— older than I can calculate from up here, but I imagine it was old before anybody I know was old enough to understand old — "
"How about cats?" Wingover called.
"How about what?"
"Cats! That's what you went to look for. Cats!"
"No. No cats. One kender, but no cats. Though I did see someone wearing a bunny suit made out of cathide, if you can believe anything a kender tells you. What do you want cats for?"
"I don't want cats! I just wanted to know if you saw any!"
"Well, I didn't. Some bison, here and there, and a few elk, though…"
"How about Chane Feldstone?" Jilian called. "Did you see him?"
"Does he wear a bunny suit?"
Jilian had started to shout something else at the gnome, but suddenly his invention was off again, shooting away in a sharp climb that carried it toward the distant peaks to the west.
The girl sighed, then slung her pack and her sword. "I guess that settles that," she said. "We'll just have to look for ourselves. Are you ready?"
"Hold on, there, Button," Wingover snapped. "I'm in charge here, remembers I decide where and when we go."
"Then decide," she said and headed for the valley.
They camped that evening in a clearing well within the valley, where a chuckling little river flowed cold from the mountains to the west, and a strange, black-gravel path wound aimlessly northward through deepening forest. At day's final hour, Wingover scouted ahead and found nothing to alarm him except an odd emptiness about the valley. "It's strange," he told Jilian when he returned. "It's as if this place has been lived in — but isn't now. Recently vacated. I had the same feeling once when I stumbled across a village of the Parwind people on the plains. At least it had been one of their villages; the tents had all been folded and the people were gone. That place felt the way this place feels. It's as though the area had accustomed itself to being home to someone, and now it doesn't quite know what to do with itself."
Jilian gazed at the man thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Humans are very strange people," she decided, and set about cooking their supper.
A shadow flitted across the twilight clearing and a sharp, high-pitched voice called from overhead, "I'm hungry! How about sending up some supper?"
Bobbin and his soarwagon were with them again. Wingover looked at the contrivance hovering above the camp and shook his head. He had seen gnomes from time to time, but he had never encountered a mad one. He cupped his hands and called, "I want to know about this valley."
"What about it?" the gnome called back.
"Everything that you see that might be useful to me. Like how far north does it go, and are there dangers ahead, and where does it come out?"
"It's a big place. I haven't seen the whole thing."
"How about scouting for dangers, then?"
"I can do that, if you ask me nicely. What sort of dangers are you looking for?"
"Any that might be there. Like cats."
"There aren't any cats. I already told you that, but I don't suppose you remember. There's a wizard on a mountainside off there somewhere, but he's miles and miles away. And a kender and a dwarf in a funny suit, east of where you are… or north, I'm not sure. And way off over there I saw a bunch of people crossing over from the next valley. They're really a mess, all cut up like they've been in a fight, and carrying their wounded.
Really a mess, it looked to me. I — "
The soarwagon pitched, nosed up, and shot toward the sky, the exasperated shout of the gnome trailing back from it, "Save me some supper!"
Bloody, battered, stripped, and staked out on the cold ground, Garon
Wendesthalas was only vaguely aware of those who stood over him. For hours, the goblins had tormented him while the one in the lacquered armor their leader — stood quietly and watched. Torture after torture they had applied, gleeful in their sport, stopping just short of breaking his bones or drawing enough blood to kill him. The leader wanted information from him. Did he know of a mountain dwarf somewhere near, a dwarf who might have Hylar featuresl Where was the dwarven girl they had seen traveling with him? And the human, who — and where — was he?
The elf had not uttered a sound throughout. Nor had he let his attention fix on the pain they inflicted. Instead, he drifted in his mind, remote and aloof, savoring memories, recalling pleasant times… remote and unreachable. He had removed himself to such distance that he was barely aware of the goblins around him. But he knew the leader now. A human female, Kolanda Darkmoor. Cornmander, the goblins called her. And he knew that someone — or something — else was with her, though he had seen no one. Distantly, he had heard bits of their conversation… the woman's voice impatient and querulous, the other's a dry, shriveled husk of a voice that whispered in tones of venom and mockery. He had heard her call the other's name. Caliban.
Garon shut out all other awarenesses. In his mind he walked the patterned forests of the Qualinesti, drank cool water from a brook, listened to the songs of elves in a nearby glade…
"We're learning nothing here," Kolanda Darkmoor snapped, beckoning to an armored hobgoblin. "We've wasted enough time. This elf will tell us nothing."
"Kill him now?" the creature asked hopefully.
"No, bring him along. He's strong. He will make a good slave."
"Elf," the hobgoblin snarled. "Make trouble. Run away, sure — "
Kolanda turned fierce eyes on him. "Did I ask for your opinion, Thog?"
The hobgoblin stepped back quickly, then lowered his face in submission.
"Forgive, Commander."
"Assemble your patrol, Thog. Or what's left of it. We're going back to
Respite. The valley should be reduced by now, and there are things to do.
Bring the elf, but first cut the tendons in his legs. Then he won't run away. When we rejoin, put him to work tending one of the carts."
She turned away, cold and angry. No elf would ever make a worthwhile slave, but this one would live long enough to serve her. He had killed nearly half of her patrol before they brought him down.
Chapter 15
As the sunset shadows op Westwall climbed the slopes of the ridge above the Valley of Waykeep, Chane Feldstone cut a final hold in a rock cliff, pulled himself up and over the lip of a ledge, and gawked at the kender sitting there idly, waiting for him. The sound he had been hearing for the past half-hour, virtually since he had begun to ascend the sheer cliff, was louder and nearer now — a wailing, keening, heart-rending song of misery with no apparent source.
"You always do everything the hard way," Chestal Thicketsway chided him.
"I guess it's just the nature of dwarves, to tackle everything headlong no matter how difficult it is. Do you suppose you just can't help being that way?"
"How did you get up here?" the dwarf puffed. "It's taken me half an hour to climb this cliff. How did you do it so fast?"
"I didn't," the kender shrugged. "I went around. There's a perfectly good by-path just over there. Easy climbing, for anybody who'd take the trouble to find it. I brought your sword and your pack, too. They're over there on that rock. Do you want to camp here for the night, or do you want to scale the next cliff? If you want to do that, I've found another by-path so I can meet you up there."
Chane shook his head. "What is that awful noise? It sounds like somebody in pain."
"Oh, that's just Zap." The kender looked around, then shrugged again, remembering that Zap wasn't really anywhere to be seen. "It's his latest talent, wailing like a stricken soul. He's been doing it for quite a while now."
"I know. I've heard him most of the way up. Can you get him to hush?"
"I don't know how. I don't even know what he's wailing about. Maybe he misses the valley or the frozen dwarf place. That's where I found him, originally."
"Well, I wish you'd shut him up. He gets on my nerves."
Chess turned. "Zap! Shut up!"
The eerie, voiceless wailing faltered, then began again with new enthusiasm
— only now it added occasional sobs to its repertoire.
"That's even worse," the dwarf growled. "How come he's following you, anyway? I mean, it. That isn't a person, you know. It's just an old spell that never happened."
"I don't know why he follows me, but he… it does. Zap! I do wish you'd be quiet!"
The wailing, sobbing almost-sound continued. Chane sighed, stood, and looked around. They were on a wide, rubbly ledge with another wall of shorn stone ahead. But, as the kender had pointed out, the wall diminished a short distance away and a path began there, angling upward. Abruptly evening had come, with the setting of the sun beyond the valley's other rim, but there still was lingering twilight.
"We have time to go on a little farther," Chane decided.
"I wonder if we're anywhere near that green path."
"The one I can't see?" Chess spread his hands. "I haven't the vaguest idea."
Chane looked one way, then the other, along the mountain's slope. He rubbed his forehead, feeling the tingle there, but saw no green trail.
Still, he knew from last sighting that he was somewhere near it. From a distance, it had appeared there was a shallow pass between peaks above, and the dwarf had assumed that the trail was going there. But by what route'! He went to his pack, fumbled around inside it, then looked up.
"Where's my gem?"
"Your what?"
"Spellbinder! Where is it?"
The kender looked thoughtful, then snapped his fingers and reached into his own pouch. "Do you mean this?" He pulled out the red stone, which pulsed with a steady rhythm as the dwarf reached an angry hand to take it.
'You must have dropped that somewhere," the kender said innocently. "I guess I picked it up for you. Don't bother to thank me."
"What else do you have in that pouch that isn't yours?" Chane growled.
Chess peered into his pouch. "I don't know. I lose track. Here's a marble of some kind that I found on that old battlefield. And some nice pebbles, and a toad's skull…a couple of candles, some twine, an earring, a twig. What's this? Oh, a pair of nice cat-tooth daggers." He pulled out one of the daggers. "Didn't you used to have one like this?"
"I had two like that," the dwarf rumbled.
"Did you? What did you do with them?"
"Give me that!" Chane growled.
Chess handed over the dagger, then closed his pouch. "If you're going to expect me to replace everything you lose — "
"Oh, shut up!" Chane stopped abruptly and looked around. "Well, one good thing. Your spell has stopped wailing."
The kender listened for a moment, then grinned. "He has, hasn't he?
Thank you, Zap."
"Agony," something voiceless mourned.
With the Spellbinder gem in his hand, Chane pointed.
'There it is. The green line. It goes up the by-path." He hoisted pack, sword, and hammer. "Are you ready?"
"Look at that!" The kender pointed upward. Overhead, great flocks of birds flew, coming from the high peaks, winging toward the valley. Birds of all sorts, a migration of panic.
Chane watched them, wave after wave coming past.
"What do you suppose caused that?" he wondered aloud.
"Whatever it was, the birds are in a hurry," the kender said. "See those out ahead? Those are pigeons. And mountain kites, and jays, and ducks, and… stand back!" Chess swiftly pulled a pebble from his pouch, fitted the sling to his staff, placed the pebble, aimed, and let go. The pebble streaked skyward, and an instant later a large bird crumpled in flight and fell, thudding to the shelf almost at Chane's feet.
"Goose," the kender explained. "I'm getting tired of dried cat. We'll have this for supper."
Chane gaped at him. "How did you do that?"
"With a pebble. I thought you saw." He picked up the goose and slung it over his shoulder. "See if you can find some berries along the way.
Snowberries will do. They're the yellow ones on the thorny vines.
Snowberries go good with goose." Chess started up the path, and the dwarf followed, still glancing in awe at the smaller creature's forked hoopak.
Overhead, the waves of fleeing birds continued to pass. And now Chess and Chane had company on the slope. The kender and the dwarf dodged aside as a lithe, furred creature with sharp horns bounded past them. A few yards farther along they hugged the stone wall as a line of other creatures, these with heavy coats of thick wool, surged past them, bleating in panic. At the higher ledge, where the trail cut back toward the peaks, the two dived for cover as a pair of panting wolves loped down the path, followed by several elk.
"Do you suppose winter is coming early this year " The kender stepped out on the trail to look after the strange procession, then dodged back as more of the woolly creatures charged past him.
"They're running from something," Chane said. "I guess that settles it.
We'll camp here. A person could get hurt going up that path, with everything else coming down."
Two huge highland bison charged past the ledge and veered away, following the downward path. Another elk was right behind them, cavorting in desperation as the heavier animals blocked its way. Then more of the woolly creatures. One of them wore a collar with a bell.
"Somebody's sheep," Chess noted. "I'll bet there's a pretty unhappy herder up there somewhere."
"I think we'd better get a little farther from this path," Chane decided. "Camping here would be like trying to sleep in a tunnelwagon turnaround. Rust, but the traffic is heavy."
They trudged along the ledge, away from the path, rounded a sheer bend, and saw a rubble-slope ahead. After testing it, Chane began to climb. The kender followed, carrying his goose. The bird was almost as big as he was.
They were climbing by moonlight when they reached a quiet swale higher up — well beyond and above the noisy switchback with its stampeding animals. "This will do," Chane said. "I'll make a cookfire back there, behind that outcrop. You can cook the goose."
"Did you get some snowberries?" Chess asked hopefully.
"I haven't had a chance. We'll do without."
By the time the goose was roasted, both the white moon and the red stood above the peaks, giving their dichromatic glow to the steep slopes and the forest-tops of the distant valley. The two ate in silence, except for occasional outbursts of commentary and chatter by the kender, most of which Chane Feldstone chose to ignore. The dwarf sat deep in thought, occasionally rubbing his forehead, which tingled when the light of the red moon touched it. A secret way into Thorbardin, and Grallen had learned of it. Like a third gate, he thought. One that nobody knew about.
He thought of Thorbardin, exploring in his mind all of the myriad ways and working clusters of the undermountain kingdom — as much of it as he had seen and could recall. Clearest to him in memory were the city of the
Daewar, the only home he had ever known, and the warrens where he had worked for his keep from time to time — first tending fields, then helping with the constant delving by which the dwarves sought to expand their underground crop lands. Clearly he recalled Twelfth Road, which he had passed so of ten as a child. Less distinctly he knew the Tenth, Eleventh,
Thirteenth, and Fourteenth Roads, by which Daewar conducted commerce with other cities of Thorbardin.
Dimly, from one brief visit, he recalled the awesome Life-Tree, home of the Hylar. Their city was delved into a giant stalactite above the great, subterranean Urkhan Sea. As an orphan Chane had possessed the appearance of Hylar in his build and features, and later even in the manner in which his beard lay back against his cheeks rather than hanging resignedly downward. The Hylar, he had thought as a child, had a fierce and noble appearance — and undoubtedly some among them had such qualities, though there were plenty of Hylar who in practice were no more noble than the average Daewar.
Still, Chanc's beard grew in the Hylar manner, and it did not displease him that it made him look as though he were standing sturdy and proud, facing down a strong wind.
The Valley of the Thanes, n
oblest place in all of Thorbardin, Chane had seen only once. He wondered briefly if the supposed "secret way" could lead there. The valley was sacred to the dwarves, for it contained a magical floating tomb — final resting place of the great King Duncan, some said. And the tomb of Grallen, which lay nearby on the lakeshore, was, after all, the only place in Thorbardin that was open to the sky. Yet the only accesses to the Valley of the Thanes were three roads from within
Thorbardin itself. And certainly if there were the slightest passage-point through the Guardian Walls, somebody within would have noticed it.
Not the Valley of the Thanes then, Chane decided.
And not Southgate, which was the common entrance to Thorbardin since the
Cataclysm, nor likely the mostly abandoned Northgate, with its shattered portal ledge. Northgate might be unused, Chane told himself, but it's not undefended. It was equipped for the same impenetrable defenses as
Southgate.
Possibly some long-forgotten tunnel or shielded pass breaking through into one of the warrens, or one of the lower cities? Kiar, Theiwar…
Daergar? It didn't seem likely to him. Surely someone would have noticed.
"There's a creature with long, flexible arms and not a bone in its body."
Chane looked up. "What? Where?"
"In the Sirrion Sea," the kender said. "Aren't you paying attention?
That's what I'm talking about. The Sirrion Sea. They also say that there is a gigantic island out there, just far enough from the Isle of Sancrist to be out of sight, that isn't an island at all. It's really a gnomish ship, hundreds and hundreds of years old, that was supposed to drive itself by a geared rod with a weight atop it. The reason it's in the sea, they say, is because the gnomes who built it set out westward and that was as far as they got before the falling rod buried itself in the ocean floor. They've been working on it ever since, trying to iron out all the bugs, and it just keeps getting bigger and bigger."
With a low growl, Chane Feldstone returned to his own thoughts. The
First Roads One of the Halls of Justice? There was so much to Thorbardin, so many different parts and places in the kingdom beneath the Kharolis
The Gates of Thorbardin h2-5 Page 14
