“According to humans, half an elf is but part of a whole being. Half a man is a cripple.”
Riverwind considered this, finally nodded once, abruptly, and answered Tanis’s question.
“I wandered many long years,” he replied. “Often I had no idea where I was. I followed the sun and the moons and the stars. My last journey is like a dark dream.” He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was as if he were talking from some great distance. “It was a city once beautiful, with white buildings supported by tall columns of marble. But it is now as if some great hand had picked up the city and cast it down a mountainside. The city is now very old and very evil.”
“Death on black wings,” Tanis said softly.
“It rose like a god from the darkness, its creatures worshiped it, shrieking and howling.” The Plainsman’s face paled beneath his sun-baked skin. He was sweating in the chill morning air. “I can speak of it no more!” Goldmoon laid her hand on his arm, and the tension in his face eased.
“And out of the horror came a woman who gave you the staff?” Tanis pursued.
“She healed me,” Riverwind said simply. “I was dying.”
Tanis stared intently at the staff Goldmoon held in her hand. It was just a plain, ordinary staff that he never noticed until his attention was called to it. A strange device was carved on the top, and feathers—such as the barbarians admire—were tied around it. Yet he had seen it glow blue! He had felt its healing powers. Was this a gift from ancient gods—come to aid them in their time of need? Or was it evil? What did he know of these barbarians anyway? Tanis thought about Raistlin’s claim that the staff could only be touched by those pure of heart. He shook his head. It sounded good. He wanted to believe it.…
Tanis, lost in thought, felt Goldmoon touch his arm. He looked up to see Sturm and Caramon signaling. The half-elf suddenly realized he and the Plainsmen had fallen far behind the others. He broke into a run.
“What is it?”
Sturm pointed. “The scout returns,” he said dryly.
Tasslehoff was running down the road toward them. He waved his arm three times.
“Into the brush!” Tanis ordered. The group hurriedly left the road and plunged into the bushes and scrub trees growing along the south edge, all except Sturm.
“Come on!” Tanis put his hand on the knight’s arm. Sturm pulled away from the half-elf.
“I will not hide in a ditch!” the knight stated coldly.
“Sturm—” Tanis began, fighting to control his rising anger. He choked back bitter words that would do no good and might cause irreparable harm. Instead, he turned from the knight, his lips compressed, and waited in grim silence for the kender.
Tas came dashing up, pouches and packs bouncing wildly as he ran. “Clerics!” he gasped. “A party of clerics. Eight.”
Sturm sniffed. “I thought it was a battalion of goblin guards at the least. I believe we can handle a party of clerics.”
“I don’t know,” Tasslehoff said, dubiously. “I’ve seen clerics from every part of Krynn and I’ve never seen any like these.” He glanced down the road apprehensively, then gazed up at Tanis, unusual seriousness in his brown eyes. “Do you remember what Tika said about the strange men in Solace—hanging around with Hederick? How they were hooded and dressed in heavy robes? Well, that describes these clerics exactly! And, Tanis, they gave me an eerie feeling.” The kender shuddered. “They’ll be in sight in a few moments.”
Tanis glanced at Sturm. The knight raised his eyebrows. Both of them knew that kenders did not feel the emotion of fear, yet were extremely sensitive to other creatures’ natures. Tanis couldn’t remember when the sight of any being on Krynn had ever given Tas an “eerie feeling”—and he had been with the kender in some tight spots.
“Here they come,” Tanis said suddenly. He and Sturm and Tas moved back into the shadows of the trees to the left, watching as the clerics slowly rounded a bend in the road. They were too far away for the half-elf to be able to tell much about them, except that they were moving very slowly, dragging a large handcart behind them.
“Maybe you should talk to them, Sturm,” Tanis said softly. “We need information about the road ahead. But be careful, my friend.”
“I’ll be careful.” Sturm said, smiling. “I have no intention of throwing my life away needlessly.”
The knight gripped Tanis’s arm a moment in silent apology, then dropped his hand to loosen his sword in its antique scabbard. He walked across to the other side of the road and leaned up against a broken-down wooden fence, head bowed, as though resting. Tanis stood a moment, irresolute, then turned and made his way through the brush, Tasslehoff at his heels.
“What is it?” Caramon grunted as Tanis and Tas appeared. The big warrior shifted his girth, causing his arsenal of weapons to clank loudly. The rest of the companions were huddled together, concealed behind thick clumps of brush, yet able to get a clear view of the road.
“Hush.” Tanis knelt down between Caramon and Riverwind, who crouched in the brush a few feet to Tanis’s left. “Clerics,” he whispered. “A group of them coming down the road. Sturm’s going to question them.”
“Clerics!” Caramon snorted derisively and settled back comfortably on his heels. But Raistlin stirred restlessly.
“Clerics,” he whispered thoughtfully. “I do not like this.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tanis.
Raistlin peered at the half-elf from the dark shadows of his hood. All Tanis could see were the mage’s golden hourglass eyes, narrow slits of cunning and intelligence.
“Strange clerics,” Raistlin spoke with elaborate patience, as one speaks to a child. “The staff has healing, clerical powers—such powers as have not been seen on Krynn since the Cataclysm! Caramon and I saw some of these cloaked and hooded men in Solace. Don’t you find it odd, my friend, that these clerics and this staff turned up at the same time, in the same place, when neither has been seen before? Perhaps this staff is truly theirs—by right.”
Tanis glanced at Goldmoon. Her face was shadowed with worry. Surely she must be wondering the same thing. He looked back at the road again. The cloaked figures were moving at a crawling pace, pulling the cart. Sturm sat on the fence, stroking his moustaches.
The companions waited in silence. Gray clouds massed overhead, the sky grew darker and soon water began to drip through the branches of the trees.
“There, it’s raining,” Flint grumbled. “It isn’t enough that I have to squat in a bush like a toad, now I get soaked to the skin—”
Tanis glared at the dwarf. Flint mumbled and fell silent. Soon the companions could hear nothing but the rain splatting against the already wet leaves, drumming on shield and helm. It was a cold, steady rain, the kind that seeps through the thickest cloak. It ran off Caramon’s dragon helm and trickled down his neck. Raistlin began to shiver and cough, covering his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound as everyone stared at him in alarm.
Tanis looked out to the road. Like Tas, he had never seen anything to compare to these clerics in his hundred years of life on Krynn. They were tall, about six feet in height. Long robes shrouded their bodies, hooded cloaks covered the robes. Even their feet and hands were wrapped in cloth, like bandages covering leprous wounds. As they neared Sturm, they glanced around warily. One of them stared straight into the brush where the companions were hiding. They could see only dark glittering eyes through a swath of cloth.
“Hail, Knight of Solamnia,” the lead cleric said in the Common tongue. His voice was hollow, lisping, an inhuman voice. Tanis shivered.
“Greetings, brethren,” Sturm answered, also in Common. “I have traveled many miles this day and you are the first travelers I have passed. I have heard strange rumors, and I seek information about the road ahead. Where do you come from?”
“We come from the east originally,” the cleric answered. “But today we travel from Haven. It is a chill, bitter day for journeying, knight, which is perhaps why you find the road e
mpty. We ourselves would not undertake such a journey save we are driven by necessity. We did not pass you on the road, so you must be traveling from Solace, Sir Knight.”
Sturm nodded. Several of the clerics standing at the rear of the cart turned their hooded faces toward each other, muttering. The lead cleric spoke to them in a strange, guttural language. Tanis looked at his companions. Tasslehoff shook his head, as did the rest of them; none of them had heard it before. The cleric switched back to Common. “I am curious to hear these rumors you speak of, knight.”
“There is talk of armies in the north,” Sturm replied. “I am traveling that way, to my homeland of Solamnia. I would not want to run into a war to which I had not been invited.”
“We have not heard these rumors,” the cleric answered. “So far as we know, the road to the north is clear.”
“Ah, that’s what comes of listening to drunken companions.” Sturm shrugged. “But what is this necessity you speak of that drives the brethren out into such foul weather?”
“We seek a staff,” the cleric answered readily. “A blue crystal staff. We heard that it had been sighted in Solace. Do you know aught of it?”
“Yes,” Sturm answered. “I heard of such a staff in Solace. I heard of the armies to the north from the same companions. Am I to believe these stories or not?”
This appeared to confound the cleric for a moment. He glanced around, as if uncertain how to react.
“Tell me,” said Sturm, lounging back against the fence, “why do you seek a blue crystal staff? Surely one of plain, sturdy wood would suit you reverend gentlemen better.”
“It is a sacred staff of healing,” the cleric replied gravely. “One of our brothers is sorely ill; he will die without the blessed touch of this holy relic.”
“Healing?” Sturm raised his eyebrows. “A sacred staff of healing would be of great value. How did you come to misplace such a rare and wonderful object?”
“We did not misplace it!” the cleric snarled. Tanis saw the man’s wrapped hands clench in anger. “It was stolen from our holy order. We tracked the foul thief to a barbarian village in the Plains, then lost his trail. There are rumors of strange doings in Solace, however, and it is there we go.” He gestured to the back of the cart. “This dismal journey is but little sacrifice for us compared to the pain and agony our brother endures.”
“I’m afraid I cannot help—” Sturm began.
“I can help you!” called a clear voice from beside Tanis. He reached out, but he was too late. Goldmoon had risen from the brush and was walking determinedly to the road, pushing aside tree branches and brambles. Riverwind jumped to his feet and crashed through the shrubbery after her.
“Goldmoon!” Tanis risked a piercing whisper.
“I must know!” was all she said.
The clerics, hearing Goldmoon’s voice, glanced at each other knowingly, nodding their hooded heads. Tanis sensed trouble, but before he could say anything, Caramon jumped to his feet.
“The Plainsmen are not leaving me behind in a ditch while they have all the fun!” Caramon stated, plunging through the thicket after Riverwind.
“Has everyone gone mad?” Tanis growled. He grabbed Tasslehoff by his shirt collar, dragging the kender back as he was about to leap joyfully after Caramon. “Flint, watch the kender. Raistlin—”
“No need to worry about me, Tanis,” the mage whispered. “I have no intention of going out there.”
“Right. Well, stay here.” Tanis rose to his feet and slowly started forward, an “eerie feeling” creeping over him.
8
Search for truth.
Unexpected answers.
I can help you.” Goldmoon’s clear voice rang out like a pure, silver bell. The Chieftain’s Daughter saw Sturm’s shocked face; she understood Tanis’s warning.
But this was not the act of a foolish, hysterical woman. Goldmoon was far from that. She had ruled her tribe in all but name for ten years, ever since sickness had struck her father like a lightning bolt, leaving him unable to speak clearly or to move his right arm and leg. She had led her people in times of war with neighboring tribes and in times of peace. She had confounded attempts to wrest her power from her. She knew that what she was doing now was dangerous. These strange clerics filled her with loathing. But they obviously knew something about this staff, and she had to know the answer.
“I am the bearer of the blue crystal staff,” Goldmoon said, approaching the leader of the clerics, her head held proudly. “But we did not steal it; the staff was given to us.”
Riverwind stepped to one side of her, Sturm to the other. Caramon came charging through the brush and stood behind her, his hand on his sword hilt, an eager grin on his face.
“So you say,” the cleric said in a soft, sneering voice. He stared at the plain brown staff in her hand with avid, black, gleaming eyes, then reached out his wrapped hand to take it. Goldmoon swiftly clasped the staff to her body.
“The staff was carried out of a place of great evil,” she said. “I will do what I can to help your dying brother, but I will not relinquish this staff to you or to anyone else until I am firmly convinced of your rightful claim to it.”
The cleric hesitated, glanced back at his fellows. Tanis saw them make nervous, tentative gestures toward the wide cloth belts they wore tied around their flowing robes. Unusually wide belts, Tanis noticed, with strange bulges beneath them—not, he was sure, made by prayer books. He swore in frustration, wishing Sturm and Caramon were paying attention. But Sturm seemed completely relaxed and Caramon was nudging him as though sharing a private joke. Tanis raised his bow cautiously and put an arrow to the string.
The cleric finally bowed his head in submission, folding his hands in his sleeves. “We will be grateful for whatever aid you can give our poor brother,” he said, his voice muffled. “And then I hope you and your companions will return with us to Haven. I promise you that you will be convinced that the staff has come into your possession wrongly.”
“We’ll go where we’ve a mind to, brother,” Caramon growled.
Fool! Tanis thought. The half-elf considered shouting a warning, then decided to remain hidden in case his growing fears were realized.
Goldmoon and the leader of the cloaked men passed the cart, Riverwind next to her. Caramon and Sturm remained near the front of it, watching with interest. As Goldmoon and the cleric reached the back, the cleric put out a wrapped hand and drew Goldmoon toward the cart. She pulled away from his touch and stepped forward by herself. The cleric bowed humbly, then lifted up a cloth covering the back of the cart. Holding the staff in front of her, Goldmoon peered in.
Tanis saw a flurry of movement. Goldmoon screamed. There was a flash of blue light and a cry. Goldmoon sprang backward as Riverwind jumped in front of her. The cleric lifted a horn to his lips and blew long, wailing notes.
“Caramon! Sturm!” Tanis called, raising his bow. “It’s a tra—” A great weight dropped on the half-elf from above, knocking him to the ground. Strong hands groped for his throat, shoving his face deep into the wet leaves and mud. The man’s fingers found their hold and began squeezing. Tanis fought to breathe, but his nose and mouth were filled with mud. Seeing starbursts, he tore frantically at the hands that were trying to crush his windpipe. The man’s grip was incredibly strong. Tanis felt himself losing consciousness. He tensed his muscles for one final, desperate struggle, then he heard a hoarse cry and a bone-crushing thump. The hands relaxed their grip and the heavy weight was dragged off him.
Tanis staggered to his knees, his breath coming in painful gasps. Wiping mud from his face, he looked up to see Flint with a log in his hand. But the dwarf’s eyes were not on him. They were on the body at his feet.
Tanis followed the astonished dwarf’s gaze, and the halfelf recoiled in horror. It wasn’t a man! Leathery wings sprang from its back. It had the scaly flesh of a reptile; its large hands and feet were clawed, but it walked upright in the manner of men. The creature wore sophisticated arm
or that allowed it the use of its wings. It was the creature’s face, however, that made him shudder, it was not the face of any living being he had ever seen before, either on Krynn or in his darkest nightmares. The creature had the face of a man, but it was as if some malevolent being had twisted it into that of a reptile!
“By all the gods,” Raistlin breathed, creeping up to Tanis. “What is that?”
Before Tanis could answer, he saw out of the corner of his eye a brilliant flash of blue light and he heard Goldmoon calling.
For one instant, as Goldmoon had looked into the cart, she had wondered what terrible disease could turn a man’s flesh into scales. She had moved forward to touch the pitiful cleric with her staff, but at that moment the creature sprang out at her, grasping for the staff with a clawed hand. Goldmoon stumbled backward, but the creature was swift and its clawed hand closed around the staff. There was a blinding flash of blue light. The creature shrieked in pain and fell back, wringing its blackened hand. Riverwind, sword drawn, had leaped in front of his Chieftain’s Daughter.
But now she heard him gasp and she saw his sword arm drop weakly. He staggered backward, making no effort to defend himself. Rough wrapped hands grabbed her from behind. A horrible scaled hand was clapped over her mouth. Struggling to free herself, she caught a glimpse of Riverwind. He was staring wide-eyed in terror at the thing in the cart, his face deathly white, his breathing swift and shallow—a man who wakes from a nightmare to discover it is reality.
Goldmoon, strong child of a warrior race, kicked backward at the cleric holding her, her foot aiming for his knee. Her skillful kick caught her opponent off guard and crushed his kneecap. The instant the cleric eased his grip on her, Goldmoon whirled around and struck him with her staff. She was amazed to see the cleric slump to the ground, seemingly felled by a blow even the mighty Caramon might have envied. She looked at her staff in astonishment, the staff that now glowed a bright blue. But there was no time to wonder—other creatures surrounded her. She swung her glistening staff in a wide arc, holding them at bay. But for how long?
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 9