“More spooks,” Flint grumbled, peering into the darkness. “Send the mage in first, so he can warn them we’re coming.”
“Throw the dwarf in,” Raistlin returned. “They are accustomed to living in dark, dank caves.”
“You speak of the mountain dwarves!” Flint said, his beard bristling. “It has been long years since the hill dwarves lived below ground in the kingdom of Thorbardin.”
“Only because you were cast out!” Raistlin hissed.
“Stop it, both of you!” Tanis said in exasperation. “Raistlin, what do you sense about this place?”
“Evil. Great evil,” the mage replied.
“But I sense great goodness, too,” Fizban spoke unexpectedly. “The elves are not truly forgotten within, though evil things have come to rule in their stead.”
“This is crazy!” Eben shouted. The noise echoed uncannily among the rocks and the others whirled, startled, staring at him in alarm. “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his voice. “But I can’t believe you people are going in there! It doesn’t take a magician to tell there’s evil inside that hole. I can feel it! Go back around to the front,” he urged. “Sure, there’ll be one or two guards, but that’s nothing compared to whatever lurks in that darkness beyond!”
“He’s got a point, Tanis,” Caramon said. “You can’t fight the dead. We learned that in Darken Wood.”
“This is the only way!” Gilthanas said angrily. “If you are such cowards—”
“There’s a difference between caution and cowardice, Gilthanas,” Tanis said, his voice steady and calm. The half-elf thought a moment. “We might be able to take on the guards at the front gate, but not before they could alert others. I say we enter and at least explore this way. Flint, you lead. Raistlin, we’ll need your light.”
“Shirak,” spoke the mage softly, and the crystal on his staff began to glow. He and Flint plunged into the cave, followed closely by the rest. The tunnel they entered was obviously ancient, but whether it was natural or artifact was impossible to tell.
“What about our pursuer?” Sturm asked in a low voice. “Do we leave the entrance open?”
“A trap,” Tanis agreed softly. “Leave it open just a crack, Gilthanas, enough so that whoever’s tracking us knows we came in here and can follow, but not enough so that it looks like a trap.”
Gilthanas drew forth the gem, placed it in a niche on the inner side of the entrance, and spoke a few words. The stone began to slide silently back into place. At the last moment, when it was about seven or eight inches from closing, Gilthanas swiftly removed the gemstone. The stone shuddered to a halt, and the knight, the elf, and the half-elf joined the companions in the entrance to the Sla-Mori.
“There is a great deal of dust,” Raistlin reported, coughing—“but no tracks, at least in this part of the cave.”
“About one hundred and twenty feet farther on, there’s a crossroads,” Flint added. “We found footprints there, but we could not make out what they were. They don’t look like draconians or hobgoblins and they don’t come this direction. The mage says the evil flows from the road to the right.”
“We will camp here for the night,” Tanis said, “near the entry. We’ll post double watch—one by the door, one down the corridor. Sturm, you and Caramon first. Gilthanas and I, Eben and Riverwind, Flint and Tasslehoff.”
“And me,” said Tika stoutly, though she couldn’t ever remember being so tired in her life. “I’ll take my turn.”
Tanis was glad the darkness hid his smile. “Very well,” he said. “You watch with Flint and Tasslehoff.”
“Good!” Tika replied. Opening her pack, she shook out a blanket and lay down, conscious all the while of Caramon’s eyes on her. She noticed Eben watching her, too. She didn’t mind that. She was accustomed to men staring at her admiringly and Eben was handsomer even than Caramon. Certainly he was wittier and more charming than the big warrior. Still, just the memory of Caramon’s arms around her made her shiver with delightful fear. She firmly put the memory from her mind and tried to get comfortable. The chain mail was cold and it pinched her through her blouse. Yet she noticed the others didn’t take theirs off. Besides, she was tired enough to sleep dressed in a full suit of plate armor. The last thing Tika remembered as she drifted off was telling herself she was thankful she wasn’t alone with Caramon.
Goldmoon saw the warrior’s eyes linger on Tika. Whispering something to Riverwind—who nodded, smiling—she left him and walked over to Caramon. Touching him on the arm, she drew him away from the others into the shadow of the corridor.
“Tanis tells me you have an older sister,” she stated.
“Yes,” Caramon answered, startled. “Kitiara. Though she’s my half-sister.”
Goldmoon smiled and laid her hand gently on Caramon’s arm. “I’m going to talk to you like an older sister.”
Caramon grinned. “Not like Kitiara, you won’t, Lady of Que-shu. Kit taught me the meaning of every swear word I’d ever heard, plus a few I hadn’t. She taught me to use a sword and fight with honor in the tournaments, but she also taught me how to kick a man in the groin when the judges weren’t watching. No, lady, you’re not much like my older sister.”
Goldmoon’s eyes opened wide, startled by this portrayal of a woman she guessed the half-elf loved. “But I thought she and Tanis, I mean they …”
Caramon winked. “They certainly did!” he said.
Goldmoon drew a deep breath. She hadn’t meant the conversation to wander off, but it did lead to her subject. “In a way, that’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Only this has to do with Tika.”
“Tika?” Caramon flushed. “She’s a big girl. Begging your pardon, I don’t see that what we do is any of your concern.”
“She is a girl, Caramon,” Goldmoon said gently. “Don’t you understand?”
Caramon looked blank. He knew Tika was a girl. What did Goldmoon mean? Then he blinked in sudden understanding and groaned. “No, she isn’t—”
“Yes.” Goldmoon sighed. “She is. She’s never been with a man before. She told me, while we were in the grove putting on her armor. She’s frightened, Caramon. She’s heard a lot of stories. Don’t rush her. She desperately wants approval from you, and she might do anything to win it. But don’t let her use that as a reason to do something she’ll regret later. If you truly love her, time will prove it and enhance the moment’s sweetness.”
“I guess you know that, huh?” Caramon said, looking at Goldmoon.
“Yes,” she said softly her eyes going to Riverwind. “We have waited long, and sometimes the pain is unbearable. But the laws of my people are strict. I don’t suppose it would matter now,” she spoke in a whisper, more to herself than Caramon, “since we are the only two left. But, in a way, that makes it even more important. When our vows are spoken, we will lie together as man and wife. Not until then.”
“I understand. Thanks for telling me about Tika,” Caramon said. He patted Goldmoon awkwardly on the shoulder and returned to his post.
The night passed quietly, with no sign of their pursuer. When the watches changed, Tanis discussed Eben’s story with Gilthanas and received an unsatisfactory answer. Yes, what the man said was true. Gilthanas had been gone when the draconians attacked. He had been trying to convince the druids to help. He’d returned when he heard the sounds of battle and that’s when he’d been struck on the head. He told Tanis all this in a low, bitter voice.
The companions woke when morning’s pale light crept through the door. After a quick breakfast, they gathered their things and walked down the corridor into the Sla-Mori.
Arriving at the crossroads, they examined both directions, left and right. Riverwind knelt to study the tracks, then rose, his expression puzzled.
“They are human,” he said, “but they are not human. There are animal tracks as well—probably rats. The dwarf was right. I see no sign of draconians or goblins. What is odd, however, is that the animal tracks end right here where the paths cross. Th
ey do not go into the right-hand corridor. The other strange tracks do not go to the left.”
“Well, which way do we go?” Tanis asked.
“I say we don’t go either way!” Eben stated. “The entrance is still open. Let’s turn back.”
“Turning back is no longer an option,” Tanis said coldly. “I would give you leave to go yourself, only—”
“Only you don’t trust me,” Eben finished. “I don’t blame you, Tanis Half-Elven. All right, I said I’d help and I meant it. Which way—left or right?”
“The evil comes from the right,” Raistlin whispered.
“Gilthanas?” Tanis asked. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
“No, Tanthalas,” the elf answered. “Legend says that there were many entrances from Sla-Mori into Pax Tharkas, all secret. Only the elven priests were allowed down here, to honor the dead. One way is as good as another.”
“Or as bad,” whispered Tasslehoff to Tika. She gulped and crept over to stand near Caramon.
“We’ll go left,” Tanis said—“since Raistlin feels uneasy about the right.”
Walking by the light of the mage’s staff, the companions followed the dusty, rock-strewn tunnel for several hundred feet, then reached an ancient stone wall rent by a huge hole through which only darkness was visible. Raistlin’s small light showed faintly the distant walls of a great hall.
The warriors entered first, flanking the mage, who held his staff high. The gigantic hall must once have been splendid, but now it had fallen into such decay that its faded splendor seemed pathetic and horrible. Two rows of seven columns ran the length of the hall, though some lay shattered on the floor. Part of the far wall was caved in, evidence of the destructive force of the Cataclysm. At the very back of the room stood two double bronze doors.
As Raistlin advanced, the others spread out, swords drawn. Suddenly Caramon, in the front of the hall, gave a strangled cry. The mage hurried to shine his light where Caramon pointed with a trembling hand.
Before them was a massive throne, ornately carved of granite. Two huge marble statues flanked the throne, their sightless eyes staring forward into the darkness. The throne they guarded was not empty. Upon it sat the skeletal remains of what had once been a male—of what race, none could say, death being the great equalizer. The figure was dressed in regal robes that, even though faded and decayed, still gave evidence of their richness. A cloak covered the gaunt shoulders. A crown gleamed on the fleshless skull. The bone hands, fingers lying gracefully in death, rested on a sheathed sword.
Gilthanas fell to his knees. “Kith-Kanan,” he said in a whisper. “We stand in the Hall of the Ancients, his burial tomb. None have seen this sight since the elven clerics vanished in the Cataclysm.”
Tanis stared at the throne until, slowly, overcome by feelings he did not understand, the half-elf sank to his knees. “Fealan thalos, Im murquanethi. Sai Kith-Kananoth Murtari Larion,” he murmured in tribute to the greatest of the elven kings.
“What a beautiful sword,” Tasslehoff said, his shrill voice breaking the reverent silence. Tanis glared at him sternly. “I’m not going to take it!” the kender protested, looking wounded. “I just mentioned it, as an item of interest.”
Tanis rose to his feet. “Don’t touch it,” he said sternly to the kender, then went to explore other parts of the room.
As Tas walked closer to examine the sword, Raistlin went with him. The mage began to murmur, “Tsaran korilath ith hakon,” and moved his thin hand swiftly above the sword in a prescribed pattern. The sword began to give off a faint red glow. Raistlin smiled and said softly, “It is enchanted.”
Tas gasped. “Good enchantment? Or bad?”
“I have no way of knowing,” the mage whispered. “But since it has lain undisturbed for so long, I certainly would not venture to touch it!”
He turned away, leaving Tas to wonder if he dared disobey Tanis and risk being turned into something icky.
While the kender was wrestling with temptation, the rest searched the walls for secret entrances. Flint helped by giving them learned and lengthy descriptions of dwarven-built hidden doorways. Gilthanas walked to the far end from Kith-Kanan’s throne, where the two huge bronze double doors stood. One, bearing a relief map of Pax Tharkas, was slightly ajar. Calling for light, he and Raistlin studied the map.
Caramon gave the skeletal figure of the long dead king a final backward glance and joined Sturm and Flint in searching the walls for secret doors. Finally Flint called, “Tasslehoff, you worthless kender, this is your specialty. At least you’re always bragging about how you found the door that had been lost for one hundred years which led to the great jewel of the something-or-other.”
“It was in a place like this, too,” Tas said, his interest in the sword forgotten. Skipping over to help, he came to a sudden stop.
“What’s that?” he asked, cocking his head.
“What’s what?” Flint said absently, slapping the walls.
“A scraping sound,” the kender said, puzzled. “It’s coming from those doors.”
Tanis looked up, having learned, long ago, to respect Tasslehoff’s hearing. He walked toward the doors where Gilthanas and Raistlin were intent upon the map. Suddenly Raistlin took a step backward. Foul-smelling air wafted into the room through the open door. Now everyone could hear the scraping sound and a soft, squishing noise.
“Shut the door!” Raistlin whispered urgently.
“Caramon!” Tanis cried. “Sturm!” The two were already running for the door, along with Eben. All of them leaned against it, but they were flung backward as the bronze doors flew open, banging against the walls with a hollow booming sound. A monster slithered into the hall.
“Help us, Mishakal!” Goldmoon breathed the goddess’s name as she sank back against the wall. The thing entered the room swiftly despite its great bulk. The scraping sound they had heard was caused by its gigantic, bloated body sliding along the floor.
“A slug!” Tas said, running up to examine it with interest. “But look at the size of that thing! How do you suppose it got so big? I wonder what it eats—”
“Us, you ninny!” Flint shouted, grabbing the kender and flinging him to the ground just as the huge slug spat out a stream of saliva. Its eyes, perched atop slender, rotating stalks on top of its head, were not of much use, nor did it need them. The slug could find and devour rats in the darkness by sense of smell alone. Now it detected much larger prey, and it shot its paralyzing saliva in the general direction of the living flesh it craved.
The deadly liquid missed as the kender and the dwarf rolled out of the way. Sturm and Caramon charged in, slashing at the monster with their swords. Caramon’s sword didn’t even penetrate the thick, rubbery hide. Sturm’s two-handed blade bit, causing the slug to rear back in pain. Tanis charged forward as the slug’s head swiveled toward the knight.
“Tanthalas!”
The scream pierced Tanis’s concentration and he halted, turning back to stare in amazement at the entrance to the hall.
“Laurana!”
At that moment, the slug, sensing the half-elf, spat the corrosive liquid at him. The saliva struck his sword, causing the metal to fizz and smoke, then dissolve in his hand. The burning liquid ran down his arm, searing his flesh. Tanis, screaming in agony, fell to his knees.
“Tanthalas!” Laurana cried again, running to him.
“Stop her!” Tanis gasped, doubled over in pain, clutching a hand and sword-arm suddenly blackened and useless.
The slug, sensing success, slithered forward, dragging its pulsating gray body through the door. Goldmoon cast a fearful glance at the huge monster, then ran to Tanis. Riverwind stood over them, protectively.
“Get away!” Tanis said through clenched teeth.
Goldmoon grasped his injured hand in her own, praying to the goddess. Riverwind fit an arrow to his bow and shot at the slug. The arrow struck the creature in the neck, doing little damage, but distracting its attention from Tanis.
> The half-elf saw Goldmoon’s hand touch his, but he could feel nothing but pain. Then the pain eased and feeling returned to his hand. Smiling at Goldmoon, he marveled at her healing powers, even as he lifted his head to see what was happening.
The others were attacking the creature with renewed fury, attempting to distract it from Tanis, but they might as well have been plunging their weapons into a thick, rubbery wall.
Tanis rose to his feet shakily. His hand was healed, but his sword lay on the ground, a molten lump of metal. Weaponless except for his longbow, he fell back, pulling Goldmoon with him as the slug slid into the room.
Raistlin ran to Fizban’s side. “Now is the time for the casting of the fireball, Old One,” he panted.
“It is?” Fizban’s face filled with delight. “Wonderful! How does it go?”
“Don’t you remember!” Raistlin practically shrieked, dragging the mage behind a pillar as the slug spat another glob of burning saliva onto the floor.
“I used to … let me see.” Fizban’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Can’t you do it?”
“I have not gained the power yet, Old One! That spell is still beyond my strength!” Raistlin closed his eyes and began to concentrate on those spells he did know.
“Fall back! Get out of here!” Tanis shouted, shielding Laurana and Goldmoon as best he could while he fumbled for his longbow and his arrows.
“It’ll just come after us!” Sturm yelled, thrusting his blade home once again. But all he and Caramon accomplished was to enrage the monster further.
Suddenly Raistlin held up his hands. “Kalith karan, tobaniskar!” he cried, and flaming darts sprang from his fingers, striking the creature in the head. The slug reared in silent agony and shook its head, but returned to the hunt. Suddenly it lunged straight forward, sensing victims at the end of the room where Tanis sought to protect Goldmoon and Laurana. Maddened by pain, driven wild by the smell of blood, the slug attacked with unbelievable speed. Tanis’s arrow bounced off the leathery hide and the monster dove for him, its mouth gaping open. The half-elf dropped the useless bow and staggered backward, nearly stumbling over the steps leading to the throne of Kith-Kanan.
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 39