Dragons of Autumn Twilight dc-1

by Margaret Weis

  "There, you have light," the mage whispered softly. He thrust the bottom of the staff into the wet ground.

  It was then Tanis realized his elven vision was gone. He should have been able to see the warm, red outlines of his companions, but they were nothing more than darker shadows against the starry darkness of the glade. The half-elf didn't say anything to the others, but the peaceful feeling he had been enjoying was pierced by a sliver of fear.

  "I'll take the first watch," Sturm offered heavily. "I shouldn't sleep with this head wound, anyway. I once knew a man who did-he never woke up."

  "We'll watch in twos," Tanis said. "I'll take first watch with you."

  The others opened packs and began making up beds on the grass, except for Raistlin. He remained sitting on the trail, the light of his staff shining on his bowed, hooded head. Sturm settled down beneath a tree. Tanis walked over to the brook and drank thirstily. Suddenly he heard a strangled cry behind him. He drew his sword and stood, all in one motion. The others had their weapons drawn. Only Raistlin sat, unmoving.

  "Put your swords away," he said. "They will do you no good. Only a weapon of powerful magic could harm these."

  An army of warriors surrounded them. That alone would have been enough to chill anyone's blood. But the companions could have dealt with that. What they couldn't handle was the horror that overwhelmed and numbed their senses. Each one recalled Caramon's flippant comment; "I'll fight the living any day of the week, but not the dead."

  These warriors were dead.

  Nothing more than fleeting, fragile white light outlined their bodies. It was as if the human warmth that had been theirs while they lived lingered on horribly after death. The flesh had rotted away, leaving behind the body's image as remembered by the soul. The soul apparently remembered other things, too.

  Each warrior was dressed in ancient, remembered armor. Each warrior carried remembered weapons that could inflict well- remembered death. But the undead needed no weapons. They could kill from fear alone, or by the touch of their grave-cold hands.

  How can we fight these things? Tanis thought wildly, he who had never felt such fear in the face of flesh and blood enemies. Panic engulfed him and he considered yelling for the others to turn and run for it.

  Angrily, the half-elf forced himself to calm down, to get a grip on reality. Reality! He almost laughed at the irony. Running was useless; they would get lost, separated. They had to stay and deal with this-somehow. He began to walk toward the ghostly warriors. The dead said nothing, made no threatening moves. They simply stood, blocking the path. It was impossible to count them since some glimmered into being while others faded, only to return when their comrades dimmed. Not that it makes any difference, Tanis admitted to himself, feeling sweat chill his body. One of these undead warriors could kill all of us simply by lifting its hand.

  As the half-elf drew nearer to the warriors, he saw a gleam of light- Raistlin's staff. The mage, leaning on his staff, stood in front of the huddle of companions. Tanis came to stand beside him. The pale crystal light reflected on the mage's face, making it seem nearly as ghostly as the faces of the dead before him.

  "Welcome to Darken Wood, Tanis," the mage said.

  "Raistlin-" Tanis choked. He had to try more than once to get his dry throat to form a sound. "What are these-"

  "Spectral minions," the mage whispered without taking his eyes from them. "We are fortunate."

  "Fortunate?" Tanis repeated increduously. "Why?"

  "These are the spirits of men who gave their pledge to perform some task. They failed in that pledge, and it is their doom to keep performing the same task over and over until they win their release and find true rest in death."

  "How in the name of the Abyss does that make us fortunate?" Tanis whispered harshly, releasing his fear in anger. "Perhaps they pledged to rid the forest of all who entered!"

  "That is possible"-Raistlin flickered a glance at the half-elf-"though I do not think it likely. We will find out."

  Before Tanis could react, the mage stepped away from the group and faced the spectres.

  "Raist!" Caramon said in a strangled voice, starting to shove forward.

  "Keep him back, Tanis," Raistlin commanded harshly. "Our lives depend on this."

  Gripping the warrior's arm, Tanis asked Raistlin, "What are you going to do?"

  "I am going to cast a spell that will enable us to communicate with them. I will perceive their thoughts. They will speak through me."

  The mage threw his head back, his hood slipping off. He stretched out his arms and began to speak. "Ast bilak par-bilakar. Suh tangus moipar!" he murmured, then repeated that phrase three times. As Raistlin spoke, the crowd of warriors parted and a figure more awesome and terrifying than the rest appeared. The spectre was taller than the rest and wore a shimmering crown. His pallid armor was richly decorated with dark jewels. His face showed the most terrible grief and anguish. He advanced upon Raistlin.

  Caramon choked and averted his eyes. Tanis dared not speak or cry out, fearful of disturbing the mage and breaking the spell. The spectre raised a fleshless hand, reached out slowly to touch the young mage. Tanis trembled-the spectre's touch meant certain death. But Raistlin, entranced, did not move. Tanis wondered if he even saw the chill hand coming toward his heart. Then Raistlin spoke.

  "You who have been long dead, use my living voice to tell us of your bitter sorrow. Then give us leave to pass through this forest, for our purpose is not evil, as you will see if you read our hearts."

  The spectre's hand halted abruptly. The pale eyes searched Raistlin's face. Then, shimmering in the darkness, the spectre bowed before the mage. Tanis sucked in his breath, he had sensed Raistlin's power, but this…!

  Raistlin returned the bow, then moved to stand beside the spectre. His face was nearly as pale as that of the ghostly figure next to him. The living dead and the dead living, Tanis thought, shuddering.

  When Raistlin spoke, his voice was no longer the wheezing whisper of the fragile mage. It was deep and dark and commanding and rang through the forest. It was cold and hollow and might have come from below the ground. "Who are you who trespass in Darken Wood?"

  Tanis tried to answer, but his throat had dried up completely.

  Caramon, next to him, couldn't even lift his head. Then Tanis felt movement at his side. The kender! Cursing himself, he reached out to grab for Tasslehoff, but it was too late. The small figure, topknot dancing, ran out into the light of Raistlin's staff and stood before the spectre.

  Tasslehoff bowed respectfully. "I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot," he said. "My friends"-he waved his small hand at the group- "call me Tas. Who are you?"

  "It matters little," the sepulchral voice intoned. "Know only that we are warriors from a time long forgotten."

  "Is it true that you broke a pledge and that's how you come to be here?" Tas asked with interest.

  "It is. We pledged to guard this land. Then came the smoldering mountain from the heavens. The land was ripped apart. Evil things crept out from the bowels of the earth and we dropped our swords and fled in terror until bitter death overtook us. We have been called to fulfill our oath as evil once more stalks the land. And here will we remain until evil is driven back and balance is restored again."

  Suddenly Raistlin gave a shriek and flung back his head, his eyes rolling upwards until the watching companions could see only the whites. His voice became a thousand voices crying out at once. This startled even the kender, who stepped back a pace and looked around uneasily for Tanis.

  The spectre raised his hand in a commanding gesture, and the tumult ceased as though swallowed by the darkness. "My men demand to know the reason you enter Darken Wood. If it is for evil, you will find that you have brought evil upon yourselves, for you will not live to see the moons rise."

  "No, not evil. Certainly not," Tasslehoff said hurriedly. "It's kind of a long story, you see, but we're obviously not going anywhere in a big hurry and you're obviously not either, so I'll tell it to
you.

  "To begin with, we were in the Inn of the Last Home in Solace. You probably don't know it. I'm not sure how long it's been there, but it wasn't around during the Cataclysm and it sounds like you were. Well, there we were, listening to the old man talking of Huma and he-the old man, not Huma-told Goldmoon to sing her song and she said what song and then she sang and a Seeker decided to be a music critic and Riverwind-that's the tall man over there- shoved the Seeker into the fire. It was an accident-he didn't mean to. But the Seeker went up like a torch! You should have seen it! Anyway, the old man handed me the staff and said hit him and I did and the staff turned to blue crystal and the flames died and-"

  "Blue crystal!" The spectre's voice echoed hollowly from Raistlin's throat as he began to walk toward them. Tanis and Strum both jumped forward, grabbing Tas and dragging him out of the way. But the spectre seemed intent only on examining the group. His flickering eyes focused on Goldmoon. Raising a pale hand, he motioned her forward.

  "No!" Riverwind tried to prevent her from leaving his side, but she pushed away gently and walked over to stand before the spectre, the staff in her hand. The ghostly army encircled them.

  Suddenly the spectre drew his sword from its pallid sheath. He held it high overhead and white light tinged with blue flame flickered from the blade.

  "Look at the staff!" Goldmoon gasped.

  The staff glowed pale blue, as if answering the sword.

  The ghostly king turned to Raistlin and reached his pale hand toward the entranced mage. Caramon gave a hoarse bellow and broke free of Tanis's grip. Drawing his sword, he lunged at the undead warrior. The blade pierced the flickering body, but it was Caramon who screamed in pain and dropped, writhing, to the ground. Tanis and Sturm knelt beside him. Raistlin stared ahead, his expression unchanged, unmoving.

  "Caramon, where-" Tanis held him, trying frantically to see where the big man was injured.

  "My hand!" Caramon rocked back and forth, sobbing, his left hand-his sword hand-thrust tightly under his right arm.

  "What's the matter?" Tanis asked. Then, seeing the warrior's sword on the ground, he knew; Caramon's sword was rimed with frost.

  Tanis looked up in horror and saw the spectre's hand close tightly around Raistlin's wrist. A shudder wracked the mage's frail body; his face twisted in pain but he did not fall. The mage's eyes closed, the lines of cynicism and bitterness smoothed away and the peace of death descended on him. Tanis watched in awe, only partially aware of Caramon's hoarse cries. He saw Raistlin's face transform again, this time imbued with ecstasy. The mage's aura of power intensified until it glowed around him with an almost palpable brilliance.

  "We are summoned," Raistlin said. The voice was his own and yet like none Tanis had ever heard him use. "We must go."

  The mage turned his back on them and walked into the woods, the ghostly king's fleshless hand still grasping his wrist. The circle of undead parted to let him pass.

  "Stop them," Caramon moaned. He staggered to his feet.

  "We can't!" Tanis fought to restrain him, and finally the big man collapsed in the half-elf's arms, weeping like a child. "We'll follow him. He'll be all right. He's magi, Caramon-we can't understand. We'll follow-"

  The eyes of the undead flickered with an unholy light as they watched the companions pass them and enter the forest. The spectral army closed ranks behind them.

  The companions stepped into a raging battle. Steel rang, wounded men shrieked for help. So real was the clash of armies in the darkness that Sturm drew his sword reflexively. The tumult deafened him; he ducked and dodged unseen blows that he knew were aimed at him. He swung his sword in desperation black air, knowing that he was doomed and there was no escape. He began to run, and he suddenly stumbled out of the forest into a barren, wasted glade. Raistlin stood before him, alone.

  The mage's eyes were closed. He sighed gently, then collapsed to the ground. Sturm ran to him, then Caramon appeared, nearly knocking Sturm over to reach his brother and gather him tenderly in his arms. One by one, the others ran as if driven into the glade. Raistlin was still murmuring strange, unfamiliar words. The spectres vanished.

  "Raist!" Caramon sobbed brokenly.

  The mage's eyelids flickered and opened. "The spell… drained me…" he whispered. "I must rest…"

  "And rest ye shall!" boomed a voice-a living voice!

  Tanis breathed a sigh of relief even as he put his hand on his sword. Quickly he and the others jumped protectively in front of Raistlin, turning to face outward, staring into the darkness. Then the silver moon appeared, suddenly, as if a hand had produced it from beneath a black silk scarf. Now they could see the head and shoulders of a man standing amid the trees. His bare shoulders were as large and heavy as Caramon's. A mane of long hair curled around his neck; his eyes were bright and glittered coldly. The companions heard a rustling in the brush and saw the flash of a spear tip being raised, pointing at Tanis.

  "Put thy puny weapons down," the man warned. "Ye be surrounded and have not a chance."

  "A trick," Sturm growled, but even as he spoke there was a tremendous crashing and cracking of tree limbs. More men appeared, surrounding them, all armed with spears that glinted in the moonlight.

  The first man strode forward then, and the companions stared in amazement, their hands on their weapons going slack.

  The man wasn't a man at all, but a centaur! Human from the waist up, he had the body of a horse from the waist down. He cantered forward with easy grace, powerful muscles rippling across his barrel chest. Other centaurs moved into the path at his commanding gesture. Tanis sheathed his sword. Flint sneezed.

  "Thee must come with us," the centaur ordered.

  "My brother is ill," Caramon growled. "He can't go anywhere."

  "Place him upon my back," the centaur said coolly. "In fact, if any of you be tired, thee may ride to where we go."

  "Where are you taking us?" Tanis asked.

  "Thee is in no position to ask questions." The centaur reached out and prodded Caramon's back with his spear. "We travel far and fast. I suggest thee ride. But fear not." He bowed before Goldmoon, extending his foreleg and touching his hand to his shaggy hair. "Harm will not come to thee this night."

  "Can I ride, Tanis, please?" begged Tasslehoff.

  "Don't trust them!" Flint sneezed violently.

  "I don't trust them," Tanis muttered, "but we don't seem to have a whole lot of choice in the matter-Raistlin can't walk. Go on, Tas. The rest of you, too."

  Caramon, scowling at the centaurs suspiciously, lifted his brother in his arms and set him upon the back of one of the half-man, half-animal. Raistlin slumped forward weakly.

  "Climb up," the centaur said to Caramon. "I can bear the weight of thee both. Thy brother will need thy support, for we ride swiftly tonight."

  Flushing with embarrassment, the big warrior clambered onto the centaur's broad back, his huge legs dangling almost to the ground. He put an arm around Raistlin as the centaur galloped down the path. Tasslehoff, giggling with excitement, jumped onto a centaur and promptly slid off the other side into the mud. Sturm, sighing, picked up the kender and set him on the centaur's back. Then, before Flint could protest, the knight lifted the dwarf up behind Tas. Flint tried to speak but could only sneeze as the centaur moved away. Tanis rode with the first centaur, who seemed to be the leader.

  "Where are you taking us?" Tanis asked again.

  "To the Forestmaster," the centaur answered.

  "The Forestmaster?" Tanis repeated. "Who is he-one like yourselves?"

  "She is the Forestmaster," the centaur replied and began to canter down the trail.

  Tanis started to ask another question, but the centaur's quickened pace jolted him, and he nearly bit through his tongue as he came down hard on the centaur's back. Feeling himself start to slide backwards as the centaur trotted faster and faster, Tanis threw his arms around the centaur's broad torso.

  "Nar, thee doesn't need to squeeze me in two!" The centaur glanced back, his
eyes glittering in the moonlight. "It be my job to see thee stays on. Relax. Put thy hands on me rump to balance thyself. There, now. Grip with thy legs."

  The centaurs left the trail and plunged into the forest. The moonlight was immediately swallowed up by the dense trees. Tanis felt branches whip past, swiping at his clothing. The centaur never swerved or slowed in his gallop, however, and Tanis could only assume he knew the trail well, a trail the half-elf couldn't see.

  Soon the pace began to slacken and the centaur finally came to a stop. Tanis could see nothing in the smothering darkness.

  He knew his companions were near only because he could hear Raistlin's shallow breathing, Caramon's jingling armor, and Flint's unabated sneezing. Even the light from Raistlin's staff had died.

  "A powerful magic is laid on this forest," the mage whispered weakly when Tanis asked him about it. "This magic dispels all others."

  Tanis's uneasiness grew. "Why are we stopping?"

  "Because thee art here. Dismount," the centaur ordered gruffly.

  "Where is here?" Tanis slid off the centaur's broad back onto the ground. He stared around him but could see nothing. Apparently the trees kept even the smallest glimmer of moonlight or starlight from penetrating through to the trail.

  "Thee stands in the center of Darken Wood," the centaur replied. "And now I bid thee farewell-or fare evil, depending on how the Forestmaster judges thee."

  "Wait a minute!" Caramon called out angrily. "You can't just leave us here in the middle of this forest, blind as newborn kittens-"

  "Stop them!" Tanis ordered, reaching for his sword. But his weapon was gone. An explosive oath from Sturm indicated the knight had discovered the same thing.

  The centaur chuckled. Tanis heard hooves beat into soft earth and tree branches rustled. The centaurs were gone.

  "Good riddance!" Flint sneezed.

  "Are we all here?" Tanis asked, reaching out his hand and feeling Sturm's strong, reassuring grasp.

  "I'm here," piped Tasslehoff. "Oh, Tanis, wasn't it wonderful? I-"

  "Hush, Tas!" Tanis snapped. "The Plainsmen?"