The History of Krynn: Vol III

by Dragon Lance

  Now she understood that his victim was to be Barnet.

  General Giarna reached the high general’s tent and flung aside the canvas flap, boldly entering. Suzine, more cautiously, came behind him.

  Barnet had been expecting company, for he stood facing the door, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The three of them were alone in the dim enclosure. One lamp sputtered on a battered wooden table, and rain seeped through the waterlogged roof and sides of the tent.

  “The usurper dares to challenge his master?” sneered the white-haired Barnet, but his voice was not as forceful as his words.

  “Master?” The black-armored general’s voice was heavy with scorn. His eyes remained vacant, and focused on something very far away. “You are a failure – and your time is up, old man!”

  “Bastard!” Barnet reacted with surprising quickness, given his age. In one smooth movement, his blade hissed from its scabbard and lashed toward the younger man’s face.

  General Giarna was quicker. He raised one hand, encased in its black steel gauntlet. The blade met the gauntlet at the wrist, a powerful blow that ought to have chopped through the armor and sliced off the general’s hand.

  Instead, the sword shattered into a shower of silver splinters. Barnet, still holding the useless hilt, gaped at the taller Giarna and stepped involuntarily backward.

  Suzine groaned in terror. Some unbelievably horrible power pulsed in the room, a thing that she sensed on a deeper level than sight or smell or touch.

  Her knees grew weak beneath her, but somehow she forced herself to stand.

  She knew that Giarna wanted her to watch, for this was to be a lesson for her as much as a punishment for Barnet.

  The old man squealed – a pathetic, whimpering sound – as he stared at something in the dark eyes of his nemesis. Giarna’s hands, cloaked in the shiny black steel, grasped Barnet around the neck, and the high general’s sounds faded into strangled gasps and coughs.

  Barnet’s face expanded to a circle of horror. His tongue protruded, and his jaw flexed soundlessly. His skin grew red – bright red, like a crimson rose, thought Suzine. Then the man’s face darkened to a bluish, then ashen, gray.

  Finally, as if his corpse was being seared by a hot fire, Barnet turned black.

  His face ceased to bulge, slowly shrinking until the skin pressed tight around the clear outlines of his skull. His lips stretched backward, and then split and dried into mummified husks.

  His hands, Suzine saw, had become veritable claws, each an outline of white bone, with bare shreds of skin and fingernails clinging to the ghastly skeleton.

  Giarna cast the corpse aside, and it settled slowly to the floor, like an empty gunny sack that catches the undercurrents of air as it floats downward. When the general finally turned back to Suzine, she gasped in mindless dread. He stood taller now. His skin was bright, flushed. But his eyes were his most frightening aspect, for now they fixed upon her with a clear and deadly glow.

  *

  Later, Suzine stared into her mirror, despairing. Though it might show ten thousand signs, to her it was still devoid of that which meant all to her. She no longer knew if Kith-Kanan was even alive, so far distant had he flown. In the ten days since General Giarna had slain Barnet, the army camp had been driven into furious activity. An array of great stone-casting catapults took shape along the lines. Building the huge wooden machines was slow work, but by the end of winter, twoscore of the war machines would be ready to rain their destruction upon Sithelbec.

  A hard ground freeze had occurred during the days immediately following the brutal murder, and this had eliminated the mud that had impeded all activity.

  Now great parties of human riders scoured the surrounding plains, and the few bands of Wildrunners outside Sithelbec’s walls had been eliminated or driven to the shelter of the deepest forests.

  Wearily Suzine turned her thoughts to her uncle, Emperor Quivalin Soth V.

  The mirror combed the expanse of the frozen plain to the west, and soon she found what Giarna had directed her to seek: the emperor’s great carriage, escorted by four thousand of his most loyal knights, was trundling closer to the camp.

  She went to seek her commander and found him belaboring the unfortunate captains of a team sent to bring lumber from a patch of forest some dozen miles away.

  “Double the size of your force if you need to!” snarled General Giarna, while six battle-scarred officers trembled before him. “But bring me the wood by tomorrow! Work on the catapults must cease until we get those timbers!”

  “Sir,” ventured the boldest, “it’s the horses! We drive them until near collapse. Then they must rest! It takes two days to make the trip.”

  “Drive them until they collapse, then – or perhaps you consider horseflesh to be more valuable than your own?”

  “No, General!” Badly shaken, the captains left to organize another, larger, lumbering expedition.

  “What have you learned?” General Giarna whirled upon Suzine, fixing her with his penetrating stare.

  For a moment, Suzine looked at him, trying to banish her trembling. The Boy General reminded her, for the first time in a long time, of the vibrant and energetic officer she had first met, for whom she had once developed an infatuation. What did the death of Barnet have to do with this? In some vile way, it seemed to Suzine that the man had consumed the life force of the other, devoured his rival, and found the deed somehow invigorating.

  “The emperor will arrive tomorrow,” she reported. “He makes good time, now that the ground is frozen.”

  “Splendid.” The general’s mind, she could see, was already preoccupied with something else, for he turned that sharp stare toward the bastion of Sithelbec.

  *

  If Emperor Quivalin noticed any dark change in General Giarna, he didn’t say anything to Suzine. His carriage had rolled into the camp to the cheers of more than a hundred thousand of his soldiers. The great procession rumbled around the full circumference of the circular deployments before arriving at the tent where the Boy General kept his headquarters.

  The two men conferred within the tent for several hours before the ruler and the commander emerged, side by side, to address the troops.

  “I have appointed General Giarna as High General of the Army,” announced Quivalin, to the cheers of his men, “following the unfortunate demise of former High General Barnet.

  “He has my full confidence, as do you all.” More cheers. “I feel certain that, with the coming of spring, your force will carry the walls of the elven fortress and reduce their defenses to ashes! For the glory of Ergoth, you will prevail!”

  Adulation rose from the troops, who surged forward to get a close look at the mighty ruler. A sweeping stare from their general, however, held them in their tracks. A slow, reluctant silence fell over the mass of warriors.

  “The collapse of my predecessor, due to exhaustion, was symptomatic of the sluggishness that previously pervaded this entire army – a laxness that allowed our enemy to reach its fortress months ago,” said General Giarna. His voice was level and low, yet it seemed to carry more ominous power than the emperor’s loud exhortations.

  Murmurs of discontent rose in many thousands of throats. Barnet had been a popular leader, and his death hadn’t been satisfactorily explained to the men.

  Yet the stark fear they felt for the Boy General prevented anyone from audibly muttering open displeasure.

  “Our emperor informs me that additional troops will be joining us, a contingent of dwarves from the Theiwar Clan of Thorbardin. They are skilled miners and will be put to work digging excavations beneath the walls of the enemy defenses.

  “Those of you who are not engaged in preparations for the attack will begin tomorrow a vigorous program of training. When the time comes to attack, you will be ready! And for the glory of our emperor, you will succeed!”

  Chapter 16

  TWO WEEKS LATER,

  EARLY WINTER

  The firelight reflected
from the walls of the cave like dancing sprites, weaving patterns of warmth and comfort. A haunch of venison sizzled on a spit over the coals, while Sithas’s cloak and leggings dried on a makeshift rack.

  “No tenderloin of steer ever tasted so sweet or lay so sumptuously on the palate,” announced Kith-Kanan, with an approving smack of his lips. He reached forward and sliced another hot strip from the meat that slow-roasted above the coals.

  Sithas looked at his brother, his eyes shining with pride. Unlike the sheep, which he admitted had been slain by dumb luck as much as anything, he had stalked this deer through the woods, lying in wait for long, chilly hours, until the timid creature had worked its way into bow range. He had aimed carefully and brought the animal down with one shot to the neck.

  “I have to agree,” Sithas allowed as he finished his own piece. He, too, carved another strip for eating. Then he cut several other juicy morsels, piling them on a flat stone that served as a platter, before lifting the spit from the fire.

  He turned to the mouth of the shallow cave, where winter’s darkness closed in. “Hey, One-Tooth.” he called. “Dinner time!”

  The giant’s round face, split by his characteristic massive grin, appeared.

  One-Tooth squinted before reaching his massive paw into the cave. His eyes lit up expectantly as Sithas handed him the spit.

  “Careful – it’s hot. Eat hearty, my friend.” Sithas watched in amusement as the giant, who had learned several words of the common tongue – “hot” being high on the list – picked tentatively at the dripping meat.

  “Amazing how friendly he got, once we started feeding him,” remarked Kith-Kanan.

  Indeed, once the hill giant had satisfied himself that the elf wasn’t going to slay him, One-Tooth had become an enthusiastic helper. He had carried Kith down the narrow trail from the ledge with all the care that a mother shows to her firstborn babe. The weight of the injured elf hadn’t seemed to slow the hill giant at all as Sithas led him back over the steep pass and into this valley.

  The trip had been hard on Kith-Kanan, with each step jarring his injured leg, but he had borne the punishment in silence. Indeed, he had been amazed and delighted at the degree of control with which Sithas had seized the reins of their expedition.

  It had taken another day of searching, but finally the Speaker of the Stars had discovered this shallow cave, its entrance partially screened by boulders and brush. Lying in the overhang of a rock-walled riverbank, the cave itself was dry and spacious, albeit not so spacious that the giant didn’t have to remain outside. A small stream flowed within a dozen feet of its mouth, assuring a plentiful supply of water.

  Now that they had reached this forested valley, Sithas had been able to rig a splint for Kith-Kanan’s wound.

  Nevertheless, it galled the leader of the Wildrunners, who had always handled his own problems, to sit here in forced immobility while his brother, the Speaker of the Stars, did the hunting, wood-gathering, and exploration, as well as the simpler jobs like fire-tending and cooking.

  “This is truly amazing, Sithas,” Kith said, indicating their rude shelter. “All the comforts of home.”

  The cave was shallow, perhaps twenty feet deep, with a ceiling that rose almost five feet. Several dense clumps of pines and cedars grew within easy walking distance.

  “Comforts,” Sithas agreed. “And even a palace guard!

  One-Tooth looked attentive, sensing that they were talking about him. He grinned again, though the juice dribbling from his huge lips made the effect rather grotesque.

  “I have to admit, when you first told me that I was going to ride a giant, I thought the cold had penetrated a little too far between your ears. But it worked!”

  They had set up a permanent camp here, agreeing tacitly between them that without Arcuballis they were stuck in these mountains at least for the duration of the winter.

  Of course, they were haunted by awareness of the distant war. They had discussed the nature of Sithelbec’s defenses and concluded that the humans probably wouldn’t be able to launch an effective assault before summer. The stout walls ought to stand against a long barrage of catapult attacks, and the hard earth would make tunneling operations difficult and time-consuming. All they could do now was wait and hope.

  Sithas had gathered huge piles of pine boughs, which made fairly comfortable beds. A fire built at the mouth of the cave sent its smoke billowing outward, but radiated its impressive heat throughout their shelter. It made the cave into a very pleasant shelter, and – with the presence of One-Tooth – Sithas no longer feared for his brother’s safety if he had to be left alone. They both knew that soon enough, Sithas would have to set out on foot to seek the griffons.

  Now they sat in silence, sharing a sense of well-being that was quite extraordinary, given the circumstances. They had shelter and warmth, and now they even had extra food! Lazily Sithas rose and checked his boots, careful not to singe their fur-covered surface. He turned them slightly to warm a different part of their soggy surface. Immediately steam began to arise from the soaked leather. He returned to his spot and flopped down on his own cloak. He looked at his brother, and Kith-Kanan sensed that he wanted to say something.

  “I think you’ve got enough food here to last you for a while,” Sithas began. “I’m going to search for the griffons.”

  Kith nodded. “Despite my frustration with this —” he indicated his leg “— I think that’s the only thing to do.”

  “We’re near the heart of the range,” Sithas continued, with a nod. “I figure that I can head out in one direction, make a thorough search, and get back here within a week or ten days. Even with the deep snow, I’ll be able to make some progress. I’ll stop back and check on you and let you know what I’ve found. If it’s nothing, I’ll head out in a different direction after that.”

  “Sounds like a reasonable plan,” Kith-Kanan agreed. “You’ll take the scroll from Vedvedsica, of course.”

  Sithas had planned on this. “Yes. If I find the griffons, I’ll try to get close enough to use the spell.”

  His brother looked at him steadily. Kith-Kanan’s face showed an expression Sithas was not accustomed to. The injured elf spoke. “Let me do something before you go. It might help on your journey.”

  “What?”

  Kith wouldn’t explain, instead requesting that his brother bring him numerous supple pine branches – still green, unlike the dried sticks they used for firewood.

  “The best ones will be about as big around as your thumb and as long as possible.”

  “Why? What do you want them for?”

  His brother acted mysterious, but Sithas willingly gathered the wood as soon as daylight illuminated the valley. He spent the rest of the day gathering provisions for the first leg of his trek, checking his own equipment, and stealing sidelong glances at his brother. Kith-Kanan pretended to ignore him, instead whittling away at the pine branches, weaving them into a tight pattern, even pulling threads from his woolen cloak to lash the sticks together firmly.

  Toward sunset, he finally held the finished creations up for Sithas’s inspection. He had made two flat objects, oval in shape and nearly three feet long by a foot wide. The sticks had been woven back and forth into a grid pattern.

  “Wonderful, Kith – simply amazing. I’ve never seen anything like them! But … what are they?”

  Kith-Kanan smiled smugly. “I learned about them during that winter I spent in the Wildwood.” For a moment, his smile tightened. He couldn’t remember that time without thinking of Anaya, of the bliss they had shared, and of the strange fate that had claimed her. He blinked and went on. “They’re called ‘snowshoes’.”

  Instantly Sithas saw the application. “I lash these to my boots, right?” he guessed. “And then walk around, leaving footprints in the snow like a giant?”

  “You’ll be surprised, I promise. They’ll let you walk on top of the snow, even deep powder.”

  Indeed, Sithas wasted no time pulling on his boot
s and affixing the snowshoes to them with several straps Kith had created by tearing a strip from one of their cloaks. He tripped and sprawled headlong as he left the cave but quickly dusted himself off and started into the woods on a test walk.

  Though the snowshoes felt somewhat awkward on his feet and forced him to walk with an unusually wide-spread gait, he trotted and marched and plodded through the woods for nearly an hour before returning to the cave.

  “Big feet!” One-Tooth greeted him outside, where he had left the giant.

  “Good feet!” Sithas replied, reaching up to give the giant a friendly clap on the arm.

  Kith awaited him expectantly.

  “They’re fantastic! I can’t believe the difference they make!”

  Kith was forced to admit, as he looked at his exhilarated brother, that Sithas no longer seemed to need the assistance of anyone to cope with the rigors of the high mountain winter.

  Determined to begin his quest well rested, Sithas tried to force himself to sleep. But though he closed his eyes, his mind remained alert. It leaped from fear to hope to anticipation in a chaotic whirling dance that kept him wide awake as the hours drifted past. He heard One-Tooth snoring at the cave mouth and saw Kith slumbering peacefully on the other side of the fire.

  Finally, past midnight, Sithas slept. And when he did, his dreams were rich and bright, full of blue skies swarming with griffons.

  *

  Yellow eyes gleamed in the woods, staring at the fading fire in the mouth of the cave. The dire wolf crept closer, suppressing the urge to growl.

  The creature saw and smelled the hill giant slumbering at the mouth of the cave. Though the savage canine was huge – the size of a pony, weighing more than three hundred pounds – it feared to attack the larger hill giant.

  Too, the fire gave it pause. It had been burned once before, and remembered well the terrifying touch of flame.

  Silently the wolf slinked back into the woods. When it was safely out of hearing of the cave, it broke into a patient lope, easily moving atop the snow.