“You have summoned us?” the leader asked the Forestmaster.
“These guests of mine have urgent business to the east. I bid you bear them with the swiftness of the winds across the Eastwall Mountains.”
The pegasus regarded the companions with astonishment. He walked with stately mien over to stare first at one, then another. When Tas raised his hand to pet the steed’s nose, both of the animal’s ears swiveled forward and he reared his great head back. But when he got to Flint, he snorted in disgust and turned to the Forestmaster. “A kender? Humans? And a dwarf!”
“Don’t do me any favors, horse!” Flint sneezed.
The Forestmaster merely nodded and smiled. The pegasus bowed in reluctant assent. “Very well, Master,” he replied. With powerful grace, he walked over to Goldmoon and started to bend his foreleg, dipping low before her to assist her in mounting.
“No, do not kneel, noble animal,” she said. “I have ridden horses since before I could walk. I need no such assistance.” Handing Riverwind her staff, Goldmoon threw her arm around the pegasus’s neck and pulled herself astride his broad back. Her silver-gold hair blew feathery white in the moonlight, her face was pure and cold as marble. Now she truly looked like the princess of a barbarian tribe.
She took her staff from Riverwind. Raising it in the air, she lifted her voice in song. Riverwind, his eyes shining with admiration, leaped up behind her on the back of the winged horse. Putting his arms around her, he added his deep baritone voice to hers.
Tanis had no idea what they were singing, but it seemed a song of victory and triumph. It stirred his blood and he would have willingly joined in. One of the pegasi cantered up to him. He pulled himself up and settled himself on his broad back, sitting in front of the powerful wings.
Now all the companions, caught up in the elation of the moment, mounted, Goldmoon’s song adding wings to their souls as the pegasi spread their huge wings and caught the wind currents. They soared higher and higher, circling above the forest. The silver moon and the red bathed the valley below and the clouds above in an eerie, beautiful, purplish glow that receded into a deeper purple night. As the forest fell away from them, the last thing the companions saw was the Forestmaster, glimmering like a star fallen from the heavens, shining lost and alone in a darkening land.
One by one, the companions felt drowsiness overcome them.
Tasslehoff fought this magically induced sleep longest. Enchanted by the rush of wind against his face, spellbound by the sight of the tall trees that normally loomed over him reduced to child’s toys, Tas struggled to remain awake long after everyone else. Flint’s head rested against his back, the dwarf snoring loudly. Goldmoon was cradled in Riverwind’s arms. His head drooped over her shoulder. Even in his sleep, he held her protectively. Caramon slumped over his horse’s neck, breathing stentoriously. His brother rested against his twin’s broad back. Sturm slept peacefully, the lines of pain gone from his face. Even Tanis’s bearded face was clear of care and worry and responsibility.
Tas yawned. “No,” he mumbled, blinking rapidly and pinching himself.
“Rest now, little kender,” his pegasus said in amusement. “Mortals were not meant to fly. This sleep is for your protection. We do not want you to panic and fall off.”
“I won’t,” Tas protested, yawning again. His head sank forward. The pegasus’s neck was warm and comfortable, the fur was fragrant and soft. “I won’t panic,” Tas whispered sleepily. “Never panic …” He slept.
The half-elf woke with a start to find that he was lying in a grassy meadow. The leader of the pegasi stood above him, staring off to the east. Tanis sat up.
“Where are we?” he began. “This isn’t a city.” He looked around. “Why—we haven’t even crossed the mountains yet!”
“I am sorry.” The pegasus turned to him. “We could not take you as far as the Eastwall Mountains. There is great trouble brewing in the east. A darkness fills the air, such a darkness as I have not felt in Krynn for countless—” He stopped, lowered his head and pawed the ground restlessly. “I dare not travel farther.”
“Where are we?” the confused half-elf repeated. “And where are the other pegasi?”
“I sent them home. I remained to guard your sleep. Now that you are awake, I must return home as well.” The pegasus gazed sternly at Tanis. “I know not what awakened this great evil on Krynn. I trust it was not you and your companions.”
He spread his great wings.
“Wait!” Tanis scrambled to his feet. “What—”
The pegasus leaped into the air, circled twice, then was gone, flying rapidly back to the west.
“What evil?” Tanis asked glumly. He sighed and looked around. His companions were sleeping soundly, lying on the ground around him in various poses of slumber. He studied the horizon, trying to get his bearings. It was nearly dawn, he realized. The sun’s light was just beginning to illuminate the east. He was standing on a flat prairie. There was not a tree in sight, nothing but rolling fields of tall grass as far as he could see.
Wondering what the pegasus had meant about trouble to the east, Tanis sat down to watch the sun rise and wait for his friends to wake. He wasn’t particularly worried about where he was, for he guessed Riverwind knew this land down to the last blade of grass. So he stretched out on the ground, facing the east, feeling more relaxed after that strange sleep than he had in many nights.
Suddenly he sat upright, his relaxed feeling gone, a tightness clutching at his throat like an unseen hand. For there, snaking up to meet the bright new morning sun, were three thick, twisting columns of greasy, black smoke. Tanis stumbled to his feet. He ran over and shook Riverwind gently, trying to wake the Plainsman without disturbing Goldmoon.
“Hush,” Tanis whispered, putting a warning finger on his lips and nodding toward the sleeping woman as Riverwind blinked at the half-elf. Seeing Tanis’s dark expression, the barbarian was instantly awake. He stood up quietly and moved off with Tanis, glancing around him.
“What’s this?” he whispered. “We’re in the Plains of Abanasinia. Still about a half day’s journey from the Eastwall Mountains. My village lies to the east—”
He stopped as Tanis pointed silently eastward. Then he gave a shallow, ragged cry as he saw the smoke curling into the sky. Goldmoon jerked awake. She sat up, gazed at Riverwind sleepily, then with growing alarm. Turning, she followed his horrified stare.
“No,” she moaned. “No!” she cried again. Quickly rising, she began to gather their possessions. The others woke at her cry.
“What is it?” Caramon jumped up.
“Their village,” Tanis said softly, gesturing with his hand. “It’s burning. Apparently the armies are moving quicker than we thought.”
“No,” said Raistlin. “Remember—the draconian clerics mentioned they had traced the staff to a village in the Plains.”
“My people,” Goldmoon murmured, energy draining from her. She slumped in Riverwind’s arms, staring at the smoke. “My father …”
“We’d better get going.” Caramon glanced around uneasily. “We show up like a jewel in a gypsy dancer’s navel.”
“Yes,” Tanis said. “We’ve definitely got to get out of here. But where do we go?” he asked Riverwind.
“Que-shu,” Goldmoon’s tone allowed no contradiction. “It’s on our way. The Eastwall Mountains are just beyond my village.” She started through the tall grass.
Tanis glanced at Riverwind.
“Marulina!” the Plainsman called out to her. Running forward, he caught hold of Goldmoon’s arm. “Nikh pat-takh merilar!” he said sternly.
She stared up at him, her eyes blue and cold as the morning sky. “No,” she said resolutely, “I am going to our village. It is our fault if something has happened. I don’t care if there are thousands of those monsters waiting. I will die with our people, as I should have done.” Her voice failed her. Tanis, watching, felt his heart ache with pity.
Riverwind put his arm around her and t
ogether they began walking toward the rising sun.
Caramon cleared his throat. “I hope I do meet a thousand of those things,” he muttered, hoisting his and his brother’s packs. “Hey,” he said in astonishment. “They’re full.” He peered in his pack. “Provisions. Several days’ worth. And my sword’s back in my scabbard!”
“At least that’s one thing we won’t have to worry about,” Tanis said grimly. “You all right, Sturm?”
“Yes,” the knight answered. “I feel much better after that sleep.”
“Right, then. Let’s go. Flint, where’s Tas?” Turning, Tanis nearly fell over the kender who had been standing right behind him.
“Poor Goldmoon,” Tas said softly. Tanis patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as we fear,” the half-elf said, following the Plainsmen through the rippling grass. “Maybe the warriors fought them off and those are victory fires.”
Tasslehoff sighed and looked up at Tanis, his brown eyes wide. “You’re a rotten liar, Tanis,” the kender said. He had the feeling it was going to be a very long day.
Twilight. The pale sun set. Shafts of yellow and tan streaked the western sky, then faded into dreary night. The companions sat huddled around a fire that offered no warmth, for there existed no flame on Krynn that would drive the chill from their souls. They did not speak to each other, but each sat staring into the fire, trying to make some sense of what they had seen, trying to make sense of the senseless.
Tanis had lived through much that was horrible in his life. But the ravaged town of Que-shu would always stand out in his mind as a symbol of the horrors of war.
Even so, remembering Que-shu, he could only grasp fleeting images, his mind refusing to encompass the total awful vision. Oddly enough, he remembered the melted stones of Que-shu. He remembered them vividly. Only in his dreams did he recall the twisted and blackened bodies that lay among the smoking stones.
The great stone walls, the huge stone temples and edifices, the spacious stone buildings with their rock courtyards and statuary, the large stone arena—all had melted, like butter on a hot summer day. The rock still smoldered, though it was obvious that the village must have been attacked well over a sunrise ago. It was as if a white-hot, searing flame had engulfed the entire village. But what fire was there on Krynn that could melt rock?
He remembered a creaking sound, remembered hearing it and being puzzled by it, and wondering what it was until locating the source of the only sound in the deathly still town became an obsession. He ran through the ruined village until he located the source. He remembered that he shouted to the others until they came. They stood staring into the melted arena.
Huge stone blocks had poured down from the side of the bowl-shaped depression, forming molten ripples of rock around the bottom of the dish. In the center—on grass that was blackened and charred—stood a crude gibbet. Two stout posts had been driven into the burned ground by unspeakable force, their bases splintered by the impact. Ten feet above the ground, a crosspiece pole was lashed to the two posts. The wood was charred and blistered. Scavenger birds perched on the top. Three chains, made of what appeared to be iron before it had melted and run together, swung back and forth. This was the cause of the creaking sound. Suspended from each chain, apparently by the feet, was a corpse. The corpses were not human; they were hobgoblin. On top of the gruesome structure was a shield stuck to the crosspiece with a broken swordblade. Roughly clawed on the battered shield were words written in a crude form of Common.
“This is what happens to those who take prisoners against my commands. Kill or be killed.” It was signed, Verminaard.
Verminaard. The name meant nothing to Tanis.
Other images. He remembered Goldmoon standing in the center of her father’s ruined house trying to put back together the pieces of a broken vase. He remembered a dog—the only living thing they found in the entire village—curled around the body of a dead child. Caramon stopped to pet the small dog. The animal cringed, then licked the big man’s hand. It then licked the child’s cold face, looking up at the warrior hopefully, expecting this human to make everything all right, to make his little playmate run and laugh again. He remembered Caramon stroking the dog’s soft fur with his huge hands.
He remembered Riverwind picking up a rock, holding it, aimlessly, as he stared around his burned and blasted village.
He remembered Sturm, standing transfixed before the gibbet, staring at the sign, and he remembered the knight’s lips moving as though in prayer or perhaps a silent vow.
He remembered the sorrow-lined face of the dwarf, who had seen so much tragedy in his long lifetime, as he stood in the center of the ruined village, patting Tasslehoff gently on the back after finding the kender sobbing in a corner.
He remembered Goldmoon’s frantic search for survivors. She crawled through the blackened rubble, screaming out names, listening for faint answers to her calls until she was hoarse and Riverwind finally convinced her it was hopeless. If there were any survivors, they had long since fled.
He remembered standing alone, in the center of the town, looking at piles of dust with arrow heads in them, and recognizing them as bodies of draconians.
He remembered a cold hand touching his arm and the mage’s whispering voice. “Tanis, we must leave. There is nothing more we can do and we must reach Xak Tsaroth. Then we will have our revenge.”
And so they left Que-shu. They traveled far into the night, none of them wanting to stop, each wanting to push his body to the point of exhaustion so that, when they finally slept, there would be no evil dreams.
But the dreams came anyway.
13
Chill dawn. Vine bridges.
Dark water.
Tanis felt clawed hands clutching at his throat. He struggled and fought, then woke to find Riverwind bending over him in the darkness, shaking him roughly.
“What …?” Tanis sat up.
“You were dreaming,” the Plainsman said grimly. “I had to wake you. Your shouts would draw an army down on us.”
“Yes, thanks,” Tanis muttered. “I’m sorry.” He sat up, trying to shake off the nightmare. “What time is it?”
“Still several hours till dawn,” Riverwind said wearily. He returned to where he had been sitting, his back against the trunk of a twisted tree. Goldmoon lay sleeping on the ground beside him. She began to murmur and shake her head, making small, soft, moaning cries like a wounded animal. Riverwind stroked her silver-gold hair, and she quieted.
“You should have wakened me earlier,” Tanis said. He stood up, rubbing his shoulders and neck. “It’s my watch.”
“Do you think I could sleep?” asked Riverwind bitterly.
“You’ve got to,” Tanis answered. “You’ll slow us up if you don’t.”
“The men in my tribe can travel for many days without sleep,” Riverwind said. His eyes were dull and glazed, and he seemed to stare at nothing.
Tanis started to argue, then sighed and kept quiet. He knew that he could never truly understand the agony the Plainsman was suffering. To have friends and family—an entire life—utterly destroyed, must be so devastating that the mind shrank from even imagining it. Tanis left him and walked over to where Flint was sitting carving at a piece of wood.
“You might as well get some sleep,” Tanis told the dwarf. “I’ll watch for a while.”
Flint nodded. “I heard you yelling over there.” He sheathed his dagger and thrust the piece of wood into a pouch. “Defending Que-shu?”
Tanis frowned at the memory. Shivering in the chill night, he wrapped his cloak around him, drew up his hood. “Any idea where we are?” he asked Flint.
“The Plainsman says we’re on a road known as Sageway East,” the dwarf answered. He stretched out on the cold ground, dragging a blanket up around his shoulders. “Some old highway. It’s been around since before the Cataclysm.”
“I don’t suppose we’d be fortunate enough to have this road take us into Xak Tsaroth?”
“Riverwind doesn’t seem to think so,” the dwarf mumbled sleepily. “Says he’s only followed it a short distance. But at least it gets us through the mountains.” He gave a great yawn and turned over, pillowing his head on his cloak.
Tanis breathed deeply. The night seemed peaceful enough. They hadn’t run into any draconians or goblins in their wild flight from Que-shu. As Raistlin said, apparently the draconians had attacked Que-shu in search of the staff, not as part of any preparations for battle. They had struck and then withdrawn. The Forestmaster’s time limit still held good, Tanis supposed—Xak Tsaroth within two days. And one day had already passed.
Shivering, the half-elf walked back over to Riverwind. “Do you have any idea how far we have to go and in what direction?” Tanis crouched down next to the Plainsman.
“Yes,” Riverwind nodded, rubbing his burning eyes. “We must go to the northeast, toward Newsea. That is where the city is rumored to be. I have never been there—” He frowned, then shook his head. “I’ve never been there,” he repeated.
“Can we reach it by tomorrow?” Tanis asked.
“Newsea is said to be two days’ journey from Que-shu.” The barbarian sighed. “If Xak Tsaroth exists, we should be able to reach it in a day, though I have heard that the land from here to Newsea is swampy and difficult to travel.”
He shut his eyes, his hand absently stroking Goldmoon’s hair. Tanis fell silent, hoping the Plainsman would sleep. The half-elf moved quietly to sit beneath the tree, staring into the night. He made a mental note to ask Tasslehoff in the morning if he had a map.
The kender did have a map, but it wasn’t much help, dating, as it did, before the Cataclysm. Newsea wasn’t on the map since it had appeared after the land had been torn apart and the waters of Turbidus Ocean had rushed in to fill it. Still, the map showed Xak Tsaroth only a short distance from the highway marked Sageway East. They should reach it some time that afternoon, if the territory they had to cross wasn’t impassable.
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 15