The History of Krynn: Vol I

by Dragon Lance

  Nianki was rubbing her temple with her free hand. It pounded as though a drummer was beating on her head. “Can it be true?” she muttered to herself. “Ninety-eight years? Ninety-eight?”

  “It is but a brief moment, after all.”

  The plainswoman looked up quickly. The priest was no longer there. In his place stood the warlord Balif. The wind blew through the elf’s shoulder-length blond hair, and his sky-colored eyes regarded her with a strange intensity.

  She took a step backward in surprise but found herself brought up short. Just as her fingers were releasing his wrist, he deftly caught hold of her arm, maintaining the contact between them. Nianki looked down, staring dumbly at the long, pale fingers encircling her sunbrowned arm.

  “Do not fight me, Nianki,” he said. “There are greater rewards to be had as my friend than as my enemy. To fight the Throne of the Stars means only death for you and your followers.”

  “Stop!” she cried. Nianki moved as far away from him as his hold on her arm allowed, though that brought her perilously close to the edge of the marble platform. “This is a trick! You aren’t Balif, and I will not give up what is mine!”

  So saying, she yanked her hand violently out of his grip.

  As soon as their hands parted, Nianki felt herself fall backward off the tower. The last thing she saw as she plummeted into the void was Vedvedsica’s surprised face staring down as her as he stroked his wispy beard.

  Nianki woke with a violent start, her angry shout still echoing in her ears. Casting about wildly, she saw the faint outlines of the Yala-tene orchard, but atop this was overlaid the phantom elf city – bright towers, impossibly high, reared out of the silver waters of the lake. Crowds of transparent elves passed to and fro among the white marble columns.

  She shook her head, but still the ghostly images lingered. Nianki struck her forehead hard with her fist. The ghostly scene blurred and thinned slightly, the dark outlines of the orchard growing stronger.

  So, pain countered the spell? Very well. She was no stranger to pain. Nianki drew her knife.

  *

  Duranix squirmed fitfully, trying to find a comfortable position. His left wing ached, so he had to lie on his right side exclusively. Trouble was, his weight tended to cramp his good wing if he lay on it too long. Pain and annoyance combined to ignite an angry blue aura around his head. When his blood was up, the air around him tended to crackle with lightning.

  He gave up trying to sleep and went down to the lake for a drink of water. He trod as lightly as he could so as not to disturb the sleeping humans around him. When humans were disturbed there was always noise – babies crying, dogs barking, men cursing when they stubbed their toes on the way to the latrine, women complaining about the babies crying, the dogs barking, and the men cursing. Duranix preferred his nights quiet.

  He waded out a few paces and dipped his long neck down for a sip of cold water. It didn’t taste as sweet as it once had, before the humans started living here. Water from the falls was as pristine as ever, but the lake had lost its purity long ago.

  The dragon turned and slogged back to shore. He spied a lone, lanky figure coming down the pebbly beach toward him. For once his eyes deceived him. He thought it was Amero, but when the stranger began humming tunelessly in a high, hoarse voice, he realized it was Nianki.

  “Greetings, mighty one,” she said.

  “Thunder and lightning, woman!” Duranix said. “What have you done to yourself?”

  Nianki had cut her hair – rather violently, from the looks of things. Long tendrils still hung to her shoulders, but the rest was sheered off so closely that less than a fingerwidth of hair remained. In a couple of spots, her pallid scalp actually showed through and cuts on her head showed dried beads of blood.

  “I was in the orchard,” she said simply. “My hair got tangled in a tree limb, so I cut it off.”

  “You look like you’ve been in a fight, one you didn’t win.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, smiling. “I won.”

  Duranix sensed that the haze in her mind seemed thinner now. Had she succeeded in chasing the shadows away?

  “How’s your wing?” she asked.

  He worked his left shoulder in a circle, hissing from the resulting pain. “Still hurts, but I’ll fly again.”

  She ran a hand over the stubbly crown of her head. “Did I thank you for saving me?” Before he could answer, she frowned and added, “I can’t remember. So much has happened that I can’t remember.”

  The dragon’s voice cut through this thought. “Do you recall your brother, Amero?”

  “Do you know the sun and the wind?” she said sarcastically.

  They both heard footfalls among the loose rocks higher up the shore. Two men paused on a rocky outcropping and one called out, “Karada! We must speak to you!”

  She squinted into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

  “Tarkwa,” Duranix said, “and the one-eyed man – what’s his name?”

  “Hatu.” Raising her voice again, she asked, “What do you want?”

  “Karada, we need to speak to you!” came the call again.

  She started up the hill and Duranix followed, but the men waved the dragon off. “We only want to speak to our chief!”

  “Rude animals,” said the dragon. He settled down on his haunches. “Watch yourself, Karada.”

  She looked back at him. “Why?”

  “I sense those men are not your friends.”

  She laughed in her old way and seemed almost her normal self. “No, they aren’t my friends,” she agreed, “they’re my followers. Besides, Hatu doesn’t hate me; it’s you he loathes. He thinks you killed his father.”

  “I did. Ate him, too.” He waited for shocked exclamations.

  There were none forthcoming. Instead, she asked, “Really? How was he?”

  “Treacherous, like most humans.”

  Amero didn’t like jokes about eating people, but Nianki laughed heartily and strode up the hill to meet her men. When she drew near, both Hatu and Tarkwa recoiled at the sight of her ragged hair.

  “Who attacked you?” exclaimed Tarkwa.

  “Forty angry centaurs, but I bested them,” she replied. “What do you want?”

  “We want to leave, Karada.”

  “So go.”

  “He means the whole band,” said Hatu.

  “I’m not ready to leave,” she answered.

  The two men exchanged looks. Tarkwa said, “Karada, we can’t stay here forever, living on scraps from the villagers and idling our days away. We’re getting to be like those fat oxen they keep in pens, dull and lifeless. We need action! What about the elves? What about your plan to drive them off the southern plain?”

  Memories of her bizarre dream echoed in Nianki’s mind. She shook her head hard, dismissing them, and said flatly, “We’re not ready yet. We need to build up our numbers, rest, get strong.”

  “And how long will that take?” asked Hatu.

  Nianki folded her arms. “As long it takes.”

  “Some of the band are restless,” Hatu retorted. “Nacris has been talking to the warriors —”

  “That poisonous wench had better keep her mouth shut! I spared her because of what happened to Sessan, but if she crosses me again, I’ll have her head!”

  Nianki’s voice had risen to a shout. From twenty paces away, Duranix heard her and lowered his head to ground. He could hear better that way, as the rocky soil transmitted noise to the sensitive barbels on his chin.

  “It isn’t just Nacris,” Tarkwa said. “Others are grumbling too. Even Pa’alu.”

  “Where is Pa’alu?” she demanded.

  “I can’t say for certain, Karada,” replied Hatu. “He seldom stays in camp but roams the valleys by night and the high peaks by day.”

  “Hiding from me, is he? Next time you lay eyes on that pig, you tell him I want to see him. No, better still, bring him to me! Drag him, if he won’t come on his own! I have much to pay him back for!�
�

  Both Hatu and Tarkwa were edging away from her. The sight of their chief, red-eyed, hair ravaged, screaming at them, was fearsome even to the seasoned warriors. She might have gone on denouncing Pa’alu had not Amero appeared, drawn by the sound of her loud voice.

  “Nianki? What’s the matter?” He stared at her, aghast. “What’s happened to you?”

  Her rage evaporated like mist in the hot morning sun. In the space of a few breaths, Nianki’s face mirrored a whole gamut of emotions – delight, relief, anguish, shame. The display wasn’t lost on Hatu. He made careful note of it.

  “Amero,” she said, “forgive me, I didn’t mean to shout.”

  “Is there trouble?” He stepped forward, hand out, but his sister evaded his touch.

  “No trouble, Arkuden,” said Tarkwa quickly. “We were talking about the day our band leaves Arku-peli.”

  “Oh? When is that?”

  “Soon,” said the two men in unison.

  Nianki’s jaw worked. “I haven’t decided yet. There are still things to be done here.”

  “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Amero told her, putting a hand to her back. She swayed and shut her eyes briefly.

  “Spread the word,” she said to her followers. “Karada’s band will move when Karada says so – not before.”

  Hatu said nothing, but Tarkwa nodded, saying, “Yes, Karada.”

  They left.

  “Did you fall off the mountain?” asked Amero, perfectly seriously.

  She touched her head self-consciously. “It was tangled in a tree limb. I couldn’t free it, so I cut it off.”

  “What with, a hatchet?”

  “No, a flint knife.”

  He looked her in the eye. She avoided meeting his gaze momentarily, then let herself be fixed by his concern.

  “I am well,” she said firmly. “For the first time in many days, I am well.”

  “Are you sure? Forgive me, but you look like you just finished battling a panther with your bare hands!”

  “A panther would be easy compared to what I’ve been wrestling with.”

  “Was it a fever of the brain?” he asked.

  “No. The affliction lay... in other regions.”

  Hearing Duranix snort nearby, Amero moved toward the dragon. Nianki followed closely.

  A warm breeze struck their faces. Amero halted, peering into the darkness. He held a finger to his lips and pointed. Duranix had fallen asleep at last. The breeze was his breath.

  Amero took his sister’s hand, and they tiptoed away. Nothing was said as Amero led Nianki past the falls to the waiting hoist. Remembering her last visit to the cave, Nianki dug in her heels and balked.

  To be heard over the roar of tumbling water, he had to put his lips close to her ear. “It’s all right,” he said reassuringly. “You won’t fall out this time.”

  He righted the basket and helped her in. With a stout heave on the rope, Amero started the counterweight on its downward journey. The basket stretched under their combined weight then, with a groan, lifted off the ground.

  The cave was dark when they arrived. Amero knew his way and crossed to the hearth. He poked in the embers of the afternoon fire and found some coals still glowing. Tossing a handful of grass on the embers, he quickly had a smoky red fire blazing. He laid on a few larger pieces of kindling. When the firelight bloomed, vast shadows were thrown upon the high walls.

  “Come, warm yourself,” he said, beckoning her to the fire. “Are you hungry?”

  Nianki sat down stiffly on a pile of furs. Amero stirred the small fire, laying on a few larger splits of oak to keep the autumn chill out of the cave.

  “Hatu is right,” Nianki said suddenly. Her voice echoed off the distant ceiling. “The band should leave, and soon.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “It’s not good for us to stay.”

  Amero held his hands up to the crackling fire. “Winter will be here soon. I thought you came here to shelter your people from the cold.”

  “We’ll go to the north country, where it’s warmer. There’ll be game there. We’ll do all right.”

  “Do as you think best, but I, for one, wish you’d stay.”

  She regarded him longingly. “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course,” he replied, surprised by the fervor of her response. “You’re my sister. I’ve only just found you, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

  Nianki withdrew to the shadowed end of the hearth. For a time there was no sound in the cave but the snap of burning wood. She finally broke the silence by saying, “Are you happy with your life, Amero?”

  “Yes. I think so. It’s hard sometimes.” He wove his fingers together and hooked his hands around one knee. “The villagers expect me to know what to do all the time, to have an answer whenever they ask a question. There’s a hundred questions today, and a hundred the next day, and a hundred the day after that. People think Duranix tells me what’s what, but he really doesn’t help me much. He likes to hear gossip, but he isn’t interested in the real work of the village. I keep trying new ideas – I want to make our lives better, easier. Lately I’ve been working on a way to get copper metal out of cliff rocks —”

  “What about the rest of your life?” Nianki said, interrupting.

  He shrugged. “Only the spirits know what will happen then.”

  “That’s not what I mean. What about the part of your life you share with another?”

  “Duranix is my friend —”

  She rolled her eyes. “A mate, idiot! Have you ever had a mate?”

  “No. I haven’t had time. There was a girl in the village, Halshi...” Amero’s hazel eyes clouded with the painful memory of the cave-in. “But she died, not long before you came.”

  “Did you love her?”

  Amero considered, then decided if he had to think about it so hard, the answer must be no. “I liked her. There wasn’t time for more,” he said. Shifting uncomfortably, he changed the subject. “What about you? Any man caught your eye?”

  She shook her head violently.

  “What about Pa’alu? He seems a fine fellow.”

  Nianki’s eyes glittered in the half-light. “Pa’alu is the biggest fool on the plains. Soon, he’ll pay for his foolishness.”

  The quiet savagery of her tone sent a chill through Amero. He put another split on the fire.

  “I should find a mate,” he said, nodding. “I don’t suppose I can spend the rest of my life in a cave with a dragon.”

  “A village girl, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know. What about one of your fierce nomad women? Is there one you’d like to recommend?”

  Her voice fell to a whisper. “Do you like fierce women?”

  “I like you, and you’re pretty ferocious.” Nianki looked away. “When I wonder about a mate, I find myself thinking about women like our mother. She was a good companion to Oto and a good mother to us, don’t you think?”

  Silence. Nianki was staring into the flames and Amero put her lack of response down to weariness. He was certainly tired.

  He yawned. “I’m done! You’re welcome to stay here tonight. Sleep well, Nianki.”

  The fire shrank to a bed of glowing coals. Amero crawled into the hollowed-out bowl in the rock floor that was his bed. He was asleep in moments.

  He dreamed he felt his mother’s hand caress his face, like she did when he was a child. Though part of him knew it had to be a dream, it was a profoundly comforting one. He slept on in blissful peace.

  Chapter 19

  After a stormy month, the valley grew quiet again. Fighting between nomads and villagers declined. Nianki seemed recovered and ceased her aimless wandering, muttering, and weeping. The rumor spread she cured herself by cutting her hair so severely, and later it became a common sight in Yala-tene to see men and women with closely shorn hair after bouts of sickness or bad temper.

  The last big harvest from the summer gardens was due, and Amero asked Nianki to organize the nomad
s to help gather in the vegetables. She convinced nearly all of the three hundred nomads to work the harvest, realizing the hard work would be a good outlet for her people. The only ones who did not work were the very old, the very young, the ill, and one other: Pa’alu. He had disappeared again.

  Duranix continued to wear the harness on his broken wing. Fine weather made him yearn to fly, and frustration at his inability to do so led to dangerous displays of lightning in the valley. Finally, Amero suggested the dragon leave the village for a while.

  “Take a journey,” Amero said. “Explore.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” asked the dragon, waving his one good wing. “I cannot fly, and being human hurts too much.” Whatever human form he might take, he would still have a broken arm until his wing healed, and the more he shapeshifted, the longer the healing would take.

  “Go as you are,” Amero told him. “You have four good feet. Use them.”

  Duranix lifted one foreclaw and studied it. He frowned, considering his friend’s words. “Walking is so undignified,” he muttered.

  “So is whining.”

  The voice belonged to Nianki. Amero and the dragon turned to watch as she approached.

  Her face was scrubbed clean, and she wore a new buckskin shirt and divided kilt, bare of any beadwork. Her hair had grown back just enough to cover her nearly bald spots, and she did not wear her chieftain’s headband. Aside from being thinner than before and having hair shorter than her brother’s, she looked well. She carried a large basket in one hand.

  “I’m going to pick apples,” she said. “What about you?”

  “I’ll be there soon,” Amero replied.

  “I won’t be,” Duranix announced. He eyed Amero. “I’m going for a walk.”

  Nianki nodded, bid the dragon good-bye, and departed to join the column of plainsfolk heading for the rope bridge. Her brother watched her thoughtfully.

  “She’s come through it, whatever it was,” he said. “I don’t mind telling you, I was afraid for a while. I thought she’d lost her wits forever.”

  “She’s a strong woman, but I don’t think she’s over her trouble, just coping with it more effectively.”