Dragons of the Dwarven Depths

by Margaret Weis

  “Understand!” Flint repeated angrily. Keeping a wary eye on Sturm, he raised his hands and backed away. “I don’t understand any of this.” He glowered at Raistlin. “I agree with Tanis. This smacks of mage-work!”

  “So it is,” said Raistlin coolly, “but not mine.”

  He explained that he had come across the helm quite by accident and how Sturm had seen him holding it and become enamored of it.

  “The helm’s enchantment was undoubtedly searching for a warrior, and when Sturm picked it up, the spell took hold of him. The magic is not evil. It will do him no harm, beyond borrowing his body for a short time. When we reach Thorbardin, the prince’s soul will be home. The magic will probably release the knight, and he will go back to being the same grim and dour Sturm Brightblade we have always known.”

  Tanis looked back at Sturm, who still had his sword drawn, still keeping a baleful eye on Flint.

  “You say the magic will ‘probably’ release him,” he said to Raistlin.

  “I did not cast the spell, Tanis. I have no way of knowing for certain.” He coughed again, paused, then said, “Perhaps you don’t understand the significance of this. Prince Grallen knows where to find the gates of Thorbardin.”

  “Great Reorx’s beard!” Flint exclaimed. “The mage is right!”

  “I told you the key to Thorbardin lay in Skullcap.”

  “I never doubted you,” said Tanis, “though I have to admit I was thinking more along the lines of a map.” He scratched his beard. “The problem as I see it is how we keep the prince from killing Flint before we get there.”

  “The prince thinks we’re mercenaries. We could tell the prince that Flint is our prisoner,” Caramon suggested.

  “You will do no such thing!” Flint roared.

  “What about an emissary coming to talk peace terms?” Raistlin said.

  Tanis looked at Flint, who felt called upon to argue, saying that no one in his right mind would believe it. At last, however, he gave a grudging nod. “Tell him I’m a prince too, a prince of the Neidar.”

  Tanis hid a smile and went to explain matters to Prince Grallen, who apparently found this acceptable, for Sturm slid his sword back into its sheathe and gave Flint a stiff bow.

  “Now that that’s settled,” said Caramon, “do you two have anything to eat? We ran out of everything we brought.”

  “I don’t see how you can be hungry,” said Raistlin. He pressed his sleeve over his nose and mouth. “The stench is appalling! We should at least move up wind.”

  Tanis looked again around the ruined village, the pathetic, crumpled, and smoldering little bodies. “Why would draconians do this? Why go to the trouble to slaughter gully dwarves?”

  “To silence them, of course,” said Raistlin. “They stumbled across something they should not have— some secret of the draconians or some secret the draconians were charged with protecting. Thus they had to die.”

  “I wonder what that secret is,” Tanis mused, troubled. “I doubt we will ever know,” Raistlin said, shrugging.

  They left the village, returning to the road that led up the mountain to Thorbardin.

  “I spoke a prayer over the poor gully dwarves,” said Tasslehoff solemnly, coming up to walk beside Tanis. “A prayer Elistan taught me. I commenced their souls to Paladine.”

  “Commended,” Tanis corrected. “Commended their souls.”

  “That too,” said Tas, sighing.

  “It was good of you to think of that,” said Tanis. “None of the rest of us did.”

  “You’re busy thinking big things,” said Tas. “I keep track of the small stuff.”

  “By the way,” said Tanis, a sudden thought striking him, “I left you back in camp! How did you come to be with Raistlin, Sturm and Caramon? I thought I told you to keep watch over Tika.”

  “Oh, I did!” said Tas. “Wait until you hear!”

  He launched into the tale, to which Tanis listened with increasing grimness.

  “Where’s Tika? Why isn’t she with you?”

  “She went back to warn Riverwind,” said Tasslehoff cheerfully.

  “Alone?” Tanis turned to look at Caramon, who was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his big body behind that of his twin.

  “She sneaked off in the night, Tanis,” Caramon said defensively. “Didn’t she, Raist? We didn’t know she left.”

  “You could have gone after her,” Tanis said sternly.

  “Yes, we could have,” said Raistlin smoothly, “and then where would you be, Half-Elven? Wandering about the mountain searching for the way inside Thorbardin. Tika was in no danger. The route we traveled was one known only to us.”

  “I hope so,” said Tanis grimly.

  He walked on ahead, biting back the angry words that would have done no good. He had known Raistlin and Caramon for many years, and he knew the twins had a bond that could not be broken. An unhealthy bond, or so he had always considered it, but it was not his place to say anything. He had been hoping that the romance blossoming between Tika and Caramon would give the big man strength enough to break free of his brother’s death grip. Apparently not.

  Tanis had no idea of what had happened back in Skullcap, but he guessed from the unhappy look Caramon had given his twin that Tika had tried to persuade Caramon to go with her and Raistlin had prevented it.

  “If anything happens to her, I will take it out of Raistlin’s hide,” Tanis muttered to himself.

  At least Tika’d had sense enough to carry the warning to Riverwind. He hoped she had reached the refugees in time and that they would heed the warning and escape. He could not go back there now, much as he would have liked to. His mission to Thorbardin had just become eight hundred times more urgent.

  Flint marched along at the rear, following after Sturm, unable to take his eyes from the knight and the marvelous helm he wore—or rather, according to Raistlin, the helm that wore him. The dwarf did not trust magic of any kind, especially magic that had anything to do with Raistlin, and no one would ever persuade him that this was not somehow Raistlin’s doing.

  Flint was forced to admit that something had happened to change Sturm. The knight could speak a few words of dwarven learned from Flint over time but not many. He certainly could not speak the language of Thorbardin, that was slightly different from the language of the hill dwarves.

  After they made camp, Tanis asked the prince to describe the route to Thorbardin. Prince Grallen readily did so, speaking of a ridge line they would follow up the mountain. He told them how far they would travel and how to locate the secret gate, though he would not tell them what to do to open it when they found it.

  Tanis looked to Flint for verification. Flint did not know specifically which ridge the prince meant, but it did sound plausible, though he didn’t say as much.

  All the dwarf would say, grumbling, was that he supposed they’d find out the truth of the matter tomorrow and he wished Tanis would let them get some rest.

  As Flint lay down, he looked into the sky, searching the heavens until he found the red star that was the fire of Reorx, Forger of the World.

  Flint found he liked the idea of being an emissary. He had protested, of course, when Raistlin first proposed it, simply because it was Raistlin, but the dwarf had not protested too strongly. He’d given in without much of a fuss.

  The thought came to him: What if I am truly an emissary? What if I am the dwarf to bring the warring clans together at last?

  He lay awake a long time, watching the sparks fly across the sky as the god went about his eternal task of forging creation, and he saw himself as one of those sparks, only his light would shine forever.

  18

  Leaving the valley. Treacherous trail.

  The keystone.

  he first day’s travel for the refugees had been relatively easy. They had not gone far on the second day before traveling grew more difficult. The trail wended its way upward, and as it did so, it grew steeper, more narrow, until at last it devolved into a ribbon-thin
path with sheer wall on one side and a terrifying drop of hundreds of feet onto the rocks on the other. Beyond lay the pass. They were almost there, but they had to cross this first.

  They would have to walk this perilous part of the trail single-file, and Riverwind called a halt. Many were already terrified at just the sight of the precipice and the fall so close to their feet. Among these, as Tanis had foreseen, was Goldmoon.

  She had been born and raised on the Plains of Dust, a flat and featureless land stretching endlessly for miles with nothing between her and the glorious sky. This world of mountains and valleys was new to Goldmoon and she had not grown used to it. Riverwind had been up and down the line, encouraging the others, when one of the Plainsmen came running for him.

  “It is Goldmoon,” the man said. “You had better come.”

  The Plainsman found his wife with her back pressed against the side of the cliff, her face deathly pale, trembling in terror. He approached her, and the hand that seized hold of him and gripped him like death was freezing cold.

  She was at the head of the line. He had not forgotten her terror of high places, and he had tried to persuade to walk at the end, but she would have none of it. She was cured of that, she said, and she had walked forward confidently. She might have made it, for the distance was not far, but she committed the fatal error of looking down. She could see herself plunging through the air, landing on the rock-strewn ground, bones breaking, skull crushed, blood spattering the stones and pooling beneath her broken body.

  “I am sorry, but I cannot do this, husband,” she said in a low voice. When he urged her gently forward, she went stiff. “Give me a few moments.”

  “Goldmoon,” he said softly, looking back down the trail, where the line of refugees stood waiting. “Others are watching you, looking to you for courage.”

  She stared at him pleadingly. “I want to go. I know I must go, but I can’t move!”

  She glanced over the edge at the sheer side of the cliff face, the rocks, trees, and the valley that seemed so far, far below her feet, and she shuddered and shut her eyes again.

  “Don’t look down,” he counseled. “Look up. Look ahead. See that V-shape cut up there. That is the pass through the mountain. We have only to cross that and we are on the other side!”

  Goldmoon looked, shook her head and pressed her back against the wall.

  “Have you prayed to the gods for courage?” Riverwind asked his wife.

  Goldmoon gave him a tremulous smile. “The courage of Mishakal is in my heart, husband, but it has yet to make its way to my feet.”

  He loved her very much at that moment, and he kissed her cheek. She flung her arms around him, clasping him so tightly that she nearly cut off his breathing. He led her back off the trail onto solid ground and wondered what he was going to do.

  There would be others like his wife who would find this trail difficult, if not impossible, to walk. He had to think how to help them.

  He told the people to stop to rest while he considered this problem. As he was pondering, one of the advance scouts came hastening back down the trail. He motioned to Riverwind.

  “We have found something strange,” the Plainsman reported. “Up ahead, at the opening to the pass, the dwarf’s pick-axe lies on the ground.”

  “Perhaps it grew too heavy for him to carry,” he suggested.

  The scout smiled and shook his head. “I have no great love for dwarves as you know, Chieftain, but I never yet met the dwarf who could not carry the weight of this mountain on his back, if he were so minded. It is not likely that he would leave behind a pick-axe.”

  “Unless there was some good cause,” Riverwind said thoughtfully. “There is nothing else? Nothing to suggest he and Tanis were attacked or met with some other terrible fate?”

  “If there had been fighting, we would see signs of a battle, but there is no blood on the stones, no gouges in the dirt, and no packs or other pieces of equipment left behind. To my mind, the pick-axe was left deliberately, as some sort of sign, but what it means, none of us can say.”

  “Leave it where it is,” said Riverwind. “Let no man touch it. I’ll come look at it. Perhaps I can read this puzzle.”

  The Plainsman nodded and returned to his fellows. The scout, whose name was Eagle Talon, walked the trail with the sure-footed ease of a mountain lion. Riverwind watched him go and eyed the trail ahead. It widened in some places, enough for two or even three people to walk abreast. He could post men like Eagle Talon, who had no problem with the heights, at each of those places, prepared to offer a strong arm and reassuring hand to those who made their way along the path.

  Riverwind explained his plan, and called for volunteers, choosing men who were stout, sturdy, and had no fear of the dizzying heights, posting them at various points along the trail. He went to Goldmoon, told her what she should do, and indicated the first man, who stood on a ledge only a few feet away, his hand outstretched.

  “You just have to cross a short distance on your own,” he said to her. “Don’t look down. Keep your back to the wall and look only at Nighthawk.”

  Goldmoon gave a tremulous nod. She had to do this. Her husband was counting on her. She whispered the name of the goddess, then, shivering, she edged her way along the trail, moving her feet an inch at a time. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mouth was dry as stone. She made it and clasped Nighthawk’s hand with convulsive strength. He helped her sidle past him, holding onto her firmly and speaking to her encouragingly. The next man was farther away, but she looked back at Riverwind and smiled a triumphant, though shaky smile and crept on.

  Riverwind was proud of her. His plan seemed to be working, but it was slow going, so very slow. Some of the people would have no difficulty, of course. Maritta, coming after Goldmoon, traveled the trail with confidence, waving away Nighthawk’s helping hand. Others, like Goldmoon, hung on for dear life. Some could not stand but were forced to crawl along on their hands and knees.

  At this rate, it would take all day or longer for the people to reach the pass. Leaving Elistan in charge, Riverwind went on ahead to see for himself the pick-axe the dwarf had unaccountably left behind.

  Riverwind agreed with Eagle Talon. The axe had been left here deliberately. He wondered why. Not to mark the trail, which was obvious at this point. He noticed the striped rock, different from the others around it, and he saw how the point of the axe rested on the rock.

  Not just on the rock, he realized, squatting down to look at it more closely. The point was actually wedged in gently beneath the rock.

  He stood up, arms folded across his chest, looking intently all around, up and down the mountainside. His scouts had traversed the cut and returned to say that it did indeed cross the mountain. They had found Tanis’s markers on the other side.

  What, then, did this sign mean? That it was important, he had no doubt.

  At least, he thought, watching the slow progress of the refugees up the trail, I have time to figure it out.

  He was not to have as much time as he thought.

  Late in the afternoon, when the sun began to sink, blanketing the trail in shadow, Riverwind called a halt to the ascent. He was pleased with the progress they had made. Only about a hundred more people had yet to make the treacherous walk up the trail to the pass. They had not lost a single person, though there had been heart-stopping moments as feet slipped and hands lost their grip. Or when a boy froze on the trail, unable to move, and one of the men had to edge his way down to rescue him.

  Those who had crossed were now preparing to spend the night in the pass, relieved that this part of the trip was over and speaking hopefully that the worst was behind them. Riverwind’s scouts reported that they had found what appeared to be an ancient dwarven road. The going would be easier from now on.

  Riverwind calculated that they would be through the pass by midmorning. Some of those who had not yet dared the trail would require more time, for among them were several who had not found the courage to even make the a
ttempt. They had taken some comfort in the fact that their fellows had managed to cross without incident and told Riverwind they thought they could do so themselves after a night’s rest. Everyone was in good spirits, preparing to make camp for the night. Laurana and Elistan had both offered to remain with this group and Riverwind left them, confident that the people were in good hands.

  The evening was cold, and camping among the rocks was far from comfortable. Riverwind discouraged the refugees from building fires. Light on the mountain would show up like a beacon in the darkness. The people wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets and huddled together for warmth, wedging themselves in among the rocks and boulders as best they could, prepared to spend an uncomfortable and cheerless night. Riverwind walked the rounds, spoke with those on guard duty, made certain they were awake and alert. All the while, he kept wondering about the pick-axe.

  The last thing he did, before going to bed, was to stand over the pick-axe, pondering it by the cold light of the stars, wondering what it meant.

  Riverwind was wakened by a frightened cry from his wife. He woke to find Goldmoon clutching him by the shoulder.

  “Something is out there!”

  He felt it too, and so did many others, for he heard people crying out and stirring restlessly around him. Riverwind was on his feet, when one of the guards came running.

  “Dragons!” he said softly, urgently, keeping his voice down. “Flying over the mountains!”

  “What is it?” people asked fearfully, as Riverwind accompanied the guard out of the pass and into an open area where he could see. He looked to the north. A shudder went through him.

  Dark wings obliterated the stars. Dragons at the far end of the valley. They flew slowly, their wings making wide, sweeping motions, as though the beasts carried a burden and were struggling to remain airborne. Riverwind was reminded of the struggles made by a hawk trying to carry off a prairie rabbit.

  Dragonfear crept over him, but he recognized it now and refused to give in to it. He was about to summon his warriors when he heard footfalls, and turning, he found his people gathered around him, silent and expectant, awaiting his orders.