But Kit hadn’t come back to him. She had a “new lord.” Maybe that’s why he’d—
“Ho, Tanis!” The kender’s voice floated up to him.
“I’m coming,” he muttered.
The sun was just beginning to dip into the west when the companions reached the edge of the forest. Tanis figured they had at least three or four hours of daylight left. If the stag continued to lead them on smooth, clear trails, they might be able to get through this forest before darkness fell.
Sturm waited for them beneath the aspens, resting comfortably in the leafy, green shade. The companions left the meadow slowly, none of them in any hurry to enter the woods.
“The stag entered here,” Sturm said, rising to his feet and pointing into the tall grass.
Tanis saw no tracks. He took a drink of water from his nearly empty waterskin and stared into the forest. As Tasslehoff had said, the wood did not seem sinister. In fact, it looked cool and inviting after the harsh brilliance of the autumn sunshine.
“Maybe there’ll be some game in here,” Caramon said, rocking back on his heels. “Not stags, of course,” he added hastily. “Rabbits, maybe.”
“Shoot nothing. Eat nothing. Drink nothing in Darken Wood,” Raistlin whispered.
Tanis looked at the mage, whose hourglass eyes were dilated. The metallic skin shone a ghastly color in the strong sunlight. Raistlin leaned upon his staff, shivering as if from a chill.
“Children’s stories,” Flint muttered, but the dwarf’s voice lacked conviction. Although Tanis knew Raistlin’s flair for the dramatic, he had never seen the mage affected like this before.
“What do you sense, Raistlin?” he asked quietly.
“There is a great and powerful magic laid on this wood,” whispered Raistlin.
“Evil?” asked Tanis.
“Only to those who bring evil in with them,” the mage stated.
“Then you are the only one who need fear this forest,” Sturm told the mage coldly.
Caramon’s face flushed an ugly red; his hand fumbled for his sword. Sturm’s hand went to his blade. Tanis gripped Sturm’s arm as Raistlin touched his brother. The mage stared at the knight, his golden eyes glimmering.
“We shall see,” Raistlin said, the words nothing more than hissing sounds flicking between his teeth. “We shall see.” Then, leaning heavily upon his staff, Raistlin turned to his brother. “Coming?”
Caramon glared angrily at Sturm, then entered the wood, walking beside his twin. The others moved after them, leaving only Tanis and Flint standing in the long, waving grass.
“I’m getting too old for this, Tanis,” the dwarf said suddenly.
“Nonsense,” the half-elf replied, smiling. “You fought like a—”
“No, I don’t mean the bones or the muscles”—the dwarf looked at his gnarled hands—“though they’re old enough. I mean the spirit. Years ago, before the others were born, you and I would have walked into a magicked wood without giving it a second thought. Now …”
“Cheer up,” Tanis said. He tried to sound light, though he was deeply disturbed by the dwarf’s unusual somberness. He studied Flint closely for the first time since meeting outside Solace. The dwarf looked old, but then Flint had always looked old. His face, what could be seen through the mass of gray beard and moustaches and overhanging white eyebrows, was brown and wrinkled and cracked like old leather. The dwarf grumbled and complained, but then Flint had always grumbled and complained. The change was in the eyes. The fiery luster was gone.
“Don’t let Raistlin get to you,” Tanis said. “We’ll sit around the fire tonight and laugh at his ghost stories.”
“I suppose so.” Flint sighed. He was silent a moment, then said, “Someday I’ll slow you up, Tanis. I don’t ever want you to think, why do I put up with this grumbling old dwarf?”
“Because I need you, grumbling old dwarf,” Tanis said, putting his hand on the dwarf’s heavy-set shoulder. He motioned into the wood, after the others. “I need you, Flint. They’re all so … so young. You’re like a solid rock that I can set my back against as I wield my sword.”
Flint’s face flushed in pleasure. He tugged at his beard, then cleared his throat gruffly. “Yes, well, you were always sentimental. Come along. We’re wasting time. I want to get through this confounded forest as fast as possible.” Then he muttered, “Just glad it’s daylight.”
10
Darken Wood.
The dead walk. Raistlin’s magic.
The only thing Tanis felt on entering the forest was relief at being out of the glare of the autumn sun. The half-elf recalled all the legends he had heard about Darken Wood—stories of ghosts told around the fire at night—and he kept in mind Raistlin’s foreboding. But all Tanis felt was that the forest was so much more alive than any other he had ever entered.
There was no deathly hush as they had experienced earlier. Small animals chattered in the brush. Birds fluttered in the high branches above them. Insects with gaily colored wings flitted past. Leaves rustled and stirred, flowers swayed though no breeze touched them—as if the plants reveled in being alive.
All of the companions entered the forest with their hands on their weapons, wary and watchful and distrustful. After a time of trying to avoid making leaves crunch, Tas said it seemed “kind of silly,” and they relaxed—all except Raistlin.
They walked for about two hours, traveling at a smooth but rapid easy pace along a smooth and clear trail. Shadows lengthened as the sun made its downward slide. Tanis felt at peace in this forest. He had no fear that the awful, winged creatures could follow them here. Evil seemed out of place, unless, as Raistlin said, one brought one’s own evil into the wood. Tanis looked at the mage. Raistlin walked alone, his head bowed. The shadows of the forest trees seemed to gather thickly around the young mage. Tanis shivered and realized that the air was turning cool as the sun dropped below the treetops. It was time to begin thinking about making camp for the night.
Tanis pulled out Tasslehoff’s map to study it once more before the light faded. The map was of elven design and written across the forest in flowing script were the words “Darken Wood.” But the woods themselves were only vaguely outlined, and Tanis couldn’t be certain if the words pertained to this forest or one farther south. Raistlin must be wrong, Tanis decided—this can’t be Darken Wood. Or, if so, its evil was simply a product of the mage’s imagination. They walked on.
Soon it was twilight, that time of evening when the dying light makes everything most vivid and distinct. The companions began to lag. Raistlin limped, and his breath came in wheezing gasps. Sturm’s face turned ashen. The half-elf was just about to call a halt for the night when—as if anticipating his wishes—the trail led them right to a large, green glade. Clear water bubbled up from underground and trickled down smooth rocks to form a shallow brook. The glade was blanketed with thick, inviting grass; tall trees stood guard duty on the edges. As they saw the glade, the sun’s light reddened, then faded, and the misty shades of night crept around the trees.
“Do not leave the path,” Raistlin intoned as his companions started to enter the glade.
Tanis sighed. “Raistlin,” he said patiently—“we’ll be all right. The path is in plain sight, not ten feet away. Come on. You’ve got to rest. We all do. Look”—Tanis held out the map—“I don’t think this is Darken Wood. According to this—”
Raistlin ignored the map with disdain. The rest of the companions ignored the mage and, moving off the path, began setting up camp. Sturm sank down against a tree, his eyes closed in pain, while Caramon stared at the smaller, fleeting shadows with a hungry eye. At a signal from Caramon, Tasslehoff slipped off into the forest after firewood.
Watching them, the mage’s face twisted in a sardonic smile. “You are all fools. This is Darken Wood, as you will see before the night is ended.” He shrugged. “But, as you say, I need rest. However, I will not leave the path.” Raistlin sat down on the trail, his staff beside him.
Cara
mon flushed in embarrassment as he saw the others exchanging amused glances. “Aw, Raist,” the big man said, “join us. Tas has gone for wood and maybe I can shoot a rabbit.”
“Shoot nothing!” Raistlin actually spoke above a whisper, making everyone start. “Harm nothing in Darken Wood! Neither plant nor tree, bird nor animal!”
“I agree with Raistlin,” Tanis said. “We have to spend the night here and I don’t want to kill any animal in this forest if we don’t have to.”
“Elves never want to kill period,” Flint grumbled. “The magician scares us to death and you starve us. Well, if anything does attack us tonight, I hope it’s edible!”
“You and me both, dwarf.” Caramon heaved a sigh, went over to the creek, and began trying to assuage his hunger by drowning it.
Tasslehoff returned with firewood. “I didn’t cut it,” he assured Raistlin. “I just picked it up.”
But even Riverwind couldn’t make the wood catch fire. “The wood’s wet,” he stated finally and tossed his tinderbox back into his pack.
“We need light,” Flint said uneasily as night’s shadows closed in thickly. Sounds in the woods that had been innocent in the daytime now seemed sinister and threatening.
“Surely you do not fear children’s stories,” Raistlin hissed.
“No!” snapped the dwarf. “I just want to make certain the kender doesn’t rifle my pack in the dark.”
“Very well,” said Raistlin with unusual mildness. He spoke his word of command: “Shirak.” A pale, white light shone from the crystal on the tip of the mage’s staff. It was a ghostly light and did little to brighten the darkness. In fact, it seemed to emphasize the menace in the night.
“There, you have light,” the mage whispered softly. He thrust the bottom of the staff into the wet ground.
It was then Tanis realized his elven vision was gone. He should have been able to see the warm, red outlines of his companions, but they were nothing more than darker shadows against the starry darkness of the glade. The half-elf didn’t say anything to the others, but the peaceful feeling he had been enjoying was pierced by a sliver of fear.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Sturm offered heavily. “I shouldn’t sleep with this head wound, anyway. I once knew a man who did, he never woke up.”
“We’ll watch in twos,” Tanis said. “I’ll take first watch with you.”
The others opened packs and began making up beds on the grass, except for Raistlin. He remained sitting on the trail, the light of his staff shining on his bowed, hooded head. Sturm settled down beneath a tree. Tanis walked over to the brook and drank thirstily. Suddenly he heard a strangled cry behind him. He drew his sword and stood, all in one motion. The others had their weapons drawn. Only Raistlin sat, unmoving.
“Put your swords away,” he said. “They will do you no good. Only a weapon of powerful magic could harm these.”
An army of warriors surrounded them. That alone would have been enough to chill anyone’s blood. But the companions could have dealt with that. What they couldn’t handle was the horror that overwhelmed and numbed their senses. Each one recalled Caramon’s flippant comment: “I’ll fight the living any day of the week, but not the dead.”
These warriors were dead.
Nothing more than fleeting, fragile white light outlined their bodies. It was as if the human warmth that had been theirs while they lived lingered on horribly after death. The flesh had rotted away, leaving behind the body’s image as remembered by the soul. The soul apparently remembered other things, too. Each warrior was dressed in ancient, remembered armor. Each warrior carried remembered weapons that could inflict well-remembered death. But the undead needed no weapons. They could kill from fear alone, or by the touch of their grave-cold hands.
How can we fight these things? Tanis thought wildly, he who had never felt such fear in the face of flesh and blood enemies. Panic engulfed him, and he considered yelling for the others to turn and run for it.
Angrily, the half-elf forced himself to calm down, to get a grip on reality. Reality! He almost laughed at the irony. Running was useless; they would get lost, separated. They had to stay and deal with this—somehow. He began to walk toward the ghostly warriors. The dead said nothing, made no threatening moves. They simply stood, blocking the path. It was impossible to count them since some glimmered into being while others faded, only to return when their comrades dimmed. Not that it makes any difference, Tanis admitted to himself, feeling sweat chill his body. One of these undead warriors could kill all of us simply by lifting its hand.
As the half-elf drew nearer to the warriors, he saw a gleam of light—Raistlin’s staff. The mage, leaning on his staff, stood in front of the huddle of companions. Tanis came to stand beside him. The pale crystal light reflected on the mage’s face, making it seem nearly as ghostly as the faces of the dead before him.
“Welcome to Darken Wood, Tanis,” the mage said.
“Raistlin—” Tanis choked. He had to try more than once to get his dry throat to form a sound. “What are these—”
“Spectral minions,” the mage whispered without taking his eyes from them. “We are fortunate.”
“Fortunate?” Tanis repeated incredulously. “Why?”
“These are the spirits of men who gave their pledge to perform some task. They failed in that pledge, and it is their doom to keep performing the same task over and over until they win their release and find true rest in death.”
“How in the name of the Abyss does that make us fortunate?” Tanis whispered harshly, releasing his fear in anger. “Perhaps they pledged to rid the forest of all who entered!”
“That is possible”—Raistlin flickered a glance at the half-elf—“though I do not think it likely. We will find out.”
Before Tanis could react, the mage stepped away from the group and faced the spectres.
“Raist!” Caramon said in a strangled voice, starting to shove forward.
“Keep him back, Tanis,” Raistlin commanded harshly. “Our lives depend on this.”
Gripping the warrior’s arm, Tanis asked Raistlin, “What are you going to do?”
“I am going to cast a spell that will enable us to communicate with them. I will perceive their thoughts. They will speak through me.”
The mage threw his head back, his hood slipping off. He stretched out his arms and began to speak. “Ast bilak parbilakar. Suh tangus moipar?” he murmured, then repeated that phrase three times. As Raistlin spoke, the crowd of warriors parted and a figure more awesome and terrifying than the rest appeared. The spectre was taller than the rest and wore a shimmering crown. His pallid armor was richly decorated with dark jewels. His face showed the most terrible grief and anguish. He advanced upon Raistlin.
Caramon choked and averted his eyes. Tanis dared not speak or cry out, fearful of disturbing the mage and breaking the spell. The spectre raised a fleshless hand, reached out slowly to touch the young mage. Tanis trembled—the spectre’s touch meant certain death. But Raistlin, entranced, did not move. Tanis wondered if he even saw the chill hand coming toward his heart. Then Raistlin spoke.
“You who have been long dead, use my living voice to tell us of your bitter sorrow. Then give us leave to pass through this forest, for our purpose is not evil, as you will see if you read our hearts.”
The spectre’s hand halted abruptly. The pale eyes searched Raistlin’s face. Then, shimmering in the darkness, the spectre bowed before the mage. Tanis sucked in his breath; he had sensed Raistlin’s power, but this . .!
Raistlin returned the bow, then moved to stand beside the spectre. His face was nearly as pale as that of the ghostly figure next to him. The living dead and the dead living, Tanis thought, shuddering.
When Raistlin spoke, his voice was no longer the wheezing whispering of the fragile mage. It was deep and dark and commanding and rang through the forest. It was cold and hollow and might have come from below the ground. “Who are you who trespass in Darken Wood?”
Tanis tried to answer, but his throat had dried up completely. Caramon, next to him, couldn’t even lift his head. Then Tanis felt movement at his side. The kender! Cursing himself, he reached out to grab for Tasslehoff, but it was too late. The small figure, topknot dancing, ran out into the light of Raistlin’s staff and stood before the spectre.
Tasslehoff bowed respectfully. “I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” he said. “My friends”—he waved his small hand at the group—“call me Tas. Who are you?”
“It matters little,” the sepulchral voice intoned. “Know only that we are warriors from a time long forgotten.”
“Is it true that you broke a pledge and that’s how you come to be here?” Tas asked with interest.
“It is. We pledged to guard this land. Then came the smoldering mountain from the heavens. The land was ripped apart. Evil things crept out from the bowels of the earth and we dropped our swords and fled in terror until bitter death overtook us. We have been called to fulfill our oath, as evil once more stalks the land. And here will we remain until evil is driven back and balance is restored again.”
Suddenly Raistlin gave a shriek and flung back his head, his eyes rolling upward until the watching companions could see only the whites. His voice became a thousand voices crying out at once. This startled even the kender, who stepped back a pace and looked around uneasily for Tanis.
The spectre raised his hand in a commanding gesture, and the tumult ceased as though swallowed by the darkness. “My men demand to know the reason you enter Darken Wood. If it is for evil, you will find that you have brought evil upon yourselves, for you will not live to see the moons rise.”
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 12