Riverwind p2-1

by Paul B. Thompson

  “I see what happened,” Riverwind said. “They set fire to the bridge to contain the monster, but it stormed over anyway.”

  “Which way are we going?” asked Di An.

  “To the courtyard, I'm afraid. The pot lift to the surface is there.”

  “You'll never make it,” Krago said weakly. “You had better hope we do.”

  They waded through the stream, ignoring the slain soldiers floating in the water. As they gained the other side, a crack like lightning flashed from the courtyard, following by a booming roll of thunder.

  “What was that?” Di An gasped.

  “Shanz,” Krago replied, “using one of his spells.”

  “Shanz can use magic?” Riverwind asked wonderingly.

  “He knows two spells well. Levitation and the magical missile. That's what we just heard.”

  They hurried down the street, Riverwind leading with his sword flat against Krago's ribs. The sounds of fighting grew louder. The lifting pot was visible to them now, sitting on its stubby legs. As they neared the edge of the yard, the body of an armed goblin came hurtling through the air. Lyrexis stalked into view. Her tough hide bore more wounds, including a crossbow quarrel lodged in her scaly chest. She held a heavy length of timber-which looked like part of a ballista-and smashed any creature that moved into range.

  Riverwind and his group crouched by the wall only a few yards from the lift. Diagonally across the courtyard, Shanz and his six draconian officers stood several steps behind a wall of shields. They wore full battle regalia, but their weapons were unbloodied. So far, none of them had closed with the rampaging creature.

  Shanz waved his clawed hands. At this distance, Riverwind couldn't hear his words, but a sliver of white fire grew between his hands. He hurled the magical flame at Lyrexis. She swung her timber at it, hitting it. It exploded with a deafening crash.

  “Let's go, while they're all blinded by the flash!” Riverwind said.

  “No good,” Krago said tersely. “The lift won't rise without gully dwarves to weigh down the counterweight.”

  “Where is the counterweight?”

  “At the top of the lift, in the Hall of Ancestors.”

  Riverwind slammed the heel of his fist against the wall. “Blast!”

  “Could we climb the chain?” suggested Di An.

  “So many hundred feet? I could not, nor could Riverwind with his arm wound,” said Catchflea.

  Shanz recovered from the flare of his magic missile and spied Riverwind and company across the courtyard. He bellowed an order. The wall of shields quivered and broke apart, each shield borne by a terrified goblin. They tried to skirt Lyrexis, but she would not let them pass by unchallenged. She stormed into them, laying into them with her timber. The goblins were so demoralized that they cowered helplessly under their shields. She battered them down and slew them where they knelt.

  The draconians formed a line and came at Lyrexis. The creature seemed to recognize the draconians were different from the humans and goblins, that they were cold-blooded and scaled like herself. She lowered her club and waited for them, panting. The draconians slowed and stopped a few yards from the now quiescent creature.

  “Krago! Can you hear me?” Shanz called out.

  The cleric looked to Riverwind. The plainsman nodded for him to answer. “I hear you, Shanz,” Krago responded.

  “Your offspring has slain most of the garrison. Do you hear, Krago? The goblin soldiers are defeated!”

  Fire spurted from the postern gate. The plume of smoke caught Shanz's eye. “Our quarters are on fire!”

  “Your schemes are ruined!” Riverwind yelled. “Stand aside and let us pass!”

  “Nothing is lost but time,” Shanz replied. “The Great One will be angry, but we can begin again.” More loudly he said, “Let Krago go, warm-blood. Set him free and I'll allow you and your companions to go.” '

  Di An clutched Riverwind's arm. “Don't believe him!”

  “Don't worry, I don't.” To Krago he muttered. “Can you raise the lift by magic?”

  “Levitation? I don't know the spell,” he said flatly.

  Riverwind put the edge of the goblin blade to Krago's throat. “You're a free man once we get to the surface. What do you think Shanz and his dragon mistress will do to you for failing?”

  Catchflea added, “They hanged gully dwarves just on the suspicion of helping us. What will they do to you for your obvious and costly failures? It will not be pleasant, yes.”

  “I need an answer, warm-blood,” Shanz called.

  “What'll it be?” Riverwind urged Krago.

  Krago looked around at the destruction of Khisanth's plans. He stared down at his ruined hand, now black and swollen. “I'll take you up,” he murmured.

  They stood out from the wall, Riverwind keeping his sword visible at Krago's throat. “We'll keep Master Krago a while longer,” he cried. “Stand back.”

  Lyrexis's drooping head lifted when she heard River-wind's voice. She hissed deep in her throat at the sight of Di An and the humans. Raising her club, she took a step toward them.

  “Keep her back!” Shanz snapped. The draconians closed together, shoulder to shoulder, blocking her way. Lyrexis sidled left, then right, but her path was cut off. Frustrated, she hurled the timber at the hated warm-bloods. It sailed over Riverwind's head, smashing against the wall behind him.

  They reached the lift. It was a big pot, but it would be a tight fit for all four of them. Di An scrambled in, with Catchflea close behind.

  Lyrexis, with whatever instinct was instilled in her newborn mind, understood her enemies were getting away. She displayed her wicked teeth and advanced. Butting into the draconians' shields didn't discourage her. “Kill,” she said distinctly. Her first words. “Enemy. Kill.”

  One of the draconians made a mistake. He used his sword to fend off the enraged creature. The keenly forged blade cut Lyrexis, and her reluctance to battle cold-bloods like herself vanished in an instant. She rammed her iron-nailed hand through the draconian's shield, seized him by the throat and crushed it, armor, bone, and all.

  “Kill that beast,” Shanz ordered.

  “No!” Krago cried out.

  “Get in the pot!” Riverwind demanded.

  The draconians closed around Lyrexis to cut her down. Their strength and their weapons were far superior to the goblins' and they knew their business. That the newly born ophidian had not been properly prepared for her awakening made the task easier. One of Lyrexis's legs crumpled, and she fell. Draconian swords rose and fell, and the howling and hissing ended in a rattling gasp.

  They were all finally in the pot, though Riverwind and Krago each had one leg dangling outside. “The spell! The spell!” Riverwind snapped. Krago turned away from his poor dead creation. He knotted his good hand into a fist and uttered the arcane words of the spell.

  Shanz looked over the remains of Lyrexis and, satisfied the wild creature was dead, turned to the escaping quartet. He saw Krago with his eyes rolled back, hand clenched, mouthing the words of a spell. The stubby legs of the pot bobbled on the ground. Shanz's own magical senses tingled. He knew what Krago was doing.

  “Stop!” he shouted. “Krago, I command you to stop!”

  The legs lifted off the pavement.

  “Stop, Krago! Stopl” Shanz turned a dead goblin over with his foot and picked up the soldier's crossbow. He cocked the steel bow with his bare hands and fumbled for a bolt in the goblin's belt pouch.

  “Don't falter now, man,” Riverwind urged.

  The pot rose faster. Krago was chanting loudly now. A subtle tang filled the air around the lift, the same sort of sparkling sensation that spreads after a violent thunderstorm. The companions rose through the air, the pot rattling up against the hoisting chain. The dark roof of the cavern rushed toward them.

  Shanz butted the crossbow against his shoulder and squeezed the trigger bar. The bolt flew wide, and the pot continued to rise. He quickly cocked the bow and fitted another projectile. Th
e range was extreme, almost straight up. Shanz squinted through the brass pins that were the front sight on the bow. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  “Ah!” Krago gasped suddenly, his eyelids snapping open. The sudden cessation of the spell had the intended effect. The pot wobbled and began its precipitous plunge to the floor.

  “Grab the chain!” Riverwind screamed.

  The three of them grabbed hold of the iron chain as the pot dropped away from them. Krago's dead body, a bolt protruding from its back, fell into the pot as the cast iron kettle plummeted to the floor, hundreds of feet below. They hung, swaying only slightly, listening to the crossbow bolts sing through the air around them.

  “Is everyone here?” Riverwind hissed. His arms felt as though they were on fire.

  “I'm-here,” Di An whispered a few feet above him.

  From Catchflea, above the elf girl, there was no sound, but his rag-covered body hugged the chain as if it were a dear friend.

  “We must climb up,” Riverwind said. “Move, Catchflea.”

  “Can't,” the old man hissed. “Can't.”

  Riverwind couldn't spare the strength to look up. His face pressed into the cold iron, he said harshly, “If you don't move, we'll all die. Di An and I can't climb over you!”

  Catchflea inched his left hand up. When it had a grip, he inched his right hand up. With his toes in the loops of the chain, he tried to take some of the strain from his thin arms. His face was deathly pale.

  Di An, usually the best climber of the three, round the going tough. Her new body was much heavier than she was used to. Nothing seemed to fit just right. In silence, the three made the agonizing ascent.

  As the dark shape hurtled down, Shanz and his dracon-ians stood back. The iron kettle struck the floor with such force, it buried its bottom half in the stone and a great crack split it in two.

  Shanz walked to the kettle and peered in. Krago's lifeless eyes stared up at him. The draconian leader spat. “Always thus for warm-bloods,” he said to no one in particular. “Always the grand ideas which come to naught. That is why we shall prevail. With the Great Ones to lead us, our discipline will overcome all the warm-bloods and their fancy ideas.”

  The other draconians joined him.

  “Don't just stand there,” he said irritably. “Round up a hundred gully dwarves to clean up this mess and replace the pot. Do you want our mistress to see this putrid waste?' The draconians quickly dispersed, propelled by their fear of the black dragon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Hall of Ancestors

  “Not much farther! Not much farther!”

  The hole at the top of the lift yawned. Sweat stung the companions' eyes and mixed with the blood on their cut hands, making their grips unsure. Catchflea disappeared into the short shaft at the top of the cavern. Di An followed, and Riverwind brought up the rear.

  At the top of the shaft was a large room. Catchflea's last bit of strength went into heaving himself off the chain and onto the cold stone floor. He rolled away from the opening and lay still.

  Di An and Riverwind followed suit. All three were soon laid out on the floor, wheezing and trembling.

  “Why you come up that way?” asked a voice. Riverwind cracked an eyelid and saw a gang of gully dwarves watching him closely. With his black eye, wounds, and bleeding hands, he was a grim sight. His friends were no more appealing.

  The bearded male that had spoken raised his bushy eyebrows. “Our job to fill one pot to raise the other,” he said. “Why you climb chain?”

  “We just escaped-from draconians,” Riverwind managed to say.

  The male shrugged and tugged at one fat earlobe. He waved to his comrades, and they bustled forward bearing water skins. Riverwind and Di An drank deeply. “Thank you,” Di An said gratefully.

  “Not to mention,” said the young male who handled the water skin. “You pretty lady.”

  “What you want do about him arrow?” asked the first male, apparently the leader of the lift operators.

  Riverwind sat up. “What arrow?”

  “Gray beard have arrow in side.” The gully dwarf pointed solemnly. “You see.”

  Riverwind went on hands and knees to Catchflea's side. The old man was lying on his back. The stump of a quarrel poked out of his right side. His ragged clothes were soaked with dark blood.

  “You're wounded, old man!” Riverwind cried. “Why didn't you say something?”

  “What could you do?” Catchflea asked weakly.

  Di An knelt beside Catchflea. She tried to probe the wound with her fingers, but it was too painful for the old soothsayer.

  “If we can stop the flow of blood…,” she said, dabbing at the edges of the wound with a piece of Catchflea's clothing. The old man caught her arm with his hand. His grasp was already cold.

  “Do not trouble yourself,” Catchflea said. “I am done.”

  “Don't say that!” she cried.

  “It's true. My only regret is that I did not get to see the stars one last time.” He coughed. “As the oracle said…”

  Riverwind leaned close. “What did the oracle say?”

  “You will find… glory. Defeat great… darkness. That you have done.”

  Riverwind looked bitter. “All I did was stay alive.”

  “Sleep,” Catchflea said. He closed his eyes. “Sleep, yes.” His hands, which had been holding Di An's and River-wind's, slowly went slack.

  Riverwind gazed down at Catchflea for a long minute. The beard, the ragged clothes, the foolish talk. Pictures raced through the plainsman's mind. He saw Catchflea telling him about the heavens when he'd been a boy, Catchflea cooking the first rabbit Riverwind had brought him many years ago, Catchflea finding their first meal on this trip, after Kyanor and his wolf pack had stolen Riverwind's sheep. He should never have brought him along. He should've made him stay in Que-Shu. He should've done so many things. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

  “Catchflea was brave,” Di An said softly.

  Riverwind stiffened. “Catchstar. His name was Catch-star.”

  The plainsman continued to stare at the body of his friend. Di An, wiping away her tears, turned to the assembled gully dwarves. “Are you the leader here?” she asked the bearded one.

  “Yes. Me Glip,” he replied.

  “What is this place, Glip?”

  “This Hall of Ancestors,” Glip said. He looked sadly at Catchflea. “Him dead?” At Di An's nod, he gestured at the crypts and niches that lined the corridor and said, “This burial place. You bury him here?”

  “We've no time for burials. Riverwind,” Di An said, touching the grieving warrior's arm. “We must go.”

  Riverwind inhaled deeply. “I know. I know.” He brushed his tears away. Gently, he lifted the body of the old man. “I can't leave him lying here.” He bore the body to one of the niches off the southern passage. He laid Catchflea down and composed his hands across his chest.

  “Should I say something?” he murmured in the close darkness of the crypt.

  “The gods will know him when he arrives,” Di An replied.

  As Riverwind and Di An returned to the top of the lift, a massive tremor ran through the temple. The dust of ages cascaded down on them. The gully dwarves scattered with yelps and squeals. Riverwind grabbed Glip by the back of his shirt as the gully dwarf ran by.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “The dragon comes!” the terrified Aghar replied. River-wind let go. In seconds, all the gully dwarves had vanished into previously prepared nooks and “mouse holes.”

  The counterweight-an iron pot identical to the one that had fallen-swayed and rolled over into the hole. It bobbled upright, like a cork in the sea.

  “Dragon my eye! It's Shanz! He's levitating the pot,” Riverwind said. Di An took his hand and dragged him away. They ran into the south passage again, all the way to the end. The corridor continued to their right. Beautiful and intricate bas-reliefs and frescoes decorated the temple walls.

  They
reached a large octagonal room just as the quaking stopped. It was suddenly deathly silent and still. Di An and Riverwind froze, listening. The only sound to hear was the musical rattle of chain links paying out as the lift went down.

  “Which way?” Di An whispered. To the right, more passages could be seen, but the floor had fallen in, creating a large pit that made progress difficult. On the left was a crumbling spiral staircase leading up. Up was where they wanted to go.

  “Come on!” Riverwind said.

  They went cautiously. The Hall of Ancestors was structurally more dubious than any other building they'd been in, in Xak Tsaroth. The stone slab steps were loose and in the half-darkness-for there were a few small brands burning here and there in wall brackets-one never knew if the next turn would lead to a quick, fatal plunge. Round and round the steps went. Riverwind's moccasins flapped around his ankles, threatening to trip him. He cast them off.

  They reached the top of the huge pillar around which the steps wound and found themselves in a circular room with a high, domed ceiling. A torch burned feebly on the wall. Facing them were double doors covered with ancient gold. The patina on the yellow metal told them that the doors had probably not been disturbed since the Cataclysm.

  Riverwind inserted the tip of his sword in the crack of the doors and pushed them apart.

  “Get the torch,” he said in a soft voice. Di An lifted the pine knot out of its holder. Riverwind took it in his left hand and slowly walked through the doors. It was a small antechamber, empty, and in front of him was another set of identical golden doors.

  “This isn't a temple, it's a maze,” Riverwind said. “When do we ever get outside?” He wedged the second doors open. Cold, white light flooded over them.

  Di An drew close. “What is it?”

  “It must be the sanctuary,” the plainsman whispered.

  Before them was a high pedestal of white stone inlaid with gold. A statue carved in creamy white marble rose, in the form of a slim woman. She leaned on a tall staff that was not marble, but wood. Her long gown trailed in loose folds, as if blown by a strong breeze. Riverwind and Di An circled the statue from opposite sides. The cool light that suffused the chamber had no source, but banished the shadows from every corner of the room.