The companions ate a cheerless breakfast, most forcing the food down without appetite. Raistlin brewed his foul-smelling herbal drink over the small fire, his strange eyes lingering on Goldmoon’s staff.
“How precious it has become,” he commented softly—“now that it has been purchased by the blood of innocents.”
“Is it worth it? Is it worth the lives of my people?” Goldmoon asked, staring at the nondescript brown staff dully. She seemed to have aged during the night. Gray circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes.
None of the companions answered, each looking away in awkward silence. Riverwind stood up abruptly and stalked off into the woods by himself. Goldmoon lifted her eyes and stared after him, then her head sank into her hand and she began to weep silently. “He blames himself.” She shook her head. “And I am not helping him. It wasn’t his fault.”
“It’s not anyone’s fault,” Tanis said slowly, walking over to her. He put his hand on her shoulder, rubbing out the tenseness he felt in the bunched muscles of her neck. “We can’t understand. We’ve just got to keep going and hope we find the answer in Xak Tsaroth.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes, drew a deep breath, and blew her nose on a handkerchief Tasslehoff handed her.
“You’re right,” she said, swallowing. “My father would be ashamed of me. I must remember—I am Chieftain’s Daughter.”
“No,” came Riverwind’s deep voice from where he stood behind her in the shadows of the trees. “You are Chieftain.”
Goldmoon gasped. She twisted to her feet to stare, wide-eyed, at Riverwind. “Perhaps I am,” she faltered—“but it is meaningless. Our people are dead—”
“I saw tracks,” Riverwind answered. “Some managed to flee. They have probably gone into the mountains. They will return, and you will be their ruler.”
“Our people … still alive!” Goldmoon’s face became radiant.
“Not many. Maybe none now. It would depend on whether or not the draconians followed them into the mountains.” Riverwind shrugged. “Still, you are now their ruler”—bitterness crept into his voice—“and I will be husband of Chieftain.”
Goldmoon cringed, as though he had struck her. She blinked, then shook her head. “No, Riverwind,” she said softly. “I … we’ve talked—”
“Have we?” he interrupted. “I was thinking about it last night. I’ve been gone so many years. My thoughts were of you, as a woman. I did not realize—” He swallowed and then drew a deep breath. “I left Goldmoon. I returned to find Chieftain’s Daughter.”
“What choice did I have?” Goldmoon cried angrily. “My father wasn’t well. I had to rule or Loreman would have taken over the tribe. Do you know what’s it like—being Chieftain’s Daughter? Wondering at every meal if this morsel is the one with the poison? Struggling every day to find the money in the treasury to pay the soldiers so that Loreman would have no excuse to take over! And all the time I must act as Chieftain’s Daughter, while my father sits and drools and mumbles.” Her voice choked with tears.
Riverwind listened, his face stern and unmoving. He stared at a point above her head. “We should get started,” he said coldly. “It’s nearly dawn.”
The companions had traveled only a few miles on the old, broken road when it dumped them, literally, into a swamp. They had noticed that the ground was getting spongier and the tall, sturdy trees of the mountain canyon forests dwindled. Strange, twisted trees rose up before them. A miasma blotted out the sun, and the air became foul to breathe. Raistlin began to cough and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. They stayed on the broken stones of the old road, avoiding the dank, swampy ground next to it.
Flint was walking in front with Tasslehoff when suddenly the dwarf gave a great shout and disappeared into the muck. They could see only his head.
“Help! The dwarf!” Tas shouted, and the others ran up.
“It’s dragging me under!” Flint flailed about the black, oozing mud in panic.
“Hold still,” Riverwind cautioned. “You have fallen in deathmirk. Don’t go in after him!” he warned Sturm who had leaped forward. “You’ll both die. Get a branch.”
Caramon grabbed a young sapling, took a deep breath, grunted, and pulled. They could hear its roots snapping and creaking as the huge warrior dragged it out of the ground. Riverwind stretched out flat, extending the branch to the dwarf. Flint, nearly up to his nose in the slimy muck, thrashed about and finally grabbed hold of it. The warrior hauled the tree out of the deathmirk, the dwarf clinging to it.
“Tanis!” The kender clutched at the half-elf and pointed. A snake, as big around as Caramon’s arm, slithered into the ooze right where the dwarf had been floundering.
“We can’t walk through this!” Tanis gestured at the swamp. “Maybe we should turn back.”
“No time,” Raistlin whispered, his hourglass eyes glittering.
“And there is no other way,” Riverwind said. His voice sounded strange. “And we can get through—I know a path.”
“What?” Tanis turned to him. “I thought you said—”
“I’ve been here,” the Plainsman said in a strangled voice. “I can’t remember when, but I’ve been here. I know the way through the swamp. And it leads to—” He licked his lips.
“Leads to a broken city of evil?” Tanis asked grimly when the Plainsman did not finish his sentence.
“Xak Tsaroth!” Raistlin hissed.
“Of course,” Tanis said softly. “It makes sense. Where would we go to find answers about the staff—except to the place where the staff was given you?”
“And we must go now!” said Raistlin insistently. “We must be there by midnight tonight!”
The Plainsman took the lead. He found firm ground around the black water and, making them all walk single file, led them away from the road and deeper into the swamp. Trees that he called ironclaw rose out of the water, their roots standing exposed, twisting into the mud. Vines drooped from their branches and trailed across the faint path. The mist closed in, and soon no one could see beyond a few feet. They were forced to move slowly, testing every step. A false move and they would have plunged into the stinking morass that lay foul and stagnant all around them.
Suddenly the trail came to an end in dark swamp water.
“Now what?” Caramon asked gloomily.
“This,” Riverwind said, pointing. A crude bridge, made out of vines twisted into ropes, was attached to a tree. It spanned the water like a spider web.
“Who built it?” Tanis asked.
“I don’t know,” Riverwind said. “But you will find them all along the path, wherever it becomes impassable.”
“I told you Xak Tsaroth would not remain abandoned,” Raistlin whispered.
“Yes, well—I suppose we shouldn’t throw stones at a gift of the gods,” replied Tanis. “At least we don’t have to swim!”
The journey across the vine bridge was not pleasant. The vines were coated with slimy moss, which made walking precarious. The structure swayed alarmingly when touched, and its motion became erratic when anyone crossed. They made it safely to the other side but had walked only a short distance before they were forced to use another bridge. And always below them and around them was the dark water, where strange eyes watched them hungrily. Then they reached a point where the firm ground ended and there were no vine bridges. Ahead was nothing but slimy water.
“It isn’t very deep,” Riverwind muttered. “Follow me. Step only where I step.”
Riverwind took a step, then another step, feeling his way, the rest keeping right behind him, staring into the water. They stared in disgust and alarm as unknown and unseen things slithered past their legs. When they reached firm ground again, their legs were coated with slime; all of them gagged from the smell. But this last journey seemed, perhaps, to have been the worst. The jungle growth was not as thick, and they could even see the sun shining faintly through a green haze.
The farther north they traveled, the firmer the terrain became. B
y midday, Tanis called a halt when he found a dry patch of ground beneath an ancient oak tree. The companions sank down to eat lunch and speak hopefully of leaving the swamp behind them. All except Goldmoon and Riverwind. They spoke not at all.
Flint’s clothes were sopping wet. He shook with the cold and began complaining about pains in his joints. Tanis grew worried. He knew the dwarf was subject to rheumatism and remembered what Flint had said about fearing to slow them up. Tanis tapped the kender and gestured him over to one side.
“I know you’ve got something in one of your pouches that would take the chill off the dwarf’s bones, if you know what I mean,” Tanis said softly.
“Oh, sure, Tanis,” Tas said, brightening. He fumbled around, first in one pouch, then another, and finally came up with a gleaming silver flask. “Brandy. Otik’s finest.”
“I don’t suppose you paid for it?” Tanis asked, grinning.
“I will,” the kender replied, hurt. “Next time I’m there.”
“Sure.” Tanis patted him on the shoulder. “Share some with Flint. Not too much,” he cautioned. “Just warm him up.”
“All right. And we’ll take the lead—we mighty warriors.” Tas laughed and skipped over to the dwarf as Tanis returned to the others. They were silently packing up the remains of lunch and preparing to move out. All of us could use some of Otik’s finest, he thought. Goldmoon and Riverwind had not spoken to each other all morning. Their mood spread a pall on everyone. Tanis could think of nothing to do that would end the torture these two were experiencing. He could only hope that time would salve the wounds.
The companions continued along the trail for about an hour after lunch, moving more quickly since the thickest part of the jungle had been left behind. Just as they thought they had left the swamp, however, the firm ground came abruptly to an end. Weary, sick with the smell, and discouraged, the companions found themselves wading through the muck once again.
Only Flint and Tasslehoff were unaffected by the return to the swamp. These two had ranged far ahead of the others. Tasslehoff soon “forgot” Tanis’s warning about drinking only a little of the brandy. The liquid warmed the blood and took the edge off the gloomy atmosphere, so the kender and dwarf passed the flask back and forth many times until it was empty and they were traipsing along, making jokes about what they would do if they encountered a draconian.
“I’d turn it to stone, all right,” the dwarf said, swinging an imaginary battle-axe. “Wham!—right in the lizard’s gizzard.”
“I’ll bet Raistlin could turn one to stone with a look!” Tas imitated the mage’s grim face and dour stare. They both laughed loudly, then hushed, giggling, peering back unsteadily to see if Tanis had heard them.
“I’ll bet Caramon’d stick a fork in one and eat it!” Flint said.
Tas choked with laughter and wiped tears from his eyes. The dwarf roared. Suddenly the two came to the end of the spongy ground. Tasslehoff grabbed hold of the dwarf as Flint nearly plunged head-first into a pool of swamp water so wide that a vine bridge would not span it. A huge ironclaw tree lay across the water, its thick trunk making a bridge wide enough for two people to walk across side-by-side.
“Now this is a bridge!” Flint said, stepping back a pace and trying to bring the log into focus. “No more spider crawling on those stupid green webs. Let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” Tasslehoff asked mildly. “Tanis wouldn’t want to us to get separated.”
“Tanis? Humpf!” The dwarf sniffed. “We’ll show him.”
“All right,” Tasslehoff agreed cheerfully. He leaped up onto the fallen tree. “Careful,” he said, slipping slightly, then easily catching his balance. “It’s slick.” He took a few quick steps, arms outstretched, his feet pointed out like a rope walker he’d seen once at a summer fair.
The dwarf clambered up after the kender, Flint’s thick boots clumping clumsily on the log. A voice in the unbrandied part of Flint’s mind told him he could never have done this cold sober. It also told him he was a fool for crossing the bridge without waiting for the others, but he ignored it. He was feeling positively young again.
Tasslehoff, enchanted with pretending he was Mirgo the Magnificent, looked up and discovered that he did, indeed, have an audience—one of those draconian things leaped onto the log in front of him. The sight sobered Tas up rapidly. The kender was not given to fear, but he was certainly amazed. He had presence of mind enough to do two things. First he yelled out loudly—“Tanis, ambush!” Then he lifted his hoopak staff and swung it in a wide arc.
The move took the draconian by surprise. The creature sucked in its breath and jumped back off the log to the bank below. Tas, momentarily off balance, regained his feet quickly and wondered what to do next. He glanced around and saw another draconian on the bank. They were, he was puzzled to notice, not armed. Before he could consider this oddity, he heard a roar behind him. He had forgotten the dwarf.
“What is it?” Flint shouted.
“Draco-thing-a-ma-jiggers,” Tas said, gripping his hoopak and peering through the mists. “Two ahead! Here they come!”
“Well, confound it, get out of my way!” Flint snarled. Reaching behind, he fumbled for his axe.
“Where am I supposed to go?” Tas shouted wildly.
“Duck!” yelled the dwarf.
The kender ducked, throwing himself down on the log as one of the draconians came toward him, its clawed hands outstretched. Flint swung his axe in a mighty blow that would have decapitated the draconian if it had come anywhere near it. Unfortunately, the dwarf miscalculated and the blade whistled harmlessly in front of the draconian who was waving its hands in the air and chanting strange words.
The momentum of Flint’s swing spun the dwarf around. His feet slipped on the slimy log, and, with a loud cry, the dwarf tumbled backward into the water.
Tasslehoff, having been around Raistlin for years, recognized that the draconian was casting a magic spell. Lying face down on the log, his hoopak staff clutched in his hand, the kender figured he had about one and a half seconds to consider what to do. The dwarf was gasping and spluttering in the water beneath him. Not inches away, the draconian was clearly reaching a stunning conclusion to his spellcasting. Deciding that anything was better than being magicked, Tas took a deep breath and dove off the log.
“Tanis! Ambush!”
“Damn!” swore Caramon as the kender’s voice floated to them out of the mist somewhere ahead.
They all began running toward the sound, cursing the vines and the tree branches that blocked their way. Crashing out through the forest, they saw the fallen ironclaw bridge. Four draconians ran out of the shadows, blocking their path.
Suddenly the companions were plunged into darkness too thick to see their own hands, much less their comrades.
“Magic!” Tanis heard Raistlin hiss. “These are magic-users. Stand aside. You cannot fight them.”
Then Tanis heard the mage cry out in agony.
“Raist!” Caramon shouted. “Where—ugh—” There was a groan and the sound of a heavy body thudding to the ground.
Tanis heard the draconians chanting. Even as he fumbled for his sword, he was suddenly covered, head to toe, in a thick, gooey substance that clogged up his nose and mouth. Struggling to free himself, he only enmeshed himself further. He heard Sturm swearing next to him, Goldmoon cried out, Riverwind’s voice was choked off, then drowsiness overcame him. Tanis sank to his knees, still fighting to free himself from the weblike substance that glued his hands to his sides. Then he fell forward on his face and sank into an unnatural sleep.
14
Prisoners of the draconians.
Lying on the ground, panting for breath, Tasslehoff watched as the draconians prepared to carry off his unconscious friends. The kender was well-hidden beneath a bush near the swamp. The dwarf was stretched out next to him, knocked out cold. Tas glanced at him in remorse. He’d had no choice. In his panic, Flint had dragged the kender down in the cold wat
er. If he hadn’t clunked the dwarf over the head with his hoopak staff, neither of them would have surfaced alive. He’d hauled the comatose dwarf up out of the water and hidden him beneath a bush.
Then Tasslehoff watched helplessly as the draconians bound his friends magically in what looked like strong spider webs. Tas saw they were all apparently unconscious—or dead—because they didn’t struggle or put up a fight.
The kender did get a certain amount of grim amusement out of watching the draconians try to pick up Goldmoon’s staff. Evidently they recognized it, for they croaked over it in their guttural language and made gestures of glee. One—presumably the leader—reached out to grasp it. There was a flash of blue light. Giving a screeching cry, the draconian dropped the staff and hopped up and down on the bank, uttering words Tas assumed were impolite. The leader finally came up with an ingenious idea. Pulling a fur blanket from Goldmoon’s pack, the draconian laid it down on the ground. The creature picked up a stick and used it to roll the staff onto the blanket. Then it gingerly wrapped the staff in the fur and lifted it up triumphantly. The draconians lifted the webbed bodies of the kender’s friends and bore them away. Other draconians followed behind, carrying the companions’ packs and their weapons.
As the draconians marched along a path very near the hidden kender, Flint suddenly groaned and stirred. Tas clamped his hand over the dwarf’s mouth. The draconians didn’t seem to hear and kept moving. Tas could see his friends clearly in the fading afternoon light as the draconians passed. They seemed to be sound asleep. Caramon was even snoring. The kender remembered Raistlin’s sleep spell and figured that was what the draconians had used on his friends.
Flint groaned again. One of the draconians near the end of the line stopped and peered into the brush. Tas picked up his hoopak and held it over the dwarf’s head—just in case. But it wasn’t needed. The draconian shrugged and muttered to itself, then hurried to catch up with its squad. Sighing in relief, Tas took his hand off the dwarf’s mouth. Flint blinked and opened his eyes.
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 16