“Human,” Caramon reported. “And covered with blood. Unconscious, I think.”
The rest came up to look at the man on the ground. Goldmoon started to kneel down, but Caramon stopped her.
“No, lady,” he said gently. “It would be senseless to heal him if we just have to kill him again. Remember—humans fought for the Dragon Highlord in Solace.”
The group gathered round to examine the man. He wore chain mail that was of good quality, if rather tarnished. His clothes were rich, though the cloth had worn thin in places. He appeared to be in his late thirties. His hair was thick and black, his chin firm, and his features regular. The stranger opened his eyes and stared up at the companions blearily.
“Thank the gods of the Seekers!” he said hoarsely. “My friends—are they all dead?”
“Worry about yourself first,” Sturm said sternly. “Tell us who your friends were—the humans or the hobgoblins?”
“The humans—fighters against the dragonmen.” The man broke off, his eyes widening. “Gilthanas?”
“Eben,” Gilthanas said in quiet surprise. “How did you survive the battle at the ravine?”
“How did you, for that matter?” The man named Eben tried to stagger to his feet. Caramon reached out a hand to help him when suddenly Eben pointed. “Look out! Drac—”
Caramon whipped around, letting Eben fall back with a groan. The others turned to see twelve draconians standing at the edge of the clearing, weapons drawn.
“All strangers in the land are to be taken to the Dragon Highlord for questioning,” one called out. “We charge you to come with us peacefully.”
“No one was supposed to know about this path to Sla-Mori,” Sturm whispered to Tanis with a meaningful glance at Gilthanas. “According to the elf, that is!”
“We do not take orders from Lord Verminaard!” Tanis yelled, ignoring Sturm.
“You will, soon enough,” the draconian said and waved its arm. The creatures surged forward to attack.
Fizban, standing near the edge of the woods, pulled something from his pouch and began to mumble a few words.
“Not Fireball!” Raistlin hissed, grabbing the old mage’s arm. “You’ll incinerate everyone out there!”
“Oh, really? I suppose you’re right.” The old mage sighed in disappointment, then brightened. “Wait, I’ll think of something else.”
“Just stay here, under cover!” Raistlin ordered. “I’m going to my brother.”
“Now, what was that web spell?” The old man pondered.
Tika, her new sword drawn and ready, trembled with fear and excitement. One draconian rushed her and she swung a tremendous blow. The blade missed the draconian by a mile, Caramon’s head by inches. Pulling Tika behind him, he knocked the draconian down with the flat of his sword. Before it could rise, he stepped on its throat, breaking its neck.
“Get behind me,” he said to Tika, then glanced down at the sword she was still waving around wildly. “On second thought,” Caramon amended nervously, “run over to those trees with the old man and Goldmoon. There’s a good girl.”
“I will not!” Tika said indignantly. “I’ll show him,” she muttered, her sweaty palms slipping on the hilt of the sword. Two more draconians charged Caramon, but his brother was beside him now—the two combining magic and steel to destroy their enemy. Tika knew she would only get in their way, and she feared Raistlin’s anger more than she feared draconians. She looked around to see if anyone needed her help. Sturm and Tanis fought side by side. Gilthanas made an unlikely team with Flint, while Tasslehoff, his hoopak planted solidly in the ground, sent a deadly barrage of rocks whizzing onto the field. Goldmoon stood beneath the trees, Riverwind near her. The old magician had pulled out a spellbook and was flipping through its pages.
“Web … web … how did that go?” he mumbled.
“Aaarrrgghh!” A screech behind Tika nearly caused her to swallow her tongue. Whirling around, she dropped her sword in alarm as a draconian, laughing horribly, launched itself into the air straight at her. Panic-stricken, Tika gripped her shield in both hands and struck the draconian in its hideous, reptilian face. The impact nearly jarred the shield from her hands, but it knocked the creature onto its back, unconscious. Tika picked up her sword and, grimacing in disgust, stabbed the creature through the heart. Its body immediately turned to stone, encasing her sword. Tika yanked at it, but it remained stuck fast.
“Tika, to your left!” yelled Tasslehoff shrilly.
Tika stumbled around and saw another draconian. Swinging her shield, she blocked its sword thrust. Then, with a strength born of terror, she hit at the creature again and again with her shield, knowing only that she had to kill the thing. She kept bashing until she felt a hand on her arm. Whipping around, her blood-stained shield ready, she saw Caramon.
“It’s all right!” the big warrior said soothingly. “It’s all over, Tika. They’re all dead. You did fine, just fine.”
Tika blinked. For a moment she didn’t recognize the warrior. Then, with a shudder, she lowered her shield.
“I wasn’t very good with the sword,” she said, starting to tremble in reaction to her fear and the memory of the horrible creature lunging at her.
Caramon saw her start to shake. He reached out and clasped her in his arms, stroking the sweat-damp red curls.
“You were braver than many men I’ve seen—experienced warriors,” the big man said in a deep voice.
Tika looked up into Caramon’s eyes. Her terror melted away, replaced by exultation. She pressed against Caramon. The feel of his hard muscles, the smell of sweat mingled with leather, increased her excitement. Tika flung her arms around his neck and kissed him with such violence her teeth bit into his lip. She tasted blood in her mouth.
Caramon, astonished, felt the tingle of pain, an odd contrast to the softness of her lips, and was overwhelmed with desire. He wanted this woman more than any other woman—and there had been many—in his life. He forgot where he was, who was around him. His brain and his blood were on fire, and he ached with the pain of his passion. Crushing Tika to his chest, he held her and kissed her with bruising intensity.
The pain of his embrace was delicious to Tika. She longed for the pain to grow and envelop her, but at the same time, she felt suddenly cold and afraid. Remembering stories told by the other barmaids of the terrible, wonderful things that happened between men and women, she began to panic.
Caramon completely lost all sense of reality. He caught Tika up in his arms with a wild idea of carrying her into the woods, when he felt a cold, familiar hand on his shoulder.
The big man stared at his brother and regained his senses with a gasp. He gently set Tika on her feet. Dizzy and disoriented, she opened her eyes to see Raistlin standing beside his brother, regarding her with his strange, glittering stare.
Tika’s face burned. She backed away, stumbled over the body of the draconian, then picked up her shield and ran.
Caramon swallowed, cleared his throat, and started to say something, but Raistlin simply glanced at him in disgust and walked back to rejoin Fizban. Caramon, trembling like a newborn colt, sighed shakily and walked over to where Sturm, Tanis, and Gilthanas stood, talking to Eben.
“No, I’m fine,” the man assured them. “I just felt a little faint when I saw those creatures, that’s all. You really have a cleric among you? That’s wonderful, but don’t waste her healing powers on me. Just a scratch. It’s more their blood than mine. My party and I were tracking these draconians through the woods when we were attacked by at least forty hobgoblins.”
“And you alone live to tell the tale,” Gilthanas said.
“Yes,” Eben replied, returning the elf’s suspicious gaze. “I am an expert swordsman, as you know. I killed these”—he gestured to the bodies of six hobgoblins who lay around him—“then fell to the overwhelming numbers. The rest must have assumed I was dead and left me. But, enough of my heroics. You fellows are pretty good with swords yourselves. Where are you headed?”
“Some place called the Sla—” began Caramon, but Gilthanas cut him off.
“Our journey is secret,” Gilthanas said. Then he added in a tentative voice. “We could use an expert swordsman.”
“As long as you’re fighting draconians, your fight is my fight,” Eben said cheerfully. He pulled his pack out from under the body of a hobgoblin and slung it over his shoulder.
“My name’s Eben Shatterstone. I come from Gateway. You’ve probably heard of my family,” he said. “We had one of the most impressive mansions west of—”
“That’s it!” cried Fizban. “I remembered!”
Suddenly the air was filled with strands of sticky, floating cobweb.
The sun set just as the group reached an open plain edged by tall mountain peaks. Rivaling the mountains for dominance of the land before it was the gigantic fortress known as Pax Tharkas, which guarded the pass between the mountains. The companions stared at it in awed silence.
Tika’s eyes widened at the sight of the massive twin towers soaring into the sky. “I’ve never seen anything so big! Who built it? They must have been powerful men.”
“It was not men,” said Flint sadly. The dwarf’s beard quivered as he looked at Pax Tharkas with a wistful expression. “It was elves and dwarves working together. Once, long ago, when times were peaceful.”
“The dwarf speaks truly,” Gilthanas said. “Long ago Kith-Kanan broke his father’s heart and left the ancient home of Silvanesti. He and his people came to the beautiful woods given them by the Emperor of Ergoth following the scribing of the Swordsheath Scroll that ended the Kinslayer Wars. Elves have lived in Qualinesti for long centuries since Kith-Kanan’s death. His greatest achievement, however, was the building of Pax Tharkas. Standing between elven and dwarven kingdoms, it was constructed by both in a spirit of friendship since lost on Krynn. It grieves me to see it now, the bastion of a mighty war machine.”
Even as Gilthanas spoke, the companions saw the huge gate that stood at the front of Pax Tharkas swing open. An army—long rows of draconians, hobgoblins, and goblins—marched out into the plains. The sound of braying horns echoed back from the mountaintops. Watching them from above was a great red dragon. The companions cowered among the scrub brush and trees. Though the dragon was too far away to see them, the dragonfear touched them even from this distance.
“They march on Qualinesti,” Gilthanas said, his voice breaking. “We must get inside and free the prisoners. Then Verminaard will be forced to call the army back.”
“You’re going inside Pax Tharkas!” Eben gasped.
“Yes,” Gilthanas answered reluctantly, apparently regretting he had said so much.
“Whew!” Eben blew out a deep breath. “You people have guts, I’ll give you that. So—how do we get in there? Wait until the army leaves? There will probably be only a couple of guards at the front gate. We could handle them easily, couldn’t we, big man?” He nudged Caramon.
“Sure,” Caramon grinned.
“That is not the plan,” Gilthanas said coldly. The elf pointed to a narrow vale leading into the mountains, just visible in the rapidly fading light. “There is our way. We will cross in the cover of darkness.”
He stood up and started off. Tanis hurried forward to catch up with him. “What do you know of this Eben?” the half-elf asked in elven, glancing back to where the man was chatting with Tika.
Gilthanas shrugged. “He was with the band of humans who fought with us at the ravine. Those who survived were taken to Solace and died there. I suppose he could have escaped. I did, after all,” Gilthanas said, glancing sideways at Tanis. “He comes from Gateway where his father and father before him were wealthy merchants. The others told me, when he was out of hearing, that his family lost their money and he has since earned his living by his sword.”
“I figured as much,” Tanis said. “His clothes are rich, but they’ve seen better days. You made the right decision, bringing him along.”
“I dared not leave him behind,” Gilthanas answered grimly. “One of us should keep an eye on him.”
“Yes.” Tanis fell silent.
“And on me, too, you’re thinking,” Gilthanas said in a tight voice. “I know what the others say—the knight especially. But, I swear to you, Tanis, I’m not a traitor! I want one thing!” The elf’s eyes gleamed feverishly in the dying light. “I want to destroy this Verminaard. If you could have seen him as his dragon destroyed my people! I’d gladly sacrifice my life—” Gilthanas stopped abruptly.
“And our lives as well?” Tanis asked.
As Gilthanas turned to face him, his almond-shaped eyes regarding Tanis without emotion. “If you must know, Tanthalas, your life means that—” He snapped his fingers. “But the lives of my people are everything to me. That is all I care for now.” He walked on ahead as Sturm caught up with them.
“Tanis,” he said. “The old man was right. We are being followed.”
9
Suspicions grow. The Sla-Mori.
The narrow trail climbed steeply up from the plains into a wooded valley in the foothills. Evening’s shadows gathered close around them as they followed the stream up into the mountain. They had traveled only a short distance, however, when Gilthanas left the trail and disappeared into the brush. The companions stopped, looking at each other doubtfully.
“This is madness,” Eben whispered to Tanis. “Trolls live in this valley—who do you think made that trail?” The dark-haired man took Tanis’s arm with a cool familiarity the halfelf found disconcerting. “Admittedly, I’m the new kid in town, so to speak, and the gods know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but how much do you know about this Gilthanas?”
“I know—” Tanis began, but Eben ignored him.
“There were some of us who didn’t believe that draconian army stumbled onto us by accident, if you take my meaning. My boys and I had been hiding in the hills, fighting the dragonarmies ever since they hit Gateway. Last week, these elves showed up out of nowhere. They told us they were going to raid one of the Dragon Highlord’s fortresses and would we like to come along and help? We said, sure, why not—anything to stick a bone in the Dragon High Man’s craw.
“As we hiked, we began to get really nervous. There were draconian tracks all over the place! But it didn’t bother the elves. Gilthanas said the tracks were old. That night we made camp and posted a watch. It didn’t do us a lot of good, just gave us about twenty seconds warning before the draconians hit. And”—Eben glanced around and moved even closer—“while we were trying to wake up, grab our weapons, and fight those foul creatures, I heard the elves calling out, as if someone was lost. And who do you suppose they were calling for?”
Eben regarded Tanis intently. The half-elf frowned and shook his head, irritated at the dramatics.
“Gilthanas!” Eben hissed. “He was gone! They shouted and shouted for him—their leader!” The man shrugged. “Whether he ever showed up or not, I don’t know. I was captured. They took us to Solace, where I got away. Anyway, I’d think twice about following that elf. He may have had good reason to be gone when the draconians attacked, but—”
“I’ve known Gilthanas a long time,” Tanis interrupted gruffly, more disturbed than he wanted to admit.
“Sure. Just thought you should know,” Eben said, smiling sympathetically. He clapped Tanis on the back and dropped back to stand by Tika.
Tanis didn’t have to look around to know Caramon and Sturm had heard every word. Neither said anything, however, and before Tanis could talk to them, Gilthanas appeared suddenly, slipping out from among the trees.
“It is not much farther,” the elf said. “The brush thins up ahead and the walking is easier.”
“I say we just go in the front gate,” Eben said.
“I agree,” Caramon said. The big man glanced at his brother who sat limply beneath a tree. Goldmoon was pale with fatigue. Even Tasslehoff’s head hung wearily.
“We could camp here tonight and go in by the fron
t gates at dawn,” Sturm suggested.
“We stick to the original plan,” Tanis said sharply. “We make camp once we reach the Sla-Mori.”
Then Flint spoke up. “You can go ring the bell at the gate and ask Lord Verminaard to let you in if you want, Sturm Brightblade. I’m sure he’d oblige. C’mon, Tanis.” The dwarf stumped off down the trail.
“At least,” Tanis said to Sturm in a low voice, “maybe this will throw off our pursuer.”
“Whoever or whatever it is,” Sturm answered. “It’s woods-crafty, I’ll say that for it. Every time I caught a glimpse and started back for a closer look, it vanished. I thought about ambushing it, but there wasn’t time.”
The group emerged from the brush thankfully, arriving at the base of a gigantic granite cliff. Gilthanas walked along the cliff face for several hundred feet, his hand feeling for something on the rock. Suddenly he stopped.
“We are here,” he whispered. Reaching into his tunic, he removed a small gem that began to glow a soft, muted yellow. Running his hand over the rock wall, the elf found what he was searching for, a small niche in the granite. He placed the gem in the niche and began reciting ancient words and tracing unseen symbols in the night air.
“Very impressive,” whispered Fizban. “I didn’t know he was one of us,” he said to Raistlin.
“A dabbler, nothing more,” the mage replied. Leaning wearily on his staff, he watched Gilthanas intently, however.
Suddenly and silently, a huge block of stone separated from the cliff face and began moving slowly to one side. The companions backed up as a blast of chill, dank air flowed from the gaping hole in the rock.
“What’s in there?” Caramon asked suspiciously.
“I do not know what is in there now,” Gilthanas replied. “I have never entered. I know of this place only through the lore of my people.”
“All right,” Caramon growled. “What used to be in there?”
Gilthanas paused, then said. “This was the burial chamber of Kith-Kanan.”
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