“I will go to Pax Tharkas,” Tanis said softly. “But I believe it is time now that we separate, my friends. Before you speak, let me say this. I would send Tika, Goldmoon, Riverwind, Caramon and Raistlin, and you, Fizban, with the elves in hopes that you may carry the Disks to safety. The Disks are too precious to risk on a raid into Pax Tharkas.”
“That may be, Half-Elf,” Raistlin whispered from the depths of his cowl, “but it is not among the Qualinesti elves that Goldmoon will find the one she seeks.”
“How do you know?” Tanis asked, startled.
“He doesn’t know anything, Tanis,” Sturm interrupted bitterly. “More talk—”
“Raistlin?” Tanis repeated, ignoring Sturm.
“You heard the knight!” the mage hissed. “I know nothing!”
Tanis sighed, letting it go, and glanced around. “You named me your leader—”
“Aye, we did, lad,” said Flint suddenly. “But this decision is coming from your head, not your heart. Deep inside, you don’t really believe we should split up.”
“Well, I’m not staying with these elves,” Tika said, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m going with you, Tanis. I plan to become a swordswoman, like Kitiara.”
Tanis winced. Hearing Kitiara’s name was like a physical blow.
“I will not hide with elves,” Riverwind said, “especially if it means leaving my kind behind to fight for me.”
“He and I are one,” Goldmoon said, putting her hand on his arm. “Besides,” she said more softly, “somehow I know that what the mage says is true—the leader is not among the elves. They want to flee the world, not fight for it.”
“We’re all going, Tanis,” Flint said firmly.
The half-elf looked helplessly around at the group, then he smiled and shook his head. “You’re right. I didn’t truly believe we should separate. It’s the sensible, logical thing to do, of course, which is why we won’t do it.”
“Now maybe we can get some sleep.” Fizban yawned.
“Wait a minute, Old One,” Tanis said sternly. “You are not one of us. You’re definitely going with the elves.”
“Am I?” the old mage asked softly as his eyes lost their vague, unfocused look. He stared at Tanis with such a penetrating—almost menacing—gaze that the half-elf involuntarily took a step back, suddenly sensing an almost palpable aura of power surrounding the old man. His voice was soft and intense. “I go where I choose in this world, and I choose to go with you, Tanis Half-Elven.”
Raistlin glanced at Tanis as if to say, Now you understand! Tanis, irresolute, returned the glance. He regretted putting off discussing this with Raistlin, but wondered how they could confer now, knowing the old man would not leave.
“I speak you this, Raistlin,” Tanis said suddenly, using Camptalk, a corrupted form of Common developed among the racially mixed mercenaries of Krynn. The twins had done a bit of mercenary work in their time, as had most of the companions, in order to eat. Tanis knew Raistlin would understand. He was fairly certain the old man wouldn’t.
“We talk if want,” Raistlin answered in the same language, “but little know I.”
“You fear. Why?”
Raistlin’s strange eyes stared far away as he answered slowly. “I know not, Tanis. But—you right. There power be, within Old One. I feel great power. I fear.” His eyes gleamed. “And I hunger!” The mage sighed and seemed to return from wherever it was he had been. “But he right. Try to stop him? Very much danger.”
“As if there wasn’t enough already,” Tanis said bitterly, switching back to Common. “We take our own in with us in the form of a doddering old magician.”
“Others there are, as dangerous, perhaps,” Raistlin said, with a meaningful look at his brother. The mage returned to Common. “I am weary. I must sleep. Are you staying, brother?”
“Yes,” Caramon answered, exchanging glances with Sturm. “We’re going to talk with Tanis.”
Raistlin nodded and gave his arm to Fizban. The old mage and the young one left, the old mage lashing out at a tree with his staff, accusing it of trying to sneak up on him.
“As if one crazed mage wasn’t bad enough,” Flint muttered. “I’m going to bed.”
One by one the others left until Tanis stood with Caramon and Sturm. Wearily, Tanis turned to face them. He had a feeling he knew what this was going to be about. Caramon’s face was flushed and he stared at his feet. Sturm stroked his moustaches and regarded Tanis thoughtfully.
“Well?” Tanis asked.
“Gilthanas,” Sturm answered.
Tanis frowned and scratched his beard. “That’s my business, not yours,” he said shortly.
“It is our business, Tanis,” Sturm persisted, “if he’s leading us into Pax Tharkas. We don’t want to pry, but it’s obvious there’s a score to settle between you two. I’ve seen his eyes when he looks at you, Tanis, and, if I were you, I wouldn’t go anywhere without a friend at my back.”
Caramon looked at Tanis earnestly, his brow furrowed. “I know he’s an elf and all,” the big man said slowly. “But, like Sturm says, he gets a funny look in his eyes sometimes. Don’t you know the way to this Sla-Mori? Can’t we find it ourselves? I don’t trust him. Neither do Sturm and Raist.”
“Listen, Tanis,” Sturm said, seeing the half-elf’s face darken with anger. “If Gilthanas was in such danger in Solace as he claimed, why was he casually sitting in the Inn? And then there’s his story about his warriors ‘accidentally’ running into a whole damn army! Tanis, don’t shake your head so quickly. He may not be evil, just misguided. What if Verminaard’s got some hold over him? Perhaps the Dragon Highlord convinced him he’d spare his people if—in return—he betrays us! Maybe that’s why he was in Solace, waiting for us.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Tanis snapped. “How would he know we were coming?”
“We didn’t exactly keep our journey from Xak Tsaroth to Solace secret,” Sturm returned coldly. “We saw draconians all along the way and those that escaped Xak Tsaroth must have realized we came for the Disks. Verminaard probably knows our descriptions better than he knows his own mother.”
“No! I don’t believe it!” Tanis said angrily, glaring at Sturm and Caramon. “You two are wrong! I’ll stake my life on it. I grew up with Gilthanas, I know him! Yes, there is a score to settle between us, but we have discussed it and the matter is closed. I’ll believe he’s turned traitor to his people the day I believe you or Caramon turn traitor. And no, I don’t know the way to Pax Tharkas. I’ve never been there. And one more thing,” Tanis shouted, now in a fury, “if there’s people I don’t trust in this group, it’s that brother of yours and that old man!” He stared accusingly at Caramon.
The big man grew pale and lowered his eyes. He began to turn away. Tanis came to his senses, suddenly realizing what he had said. “I’m sorry, Caramon.” He put his hand on the warrior’s arm. “I didn’t mean that. Raistlin’s saved our lives more than once on this insane journey. It’s just that I can’t believe Gilthanas is a traitor!”
“We know, Tanis,” Sturm said quietly. “And we trust your judgment. But—it’s too dark a night to walk with your eyes closed, as my people say.”
Tanis sighed and nodded. He put his other hand on Sturm’s arm. The knight clasped him and the three men stood in silence, then they left the grove and walked back to the Hall of the Sky. They could still hear the Speaker talking with his warriors.
“What does Sla-Mori mean?” Caramon asked.
“Secret Way,” Tanis answered.
Tanis woke with a start, his hand on the dagger at his belt. A dark shape crouched over him in the night, blotting out the stars overhead. Reaching up quickly, he grabbed hold of and yanked the person down across his body, putting his dagger to the exposed throat.
“Tanthalas!” There was a small scream at the sight of the steel flashing in the starlight.
“Laurana!” Tanis gasped.
Her body pressed against his. He could feel her trembling
and, now that he was fully awake, he could see the long hair flowing loosely about her shoulders. She was dressed only in a flimsy nightdress. Her cloak had fallen off in the brief struggle.
Acting on impulse, Laurana had risen from her bed and slipped out into the night, throwing a cloak around her to protect her from the cold. Now she lay across Tanis’s chest, too frightened to move. This was a side of Tanis she had never known existed. She realized suddenly that if she had been an enemy, she would be dead now—her throat slit.
“Laurana …” Tanis repeated, thrusting the dagger back into his belt with a shaking hand. He pushed her away and sat up, angry at himself for frightening her and angry at her for awakening something deep within him. For an instant, when she lay on top of him, he was acutely conscious only of the smell of her hair, the warmth of her slender body, the play of the muscles in her thighs, the softness of her small breasts. Laurana had been a girl when he left. He returned to find a woman—a very beautiful, desirable woman
“What in the name of the Abyss are you doing here at this time of night?”
“Tanthalas,” she said, choking, pulling her cape around her tightly. “I came to ask you to change your mind. Let your friends go to free the humans in Pax Tharkas. You must come with us! Don’t throw your life away. My father is desperate. He doesn’t believe this will work—I know he doesn’t. But he hasn’t any choice! He’s already mourning Gilthanas as if he were dead. I’m going to lose my brother. I can’t lose you, too!” She began to sob. Tanis glanced around hastily. There were almost certainly elven guards around. If the elves caught him in this compromising situation …
“Laurana,” he said, gripping her shoulders and shaking her. “You’re not a child anymore. You’ve got to grow up and grow up fast. I wouldn’t let my friends face danger without me! I know the risks we’re taking; I’m not blind! But if we can free the humans from Verminaard and give you and your people time to escape, it’s a chance we have to take! There comes a time, Laurana, when you’ve got to risk your life for something you believe in—something that means more than life itself. Do you understand?”
She looked up at him through a mass of golden hair. Her sobs stopped and she ceased to tremble. She stared at him very intently.
“Do you understand, Laurana?” he repeated.
“Yes, Tanthalas,” she answered softly. “I understand.”
“Good!” He sighed. “Now go back to bed. Quickly. You’ve put me in danger. If Gilthanas saw us like this—”
Laurana stood up and walked swiftly from the grove, flitting along the streets and buildings like the wind among the aspens. Sneaking past the guards to get back inside her father’s dwelling was simple—she and Gilthanas had been doing it since childhood. Returning quietly to her room, she stood outside her father’s and mother’s door for a moment, listening. There was light inside. She could hear parchment rustling, smell an acrid odor. Her father was burning papers. She heard her mother’s soft murmur, calling her father to bed. Laurana closed her eyes for a moment in silent agony, then her lips tightened in firm resolve, and she ran down the dark, chill hallway to her bedchamber.
8
Doubts. Ambush!
A new friend.
The elves woke the companions before dawn. Storm clouds lowered on the northern horizon, reaching like grasping fingers toward Qualinesti. Gilthanas arrived after breakfast, dressed in a tunic of blue cloth and a suit of chain mail.
“We have supplies,” he said, gesturing toward the warriors who held packs in their hands. “We can also provide weapons or armament, if you have need.”
“Tika needs armor and shield and sword,” said Caramon.
“We will provide what we can,” Gilthanas said, “though I doubt if we have a full set of armor small enough.”
“How is Theros Ironfeld this morning?” Goldmoon asked.
“He rests comfortably, cleric of Mishakal.” Gilthanas bowed respectfully to Goldmoon. “My people will, of course, take him with them when we leave. You may bid him farewell.”
Elves soon returned with armor of every make and description for Tika and a lightweight shortsword, favored by the elven women. Tika’s eyes glowed when she saw the helm and shield. Both were of elvish design, tooled and decorated with jewels.
Gilthanas took the helm and shield from the elf. “I have yet to thank you for saving my life in the Inn,” he said to Tika. “Accept these. They are my mother’s ceremonial armor, dating back to the time of the Kinslayer Wars. These would have gone to my sister, but Laurana and I both believe you are the proper owner.”
“How beautiful,” Tika murmured, blushing. She accepted the helm, then looked at the rest of the armor in confusion. “I don’t know what goes where,” she confessed.
“I’ll help!” Caramon offered eagerly.
“I’ll handle this,” Goldmoon said firmly. Picking up the armor, she led Tika into a grove of trees.
“What does she know about armor?” Caramon grumbled.
Riverwind looked at the warrior and smiled, the rare, infrequent smile that softened his stern face. “You forget,” he said—“she is Chieftain’s Daughter. It was her duty, in her father’s absence, to lead the tribe to war. She knows a great deal about armor, warrior—and even more about the heart that beats beneath it.”
Caramon flushed. Nervously, he picked up a pack of supplies and glanced inside. “What’s this junk?” he asked.
“Quith-pa,” said Gilthanas. “Iron rations, in your language. It will last us for many weeks, if need be.”
“It looks like dried fruit!” Caramon said in disgust.
“That’s what it is,” Tanis replied, grinning.
Caramon groaned.
Dawn was just beginning to tinge the wispy storm clouds with a pale, chill light when Gilthanas led the party out of Qualinesti. Tanis kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to look back. He wished that his final trip here could have been happier. He had not seen Laurana all morning and, though he felt relieved to have avoided a tearful farewell, he secretly wondered why she hadn’t come to bid him good-bye.
The trail moved south, descending gradually but constantly. It had been thick and overgrown with brush, but the party of warriors Gilthanas led before had cleared it as they moved, so that walking was relatively easy. Caramon walked beside Tika, resplendent in her mismatched armor, instructing her on the use of her sword. Unfortunately, the teacher was having a bad time of it.
Goldmoon had slit Tika’s red barmaid skirt up to her thighs for easier movement. Bits of fluffy white from Tika’s fur-trimmed undergarments peeped enticingly through the slits. Her legs were visible as she walked, and the girl’s legs were just as Caramon had always imagined—round and well-formed. Thus Caramon found it rather difficult to concentrate on his lesson. Absorbed in his pupil, he did not notice that his brother had disappeared.
“Where’s the young mage?” Gilthanas asked harshly.
“Maybe something’s happened to him,” Caramon said worriedly, cursing himself for forgetting his brother. The warrior drew his sword and started back along the trail.
“Nonsense!” Gilthanas stopped him. “What could have happened to him? There is no enemy for miles. He must have gone off somewhere—for some purpose.”
“What are you saying?” Caramon asked, glowering.
“Maybe he left to—”
“To collect what I need for the making of my magic, elf,” Raistlin whispered, emerging from the brush. “And to replenish the herbs that heal my cough.”
“Raist!” Caramon nearly hugged him in his relief. “You shouldn’t go off by yourself—it’s dangerous.”
“My spell components are secret,” Raistlin whispered irritably, shoving his brother away. Leaning on the Staff of Magius, the mage rejoined Fizban in the line.
Gilthanas cast a sharp glance at Tanis, who shrugged and shook his head. As the group continued on, the trail became steeper and steeper, leading down from the aspenwoods to the pines of the lowlands. It joined up
with a clear brook that soon became a raging stream as they traveled farther south.
When they stopped for a hasty lunch, Fizban came over and hunkered down beside Tanis. “Someone’s following us,” he said in a penetrating whisper.
“What?” Tanis asked, his head snapping up to stare at the old man incredulously.
“Yes, indeed,” the old mage nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen it—darting in and out among the trees.”
Sturm saw Tanis’s look of concern. “What’s the matter?”
“The Old One says someone’s following us.”
“Bah!” Gilthanas threw down his last bit of quith-pa in disgust and stood up. “That’s insane. Let us go now. The Sla-Mori is still many miles and we must be there by sundown.”
“I’ll take rear guard,” Sturm said to Tanis softly.
They walked through the ragged pines for several more hours. The sun slanted down in the sky, lengthening shadows across the trail, when the group came suddenly to a clearing.
“Hsst!” Tanis warned, falling back in alarm.
Caramon, instantly alert, drew his sword, motioning for Sturm and his brother with his free hand.
“What is it?” piped Tasslehoff. “I can’t see!”
“Shhh!” Tanis glared at the kender, and Tas clapped his own hand over his own mouth to save Tanis the trouble.
The clearing was the site of a recent bloody fight. Bodies of men and hobgoblins lay scattered about in the obscene postures of brutal death. The companions looked about fearfully and listened for long minutes but could hear nothing above the roar of the water.
“No enemy for miles!” Sturm glared at Gilthanas and started to step out into the clearing.
“Wait!” Tanis said. “I thought I saw something move!”
“Maybe one of them’s still alive,” Sturm said coolly and walked forward. The rest followed more slowly. A low moaning sound came from beneath two hobgoblin bodies. The warriors walked toward the carnage, swords level.
“Caramon …” Tanis gestured.
The big warrior shoved the bodies to one side. Beneath was a moaning figure.
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 37