Trail of the Black Wyrm - Chris Pierson

by Dragonlance

  “The Teacher,” Hult said.

  Yale’s eyes widened. “You know him?”

  “Yes,” Hult replied. “I have met him.”

  That was all he said—no mention of Chovuk Boyla, or the doom of his people. He did lay a hand on his sword, though, the fingers curling tight about the hilt. Forlo saw the knuckles turn white.

  “Well,” Yale went on, “that saves some explaining. The Teacher spoke to us of a new life for the kender. He said that, with his help, we wouldn’t need to worry about the other races of the world anymore—that we would become stronger than them, and they would leave us untroubled. Most of us believed him—I know I did. I didn’t realize until much later that it wasn’t his words that made that belief, but magic. He charmed us all into doing his bidding.”

  Hult bowed his head, his maimed hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yes,” he murmured. “That is how he works.”

  “He asked us to gather the clans all in one place—a clearing on the edge of Starshimmer Lake, right in the middle of Marak. We did as he bade, but not all the kender agreed to come. In fact, less than half traveled to the lakeside. My own clan refused, thanks to Tanda—she didn’t trust this Teacher, and now I see that she was wiser than me.”

  “No, Father,” she said. “Not wiser. He just didn’t use his magic on me.”

  Yale nodded, giving her a smile, but the pain in his eyes was obvious. He reached out, squeezed her hand. “She even managed to keep me with her, long enough to miss the … the ceremony. For that I owe her everything, because when the Marakai gathered at Starshimmer, the Teacher made good on his promise. He cast a spell that would make our enemies fear us. It did make the kender stronger. But it also turned them into shadow-creatures. They became servants to darkness. Their enemies would fear them … but they were forced to do his bidding.”

  “Killers, bound to his will,” Shedara said.

  “Yes.”

  “But he didn’t get all of you,” Forlo added.

  Yale shook his head. “Some of us resisted him, tried to keep the shadows from overrunning the valleys. That wasn’t very smart, looking back—they were stronger than us, and many kender were caught or killed. Any who were captured, they brought to Starshimmer, where the Teacher made shadows of them too. He comes back often, when the black moon is full, to perform the ritual. The shadows are always looking for more victims. We’re safe for now, but one day they’ll find these caves. And then … then the Marakai will be gone for good.”

  He stopped, a weight of sorrow in his eyes. Tanda took his hand, clasping it tightly while tears trickled from the corners of his eyes. Forlo let him have his sorrow. His people were dying, doomed to vanish from the world if things continued as they were—and Yale felt responsible. Ensorcelled or not, he and the elders had helped cause Marak’s fall. Finally he sucked in a long, shuddering breath and looked up with eyes red with grief.

  “As for the dragon … he left after the Teacher came. I suppose he felt his work was done. We haven’t seen him since. I doubt Gloomwing will ever return to the Steamwalls.”

  “Do you know where he went?” Forlo asked.

  Yale shook his head.

  Forlo’s face reddened. “Khot,” he said.

  Hult’s eyes were grim. “We have lost the trail, then.”

  “No,” Shedara said. “There’s still a way. One who knows.”

  Eldako smiled, understanding. But Hult frowned. “Who?” he asked.

  Forlo looked at Yale and Tanda, then at the Uigan. He knew what the elf meant. “The Teacher,” he said. “We’ll have to get what we need from him now.”

  Chapter

  21

  LAKE STARSHIMMER, MARAK

  Hult crouched low, a hand on his sword, watching the shadow-fiends from behind a looming boulder. He hadn’t drawn the weapon yet; none of them had. In the twilight, naked steel might catch the dying sunshine. They couldn’t afford that until they knew they were safe. Well, safe for now—everything was relative in these parts.

  Marak was as the kender had said, a wasted land—not destroyed, but emptied, its villages overgrown by weeds and creepers, swathed with putrid mist. He had not seen a single living soul since they left Gloomwing’s cave, except for their own party: him, Forlo, Shedara, and Eldako, with Tanda and half a dozen hoopaui-wielding kender scouts. Yale’s daughter had led them through the mountains on safe and hidden paths, four days’ hard travel, to the mouth of Bost-Marak, the northernmost of the five valleys that had been her people’s home. Down through stunted and twisted forests they’d descended, following a foaming brown river. Now, at last, they had come to the long shores of Starshimmer, gleaming like blood in the gloaming. Here they finally caught sight of the shadow-fiends in what was, for want of a better word, their home.

  There were seven or eight of them, maybe more—the way they blended with the darkness, it was hard to get a good count. They gathered near an old fisherman’s cabin on the pebbly lakeshore—a crumbling, ivy-choked cottage whose thatch roof had long since fallen in, whose windows were almost all broken, and whose dock had half-collapsed, leaning sideways in the water. The fiends gathered around the dock’s base, a vantage that gave them a view of the whole eastern end of the lake.

  “Sentry party,” Tanda whispered, peering through the woods. “I count ten. That’s a lot for around here. Usually they only gather in groups of four or five.”

  “Could they know we’re coming?” Forlo asked.

  The kender shook her head. “The way we took was secret. And they’d have sent a pack to stop us if they knew we were here. We never would have made it this far.”

  “It’s the black moon,” Shedara said. “It’s full tonight.”

  They all nodded. Hult cast a nervous glance at the sky. He had only heard of Nuvis, Krynn’s third moon. Unlike Solis and Lunis, the silver and red orbs, Nuvis wasn’t visible, except by marking the stars it eclipsed. It was the source of dark magic; evil would be strong in the world tonight. Strong enough for the Teacher to go about his foul work.

  The Teacher. Hult licked his lips at the thought. He hadn’t dared hope he would again see the one who’d corrupted his master. Now, the black-robed apparition who’d whispered lies and fed power to Chovuk, all those terrible nights while the horde was riding … he was somewhere out there, perhaps gazing upon this very same lake. Hult’s blood burned for the chance at vengeance.

  But not yet, not right away. They needed the Teacher to reveal his secrets first.

  “We can take them,” said Eldako, fitting an arrow on his bowstring.

  “I know,” Tanda said. “I just wanted to make sure there weren’t more, lurking out there somewhere. But they look like they’re alone. There aren’t many shadows left in Marak, these days. Most have gone away—to the elf-woods, I guess, from what you say.” She turned to the other kender, pulling the axe—her chapak—from her belt. “Jaster. Rinn. You’re on draw-out duty.”

  Two of the scouts nodded, grinning, then rose from where they crouched and started down toward the lake, moving with the appearance of stealth but making just enough sound to hear them go. Hult smiled, recognizing the tactic. His people had used this strategy often against the rival Kazar: sending out a small group to lure the enemy, then pulling them straight into a greater force and springing the trap. He glanced at the others and saw that they, too, understood. Forlo was nodding, and Eldako had pulled his bowstring halfway back to his cheek. Shedara’s eyes were shut, her lips moving soundlessly. Hult felt a shift in the air, the elf’s magic beginning to stir. He tightened his grip on his blade and watched around the edge of the rock as the kender stole toward the lake—then froze, staring at the cabin. The shadows had spotted them.

  The kender ran, the shadows streaming behind them. Jaster and Rinn had huge grins on their faces as they pelted back uphill toward the boulder: in spite of everything, in spite of all their suffering, kender were kender. This was fun for them.

  The shadows poured after them, terrible a
nd silent, now five steps away, now four, now three.…

  “Down!” Tanda yelled, leaping up onto the boulder. She raised her axe. “Hoopaui!”

  At her command, Jaster and Rinn threw themselves flat on the needle-strewn ground. At the same time, the other four kender leaped up, raised their stone-bows, and let fly. Eldako did the same. Three of the shadows ripped apart, and the other seven stopped, just for a moment—long enough for Jaster and Rinn to scramble for safety. Shedara jumped up next, stretching a hand out toward the shadows. She spoke a single word, and three bolts of white fire sizzled through the air, blasting one of the remaining shadows in the face. It tore to shreds.

  “Now! Blades, go!” Tanda shouted.

  Hult didn’t need to be told. As soon as the missiles leaped from Shedara’s fingers, he yanked his sword from its scabbard and charged. Forlo was right behind him, and Eldako, too. Tanda leaped down from the rock with her axe held high. Shedara and the other kender came last.

  The shadows shrank back, understanding too late that they’d been fooled. Hult hit them first, swinging his sword around in a wide arc; it just missed one of the creatures. A second parried the same stroke with one of its sickle-bladed knives. Hult shoved hard, pushing the shadow back—then had to duck as another blade whistled toward him. He felt it brush the bristly hair on top of his head.

  Then Forlo was there, his own sword hacking down, and the shadow cried out and vanished. Hult heard other shrieks as Eldako and Tanda laid in with their own weapons. Then he twisted and spun, his blade slicing low, through the ankles of the shadow who’d parried him. The creature howled and collapsed, then dissolved as he drove his sword through the emptiness where its heart had once been.

  He heard a shout and whirled to see Forlo beset by another shadow. He leaped at it, sword humming through the air. It took off the top of the monster’s head, trailing darkness behind.

  And just like that, it was over. One of the kender lay on the ground, groaning—Hult saw it was Rinn. A shadow’s knife had sliced his arm open, and the bloodless wound was already blackening around the edges. Eldako whispered with Tanda briefly and gave her herbs for Rinn’s wound. She, in turn, passed them to Jaster, who set about making the healing poultice.

  “Come on,” she said, beckoning. “You can see from here.”

  Tanda led them down to the lake, where the water lapped at the shore. The dock creaked; a half-drowned boat sat low in the water, thudding against one of the pilings. Another lay hull-side-up on the shore. Tanda pointed out across the lake, toward the far side, maybe three miles away. Hult shaded his eyes: the last sliver of sun was just now vanishing behind the hills. Above, the first stars flickered in the purple sky.

  Across the water, several large fires burned in a broad clearing, sending black smoke curling high over the lake. In their midst stood a small ziggurat of red stone. More flames burned on the platform at its top. Shapes moved around it, like a seething tide.

  Shadow-fiends. Hundreds of them.

  “That’s the place,” Tanda murmured. “They’re getting ready for the ritual again.”

  “Do you think they heard anything?” Shedara asked.

  The kender shook her head. “The chanting would drown out anything that carried across the lake. Listen—you can hear it from here.”

  And they did. Concentrating, Hult heard a low, droning noise, in a language he could not speak, even with the amulet—but which he recognized just the same. It was the same speech he’d heard coming from Chovuk’s yurt, on those awful nights while the Boyla fell deeper and deeper under the Teacher’s sway. He felt a stab of regret—why hadn’t he stopped this? He’d known something foul was happening in the tent in that seemingly long-ago time … why hadn’t he forced his way in and put an end to it?

  He shook his head. He’d thought at the time that he was doing his duty by not questioning his master. Now he had an opportunity to undo his mistake.

  “We’re already late,” Tanda said, her brow wrinkling. “It’ll take us hours to get around the lake. The rite may be done by the time we get there.”

  They were silent, looking out across the water. Behind them, Rinn moaned in pain as Jaster daubed salve on his arm. They would have to leave him here, continue with one fewer. At least no one had died.…

  “We could cross the water,” Eldako said, nodding at the beached rowboat. “It would be quicker.”

  Tanda shook her head. “They’d see us coming.”

  Hult turned, looking at Shedara. So did Forlo and Eldako. One of her eyebrows rose. “I think,” she said, “I might be able to do something about that.”

  The boat slid across the lake in silence, leaving almost no wake behind it. The oars dipped into the water gently, raising only the smallest ripples, which were soon swallowed by chop whipped up by the wind. No one who wasn’t looking for it would have noticed any sign of its passing.

  No one spoke, for fear of being heard. There was no need, anyway: they had worked out the plan on the shore, before Shedara cast the spell of invisibility. They watched the far shore, growing nearer with every stroke. The ziggurat shone like a beacon in a sea of darkness, the shadows moving around it in a circle. The fires atop it leaped higher, cold, blue flames that made Hult’s scalp prickle to look at them. The sounds of many low, chanting voices—so dark and somber, it seemed impossible the creatures they belonged to had once been kender—carried across Starshimmer’s surface. There were too many of the creatures to fight. If they landed and tried to take the ziggurat, it would end badly.

  “You’ll need a diversion,” Tanda had said, standing by the ruined dock. “We’re good at that, my people. If we attack from the flank, they’ll come for us. It should draw enough of them away, for you to do what you need to.”

  “Six? Against that many?” Forlo had asked. “They’ll cut you to pieces.”

  The kender had only smiled, shaking her head. “Just like a soldier—thinking the only way to fight is head-on. We’ll hit them, then fade away. Pick ’em off one by one. Keep moving, never let them get a clear shot at us—or figure out how many of us there are. We’ve done this before; trust me.”

  The shore was close. Forlo and Hult—who had been working the oars the whole way across—pulled to the left, turning the boat. There was an outcrop of stone, crowded with moss and pines, five hundred paces from the ziggurat. They made for the rock, shipping the oars so the boat coasted up to bump against it. Eldako caught the rock and held them steady as the kender clambered out, one by one.

  “Remember,” Shedara whispered. “The first shot you loose—”

  “We’ll be visible again,” Tanda finished, flashing a quick grin. She hopped out, landing nimbly on the shore. “We know, don’t worry. We won’t let them get a good look at us. Wait for my signal.”

  They nodded. No one wished anybody luck. It seemed a bad idea, somehow, to do so. Perhaps it was the black moon, hanging fat in the east. Hult glanced that way, at the jagged teeth of the Steamwalls. Above the peaks, he imagined he could actually see Nuvis, an ebon disc like a hole in the sky. He could certainly sense its power, which gave the air an unnatural chill and made his mouth run dry. He swallowed, then brought his oar back down as Eldako pushed them away from the rock. The boat came about, and he caught a glimpse of the kender hoisting themselves up the stone and slipping away into the forest.

  They glided along the shore, back toward the ziggurat. The magical fires roared even higher now, writhing pillars twenty feet tall, their color shifting slowly to green. They gave no smoke, made no sound. The boat drew within thirty paces of the foul structure—close enough that when he glanced over his shoulder, Hult could see small figures clustered at its pinnacle, bound and gagged and blindfolded, but still squirming and struggling, trying to get free.

  Kender.

  A bubble of hate formed inside him. He’d known only a few kender before coming to Marak, and had found them to be pests in the best of circumstances. But the sight of the little folk, helplessly awaiting th
eir fate, made him furious. His fists tightened around the oar; it was all he could do to keep pace with Forlo, rather than trying to drive the boat forward, as fast as it could go.

  Fifteen paces from shore, they lifted the paddles out of the water again. The shadows were thick, a thriving mass always in motion, murmuring in the tongue of dark magic. They raised their sickles, waving them in the air like so many scorpions’ stingers. Now and again, one threw back his head and screeched at the stars, a sound that could have been agony or rapture—or possibly both. They laughed, mocking the kender’s struggles, the same struggles they themselves had surely put up before the Teacher ruined them.

  And then, all at once, they fell still. A hush descended on the clearing, broken only by the creaking of trees and the splash of water upon the rocks. The fiends’ swirling ceased, and they parted as a figure moved among them, toward the stairs carved into the ziggurat’s side. Hult saw him, and the hate bubble inside him swelled. The Teacher had come.

  He had seen the black-cloaked man only twice before—once, briefly, in the Dreaming Green, and again in Chovuk’s yurt, the night before the slaughter at the Run. Still, he had no doubt it was the same man. There was an aura about him.

  He climbed the steps slowly, rising above the shadows. They bowed, prostrating themselves upon the ground. He ignored them, rising to the top of the ziggurat and walking to the center of its roof. The captive kender shrank back, whimpering through their gags. A soft radiance gathered around him, a putrid turquoise, the color of corruption. The flame-pillars at the ziggurat’s corners were the same ghastly hue. It drained the color from the world; in that light, the kender looked pallid, gray, already dead.

  “Where’s that damned diversion?” muttered Forlo, his hands tight around his oar. He looked like Hult felt: tense, ready to leap into battle now, the odds be damned.

  Shedara touched his shoulder. “Be patient.”

  And when he starts killing the kender? Hult thought. Or whatever it is he does to them? How patient should we be then?