Dragons of the Dwarven Depths

by Margaret Weis

  “The other way around. Sturm is now the dwarven prince, Grallen.”

  Caramon cast a stricken glance at his friend. “Will he ever go back to being Sturm?”

  “Probably,” said Raistlin, “if the helm is removed.”

  “Well, then, we’ll remove it!”

  “I wouldn’t—” Raistlin began, but Caramon had already taken hold of the helm and started jerking on it, trying to drag it off Sturm’s head.

  Sturm gave a cry of pain and outrage and shoved Caramon away. “How dare you lay rough hands on me, human!” He reached for his sword.

  “We beg your pardon, Your Highness,” said Raistlin, hurriedly intervening. “My brother is not himself. The heat of battle has left him confused …”

  Sturm sheathed his sword.

  “The helm’s stuck tight, Raist,” Caramon reported. “I couldn’t budge it!”

  “I am not surprised,” said Raistlin. “I wonder …” He lapsed into thought.

  “What do we mean you’re not surprised? This is Sturm! You have to break this enchantment, lift it, or do something to it!”

  Raistlin shook his head. “The spell cannot be broken until the soul of Prince Grallen frees him.”

  “When will that be? Will Sturm be a dwarf forever?”

  “Unlikely,” Raistlin said, adding irritably, “Stop shouting! You’ll have every draconian in the place down on us! The prince’s soul is intent upon completing some mission. Perhaps something as simple as returning to give news of the death of his brothers.”

  Raistlin paused. He stared at the helm in thoughtful silence.

  “Perhaps this is what the messenger meant …” he murmured.

  Caramon ran his ran through his hair. He looked desperately unhappy. “Sturm thinking he’s a dwarf! This is terrible! What are we going to do?”

  “Your Highness,” said Raistlin, ignoring his brother and addressing Sturm, “we would be glad to escort you back to Thorbardin, but as you see, we are humans. We do not know the way.”

  “I will guide you, of course,” Sturm said at once. “There will be rich reward for you in return for your service to me. The king must hear this terrible news!”

  Caramon turned to face his brother, who was looking inordinately pleased with himself.

  “You wouldn’t use him like this!” Caramon growled.

  “Why not? We have found what we sought.” Raistlin pointed to Sturm. “Behold the key to Thorbardin.”

  Tika sat on a broken column and heaved a mournful sigh.

  “I wish this whole fortress would just crash down on my head. Bury me in the rubble and have done with it.”

  “I think you’re too late,” said Tas, wandering around the debris-strewn corridor, shining the light of his torch and poking his hoopak into murky corners in the hopes of finding something interesting. “The fortress has crashed down as much as it’s going to.”

  “Well then, maybe I’ll fall into a pit,” said Tika. “Tumble down the stairs and break my neck. Anything so I don’t have to face Caramon again. Why, why, why did I ever come?” She buried her head in her hands.

  “He didn’t look very pleased to see us, did he?” Tas admitted. “Which is strange, considering all the trouble we went to just to rescue him from that man-eating Stalig Mite.”

  Tika had told a small lie when she said that she and Tas were going to search for the way out. The fortress was dark and eerie, and though Tas would have been happy to explore, Tika was not feeling all that adventurous. She had only wanted to get away from Caramon. She and Tas remained in the corridor, not far from the room where Caramon was arguing with this twin. The light from their torches and Raistlin’s staff filtered out into the hallway. Tika could hear their angry voices, especially Raistlin’s, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Undoubtedly bad things about her. Her cheeks burned. Sick at heart, she rocked back and forth and groaned.

  Tasslehoff was patting her soothingly on her shoulder, when suddenly he gave a great sniff.

  “I smell fresh air,” he said, and he wrinkled his nose. “Well, maybe not fresh air, but at least it smells like air that’s outside, not inside.”

  “So what?” Tika returned in muffled tones.

  “You told Caramon we were going to find the way out. I think we have. Let’s go see!”

  “I didn’t mean a way out,” said Tika, sighing. “I meant a way out—of this stupid situation.”

  “But if we did find a way out that was better than the way in, then you could tell Caramon and he could tell Raistlin and he wouldn’t be mad at us anymore. We’d be making ourselves useful.”

  Tika lifted her head. That was true. If they proved they could be useful, Raistlin couldn’t stay mad at them. Caramon would be glad that she’d come. She sniffed the air. At first, all she could smell was the musty, dank smell of some place that has been deep underground for a long, long time. Then she knew what Tas meant. The whiff of air was damp and tinged with decay, but at least, as Tas said, it smelled different from the air trapped down here.

  “I think it’s coming from up there,” Tika said, peering up overhead. “I can’t see. Hold the torch higher.”

  Tas climbed nimbly on top of the fallen column, and from there clamored onto another part of the fallen column that lay on the column beneath it. He now stood head and shoulders above Tika. He held his torch as high as he could, stretching his arm nearly out of the socket. The light revealed the underside of a rickety-looking cat walk constructed of iron.

  “The fresh air smell is definitely coming from up there,” Tas announced, though, in truth, he couldn’t really tell much difference. He wanted to take Tika’s mind off her troubles. “Maybe if we climbed onto that cat walk, we’d find a door or something. Do you have any rope?”

  “You know perfectly well I don’t have any rope,” returned Tika, and she sighed again. “It’s hopeless.”

  “No, it’s not!” Tas cried. He peered overhead, twisting his neck to see. “I think that if you stood on this column then hoisted me onto your shoulders, I could reach the bottom of the cat walk. You know what I mean?” He looked back at Tika. “Like those tumblers we saw at the faire last year. There was the guy who tied himself in a knot and—”

  “We’re not tumblers,” Tika pointed out. “We’d likely break our necks.”

  “You were just saying you wanted to break your neck,” Tas said. “Come on, Tika, we can at least try!” Tika shook her head.

  Tas shrugged. “I guess we’ll just have to go back and tell Caramon we failed.”

  Tika mulled things over. “Do you really think we could do it?”

  “Of course, we can!” Tas balanced the torch on the rock, carefully, so as not to put it out. “You stand here. Brace your feet. Hold very still. I’m going to climb up your back onto your shoulders. Oops, wait! You should take off your sword….”

  Tika unbuckled her sword belt and set it down on the rock beside the torch. She and Tas tried several different ways of hoisting the kender onto her shoulders, but climbing a person turned out not to be as easy as the tumblers had made it look. After a few failed attempts, Tas finally figured out how to do it.

  “Fortunately you’ve got big hips,” he told Tika.

  “Thanks a bunch,” she said bitterly.

  Planting one foot on her hip, Tas hoisted himself up. He put his other foot on her shoulder, brought up his other foot, then he had both feet on both of Tika’s shoulders. Slowly, teetering a little, keeping his hands on the top of Tika’s head, he straightened.

  “I didn’t think you were this heavy!” Tika gasped. “You’d better … hurry!”

  “Hold onto my ankles!” Tas instructed. He reached up and grasped two of the iron railings.

  “You can let loose now!”

  Tas swung his right leg up, trying to connect with the balcony. After two tries, he finally made it. He slid one leg through the railings then didn’t know what to do with the other leg. He hung there for a moment in an extremely awkward, uncomfor
table, and precarious position.

  Tika, looking up, put her hands over her mouth, terrified Tas would fall.

  Fortunately he came from a long line of kender who climbed up onto balconies or shinnied out onto ledges or walked the ridgepoles of roofs. A wriggle, a few grunts, a readjustment of his leg so that he wasn’t about to dislocate a hip, another wriggle and a squeeze, and he was through the iron railings and lying flat on his stomach on the cat walk.

  “You did it!” Tika cried, impressed. “What’s up there? Is there a way out?”

  She could hear Tas rummaging around in the dark, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. Once he seemed to trip over something, for he said, “Ouch!” in irritated tones. Then he came back, leaned over the edge of the rail, and called down, “Say, Tika, why do you suppose they call it a cat walk? Do cats walk on these things a lot?”

  “How should I know? What difference does that make?” she returned irritably.

  “I was just wondering. I think it’s because they have nine lives.”

  Before Tika could point out that this made no sense, Tas added, “There’s lots of rope up here, coils and coils of it, and some torches and a sack that has something squishy inside that smells bad. I’ll keep looking.”

  He was off again. Tika picked up the torch and looked around nervously, not liking being left alone. Then she reflected she wasn’t truly alone. Caramon was not far away. He would come if she called.

  Tas came back. “I found it! There’s a hole in the ceiling that I think leads up into a shaft that I’m pretty sure goes outside. I’ll bet we could climb up the shaft. Do you want to try?”

  “Yes,” Tika said, thinking that wherever the shaft led was better than where she was now. Anything was better than going back to Caramon and his brother. “How do I get up onto the cat walk?”

  “I’ll send down some rope. Hold that torch where I can see what I’m doing.”

  Tika raised the torch. Working by its flickering light, Tas tied one end of the rope to an iron railing. He tugged on it to make sure it was good and tight, then he flung the rope down to Tika.

  “You’d better douse the torch,” he advised, “so no draconians come after us. I’ll light one up here.”

  Tika extinguished the light then took hold of the rope and began to pull herself up, hand over hand. She’d been quite adept at rope climbing when she was a girl; the children of the tree-top town of Solace could clamor up and down ropes like spiders. She hadn’t done much rope climbing since those days, but the skill came back to her.

  “You have strong arms,” Tas remarked admiringly.

  “And big hips,” Tika muttered. She pulled herself up and over the railing.

  “The air shaft’s over here.” Tas and his torch led the way to a wide hole in the ceiling. Though Tika couldn’t see sunlight, she could feel and smell the fresh air flowing down from above, gently brushing her face. She drew in a deep breath.

  “This is definitely the way out,” she said.

  “I think it’s also the way in,” said Tas. “The draconians used this route to enter the fortress. You can tell because they left their stuff lying around.”

  “That means they’ll be back to collect it!” Tika said, alarmed.

  “Any minute now probably,” said Tas in cheerful tones, “so if we’re going to explore the shaft, we should do it pretty quickly.”

  “What if there are draconian guards inside there?” Tika faltered.

  Tas peered up the shaft, his face screwed up into thought wrinkles.

  “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “If the draconians had gone back up the shaft, they would have taken their stuff with them. No. They’re somewhere else. Probably exploring the ruins down below.”

  “Then let’s go up there,” said Tika, shivering at the thought.

  The two climbed a pile of rubble that lay beneath the shaft and from there into the shaft itself. Dim gray light filtered down from above, so they could leave the torch behind. The shaft did not go straight up, like a chimney, but sloped gradually, and the climb was an easy one. The breeze wafting down the shaft grew stronger and colder, and they soon came in sight of heavy gray clouds that looked so close it seemed they could grab a handful. The opening was a large oval hole in the rock; the edges glistened wetly in the gray light.

  Tas poked his head out of the hole and immediately ducked down again.

  “Draconians!” Tas whispered. “Lots of them, standing on the ground below us.”

  They both held very still, then Tas started to raise himself up again.

  “What are you doing!” Tika gasped, tugging on his breeches. “They’ll see you!”

  “No, they won’t,” Tas said. “We’re up above them. Come on. You can look.”

  Tika didn’t like it, but she had to see for herself. She edged her head cautiously out of the hole.

  The draconians were gathered at the base of the ruined fortress on one of the few dry patches of ground available. A foul-smelling, evil-looking swamp surrounded them. The gray clouds roiling above turned out not to be clouds at all, but a thick mist rising from dark and putrid waters. The draconians stood in a group around a draconian who appeared to be their leader. He was larger than the others, his scales were a different color, and he was issuing orders. His voice was deep and loud, and they could hear him quite clearly.

  “Tika!’ said Tas, excited. “I can speak draconian! I know what he’s saying.”

  “I know what he’s saying, too,” said Tika. “He’s speaking Common.”

  The two listened and watched. Then Tika said softly, “Come on! We have to go tell the others!”

  “Shouldn’t we wait to hear more?”

  “We’ve heard enough.” Tika said.

  She began to scrabble back down the shaft. Tas listened a moment longer, then he followed.

  “You know, Tika,” said Tas, when they reached the cat walk. “It’s good we came, after all.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Tika said.

  14

  Bad News.

  Who’s Going to go back?

  aistlin! Caramon! Sturm! There’s a draconian army right outside!” Tas announced, bursting into the armory.

  “The draconians are planning to attack our people in the valley!” Tika was saying at the same time. “We heard the big one telling his soldiers! The attack is coming from Pax Tharkas.”

  “We found out because I can understand draconian now.” Tas raised his voice to be heard above Tika. “Say, why is Sturm wearing that funny-looking helm?”

  Raistlin glared at them. “I can’t understand a word either of you is saying. One person talks at a time!” “Tas,” Tika ordered, “go keep watch in the corridor.”

  “But Tika—”

  She glared at him, and Tasslehoff departed.

  Tika repeated what they’d overheard, adding, “These draconians are part of a larger force. They’ve been posted here to make sure that our people don’t come this way. It’s a good thing Tas and I came,” she said, with a defiant glance at Raistlin, “otherwise we wouldn’t have found out about the danger the refugees are in.”

  Raistlin looked at Caramon, who sighed and shook his head.

  “This makes things difficult,” said Raistlin.

  “What? How? I don’t understand,” Tika said.

  This was not the reception she had been expecting.

  She had hoped that Caramon would be pleased with her. Well, maybe not pleased, because her news was very bad, the worst news possible, but he could at least be pleased that she and Tas had found out about the attack in time to prevent it.

  Caramon only stood there looking troubled and unhappy. Raistlin’s lips were tightly compressed. She couldn’t tell how Sturm looked because he was wearing some sort of odd-looking helm that covered his face. All in all, Tika realized, everyone was acting very strangely.

  “What’s the matter with you? We should get started right away. Right now. And why is Sturm wearing that funny looki
ng helm?”

  “She’s right, Raist,” said Caramon. “We should go back.”

  “What will the refugees do once we have warned them?” Raistlin demanded. “Where can they go that is safe?” He glanced at Sturm. “Thorbardin.”

  “Of course, we must go to Thorbardin,” Sturm said, and he sounded impatient. “We have delayed long enough. I’m leaving. If you’re coming with me, humans, then come.”

  He started to walk out the door. Raistlin hurriedly intervened, stepping in front of him, and laying his hand on the knight’s arm. “We plan to go with you, Your Highness, but there is an emergency we must deal with first. If you will just be patient a moment longer …”

  “Your Highness!” Tika stared at Sturm, then she said in a low voice to Caramon, “Did he get hit on the head again?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Caramon bleakly.

  “Let me put it this way,” said Raistlin dryly. “Sturm is not himself.”

  He looked back at his brother. “We must go with the knight to Thorbardin. We may never have another chance to find the dwarven kingdom.”

  “No, we have to go back to camp,” Tika insisted.

  “Riverwind is aware that an attack is possible,” Raistlin said. “He will be ready for it, if it comes.”

  “Why can’t we do both?” Caramon asked. “We take Prince Grallen here with us back to camp. Then the prince can lead the refugees to Thorbardin. Problem solved.”

  “Prince Grallen? Who’s Prince Grallen?” Tika asked, but no one answered her.

  “An excellent idea, but it won’t work,” Raistlin said flatly.

  “Sure it will,” said Caramon.

  “Try and see,” said Raistlin, shrugging. “Tell Prince Grallen.”

  Caramon, looking extremely uncomfortable, walked over to where Sturm stood by the door, tapping his foot restlessly on the floor. “Your Highness, we are planning to go to Thorbardin, but first we’re going to make a little side trip. We have some friends who are trapped in a valley to the north—”

  Sturm drew back. He glared at Caramon from out of the helm’s eye slits. “North! We do not travel north. Our way lies east across the Dergoth Plains. I would have been grateful to have your company, human, but if you go north, you go alone.”