The knight yanked the kender from his seat. He grabbed the oars and smoothly brought the boat around to where Caramon could get hold of the side.
Tanis helped the warrior climb in, then yelled to Sturm, “Pull!” The knight pulled on the oars with all his strength, leaning over backward as he thrust the oars deep into the water. The boat shot away from shore, accompanied by the howls of angry goblins. More arrows whizzed around the boat as Caramon, dripping wet, plopped down next to Tanis.
“Goblin target practice tonight,” Caramon muttered, pulling the arrow from his mail shirt. “We show up beautifully against the water.”
Tanis was fumbling for his dropped bow when he noticed Raistlin sitting up. “Take cover!” Tanis warned, and Caramon started to reach for his brother, but the mage, scowling at both of them, slipped his hand into a pouch on his belt. His delicate fingers drew out a handful of something as an arrow struck the seat next to him. Raistlin did not react. Tanis started to pull the mage down, then realized he was lost in the concentration necessary to a magic-user casting a spell. Disturbing him now might have drastic consequences, causing the mage to forget the spell or worse—to miscast the spell.
Tanis gritted his teeth and watched. Raistlin lifted his thin, frail hand and allowed the spell component he had taken from his pouch to fall slowly from between his fingers onto the deck of the boat. Sand, Tanis realized.
“Ast tasarak sinuralan krynawi,” Raistlin murmured, and then moved his right hand slowly in an arc parallel to the shore. Tanis looked back toward land. One by one, the goblins dropped their bows and toppled over, as though Raistlin were touching each in turn. The arrows ceased. Goblins farther away howled in rage and ran forward. But by that time, Sturm’s powerful strokes had carried the boat out of range.
“Good work, little brother!” Caramon said heartily. Raistlin blinked and seemed to return to the world, then the mage sank forward. Caramon caught him and held him for a moment. Then Raistlin sat up and sucked in a deep breath, which caused him to cough.
“I’ll be all right,” he whispered, withdrawing from Caramon.
“What did you do to them?” asked Tanis as he searched for enemy arrows to drop them overboard; goblins occasionally poisoned the arrowtips.
“I put them to sleep,” Raistlin hissed through teeth that clicked together with the cold. “And now I must rest.” He sank back against the side of the boat.
Tanis looked at the mage. Raistlin had, indeed, gained in power and skill. I wish I could trust him, the half-elf thought.
The boat moved across the star-filled lake. The only sounds to be heard were the soft, rhythmic splashing of the oars in the water and Raistlin’s dry, wracking cough. Tasslehoff uncorked the wineskin, which Flint had somehow retained on his wild dash, and tried to get the chilled, shivering dwarf to swallow a mouthful. But Flint, crouched at the bottom of the boat, could only shudder and stare out across the water.
Goldmoon sank deeper into her fur cape. She wore the soft doeskin breeches of her people with a fringed overskirt and belted tunic. Her boots were made of soft leather. Water had sloshed over the edge of the boat when Caramon had thrown Flint aboard. The water made the doeskin cling to her, and soon she was chilled and shivering.
“Take my cape,” Riverwind said in their language, starting to remove his bearskin cloak.
“No.” She shook her head. “You have been suffering from the fever. I never get sick, you know that. But”—she looked up at him and smiled—“you may put your arm around me, warrior. The heat from our bodies will warm us both.”
“Is that a royal command, Chieftain’s Daughter?” Riverwind whispered teasingly, drawing her close to him.
“It is,” she said, leaning against his strong body with a sigh of contentment. She looked up into the starry heavens, then stiffened and caught her breath in alarm.
“What is it?” Riverwind asked, staring up.
The others in the boat, although they had not understood the exchange, heard Goldmoon’s gasp and saw her eyes transfixed by something in the night sky.
Caramon poked his brother and said, “Raist, what is it? I don’t see anything.”
Raistlin sat up, cast back his hood, then coughed. When the spasm passed, he searched the night sky. Then he stiffened, and his eyes widened. Reaching out with his thin, bony hand, Raistlin clutched Tanis’s arm, holding onto it tightly as the half-elf involuntarily tried to pull away from the mage’s skeletal grip. “Tanis …” Raistlin wheezed, his breath nearly gone. “The constellations …”
“What?” Tanis was truly startled by the pallor of the mage’s metallic gold skin and the feverish luster of his strange eyes. “What about the constellations?”
“Gone!” rasped Raistlin and lapsed into a fit of coughing. Caramon put his arm around him, holding him close, almost as if the big man were trying to hold his brother’s frail body together. Raistlin recovered, wiped his mouth with his hand. Tanis saw that his fingers were dark with blood. Raistlin took a deep breath, then spoke.
“The constellation known as the Queen of Darkness and the one called Valiant Warrior. Both gone. She has come to Krynn, Tanis, and he has come to fight her. All the evil rumors we have heard are true. War, death, destruction …” His voice died in another fit of coughing.
Caramon held him. “C’mon, Raist,” he said soothingly. “Don’t get so worked up. It’s only a bunch of stars.”
“Only a bunch of stars,” Tanis repeated flatly. Sturm began to row again, pulling swiftly for the opposite bank.
6
Night in a cave.
Dissension. Tanis decides.
A chill wind began to blow across the lake. Storm clouds rolled across the sky from the north, obliterating the gaping black holes left by the fallen stars. The companions hunched down in the boat, pulling their cloaks tighter around them as the rain spattered down. Caramon joined Sturm at the oars. The big warrior tried to talk to the knight, but Sturm ignored him. He rowed in grim silence, occasionally muttering to himself in Solamnic.
“Sturm! There—between the great rocks to the left!” Tanis called out, pointing.
Sturm and Caramon pulled hard. The rain made sighting the landmark rocks difficult and, for a moment, it seemed that they had lost their way in the darkness. Then the rocks suddenly loomed ahead. Sturm and Caramon brought the boat around. Tanis sprang out over the side and pulled it to shore. Torrents of rain lashed down. The companions climbed from the boat, wet and chilled. They had to lift the dwarf out—Flint was stiff as a dead goblin from fear. Riverwind and Caramon hid the boat in the thick underbrush. Tanis led the rest up a rocky trail to a small opening in the cliff face.
Goldmoon looked at the opening dubiously. It seemed to be no more than a large crack in the surface of the cliff. Inside, however, the cave was large enough for all of them to stretch out comfortably.
“Nice home.” Tasslehoff glanced around. “Not much in the way of furniture.”
Tanis grinned at the kender. “It will do for the night. I don’t think even the dwarf will complain about this. If he does, we’ll send him back to sleep in the boat!”
Tas flashed his own smile back at the half-elf. It was good to see the old Tanis back. He had thought his friend unusually moody and indecisive, not the strong leader he had remembered from earlier days. Yet, now that they were on the road, the glint was back in the half-elf’s eyes. He had come out of his brooding shell and was taking charge, slipping back into his accustomed role. He needed this adventure to get his mind off his problems—whatever those might be. The kender, who had never been able to understand Tanis’s inner turmoil, was glad this adventure had come along.
Caramon carried his brother from the boat and laid him down as gently as he could on the soft warm sand that covered the floor of the cave while Riverwind started a fire. The wet wood crackled and spit, but soon caught fire. The smoke curled up toward the ceiling and drifted out through a crack. The Plainsman covered the cave’s entrance with brush and fallen t
ree branches, hiding the light of the fire and effectively keeping out the rain.
He fits in well, Tanis thought as he watched the barbarian work. He could almost be one of us. Sighing, the half-elf turned his attention to Raistlin. Kneeling down beside him, he looked at the young mage with concern. Raistlin’s pale face reflected in the flickering firelight reminded the half-elf of the time he and Flint and Caramon had barely rescued Raistlin from a vicious mob, intent on burning the mage at the stake. Raistlin had attempted to expose a charlatan cleric who was bilking the villagers out of their money. Instead of turning on the cleric, the villagers had turned on Raistlin. As Tanis had told Flint—people wanted to believe in something.
Caramon busied himself around his brother, placing his own heavy cloak over his shoulders. Raistlin’s body was wracked by coughing spasms, and blood trickled from his mouth. His eyes gleamed feverishly. Goldmoon knelt beside him, a cup of wine in her hand.
“Can you drink this?” she asked him gently.
Raistlin shook his head, tried to speak, coughed and pushed her hand away. Goldmoon looked up at Tanis. “Perhaps—my staff?” she asked.
“No.” Raistlin choked. He motioned for Tanis to come near him. Even sitting next to him, Tanis could barely hear the mage’s words; his broken sentences were interrupted by great gasps for air and fits of coughing. “The staff will not heal me, Tanis,” he whispered. “Do not waste it on me. If it is a blessed artifact … its sacred power is limited. My body was my sacrifice … for my magic. This damage is permanent. Nothing can help.…” His voice died, his eyes closed.
The fire suddenly flared as wind whirled around the cavern. Tanis looked up to see Sturm pulling the brush aside and entering the cave, half-carrying Flint, who stumbled along on unsteady feet. Sturm dumped him down beside the fire. Both were soaking wet. Sturm was clearly out of patience with the dwarf and, as Tanis noted, with the entire group. Tanis watched him with concern, recognizing the signs of a dark depression that sometimes overwhelmed the knight. Sturm liked the orderly, the well-disciplined. The disappearance of the stars, the disturbance of the natural order of things, had shaken him badly.
Tasslehoff wrapped a blanket around the dwarf who sat huddled on the cave floor, his teeth chattering in his head so that his helm rattled. “B-b-b-boat …” was all he could say. Tas poured him a cup of wine which the dwarf drank greedily.
Sturm looked at Flint in disgust. “I’ll take the first watch,” he said and moved toward the mouth of the cave.
Riverwind rose to his feet. “I will watch with you,” he said harshly.
Sturm froze, then turned slowly to face the tall Plainsman. Tanis could see the knight’s face, etched in sharp relief by the firelight, dark lines carved around the stern mouth. Although shorter in stature than Riverwind, the knight’s air of nobility and the rigidity of his stance made the two appear almost equal.
“I am a knight of Solamnia,” Sturm said. “My word is my honor and my honor is my life. I gave my word, back in the Inn, that I would protect you and your lady. If you choose to dispute my word, you dispute my honor and therefore you insult me. I cannot allow that insult to remain between us.”
“Sturm!” Tanis was on his feet.
Never taking his eyes from the Plainsman, the knight raised his hand. “Don’t interfere, Tanis,” Sturm said. “Well, what will it be, swords, knives? How do you barbarians fight?”
Riverwind’s stoic expression did not change. He regarded the knight with intense, dark eyes. Then he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “I did not mean to question your honor. I do not know men and their cities, and I tell you plainly—I am afraid. It is my fear that makes me speak thus. I have been afraid ever since the blue crystal staff was given to me. Most of all, I am afraid for Goldmoon.” The Plainsman looked over at the woman, his eyes reflecting the glowing fire. “Without her, I die. How could I trust—” His voice failed. The stoic mask cracked and crumbled from pain and weariness. His knees buckled and he pitched forward. Sturm caught him.
“You couldn’t,” the knight said. “I understand. You are tired, and you have been sick.” He helped Tanis lay the Plainsman at the back of the cave. “Rest now. I will stand watch.” The knight shoved aside the brush, and without saying another word, stepped outside into the rain.
Goldmoon had listened to the altercation in silence. Now she moved their meager possessions to the back of the cave and knelt down by Riverwind’s side. He put his arm around her and held her close, burying his face in her silver-gold hair. The two settled in the shadows of the cave. Wrapped in Riverwind’s fur cape, they were soon asleep, Goldmoon’s head resting on her warrior’s chest.
Tanis breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to Raistlin. The mage had fallen into a fitful sleep. Sometimes he murmured strange words in the language of magic, his hand reaching out to touch his staff. Tanis glanced around at the others. Tasslehoff was sitting near the fire, sorting through his “acquired” objects. He sat cross-legged, the treasures on the cave floor in front of him. Tanis could make out glittering rings, a few unusual coins, a feather from the goatsucker bird, pieces of twine, a bead necklace, a soap doll, and a whistle. One of the rings looked familiar. It was a ring of elven make, given Tanis a long time ago by someone he kept on the borders of his mind. It was a finely carved, delicate ring of golden, clinging ivy leaves.
Tanis crept over to the kender, walking softly to keep from waking the others. “Tas …” He tapped the kender on the shoulder and pointed. “My ring …”
“Is it?” asked Tasslehoff with wide-eyed innocence. “Is this yours? I’m glad I found it. You must have dropped it at the Inn.”
Tanis took the ring with a wry smile, then settled down next to the kender. “Have you got a map of this area, Tas?”
The kender’s eyes shone. “A map? Yes, Tanis. Of course.” He swept up all his valuables, dumped them back into a pouch, and pulled a hand-carved, wooden scroll case from another pouch. He drew forth a sheaf of maps. Tanis had seen the kender’s collection before, but it never failed to astonish him. There must have been a hundred, drawn on everything from fine parchment to soft kid leather to a huge palmetto leaf.
“I thought you knew every tree personally around these parts, Tanis.” Tasslehoff sorted through his maps, his eyes occasionally lingering on a favorite.
The half-elf shook his head. “I’ve lived here many years,” he said. “But, let’s face it, I don’t know any of the dark and secret paths.”
“You won’t find many to Haven.” Tas pulled a map from his pile and smoothed it out on the cave floor. “The Haven Road through Solace Vale is quickest, that’s for certain.”
Tanis studied the map by the light of the dying campfire. “You’re right,” he said. “The road is not only quickest—it seems to be the only passable route for several miles ahead. Both south and north of us lie the Kharolis Mountains—no passes there.” Frowning, Tanis rolled up the map and handed it back. “Which is exactly what the Theocrat will figure.”
Tasslehoff yawned. “Well,” he said, putting the map back carefully into the case, “it’s a problem that will be solved by wiser heads than mine. I’m along for the fun.” Tucking the case back into a pouch, the kender lay down on the cave floor, drew his legs up beneath his chin, and was soon sleeping the peaceful sleep of small children and animals.
Tanis looked at him with envy. Although aching with weariness, he couldn’t relax enough for sleep. Most of the others had dropped off, all but the warrior watching over his brother. Tanis walked over to Caramon.
“Turn in,” he whispered. “I’ll watch Raistlin.”
“No,” the big warrior said. Reaching out, he gently pulled a cloak up closer around his brother’s shoulders. “He might need me.”
“But you’ve got to get some sleep.”
“I will.” Caramon grinned. “Go get some sleep yourself, nursemaid. Your children are fine. Look—even the dwarf is out cold.”
“I don’t have to look,” Tanis sai
d. “The Theocrat can probably hear him snoring in Solace. Well, my friend, this reunion was not much like we planned five years ago.”
“What is?” Caramon asked softly, glancing down at his brother.
Tanis patted the man’s arm, then lay down and rolled up in his own cloak and, at last, fell asleep.
The night passed—slowly for those on watch, swiftly for those asleep. Caramon relieved Sturm. Tanis relieved Caramon. The storm continued unabated all night, the wind whipping the lake into a white-capped sea. Lightning branched through the darkness like flaming trees. Thunder rumbled continually. The storm finally blew itself out by morning, and the half-elf watched day dawn, gray and chill. The rain had ended, but storm clouds still hung low. No sun appeared in the sky. Tanis felt a growing sense of urgency. He could see no end to the storm clouds massing to the north. Autumn storms were rare, especially ones with this ferocity. The wind was bitter, too, and it seemed odd that the storm came out of the north, when they generally swept east, across the Plains. Sensitive to the ways of nature, the strange weather upset Tanis nearly as much as Raistlin’s fallen stars. He felt a need to get going, even though it was early morning yet. He went inside to wake the others.
The cave was chill and gloomy in the gray dawn, despite the crackling fire. Goldmoon and Tasslehoff were fixing breakfast. Riverwind stood in the back of the cave, shaking out Goldmoon’s fur cloak. Tanis glanced at him. The Plainsman had been about to say something to Goldmoon as Tanis entered, but fell silent, contenting himself with staring at her meaningfully as he continued his work. Goldmoon kept her eyes lowered, her face pale and troubled. The barbarian regrets having let himself go last night, Tanis realized.
“There is not much food, I’m afraid,” Goldmoon said, tossing cereal into a pot of boiling water.
“Tika’s larder wasn’t well stocked,” Tasslehoff added in apology. “We’ve got a loaf of bread, some dried beef, half a moldy cheese, and the oatmeal. Tika must eat her meals out.”
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 7