Dragons of Autumn Twilight

by Margaret Weis

  “Behind the throne!” he yelled, preparing to hold the monster’s attention while Goldmoon and Laurana ran for cover. His hand reached out, grabbing for a huge rock, anything to hurl at the creature!—when his fingers closed over the metal hilt of a sword.

  Tanis nearly dropped the weapon in amazement. The metal was so cold it burned his hand. The blade gleamed brightly in the wavering light of the mage’s staff. There wasn’t time to question, however. Tanis drove the point into the slug’s gaping maw just as the creature swooped in for the kill.

  “Run!” Tanis yelled. Grasping Laurana’s hand, he dragged her toward the hole. Pushing her through, he turned around, preparing to help keep the slug at bay while the others escaped. But the slug’s appetite had died. Writhing in misery, it slowly turned and slithered back toward its lair. Clear, sticky liquid dribbled from its wounds.

  The companions crowded into the tunnel, stopping for a moment to calm their hearts and breathe deeply. Raistlin, wheezing, leaned on his brother. Tanis glanced around. “Where’s Tasslehoff?” he asked in frustration. Whirling around to go back into the hall, he nearly fell over the kender.

  “I brought you the scabbard,” Tas said, holding it up. “For the sword.”

  “Back down the tunnel,” Tanis said firmly, stopping everyone’s questions.

  Reaching the crossroads and sinking down on the dusty floor to rest, Tanis turned to the elfmaid. “What in the name of the Abyss are you doing here, Laurana? Has something happened in Qualinost?”

  “Nothing happened,” Laurana said, shaking from the encounter with the slug. “I … I … just came.”

  “Then you’re going right back!” Gilthanas yelled angrily, grabbing Laurana. She broke away from his grasp.

  “I’m not either going back,” she said petulantly. “I’m coming with you and Tanis and … the rest.”

  “Laurana, this is madness,” Tanis snapped. “We’re not going on an outing. This isn’t a game. You saw what happened in there—we were nearly killed!”

  “I know, Tanthalas,” Laurana said pleadingly. Her voice quivered and broke. “You told me that there comes a time when you’ve got to risk your life for something you believe in. I’m the one who followed you.”

  “You could have been killed—” Gilthanas began.

  “But I wasn’t!” Laurana cried defiantly. “I have been trained as a warrior—all elven women are, in memory of the time when we fought beside our men to save our homeland.”

  “It’s not serious training—” Tanis began angrily.

  “I followed you, didn’t I?” Laurana demanded, casting a glance at Sturm. “Skillfully?” she asked the knight.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Still, that doesn’t mean—”

  Raistlin interrupted him. “We are losing time,” the mage whispered. “And I for one do not want to spend any longer than I must in this dank and musty tunnel.” He was wheezing, barely able to breathe. “The girl has made her decision. We can spare no one to return with her, nor do we dare trust her to leave on her own. She might be captured and reveal our plans. We must take her.”

  Tanis glared at the mage, hating him for his cold, unfeeling logic, and for being right. The half-elf stood up, yanking Laurana to her feet. He came very close to hating her, too, without quite understanding why, knowing simply that she was making a difficult task much harder.

  “You are on your own,” he told her quietly, as the rest stood up and gathered their things. “I can’t hang around, protecting you. Neither can Gilthanas. You have behaved like a spoiled brat. I told you once before—you’d better grow up. Now, if you don’t, you’re going to die and probably get all the rest of us killed right along with you!”

  “I’m sorry, Tanthalas,” Laurana said, avoiding his angry gaze. “But I couldn’t lose you, not again. I love you.” Her lips tightened and she said softly, “I’ll make you proud of me.”

  Tanis turned and walked away. Catching sight of Caramon’s grinning face and hearing Tika giggle, he flushed. Ignoring them, he approached Sturm and Gilthanas. “It seems we must take the right-hand corridor after all, whether or not Raistlin’s feelings about evil are correct.” He buckled on his new sword belt and scabbard, noticing, as he did so, Raistlin’s eyes lingering on the weapon.

  “What is it now?” he asked irritably.

  “The sword is enchanted,” Raistlin said softly, coughing. “How did you get it?”

  Tanis started. He stared at the blade, moving his hand as though it might turn into a snake. He frowned, trying to remember. “I was near the body of the elven king, searching for something to throw at the slug, when, suddenly, the sword was in my hand. It had been taken out of the sheath and—” Tanis paused, swallowing.

  “Yes?” Raistlin pursued, his eyes glittering eagerly.

  “He gave it to me,” Tanis said softly. “I remember, his hand touched mine. He pulled it from its sheath.”

  “Who?” asked Gilthanas. “None of us were near there.”

  “Kith-Kanan.…”

  10

  The Royal Guard.

  The Chain Room.

  Perhaps it was just imagination, but the darkness seemed thicker as they walked down the other tunnel and the air grew colder. No one needed the dwarf to tell them that this was not normal in a cave, where the temperature supposedly stayed constant. They reached a branch in the tunnel, but no one felt inclined to go left, which might lead them back to the Hall of the Ancients—and the wounded slug.

  “The elf almost got us killed by the slug,” Eben said accusingly. “I wonder what’s in store for us down here?”

  No one answered. By now, everyone was experiencing the sense of growing evil Raistlin had warned of. Their footsteps slowed, and it was only through force of group will that they continued on. Laurana felt fear convulse her limbs and she clung to the wall for support. She longed for Tanis to comfort her and protect her, as he had done when they were younger and facing imaginary foes, but he walked at the head of the line with her brother. Each had his own fear to contend with. At that moment, Laurana decided that she would die before she asked for their help. It occurred to her, then, that she was really serious when she said she wanted to make Tanis proud of her. Shoving herself away from the side of the crumbling tunnel, she gritted her teeth and moved forward.

  The tunnel came to an abrupt end. Crumbled stone and rubble lay beneath a hole in the rock wall. The sense of malevolent evil flowing from the darkness beyond the hole could almost be felt, wafting across the flesh like the touch of unseen fingers. The companions stopped, none of them—not even the nerveless kender—daring to enter.

  “It’s not that I’m afraid,” Tas confided in a whisper to Flint. “Its just that I’d rather be somewhere else.”

  The silence became oppressive. Each could hear his own heart beat and the breathing of the others. The light jittered and wavered in the mage’s shaking hand.

  “Well, we can’t stay here forever,” Eben said hoarsely. “Let the elf go in. He’s the one who brought us here!”

  “I’ll go,” Gilthanas answered. “But I’ll need light.”

  “None may touch the staff but I,” Raistlin hissed. He paused, then added reluctantly, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Raist—” Caramon began, but his brother stared at him coldly. “I’ll go, too,” the big man muttered.

  “No,” Tanis said. “You stay here and guard the others. Gilthanas, Raistlin, and I will go.”

  Gilthanas entered the hole in the wall, followed by the mage and Tanis, the half-elf assisting Raistlin. The light revealed a narrow chamber, vanishing into darkness beyond the staff’s reach. On either side were rows of large stone doors, each held in place by huge iron hinges, spiked directly into the rock wall. Raistlin held the staff high, shining it down the shadowy chamber. Each knew that the evil was centered here.

  “There’s carving on the doors,” Tanis murmured. The staff’s light threw the stone figures into high relief.

  Gilthanas stared at
it. “The Royal Crest!” he said in a strangled voice.

  “What does that mean?” Tanis asked, feeling the elf’s fear infect him like a plague.

  “These are the crypts of the Royal Guard,” Gilthanas whispered. “They are pledged to continue their duties, even in death, and guard the king—so the legends speak.”

  “And so the legends come to life!” Raistlin breathed, gripping Tanis’s arm. Tanis heard the sound of huge stone blocks shifting, of rusting iron hinges creaking. Turning his head, he saw each of the stone doors begin to swing wide! The hallway filled with a cold so severe that Tanis felt his fingers go numb. Things moved behind the stone doors.

  “The Royal Guard! They made the tracks!” Raistlin whispered frantically. “Human and not human. There is no escape!” he said, grasping Tanis tighter. “Unlike the spectres of Darken Wood, these have but one thought—to destroy all who commit the sacrilege of disturbing the king’s rest!”

  “We’ve got to try!” Tanis said, unclenching the mage’s biting fingers from his arm. He stumbled backward and reached the entryway, only to find it blocked by two figures.

  “Get back!” Tanis gasped. “Run! Who, Fizban? No, you crazy old man! We’ve got to run! The dead guards—”

  “Oh, calm down,” the old man muttered. “Young people. Alarmists.” He turned around and helped someone else enter. It was Goldmoon, her hair gleaming in the light.

  “It’s all right, Tanis,” she called softly. “Look!” She drew aside her cape: the medallion she wore glowed blue. “Fizban said they would let us pass, Tanis, if they saw the medallion. And when he said that—it began to glow!”

  “No!” Tanis started to order her back, but Fizban tapped him on the chest with a long, bony finger.

  “You’re a good man, Tanis Half-Elven,” the old mage said softly, “but you worry too much. Now just relax and let us send these poor souls back to their sleep. Bring the others along, will you?”

  Tanis, too startled for words, fell back as Goldmoon and Fizban walked past, Riverwind following. As Tanis watched, they walked slowly between the rows of gaping stone doors. Behind each stone door, movement ceased as she passed. Even at that distance, he could feel the sense of malevolent evil slip away.

  As the others came to the crumbling entryway and he helped them through, he answered their whispered questions with a shrug. Laurana didn’t say a word to him as she entered; her hand was cold to the touch and he could see, to his astonishment, blood on her lip. Knowing she must have bitten it to keep from screaming, Tanis, remorseful, started to say something to her. But the elfmaid held her head high and refused to look at him.

  The others ran after Goldmoon hurriedly, but Tasslehoff, pausing to peek into one of the crypts, saw a tall figure dressed in resplendent armor lying on a stone bier. Skeletal hands grasped the hilt of a longsword lying across the body. Tas looked up at the Royal Crest curiously, sounding out the words.

  “Sothi Nuinqua Tsalarioth,” said Tanis, coming up behind the kender.

  “What does it mean?” Tas asked.

  “Faithful beyond Death,” Tanis said softly.

  At the west end of the crypts, they found a set of bronze double doors. Goldmoon pushed it open easily and led them into a triangular passage that opened into a large hall. Inside this room, the only difficulty they faced was in trying to get the dwarf out of it. The hall was perfectly intact, the only room in the Sla-Mori they had encountered so far that had survived the Cataclysm without damage. And the reason for that, Flint explained to anyone who would listen, was the wonderful dwarven construction—particularly the twenty-three columns supporting the ceiling.

  The only way out was two identical bronze doors at the far end of the chamber, leading west. Flint, tearing himself away from the columns, examined each and grumbled that he hadn’t any idea what was behind them or where they led. After a brief discussion, Tanis decided to take the door to his right.

  The door opened onto a clean, narrow passageway that led them, after about thirty feet, to another single bronze door. This door, however, was locked. Caramon pushed, tugged, pried—all to no avail.

  “It’s no use,” the big man grunted. “It won’t budge.”

  Flint watched Caramon for several minutes, then finally stumped forward. Examining the door, he snorted and shook his head. “It’s a false door!”

  “Looks real to me!” Caramon said, staring at the door suspiciously. “It’s even got hinges!”

  “Of course, it does,” Flint snorted. “We don’t build false doors to look false—even a gully dwarf knows that.”

  “So we’re at a dead end!” Eben said grimly.

  “Stand back,” Raistlin whispered, carefully leaning his staff against a wall. He placed both hands on the door, touching it only with the tips of his fingers, then said, “Khetsaram pakliol!” There was a flare of orange light, but not from the door—it came from the wall!

  “Move!” Raistlin grabbed his brother and jerked him back, just as the entire wall, bronze door and all, began to pivot.

  “Quickly, before it shuts,” Tanis said, and everyone hurried through the door, Caramon catching his brother as Raistlin staggered.

  “Are you all right?” Caramon asked, as the wall slammed shut behind them.

  “Yes, the weakness will pass,” Raistlin whispered. “That is the first spell I have cast from the spellbook of Fistandantilus. The spell of opening worked, but I did not believe it would drain me like this.”

  The door led them into another passageway that ran straight west for about forty feet, took a sharp turn to the south, then east, then continued south again. Here the way was blocked by another single bronze door.

  Raistlin shook his head. “I can only use the spell once. It is gone from my memory.”

  “A fireball would open the door,” said Fizban. “I think I remember that spell now—”

  “No, Old One,” Tanis said hastily. “It would fry all of us in this narrow passage. Tas—”

  Reaching the door, the kender pushed on it. “Drat, it’s open,” he said, disappointed not to have to pick a lock. He peered inside. “Just another room.”

  They entered cautiously, Raistlin illuminating the chamber with the staff’s light. The room was perfectly round, about one hundred feet in diameter. Directly across from them, to the south, stood a bronze door and in the center of the room—

  “A crooked column,” Tas said, giggling. “Look, Flint. The dwarves built a crooked column!”

  “If they did, they had a good reason,” the dwarf snapped, shoving the kender aside to examine the tall, thin column. It definitely slanted.

  “Hmmmm,” said Flint, puzzled. Then—“It isn’t a column at all, you doorknob!” Flint exploded. “It’s a great, huge chain! Look, you can see here it’s hooked to an iron bracket on the floor.”

  “Then we are in the Chain Room!” Gilthanas said in excitement. “This is the famed defense mechanism of Pax Tharkas. We must be almost in the fortress.”

  The companions gathered around, staring at the monstrous chain in wonder. Each link was as long as Caramon was tall and as thick around as the trunk of an oak.

  “What does the mechanism do?” asked Tasslehoff, longing to climb up the great chain. “Where does this lead?”

  “The chain leads to the mechanism itself,” Gilthanas answered. “As to how it works, you must ask the dwarf for I am unfamiliar with engineering. But if this chain is released from its moorings”—he pointed to the iron bracket in the floor—“massive blocks of granite drop down behind the gates of the fortress. Then no force on Krynn can open them.”

  Leaving the kender to peer up into the shadowy darkness, trying in vain to get a glimpse of the wondrous mechanism, Gilthanas joined the others in searching the room.

  “Look at this!” he finally cried, pointing to a faint door-shaped line in the stones on the north wall. “A secret door! This must be the entrance!”

  “There’s the catch.” Tasslehoff, turning from the chain, point
ed to a chipped piece of stone at the bottom. “The dwarves slipped up,” he said, grinning at Flint. “This is a false door that looks false.”

  “And therefore not to be trusted,” Flint said flatly.

  “Bah, dwarves have bad days like everyone else,” Eben said, bending down to try the catch.

  “Don’t open it!” Raistlin said suddenly.

  “Why not?” asked Sturm. “Because you want to alert someone before we find the way into Pax Tharkas?”

  “If I had wanted to betray you, knight, I could have done so a thousand times before this!” Raistlin hissed, staring at the secret door. “I sense a power behind that door greater than any I have felt since—” He stopped, shuddering.

  “Since when?” his brother prompted gently.

  “The Towers of High Sorcery!” Raistlin whispered. “I warn you, do not open that door!”

  “See where the south door leads,” Tanis told the dwarf.

  Flint stumped over to the bronze door on the south wall and shoved it open. “Near as I can tell, it leads down another passage exactly like all the others,” he reported glumly

  “The way to Pax Tharkas is through a secret door,” Gilthanas repeated. Before anyone could stop him, he reached down and pulled out the chipped stone. The door shivered and began to swing silently inward.

  “You will regret this!” Raistlin choked.

  The door slid aside to reveal a large room, nearly filled with yellow, brick-like objects. Through a thick layer of dust, a faint yellowish color was visible.

  “A treasure room!” Eben cried. “We’ve found the treasure of Kith-Kanan!”

  “All in gold,” Sturm said coldly. “Worthless, these days, since steel’s the only thing of any value.…” His voice trailed off, his eyes widened in horror.

  “What is it?” shouted Caramon, drawing his sword.

  “I don’t know!” Sturm said, more as a gasp than words.

  “I do!” Raistlin breathed as the thing took shape before his eyes. “It is the spirit of a dark elf! I warned you not to open that door.”