The Companions

by Tina Daniel

  Caramon looked into Cloudreaver’s pebble-black eyes, grim and fatalistic, like his brother’s, the broken man’s. Sun Feather reached over and touched his son on the wrist. The older female kyrie came over and whispered something in Sun Feather’s ear. The elder kyrie nodded.

  “And what about you, my son?” asked Three Far-Eyes gently, breaking the silence. “What is your name? What is your story?”

  Caramon told them, leaving nothing out. The trip to Southern Ergoth, the magic storm, the capture of Tasslehoff, his and Sturm’s trial at sea, their imprisonment. Although the kyrie were exceedingly interested in the role the minotaurs played in Caramon’s curious saga, they could add little to the mystery of why the minotaur kingdom would be so preoccupied by a single kender, much less the herb, jalopwort.

  “Except,” pointed out Three Far-Eyes, “do not forget one thing. Jalopwort is common on Mithas and Karthay, but quite rare, if not altogether absent, from other parts of the world. And like other things on Mithas, the minotaurs define it as their own, sacred, with certain ritualistic uses.”

  Sun Feather nodded sagely.

  Time passed. Now the young female kyrie—her face strikingly beautiful, her red hair flecked with gold—brought out cups and bowls, setting them before Caramon and the others.

  Following the example of the kyrie, Caramon dipped his fingers into a basin of cool water, then washed and dried his hands. From the serving bowls, he chose an assortment of nuts, berries, and greens. The older female appeared behind his shoulder and ladled several small cubes of raw red meat onto his plate.

  After some minutes, during which they all ate hungrily, Cloudreaver spoke. “A sentinel stays in the tunnel at all times,” the young kyrie said, returning to the topic of his brother. “He watches over Morning Sky, hoping against hope for some change in his circumstances.

  “We speak to him only a little, always furtively. It would not be wise to take chances. When Morning Sky is able, he speaks to us. Even if the minotaur guards overhear a few words, they do not understand our native language, so they think it is delirium. That is how we were able to tell Morning Sky about the two humans who had been captured and brought to the prison. After talking it over with him, we decided to risk liberating you.”

  “Why?” asked Caramon thoughtfully.

  “For one thing, I saw how you behaved toward my brother,” answered Cloudreaver.

  “You saw me?”

  “I was in the tunnel. That close to my brother, I could see through his eyes, through the walls of stone. My heart beats with the same rhythm as his. My head shares his thoughts. I listened to your words and saw and believed you to be a good and compassionate human.”

  Caramon was silent. He was thinking about his own brother, Raistlin. Wasn’t it that way between him and Raist? That they could see with each other’s eyes sometimes? That their hearts also beat as one?

  “We do not have much experience with humans,” interjected Sun Feather diplomatically. “I myself have never before been face-to-face with one in my three hundred years of life on this earth.”

  “Three hundred years!” exclaimed Caramon. The young warrior knew that dwarves and elves were long-lived, but already Sun Feather had lived more than three times the span that Caramon would in his time.

  “Yes,” admitted Sun Feather, chuckling. “I am old and past my prime. When I am gone, it will be up to Cloudreaver—”

  “Father!” cried Cloudreaver, bringing up his arm and making an angry gesture.

  The female kyrie looked upset. Three Far-Eyes dropped his glance. Sun Feather looked chastened.

  “Cloudreaver is right,” the leader of the kyrie said in a low voice. “It is not right to speak of Morning Sky as if he is already dead. Morning Sky is the firstborn and blood heir to the leadership. But—” His voice broke.

  Three Far-Eyes hastened to change the subject. “Most of the humans we know of,” said Three Far-Eyes softly, “are brigands or slaves. But our legends tell us that humans can be intelligent and sensitive and loyal. Besides, we felt that it was worth the risk to bring shame down on the bull-men. They will be greatly dishonored by news of an escape from their prison at Atossa.”

  “Won’t they punish Morning Sky?” worried Caramon.

  “They will never execute my brother,” said Cloudreaver grimly. “They will keep him alive as long as they can.”

  After the meal was over, the female kyrie brought out pipes, chewing tobacco, and a bowl with thick, cut-up pieces of some kind of gummy root. Cloudreaver chose a long-stemmed pipe, filled it with some substance from a pouch, and puffed on it contemplatively. Three Far-Eyes chewed on tobacco. Sun Feather reached for the root, and Caramon politely followed suit.

  Outside, darkness had fallen and quiet reigned. Inside the cave, the elder female moved about the room, reaching for a half-dozen small spheres set into the wall, which by her touch were magically lit and cast a pale blue light.

  Caramon chewed on the root meditatively. It had a mild, pleasant taste. The day had been a long and arduous one. His body ached, and his mind as well.

  As he chewed, a tingling sensation flowed through his body. Caramon felt his muscles relax. His mind floated free. No longer did he feel weary and sad.

  His thoughts flitted to Raistlin. He wondered where his twin brother was, and whether Raist had any inkling of where Caramon was.

  He worried about his brother. Kitiara had pounded it into his head that it was his job to worry about his twin brother, although Caramon knew that at this moment, Raistlin was probably worrying just as much about him. Caramon sincerely hoped he was a good representative of the human race for those kyrie who, like Sun Feather, had never met a human before. Surely Raistlin would have better understood the situation and been a more impressive representative of humankind.

  Caramon wondered about Tasslehoff. Poor Tas. Likely the kender was dead. What could the minotaurs have wanted with him? Something obscure and unpleasant, Caramon felt sure. Tas wasn’t in the prison, nor was he in Atossa, or surely the kyrie would have taken note of him, Caramon thought. Kender do not tend to blend in to the background.

  The young warrior looked around at the kyrie in the cave, nodding at him. He wondered if they could read his thoughts. At that moment, he felt almost as if he could read theirs. He sensed their profound despondency over Morning Sky, and at the same time, their stubborn resiliency as a people. They were a remarkable race. He felt proud to be in the company of the ancient kyrie.

  Caramon’s mind wandered to Sturm. Sturm wouldn’t be so comfortable here, high up in the mountains, eating a fine repast and chewing this agreeable after-supper root—not if his friend Caramon was the one who had been left behind in prison.

  The minotaurs might not take out their frustration on Morning Sky, Caramon realized with a jolt. But they might—probably would—torture Sturm.

  “I must go back,” declared the human from Solace suddenly, startling the kyrie by breaking the harmonious silence that had prevailed in the cave. Caramon set his jaw. “I must go back and rescue my friend Sturm.”

  The faces around him were disapproving. “That would not be wise,” said Sun Feather.

  “Foolish,” said Cloudreaver, putting down his pipe.

  “I—I—” Caramon faltered. He didn’t possess the eloquence of his twin. “I must go back,” Caramon repeated. “Sturm Brightblade would surely try to rescue me. No risk would deter him, not a hundred, a thousand, minotaurs. He’d consider it his honor-bound duty. I can only try to do what he would, under opposite circumstances.”

  “But how can you get inside the prison?” asked Three Far-Eyes sympathetically. “And, what is more important, how would you get out?”

  Caramon had no ready reply. He addressed Cloudreaver. “You say you keep a sentinel in the tunnel at all times?”

  “Yes,” responded Cloudreaver. “Day and night.”

  “Then I will hear his reports, watch, and wait. I will seek my opportunity. Even if nothing changes, I must s
till try something.”

  Everyone kept silent. Caramon looked at Sun Feather, waiting for the leader of the kyrie to speak. The elder’s face was unreadable.

  “I will go with the human!” said Cloudreaver unexpectedly.

  Sun Feather appeared shocked. “You cannot, my son! Already you have taken too many risks. You have not only your own future but also the future of the entire race to consider.”

  Cloudreaver’s eyes were hard, stubborn. “I will not take any risk that you wouldn’t take yourself—if you were not old bones.” Although Cloudreaver’s words struck his father with the force of blows, Sun Feather’s eyes shone with unmistakable pride. “I admire this Caramon,” said Cloudreaver. “I should like to help his friend as I helped him.”

  Caramon reached over and clasped Cloudreaver’s hand. This time the kyrie put his other hand on top of Caramon’s in a gesture of solidarity.

  Three Far-Eyes spoke up. “If Cloudreaver goes, others with the appetite for fighting the minotaurs should have the opportunity to go with him. The human should be brought to the Warrior Society.”

  Cloudreaver looked grateful for the words. Although Caramon didn’t know what the Warrior Society was, the fervor in the old bird-man’s voice surprised him.

  For long minutes, Sun Feather stared at Cloudreaver as father to son. “You must do what you feel you must do,” Sun Feather said heavily at last. The leader of the kyrie sighed. “But you must do nothing rash—and you will not be doing anything tonight. Agreed? So, it is time to sleep, and in our sleep to dream the things we hope to do.”

  Taking the signal from Sun Feather, Three Far-Eyes and the young female kyrie left the cave. Cloudreaver hesitated and gave Caramon a friendly nod, then he, too, left. Sun Feather placed a winged arm on Caramon’s shoulder as the Majere twin rose to leave.

  “You will sleep here,” said Sun Feather. He gestured toward the corner, where the older female kyrie had lingered and was setting up a thick pile of furs.

  “But this is your dwelling,” protested Caramon, “and I have brought you nothing but heartache.”

  Sun Feather shook his head. “You have brought nothing that was not here before you arrived,” said the elder kyrie, “and as long as you stay among us, I wish that you would take this cave as your place to eat and sleep. It is cold in the mountains at night, and you are not as accustomed to the conditions as we kyrie.”

  Caramon opened his mouth to object, but Sun Feather raised a hand. “I am welcome anywhere among my people,” the leader of the kyrie said, “and will not want for a place to eat and rest. And some nights I like to have the excuse of the open sky.” His dark face wrinkled into a smile. “Even though I am old bones.”

  Caramon didn’t protest further. In truth, he was happy for the comfort of the cave.

  For the next several days, Caramon lived as one of the kyrie in their cave city among the sheer cliffs that girdled the high valleys in the far north of Mithas.

  Taller and leaner than Caramon, Cloudreaver could easily carry the warrior, grasped in his taloned feet, while flying from plateau to plateau. Everywhere he went, Caramon was an object of curiosity among the kyrie, though he was invariably greeted with warmth. While the females, especially, gossiped and chattered about him in their kyrie tongue, most of the bird-people switched to Common in his presence. They overwhelmed him with their hospitality. Many of them already seemed to know the story of his escape, and his connection with Morning Sky.

  Some of the kyrie caves were huge and able to house dozens of families, Caramon noted, while some isolated families chose to camp in sunlit hollows at the base of cliffs. The occasional wood beams or ladders Caramon noticed had been borne through the sky from miles away, Cloudreaver told him. Wood didn’t grow at this altitude and was quite a luxury, and therefore a measure of status.

  The tough, clever kyrie had devised ingenious ways of surviving in a region that was hot and parched by day, cool and dry by night. Rainwater was precious. What little that fell was diverted into holding pools at the bottom of the canyons, with only a small supply kept high near the cave cities where moisture evaporated quickly due to the constant onslaught of sun and wind. The kyrie had dug irrigation canals and built dams from the rocky ground, the canals deep to reduce the amount of water exposed to the sun, and narrow so they could be covered during cold nights.

  Jackrabbits, cottontails, mule deer, and rodents provided the kyrie with meat. These were hunted daily by males to whom that duty had been delegated. While not a farming people, each kyrie family kept a small garden fed by irrigation. The garden supplemented their diet of meat with cactus fruit, nuts, beans, and seeds. On forays into the valleys, they collected wild grains. A lean, lithe race, the kyrie ate little—only one full meal a day.

  Caramon asked Cloudreaver about the magical blue orbs that he noticed everywhere, which provided illumination inside the caves at night. As Cloudreaver explained it, many of the kyrie had modest magical skills. As a people, they were especially reknowned for their ability to communicate with and cast spells over animals. But the magically inclined among them who were most revered were those who could predict or alter the weather. In any case, the blue-light orbs were a very simple spell, Cloudreaver said.

  While the men took charge of hunting, the women occupied themselves with pottery-making, leatherwork, and the etching of shells. Whereas humans tended to carry their belongings in pouches and rucksacks, many of the kyrie had small baskets slung at their sides. These might contain anything from dried fruit to family artifacts to small weapons. The traditional weapon, which didn’t fit into a basket, was a curved club, carved of wood, called a stryker. Many of the males who went off hunting carried bows and arrows as well as their strykers.

  Caramon noticed there was a steady coming and going of the young males. They flew magnificently, these young, strong kyrie, like great eagles, covering ground rapidly, beating their huge wings. Some arrived fresh from hunting, the carcasses of animals slung over their shoulders. Others were obviously scouts and messengers.

  The scouts and messengers reported directly to Cloudreaver. Some of them pointed at Caramon, speaking rapidly in the kyrie tongue. Some of the young bird-men looked at him haughtily, as Cloudreaver once had, and Caramon guessed they were arguing with Cloudreaver in their native language.

  Although Caramon pressed Cloudreaver to learn what they were saying, the son of Sun Feather was evasive. Caramon figured that was his royal prerogative, but he was anxious about Sturm and wanted to know what, if anything, the kyrie had reported about the Solamnic. More than once Cloudreaver asked the human warrior to remain patient.

  After four days among the kyrie, Caramon, well rested, leaner, and tougher, was still far from patient.

  “Where is Atossa from here?” Caramon asked Cloudreaver, standing on the ledge where he had first arrived.

  Cloudreaver pointed south. “A hundred miles.”

  “I could return there and take a turn as sentinel in the tunnels,” pressed Caramon.

  Cloudreaver put his hand on the shoulder of the anxious warrior. “No, my friend,” he repeated. “Soon. Your friend is still alive. My brother is still alive. But you must be patient. We must wait a little longer for something to happen.”

  That night, Caramon was in the cave that Sun Feather had ceded to him, lying on his back, ready for sleep, when Cloudreaver came for him.

  Caramon started as the son of Sun Feather entered. His kyrie friend was strangely daubed with paint, ornamented in beads and shells. Cloudreaver brought out a blindfold. Although Caramon felt uneasy, he let the kyrie tie it around his eyes so that he couldn’t see where he was being taken.

  Then Caramon felt the by now familiar sensation of being lifted up and borne through the air, but only for a short distance this time. When the blindfold came off, Caramon was in another, larger cave with about a dozen male kyrie who were garbed and decorated like Cloudreaver. Some of them he remembered meeting. Others he had never seen before.

&nbs
p; They sat cross-legged in a circle. As Caramon, guided by Cloudreaver, joined the group, one of the male kyrie got up and came over to him, daubing his face with ash-gray, zigzag lines and draping him with ceremonial feathers and jewelry. This kyrie Caramon knew to be Cloudreaver’s friend. His name was Bird-Spirit.

  The bird-men linked hands and began to chant in the kyrie tongue. Caramon was seated between two kyrie he did not know. Looking around, he realized that Cloudreaver was gone. The kyrie gripped his hands. Although the young warrior had no idea what the kyrie were chanting, Caramon felt himself drawn into their solemn ritual.

  The chanting continued for a long time. In spite of himself, Caramon felt himself being lulled to sleep. When he jerked his eyes open, he saw that the others, too, had closed their eyes. The kyrie were deliberately trancelike. Someone had lit sticks of incense, and a pungent odor, accompanied by curls of smoke, filled the cave.

  All of a sudden the chanting stopped, and Cloudreaver appeared from a dark corner, carrying a large, heavy wooden box. This he carefully placed in the center of the circle. All eyes followed his every movement as the kyrie leaned over, opened a latched lid, and pulled out—Caramon caught his breath—a rare sea dragon.

  The sea dragon was large, resembling a giant turtle with a lizardlike head, a thick dark shell, webbed toes, and massive, paddlelike flippers. Caramon knew that these ferocious creatures, not true dragons, were legendary for attacking ships. Rarely were they caught alive. Although it could breathe either air or water, it couldn’t survive long without being immersed in water. As large and fierce-looking as this one was, it moved its head and tail ponderously outside its element.

  Cloudreaver held it up and made a show of handing it to Bird-Spirit, who sat opposite Caramon in the circle. The head of the sea dragon thrashed, its powerful jaws snapping at the air. For long minutes, Bird-Spirit held the sea dragon over his head, chanting and murmuring while the savage creature did everything possible to twist out of his grip and lunge at him.