Tanis the shadow years p2-3

by Barbara Siegel

  "Do you mean what you're saying?" she asked coldly, "or are you just trying to convince yourself?"

  "I'm trying to tell you that this is our only way." Hating to play Fistandantilus's game, yet knowing there was no other choice, he fixed his face into a sneer and harshly demanded, "How could you possibly live with yourself, knowing that your sister would exist in perpetual terror?"

  Her Hps trembled; she was unable to speak.

  Acting as though he were trying to speak with her privately, he leaned close to Brandella and whispered, "He was defeated in Life before; he can be defeated again." Tanis knew, of course, that the mage had heard every word. Fistandantilus remained silent.

  Brandella seemed to be slightly swayed, to think, for a moment, that their actions, should the pair agree to the mage's terms, would not be irreversible.

  "Let me talk to him," he said coaxingly.

  With enormous reluctance, she nodded.

  "You say you will make a bargain with us," Tanis said tentatively to the mage. "How are we to know that you will keep your end of the deal?"

  "You cannot know," said the wizard. "You must trust me because there is no one else who can help you before you die. The real question is, can I trust you to keep your end of our arrangement?"

  Tanis looked up at the towering mountain, then at the sorry excuse for a cabin, and finally at the open, gray land in front of him, imagining the wizard hovering there. "It would seem," said the half-elf, "that we must trust each other equally." The voice laughed with a sound of stones rattling on metal. "Trust each other? Hardly," Fistandantilus crooned. "You forget whom you are talking to. I tell you now that if you cross me, you will regret it for as long as you live-which won't be very long-and for as long as you are dead. Which will be much, much longer. You have my promise on that."

  36

  The flickering candle

  "I throught I knew you." Branbella breatheb in Tanis's ear. "You do," he replied cryptically. The woman, her lips set in a thin line, gave him a suspicious glance as she wiped rain from her face. What did he mean by that7 she wondered. They trudged into the wizard's cabin, soaked to the bone; the never-ending wind and rain had slashed mercilessly at them. Fistandantilus, Brandella thought, was lucky to lack a body that could ache with cold and hunger. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she might be hallucinating all of this. After all, she was weak from lack of food and sleep, and the unrelenting weather had taken its toll.

  "It's just a nightmare. I'll wake up soon," she whispered to herself.

  Tanis watched Brandella worriedly. She seemed pale and ill. They had been busy for several hours doing the wizard's bidding. While storm clouds roiled overheard, they had fixed the roof of the cabin, covering it with tree branches. Next, they swept the mud and water out of the cabin, making it as dry as possible. Of course, it was still thoroughly damp, the air nearly unbreathable in its closeness despite the open door. But Fistandantilus seemed pleased.

  The spell, said the mage, had to be performed in a lighted, dry place so that he was fully separated from his endlessly bleak, rain-drenched world. Clearly, thought Tanis, the wizard is afraid that the pull of Death will be too strong to escape. Tanis hoped that was so… just in case.

  "Don't light the candle until I begin the spell," Fistandantilus ordered. His sibilant whisper seemed to have grown stronger. Tanis felt a ripple of fear shiver up his neck. Brandella looked increasingly strained, purple smudges darkening the nearly translucent skin beneath her eyes.

  A single candle stood in its holder on a bare wooden table. The wax looked ancient yet unused, the wick charred from untold attempts to set it ablaze, standing up in seeming defiance of any flame. Next to the candle, two small black stones lay on a small pile of torn parchment.

  "Look behind you on the wall," said the mage.

  The dim light reflected off a small mirror in a gold frame.

  "Half-elf," Fistandantilus ordered, "take the mirror and hold it in your hands-carefully." The storm increased its tempo outside. Yet despite the sound of the wind, Tanis could hear the sighing voice of the mage as though it buzzed inside his head.

  Tanis went to the mirror. It was hanging at eye-level. He reached up to take it off the wall-and froze. Then he waved his hand before the shimmering piece of glass; his face was not reflected. Even when he held it at the correct angle to catch the gray light from the doorway, the mirror showed nothing. Tanis looked back at the weaver. She was shivering, holding herself erect by sheer stubbornness.

  "Stop that," the mage ordered Tanis. "I told you to hold it carefully."

  "Why is this mirror so important?" Tanis asked as he came to the table that held the candle.

  The chill in the room deepened. "When I use the spell to send you back to Life, you will take the mirror with you," the voice explained. "It holds, by a spell, my image, the way I looked when I was alive. When it is brought back to your plane, the image will be freed and I will walk once more on Krynn."

  Tanis regarded the thick, strange glass. Despite himself, he couldn't help staring into it, trying to see the face of the mage who was hidden somewhere inside.

  Fistandantilus laughed without humor. "That isn't the only spell that is going to Krynn with you from this place beyond the grave. I have put a spell upon you both." Tanis noticed that Brandella was wringing her hands again; her eyes were glassy, her face blank. The mage's next words only increased the tension. "Remember: If you betray me, death will come from those who love you most. You have been warned."

  Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and the room turned dark. Tanis jumped, but Brandella seemed oblivious to anything but her fear.

  "It is time," said Fistandantilus, excitement turning his voice painfully dissonant. "Get ready to light the candle, human."

  Tanis held the mirror in one hand and groped for Brandella's hand with the other. When he found it, she pulled away. Her hand was cold as death.

  The chant began so low it was almost inaudible. Slowly, the sound grew louder, the words unknown and unknowable.

  Brandella fumbled next to the candle until her fingers settled on the two stones. She struck them together several times until a spark struck the torn parchment below, setting it aflame. She picked up one end of a paper fragment and, hands shaking, used it to light the candle.

  The chanting grew still louder. The cabin began to quiver as if the wind outside were trying to pick the little shack off the ground and hurl it off the foothills, down to the valley below. Water and mud dripped between growing cracks in the ceiling. The dead branches crisscrossed over one section of the roof began to break apart and tumble into the room. A moan escaped the terrified weaver, but Tanis dared not comfort her.

  Fistandantilus continued his chant, his own voice howling even louder than the wind.

  Tanis didn't know what was breaking the cabin apart-the spell or Death trying to hold on to its victim. The forces of magic and nature were clearly at war.

  No matter that the roof was collapsing, that the wind whipped through the splintering walls; the candle remained lit, the point of fire standing straight and unmov- ing, without so much as a flicker.

  The magic was strong. Tanis felt a change coming. There was little time left, yet every move he made from this point on was critical. By the light of the candle, Tanis reached out and snatched Brandella by the arm. Again, she tried to pull away. But this time the half-elf would not allow it. In his heart, he knew that she might very well sacrifice herself to keep Fistandantilus from returning to Life. He did not want her to do anything that might interfere with his plans.

  He was right. She fought for her freedom, kicking at him, while trying to get at the candle to snuff it out.

  'Traitor!" she screamed, her face a distorted mask of hatred.

  If something didn't happen soon, they might be injured by the debris falling all around them. So far, the main beams of the cabin were holding, but the land itself seemed to be shaking. From somewhere on high, a roar grew louder with every instant. Thr
ough the broken rooftop, Tanis saw, with a terrible certainty, what had caused the shattering sound. The entire top of Fistandan- tilus's dark mountain, the pinnacle that loomed high above them, had broken off and an avalanche of sulphurous blackness was crashing down right toward the cabin.

  Timing was all. Tanis knew that if he made his move too soon, Fistandantilus would stop Kishpa's spell and allow them to be crushed by the avalanche. But if Tanis waited too long, if he didn't act in the instant before the spell took effect, he risked the worst of all, bringing the infamous wizard back into Life.

  Tanis had to wager that Fistandantilus was fully occupied. The half-elf let himself recall what the old dragon, Softfire, had said: The wizards in Death had little use of their magic. Tanis gambled that the wizard had been bluffing, that he had no power over Brandella's sister or Tanis's mother, that his power in Death extended mainly to pyrotechnics designed to impress visitors. After all, the mage was doomed to stay in the shadows of his horrid mountain; the half-elf hoped Fistandantilus's power was far more limited than the mage had let on.

  Soon Tanis would no longer have to pretend to go along with the wizard. As far as the half-elf was concerned, Fistandantilus's threat was empty and the half-elf did not fear him; he just wanted the mage to cast Kishpa's spell.

  But when was the right time to act?

  "Kyvorek blastene tyvvelekk winderfall!" the voice of Fistandantilus thundered. "Tylvvanus! Tylvvanus!" The voice was greater than the din of the fast-approaching avalanche, greater even than the crumbling foothills above the cabin that gave way with huge mudslides, threatening to bury them before the avalanche sealed their doom. Brandella and Tanis saw it all through the porous roof and the splintering walls. The weaver screamed and tried, again unsuccessfully, to pull away from the half-elf.

  They had seconds to live. Yet Tanis waited. He sensed that Kishpa's spell was not complete. There had to be a sign, a moment-something-that would tell him that they were about to be transported back to the world of the living. But there was nothing. And Death was nearly upon them.

  Brandella screamed again. The mudslide loomed like a tidal wave, poised on its crest and about to break over them. At the same moment, the avalanche smashed through the mud. There was no time left. Tanis raised his hand-the hand that held the mirror-over his head. -

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something-the candle flickered for the very first time. It must be the sign! He threw the mirror with all of his might against the candle. The light was snuffed, and the mirror fell to the rock floor, shattering it into a thousand slivers of useless glass.

  "No!" screamed the mage.

  37

  Brandella in his eyes

  They heard the rushing wind, the roar of the massive wave of mud, and the crashing of the avalanche. The sounds filled their ears like the echo of the surf in a sea shell. Before them, however, they saw the sun shining in a bright blue sky, felt a cool breeze upon their skin, and heard the flapping of wings as several birds flew away in fear upon the astonishing arrival of a human and a half-elf in their charred thicket of bushes.

  Tanis tried to get his bearings. It didn't take him long. He saw the burnt glade and the ash-covered pond. The air was redolent with the scent of fire. But when he looked at the tree trunk upon which Kishpa had rested, the mage was nowhere in sight. Neither was Clotnik.

  "Where are we?" Brandella asked in a small voice, gratefully gripping the half-elf's hand, the hand she had so recently disdained. "It looks familiar."

  "You were here with me before, when it was a younger wood, before the fire that destroyed it. Brandella," Tanis said quietly, reverently, "We are home. It was from this place that I came for you. And it is to this place that we have been returned."

  "And without Fistandantilus," she added, shamefacedly. "I'm sorry. I didn't trust you."

  Tanis kept his voice steady and looked straight at her. She didn't meet his eyes, however. "You had no way of knowing what I planned," he said, squeezing her hand, "and I couldn't risk telling you. Besides, the important thing is that we're here."

  She finally smiled at him and took his other hand. Her voice was soft. 'Yes. Somehow we have managed… thanks to you."

  Tanis gently pulled her closer. She did not resist. When their bodies touched, he let go of her hands, encircling her with his arms. Brandella slipped her own arms under Tanis's and joined him willingly in an embrace. Her head rested on his shoulder.

  In that moment, Tanis was at peace.

  He lifted her head and they looked at each other with searching eyes. And just as quickly as he had found peace, he lost it. The half-elf had done his duty for Kishpa; now he wanted to do something for himself. Yet he paused. What if she were merely grateful? What if her hug was meant as one given by a sister to a brother? What if she flatly rejected him? And really, was it that different from a romance with Kitiara? It was still love between a human and one of elven blood. Even with only half-elven blood, he would be doomed to watching his beloved grow old and die-decades, and possibly centuries, before him. He thought of all those things and much more as he looked down upon her parted lips and deep, engulfing eyes. He had to know how the beautiful human weaver, the courageous archer, felt about Tanis Half-Elven. Yet he did not know if he had the right to find out.

  Despite himself, he slowly, tentatively lowered his head toward hers. She shifted in his arms. He couldn't tell if she was snuggling in closer or getting a grip so that she could push him away. A voice startled them, calling out, "Who's there?"

  As if they had been caught doing something forbidden, Tanis and Brandella quickly parted, carelessly stepping on blackened tree branches. The brittle wood cracked, tossing up little clouds of ash.

  'Throw down your weapons and show yourselves," ordered the voice, "or I'll have my men shower that thicket with arrows!"

  "Clotnik, is that you7"

  'Tanis?"

  The half-elf threw back his head and laughed. '"Tell your men to disappear," he said as he pulled Brandella with him out of the bushes.

  When they emerged into a clearing near the pond, Clotnik stood there alone, brown hair and beard as rumpled as ever, eyes bright green beneath a sloped forehead. "My men are all gone," he said with an impish grin. 'They're very good at following orders."

  Tanis and Clotnik clasped hands with the warmth of old friends. The juggler was clearly glad to see him, and Tanis felt the same way.

  "I thought you were gone forever," admitted the juggler. "I had given up on your ever returning. You must tell me everything that happened. Everything!"

  "I will," Tanis agreed. "Later. First, though, we must drink and eat. We are," he said, glancing at Brandella with a playful grin, "so thirsty and hungry that we're close to Death."

  She smiled back at him, and the dwarf's gaze drifted toward the woman who stood behind Tanis. He looked up at her with fascination and not a little awe.

  Tanis gathered his wits about him. "Brandella, the weaver, may I introduce Clotnik, the juggler. Brandella, Clotnik is a friend of Kishpa's.

  The homely dwarf with the drooping ears nodded his head. "I know you," Clotnik finally said.

  Brandella studied the dwarf's face. She walked past Tanis, stepping closer to the dwarf, whose eyes seemed to beg for a spark of recognition.

  She reached out and touched his face, then ran her fingers over his matted brown hair. Clotnik looked up at her with a childlike expression… and she threw her arms around him. "It's you," she cried. "You stayed with Kishpa all these years!"

  Tanis stared at both of them, bewildered. He'd been in Ankatavaka, too, but he hadn't recognized Clotnik during his short stay. And he would have remembered. There were few dwarves in the elven village. In fact, the only ones he remembered were Mertwig and Yeblidod.

  Suddenly, Tanis's eyes opened wide. Was it possible? Clotnik had Mertwig's weak chin and high, slanting forehead. He had Yeblidod's bright green eyes and slightly humped nose. But the half-elf didn't remember seeing a younger Clotnik in the
village.

  "Did you see my father?" the juggler asked before Tanis had uttered a word.

  "Mertwig?" v

  "Yes," said Clotnik, his eyes misting. "Then you met him?"

  "I did, indeed," Tanis replied happily, glad to be able to draw the past and the present so closely together for the dwarf.

  'You're so grown up!" Brandella interrupted. "By the gods, I haven't seen you since you were a little boy and your mother and father sent you away on the ship before the humans attacked Ankatavaka." She laughed. "That was either almost one hundred years ago or just last week," she said merrily.

  So, thought the half-elf, that's why I didn't know him. "It was the last time I saw you, too," said Clotnik. "But I always remembered the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Not that Kishpa would let me forget. But come," he said, "we'll talk more after you've had food and water."

  "How long since I left?" Tanis asked after swallowing the last of Clotnik's jerked beef. Brandella had finished eating and sat off to one side, braiding her long hair into a thick plait that hung over one shoulder.

  'Three days," replied the juggler, unconsciously gazing at the tree where Kishpa had lain. Tanis and Brandella followed his eyes to the spot.

  "When did he die?" asked the half-elf gently.

  Clotnik didn't answer at once. Nor did he look at his two companions. Instead, he poked at the ash-strewn ground at the pond's edge as his lips quivered and his hands shook. Brandella leaned over and touched his shoulder, rubbing it tenderly, her own eyes red-rimmed and liquid. She had changed from her filthy woven top into one of Clotnik's longest white shirts; now she used the puffy sleeve to wipe a tear from the little dwarf's cheek. Clotnik shivered but let her minister to him.

  "He… He… lived throughout the whole first day," stammered the dwarf. He steadied himself but would not look up. "I didn't think he'd live an hour," said the juggler, shaking his head. "His eyes were closed the whole time. He never spoke to me or even acknowledged that I was there." Finally, Clotnik lifted his head and spoke directly to Tanis. "It seemed that he was reliving something that was part nightmare and part the sweetest of idylls. When it was bad for him, he thrashed and moaned-and cried. When it was good, I believe, he smiled and even laughed somewhere deep inside. Was that what you saw, Tanis? Was that how it was for him in the past: part nightmare and part idyll?"