[Meetings 06] - The Companions

by Tina Daniell - (ebook by Undead)

  A shout came from above. Tas recognized the voice of Sarkis, who was never far away, especially when he had a chance to order Dogz around.

  Looking flustered, Dogz grabbed the spoon and empty bowl, then hurried back up the stairs.

  * * * * *

  One day not long afterward, Dogz brought ordinary, disgusting gruel again. Tas guessed it was a sign that the Nightmaster's high emissary had arrived.

  Later that day, a group of minotaurs thundered down the steps to look at Tasslehoff. Apart from a couple of familiar torture masters, they included Sarkis, looking humble and outranked by Cleef-Eth, and a newcomer who was distinct from the others.

  Tas studied the newcomer closely. He appeared to be a kind of shaman, young and bulging with muscles, dressed in fur and feathered headgear. His horns were massive, almost brushing the high ceiling.

  The others seemed to defer to the shaman, who paced back and forth, cocking his head this way and that at Tasslehoff.

  "Look lively, kender," growled Sarkis. "You have an important visitor."

  The shaman minotaur looked up, frowning. Cleef-Eth threw Sarkis an annoyed glance.

  Always happy for company, Tas did his best to look bright and attractive for the important visitor, which was quite a challenge, considering that he was covered with healing wounds, his clothes were in tatters, and his feet were bare and blistered. He gazed up into the face of the important visitor, who gazed intently back at him.

  "We've tried everything on the little nuisance, Fesz," complained Cleef-Eth to the shaman. "He just won't cooperate. I think it best to kill him and be done with it."

  "You are not paid to think," rumbled Fesz, almost gently, Tas thought. "If you were, your pay would be very low indeed."

  Cleef-Eth snorted but didn't say anything. Fesz turned back to the barred cell. As the kender didn't quite come up to the huge minotaur's chest, Fesz squatted down on his knees and peered directly into the face of the kender.

  Tas smelled the minotaur's fetid breath, his foul armpits, his rank strips of furred clothing, but he was too well-mannered to mention any of this just now.

  "You are such a handsome sprite of a fellow," purred Fesz, reaching out with his big, sinewy hand to stroke Tas's cheek.

  His voice was lyrical and had a soothing effect on the kender. His hand kind of felt good, Tas had to admit.

  "You are not our enemy; you are our friend," rumbled Fesz. "I can see that. It's wrong that they have treated you so badly." His head flicked scoldingly in the direction of Cleef-Eth. "Wrong and cruel. These city dwellers have such crude methods. It makes my heart heavy to see that they have inflicted pain upon you. The Nightmaster himself has sent me. I came on his behalf as soon as I learned of your predicament."

  Tas was listening. Although the breath was still fetid, the words were lulling. And behind the fist-sized eyes of the shaman, he thought he saw a gleam of kindness that gave him hope.

  "I have brought you a restorative, Tasslehoff Burrfoot," rumbled Fesz soothingly. "It will do the job much more considerately than torture. It will make you my friend, and it will make my friends your friends, my enemies your enemies. You have an understandable inclination to act for the cause of good. However, this will put you on my side . . . the side of evil."

  The huge hands of the minotaur reached a little farther and clutched Tas by the throat, holding him firmly but not too hard; he could still breathe. Tas squirmed uncomfortably as the minotaur pulled him closer. Held not only by the throat but by the shaman's compelling gaze, Tas saw Fesz gesture with his other hand. One of the minotaur retinue hastened forward, carrying an ornamented drinking goblet. Self-importantly, Cleef-Eth grabbed the goblet from the minotaur and stepped up behind Fesz.

  Fesz pried the kender's jaws open as Cleef-Eth poured a greenish gold liquid from the goblet down Tas's throat. Not bad-tasting, Tasslehoff thought. As for turning him evil, Tas felt it was an intriguing idea. It was Tas's last conscious thought.

  The kender's head drooped downward as the potion began to take effect. Fesz let him slump to the floor.

  Standing, Fesz looked at Tasslehoff Burrfoot with satisfaction. "Put him in my guest quarters," commanded the shaman. "I will deal with him myself. From this moment on, he is one of us."

  Cleef-Eth turned to bark orders, but Fesz grabbed him by the shoulder and whirled him around. The shaman struck out at the jailer, hitting him across the face and knocking him down with violent force. Cleef-Eth staggered up from the floor, rubbing his cheek ruefully, but he didn't dare retaliate. Instead, he made a slight, pathetic bow.

  Sarkis and the other minotaurs smirked in the background.

  "This kender is no mage!" Fesz growled at Cleef-Eth angrily. "Any fool can see that!"

  * * * * *

  For hundreds of years, the island of Karthay was thought to be abandoned and desolate. Few travelers journeyed there. Those that did risked being greeted by giant insects, swarms of locusts, lumbering umber hulks, and deadly sand creatures who creeped and crawled among its dunes and rocks. Few could survive the howling wind and stinging sand, let alone the harsh, uncompromising heat of the endless days and the bitter cold of the torturous nights on the island.

  Hundreds of years ago—nobody knew exactly when—a great city had existed on this island, a fabled city that was also called Karthay. It was the site of magnificent buildings, clean and ordered streets, and a flourishing civilization. It was said to house a great university of higher learning and a library renowned for its huge store of books.

  Then, hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago, some unknown disaster befell the city of Karthay. Now it lay buried under tons of rock beneath a collapsed cliff face on the south shore of the island. Here and there, broken stone and identifiable pieces of buildings jutted up from the ground. In the collapse of the great city, numerous tunnels and canyons had formed among the rubble, a skein of underground passages, some treacherous with trapped gases, others dotted with sandpits, still others extending safely and uninterrupted for miles.

  The inhospitable climate in the haunted ruins made it a congenial setting for the Nightmaster. Although a few unsettling problems had arisen, his plan to summon Sargonnas, to bring the god of vengeance into the world, and to forge alliances with the hostile and evil races of Ansalon was progressing.

  The Nightmaster had fashioned his sanctuary in a hollowed-out area of the shattered ruins where once the great library had stood. Of that once great repository of learning, only a few isolated columns and occasional windblown scraps of ancient books remained. Fires ringed the Nightmaster's camp, which was open to the sky.

  Never far from the Nightmaster, serving his every whim and learning from his every word and deed, were the two remaining shaman minotaurs of the High Three. Around the perimeter of the sanctuary, at a respectful distance, camped a group of devoted disciples and a small army of stalwart minotaurs who stayed in Karthay for the Nightmaster to command.

  On this night, the camp entertained a rare visitor, one who brought the Nightmaster vital information. A scaly creature with tiny wings and an ugly snout, the visitor sat on a broken wall near the high cleric of the minotaurs, sating its thirst on strong, hot spirits after its long journey. Its actual appearance was known only to the Nightmaster and the High Three. The nearby disciples and armed minotaurs, if they endeavored to peer through the darkness, would have seen only a small figure wrapped in a cape and hood.

  "I adopted a clever disguise," reported the scaly, snouted creature, its voice harsh and piercing, "and asked everyone that I met in this dull and backward place, but nobody knew where they had gone or why." The creature refilled its stone cup and took a long, satisfying drink.

  An acrid, sulfurous smell emanated from the creature and traveled on the wind to the encamped minotaurs. Several of those horned bull-men, notorious for their own stench, exchanged looks.

  The Nightmaster, his eyes huge and intelligent, shifted his weight as he listened. Tiny bells jingled whenever he moved. Around hi
s shoulders, he had draped a heavy fur robe. He sighed, waiting for the scaly one to go on.

  The wind picked up, shrieking through the ruins, blowing sand and dirt into their faces. The blistering heat of the day had become the harsh cold of night.

  "But through my contacts," the creature hissed, "I discovered that one of them had sent a message to a young female, apparently his sister. And this female is on her way here!"

  "Here?"

  Looking guardedly over his shoulder, the scaly creature leaned over and whispered to the Nightmaster, telling him how the one called Kitiara had received the message and departed immediately. She could be expected to arrive on the island within days. With a ghastly wink, the scaly one assured the Nightmaster that its sources were impeccable, that this news could be relied upon.

  Puffed up with arrogant pride, the visitor took another long drink.

  With an impassive expression, the Nightmaster watched the creature. "And you think," rumbled the Nightmaster, "that the one I seek is this young mage from Solace—not the prisoner in Lacynos?"

  "Yes," hissed the visitor, "and the young mage has disappeared. He and two friends have left Solace. They, too, may be on their way here."

  Sighing, the Nightmaster raised his huge head, his horns stabbing upward as he cast his eyes toward the dark sky, searching for omens. The Nightmaster wasn't worried. He, above all, had supreme confidence.

  Something was afoot, but it couldn't be anything serious. These were minor irritants. Fesz had been dispatched to deal with the prisoner in Lacynos. He himself would be prepared to greet the young female. The others, wherever they had disappeared to, would be found. In any case, what danger could they pose to the inevitability of Sargonnas?

  "You have done well," growled the Nightmaster to the scaly creature.

  The scaly one gulped more spirits. He would depart before daylight. Nobody could attest to having seen him. Nobody would be able to say who or what had served the Nightmaster.

  Chapter 7

  Escape From Ogrebond

  Thud.

  Raistlin, Flint, and Tanis landed in a heap in the middle of the floor of a small rectangular, unassuming room with bleached walls. Although mere seconds had passed since they leaped off the precipice, time had seemed to stop and stretch during their fall. All three found themselves breathless, dazed, and disoriented. Flint was the first of the companions to stumble to his feet, followed by the half-elf and the young mage.

  No windows or vents broke the smooth stone walls and ceiling of the room where they found themselves. The only entrance appeared to be a thick oaken door. Stunned by the experience of traveling through the portal, Tanis crawled over and pressed his ear against the door but could hear nothing.

  In the center of the room stood its single item of interest, a huge, gilded, oval piece of glass, shiny and suggestive of a mirror but not a mirror. The oval sat on a wooden base propped up at a sharp angle. At its widest point, the oval's reflective surface curved into a wide indentation, broken in the middle by a needle-thin slit.

  Wearing the black gem the Ogress had given him, Raistlin approached the oval, gripping the amulet tightly. He murmured an obscure incantation, followed by a simple command: "Close gate."

  The surface moved almost imperceptibly, like the blink of an eye, and the needle-thin slash disappeared. Raistlin removed the amulet from around his neck, wrapped it in some cloth, and stuffed it in one of the folds of his cloak.

  "Naturally I'm grateful that we didn't get smashed to bits on those rocks," said Flint, "but where are we?"

  Raistlin, occupied with concealing the amulet, said nothing. By the door, Tanis had pulled himself to his feet and was giving the steel handle a fruitless tug.

  "It's locked," said Tanis.

  "I expected as much," said Raistlin.

  "Sealed tight," Tanis continued, squatting to peer through the keyhole. "There's no draft. I can't see much other than a dark hallway and several other doors."

  "Outside or inside?" asked Flint, coming over.

  "What?" asked Tanis.

  "Is the door locked from the outside or inside?"

  "Why, it has to be locked from the outside, doesn't it?" Tanis asked, puzzled.

  "Don't be too sure," Raistlin cautioned, coming over to inspect the door. He braced himself against the wall, shaking his head as if to clear it. Flint and Tanis exchanged looks. "It seems I am a little wobbly still," explained the young mage.

  "It's locked from the inside," declared Flint authoritatively after giving the mechanism of the lock a once-over.

  "How can it be locked from the inside? That doesn't make any sense."

  But Flint was no longer paying any attention to Tanis. He had taken out one of his long, thin knives and a stitching needle and was poking inside the lock. The diminutive dwarf didn't have to bend over far in order to bring his eyes level with his work. Several minutes passed in silence while he fiddled with his makeshift lockpick.

  'Too bad Tasslehoff isn't with us," Tanis said. He smiled at the realization that he actually missed the kender. "He'd make short work of that lock."

  Flint paused to glare at the half-elf. "That doorknob of a kender would take so long telling you about the time his Uncle Trapspringer was in a similar predicament that he'd totally forget what he was supposed to be doing." The dwarf turned back to his task.

  Flint grunted with satisfaction as he heard the click that he was straining to hear. He gave the stitching needle an upward thrust. The door cracked open just a hairsbreadth. "Not to mention the fact that Tas is the reason we've portaled ourselves into this room in the first place!" Flint added righteously.

  Raistlin stood up, recovered. "Careful," the young mage warned before sliding open the door and slipping out.

  Tanis followed quickly.

  "Wait for me!!" cried Flint, hurrying to tuck away his tools and follow.

  While the light in the locked room had been dim, the hallway plunged them into nearly total darkness. From one end of the hall, a square of light beckoned—a window. Raistlin rushed over to look out.

  Tanis and Flint were right behind the young mage, crowding to gaze over his shoulder.

  What they saw was a limitless blue-black sea of wild, choppy waters. The shore was irregular, with sandy beaches in some areas. In others, the water crashed against jagged rocks and awesome cliffs.

  Their vantage point was the highest tower of a keep perched on top of a steep hill. A dusty road twisted out of sight. They couldn't help but notice that the road was lined with bodies and skeletons impaled on pikes. On the cracked, withered ground nearby grew mangy scrub bushes and a few gnarled trees.

  Directly below the tower, a gatehouse with a spiked portcullis guarded one side of a bridge that spanned a deep gully. Tanis and the others saw that giant bears roamed the gully. Guards manned the gates. Not human guards either, Tanis observed.

  Large and animal-like, ridged with hard muscles, the creatures had blunt noses, pointed ears, and beady red eyes. Long, matted hair draped their shoulders. They wore beast skins and fur capes and carried scimitars and spears.

  Ogres.

  One of the ogre guards turned idly and looked up in their direction.

  Quickly they ducked down out of sight.

  "The Oracle was right," Raistlin hissed to his companions in a low voice, although they were well out of the ogre guards' hearing. 'That is the shore of the Blood Sea. We are inside Ogrebond, in a tower at the top of the keep. Somehow we must get out of here, but to do so means we must fight or evade a small army of ogres, their minions, and evil spirits."

  "Great," muttered Flint.

  "Let me lead," said Tanis quickly, rising and heading back down the hallway. He turned and gestured. "Let's find a way down."

  "I'll go next," said Raistlin, following.

  "Happy to go last," muttered Flint.

  As Raistlin passed the room from which they had emerged, he took a moment to close the door firmly and try the handle. Satisfied, he wai
ted a moment for his eyes to adjust, then moved on.

  Ahead of them, narrow steps curved downward. Feeling the cold, musty wall with one hand as a guide—his other hand was on the hilt of his dagger, just in case—Tanis slowly started down the stairs. Raistlin placed his hand on Tanis's shoulder and followed. Flint did likewise with Raistlin.

  They descended for several minutes until they reached a large landing from which led three corridors, each apparently leading to a number of rooms, or at least a series of doors. Vague noises and voices filtered up to the companions from farther below, but they didn't hear anything nearby. Daylight lit the corridors, which seemed, for the moment, uninhabited.

  Flint pushed a door open cautiously, revealing a large room barren of decor. The room held a plain bed, a table, a chest, and a cabinet. The bed showed signs of having been slept in recently—probably the night before—but the room was empty. Judging by the silence that reigned, so were the other rooms.

  "My guess," said Raistlin, leading them back out into the corridor, "is that these are visitors' quarters. I estimate it to be late afternoon. If there are any visitors, they are busy elsewhere, and we are safe until they return."

  "Great," huffed Flint. "All we have to do is wait for nightfall and then pick an ogre to share our bed with."

  "Or fight our way out," said Tanis rashly.

  At that moment, all three heard a scuffling sound at the far end of the hall. Before any of them could react, they saw a figure emerge from one of the rooms and set something down. Crowding back against each other, the three companions dashed back into the empty guest room.

  "Shh!" Tanis said to Flint as they stumbled over one another. Raistlin pulled the door closed behind them.

  "What now?" whispered Flint.

  Raistlin edged over to the window, taking care not to be spotted. To the west, he saw a broken land dotted with withering grass and dying flora. Far in the distance rose steep hills covered with dark forests.

  The keep clung to the side of a jagged, rocky incline.