“Do something!” Eben said, stumbling backward.
“Put up your weapons, fools!” Raistlin said in a piercing whisper. “You cannot fight her! Her touch is death, and if she wails while we are within these walls, we are doomed. Her keening voice alone kills. Run, run all of you! Quickly! Through the south door!”
Even as they fell back, the darkness in the treasure room took shape, coalescing into the coldly beautiful, distorted features of a female drow—an evil elf of ages past, whose punishment for crimes unspeakable had been execution. Then the powerful elven magic-users chained her spirit, forcing her to guard forever the king’s treasure. At the sight of these living beings, she stretched out her hands, craving the warmth of flesh, and opened her mouth to scream out her grief and her hatred of all living things.
The companions turned and fled, stumbling over each other in their haste to escape through the bronze door. Caramon fell over his brother, knocking the staff from Raistlin’s hand. The staff clattered on the floor, its light still glowing, for only dragonfire can destroy the magic crystal. But now its light flared out over the floor, plunging the rest of the room into darkness.
Seeing her prey escaping, the spirit flitted into the Chain Room, her grasping hand brushing Eben’s cheek. He screamed at the chilling, burning touch and collapsed. Sturm caught him and dragged him through the door just as Raistlin grabbed his staff and he and Caramon lunged through.
“Is that everyone?” Tanis asked, reluctant to close the door. Then he heard a low, moaning sound, so frightful that he felt his heart stop beating for a moment. Fear seized him. He couldn’t breathe. The cry ceased, and his heart gave a great, painful leap. The spirit sucked in its breath to scream again.
“No time to look!” Raistlin gasped. “Shut the door, brother!”
Caramon threw all his weight on the bronze door. It slammed shut with a boom that echoed through the hall.
“That won’t stop her!” Eben cried, panic-stricken.
“No,” said Raistlin softly. “Her magic is powerful, more powerful than mine. I can cast a spell on the door, but it will weaken me greatly. I suggest you run while you can. If it fails, perhaps I can stall her.”
“Riverwind, take the others on ahead,” Tanis ordered. “Sturm and I’ll stay with Raistlin and Caramon.”
The others crept down the dark corridor, looking back to watch in horrible fascination. Raistlin ignored them and handed the staff to his brother. The light from the glowing crystal flashed out at the unfamiliar touch.
The mage put his hands on the door, pressing both palms flat against it. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to forget everything except the magic. “Kalis-an budrunin—” His concentration broke as he felt a terrible chill.
The dark elf! She had recognized his spell and was trying to break him! Images of his battle with another dark elf in the Towers of High Sorcery came back to his mind. He struggled to blot out the evil memory of the battle that wrecked his body and came close to destroying his mind, but he felt himself losing control. He had forgotten the words! The door trembled. The elf was coming through!
Then from somewhere inside the mage came a strength he had discovered within himself only twice before—in the Tower and on the altar of the black dragon in Xak Tsaroth. The familiar voice that he could hear clearly in his mind yet never identify, spoke to him, repeating the words of the spell. Raistlin shouted them aloud in a strong, clear voice that was not his own. “Kalis-an budrunin kara-emarath!”
From the other side of the door came a wail of disappointment, failure. The door held. The mage collapsed.
Caramon handed the staff to Eben as he picked up his brother in his arms and followed the others as they groped their way along the dark passage. Another secret door opened easily to Flint’s hand, leading to a series of short, debris-filled tunnels. Trembling with fear, the companions wearily made their way past these obstacles. Finally they emerged into a large, open room filled from ceiling to floor with stacks of wooden crates. Riverwind lit a torch on the wall. The crates were nailed shut. Some bore the label SOLACE, some GATEWAY.
“This is it. We’re inside the fortress.” Gilthanas said, grimly victorious. “We stand in the cellar of Pax Tharkas.”
“Thank the true gods!” Tanis sighed and sank onto the floor, the others slumping down beside him. It was then they noticed that Fizban and Tasslehoff were missing.
11
Lost. The plan. Betrayed!
Tasslehoff could never afterward clearly recall those last, few, panicked moments in the Chain Room. He remembered saying, “A dark elf? Where?” and standing on his tiptoes, trying desperately to see, when suddenly the glowing staff fell on the floor. He heard Tanis shouting, and—above that—a kind of a moaning sound that made the kender lose all sense of where he was or what he was doing. Then strong hands grabbed him around the waist, lifting him up into the air.
“Climb!” shouted a voice beneath him.
Tasslehoff stretched out his hands, felt the cool metal of the chain, and began to climb. He heard a door boom, far below, and the chilling wail of the dark elf again. It didn’t sound deadly this time, more like a cry of rage and anger. Tas hoped this meant his friends had escaped.
“I wonder how I’ll find them again,” he asked himself softly, feeling discouraged for a moment. Then he heard Fizban muttering to himself and cheered up. He wasn’t alone.
Thick, heavy darkness wrapped around the kender. Climbing by feel alone, he was growing extremely tired when he felt cool air brush his right cheek. He sensed, rather than saw, that he must be coming to the place where the chain and the mechanism linked up (Tas was rather proud of that pun). If only he could see! Then he remembered. He was, after all, with a magician.
“We could use a light,” Tas called out.
“A fight? Where?” Fizban nearly lost his grip on the chain.
“Not fight! Light!” Tas said patiently, clinging to a link. “I think we’re near the top of this thing and we really ought to have a look around.”
“Oh, certainly. Let’s see, light …” Tas heard the magician fumbling in his pouches. Apparently he found what he was searching for, because he soon gave a little crow of triumph, spoke a few words, and a small puffball of bluish-yellow flame appeared, hovering near the magician’s hat.
The glowing puffball whizzed up, danced around Tasslehoff as if to inspect the kender, then returned to the proud magician. Tas was enchanted. He had all sorts of questions regarding the wonderful flaming puffball, but his arms were getting shaky and the old magician was nearly done in. He knew they had better find some way to get off this chain.
Looking up, he saw that they were, as he had guessed, at the top part of the fortress. The chain ran up over a huge wooden cogwheel mounted on an iron axle anchored in solid stone. The links of the chain fit over teeth big as tree trunks, then the chain stretched out across the wide shaft, disappearing into a tunnel to the kender’s right.
“We can climb onto that gear and crawl along the chain into the tunnel,” the kender said, pointing. “Can you send the light up here?”
“Light, to the wheel,” Fizban instructed.
The light wavered in the air for a moment, then danced back and forth in a decidedly nay-saying manner.
Fizban frowned. “Light—to the wheel!” he repeated firmly.
The puffball flame darted around to hide behind the magician’s hat. Fizban, making a wild grab for it, nearly fell, and flung both arms around the chain. The puffball light danced in the air behind him as if enjoying the game.
“Uh, I guess we’ve got enough light, after all,” Tas said.
“No discipline in the younger generation,” Fizban grumbled. “His father—now there was a puffball …” The old magician’s voice died away as he began to climb again, the puffball flame hovering near the tip of his battered hat.
Tas soon reached the first tooth on the wheel. Discovering the teeth were rough hewn and easy to climb, Tas crawled from one to another
until he reached the top. Fizban, his robes hiked up around his thighs, followed with amazing agility.
“Could you ask the light to shine in the tunnel?” Tas asked.
“Light—to the tunnel,” Fizban ordered, his bony legs wrapped around a link in the chain.
The puffball appeared to consider the command. Slowly it skittered to the edge of the tunnel, and then stopped.
“Inside the tunnel!” the magician commanded.
The puffball flame refused.
“I think it’s afraid of the dark,” Fizban said apologetically.
“My goodness, how remarkable!” the kender said in astonishment. “Well,” he thought for a moment, “if it will stay where it is, I think I can see enough to make my way across the chain. It looks like it’s only about fifteen feet or so to the tunnel.” With nothing below but several hundred feet of darkness and air, never mind the stone floor at the bottom, Tas thought.
“Someone should come up here and grease this thing,” Fizban said, examining the axle critically. “That’s all you get today, shoddy workmanship.”
“I’m really rather glad they didn’t,” Tas said mildly, crawling forward onto the chain. About halfway across the gap, the kender considered what it would be like to fall from this height, tumbling down and down and down, then hitting the stone floor at the bottom. He wondered what it would feel like to splatter all over the floor.…
“Get a move on!” Fizban shouted, crawling out onto the chain after the kender.
Tas crawled forward quickly to the tunnel entrance where the puffball flame waited, then jumped off the chain onto the stone floor about five feet below him. The puffball flame darted in after him, and finally Fizban reached the tunnel entrance, too. At the last moment, he fell, but Tas caught hold of his robes and dragged the old man to safety.
They were sitting on the floor resting when suddenly the old man’s head snapped up.
“My staff,” he said.
“What about it?” Tas yawned, wondering what time it was.
The old man struggled to his feet. “Left it down below,” he mumbled, heading for the chain.
“Wait! You can’t go back!” Tasslehoff jumped up in alarm.
“Who says?” asked the old man petulantly, his beard bristling.
“I m-mean …” Tas stuttered, “it would be too dangerous. But I know you how feel—my hoopak’s down there.”
“Hmmmm,” Fizban said, sitting back down disconsolately.
“Was it magic?” Tas asked after a moment.
“I was never quite certain,” Fizban said wistfully.
“Well,” said Tas practically, “maybe after we’ve finished the adventure we can go back and get it. Now let’s try to find some place to rest.”
He glanced around the tunnel. It was about seven feet from floor to ceiling. The huge chain ran along the top with numerous smaller chains attached, stretching across the tunnel floor into a vast dark pit beyond. Tas, staring down into it, could vaguely make out the shape of gigantic boulders.
“What time do you suppose it is?” Tas asked.
“Lunch time,” said the old man. “And we might as well rest right here. It’s as safe a place as any.” He plopped back down. Pulling out a handful of quith-pa, he began to chew on it noisily. The puffball flame wandered over and settled on the brim of the magician’s hat.
Tas sat down next to the mage and began to nibble on his own bit of dried fruit. Then he sniffed. There was suddenly a very peculiar smell, like someone burning old socks. Looking up, he sighed and tugged on the magician’s robe.
“Uh, Fizban,” he said. “Your hat’s on fire.”
“Flint,” Tanis said sternly, “for the last time—I feel as badly as you do about losing Tas, but we cannot go back! He’s with Fizban and, knowing those two, they’ll both manage to get out of whatever predicament they’re in.”
“If they don’t bring the whole fortress down around our ears,” Sturm muttered.
The dwarf wiped his hand across his eyes, glared at Tanis, then whirled on his heel and stumped back to a corner where he hurled himself onto the floor, sulking.
Tanis sat back down. He knew how Flint felt. It seemed odd—there’d been so many times he could happily have strangled the kender, but now that he was gone, Tanis missed him—and for exactly the same reasons. There was an innate, unfailing cheerfulness about Tasslehoff that made him an invaluable companion. No danger ever frightened a kender and, therefore, Tas never gave up. He was never at a loss for something to do in an emergency. It might not always be the right thing, but at least he was ready to act. Tanis smiled sadly. I only hope this emergency doesn’t prove to be his last, he thought.
The companions rested for an hour, eating quith-pa and drinking fresh water from a deep well they discovered. Raistlin regained consciousness but could eat nothing. He sipped water, then lay limply back. Caramon broke the news to him about Fizban hesitantly, fearing his brother might take the old mage’s disappearance badly. But Raistlin simply shrugged, closed his eyes, and sank into a deep sleep.
After Tanis felt his strength return, he rose and walked toward Gilthanas, noting that the elf was intently studying a map. Passing Laurana, who sat alone, he smiled at her. She refused to acknowledge it. Tanis sighed. Already he regretted speaking harshly to her back in the Sla-Mori. He had to admit that she had handled herself remarkably well under terrifying circumstances. She had done what she was told to quickly and without question. Tanis supposed he would have to apologize, but first he needed to talk to Gilthanas.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, sitting down on a crate.
“Yes, where are we?” Sturm asked. Soon almost everyone was crowded around the map except Raistlin who appeared to sleep, though Tanis thought he saw a slit of gold shining through the mage’s supposedly closed eyelids.
Gilthanas spread his map flat.
“Here is the fortress of Pax Tharkas and the surrounding mine area,” he said, then he pointed. “We are in the cellars here on the lowest level. Down this hallway, about fifty feet from here, are the rooms where the women are imprisoned. This is a guard room, across from the women, and this”—he tapped the map gently—“is the lair of one of the red dragons, the one Lord Verminaard called Ember. The dragon is so big, of course, that the lair extends up above ground level, communicating with Lord Verminaard’s chambers on the first floor, up through the gallery on the second floor, and out into the open sky.
Gilthanas smiled bitterly. “On the first floor, behind Verminaard’s chambers, is the prison where the children are kept. The Dragon Highlord is wise. He keeps the hostages separated, knowing that the women would never consider leaving without their children, and the men would not leave without their families. The children are guarded by a second red dragon in this room. The men—about three hundred of them—work in mines out in the mountain caves. There are several hundred gully dwarves working the mines as well.”
“You seem to know a lot about Pax Tharkas,” Eben said.
Gilthanas glanced up quickly. “What do you insinuate?”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” Eben answered. “It’s just that you know a lot about this place for never having been here! And wasn’t it interesting that we kept running into creatures who damn near killed us back in the Sla-Mori.”
“Eben,” Tanis spoke very quietly, “we’ve had enough of your suspicions. I don’t believe any of us is a traitor. As Raistlin said, the traitor could have betrayed any of us long before this. What’s the point of coming this far?”
“To bring me and the Disks to Lord Verminaard,” Goldmoon said softly. “He knows I am here, Tanis. He and I are linked by our faith.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Sturm snorted.
“No, it isn’t,” Goldmoon said. “Remember, there are two constellations missing. One was the Queen of Darkness. From what little I have been able to understand in the Disks of Mishakal, the Queen was also one of the ancient gods. The gods of good are matched by the gods o
f evil, with the gods of neutrality striving to keep the balance. Verminaard worships the Queen of Darkness as I worship Mishakal: that is what Mishakal meant when she said we were to restore the balance. The promise of good that I bring is the one thing he fears and he is exerting all his will to find me. The longer I stay here …” Her voice died.
“All the more reason to quit bickering,” Tanis stated, switching his gaze to Eben.
The fighter shrugged. “Enough said. I’m with you.”
“What is your plan, Gilthanas?” Tanis asked, noticing with irritation that Sturm and Caramon and Eben exchanged quick glances, three humans sticking together against the elves, he caught himself thinking. But perhaps I’m just as bad, believing in Gilthanas because he’s an elf.
Gilthanas saw the exchange of glances, too. For a moment he stared at them with an intense, unblinking gaze, then began to speak in a measured tone, considering his words, as if reluctant to reveal any more than was absolutely necessary.
“Every evening, ten to twelve women are allowed to leave their cells and take food to the men in the mines. Thus the Highlord lets the men see that he is keeping his side of the bargain. The women are allowed to visit the children once a day for the same reason. My warriors and I planned to disguise ourselves as women, go out to the men in the mines, tell them of the plan to free the hostages, and alert them to be ready to strike. Beyond that we had not thought, particularly in regard to freeing the children. Our spies indicated something strange about the dragon guarding the children, but we could not determine what.”
“What sp—?” Caramon started to ask, caught Tanis’s eye, and thought better of his question. Instead he asked, “When will we strike? And what about the dragon, Ember?”
“We strike tomorrow morning. Lord Verminaard and Ember will most certainly join the army tomorrow as it reaches the outskirts of Qualinesti. He has been preparing for this invasion a long time. I do not believe he will miss it.”
The group discussed the plan for several minutes, adding to it, refining it, generally agreeing that it appeared viable. They gathered their things as Caramon woke his brother. Sturm and Eben pushed open the door leading to the hallway. It appeared empty, although they could hear faint sounds of harsh, drunken laughter from a room directly across from them. Draconians. Silently, the companions slipped into the dark and dingy corridor.
Dragons of Autumn Twilight Page 41