The three of them lay in chilly water and sticky mud, staring in horror at the winged shape that had soared over them and now plummeted, intent upon the edifice of Loreloch.
Many of the pursuing bandits had come as far as the middle of the bridge. Now, confronted by flying death, they turned en masse and tried to flee back to the manor.
But the dragon was far too fast. The serpent closed the distance with another deceptively leisurely stroke of those great wings. The massive head lowered, and then the night became bright with a hellish assault of flame. The dragon flew onward in a rush, leaving behind a cacophony of crackling fire, screaming men, and rushing wind as the inferno sucked in the cool night air.
Next Flayze glided past the manor, ripping away one of the great walls with his mighty forepaws. Another gout of flame spewed from those cruel jaws, this time turning everything within the manor walls into blazing destruction. A billowing cloud of fire arose, swelling into a mushroom of oily flames as the stables were incinerated next.
Coming around the great edifice, the red dragon crushed the cottages and barns of the village with blows of its claws or the whiplike lash of its monstrous tail. Again it breathed, and a dozen small houses crackled into fire.
Finally it came to rest on the ground beside the stronghold. With a few rending blows of its powerful foreclaws, it pulled down the rest of the walls. It smashed into the sturdy tower once or twice, but then apparently decided that solid structure wasn’t worth the effort to destroy it. Instead, the wyrm concentrated on crushing any buildings still standing, burning everything flammable, and killing anything that moved within the ruin that had, minutes before, been Loreloch.
Only when the destruction was absolute did the serpent once again spread those vast wings. Catching a rising updraft, air heated by fires kindled by the dragon’s own breath, Flayze launched himself into the sky and soon vanished into the dark of the night.
Chapter 36
A Trove of Treasure
Second Majetog, Reapember
374 AC
Later, when I was asked to explain my decision to climb the tower in Loreloch, I could not recall the exact thought processes that led me away from my young companion and into the lofty aerie of the fortified manor. I can only recollect a feeling, a sense as though a muse was singing to me from atop those stairs, a goddess of historians and chroniclers who urged me to visit the chambers above. No doubt my recollection of Kelryn’s statements—he had told me that his library was in the highest part of his stronghold—helped me to make the decision.
In any event, I was halfway up the long, spiraling stair before it even occurred to me that I should perhaps have let the boy know of my intentions. By then, of course, it was too late; I would have risked discovery of us both had I gone back down to look for him.
So, instead, I continued on.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, excitement and anticipation had gone far in overcoming my earlier misgivings. I saw that the spiraling steps terminated in a small landing, a landing that was isolated from the upper room of the tower before a large, secure door. I was as certain as I had ever been about anything that behind that door I would find the keys to unlocking many portions of previously unrecorded history.
Questions whirled through my mind as I stood there considering the barrier of wood and iron. This was the heart of Loreloch, I was utterly certain, and Loreloch and Kelryn Darewind were the keys to understanding the remaining mysteries of Fistandantilus. What had happened to the archmage after the convulsive explosion that had created Skullcap?
The answers, I had no doubt, could be found on the other side of that portal. At the same time, I had an uncanny feeling of danger, and knew I couldn’t just walk through the door.
The clatter of a great banging noise abruptly shattered the still night that had surrounded the mountaintop edifice. Immediately I heard a curse from within the room and barely had time to flatten myself against the wall of the tower when the door flew open and none other than Kelryn Darewind should dart out! From the shadows, I caught a glimpse of his face, saw his jaw locked in a wolfish grin of cruel anticipation. With a shudder of apprehension, I thought of Danyal and Mirabeth somewhere in this great house and knew that they were in terrible danger.
I also saw that the priest of Fistandantilus—I did not learn until later that he really was a charlatan, as I had first believed—was clutching something bright and greenish in his hand as he charged down the spiral stairway. He did not see me as I shrank into the darkness. Indeed, such was his haste that he forgot to bolt the door behind him!
I wasted no time in taking advantage of that oversight. As soon as the bandit lord was out of sight, I slipped through the doorway to find myself in what was clearly a study. There were numerous tomes and scrolls on the heavy shelves that lined much of the room’s wall space. The three windows were small, almost like tunnels looking through the thick stone walls of the tower. Each of them was secured by a stout wooden shutter that fit tightly into the round window.
One practical thought did intrude: I thought to bolt the door behind me before I settled down to work. A single candle was still flickering weakly, and I used the wick to fire several bright lamps. With ample light, I settled down to read and within moments was utterly engrossed in the information before me.
I learned that Kelryn Darewind was not a priest, and Fistandantilus was not a god. He had lied to me—his imperfect, limited healing power had come from the bloodstone. At the same time, I ascertained that the essence of the archmage had somehow survived through the centuries, and that it yearned to return to Krynn. Whether he had become an undead lich, or existed in the form of a disembodied ghost, I could not, as yet, tell.
But I learned more, as well … that Fistandantilus might not have been destroyed in the convulsion of Skullcap, but that he had laid plans that were in danger of reaching fruition. And with his success, I knew, his vengeance would bring a reign of terror and darkness akin to some of history’s most dolorous epochs.
Then my hands trembled as I came upon a real secret, concerning an artifact that opened the doors of understanding. For the first time, I learned about the potential—for great power, and for great evil—of the skull.
And then I saw the real danger of the archmage’s plan.
Chapter 37
Clues from the Ashes
Second Kirinor, Reapember
374 AC
Dawn broke over the sky as Danyal, numb with awe, looked at the flaming wreckage of Loreloch. Occasionally a stone broke free from the rubble of the once high walls, rolling through the burning cottages, then tumbling from the summit of the village’s mountaintop to bounce and crash down the long, sloping incline. Two structures of stone still stood more or less intact amid the ruin: the bridge leading to the manor, and the lofty tower that had risen from within the high walls.
“Foryth!” the youth said with a moan. “He was still in there. He couldn’t have survived!”
Emilo shook his head sadly. “I never saw him after you two went around back last night.”
Danyal tried to suppress his tears, but when he slumped back to the ground in the ditch, he felt his throat tightening and knew that the unwanted moisture was stinging at his eyes.
“Why did he have to go wandering off?” he groaned. “He should have stayed with me; he’d be out here with the rest of us now!”
“Quite possibly true,” Emilo admitted. The kender’s eyes remained focused on the ruined structure, and Danyal turned around to follow the direction of his companion’s gaze.
The dragon had worked the destruction of Loreloch using the same methodical thoroughness with which he had devastated Waterton. As well as the bridge and the tower, a few chimneys, stone walls, and an occasional silo stood after the onslaught of flames, though the fires still searched hungrily through the ruins, eagerly seeking more fuel. The wrack seemed utterly complete, and it was impossible to think that anyone could be still alive in there.
“Don’t you think we should get going?” asked the kender casually. “Just in case any of Kelryn’s men happen to be around.”
Danyal shook his head firmly. “Not yet.” He found it inconceivable that anyone could have lived through the attack, but more to the point, he was not ready to abandon the place where he had last seen Foryth Teel. “Maybe he’s hurt in there, or trapped somewhere.”
He was surprised to realize that, despite the man’s fussy nature and impractical priorities, the youth had become very fond of the aspiring priest. Also Foryth’s knowledge and his sense of insight into the minds of other people, particularly the bandit lord and former Seeker priest, had been comforting weapons in the companions’ meager arsenal.
“Let’s have a look, then,” Emilo agreed.
The far end of the bridge was littered with charred, blackened corpses. Despite the fact that, moments before, these men had actively been seeking his own blood, Dan felt a grim regret at the loss of human life, at the implacable fire that had swept down from the sky with such telling, lethal effect.
“The dragon even pulled down the cottages,” Mirabeth said softly. Her own eyes were dry, but her face was as pale as a ghostly fog. “There were people sleeping in them, and now they’re dead.”
Another rock clattered into the ruins, and the three companions looked toward the tower, expecting to see another stage of Loreloch’s collapse. Instead, they saw a small shutter slowly swing outward, a sturdy wooden plug that had secured a tiny window in the thick stone walls of the tower.
“Someone’s alive there!” Danyal whispered, fear and hope mingling in his heart as he saw a slender hand emerge from the window. Even before that hand waved, he recognized the tan sleeve drooping around the slender wrist.
“It’s Foryth!” cried the lad, leaping from the ditch and scrambling into the road, ignoring Emilo’s fingers as the kender tried to slow him down. “Foryth!” he called again, dancing at the end of the bridge, waving both his own hands. “Are you all right?”
They couldn’t hear the reply, though Dan clearly imagined the “tsk” as the historian leaned out of the small, lofty aperture. Foryth waved again, and the trio finally understood the nature of his gesture.
“He wants us to come to him.” Mirabeth voiced the obvious conclusion. “Up in the tower.”
“But—” Danyal could think of a thousand reasons to object, though none of them quelled the joy of discovering that his friend was alive. “I suppose he thinks he’s found something we just have to see,” he concluded.
“Well, let’s have a look, then.” Emilo was already sauntering back over the bridge. Dan and Mirabeth came behind, though the two young humans slowed appreciably as they neared the mass of charred bodies on the far end of the span.
“I wonder which one is—or was, I should say—Kelyrn Darewind?” The kender spoke breezily as he stepped among the blackened bodies.
Danyal took Mirabeth’s hand and squeezed, grateful for the returning pressure of her fingers. They avoided looking at the corpses as they walked along the fringe of the bridge to avoid the killing ground. Even so, the scent of burned flesh, singed hair, and death was like a physical barrier across the roadway. Finally, holding their breath against the stink, the two stumbled onto the broken, shattered ground of Loreloch.
Allowing Emilo to pick a path through the wreckage, they reached the base of the tower. Danyal helped the kender pull rocks away from the doorway, where they found that the sturdy portal had been smashed in by the destructive force of the dragon’s attack.
Quickly they scrambled up the stairs that spiraled around the interior of the tower. “Foryth!” Danyal cried as they pounded toward the top.
When they reached the landing and burst through the open door, they found themselves in a small library. The historian was seated at a large table. A huge book lay open before him. Nearby were stacked numerous other tomes, and several scrolls had been tossed casually on the other end of the table. One of these had been unrolled and was being held open by a pair of heavy stone paperweights.
“Ah, there you are,” Foryth said cheerfully. “I heard a bit of excitement out there. Glad to see that the three of you were able to get away.”
“Why did you take off like that?” demanded Danyal, suddenly furious at the historian’s nonchalance. “You could have been killed! We were supposed to stay together! Weren’t you paying attention?”
“What? Er, yes … I suppose not. That is—tsk! Look here, my boy. I’ve found something absolutely fascinating.”
In spite of his agitation, Danyal leaned over the page that Foryth indicated. He wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t recognize the symbols written there. “What’s that supposed to mean?” the lad demanded.
“Why, right here!” The historian could barely contain his excitement. “It says that there is a skull! The skull of Fistandantilus exists!”
“And why is that important?” Mirabeth asked.
“Because if Kelryn Darewind was to get both of those talismans, the results would be … well, they would be too horrible to talk about, that’s what.”
“Why? Kelryn is dead!” Dan objected. “The dragon surely killed him!”
“Perhaps. But the threat remains. If anyone of evil ambition should gain possession of the skull and the bloodstone, he would gain an unthinkable power.”
“What power?”
“He could travel through time—become the Master of Past and Present, as Fistandantilus was in another era. That is, I believe that the combination of the skull and bloodstone would allow the holder to travel through time, much as Fistandantilus himself did.”
“And that would be bad for Krynn?” Mirabeth wondered out loud.
“If the time traveler is wicked and ambitious enough, there are no limits to the damage he could do. Kelryn Darewind could easily become a virtually immortal dictator, a master of a realm greater than Solamnia. And he would be utterly, absolutely invulnerable, for he could use the same power to foresee any attempt against him before it was enacted!”
“Where is the skull?” Dan asked.
“That’s the mystery that stopped Kelryn Darewind, that prevented him from going after the skull. And a good thing for the world, I might add.”
“You told us. But does that mean you don’t know where it is, either?” The lad was becoming exasperated with the historian’s indirect responses. “Then why don’t we get out of here?”
“Tsk. I said that Kelryn Darewind didn’t know, but he lacks the keen eye of the researcher, the ability to perceive obscure clues. I myself have made a deduction.”
“I think I understand.…” Emilo Haversack chewed on the end of his topknot. “The skull—”
“Precisely!” The historian could hardly contain himself. “It has to be in the lair of the dragon!”
Chapter 38
A Captive Once More
Second Kirinor, Reapember
374 AC
“I’ll be going to the lair of the dragon immediately,” Foryth Teel said. “I have already looked in my book. There’s a fair approximation of a map on page twelve thousand, six hundred and forty-seven.”
“You’re crazy!” challenged Dan. “You saw what that monster did to Loreloch! You’d never even get close to the skull, much less have a chance to do your stupid research!”
“My sense of duty compels me to try,” the historian retorted stiffly.
“Why? So you can learn that spell to become a priest? What good will that do if you’re dead?”
Foryth Teel sighed. “No. That isn’t the reason. I have realized that I’ve been fooling myself. I have no future as a priest. In fact, all of you have helped me to reach that decision. That is, you’ve come to mean very much to me. So much so that I’m no longer the impartial chronicler—and perhaps I never was.”
He paused, clearing his throat awkwardly. He had accompanied the other companions down from the lofty tower, and they had crossed the bridge to stand at the end of the span across the c
hasm from ruined Loreloch. Finally the historian continued.
“I, tsk, that is, I think it would be best if the rest of you retired to a place of somewhat greater safety.”
“You should come with us!” Danyal insisted.
“You’re a brave lad and a good friend. But I have my job, and you have yours. You have to see to Mirabeth and Emilo, you understand?”
“I—I’m going with you,” Emilo declared abruptly.
“But the danger—” Foryth started to object, but the kender shook his head firmly.
“I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that I can learn something important from that skull … like I’ve seen it before, and it was significant.”
“Then I’m coming, too!” Mirabeth interjected. “You won’t know what to do if Emilo—that is, if—” She broke off and covered her face as she sobbed.
“I’ll be all right,” the kender said. “You should get away from here!”
“Indeed, you and the lad, at least. Go to Haven, or even Palanthas. But get out of these mountains to somewhere safe,” Foryth Teel said gently. “You both have many years before you, and who knows? It might be useful to future historians to have you bear witness to these events. You can carry the word of Kelryn Darewind’s death and the end of Loreloch.”
“Do you think the bloodstone was destroyed?” Danyal asked, shivering as he looked toward the ruined stronghold.
The next sound came from behind them, however, and the four companions whirled in unison as the rasping, dry laughter sounded from the darkness.
“The bloodstone was not destroyed. I still have it, safe and sound!”
The voice of Kelryn Darewind drew a gasp from Danyal and a low scream from Mirabeth. With one arm, the bandit lord held the lass in a grip of crushing force. His other hand held a knife, and its keen tip was already pressing into the young woman’s throat.
Kelryn moved forward, lifting Mirabeth so that her toes barely touched the ground. Dan, Emilo, and Foryth could see that the once dapper bandit lord looked terrible. Much of his hair had been burned away, and a scar of red tissue covered his forehead and one cheek. His clothes were grimy and smelled of char.
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