Dragons of the Dwarven Depths
Page 9
Raistlin shot Caramon a furious look.
“I didn’t tell him, Raist! Honest!” Caramon gabbled.
“Your brother said nothing to me, Raistlin,” Sturm confirmed, “so spare him your anger. As to how I found out, that was easy. I have known you for a good many years, long enough to realize that you will follow your own selfish pursuits without thought or care for others. I knew when you left the meeting last night that you intended to sneak off to Skullcap.”
“Then,” said Raistlin, glowering, “you should also know that you cannot stop me, so stand aside and permit me and my brother to pass.” He paused, then added, “For the sake of our friendship, I would not want to do you harm.”
Sturm’s hand went to his sword’s hilt, but he did not draw his weapon. His gaze flicked to Caramon, then back to his twin. “I have no quarrel with you risking your own life, Raistlin. Indeed, it is no secret that I think the world would be a better place if you were not in it, but there is no need for you to get your brother killed.”
“Caramon goes of his own choosing,” Raistlin returned, smiling a twisted smile at the knight’s candor. “Don’t you, my brother?”
“Raistlin says we have to go, Sturm,” Caramon told the knight. “He says Flint and Tanis won’t be able to find the gate to Thorbardin without the secret key that lies in Skullcap.”
“There are many important reasons why they should win their way into Thorbardin, aren’t there, Sturm Brightblade?” Raistlin said with a slight cough.
Sturm regarded Raistlin intently.
“I will let you go on one condition,” said Sturm. Releasing his grip on his sword, he stood to one side. “I’m coming with you.”
Caramon cringed, fearing Raistlin would fly into a rage.
Instead, Raistlin gave Sturm a strange, narrow-eyed look, then said quietly, “I have no objection to the knight’s accompanying us. Do you, my brother?”
“No,” said Caramon, astonished.
“In fact, he might actually be of some use to me.” Raistlin pushed past the knight and continued along the trail that led through the woods.
Sturm retrieved a sack that, by the clanging sounds emanating from it, held the bulk of his armor. The knight wore the breastplate with the rose and kingfisher, symbol of the Solamnic knighthood, and his helm. He carried the rest.
“Does Tanis know?” Caramon asked in a low voice, as Sturm joined him on the trail.
“He does. I shared with him my suspicion that Raistlin would go off on his own,” Sturm replied, positioning the sack more comfortably on his shoulder.
“Did … uh … Tika say anything to him?”
Sturm smiled. “So you told her, but did not tell Tanis?”
Caramon flushed deeply. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Tika kind of cornered me. Is she very angry?” he asked wistfully.
Sturm didn’t answer. He smoothed his long mustaches, the knight’s way of avoiding an unpleasant discussion.
Caramon sighed and shook his head. “I’m surprised Tanis didn’t try to stop Raist.”
“He thinks there is something in what Raistlin claims, though he didn’t want to say so in front of Hederick. If we can find the key to the gates of Thorbardin and if we can find the gates in time, we are to bring word to him immediately.”
“How will we know where to find him?” Caramon asked. “He’s going trekking off over the mountains with Flint.”
Sturm shot Caramon a penetrating glance. “It’s interesting that Raistlin didn’t think to ask Tanis that, isn’t it? My guess is that he plans to seek out Thorbardin himself if he finds the key. What do you think he might be after in Skullcap?”
“I … I don’t know,” Caramon said, staring down at his boots tromping over the snow-rimed grass. “I never thought about that.”
Sturm gave him a sharp look. “No,” he said quietly, “I don’t suppose you would.”
“Raist says we are going to help the people!” Caramon said defensively.
Sturm grunted. Then he said in a low voice, “How does he know where he’s going? How does he know the way? Or are we wandering out here aimlessly?”
Caramon watched his twin walking confidently along the trail between the trees. The mage walked more slowly now, feeling his way along, sometimes tapping the ground with the butt of his staff like a blind man, yet, he didn’t appear lost. He walked with purpose and determination, and when he did stop to look around he would stop only briefly then continue on.
“He said he knows a way, a secret way.” Caramon saw Sturm’s look and added. “Raist knows lots of things. He reads books.”
Caramon was immediately sorry he’d spoken, for that brought up the unwelcome thought of the night-blue spellbook. He quickly banished the reminder. If Raistlin had found guidance in a book belonging to an evil wizard, Caramon didn’t want to know about it.
“Maybe Flint told him,” Caramon said, and the possibility cheered him. “Yeah, that’s it. Flint must have told him.”
Sturm knew it was hopeless to point out the obvious— Flint wouldn’t tell Raistlin the time of day. Caramon had lied to himself about his twin for so many years that he wouldn’t know the truth now if it gave him a swift kick in the backside.
Ranging ahead of the others, Raistlin knew perfectly well that his brother and the knight were talking about him. He even knew what they were saying. He could have quoted them both word for word. He didn’t care. Let the knight malign him. Caramon would defend him. Caramon always defended him. It was nauseating the way Caramon always defended him. Sometimes Raistlin found himself wishing Caramon would grow a backbone, stand up to him, defy him. Then he reflected that if this happened, Caramon would be of no more use to him, and he still needed Caramon. The day would come when he would be able to live independent of his twin but not now. Not yet.
Raistlin cast an oblique glance at the two men over his shoulder—his brother trotting along like a pack animal; Sturm Brightblade, impoverished knight, carrying his nobility around in a sack.
Why is he coming along? Raistlin wondered. He found the notion intriguing. Certainly the noble knight is not worried about my well being! He professes to care for Caramon, yet Sturm knows perfectly well that Caramon is a seasoned warrior. My brother can take care of himself. Sturm has some reason of his own for tagging along with us. I wonder what that can be … Why is he so interested in Skullcap?
For that matter, Raistlin asked himself, why am I?
He did not know the answer.
Raistlin scanned the rock wall of the mountain that stood dead ahead of them blocking the way. He was searching for the image that was still shadowy in his mind, yet grew clearer and more distinct with every step he took. He knew what he was looking for—or rather, he would know it when he saw it. He knew a secret way that led to Skullcap, yet he didn’t know it. He had walked this path before, and he’d never before set foot on it. He’d been here, and he hadn’t. He’d done this without doing it.
The day of the dragon’s attack on the grove, Raistlin had been writing a new spell into his spellbook when suddenly the quill pen had, seemingly of its own volition, scrawled the word Skullcap across the page.
Raistlin had stared at the word. He had stared at the quill and at his hand that had wielded it. He had torn out the ruined page and tried again to write down his spell. Again the pen had written Skullcap. Raistlin had thrown down the pen and searched his mind and at last recalled where he’d heard that name, in what connection.
Fistandantilus. Skullcap was the wizard’s tomb.
An unpleasant thrill had tingled through Raistlin’s body, a tingle in the blood as of a rising fever. He’d never thought about it, but Skullcap must be close to where they were camped. What wonders might he find there! Ancient magical artifacts, the wizard’s spellbooks like the one he had already acquired.
That was the reward, yet Raistlin had the uneasy impression that he was being guided to Skullcap for darker and more sinister reasons. If so, he would deal with those when the ti
me came, which was why he’d decided to take Sturm along.
Sturm Brightblade was an arrogant, insufferable prig who never took a piss but that he didn’t have to pray over it. Nevertheless, he was a deft hand with a sword. Skullcap might indeed be nothing more than a crumbling old ruin, just as Raistlin had claimed to the assembly last night.
Even he didn’t believe it.
“So Raistlin’s gone off to Skullcap,” said Flint, adding dourly, “Good riddance, I’d say, but he’s taking two good men, Caramon and Sturm, to their deaths along with him.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Tanis. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Flint grumbled. “I want to go on record as saying this is all a waste of time. If we do find the gate, which I doubt, the dwarves will never open it for us. If they do open it, they won’t let us in. The hearts of the Thorbardin clans are hard and cold as the mountain itself. The only reason I’m going, Half-Elven, is to have the chance to say ‘I told you so’.”
“So much is changing in the world, perhaps the hearts of the dwarves have changed as well,” Tanis suggested.
Flint gave an explosive snort and went off to finish his packing, leaving Tanis to try to placate an extremely disappointed kender.
“Please, please, please let me go, Tanis!” Tasslehoff begged. He sat on a chair—the same chair to which he had recently been tied—and kicked his feet against the legs. “It’s only fair, you know. After all, you’re using one of my very best maps.”
“You along!” Flint rumbled from the other side of the cave. “We’d be shut out for the next three hundred years. The dwarves would never let a kender beneath the mountain.”
“I think they would,” Tas said eagerly. “Dwarves and kender are related, after all.”
“We are not!” Flint roared.
“We are so,” Tas argued. “First there were gnomes, then there was the Graygem and the gnomes tried to catch it, and something happened—I forget what—and Reorx changed some of the gnomes into dwarves and some into kender, so you see, we’re first cousins, Flint.”
The dwarf began to sputter.
“Why don’t you wait for me outside?” Tanis said to the dwarf.
Flint glared at Tas then picked up his pack and stomped out.
“Please, Tanis,” Tas begged, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “You know you need me to keep you out of trouble.”
“I need you here much more, Tas,” said Tanis.
Tasslehoff shook his head glumly. “You’re just saying that.”
“With Sturm, Caramon, and Raistlin gone, and Flint and I gone, who’s going to look after Tika? And Laurana? And Riverwind and Goldmoon?”
Tas thought this over. “Riverwind has Goldmoon. Laurana’s got Elistan … What’s the matter, Tanis? Does your stomach hurt?”
“No, my stomach doesn’t hurt,” Tanis said irritably. He didn’t know why any mention of Laurana and Elistan should suddenly put him in a bad humor. What they did was none of his concern.
“It’s just you made the kind of face people make when their stomach hurts—”
“My stomach doesn’t hurt!” Tanis said.
“That’s good,” Tas remarked. “Nothing’s worse than a stomach ache when you’re starting on a long journey. You’re right. Tika doesn’t have anyone since Caramon’s gone. I’ll stay to take care of her.”
“Thank you, Tas,” said Tanis. “That’s a burden off my mind.”
“I’d better go be with her right now,” Tas added, charmed with his new responsibility. “She might be in danger.”
Actually, the kender was the one who was in danger. Tika never woke before noon if she could help it, and dawn was only just now breaking. Tanis didn’t like to think what would happen to poor Tas when he barged in on her at this time of day.
Tanis found Riverwind and Goldmoon waiting for him. She greeted him with a gentle kiss.
“I will ask the gods to walk with you, Tanis,” she said to him, adding with a mischievous smile, “whether you want them to or not.”
Tanis gave a somewhat sheepish grin and scratched his beard. He didn’t know what to say, and to change the subject, he turned to Riverwind.
“Thank you for accepting this charge, my friend,” Tanis told him. “I know the decision was not an easy one, nor will your task be easy, I’m afraid. You know what you must do, where you must go if the valley is attacked?”
“I know.” Riverwind’s expression was dark, though he said quietly, “The gods are with us. Hopefully such an attack will not happen.”
The gods are with Verminaard more than us, Tanis thought wryly. They brought him back to life.
He merely nodded, however, and shaking Riverwind’s hand, Tanis reminded him once more of the location of the meeting place they agreed upon—a village of gully dwarves at the very foot of the mountain where Flint said the legendary gate to Thorbardin could be found.
Flint had reluctantly, and only after much persuasion, revealed the presence of the village. He refused to say how he knew about it, but Tanis suspected that this was where the old dwarf had been captured by gully dwarves a few years before and imprisoned, the details of which harrowing ordeal Flint never discussed.
Riverwind indicated a rolled-up map tucked in his belt. He had drawn the map last night in consultation with Flint and one of Tasslehoff’s maps.
“I know where the village is located,” said Riverwind. “It is on the other side of the mountains, and as of now, we have no way of crossing those mountains.”
“There’s a pass,” Flint said stolidly.
“You keep saying that, but my people have scouted the area and they can’t find any sign of one.”
“Are your people dwarves? When they are, come talk to me,” Flint grunted. He carried both a battle-axe and a pick-axe in a harness on his back. He adjusted these more comfortably then glowered at Tanis. “If we’re going, we should be going, not standing around here palavering.”
“We’ll be off, then. We’ll blaze a trail for you to follow if you have to. I hope you—”
He halted in mid sentence, a shiver of fear clenching his gut. His flesh crawled, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. The old wives would have said someone was walking across his grave. Goldmoon had gone pale and Riverwind’s breath came fast, his hands clenched. Flint whipped out his axe, searching for the foe, but the feeling passed, and no enemy appeared.
“Dragons,” said Flint grimly.
“They are up there,” Goldmoon said, shivering and hugging her cloak close around her, “watching us.”
Riverwind stood with his head tilted back, searching the skies. Tanis joined him, but neither could see anything in the pale blue dawn. Both looked at each other and acknowledged the truth.
“Whether we see them or not, they’re up there. Make the people ready, Riverwind. If trouble does come, you won’t have much time to escape.”
Tanis stood a moment more, searching for some word of hope or comfort. He couldn’t find any to give. Hefting his pack, he and the dwarf started off down the path.
Flint paused to shout back over his shoulder. “Bring pick-axes!”
“Pick-axes!” Riverwind repeated, frowning. “Does he mean for us to hack our way through the mountains? I don’t like this. I begin to think I made the wrong decision. Our people should have gone off on their own.”
“Your reasons for making this decision were sound, my husband. Not even the Que-Kiri warriors challenged you when you told them your decision. They are sensible enough to realize that there is safety in numbers. Do not start second guessing yourself. The chieftain who looks behind while he walks forward will stumble and fall. That is what my father always said.”
“Damn your father!” Riverwind said angrily. “His decisions were not always right! He was the one who ordered the people to stone me, or have you forgotten that, Chieftain’s Daughter?”
He stalked off, leaving Goldmoon to stare after him in astonishment.
“I know.” Goldmoon sighed bleakly. “I am no help, I fear. He is right. I should not keep comparing him to my father. I meant to offer advice; that is all. My father was a wise man and a good chief. He made a mistake, but it was because he did not understand.”
She looked after her husband and sighed again. “I love him so much, yet it seems I hurt him more than I would hurt my worst enemy.”
“Love gives us a power to hurt that hate cannot match,” Laurana said softly.
She looked after Flint and Tanis, who were shapeless forms in the gray dawn, descending into the valley.
“Did you come to say good-bye to Tanis?” Goldmoon asked, seeing the young woman watching them.
“I thought he might want to say good-bye to me,” Laurana replied. “I waited, but he didn’t come.” She shrugged. “Apparently he doesn’t care.”
“He does, Laurana,” said Goldmoon. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s just …” She hesitated.
“I can’t compete with a memory of a rival,” Laurana said bitterly. “Kitiara will always be perfect to him. Her kisses will always taste sweeter. She is not here to say or do the wrong thing. I cannot win.”
Goldmoon was struck by what Laurana had said. Competing with a memory. That was what she was forcing Riverwind to do. Small wonder he resented it. She went to find him to make her apology, which, since they were newlyweds, she knew her tender “I am sorry” would be well received.
Laurana stood looking after Tanis.
“Hullo, Tika!” Tas shoved open the screen to the cave and bounded inside, remembering at the last moment to knock. “Did you go shivery all over just a few moments ago? I did. It was a dragon! I thought I’d better hurry over to protect you! Ouch!” he said loudly, tumbling over a lump in the darkness.
“Tika?” Tas reached out his hand. “Is that lump you?”
“Yes, it’s me.” She didn’t sound pleased about it.