“What are you doing sitting in the dark?”
“Thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“That Caramon Majere is the biggest numbskull in the whole wide world.” There was a pause, then she said, “He went to Skullcap with his brother, didn’t he?”
“I guess so. Tanis said he did.”
Tika glared at him. “I sent Sturm to Tanis to stop him from going! Why didn’t he?”
“Tanis thinks there might be something important in Skullcap. I don’t know about Sturm,” Tas said, settling himself in the darkness beside Tika. He sighed longingly. “Skullcap. Doesn’t that sound like a perfectly wonderful place to you?”
“It sounds horrid. It’s a trap,” said Tika.
“A trap? Now I wish I’d gone! I love traps!” Tas was disconsolate.
“Not those kind of traps,” Tika said scornfully. “I mean Raistlin’s leading Caramon into a trap. I’ve been up all night thinking through it. Raistlin’s going because of that awful old dead wizard, that Fistan-doodle or whatever his name is. Caramon told me all about him and about that wicked book of his—the book Raistlin sneaked out of Xak Tsaroth. That wizard was an evil man, and that place is an evil place. Raistlin knows that and he doesn’t care. He’s going to get Caramon killed.”
“An evil place that belonged to an evil wizard, and it’s filled with traps!” Tas sighed longingly. “If I hadn’t given Tanis my solemn promise that I’d stay here to protect you, Tika, I’d go there in a minute.”
“Protect me!” Tika was indignant. “You don’t need to protect me. No one does. Caramon’s the one who needs protecting. He’s got about as much sense as a goatsucker bird. He has to be warned about that brother of his. Tanis won’t do it, so I guess it’s up to me.”
Tika threw off the blanket she’d had draped over her shoulders. The cave was growing lighter by the minute, and Tas could now see that she was dressed for travel in men’s trousers and a man’s shirt and a leather vest that Tas thought looked rather like one that Flint had once owned. Tas remembered the dwarf complaining about it being missing. He’d actually accused the kender of walking off with it!
Tika’s sword that she didn’t know how to use very well lay on the table, next to her shield, which she did know how to use, though not in quite the way the shield’s maker had intended. The shield had a dent in it from where she’d bashed a draconian over the head.
Tas leapt up in excitement. “Tanis made me promise solemnly that I’d protect you, so if you go to Skullcap, then I have to go with you!”
“I’m not going to Skullcap. I’m going to find Caramon and keep him from going. I plan to talk some sense into him.”
Tas offered his opinion. “I think it might be easier to fight an evil wizard in Skullcap than talk sense into Caramon.”
“You’re probably right. But I have to try.” Tika picked up the sword, intending to buckle it around her waist. “Have they been gone long?”
“Since before dawn, but Raistlin walks pretty slowly. We can catch up—”
“Shush!” Tika cautioned.
Someone was outside the screen. Sunlight glinted on blonde hair.
“Laurana!” Tika groaned softly and hurriedly laid the sword back on the table. “Not a word, Tas! She’ll try to stop us!”
“You’re awake!” Laurana said, entering the cave. She stopped to stare in amazement at Tika’s garb. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I … uh … am going to wash my clothes,” said Tika. “All my clothes.”
“Were you going to wash your sword, too?” asked Laurana, teasing.
Tika was spared the need to tell another lie, for Laurana kept on talking. “You’re in luck. You’ll have company. Maritta has deemed this laundry day. All the women are going to take their clothes and bedding down to the stream. Tas, you can help. Grab those blankets …”
Tas flashed Tika an agonized glance.
Tika shrugged, helpless. She couldn’t think of any way out of this.
Tas, staggering beneath a mound of blankets, was leaving the cave when Tika grabbed hold of him. “We’ll sneak away when the women go to lunch,” she whispered. “Watch me! When I signal, you come running!”
“Don’t worry about getting a late start,” Tas whispered. “Caramon’s big feet will be easy to track, and Raistlin walks really, really slow.”
Tika trudged after Tas and Laurana down to the stream. She could only hope the kender was right.
7
Dray-yan’s plan.
Grag’s Opinion of it.
ray-yan sat at the large obsidian table in the late Lord Verminaard’s chambers and drank the last of his lordship’s elven wine. The aurak made a mental note to order the commander charged with battling the elves to send him another barrel. As he sipped the wine, Dray-yan reviewed the events of the past several days, judging how they would affect his future plans. The aurak draconian was pleased with how some things had turned out, not so pleased with others.
The red dragons dispatched to Pax Tharkas by Her Dark Majesty had, as expected, seen through Dray-yan’s illusion of Verminaard. Insulted at the idea of being ordered about by draconians, whom the dragons called disparagingly “rotten egg yolk,” the dragons had been on the verge of leaving.
Commander Grag took his prayers and plans to Queen Takhisis. She had graciously listened to him, and pleased with his ideas, she commanded the reds to remain in Pax Tharkas and to go along with Dray-yan’s schemes, at least for the time being. Grag informed Dray-yan that the queen was backing him only because she had no other commander she could spare to run the Red Dragonarmy. Dray-yan’s command was temporary. With success, it might become permanent.
Using the reluctant and grumbling help of the red dragons, Grag was able at last to reopen the pass blocked by the rock fall. Draconian troops marched into Pax Tharkas, though not in great numbers. The Red Dragonarmy was stretched thin. There were enough draconians to man the fortress, but not enough to use to work in the iron mines. Commanders in the field were desperate for weapons and armor. Steel was a more valuable commodity than gold. Dray-yan had to either regain his labor force or find new venues. He decided to do both.
Grag dispatched troops after the refugees. They picked up the trail immediately and followed it to a pass blocked by an avalanche and further blocked by new snow fall.
The reds declared that clearing this pass would be extremely difficult. Further, they made it clear to Dray-yan that clearing passes was tedious, boring, and unprofitable. In other parts of Ansalon, dragons were burning cities and raiding villages, not picking up rocks. The reds would not clear the pass, and if he did not come up with some sort of interesting and agreeable work for them, they were going to go elsewhere.
Dray-yan considered asking Takhisis to again intercede with the dragons, but he could not stomach the thought of once more crawling to his queen begging for help. Takhisis did not like whiners, and her supply of favors was limited. She liked commanders who took the initiative and went ahead with their own plans and ideas, leaving her free to move on with her own schemes.
Dray-yan dropped the idea of marching his army through the pass. He conceived another idea, one that he hoped would win him recognition and praise from the Dark Queen.
Dray-yan did his own reconnaissance in the guise of Lord Verminaard and discovered where the refugees were hiding. He had the pleasure of seeing them run panic-stricken before him like sheep. He could only imagine their dismay as they witnessed the return of the man they’d thought they’d killed.
Having flown over the area, Dray-yan was satisfied that his plan would work. His idea would require him to do a good deal of persuading, but he hoped the dragons might find it diverting and would agree to go along with it. He was less certain how Commander Grag would feel about it.
No time like the present to find out.
Dray-yan sent a messenger ordering Grag to attend him. Rather, Lord Verminaard sent the messenger. Dray-yan found it exhausting
keeping up the charade, which required that he use his illusion magic every time he wanted to stick his head out the door and shout for a minion. He looked forward to the day when he could bury Verminaard once and for all. Hopefully, if this plan worked, that day would not be long in coming.
Grag arrived and was invited to partake of the wine. The commander refused, stating he was on duty.
“What do the blue dragon scouts report?” Dray-yan asked.
“One flew over the valley this morning at about dawn. The humans remain in the caves,” Grag replied. “They appear to be planning to stay there for the winter, for the dragon saw no signs of any preparations being made to leave.”
“Why should they leave?” Dray-yan asked with a shrug. “They do not think we can come through the pass.”
“They’re right. We can’t,” said Grag grimly.
“True, but there is more than one way to skin a human. I have a plan.”
Dray-yan explained his idea.
Grag listened. First he was incredulous and stared at Dray-yan as though he’d gone mad. As Dray-yan elaborated, however, patiently explaining how this could be done, Grag began to realize that the aurak might be right. This could be done! The plan was daring, bold and dangerous but not impossible.
“What do you think?” Dray-yan asked finally.
“The reds must be convinced.”
“I will undertake to speak with them myself. I believe they will agree.”
Grag thought so too. “My troops will need to time to train.”
Dray-yan eyed him, frowning. He hadn’t counted on this.
“Is that necessary?”
“Consider what you are asking them to do, yes!” Grag returned heatedly.
Dray-yan considered, before waving a clawed hand in resignation. “Very well. How long?”
“A month.”
Dray-yan snorted. “Out of the question.”
“The humans are not going anywhere.”
“We don’t know that. You have one week.”
“Two,” Grag temporized, “or I will not agree.”
Dray-yan eyed him. “I could find another commander who would.”
“That is true,” said Grag coolly, “but that would mean one more who knows your little secret, Lord Verminaard.”
“You have two weeks,” Dray-yan said. “Make the most of the time.”
“I plan to.” Grag rose to his feet. “How do negotiations come with the dwarves of Thorbardin?”
“Quite well,” Dray-yan replied. “If this works out, we will have no need for the humans and you may simply kill them.”
“We’re going to a lot of trouble if we don’t really need them,” Grag pointed out.
“We cannot be seen to be weak. If nothing else, the deaths of these slaves will serve to instill fear in others who might be thinking of rebelling.”
Grag nodded. He hesitated a moment, then said, “You know I do not like you, Dray-yan.”
Dray-yan’s lip curled. “We were not put into this world to be liked, Commander.”
“And that I would never stoop to flattery,” Grag continued.
“Where is all this leading, Commander? I have work to do.”
“I want to say that I consider this plan of yours one of genius. We will make history. Emperor Ariakas and the other Highlords will look on our race with new respect and admiration.”
“That is my hope,” said Dray-yan. Though he did not say it, he was pleased by Grag’s praise. He could already see himself in a Highlord’s armor. “Do your job well, Commander. You have two weeks.”
Grag saluted and left to start making arrangements.
“Oh, Commander,” Dray-yan called after him, “if you think of it, you might mention this brilliant plan of mine to Her Dark Majesty. Just mention it in passing …”
8
A dwarf’s knowledge.
A wizard’s mystery.
he valley in which the refugees sheltered formed a bowl perhaps ten miles long and ten miles wide. Flint and Tanis walked due south, keeping in the foothills at the base of the mountains, not descending into the valley. Flint set a meandering course. Tanis might have thought the dwarf was lost and wandering, but he’d traveled with Flint for many years and knew better.
A dwarf might lose his way in the desert. A dwarf would most certainly lose himself at sea, should he ever have the misfortune to wind up there, but the dwarf had not been born who could get lost among the mountains and hills of Kharolis, long trod by the boots of his ancestors. Flint kept his gaze fixed on the stone walls that thrust up from the valley floor, and every so often, he would adjust their course, shift direction.
They had been traveling for several hours when the dwarf suddenly veered to the right. Leaving the foothills, he began to climb a steep grade.
Tanis followed. He had been searching for some sign that Raistlin, Caramon, and Sturm had come this way, but he’d found none.
“Flint,” said Tanis, as they started to ascend, “which way is Skullcap from here?”
Flint paused to get his bearings then pointed to the east. “That way. On the other side of that mountain. If they’ve gone in that direction, they won’t get far. I guess we were worried for nothing.”
“There’s no pass in that direction?”
“Use your eyes, lad! Do you see a pass?”
Tanis shook his head, then smiled. “I don’t see a pass in this direction either.”
“Ah, that’s because you’re not a dwarf!” said Flint and continued the ascent.
Caramon, Sturm, and Raistlin were down in the valley, following a trail that was faint, overgrown, and occasionally impassable, forcing them to make detours into the forest. No matter how far they ventured from the trail, Raistlin always led them unerringly back.
The stream that ran near their campsite wound through the valley like a gleaming snake, cutting across the trail at several points. Up until now, whenever they’d been forced to cross the stream, it was shallow enough that they could wade through it. They had come to a place where the stream flowed deep and swift, and they could not cross it. Raistlin struck off to the north, following the bank, and eventually found a place where the water was only ankle deep.
Once they were on the other side, Raistlin led the way along the bank until they once more picked up the trail.
“How did he know where to find the ford?” Sturm asked in a low voice.
“Lucky guess,” Caramon returned.
Sturm regarded Raistlin grimly. “He seems to make a lot of those.”
“A good thing, too,” Caramon muttered, “otherwise we’d be wandering around here lost.”
Caramon increased his pace to catch up with his far-ranging twin.
“Don’t you think you should rest, Raist?” Caramon asked solicitously as he caught up. Caramon was worried at the pace his frail twin was setting. They’d walked for hours without a break. “You’ve really pushed yourself this morning.”
“No time,” Raistlin said, walking faster. He glanced at the sky. “We must be there by sunset.”
“We must be where by sunset?” Caramon asked, puzzled.
Raistlin appeared momentarily confused then brushed the question aside. “You will—”
His words were interrupted by a coughing spasm. He choked, gasping for breath.
Caramon hovered nearby, watching helplessly as Raistlin wiped his mouth then quickly crumpled the handkerchief, thrusting it back into a pocket, though not before Caramon had seen spots on the white cloth that were as red as the mage’s robes.
“We’re stopping,” said Caramon.
Raistlin tried to protest, but he lacked the breath to argue. Glancing up at the sun, which had yet to reach its zenith, he gave in and slumped down on a fallen log. His breath came in wheezes. Caramon removed the stopper from the water skin, and as he held it out for his brother to drink, saw that Raistlin’s golden-tinged skin had a feverish flush. Knowing better than to say anything about this, fearing to draw his brother’s ire,
Caramon took the opportunity as he handed over the water to brush his hand against his brother’s. Raistlin’s skin always seemed unnaturally warm to the touch, but Caramon fancied that it was hotter than normal.
“Sturm, could you gather some wood? I want to start a fire,” Caramon said. “I’ll brew your tea, Raist. You can take a nap.”
Raistlin flashed his twin a look that caused the words to dry up in Caramon’s mouth.
“A nap!” Raistlin said scathingly. “Do you think we are on a kender outing, brother?”
“No,” said Caramon, unhappy. “It’s just that you—”
Raistlin rose to his feet. His eyes glinted from the shadow of his cowl. “Go ahead, Caramon. Start a fire. You and the knight have your picnic. Perhaps you can go fishing, catch a trout. When the two of you are finished, you might consider catching up with me!” He pointed with his staff to his tracks in the snow. “You will have no difficulty following my trail.”
He started to cough, but he managed to stifle it in the sleeve of his robes. Leaning on his staff, he strode off.
“By the gods, for a bent copper I would go fishing,” Sturm said vehemently. “Let him end up in a wolf’s belly!”
Caramon did not answer but silently gathered up his gear and that of his brother and started off in pursuit of his twin.
“For a bent copper,” Sturm muttered.
Since there was no one around to offer him such an incentive, the knight hefted his own equipment and stalked grimly after them.
Tanis was not the least bit surprised when Flint found the old dwarven trail, hidden from sight, carved out of the side of the mountain. Flint had been walking with one eye fixed on the ground and the other searching the mountain walls, looking for signs only he could see, secret marks left by his people who had lived in and around the Kharolis mountains since the time of the forging of the world by the dwarven god, Reorx.
Tanis pretended to be surprised, however, swearing he’d been certain they were lost past recovery. Flint flushed with pride, though he pretended he’d done nothing special. Tanis eyed the route of path that stretched ahead of them, meandering across the face of the mountain.
Dragons of the Dwarven Depths Page 10