[Meetings 06] - The Companions

by Tina Daniell - (ebook by Undead)

  Yuril volunteered to go prowling for wildlife for supper, but Tanis declined her offer. "It's growing too dark," Tanis explained. "If anyone should hunt, it is I, with my nightvision. But even if I caught anything, we couldn't cook it. Raistlin and I agree that we shouldn't light any fires until we are sure of our bearings. On this high plateau, it might be a beacon to whoever—or whatever—else is on this part of the island."

  The small group huddled together on the leeward side of the boulders. Tanis walked from person to person, sharing the provisions he carried—small portions of meal bread, dried fruit, and half a cupful of water for everyone. All day they hadn't come across one spring or stream where Tanis could have refilled his canteen. When he reached Flint, Tanis noticed that Kirsig wasn't at the dwarf's side as usual.

  "Where's Kirsig?" the half-elf asked anxiously.

  "Don't bother about her," the dwarf snapped. "She scurried off somewhere after you gave your speech about the fires. Now at last I've got some peace and quiet."

  Alarmed at this news, Tanis gazed out over the darkening plateau but could see no sign of the female half-ogre. Despite his protestations, Flint also peered nervously into the gathering night. Just then Kirsig trotted into sight holding a bulging bag.

  "Hello, dearies. You weren't worried about me, were you?" she asked, pinching Flint's cheek. "I just thought that since we didn't have much in the way of victuals with us, I'd go see what I could dig up. And dig I did!" She held the bag up triumphantly.

  "Smagroot," Kirsig proclaimed. She held out the sack, insisting everybody take some of its contents. Tanis reached in and grabbed the smallest sample he could find. The smagroot was green, fleshy, and moist, with a texture a little like an uncooked potato. Tanis nibbled on one end of the root. It tasted sweet and soothed his throat with welcome moisture as he swallowed.

  "Best thing in the world if you're stuck in a desert, my daddy always used to say," Kirsig babbled as she dispensed the smagroot.

  Raistlin had come up next to Tanis and taken some. "I have read of smagroot," said the young mage, eagerly tasting the exotic root. 'The plant is also called desert balm and has saved the lives of many travelers stranded in dry parts. But I am surprised that anybody could find some and dig it up in the dark." Looking over at Flint, Tanis saw that the grizzled dwarf was beaming the way a teacher does when his prized pupil performs well.

  The smagroot momentarily lifted the gloom that had settled on the travelers with nightfall. Everybody ate their fill, and Kirsig still had half a bag left for the next day. After "dinner," each member of the group worked at making himself comfortable for a night of restless sleep on cold, hard ground. The night was black. Clouds hid the stars. "I'll take the first watch," Tanis volunteered.

  "I would like to take the first watch," announced Raistlin, surprising Tanis and Flint. "I'm not ready to go to sleep," the mage explained, "and I could use the solitude to clear my thoughts."

  Tanis hesitated a moment, then shrugged. After several minutes of tossing and turning, however, he found himself unable to sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, then sat up. Staring across the space of the camp, his eyes adjusted to the dark so that he could see more than just the auras supplied by his normal nightvision.

  Raistlin leaned up against a boulder, staring up at the sky. Hair fell across his face, and the young mage appeared lost in thought.

  Tanis jumped as a loud rumble broke the silence, then had to smile when he realized it was only Flint's snoring, augmented this evening by Kirsig's. In between the rumbles, a sandpapery noise, like that of a small nocturnal animal scuttling across the ground, reached his ears.

  Tanis jerked up his head. Raistlin, he saw, did the same.

  The sandpapery whisper had grown louder, until it seemed not to come from the ground but from the sky above. Looking up, Tanis saw nothing before he felt a heavy weight drop onto his shoulders, accompanied by the sensation of being smothered. He attempted to call out a warning but only succeeded in inhaling what felt like a mouthful of feathers. When he tried to reach for the knife in his belt, Tanis found he couldn't move his arms, which were pinned to his sides. Sharp talons pinched into his neck.

  Muffled sounds coming from outside his feather cocoon indicated the others were caught in the same predicament. Suddenly, from over his head, rang out a clear, melodic voice, speaking in Common. "These are not bull-men. They appear to be like you and your friend."

  The feather cocoon opened, and a torch flared in Tanis's face, blinding him for an instant. Tanis felt himself caught up in a bear hug.

  "Tanis Half-Elven! I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. And Raistlin, brother mine!"

  Now it was the mage's turn to be enveloped in Caramon's muscular frame.

  Raistlin smiled broadly. "We expected to find you a captive, not a captor, Brother," the young mage responded, "but as I told Tanis, I trusted we would find you somehow, alive and well."

  The twins stood side by side, Caramon's strong arms draped across the slender shoulders of his brother. In the flickering light of the lone torch, Tanis marveled, not for the first time, at how the Majere twins could be at the same time so alike, yet so dissimilar. At this moment, the difference was heightened by the leather thong with feathers attached that encircled Caramon's head, and the feathers that seemed to sprout from his shoulders but were no doubt just sewn to his tunic.

  Looking around in the wavering light cast by the torch, it seemed to Tanis that those who accompanied Caramon also sprouted feathers. Tanis squinted. The half-elf couldn't be sure, but these tall beings—they stood at least a head taller than Caramon, who was himself more than six feet—appeared to have wings instead of arms!

  Joining him, Flint looked suspiciously at the newcomers and broached the obvious question. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends, or at least tell them that they needn't regard us as enemies?" the dwarf asked Caramon, looking at the feathered creatures nervously.

  Caramon grinned broadly. "I apologize. But there is no need to be alarmed." He gestured toward the half-dozen figures who had arrived with him—indeed, who had carried him and Sturm in flight. "These are my friends, the kyrie, a noble folk and sworn enemies of the minotaurs. They rescued Sturm and me from the dungeon where we were imprisoned on the island of Mithas."

  He turned slightly to indicate the kyrie nearest Raistlin. "Cloudreaver, this is my brother Raistlin, and my friends Flint Fireforge and Tanis Half-Elven from Solace. The females I do not know," Caramon added, casting a jaundiced eye at Kirsig and then an altogether more favorable glance at Yuril and her fellow sailors. "Though I shall be happy to make their acquaintance," he finished, with an obvious wink at the statuesque Yuril. She didn't return his gesture, but neither did she turn away.

  "So where is Sturm?" demanded Flint, unwilling to relinquish a lifetime of skepticism about strange races simply on Caramon's say-so. "And though I'm not sure I really want to know, what about Tasslehoff ?"

  "I am here," came a hoarse voice from outside the circle of light cast by the torch. The kyrie, Bird-Spirit, stood aside to reveal Sturm struggling to his feet. Much to his embarrassment, the Solamnic had fainted soon after the kyrie landed at the companion's camp. Only a day and a half had passed since he was rescued from the Pit of Doom. Sturm hadn't had a chance to fully recover from his lengthy ordeal of being shipwrecked, imprisoned, beaten, and almost killed in a duel. He limped into view.

  Flint stared. In the dim light, Sturm's face looked oddly lopsided. "What did you do to your mustache?" the dwarf demanded, incredulous.

  "Never mind his mustache. Can't you see the poor thing isn't well?" Kirsig scolded, hurrying to Sturm's side. "C'mon, dearie, let me help."

  Far too well mannered to recoil at the grotesque appearance of the female half-ogre, Sturm did look questioningly at Flint.

  "Aw, don't worry about her. She's all right," the dwarf said gruffly. "And she's not half bad at healing."

  Raistlin spoke up. "She's considerably better than that
, Sturm. Kirsig has proved invaluable during our voyage at sea and our experience thus far on land." Yuril and the sailors murmured their assent. Her face flushed with pleasure, Kirsig took Sturm's hand and led him over to her pack.

  "What are you doing here?"

  The question, directed to each other, sprang from Caramon's and Raistlin's lips at the same time. In spite of the cold night air, in spite of the grim surroundings, the twins had to grin at one another.

  "I suspect that the stories we have to tell each other are long ones. Perhaps first we should build a fire to warm our bones during the telling," suggested the kyrie called Cloudreaver.

  "We didn't build a fire for fear it would reveal our presence," Tanis explained.

  "Do not worry," Cloudreaver assured him. "We have scouts roving the skies over the island. To the west is a harsh desert wasteland, and to the far north, a mountainous tropical forest. The only minotaurs that we have spotted are camped at the base of Worldscap Peak in the ruins of the dead city of Karthay. It is two or three days from here by land, but only several hours of flight for a kyrie."

  The kyrie carried a small amount of firewood and tinder with them. By the time a fire blazed up, everyone's spirits had improved. The motley company gathered around the flames.

  Kirsig heated water to brew a special tea for Sturm who, in the improved light, looked pale and weak. Caramon, on the other hand, appeared to be leaner but more rugged, still a strapping specimen. Yuril, sitting across the campfire from the young warrior, obviously thought so.

  While Sturm sipped his tea, Caramon related the tale of treachery aboard the Venora, the magic storm, being transported with Sturm and Tas across thousands of miles to the Blood Sea, the abduction of Tas, and being cast overboard. Of his and Sturm's long, painful sojourn at sea, Caramon said only a few terse words. It was when he began talking about their imprisonment at Atossa that Raistlin sat up and appeared to grow particularly interested.

  "At first the minotaurs seemed to have taken us prisoner just to make us slaves or to have us fight as gladiators for their amusement," said Caramon.

  "But after the kyrie rescued Caramon, some high-ranking minotaurs came around asking questions," put in Sturm, speaking quietly. "They knew your name, Raistlin—and Kitiara's, too—and mentioned someone called the Nightmaster. The strangest thing is that Tas was with them and seemed to be helping them."

  "Tas?" Flint asked, disbelieving. "I never thought the little kender was a hero, but casting his lot in with the minotaurs who held you captive—maybe they just dragged him along, under some threat, to make you think he was helping them. To break your spirit."

  "Nobody was forcing Tas to do anything," Sturm replied bitterly. "He volunteered instructions on the fine points of torture. Indeed it was Tasslehoff Burrfoot who cut off my mustache!" Sturm paused, controlling his anger. "Far worse, it was Tas who suggested that I be made to fight a duel to the death in the Pit of Doom.

  "From what I overheard before our friends, the kyrie, rescued me, I think the minotaurs are holding Kitiara prisoner somewhere on this island. That is why we came here, not even knowing that you were in the vicinity."

  "We try to track any unusual troop movements by the minotaurs," Cloudreaver added. "Several months ago, we observed them setting up a camp in the ruins of the old city of Karthay. Now it seems every week more of the bull men arrive there."

  Raistlin had grown agitated, standing up and pacing as Caramon, Sturm, and Cloudreaver told their story.

  "The Nightmaster must suspect that we're already here," cut in Raistlin. "That is not good. And now we know that they are holding Kit captive. That is even worse news. What you don't know, Caramon, is that the minotaurs have gathered here to cast a powerful spell to bring one of their evil deities into the world. And that spell calls for the sacrifice of a non-minotaur."

  "Who is this Nightmaster?" Flint wanted to know.

  Tanis had been about to ask the very same question.

  "He is their high shaman," answered Raistlin. "The Nightmaster is the one who would cast the spell to open the portal for Sargonnas."

  Caramon and Sturm looked bewildered. Briefly Raistlin filled them and the kyrie in on everything that had happened to him, Tanis, and Flint—the magic message he had received from Tas, the visit to the Oracle and the trip through the portal to Ogrebond, the escape from Ogrebond with Kirsig, their eventful trip across the Blood Sea, leading up to their arrival on the isle of Karthay.

  'The reason we came here," explained the young mage, "is that I stumbled across an ancient spell in one of my library searches. The spell intrigued me, and I had already sent Tasslehoff off to buy a rare component for it, jalopwort, before I realized the full import of what I had done. The spell that is being prepared would invite the evil Lord of Dark Vengeance, Sargonnas, into the material world. With the help of my Master Mage, I investigated further and came to the conclusion that the spell would be cast on the island of Karthay by the Nightmaster of the minotaur nation.

  "Kirsig tells us that the bull-men are forging alliances with the ogres and other nefarious races. I fear that this is part of their scheme to introduce Sargonnas into our world and to set in motion events that would mean the conquest of Ansalon."

  "Sargonnas," hissed Cloudreaver.

  "Then you have heard of him?" queried Raistlin.

  "Kyrie legend tells of a Sargonnas, a giant red condor who wreaked havoc on our people many generations ago. It communed with one of our weakest-minded nobles, who betrayed into the condor's possession our nation's most sacred artifact, the Northstone, which enabled the kyrie to navigate between all the islands and land masses of the world instead of being confined to this small pocket, in perpetual war with our enemies, the minotaurs," Cloudreaver explained. "If Sargonnas is hoping to return, that is very bad news for my people. We will help you in any way that we can."

  For a moment, everyone was silent, the enormity of the task before them weighing on the group. What do we do next? was the question on everybody's mind.

  "We can't do anything until the morning," Tanis answered the unspoken question, "so let's try to get some rest."

  * * * * *

  Now the group consisted of eight humans, plus a dwarf, a half-elf, a half-ogre, and six kyrie. Other kyrie were scouting parts of the island, but only one had arrived at their camp by morning, making seven. Raistlin was buoyed by the news that the kyrie could fly the others to a place near the Nightmaster's encampment in the ruined city in two shifts. First the kyrie would fly Raistlin, Tanis, Caramon, Sturm, and Yuril, then they would return and, after a short period of rest, do likewise with Flint, Kirsig, and the sailors.

  Even with the time necessary for two round trips, the journey would take much less time than an overland march. The companions would arrive at the edge of the ruined city of Karthay one day before the conjunction of the heavens that, Raistlin gauged, was vital for the spell of Sargonnas.

  Flint, who had already weathered the Blood Sea, was in no hurry to be swept aloft by the feathered bird-men, no matter how noble or friendly they were with Caramon and Sturm. "I don't mind waiting behind with all these females," said the dwarf. "I don't mind a bit. First I'll watch you all go for a sky ride, and if you don't fall or crash or get burned by the sun, then don't worry, I'll be sure to follow."

  "I hate to leave you behind," said Tanis.

  "Don't worry," joked Flint. "I've got Kirsig to watch over me."

  Tanis smiled. "Yes," granted the half-elf. "I think she is giving Lolly Ockenfels some stiff competition."

  "That's the last time I try to hold a civil conversation with you, Tanis Half-Elven," Flint exploded, turning beet red. "No respect! You show me no respect!"

  Flint continued sputtering while Tanis and the others took off.

  * * * * *

  The kyrie had had time to fashion harnesses out of leather and rope for their passengers. The bird-men's strong talons would grip these and carry the humans aloft. It wasn't the most graceful way to fly, su
spended from the shoulders, legs dangling, Tanis decided, but it would have to do.

  A kyrie named Heart of Storm carried the half-elf, his huge wings beating steadily for several hours as the land passed below. At times, Tanis could glimpse the others nearby, but at other times the formation of kyrie couldn't be seen in the banks of clouds. Tanis felt fortunate to be suspended by Heart of Storm's shadow, for once again the sun was blazing in the sky, radiating intense, dry heat.

  As they approached Worldscap, the kyrie tightened their formation and flew lower. Cloudreaver, who was carrying Caramon, made a wide sweep westward and glided to a landing on high ground overlooking the ruined city to the east and the inactive volcano of Worldscap to the north. Gently Heart of Storm lowered Tanis to the ground. The kyrie rested only a moment, waiting while Tanis and the others removed their harnesses, before taking off to get the ones who had been left behind and complete the first round of their mission.

  The dead city, only a few miles away, looked like a gray, pock-marked moonscape. From this distance, the companions could see no evidence of habitation—only broken towers and miles of lava-encrusted ruins. Farther north, Worldscap loomed, a dark, ominous specter casting its shadow on the ruins of Karthay.

  Raistlin broke the awed silence of the group as they looked out over the scene. "Yuril, you and Sturm wait here for the rest of the company," directed the mage. "Caramon, Tanis, and I will scout the immediate area to make sure that there are no minotaurs in the vicinity and perhaps to forage some food for supper."

  Sturm clasped each of them in turn on the shoulder. Yuril nodded coolly. When they filed away down a trail, she began to sharpen her sword on a stone. Sturm, still less than his vigorous self, lay sprawled on the ground nearby.

  Even this far from the city, black ash dotted the rocks and ground. A half-mile down the trail, the hardened path forked. Raistlin stood rubbing his chin as he considered the two possibilities, both sloping gradually downward.