“Come on, Old One!” he yelled, his gentle actions belying his harsh words as he took Fizban’s arm. Caramon, Raistlin, and Tika caught Fizban as he jumped from the flaming wreckage. Tanis and Riverwind lifted Theros by the shoulders and dragged him out, Goldmoon stumbled after them. She and Sturm jumped from the cart just as the ceiling collapsed.
“Caramon! Get our weapons from the supply wagon!” Tanis shouted. “Go with him, Sturm. Flint and Tasslehoff, get the packs. Raistlin—”
“I will, get my pack,” the mage said, choking in the smoke. “And my staff. No one else may touch them.”
“All right,” Tanis said, thinking quickly. “Gilthanas—”
“I am not yours to order around, Tanthalas,” the elf snapped and ran off into the woods without looking back.
Before Tanis could answer, Sturm and Caramon ran back. Caramon’s knuckles were split and bleeding. There had been two draconians looting the supply wagon.
“Get moving!” Sturm shouted. “More coming! Where’s your elf friend?” he asked Tanis suspiciously.
“He’s gone ahead into the woods,” Tanis said. “Just remember, he and his people saved us.”
“Did they?” Sturm said, his eyes narrow. “It seems that between the elves and the old man, we came closer to getting killed than with just about anything short of the dragon!”
At that moment, six draconians rushed out from the smoke, skidding to a halt at the sight of the warriors.
“Run for the woods!” Tanis yelled, bending down to help Riverwind lift Theros. They carried the smith to cover while Caramon and Sturm stood, side by side, covering their retreat. Both noticed immediately that the creatures they faced were unlike the draconians they had fought before. Their armor and coloring were different, and they carried bows and longswords, the latter dripping with some sort of awful icor. Both men remembered stories about draconians that turned to acid and those whose bones exploded.
Caramon charged forward, bellowing like an enraged animal, his sword slashing in an arc. Two draconians fell before they knew what was attacking. Sturm saluted the other four with his sword and swept off the head of one in the return stroke. He jumped at the others, but they stopped just out of his range, grinning, apparently waiting for something.
Sturm and Caramon watched uneasily, wondering what was going on. Then they knew. The bodies of the slain draconians near them began to melt into the road. The flesh boiled and ran like lard in a skillet. A yellowish vapor formed over them, mixing with the thinning smoke from the smoldering cage. Both men gagged as the yellow vapor rose around them. They grew dizzy and knew they were being poisoned.
“Come on! Get back!” Tanis yelled from the woods.
The two stumbled back, fleeing through a rainstorm of arrows as a force of forty or fifty draconians swept around the cage, screeching in anger. The draconians started after them, then fell back when a clear voice called out, “Hai! Ulsain!” and ten elves, led by Gilthanas, ran from the woods.
“Quen talas uvenelei!” Gilthanas shouted. Caramon and Sturm staggered past him, the elves covering their retreat, then the elves fell back.
“Follow me,” Gilthanas told the companions, switching to High Common. At a sign from Gilthanas, four of the elven warriors picked up Theros and carried him into the woods.
Tanis looked back at the cage. The draconians had come to a halt, eyeing the woods warily.
“Hurry!” Gilthanas urged. “My men will cover you.”
Elven voices rose out of the woods, taunting the approaching draconians, trying to lure them into arrow range. The companions looked at each other hesitantly.
“I do not want to enter Elvenwood,” Riverwind said harshly.
“It is all right,” Tanis said, putting his hand on Riverwind’s arm. “You have my pledge.” Riverwind stared at him for a moment, then plunged into the woods, the others walking by his side. Last to come were Caramon and Raistlin, helping Fizban. The old man glanced back at the cage, now nothing more than a pile of ashes and twisted iron.
“Wonderful spell. And did anyone say a word of thanks?” he asked wistfully.
The elves led them swiftly through the wilderness. Without their guidance, the party would have been hopelessly lost. Behind them, the sounds of battle turned half-hearted.
“The draconians know better than to follow us into the woods,” Gilthanas said, smiling grimly. Tanis, seeing armed elven warriors hidden among the leaves of the trees, had little fear of pursuit. Soon all sounds of fighting were lost.
A thick carpeting of dead leaves covered the ground. Bare tree limbs creaked in the chill wind of early morning. After spending days riding cramped in the cage, the companions moved slowly and stiffly, glad for the exercise that warmed their blood. Gilthanas led them into a wide glade as the morning sun lit the woods with a pale light.
The glade was crowded with freed prisoners. Tasslehoff glanced eagerly around the group, then shook his head sadly.
“I wonder what happened to Sestun,” he said to Tanis. “I thought I saw him run off.”
“Don’t worry.” The half-elf patted him on the shoulder. “He’ll be all right. The elves have no love for gully dwarves, but they wouldn’t kill him.”
Tasslehoff shook his head. It wasn’t the elves he was worried about.
Entering the clearing, the companions saw an unusually tall and powerfully built elf speaking to the group of refugees. His voice was cold, his demeanor serious and stern.
“You are free to go, if any are free to go in this land. We have heard rumors that the lands south of Pax Tharkas are not under the control of the Dragon Highlord. I suggest, therefore, that you head southeast. Move as far and as fast as you can this day. We have food and supplies for your journey, all that we can spare. We can do little else for you.”
The refugees from Solace, stunned by their sudden freedom, stared around bleakly and helplessly. They had been farmers on the outskirts of Solace, forced to watch while their homes burned and their crops were stolen to feed the Dragon Highlord’s army. Most of them had never been farther from Solace than Haven. Dragons and elves were creatures of legend. Now children’s stories had come to haunt them.
Goldmoon’s clear blue eyes glinted. She knew how they felt. “How can you be so cruel?” she called out angrily to the tall elf. “Look at these people. They have never been out of Solace in their lives and you tell them calmly to walk through a land overrun by enemy forces—”
“What would you have me do, human?” the elf interrupted her. “Lead them south myself? It is enough that we have freed them. My people have their own problems. I cannot be concerned with those of humans.” He shifted his eyes to the group of refugees. “I warn you. Time is wasting. Be on your way!”
Goldmoon turned to Tanis, seeking support, but he just shook his head, his face dark and shadowed.
One of the men, giving the elves a haggard glance, stumbled off on the trail that meandered south through the wilderness. The other men shouldered crude weapons, women caught up their children, and the families straggled off.
Goldmoon strode forward to confront the elf. “How can you care so little for—”
“For humans?” The elf stared at her coldly. “It was humans who brought the Cataclysm upon us. They were the ones who sought the gods, demanding in their pride the power that was granted Huma in humility. It was humans who caused the gods to turn their faces from us—”
“They haven’t!” Goldmoon shouted. “The gods are among us!”
Porthios’s eyes flared with anger. He started to turn away when Gilthanas stepped up to his brother and spoke to him swiftly in the elven language.
“What do they say?” Riverwind asked Tanis suspiciously.
“Gilthanas is telling how Goldmoon healed Theros,” Tanis said slowly. It had been many, many years since he had heard or spoken more than a few words in the elven tongue. He had forgotten how beautiful the language was, so beautiful it seemed to cut his soul and leave him wounded and bleeding i
nside. He watched as Porthios’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Then Gilthanas pointed at Tanis. Both the brothers turned to face him, their expressive elven features hardening. Riverwind flicked a glance at Tanis, saw the half-elf standing pale but composed under this scrutiny.
“You return to the land of your birth, do you not?” Riverwind asked. “It does not seem you are welcome.”
“Yes,” Tanis said grimly, aware of what the Plainsman was thinking. He knew Riverwind was not prying into personal affairs out of curiosity. In many ways, they were in more danger now than they had been with the Fewmaster.
“They will take us to Qualinost,” Tanis said slowly, the words apparently causing him deep pain. “I have not been there for many years. As Flint will tell you, I was not forced out, but few were sorry to see me leave. As you once said to me, Riverwind—to humans I am half-elven. To elves, I was half-man.”
“Then let us leave and travel south with the others,” Riverwind said.
“You would never get out of here alive,” Flint murmured.
Tanis nodded. “Look around,” he said.
Riverwind glanced around him and saw the elven warriors moving like shadows among the trees, their brown clothing blending in with the wilderness that was their home. As the two elves ended their conversation, Porthios turned his gaze from Tanis back to Goldmoon.
“I have heard strange tales from my brother that bear investigation. I extend to you, therefore, what the elves have extended to no humans in years—our hospitality. You will be our honored guests. Please follow me.”
Porthios gestured. Nearly two dozen elven warriors emerged from the woods, surrounding the companions.
“Honored prisoners is more like it. This is going to be rough on you, my lad,” Flint said to Tanis in a low, gentle voice.
“I know, old friend.” Tanis rested his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “I know.”
5
The Speaker of the Suns.
I have never imagined such beauty existed,” Goldmoon said softly. The day’s march had been difficult, but the reward at the end was beyond their dreams. The companions stood on a high cliff over the fabled city of Qualinost.
Four slender spires rose from the city’s corners like glistening spindles, their brilliant white stone marbled with shining silver. Graceful arches, swooping from spire to spire, soared through the air. Crafted by ancient dwarven metalsmiths, they were strong enough to hold the weight of an army, yet they appeared so delicate that a bird lighting on them might overthrow the balance. These glistening arches were the city’s only boundaries; there was no wall around Qualinost. The elven city opened its arms lovingly to the wilderness.
The buildings of Qualinost enhanced nature, rather than concealing it. The houses and shops were carved from rose-colored quartz. Tall and slender as aspen trees, they vaulted upward in impossible spirals from quartz-lined avenues. In the center stood a great tower of burnished gold, catching the sunlight and throwing it back in whirling, sparkling patterns that gave the tower life. Looking down upon the city, it seemed that peace and beauty unchanged from ages past must dwell in Qualinost, if it dwelled anywhere in Krynn.
“Rest here,” Gilthanas told them, leaving them in a grove of aspen trees. “The journey has been long, and for that I apologize. I know you are weary and you hunger—”
Caramon looked up hopefully.
“But I must beg your indulgence a few moments longer. Please excuse me.” Gilthanas bowed, then walked to stand by his brother. Sighing, Caramon began rummaging through his pack for the fifth time, hoping perhaps he had overlooked a morsel. Raistlin read his spellbook, his lips repeating the difficult words, trying to grasp their meaning, to find the correct inflection and phrasing that would make his blood burn and so tell him the spell was his at last.
The others looked around, marveling at the beauty of the city beneath them and the aura of ancient tranquillity that lay over it. Even Riverwind seemed touched; his face softened and he held Goldmoon close. For a brief instant, their caress and their sorrows eased and they found comfort in each other’s nearness. Tika sat apart, watching them wistfully. Tasslehoff was trying to map their way from Gateway into Qualinost, although Tanis had told him four times that the way was secret and the elves would never permit him to carry off a map. The old magician, Fizban, was asleep. Sturm and Flint watched Tanis in concern—Flint because he alone had any idea of what the half-elf was suffering; Sturm because he knew what it was like returning to a home that didn’t want you.
The knight laid his hand on Tanis’s arm. “Coming home isn’t easy, my friend, is it?” he asked.
“No,” Tanis answered softly. “I thought I had left this behind long ago, but now I know I never truly left at all. Qualinesti is part of me, no matter how much I want to deny it.”
“Hush, Gilthanas,” Flint warned.
The elf came over to Tanis. “Runners were sent ahead and now they have returned,” he said in elven. “My father has asked to see you—all of you—at once, in the Tower of the Sun. I cannot permit time for refreshment. In this we seem crude and impolite—”
“Gilthanas,” Tanis interrupted in Common. “My friends and I have been through unimagined peril. We have traveled roads where—literally—the dead walked. We won’t faint from hunger”—he glanced at Caramon—“some of us won’t, at any rate.”
The warrior, hearing Tanis, sighed and tightened his belt.
“Thank you,” Gilthanas said stiffly. “I am glad you understand. Now, please follow as swiftly as you can.”
The companions gathered their things hastily and woke Fizban. Rising to his feet, he fell over a tree root. “Big lummox!” he snapped, striking it with his staff. “There—did you see it? Tried to trip me!” he said to Raistlin.
The mage slipped his precious book back into its pouch. “Yes, Old One.” Raistlin smiled, assisting Fizban to his feet. The old magician leaned on the young one’s shoulder as they walked after the others. Tanis watched them, wondering. The old magician was obviously a dotard. Yet Tanis remembered Raistlin’s look of stark terror when he woke and found Fizban leaning over him. What had the mage seen? What did he know about this old man? Tanis reminded himself to ask. Now, however, he had other, more pressing matters on his mind. Walking forward, he caught up with the elf.
“Tell me, Gilthanas,” Tanis said in elven, the unfamiliar words haltingly coming back to him. “What’s going on? I have a right to know.”
“Have you?” Gilthanas asked harshly, glancing at Tanis from the corners of his almond-shaped eyes. “Do you care what happens to elves anymore? You can barely speak our language!”
“Of course, I care,” Tanis said angrily. “You are my people, too!”
“Then why do you flaunt your human heritage?” Gilthanas gestured to Tanis’s bearded face. “I would think you would be ashamed—” He stopped, biting his lip, his face flushing.
Tanis nodded grimly. “Yes, I was ashamed, and that’s why I left. But if I was ashamed—who made me so?”
“Forgive me, Tanthalas,” Gilthanas said, shaking his head. “What I said was cruel and, truly, I did not mean it. It’s just that … if you only understood the danger we face!”
“Tell me!” Tanis practically shouted in his frustration. “I want to understand!”
“We are leaving Qualinesti,” Gilthanas said.
Tanis stopped and stared at the elf. “Leaving Qualinesti?” he repeated, switching to Common in his shock. The companions heard him and cast quick glances at each other. The old magician’s face darkened as he tugged at his beard.
“You can’t mean it!” Tanis said softly. “Leaving Qualinesti! Why? Surely things aren’t this bad—”
“They are worse,” Gilthanas said sadly. “Look around you, Tanthalas. You see Qualinost in its final days.”
They entered the first streets of the city. Tanis, at first glance, saw everything exactly as he had left it fifty years ago. Neither the streets of crushed gleaming rock no
r the aspen trees they ran among had changed; the clean streets sparkled brightly in the sunshine; the aspens had grown perhaps, perhaps not. Their leaves glimmered in the late morning light, the gold and silver-inlaid branches rustled and sang. The houses along the streets had not changed. Decorated with quartz, they shimmered in the sunlight, creating small rainbows of color everywhere the eye looked. All seemed as the elves loved it—beautiful, orderly, unchanging.…
No, that was wrong, Tanis realized. The song of the trees was now sad and lamenting, not the peaceful, joyful song Tanis remembered. Qualinost had changed and the change was change itself. He tried to grasp hold of it, to understand it, even as he felt his soul shrivel with loss. The change was not in the buildings, not in the trees, or the sun shining through the leaves. The change was in the air. It crackled with tension, as before a storm. And, as Tanis walked the streets of Qualinost, he saw things he had never before seen in his homeland. He saw haste. He saw hurry. He saw indecision. He saw panic, desperation, and despair.
Women, meeting friends, embraced and wept, then parted and hurried on separate ways. Children sat forlorn, not understanding, knowing only that play was out of place. Men gathered in groups, hands on their swords, keeping watchful eyes on their families. Here and there, fires burned as the elves destroyed what they loved and could not carry with them, rather than let the coming darkness consume it.
Tanis had grieved over the destruction of Solace, but the sight of what was happening in Qualinost entered his soul like the blade of a dull knife. He had not realized it meant so much to him. He had known, deep in his heart, that even if he never returned, Qualinesti would always be there. But no, he was losing even that. Qualinesti would perish.
Tanis heard a strange sound and turned around to see the old magician weeping.
“What plans have you made? Where will you go? Can you escape?” Tanis asked Gilthanas bleakly.
“You will find out the answers to those questions and more, too soon, too soon,” Gilthanas murmured.
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 34