on Feal-Thas. With grim determination, Laurana wiped the blood from her eyes and fought her enemy, though it was easy to see that each blow drained her by half. Feal-Thas appeared to enjoy playing with her, seeming to delight in parrying her waning blows without striking back.
Elistan, whose strategy so far had been to stay out of the way of the fighters in the small chamber, could hold back no longer. Seeing Laurana alone, he hurled himself at the wizard, bashing him repeatedly in the back with his mace. Though the attack caught him unaware, Feal-Thas used his magic to toss the cleric from him as he would a fly. A huge, phantom hand reached out, grabbed the cleric, and threw him aside. Elistan slammed into the far wall and slid silently to the floor.
And there I stood, rooted to the spot, useless as a dwarven doorknob. What had my strategy-my excuse-been? I wasn't even watching our rear anymore. What could I do? I remembered the kender- where was he? He'd come through for me before, tripping the minotaur. But he was nowhere to be seen. There weren't any barrels here to save my unworthy life.
I watched in despair as Laurana, exhausted from her lone struggle, dropped to one knee. She tried desperately to regain her footing, but Feal-Thas leaned forward and plucked the sword from her bloodstained, aching hands. Eyes dim with angry tears, she swung desperately at him with her fist. The dark elf grabbed her wrist and laughed.
"What a pity," he murmured, the patronizing sound of victory in his voice. He held the tip of her own sword to the throbbing vein in her throat. "You appear to be an elf of some breeding-not entirely unattractive either. I could spare your life if you gave me good reason," he offered suggestively.
Laurana, breathing heavily from her struggles, turned her gaze from the knife in Sturm's throat and his blood-soaked chest to look at the Highlord. She swallowed hard. "Are you suggesting I join you as a Highlord?" she asked in a seductively coy tone I would never have thought her capable of using.
I was shocked. Why on Krynn was she toying with this evil Highlord while her friend lay dying at her feet? Suddenly, I saw the knuckles of her hands, clenched and white with anger, and I knew she must be stalling for time, hoping to regain her strength.
"What I'm suggesting has nothing to do with being a Highlord," the wizard said, leering. Encouraged that she might entertain the thought, confident that she no longer had the strength to fight, and obviously discounting me completely, the wizard lowered his sword. "If we cleaned you up a bit, you might be worthy."
Laughing, he looked over at the bed and even reached out his hand to smooth the silken sheets.
I thought I might choke on the bile in my throat, as I longed to strangle the life from the evil creature. Suddenly, I remembered my frostreaver! (I know now that the thought came from Paladine himself.) But I was not strong enough to wield it-only fighters were. I looked at the bent form of the courageous woman warrior. Could Laurana…? No one but Ice Folk had ever been allowed to use frostreavers. But these were extraordinary people I traveled with. Faith overcame tradition.
Sliding the axelike weapon from my pack ever so quietly, I crept forward. Time seemed to grind to a halt. The wizard was still pawing the bed and laughing, his foul suggestions of what he intended to do to the elven maid burning my heart.
Softly, I tip-toed up behind Laurana and slipped the glistening frostreaver to the princess of the Qualinesti elves, praying to Paladine to give her strength that I did not have.
Laurana's fingers curled around the haft of the icy 'reaver. Raising it over her head, she sprang up like a wolf and lunged at the unsuspecting elf wizard just as he turned around for his answer. Candlelight glinted off the frigid edge of my painstakingly crafted frostreaver as it bit into Feal-thas's throat. A scream, the wizard's last on Krynn, pierced the air. The floor of the small chamber ran red with the blood of the dead Highlord.
Dry, wracking sobs shook Laurana's body as she stumbled over to kneel beside Sturm. Selfconsciously, I moved forward to wrench the icy weapon from her shaky fingers. She laid her hands awkwardly on the knight's bloody chest, not quite knowing what to do. Biting her lip, she forced her right hand forward to close around the hilt of the dagger in his throat. A heart-breaking moan escaped her lips as, mustering all her strength and courage, she pulled the dagger out. Blood welled from the wound;
she pressed a small cloth to it timidly, uselessly. My throat grew thick with tears as I watched the life drain from her friend.
Somehow I became aware of other sounds in the room. Derek stirred slowly, then spun onto his back.
"Be careful, Laurana!" he cried, jumping to his feet as if pulled by a rope, his sword aloft. "He's a magic-user!" Spinning about, the Knight of Solamnia blinked in bewilderment. His eyes traveled from the dead body of the Highlord to Laurana as she knelt at Sturm's side. Understanding and admiration lit his eyes. He bowed his head respectfully for the dying knight.
Suddenly there came a muffled pounding on the wall behind Elistan, rousing the unconscious cleric. Shaking his head to clear it, he stood slowly and stepped away from the wall.
Oh, no! I thought. The wizard's allies! We are doomed!
Brows narrowed in a frown, Derek raised his weapon as a small crack spread on the wall in the shape of a door.
Suddenly, out popped the kender!
"Who's been blocking the door?" he demanded testily. "I've been pounding and pounding, but you've all been too busy doing who knows what to notice!" He saw Laurana's tear-stained face, then the bloody pool on the floor. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"Sturm!" he cried, dropping to the floor by Laurana. "Sturm, wake up! Flint would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you while he was away!" The kender choked. "You know how grouchy he can be when he thinks I've fouled things up again! Oh, Sturm!" The kender's voice trailed away into sobs.
Wringing my hands helplessly, I searched my mind for some way to comfort them. I felt even more useless than I had when Derek's foot had been crushed.
Then, "Elistan!" Laurana cried, motioning for the cleric.
I stared at her in sorrow. Now we would see Elistan for the fake he was. I wished, for her sake alone, that he was what he claimed to be.
Furry robe rustling softly on the floor, Elistan's face was
composed as he knelt beside the dying knight.
"We will ask for Paladine's aid, but it may be that this man's life has been fulfilled. If so, we must give thanks that he died as he would have wished, defending those he loved." Drawing the golden medallion from under his furs, Elistan held it tenderly and mumbled words I could not understand. Moments passed and nothing happened. I held my breath, hoping, and yet not daring to believe. I kept my eyes on Sturm. Elistan continued to pray, his voice gathering intensity and momentum.
Suddenly, blood stopped oozing from Sturm's throat. Fear grabbed me. Was this the end? Had the knight's heart simply given up?
And then a miracle happened. I can close my eyes and, to this day, see again what I saw in that small room in Icewall Castle. Color returned to Sturm's cheeks. Slowly, so slowly I couldn't be certain of my eyes, the wound sealed shut. Sturm moaned as life again flowed through him.
"He will live," Elistan pronounced heavily, obviously drained. Tears flowing from my eyes, I bowed my head and dropped to my knees before Paladine's cleric.
But Elistan pulled me to my feet. "Do not worship me. I am but Paladine's messenger on Krynn, as you will soon be."
I heard the words of promise as if in a dream I could scarcely believe.
"Hey, I almost forgot!" Tasslehoff hiccuped, his tears drying. "I found it!"
"Found what?" Laurana asked, preoccupied with Sturm.
A look of extreme patience crossed the kender's face. "What have we been looking for? The orb, that's what! I must say, it doesn't look like much compared to the picture I saw in the book in the Great Library. Oh, it's round and carved and all that, but it's awfully small. It looks like there's something red inside it- I'd love to break it and find out what it is!"
"Don't you dare!" Derek shouted, heading for the small door Tas had just used. He returned a few moments later holding a small crystal globe that randomly shifted in color from misty white to blue.
It didn't look like much to me either, but almost instantly, fighting broke out over it. Laurana wanted to hold it, for she intended to give it to her people, the elves. Derek demanded to keep it to return it to the council of the Knights. They agreed only to disagree- and to let me, as a disinterested third party, hold it until we reached the Ice Folk camp, where they would rejoin their friends.
With Paladine's help, Sturm slowly returned from death's grip. We spent the rest of the night in Feal-Thas's library, warmed there by the fire, protected from minotaur and thanoi. But we were not attacked. After we deposited the remains of the Highlord's body in the courtyard, his former minions did not disturb us. I think they fled. I didn't blame them. He didn't appear to have been a kindly master.
Or perhaps they sensed that in the next room, while a courageous elf maiden, a precocious kender, and two very different knights slept. Good struck another blow in its battle against Evil. Elistan and I discussed this, as we prayed and talked all through the night. When the two moons gave way to the sun that mom-ing, I, Raggart, cleric of the Ice Folk had became a long-awaited true cleric of Paladine.
I settled back from the flames, my voice scratchy from the lengthy tale. Though tired, I was reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire and my memories. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply.
"Did the great chief Harald keep his promise to not harm Laurana's friends?" Laina asked, though she knew the answer from previous tellings of the tale.
"He did, but while we fought minotaurs and thanoi in Icewall Castle, others of their races attacked our village in what has become known as the Battle of the Ice Reaches. Many of our people were killed, as well as the knights Aran and Brian. I'm told they fought valiantly."
"And Laurana and Sturm and the others?" Mendor asked. "What became of them?"
My eyes flew open. This was a new question. "The woman who could charm an ice bear…" I said at last. "I can only hope Laurana joined her Tanis, as I've come to think of him.
"Derek and Sturm… both driven by some dark secret," I mumbled, my eyes narrowing. "Though I believe Sturm conquered his, I fear Derek's had grown too powerful."
I rubbed my chin. "I don't know for certain," I continued more slowly. "But I imagine Flint growing to a ripe old age under a shady tree somewhere, grumbling happily.
"The kender?" I chuckled. "It's anyone's guess with a kender. But before our adventure in Icewall Castle was over, Tas uncovered yet another secret in the castle-the dragonlance. Tas told me more than he was supposed to, of course. But I must confess the details are lost to me…"
I stared, unblinking, into the flames. "Elistan spent his life in the work of Paladine," I continued with certainty. "And if he has not already left Krynn to join the true god, he will one day soon."
With that, I, Raggart Knug, true cleric of Paladine, rose to my feet. Looking for the constellations in the sky, I thought wistfully of the day I, too, would join Paladine. Straightening my weary back, I left the fire for my hut and sleep. Tomorrow I would begin forging another frostreaver.
The Legacy
Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman