Dragons of Autumn Twilight dc-1

by Margaret Weis

"What's the plan?" he asked, sitting down on a crate.

  "Yes, where are we?" Sturm asked. Soon almost everyone was crowded around the map except Raistlin who appeared to sleep, though Tanis thought he saw a slit of gold shining through the mage's supposedly closed eyelids.

  Gilthanas spread his map flat.

  "Here is the fortress of Pax Tharkas and the surrounding mine area," he said, then he pointed. "We are in the cellars here on the lowest level. Down this hallway, about fifty feet from here, are the rooms where the women are imprisoned. This is a guard room, across from the women, and this"-he tapped the map gently-"is the lair of one of the red dragons, the one Lord Verminaard called Ember. The dragon is so big, of course, that the lair extends up above ground level, communicating with Lord Verminaard's chambers on the first floor, up through the gallery on the second floor, and out into the open sky.

  Gilthanas smiled bitterly. "On the first floor, behind Verminaard's chambers, is the prison where the children are kept. The Dragon Highlord is wise. He keeps the hostages separated, knowing that the women would never consider leaving without their children, and the men would not leave without their families. The children are guarded by a second red dragon in this room. The men-about three hundred of them-work in mines out in the mountain caves. There are several hundred gully dwarves working the mines as well."

  "You seem to know a lot about Pax Tharkas," Eben said.

  Gilthanas glanced up quickly. "What do you insinuate?"

  "I'm not insinuating anything," Eben answered. "It's just that you know a lot about this place for never having been here! And wasn't it interesting that we kept running into creatures who damn near killed us back in the Sla-Mori."

  "Eben," Tanis spoke very quietly, "we've had enough of your suspicions. I don't believe any of us is a traitor. As Raistlin said, the traitor could have betrayed any of us long before this. What's the point of coming this far?"

  "To bring me and the Disks to Lord Verminaard," Goldmoon said softly. "He knows I am here, Tanis. He and I are linked by our faith."

  "That's ridiculous!" Sturm snorted.

  "No, it isn't," Goldmoon said. "Remember, there are two constellations missing. One was the Queen of Darkness. From what little I have been able to understand in the Disks of Mishakal, the Queen was also one of the ancient gods. The gods of good are matched by the gods of evil, with the gods of neutrality striving to keep the balance. Verminaard worships the Queen of Darkness as I worship Mishakal: that is what Mishakal meant when she said we were to restore the balance. The promise of good that I bring is the one thing he fears and he is exerting all his will to find me. The longer I stay here…" Her voice died.

  "All the more reason to quit bickering," Tanis stated, switching his gaze to Eben.

  The fighter shrugged. "Enough said. I'm with you."

  "What is your plan, Gilthanas?" Tanis asked, noticing with irritation that Sturm and Caramon and Eben exchanged quick glances-three humans sticking togehter against the elves, he caught himself thinking. But perhaps I'm just as bad, believing in Gilthanas because he's an elf.

  Gilthanas saw the exchange of glances, too. For a moment he stared at them with an intense, unblinking gaze, then began to speak in a measured tone, considering his words, as if reluctant to reveal any more than was absolutely necessary.

  "Every evening, ten to twelve women are allowed to leave their cells and take food to the men in the mines. Thus the Highlord lets the men see that he is keeping his side of the bagain. The women are allowed to visit the children once a day for the same reason. My warriors and I planned to disguise ourselves as women, go out to the men in the mines, tell them of the plan to free the hostages, and alert them to be ready to strike. Beyond that we had not thought, particularly in regard to freeing the children. Our spies indicated something strange about the dragon guarding the children, but we could not determine what."

  "What sp-?" Caramon started to ask, caught Tanis's eye, and thought better of his question. Instead he asked, "When will we strike? And what about the dragon. Ember?"

  "We strike tomorrow morning. Lord Verminaard and Ember will most certainly join the army tomorrow as it reaches the outskirts of Qualinesti. He has been preparing for this invasion a long time. I do not believe he will miss it."

  The group discussed the plan for several minutes, adding to it, refining it, generally agreeing that it appeared viable. They gathered their things as Caramon woke his brother. Sturm and Eben pushed open the door leading to the hallway. It appeared empty, although they could hear faint sounds of harsh, drunken laughter from a room directly across from them. Draconians. Silently, the companions slipped into the dark and dingy corridor.

  Tasselhoff stood in the middle of what he had named the Mechanism Room, staring around the tunnel lighted dimly by the puffball. The kender was beginning to feel discouraged. It was a feeling he didn't get often and likened to the time he'd eaten an entire green tomato pie acquired from a neighbor. To this day, discouragement and green tomato pie both made him want to throw up.

  "There's got to be some way out of here," said the kender.

  "Surely they inspect the mechanism occasionally, or come up to admire it, or give tours, or something!"

  He and Fizban had spent an hour walking up and down the tunnel, crawling in and out among the myriad chains. They found nothing. It was cold and barren and covered with dust.

  "Speaking of light," said the old magician suddenly, though they hadn't been. "Look there."

  Tasselhoff looked. A thin sliver of light was visible through a crack in the bottom of the wall, near the entrance to the narrow tunnel. They could hear voices, and the light grew brighter as if torches were being lit in a room below them.

  "Maybe that's a way out," the old man said.

  Running lightly down the tunnel, Tas knelt down and peered through the crack. "Come here!"

  The two looked down into a large room, furnished with every possible luxury. All that was beautiful, graceful, delicate, or valuable in the lands under Verminaards control had been brought to decorate the private chambers of the Dragon Highlord. An ornate throne stood at one end of the room. Rare and priceless silver mirrors hung on the walls, arranged so cunningly that no matter where a trembling captive turned, the only image he saw was the grotesque, horned helm of the Dragon Highlord glowering at him.

  "That must be him!" Tas whispered to Fizban. "That must be Lord Verminaard!" The kender sucked in his breath in awe. "That must be his dragon-Ember. The one Gilthanas told us about, that killed all the elves in Solace."

  Ember, or Pyros (his true name being a secret known only to draconians, or to other dragons-never to common mortals) was an ancient and enormous red dragon. Pyros had been given to Lord Verminaard ostensibly as a reward from the Queen of Darkness to her cleric. In reality, Pyros was sent to keep a watchful eye on Verminaard, who had developed a strange, paranoidal fear regarding discovery of the true gods. All the Dragon Highlords on Krynn possessed dragons, however-though perhaps not as strong and intelligent. For Pyros had another, more important mission that was secret even to the Dragon Highlord himself-a mission assigned to him by the Queen of Darkness and known only to her and her evil dragons.

  Pyros's mission was to search this part of Ansalon for one man, a man of many names. The Queen of Darkness called him Everman. The dragons called him Green Gemstone Man. His human name was Berem. And it was because of this unceasing search for the human, Berem, that Pyros was present in Verminaard's chamber this afternoon when he would have much preferred to be napping in his lair.

  Pyros had received word that Fewmaster Toede was bringing in two prisoners for interrogation. There was always the possibility this Berem might be one of them. Therefore, the dragon was always present during interrogations, though he often appeared vastly bored. The only time interrogations became interesting-as far as Pyros was concerned-was when Verminaard ordered a prisoner to "feed the dragon."

  Pyros was stretched out along one side of the enormous th
rone room, completely filling it. His huge wings were folded at his sides, his flanks heaved with every breath he took like some great gnomish engine. Dozing, he snorted and shifted slightly. A rare vase toppled to the floor with a crash. Verminaard looked up from his desk where he was studying a map of Qualinesti.

  "Transform yourself before you wreck the place," he snarled.

  Pyros opened one eye, regarded Verminaard coldly for a moment, then grudgingly rumbled a brief word of magic.

  The gigantic red dragon began to shimmer like a mirage, the monstrous dragon shape condensing into the shape of a human male, slight of build with dark black hair, a thin face, and slanting red eyes. Dressed in crimson robes, Pyros the man walked to a desk near Verminaard's throne. Sitting down, he folded his hands and stared at Verminaard's broad, muscled back with undisguised loathing.

  There was a scratch at the door.

  "Enter," Verminaard commanded absently.

  A draconian guard threw open the door, admitting Fewmaster Toede and his prisoners, then withdrew, swinging the great bronze and gold doors shut. Verminaard kept the Fewmaster waiting several long minutes while he continued to study his battle plan. Then, favoring Toede with a condescending gaze, he walked over and ascended the steps to his throne. It was elaborately carved to resemble the gaping jaws of a dragon.

  Verminaard was an imposing figure. Tall and powerfully built, he wore dark night-blue dragonscale armor trimmed in gold. The hideous mask of a Dragon Highlord concealed his face. Moving with a grace remarkable in such a large man, he leaned back comfortably, his leather-encased hand absently caressing a black, gold-trimmed mace by his side.

  Verminaard regarded Toede and his two captives irritably, knowing full well that Toede had dredged up these two in an effort to redeem himself from the disastrous loss of the cleric. When Verminaard discovered from his draconians that a woman matching the description of the cleric had been among those prisoners taken from Solace and that she had been allowed to escape, his fury was terrifying. Toede had nearly paid for his mistake with his life, but the hobgoblin was exceptionally skilled at whining and groveling. Knowing this, Verminaard had considered refusing to admit Toede at all today, but he had a strange, nagging sensation that all was not well in his realm.

  It's that blasted cleric! Verminaard thought. He could sense her power coming nearer and nearer, making him nervous and uneasy. He intently studied the two prisoners Toede led into the room. Then, seeing that neither of them matched the descriptions of those who had raided Xak Tsaroth, Verminaard scowled behind the mask.

  Pyros reacted differently to the sight of the prisoners. The transformed dragon half-rose to his feet while his thin hands clenched the ebony desktop with such ferocity he left the impressions of his fingers in the wood. Shaking with excitement, it took a great effort of will to force himself to sit back down, outwardly calm. Only his eyes, burning with a devouring flame, gave a hint of his inner elation as he stared at the prisoners.

  One of the prisoners was a gully dwarf-Sestun, in fact. He was chained hand and foot (Toede was taking no chances) and could barely walk. Stumbling forward, he dropped to his knees before the Dragon Highlord, terror-stricken. The other prisoner-the one Pyros watched-was a human male, dressed in rags, who stood staring at the floor.

  "Why have you bothered me with these wretches, Fewmaster?" Verminaard snarled.

  Toede, reduced to a quivering mass, gulped and immediately launched into his speech. "This prisoner"-the hobgoblin kicked Sestun-"was the one who freed the slaves from Solace and this prisoner"-he indicated the man, who lifted his head, a confused and puzzled expression on his face-"was found wandering around Gateway which, as you know, has been declared off limits to all nonmilitary personnel."

  "So why bring them to me?" asked Lord Verminaard irritably. "Throw them into the mines with the rest of the rabble."

  Toede stammered. "I thought the human m-m-might b-be a s-spy…"

  The Dragon Highlord studied the human intently. He was tall, about fifty human years old. His hair was white and his clean-shaven face brown and weathered, streaked with lines of age. He was dressed like a beggar, which is probably what he was, Verminaard thought in disgust. There was certainly nothing unusual about him, except for his eyes which were bright and young. His hands, too, were those of a man in his prime. Probably elven blood…

  "The man is feeble-minded," Verminaard said finally. "Look at him-gaping like a landed fish."

  "I b-b-believe he's, uh, deaf and dumb, my lord," Toede said, sweating.

  Verminaard wrinkled his nose. Not even the dragonhelm could keep away the foul odor of perspiring hobgoblin.

  "So you have captured a gully dwarf and a spy who can neither hear nor speak," Verminaard said caustically. "Well done, Toede. Perhaps now you can go out and pick me a bouquet of flowers."

  "If that is your lordship's pleasure," Toede replied solemnly, bowing.

  Verminaard began to laugh beneath his helm, amused in spite of himself. Toede was such a entertaining little creature-a pity he couldn't be taught to bathe. Verminaard waved his hand. "Remove them-and yourself."

  "What shall I do with the prisoners, my lord?"

  "Have the gully dwarf feed Ember tonight. And take your spy to the mines. Keep a watch on him though-he looks deadly!" The Dragon Highlord laughed.

  Pyros ground his teeth and cursed Verminaard for a fool.

  Toede bowed again. "Come on, you," he snarled, yanking on the manacles, and the man stumbled after him. "You, too!" He prodded Sestun with his foot. It was useless. The gully dwarf, hearing he was to feed the dragon, had fainted. A draconian was called to remove him.

  Verminaard left his throne and walked over to his desk. He gathered up his maps in a great roll. "Send the wyvern with dispatches," he ordered Pyros. "We fly tomorrow morning to destroy Qualinesti. Be ready when I call."

  When the bronze and golden doors had closed behind the Dragon Highlord, Pyros, "still in human form, rose from the desk and began to pace feverishly back and forth across the room. There came a scratching at the door.

  "Lord Verminaard has gone to his chambers!" Pyros called out, irritated at the interruption.

  The door opened a crack.

  "It is you I wish to see, royal one," whispered a draconian.

  "Enter," Pyros said. "But be swift."

  "The traitor has been successful, royal one," the draconian said softly. "He was able to slip away only for a moment, lest they suspect. But he has brought the cleric-"

  "To the Abyss with the cleric!" Pyros snarled. "This news is of interest only to Verminaard. Take it to him. No, wait." The dragon paused.

  "As you instructed, I came to you first," the draconian said apologetically, preparing to make a hasty departure.

  "Don't go," the dragon ordered, raising a hand. "This news is of value to me after all. Not the cleric. There is much more at stake… I must meet with our treacherous friend. Bring him to me tonight, in my lair. Do not inform Lord Verminaard-not yet. He might meddle." Pryos was thinking rapidly now, his plans coming together. "Verminaard has Qualinesti to keep him occupied."

  As the draconian bowed and left the throne room, Pyros began pacing once again, back and forth, back and forth, rubbing his hands together, smiling.

  12

  The parable of the gem. Traitor revealed. Tas’s dilemma

  "top that, you bold man!" Caramon simpered, slapping Eben's hand as the fighter slyly slid his hand up Caramon's skirt.

  The women in the room laughed so heartily at the antics of the two warriors that Tanis glanced nervously at the cell door, afraid of arousing the suspicion of the guards.

  Maritta saw his worried gaze. "Don't worry about the guards!" she said with a shrug. "There are only two down here on this level and they're drunk half the time, especially now that the army's moved out." She looked up from her sewing at the women and shook her head. "It does my heart good to hear them laugh, poor things," she said softly. "They've had little enough to laugh about these
past days."

  Thirty-four women were crowded into one cell-Maritta said there were sixty women living in another nearby-under conditions so shocking that even the hardened campaigners were appalled. Rude straw mats covered the floor. The women had no possessions beyond a few clothes. They were allowed outdoors for a brief exercise period each morning. The rest of the time they were forced to sew draconian uniforms. Though they had been imprisoned only a few weeks, their faces were pale and wan, their bodies thin and gaunt from the lack of nourishing food.

  Tanis relaxed. Though he had known Maritta only a few hours, he already relied on her judgment. She was the one who had calmed the terrified women when the companions burst into their cell. She was the one who listened to their plan and agreed that it had possibilities.

  "Our menfolk will go along with you," she told Tanis. "It's the Highseekers who'll give you trouble."

  "The Council of Highseekers?" Tanis asked in astonishment. "They're here? Prisoners?"

  Maritta nodded, frowning. "That was their payment for believing in that black cleric. But they won't want to leave, and why should they? They're not forced to work in the mines- the Dragon Highlord sees to that! But we're with you." She glanced around at the others, who nodded firmly. "On one condition-that you'll not put the children in danger."

  "I can't guarantee that," Tanis said. "I don't mean to sound harsh, but we may have to fight a dragon to reach them and-"

  "Fight a dragon? Flamestrike?" Maritta looked at him in amazement. "Pah! There's no need to fight the pitiful critter. In fact, were you to hurt her, you'd have half the children ready to tear you apart, they're that fond of her."

  "Of a dragon?" Goldmoon asked. "What's she done, cast a spell on them?"

  "No. I doubt Flamestrike could cast a spell on anything anymore." Maritta smiled sadly. "The poor critter's more than half-mad. Her own children were killed in some great war or other and now she's got it in her head that our children are her children. I don't know where his lordship dug her up, but it was a sorry thing to do and I hope he pays for it someday!" She snapped a thread viciously.