“Blood Watch,” Elistan had said, “was once a monastery devoted to an ancient god of thought-Majere, the Disks of Mishakal call him. Of course, it wasn’t called Blood Watch then. That would come after.”
“After what?” Tasslehoff had asked. It was rare that Elistan would get through an entire story without Tas interrupting at least once.
“Hush, Tas,” Tanis had said.
Elistan, however, had smiled patiently. “I will tell you,” he said. “When the Kingpriest grew corrupt in his own goodness, and the persecutions grew worse all over Istar-inquisitions, burnings, stonings-the people went to the monastery and begged the monks for help. But the monks turned them away. ‘Our duty to our god,’ they told the people, ‘is to watch the world unfold, and to think on it. It is not our place to act.’
“In truth, however, the monks could have acted… and should have,” the old cleric had said. “Who knows what might have been different if they had?”
“Nothing,” Raistlin had hissed. “Nothing would have been different. Larger rocks have been thrown into the river of time before, without changing its course. No group of monks could have changed the Kingpriest’s mind-the Cataclysm would have happened, whatever they did.”
Riverwind had glared at the cynical mage, but Raistlin had only sneered, his disturbing, hourglass eyes glittering as his lip curled in derision.
“The monks thought as you do, Raistlin Majere,” Elistan had continued, his rich voice breaking the brittle silence. There had been no sign of reproach in his kind face. “They believed it was better to contemplate life than to live it, so they ignored the people’s pleas, no matter how loud they became. Instead they remained in their cloisters, meditating. Whether they saw what lay ahead I cannot say, but if they did, they did nothing to stop it, even when the gods sent their Thirteen Signs to thwart the Kingpriest. Perhaps they thought they were being humble, but too much humility can be just as bad as too much pride-as they learned one day, not long after Yule, when the sky began to rain fire.
“The monks gathered in the courtyard of their abbey and watched as destruction fell upon the land. Even then, with the end at hand, they ignored the cries of the people, who pounded upon the doors of the monastery, begging for succor. Then, with a roar, the Cataclysm struck. The burning mountain streaked down from the sky, far to the north, and the ground erupted. The earth dropped away, and the sea poured in, drowning the empire of Istar-but not all of it. The destruction stopped at the edge of the monastery, cleaving the hill on which it stood in two. The northern slope dropped away into the newborn Blood Sea, but the rest remained, leaving the abbey perched upon a clifftop above the surf, on the north shore of what is now the Goodlund peninsula.
“How the monks perished is uncertain,” Elistan had concluded. “In some tellings of this tale, they choked to death on the smoke and ash of Istar’s doom. In others, the desperate peasants broke in at last, murdered the monks, and looted the monastery. And in still others, they took their own lives when they saw the despair their inaction had wrought. In any case, however, they died soon after the Cataclysm, and the ruins of the abbey became known as Blood Watch-both because it overlooks the Blood Sea, and also because of the monks’ belief that it was better to contemplate the suffering of the people than to do anything about it. Some legends even say the monks’ spirits still haunt Blood Watch, doomed forever to look upon the red waters below and never know if they could have done anything to stop the devastation of the world.”
Riverwind became aware that someone was tugging on his arm. He looked down, his gaze still slightly abstracted, and saw Kronn holding his wrist, gazing up at him with concern.
“Riverwind?” the kender asked. “Are you all right?”
The old Plainsman blinked, caught for a moment between memory and reality then nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was thinking.”
“I figured that was it,” Kronn said. “Either that or you were having some kind of fit. What’s the matter?”
Riverwind put a hand to his forehead, feeling tired. “Kronn,” he asked, “do you know the way to Blood Watch?”
The kender nodded, understanding. “I had a feeling you might ask that,” he said. He patted his map pouch. “The tunnels go out that way. I’ve been there once, a while back, to look for the monks’ ghosts. Didn’t find any, which was a pity-and Paxina tells me the ruins are gone now, thanks to Malys. She’s changed the land out there, kind of like she’s doing to the Kenderwood. Built herself a volcano for a lair, from what I hear… hey, where are you going?”
While Kronn was expounding, Riverwind had started to walk, moving down the street with purpose. The kender had to run to catch up.
“Come on,” Riverwind said. “We need to talk to Paxina.”
Riverwind and Kronn were hurrying down Milkweed Avenue, a crooked, tree-lined road that periodically grew so narrow that the Plainsman had to turn sideways to keep from getting stuck between the buildings on either side. All of a sudden it bent sharply to the right, and Kronn and Riverwind came to a sudden stop. Ahead of them, right in the middle of the road, stood a house. It filled the whole street. There wasn’t even enough room between it and the adjacent buildings for Kronn to squeeze through. The kender and the Plainsman stared at it in astonishment.
“Whoa,” Kronn remarked. “That wasn’t here last time I went this way…
“Kronn,” Riverwind rumbled, his voice straining with frustration.
Kronn waved at the house. “This was a perfectly good route until someone put that thing in the way!”
“Damn it!” the old Plainsman exploded. “Kronn, this is important! We can’t be wasting time on this idiocy!”
“I know that!” Kronn snapped back angrily. “But it’s not my fault. Just when I’m starting to know my way around, someone moves a fountain or builds a fence or puts up a whole blessed house. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I got so lost I never found my way out.” He put a hand on his head. “All right, look. It’s only about six blocks back to Shrubbery Road. We can follow that to Straight Street, and that’ll take us to City Hall. All right?” He turned and started back the way they had gone.
“Wait,” Riverwind said.
Kronn stopped, looking back. The Plainsman’s brow was furrowing as he tried to capture an elusive thought.
“Shhh!” Riverwind hissed. “Say that again.”
“It’s only about six blocks back to Shrubbery Road,” the kender repeated. “We can follow-”
“Not that,” Riverwind interrupted. “Before.”
Kronn frowned. “I was just saying I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I got so lost I never found my way out.”
The old Plainsman nodded, thinking hard. Then suddenly he began to laugh.
Kronn looked at him nervously. “Uh,” he said, “are you feeling all right, Riverwind?”
“By the gods! That’s it!” Riverwind whooped joyfully. “Kronn! I know how to beat the ogres.”
Not long after Riverwind and Kronn left, the door to Baloth’s cell opened again and Giffel Birdwhistle strode in. Seeing him, the hairless ogre cried out. “No!” he shouted. “I told you everything, I swear! No more!”
Giffel looked the ogre up and down, then nodded to someone outside the door. “All right, let’s get him out of here.”
“Out?” Baloth blurted. “You’re letting me go?”
Giffel nodded. “Kronn’s orders. We’re not going to feed you and take care of you, and my people don’t execute their prisoners. You told us what we needed to know, so we’re setting you free.”
Baloth gawked in amazement as the guards came in. There were more than a dozen of them, armed with polpaks-saw-bladed pole arms that they held at his throat as two of their number untied the strong ropes that bound his ankles. Then they used the weapons to prod and herd the ogre out of his cell. With Giffel in the lead, they led him down the tunnel, away from the vault. Baloth stumbled along in a haze, too tired and bewildered to resist.
They follow
ed the passage for what seemed miles and miles, finally stopping at a flight of stairs. Giffel dashed up the steps and opened the secret door at their top. A low, grassy hummock swung aside to let in a shaft of ruddy, evening light.
“Bring him up,” he called.
It took some doing, but the kender guards managed to shove the hulking ogre up the narrow staircase. The earthen walls shuddered and crumbled as he wormed his way out of the tunnel. Then he was out, gazing around in bafflement. He was far from Kendermore. The dead trees of the Kenderwood surrounded him.
The guards encircled him, polpaks ready, as Giffel drew a knife from his belt and came forward. The tall kender went behind Baloth and began to saw at the cords around the ogre’s wrists. “Just so you know,” he said, “your army’s about a league north of here. You can go back to them if you want… but I don’t think you’d better.”
The ropes fell away, and Baloth groaned as blood flowed back into his numb hands. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because,” Giffel said, “you told us when they plan to march-and that bit about Malys, too. I’m no expert on ogres, of course, but from what I gather, if Kurthak figures we let you go, he’ll also figure out you betrayed him. So he’ll kill you-and painfully, too. I can’t even imagine what’ll happen if Malys finds out.
“Anyway, it’s your choice. You can go north and hope they don’t kill you, or you can head south and try to get away.” The tall kender sheathed his dagger and stepped back toward the concealed staircase. The guards fell back with him, polpaks still pointed at the ogre.
“Goodbye, Baloth,” Giffel said as he stepped onto the stairs. He grinned. “It was nice talking to you.”
He headed down the steps, the guards with him. Baloth watched dumbly as the grassy hummock swung back into place, covering the entrance to the tunnels. The ogre glanced around furtively, making sure he was alone. He went over to the hummock and tried to find the button or lever that made it work. After a while, he gave up.
Then he turned and began to lope away through the forest to the south.
Chapter 22
Once more, Riverwind found precious little time for rest. He spent much of the night with Kronn, Catt, and Paxina. He told Kronn’s sisters what Baloth had told them, then revealed his idea for defending against the ogres’ attack. Their discussion lasted until nearly dawn.
No one was completely sure-records of meetings, when they were kept at all, tended to be haphazard and careless about such details as attendance and agenda-but not even the oldest kender could remember having seen City Hall’s audience room crammed quite so full as it was that morning. There were currently one hundred and three Council members, and by the time Riverwind, Brightdawn, and Moonsong arrived, the room was quite literally packed to the walls.
Though the impending attack by Malys and the ogres was still weeks away, Riverwind and Brightdawn were both dressed for war. Clad in leather armor, she wore her mace on her belt. He had his sabre and a quiver of white-fletched arrows. Instead of armor, Moonsong wore a new blue gown-a gift from the kender-but like her father she had a sword at her hip. The weapon belonged to Stagheart, who was still too badly hurt to leave his sickbed.
Brightdawn smiled as she nodded toward the room full of milling, chattering kender. “If you’d told me a year ago that we’d be here today, I would have laughed,” she said.
Chuckling, the three Plainsfolk strode into the surging sea of topknots and hoopaks. It was hard going-they were tossed and buffeted by the kender-but in time they reached the head of the room. Paxina, Kronn, and Catt waited for them, standing on a raised dais beneath a grinning portrait of their father. The Plainsfolk and the Thistleknots shook hands, exchanging words of greeting. Then Riverwind turned to face the crowd. He raised his hands and called for silence. It took a while for the room to settle down, but in time it was quiet enough for Riverwind to make himself heard.
“Before we begin,” he proclaimed, in a loud, booming voice, “I’d like my knife back.”
There was a moment’s confusion as the Councillors looked around and checked their pockets. At last a hand shot up in the back holding Riverwind’s bone-handled dagger. It passed up from one kender’s hand to another, until at last it reached the front.
“Sorry!” a voice called out. “You must have dropped it on the way in.”
With a tight smile-some things, it seemed, would never change-Riverwind tucked the knife back in his belt.
“I’m sure we all know why we’re here,” he declared. “The ogres attack in twenty days. When they do, we won’t be able to keep them from breaching the walls. Kendermore will fall.”
A murmur of consternation rippled through the crowd. Riverwind waited for it to subside.
“Are you saying we’re doomed?” asked an old, bespectacled kender at the front of the crowd. Fear was plain in his voice.
“No, Merldon Metwinger,” Paxina said. “We’re not doomed-only Kendermore is.”
Riverwind nodded firmly. “When I met Kronn and Catt in Solace, they asked me to help you fight Malystryx and the ogres. I thought that meant saving your city, but now I know that isn’t possible.
“But,” he added quickly, seeing hope fade from many of the Councillors’ faces, “there is still a way to save your people.”
“How?” asked several kender at once.
Catt stepped forward. Her broken arm still hung in its sling, but she held her back straight and her head high.
“We’re leaving,” she proclaimed. “We’ll take the tunnels out of the Kenderwood, then travel across Ansalon to Hylo where the rest of our people live. They’ll take us in.”
“Leaving?” Merldon Metwinger asked. “What, all of us? That’ll take forever!”
“Well,” Catt replied patiently, “not quite that long. But it will take time. We’ll be drawing lots to see who leaves when. We’ve already sent messengers ahead to Solamnia and other lands asking for help in our journey. The rest of us have to start leaving tomorrow, so we need you to spread the word about this fast. Yes, Merldon?”
The old Councillor tilted his head back, peering at her through his spectacles. His squinting eyes looked huge through the lenses. “Just how long is this going to take?” he asked.
Catt cleared her throat. “I’ve, uh, been working on that. Allowing time for holdups, we can’t evacuate everyone in less than twenty-three days.”
The room erupted with shouts of outrage, confusion, and alarm. “Twenty-three days!” the Councillors exclaimed. Fingers pointed at Riverwind. “But he said we’ve only got twenty!”
Paxina cupped her hands to her mouth. “Quiet down!” she hollered. “All of you, shut up!”
A sulking silence fell over the audience hall. “I don’t mean to be rude,” Merldon Metwinger asked, “but where are we going to get the other three days?”
“We’re not,” Riverwind said. “There will still be ten thousand people left in Kendermore when the ogres attack.” A low rumble rose among the Councillors again, but the Plainsman quickly raised his hands. “That isn’t all!” he shouted. “Listen to me!”
Reluctantly, the kender looked to him.
“We have to fight the ogres,” he said. “There isn’t any other choice. But my mistake, until now, has been assuming we can do it like humans and elves do-defending the city wall, as if Kendermore were Kalaman or the High Clerist’s Tower. It isn’t.
“If we do it right, however, we can beat the ogres. But you need to fight like kender, not humans. We can’t afford a face-to-face battle, but we can beat them other ways. If the Kender Flight goes as planned, the city will be nearly empty by the time the ogres attack. But they won’t know that, and we can use that to our advantage.”
The murmurs that erupted from the Councillors were more hopeful but still confused. “What are we supposed to do?” Merldon asked.
Kronn cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “actually the answer was my idea, although I didn’t know it at the time. Riverwind had to point it out to me. Thin
k about how Kendermore’s laid out, Merldon-streets going every which way, zigging where they should zag, stopping suddenly for no good reason, looping around on themselves. Honestly, it’s a mess. But that’s where we have the advantage. We can’t beat the ogres head-on, like Riverwind said, but if we can get them lost in the streets and use every dirty trick we’ve got, then we’ve got a chance at beating them.”
“What we need to do is block off the right roads and channel the ogres toward the middle of town,” Paxina said. “Then we have to hold them there long enough to destroy them.”
“Destroy them?” asked a young woman in the middle of the crowd. “How?”
Riverwind looked out over the Councillors, his eyes glinting in the lamplight. “You have to burn Kendermore,” he said. “You need to set fire to the city, then flee through the woods.”
For a second, every kender in the room was too stunned to speak.
“Great jumping Trapspringer’s ghost,” breathed Merldon Metwinger. “That’s insane.”
“Exactly,” Kronn replied, grinning. “Which means Kurthak won’t be expecting it.”
“It could work,” said a short, balding Councillor.
“It has to,” Paxina said emphatically. “While people are leaving through the tunnels, everyone else has to pitch in, preparing the trap. We can’t afford to have any doubts.”
Shouts of support and approval rang out through the audience hall. Fists and hoopaks waved in the air.
In the front of the crowd, Merldon Metwinger pursed his lips a moment, then raised his voice above the din. “What about Malys?” he asked.
Silence fell over the room like a landslide. A resurgence of dismay abruptly snuffed out the glee that had been kindling in the Councillors’ faces. The kender looked at one another uneasily, realizing they’d forgotten all about the dragon.
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