“Later,” said Tanis.
Right now, he had to talk to Sturm, explain why he’d chosen Riverwind over the knight, when Sturm must feel that he was better qualified by education and lineage. Sturm was touchy about such things, easily offended.
Tanis made his way through the crowd. Flint was still going on about Thorbardin, dogging Tanis so closely that the dwarf kept tripping on Tanis’s heels. As he tried to avoid falling in the fire pit, Tanis drew near Hederick. The Theocrat had his back turned, talking to one of his cronies.
“There is no way out of this valley except over the mountains,” Hederick was explaining in a low voice. “It will take the half-elf and the dwarf weeks to make the crossing, and weeks more will pass while they search for this nonexistent dwarf kingdom. Thus we are rid of the meddlesome half-breed—”
Tanis walked on, his lips pressed tight. So that is Hederick’s reason for supporting the plan to go to Thorbardin. He gets rid of me. Once I’m gone, he thinks he can walk over Elistan and Riverwind. I wouldn’t be so sure of that.
All the same, Tanis wondered uneasily if Hederick was right. He and Flint might well spend weeks trying to cross the mountains.
“Don’t worry about what that windbag says, lad,” Flint said, his gruff voice sounding at Tanis’s elbow. “There’s a way.”
Tanis glanced down at his friend. “Does that mean you’ve had a change of heart?”
“No,” the dwarf retorted grimly. “It means I can tell you how to find the path.”
Tanis shook his head. He’d talk the dwarf around. Right now, he was worried that he’d offended Sturm.
The knight stood near the fire, staring into the flames. He did not look offended. Indeed, he did not look as if he was aware of what was going on around him. Tanis spoke his name several times before Sturm heard him.
Sturm turned to him. The knight’s blue eyes glowed in the light. His face, generally set in stern and unbending lines, was animated and expressive.
“Your plan is brilliant, Tanis!” Sturm exclaimed. He grabbed Tanis’s hand and gripped it tight.
Tanis regarded his friend in astonishment. “What plan?”
“Traveling to Thorbardin, of course. You can find it and bring it back.”
“Find what?” Tanis was growing more confused.
“The Hammer of Kharas! That is the real reason you’re going, isn’t it?”
“I’m going to Thorbardin to try to find safe haven for the refugees. I don’t know anything about a hammer—”
“Have you forgotten the legends?” Sturm asked, shocked. “We were speaking of it only the other night. The sacred and magical Hammer of Kharas—used to forge dragonlances!”
“Oh, yes, right. Dragonlances.”
Sturm, hearing his skeptical tone, regarded him in disappointment. “The dragonlance is the only weapon capable of felling a dragon, Tanis. We need them to fight the Dark Queen and her minions. You saw what happened when arrows struck that red beast. They bounced off! A dragonlance, on the other hand, is a weapon blessed by the gods. The great Huma used a dragonlance to defeat Takhisis—”
“I remember,” said Tanis hastily. “Hammer of Kharas. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“You should remember. This is important, Tanis,” Sturm insisted, and he was grimly serious. “Perhaps it’s the most important task you’ll undertake in your lifetime.”
“The lives of eight hundred people—”
Sturm brushed those aside with a wave of his hand. “The Hammer is the only chance we have to win this war, and it is in Thorbardin.” His grip on Tanis’s arm tightened. Tanis could feel him shaking with the intensity of his emotions. “You must ask the dwarves to lend it to us. You must!”
“I will, Sturm, I promise,” said Tanis, taken aback by his friend’s intensity. “Now, about Riverwind—”
But Sturm’s gaze had shifted. He was looking at Raistlin and Caramon.
Caramon was talking to his twin in low tones. The big man’s expression was troubled. Raistlin made an impatient gesture and then, leaning close, he said something to his twin.
“Raistlin is plotting something,” Sturm said, frowning. “I wonder what? Why did he bring up Skullcap?”
Tanis tried again. “In my absence, I named Riverwind as leader—”
“A good choice, Tanis,” said Sturm absently.
The twins ended their conversation. Raist was striding out of the cave, walking swiftly, with more energy than usual, leaving Caramon to stare unhappily after his brother. He shook his head and then he, too, left.
“Excuse me, Tanis,” said Sturm, and he hurried off. “What was all that about?” Flint asked. “Beats me. Do you know anything about this hammer?”
“Hammer, schmammer,” said Flint, glowering. “I’ll not set foot beneath the mountain.”
Tanis sighed and was about to try to make good his own escape from the stifling cavern when he saw Riverwind and Goldmoon standing near the entrance. He felt that he owed them both an explanation.
“A fine snare you laid for me, Half-Elven,” Riverwind remarked. “I am caught in your trap and not even my wife will set me free.”
“You made a wise choice,” Goldmoon said.
Riverwind shook his head.
“I need you, my friend,” said Tanis earnestly. “If I am to undertake this journey, I need to know that I have someone here I can trust. Hederick is a dunce who will plunge us into disaster if given half a chance. Elistan is a good man, but he knows nothing of battle. If Verminaard and his forces attack, the people can’t rely on prayers and platinum disks to save them.”
Goldmoon looked grave. “Tanis, you should not speak lightly of such things.”
“I’m sorry, Goldmoon,” Tanis said as gently as he could, “but I don’t have time for sermons now. This is the hard truth, as I see it. If you and your tribesmen go off on your own, you abandon these people to their doom.”
Riverwind still looked doubtful, but Tanis could see the man was weakening. “I must discuss this with my people,” he said at last.
“Do that,” Tanis said. “I need your answer soon. Flint and I leave in the morning.”
“You leave in the morning!” Flint muttered.
“You will have my answer before you sleep,” Riverwind promised, and he and his wife departed, Goldmoon casting Tanis a troubled glance as she left.
He pushed open the lattice-work screen of branches, walked outside, and drew in a deep breath of fresh air. Snowflakes tingled cold on his skin. He stood a moment, breathing in the cold, pure air, then walked off along the path that led down the mountainside.
“Where are you going?” Flint demanded.
“To set Tasslehoff free. Unless he’s gnawed the leg off the table by now …”
“Leave him tied up,” Flint advised. “Less trouble for us all.”
Snowflakes continued to drift down, but here and there Tanis could see stars through the clouds. The snow fall would not be heavy this night, just enough to whiten the ground, make tracking the deer easier for the hunters. Deer were getting scarcer and scarcer in the valley, more difficult to find.
“After we placate Tas,” Tanis continued, hearing the dwarf’s heavy boots thump behind him, “you and I have to pack. I want to leave as soon as it’s daylight.”
The thumping came to a halt. The dwarf crossed his arms over his chest. He looked as if he intended to stand on that rock until he put down roots.
“I’m not going. I’ve told you, Tanis, I’ll not set foot—”
“—beneath the mountain. Yes, I heard you the first twenty times.” Tanis halted, turned to face the dwarf. “You know I can’t do this on my own, Flint. You know I need your help. I speak the dwarven tongue, and I suppose I understand dwarves about as much as any elf or human can, but I don’t understand them as well as one of their own.”
“I’m not one of their own!” Flint snarled. “I’m a hill dwarf—”
“Which means you’ll be the first hill dwarf to set foot beneath the
mountain in three hundred years. You’ll make history, Flint. Have you thought of that? You might even be responsible for the unification of the dwarven nations! Then there’s this hammer. If you were to find this Hammer of Kharas and bring it back—”
“Hammer of Kharas! Some wild tale Sturm’s granny told him,” Flint scoffed.
Tanis shrugged.
“It’s up to you, of course,” he said. “If you decide to stay, you’ll be the one who has to take charge of Tasslehoff.”
Flint sucked in a horrified breath. “You wouldn’t!”
“Who else can I trust? Caramon?”
Tanis resumed his walking. He heard behind him a muttering, a shuffling and the occasional huffing breath.
Then came the clump of heavy boots.
“I guess I’ll go,” Flint called out with ill grace. “You’ll never find the gate without me.”
“I wouldn’t stand a chance,” said Tanis.
He smiled to himself in the darkness as the snow fell in lazy circles around him.
5
Raistlin’s decree. Tika’s ultimatum.
Caramon chooses.
istandantilus. Caramon knew that name. He had tensed when he heard his brother speak it and he remained tense during the remainder of the meeting, completely losing track of the discussion that followed. He was recalling another discussion with his twin in the ruined city of Xak Tsaroth.
Raistlin had told him that among the treasure in the dragon’s hoard in that accursed city was a magical spellbook of immense value. If they managed to defeat the dragon, Raistlin had ordered Caramon to search for this book and retrieve it for him.
“What does the book look like?” Caramon had asked.
“The pages are bone-white parchment bound in night-blue leather with runes of silver stamped on the front,” Raistlin had told him. “The book will feel deathly cold to the touch.”
“What do the runes say?” Caramon had been suspicious. He hadn’t liked the way Raistlin had described the book.
“You do not want to know …” Raistlin had smiled to himself, a secret smile. “Whose book was it?”
Though Caramon was not a mage himself, he knew a great deal about the ways of mages from having been around his twin. A mage’s most valued possession was his book of magical spells compiled over a lifetime of work. Written in the language of magic, each spell was recorded in detail using the precise wording, with notations as to the proper pronunciation of each word, the precise inflections and intonations, what gestures should be used, and what components might be required.
“You have never heard of this wizard, my brother,” Raistlin had told Caramon after one of those strange lapses when he seemed to move inside himself, seemed to be searching for something lost, “yet he was one of the greatest who ever lived. His name was Fistandantilus.”
Caramon had been reluctant to ask the next question, afraid of what he might hear in answer. Looking back, he realized now he’d known exactly what he was going to hear. He wished he’d kept silent.
“This Fistandantilus—did he wear the Black Robes?”
“Ask me no more!” Raistlin had been angry. “You are as bad as the others! How can any of you understand me?”
But Caramon had understood. He’d understood then. He understood now—or thought he did.
Caramon waited until the assembly started to break up, then he approached his twin. “Fistandantilus,” he said in a low voice, looking around to make certain they were not overheard. “That’s the name of the evil wizard—the one whose spellbook you found—”
“Just because a mage wears the Black Robes does not make him evil,” Raistlin returned with an impatient gesture. “Why can you never get that through your thick skull?”
“Anyway,” said Caramon, not wanting to have this discussion again, for it left him feeling muddled and confused, “I’m glad Tanis and Flint decided not to go to that place, that Skullcap.”
“They are imbeciles, the lot of them!” Raistlin fumed. “Tanis might as well use the dwarf’s head to knock on the side of the mountain for all the good it will do any of them. They will never find the way inside Thorbardin. The secret lies in Skullcap!”
A fit of coughing over came Raistlin, and he had to stop talking.
“You’re getting all worked up,” Caramon said. “It’s not good for you.”
Raistlin brought out his handkerchief, pressed it to his lips. He drew in a ragged breath, drew in another. The spasm eased. He laid his hand on his brother’s arm.
“Come with me, Caramon. We have much to do and little time in which to do it.”
“Raist—” Caramon could sometimes read his brother’s mind. He did so now, knew exactly what Raistlin intended. Caramon tried to protest, but his brother’s eyes narrowed alarmingly, and Caramon gulped back his words.
“I’m going back to our dwelling,” Raistlin said coldly. “Come or not, as you choose.”
Raistlin left in haste. Caramon followed more slowly.
The mage was in such a hurry and his twin in such misery that neither of them noted Sturm, walking behind.
While the meeting was taking place, Tika Waylan was in the dwelling she shared with Laurana, trying to comb her tangled mass of red curls. Tika sat on a little stool Caramon had made for her. She worked by the light of a lantern, dragging the wooden comb through a strand of hair until it hit a knot. She would try to patiently tease the knotted mass of red apart, as Laurana had taught her, but Tika had very little patience. Eventually she would give the comb a yank, pulling out the knot and a fistful of her hair along with it.
The blanket that the young women had rigged to cover the entrance opened, letting in a blast of air and a flurry of snow. Laurana entered, carrying a lantern.
Tika looked up. “How was the meeting?”
Tika had been in awe of Laurana when she’d first met her in Qualinesti. The two could not have been more different. Laurana was the daughter of a king. Tika was the daughter of a part-time illusionist and full-time thief. Laurana was an elf, a princess.
Tika had run wild for much of her life. Taking to thieving herself, she’d afoul of the law. Otik Sandeth, owner of the Inn of the Last Home in Solace, had offered to adopt the orphan, giving her gainful employment as a bar maid.
The two differed in looks. Laurana was slender and willowy. Tika was buxom and robust. Laurana’s hair was golden, her skin white and rose. Tika’s hair was flame red, her face covered in freckles.
Tika knew quite well that she had her own kind of beauty, and she felt good about herself most times— when she wasn’t around Laurana. Laurana’s blonde hair made Tika’s seem that much redder by contrast, just as Laurana’s graceful figure made Tika feel that she was all hips and bosom.
“How did it go?” Tika asked, glad to lay down the comb. Her arm and shoulder ached and her scalp stung.
“As you might expect,” said Laurana, sighing. “There was lots of arguing. Hederick is a prize dolt—”
“You’re telling me!” Tika said crisply. “I was in the inn when he stuck his hand in the fire.”
“Just when it seemed that no one could agree, Elistan came up with a solution,” said Laurana, and her voice softened in admiration. “His plan is brilliant. They’ve all agreed to it, even Hederick. Elistan suggested that we send a delegation to the dwarven kingdom of Thorbardin to see if we can find refuge there. Tanis volunteered to go, along with Flint.”
“Not Caramon?” asked Tika anxiously.
“No, just Flint and Tanis. Raistlin wanted them to go first to a place called Skullcap to find the secret way into the dwarven kingdom or something like that, but Flint said Skullcap was haunted, and Elistan said they didn’t have time to make the journey before winter set in. Raistlin seemed angry.”
“I’ll bet he did,” said Tika, shivering. “A haunted place named Skullcap would suit him just fine, and he’d drag Caramon along with him. Thank the gods they’re not going!”
“Even Hederick agreed that Elistan
’s plan was a good one,” said Laurana.
“I guess wisdom comes with gray hair,” Tika remarked, picking up her comb again. “Though, of course, that didn’t work in Hederick’s case.”
“Elistan’s hair is not gray,” Laurana protested. “It’s silver. I think silver hair makes a man look distinguished.”
“Are you in love with Elistan?” Tika asked. She dug the comb into the mass of curls and began to tug.
Laurana winced at the sight. “Here, let me do that!”
Tika thankfully handed over the comb.
“You are too impatient,” said Laurana reprovingly. “You’re ruining your hair, and you have such beautiful hair. I envy you.”
“You do?” Tika was astonished. “I can’t think why! Your hair is so shimmery and golden!”
“And straight as a stick,” said Laurana ruefully. The comb, in her hands, gently teased each knot until it came loose. “As for Elistan, no, I’m not in love with him, but I do admire him and respect him. He’s been through so much pain and suffering. Such experiences would have made any other man bitter and cynical. They made Elistan more compassionate and understanding.”
“I know someone who thinks you’re in love with Elistan,” said Tika with an impish smile.
“Who do you mean?” Laurana asked, blushing.
“Tanis, of course,” said Tika archly. “He’s jealous.”
“That’s impossible!” Laurana gave the comb a sharper tug than usual. “Tanis doesn’t love me. He’s made that extremely clear. He’s in love with that human woman.”
“That bitch Kitiara!” Tika sniffed. “Pardon my language. As for Tanis, he doesn’t know his heart from his … well, I won’t say what, but you understand. It’s the same with all men.”
Laurana was silent, and Tika twisted her head to glance up at her, to see if she was angry.
Laurana’s face was mantled with a delicate flush, her eyes lowered. She kept combing, but she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing.
Maybe she doesn’t understand, Tika realized suddenly. It seemed very odd to her that a woman who was a hundred years old knew less about the world and the ways of men than one who was only nineteen. Still, Laurana had lived all those years pampered and protected in her father’s palace in the middle of a forest. Small wonder she was naive.
Dragons of the Dwarven Depths Page 7