[Meetings 06] - The Companions

by Tina Daniell - (ebook by Undead)

  But after taking Tas prisoner and spending a good deal of time with him, Dogz had grown fond of the quirky little kender. He admired his pluck and bravery under torture, his sense of humor in dire situations. From conversations with Tas, he had learned a lot about Solace and the kender's friends—especially the gruff dwarf Flint Fireforge and Tas's Uncle Trapspringer—and he had come to think of them as his friends, too.

  Dogz had plenty of relatives, but he didn't have that many friends. Friendship was an entirely new concept to him, and Tas was responsible for teaching it to him.

  Then Tasslehoff had been turned evil by Fesz, and he had changed. He became demanding, less fun to be around. Maybe the evil Tas would help bring Sargonnas into the world, but Dogz wasn't sure that he didn't like the old version of the kender better.

  Dogz sighed. He bent to scrape some dirt off his katar, a long blade on an H-shaped hilt, oiling and polishing the unusual dagger as he thought long and hard about the subject of friendship.

  Twenty yards away, in her wooden cage, Kitiara paced restlessly. Her watchful eyes missed nothing. She strained her ears to pick up scraps of conversations around her as the words drifted to her across the broken ground. Kit wasn't the world's greatest fan of kender, but she definitely liked Tasslehoff better the way he had been before.

  The Nightmaster had mentioned Sturm, so apparently the Solamnic was still alive. And the other day, Kit had heard him speak of Caramon and Raistlin, too. It was clear they were all somewhere in this vicinity and that the Nightmaster feared their intrusion.

  That thought brought a lopsided smile to Kit’s face.

  The sun had reached its highest point. The land baked and cracked under its intensity. The thick-skinned minotaurs seemed oblivious to the conditions. Dogz methodically cleaned and oiled his weapons. The minotaur guards on the perimeter passed in and out of Kit's sight on their appointed rounds.

  The Nightmaster continued to sit at his long table, sorting and sifting ingredients for the monumental spell he would cast tomorrow night.

  One of the few benefits of Kit's cramped cage was that the wooden slats over her head kept out the worst of the sunlight. Her gaze flicked over to the traitorous kender. His eyes were closed. Tasslehoff Burrfoot appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

  * * * * *

  As the Nightmaster labored over his spell, he thought back to his moment of epiphany five days before—one day before the human female was captured—when at last the timing of the spell had been confirmed and Sargonnas had revealed himself to the minotaur.

  He had been up on the mountain plateau, at noonday, with the colored glass prisms, crystals, and silver shards of mirror scattered around him. In them he was reading the movement of the stars and the sun, reckoning their positions in the heavens in relation to the two moons, and coming to the conclusion that all the externals were right.

  Suddenly he spied a ripple in one of the reflective surfaces. Glancing around rapidly, he saw flickers and ripples in the pieces of shiny cut glass. As the Nightmaster watched in wonderment, the flickering and rippling took shape, so that each fragment of glass held a piece of the face of the God of Dark Vengeance.

  A terrible, fearsome, obscure face, misted with red, stared at the Nightmaster through brooding black eyes.

  Then all of a sudden, flickering in the pieces of glass, the image of Sargonnas vanished.

  His eyes drawn skyward, the Nightmaster beheld a great red condor with black plumage, a wingspan that seemed to blanket the sky, and a curiously small, naked head. Fire licked at the tips of its wings.

  Greetings, Nightmaster, servant of evil.

  The red condor had seemed to speak inside the Nightmaster's head with a silky, enticing voice. Tongues of flame darted from the corners of its beak.

  Greetings, Sargonnas, God of Dark Vengeance, ally of Takhisis.

  The Nightmaster had never felt so powerful—nor so humbled—as then, when Sargonnas had first spoken to him.

  Your plan is known to me. For centuries, I have waited for someone with your audacity and courage. For centuries, I have plotted to enter the material world and wreak havoc with my powers. For centuries, I have been foiled. Have you taken every precaution with the spell? Are you ready for the time?

  Yes, Lord.

  Are you watchful of deceit? Treachery?

  Yes, Lord.

  Are you worthy?

  I trust, Lord.

  Do not fail me. Do not dare to fail me, or you will learn that my vengeance reaches everywhere.

  With that, the red condor had shimmered in the sun, then evaporated as if it had never been there.

  The Nightmaster sank to his knees, turning his head, dazed. The conversation with Sargonnas had taken place entirely in his mind. Looking around, he could see the minotaur guards standing idly at their positions. They had neither heard nor seen Sargonnas.

  The same was true of the two members of the High Three, who hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary—until now.

  One of them had come running up to the Nightmaster. "Are you all right, Excellency?" the young, bulging bull-man asked solicitously.

  The Nightmaster hadn't answered immediately. The young shaman had struggled to help the Nightmaster to his feet.

  "Are you all right, Excellency?"

  The voice this time belonged to Fesz. Standing behind the Nightmaster, the shaman had stepped forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

  Jolted back to the present, the Nightmaster was confronted by one of the officers of the minotaur troops. He stood in front of the Nightmaster, who had been lost in thought at his long table in the middle of the dead city. The Nightmaster blinked, eyeing the horned soldier in front of him, and growled a reply to Fesz.

  "Yes, of course I'm all right."

  "I bear news," said the minotaur soldier. "The companions who landed on the south shore of the island have been joined by a host of kyrie."

  "Kyrie," grunted the Nightmaster. "How many?"

  "At least six, maybe as many as fifteen," replied the soldier, adding smugly, "probably all members of the Warrior Society. But we can handle that number easily. We could handle ten times that number."

  "Yes."

  The minotaur soldier hesitated.

  "Yes?"

  "They are marching in this direction. They seem to know precisely where they are headed."

  "Why do they march? Why do the kyrie not fly them here?"

  "We are puzzled by that, too, Excellency," replied the soldier. "It may be that there are too many of them to be carried by the kyrie, or that they must rest up after coming from the mountains of Mithas."

  "Pah!" snorted the Nightmaster so vehemently that the minotaur soldier drew back a step. "The kyrie do not tire so easily. There must be another reason, which we will soon learn."

  The minotaur soldier sounded less complacent. "Yes," replied the soldier in a chastened rumble. "We estimate they will be here by midday tomorrow."

  "Good."

  To the surprise of the minotaur soldier, the Nightmaster didn't seem the least bit annoyed by this intelligence. Indeed he seemed refreshed and returned to his work, writing vigorously in the margins of the book he had been studying.

  The Nightmaster looked up. This time he did sound irritated. "Yes? Is there something else?"

  "N-No, Excellency," stammered the soldier, then turned to go.

  Good, the Nightmaster repeated to himself. The humans—from reports, accompanied by a dwarf and an elf—were on their way, and the kyrie had joined them. That last was unexpected. It would require some adjustment to his plan, but there was still time.

  Behind him, Fesz and the other two members of the High Three nodded to each other. They trusted in the wisdom of the Nightmaster.

  Behind them, Tas slept . . . with one eye open. Behind him, in her cage, Kitiara crouched, listening.

  * * * * *

  Day became night.

  Tasslehoff awoke with a start, realizing that he had drifted off. Hours had passed.
<
br />   The Nightmaster's sanctum buzzed with activity. Fesz and the other two shaman minotaurs were busily packing objects into small crates and rucksacks. A half-dozen minotaur guards had moved in closer and appeared to be waiting for orders. The Nightmaster, his long table swept clean of spellbooks and components, stood in the center of the camp, pointing and giving instructions.

  The Nightmaster was dressed in full ceremonial garb, with clusters of feathers and bells hanging from his horned head like streamers, a dark red cloak thrown over his hulking shoulders.

  "Hey, what's going on?" asked Tas good-naturedly as he strolled up to Dogz, who was busy packing his own belongings.

  Dogz turned to the kender. "The Nightmaster says it is almost time," he said solemnly. "We are going to move to a new encampment during the night in order to conceal our whereabouts from the humans and kyrie who advance upon our location."

  Tas digested this information. "Good idea," the kender said enthusiastically.

  Spotting Tas, Fesz hurried over. The shaman's eyes glittered with excitement. "The Nightmaster has given permission for you to come with us," said Fesz. "You don't know what a rare privilege this is, for one of your race. Usually the only persons who are present at the spellcasting are the Nightmaster himself, the High Three, and the victim to be sacrificed. But he feels that a kender, a representative of a race known for its luck and good fortune—especially an evil representative—can only be agreeable to Sargonnas."

  Tas's eyes darted to Kitiara. The female warrior was standing stock-still in her cage, eyes wide, one ear pressed against the wood slats, listening.

  "I'm flattered," said Tasslehoff, puffing up with pride. "More than flattered, really. I'm bowled over. For whatever little part I am designated to play in the great drama to come, I am truly grateful. Indeed, I should like to personally inform the Nightmaster of my deepest gratitude."

  The kender had already started toward the Nightmaster when Fesz grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. "I don't think that this would be a good time to talk to the Nightmaster, when he has so many other important matters on his mind," said Fesz, lowering his voice.

  "Oh," said Tas. "Good thinking."

  The kender watched as two guards moved toward the slatted cage. They pulled Kitiara Uth Matar, kicking and screaming, out the door and proceeded to put chains on her legs and bind her arms with rope behind her back.

  "If you think I'm going to let you sacrifice me to some stupid god of darkness—not to mention allowing some damnable kender come along and watch the entertainment—then you're in for a rude awak—"

  The minotaur guards shoved a gag into Kitiara's mouth, cutting her off in midsentence. Tasslehoff regretted that, because he was curious to find out how in the world Kit thought she was going to be in a position to rudely awaken anyone, unless it were Sargonnas.

  The Nightmaster had heard Kitiara's outburst. His back stiffened. Now he wheeled, enraged, and stalked toward the female warrior from Solace.

  The Nightmaster spat angrily in Kitiara's face, losing his customary composure. "Spawn of slime! You are not fit to mention the name of the Lord of Dark Vengeance! You are not fit to exist in the same world! Soon you will die, and in death you will trade places with Sargonnas. You will be condemned to his world, while he will pass through the portal to our material plane!"

  Fesz, Dogz, and the others stared, taken aback by the Nightmaster's vehemence. Hesitantly the minotaur guards finished blindfolding Kitiara, who continued to struggle futilely.

  Tas was about to say something inappropriate when a new, unexpected voice sang out in the darkness.

  "I expect the spell would be enhanced if your victim of sacrifice was less reluctant to die for the pleasure of Sargonnas!"

  Raistlin! That was Raistlin's voice! Tas would recognize it anywhere, even here in the middle of this desolate place. Kit ceased struggling, indicating that she, too, recognized the voice of her half-brother.

  But where was he? Raistlin was nowhere to be seen.

  The guards gripped their weapons nervously. Dogz unsheathed his broadsword, his eyes darting around anxiously. The High Three grouped together, ready to cast a spell if need be.

  At the sound of the voice, the Nightmaster had spun toward it but saw nothing. Tas could see the huge bull eyes of the high shaman, and he was surprised to see in them not fear or uncertainty but a glint of relief. It was as if the Nightmaster had anticipated this.

  "Is that you?" rumbled the Nightmaster. "Are you the one they call Raistlin—the half-brother of this unruly female?"

  "I am Raistlin," said the voice.

  Tas looked all around, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out where Raistlin was hiding.

  "Show yourself, then."

  There was a low, dry chuckle, followed once more by the seemingly disembodied voice: "I think not."

  The Nightmaster remained silent for several long moments. Tasslehoff was about to say something when the Nightmaster rumbled silkily, almost in a purr, "I understand." He gestured broadly. "You have made yourself invisible in order to penetrate the ring of troops. Bravo! I was wondering how you might do it. Are your companions far behind?"

  There was a momentary hesitation from Raistlin. "I came alone."

  "Good."

  "Let my sister go. I will take her place."

  Tasslehoff heard a muffled scream and turned around to see Kit trying to tear herself from the grip of the guards. The minotaurs looked a little uneasy to be in the presence of a voice that didn't seem to be attached to a body.

  "Capital idea!" shouted Tasslehoff. "Hello, Raistlin. It's me, Tasslehoff! Did you get the magic message bottle?"

  "Yes," said the Nightmaster, glancing over his shoulder and scowling at the kender. "It is a capital idea. But how do I know that you will keep your word?"

  "How do I know you will keep yours?"

  The Nightmaster pondered Raistlin's question. Fesz came over and whispered something to him. "Ah," said the Nightmaster. "Allow me to introduce Fesz, my senior disciple and the shaman of highest standing under me. Go to him, and he will bind your hands. After you have done that"—he signaled to the minotaur from Lacynos—"Dogz will take Kitiara to the perimeter of the camp and let her go. You have my word."

  Dogz grabbed the ropes that bound Kitiara. The two guards, who seemed happy to be relieved of their role, stepped away.

  "Fair enough," came Raistlin's voice, and as the words were spoken, Raistlin's slender form materialized beside Fesz. The shaman grabbed him roughly and lashed rope around his hands, pinning them behind his back.

  Weakened by the effort of sustaining the invisibility spell that had carried him past the minotaurs guarding the dead city, the young mage fell to his knees.

  Tasslehoff bounded over to him.

  The Nightmaster nodded to Dogz, who picked up Kitiara, slung her across his shoulders, and started off across the clearing. Soon the two of them were swallowed up by the darkness.

  "Raistlin!" cried Tasslehoff. "I knew you'd come—that is, if you got the magic message bottle. You did get it, didn't you?"

  A hand grabbed Tas's shoulder, roughly pushing the kender out of the way. The Nightmaster stepped into his place, leaning close to the young mage, blasting Raistlin with his rancid breath.

  "So this is the mighty Raistlin," rumbled the Nightmaster.

  Raistlin didn't say anything. Instead, he stared unflinchingly into the Nightmaster's eyes.

  "This human is nothing next to you, Nightmaster," said Fesz contemptuously. "He refuses to even fight for his life!"

  "Keep him tied!" commanded the Nightmaster. "If he wants food and drink, give it to him. But don't underestimate him. Guard him carefully.

  "Now let us decamp quickly! I don't want to take the chance that he wasn't telling the truth when he said he came alone!"

  The minotaurs hurried to obey.

  Tasslehoff got up slowly from the ground. The Nightmaster's every utterance should be worshipped, he knew, but even so, the evi
l Tas thought the high shaman could stand to learn some manners. Rubbing his shoulder ruefully, the kender thought of his good old hoopak. . . .

  * * * * *

  Dogz hadn't gone very far when one of the minotaur soldiers came running to catch up with him.

  They were in a different part of the dead city, near the ruins of a portico, the remains of a wall and tumbled masonry.

  "From the Nightmaster," said the soldier handing Dogz a message scribed on parchment.

  Kill the human female, said the message. It was written in the Nightmaster's unmistakable scrawl.

  Dogz hesitated. The human bundle slung over his shoulders tried to scream and kick, without much success. The huge minotaur put Kit down on the ground and rested one of his cleft hooves on her to keep her from rolling away.

  "I must speak to the prisoner," said Dogz. "Wait for me."

  The soldier backed away into the shadows.

  Dogz looked around. Nearby stood a broken column. He dragged Kit over to it, took a length of rope from his side, and wrapped it firmly around her, tying her to the broken column. Then he removed her blindfold.

  Her eyes looked at him questioningly.

  "I have been ordered to kill you," rumbled the minotaur simply.

  Kit’s dark eyes stared, defiant.

  The minotaur looked around till he spotted a large stone block, then went over to it slowly and sat down. The order to kill the human female disturbed him—first of all, because the human female had been a friend of the kender Tasslehoff before the kender became evil, and second, because the Nightmaster had given his word that the human female would be allowed to go free.

  Both reasons bothered Dogz equally, and the minotaur sat there for a long time, pondering. Finally he got up and approached the human female. "I will not kill you tonight," he said simply.