The next thing Riverwind knew, he woke in pitch darkness, in a dungeon cell, with a hairy and foul-breathed dwarf bending over him, asking him in Common how many men were in the army, where they were hiding, and when did they mean to invade Thorbardin?
Riverwind said over and over there was no army, they weren’t planning to invade. The dwarf told him to prove it, to tell him where the people were hiding so he could go see for himself. Riverwind saw through that ploy and told the hairy little runt to go throw himself off the mountain. They then tried to loosen his tongue, beating and kicking him until he’d lost consciousness, when they woke him up, put a bag over him, and carted him off. He rode first in a wagon, then in a boat, then he’d lost consciousness again and had awakened here. He wondered how his comrades were faring. He’d heard their screams and their moans, and he knew proudly that the other four Plainsmen were not giving the dwarves the answers they wanted.
His head was starting to clear, and he decided that he wasn’t going to lie here at the feet of these dwarves like a criminal.
“Paladine, give me strength,” Riverwind prayed and, gritting his teeth, he struggled to sit up.
The scrawny dwarf said something to him and kicked him in the side. Riverwind stifled a groan, but refused to lie back down. Another dwarf, this one tall with gray in his beard, said something angrily to the dwarf in the helm. Riverwind took a good look at this dwarf. He had a noble bearing and a proud mien, and though he was not regarding Riverwind with a friendly eye, he appeared to be outraged by the human’s beaten and bloody condition.
This dwarf barked an order and beckoned to one of the guards. The guard left the Court, returning a short time later bearing a mug of some foul-smelling liquid. He held it to Riverwind’s lips. Riverwind looked up at the noble looking dwarf, who gave a reassuring nod.
“Drink it,” he said in Common. “It will not hurt you.” To prove it, he took a drink himself.
Riverwind sipped at the brew, spluttering and coughing as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. Warmth flooded his body, and he felt better. The throbbing pain eased. He shook his head when offered another drink, however.
The noble looking dwarf did not waste time on pleasantries. “I am Hornfel,” he said, “Thane of the Hylar. Realgar, Thane of the Theiwar, the dwarf who took you and the others prisoner, says that you arrived here with an army of humans and elves prepared to invade us. Is that true?”
“No, lord, it is not true,” said Riverwind, talking slowly through swollen lips.
“He lies!” Realgar snarled. “He admitted the truth to me himself not an hour ago!”
“He lies,” said Riverwind, fixing the Theiwar with a baleful stare. “I am the leader of a group of refugees, former slaves of the evil Dragon Highlord of Pax Tharkas. We have women and children with us. We were sheltering in a valley not far from here, but then dragons and dragonmen attacked us and we were forced to flee.”
He watched the Thane’s expression, and when he spoke of the dragons and dragonmen, he saw Hornfel’s face harden into disbelief.
“We have heard such lies before, Hornfel,” Realgar said, “the exact same tale told to us by the other Talls.”
Riverwind lifted his head. Other Talls. That could only mean his friends. He wondered where they were, if they were safe, what was going on. The questions were on his tongue, but he did not ask them. He would find out more from the dwarves before saying something that might be entirely the wrong thing to say.
The dwarves went back to arguing among themselves, however, and Riverwind could not understand a word. He had the impression the dwarf known as Hornfel did not trust or like the dwarf he called Realgar. Unfortunately, Hornfel did not trust Riverwind either. One other Thane appeared to be siding with Realgar, and another with Hornfel. The rest seemed to be having trouble making up their minds.
Gilthanas stirred and groaned, but the dwarves ignored him. Riverwind could do nothing to help the elf. He could do nothing to help anyone. He sat, watched, and waited.
Tanis had no trouble getting himself apprehended, though he first had to free his captors to do so. He was walking down the street near the inn when he came upon two Hylar guards bound hand and foot, with gags over their mouths. He cut their bonds and helped them stand, then told the guards he needed to speak to Hornfel on a matter of the utmost urgency. The dwarves were clearly furious, but not at Tanis. They, too, wanted to talk to their Thane, and after a moment’s deliberation, they decided to take Tanis with them.
The dwarven guards hustled him into one of the lifts. Other dwarves stared at him and scowled, and several called out, wanting to know what was going on. His guards had neither the time nor the inclination to answer. They kept fast hold of him, though he assured them he wasn’t going to try to escape; he wanted to see Hornfel. When the lift stopped, the guards stopped to question other guards, asking where Hornfel could be found.
“The Court of Thanes,” was the answer.
Tanis was in a poor humor. He’d had little sleep and nothing to eat. He was outraged at the attempt on their lives, deeply concerned about Flint and Tas and the knowledge that draconians were in Thorbardin. He entered the Court of Thanes determined to make Hornfel understand his peril. He planned to have his say first and give the Thanes time to digest his words. When his friends arrived with the draconian prisoner, he would use the monster to emphasize his point. He would demand that he and his friends be allowed to seek out Flint and Tas in the Valley of the Thanes. Tanis was convinced Flint had been, or was going to be, lured into some sort of trap.
These words were in his head and on his tongue, and he forgot them all in dismay and amazement when he walked into the Court of the Thanes to find Riverwind bound, bruised, and bleeding, and Gilthanas barely conscious.
Tanis stopped and stared at his friends. The Thanes stopped and stared at him, wondering what he was doing here. The most astonished was Realgar, who had been convinced Tanis and the rest were dead. Realgar foresaw trouble, but he didn’t know how to combat it, for he had no idea what had gone wrong.
Tanis tried to speak, but the guards launched into their grievances. Hornfel grimly asked for an explanation for why the prisoner was loose. The guards explained with furious gestures at Realgar, while the other Thanes added to the confusion by loudly demanding to know what was going on.
Tanis saw that for the moment, his guards were defending him better than he could. He hastened over to Riverwind, who was sitting up, his back propped against a column. Gilthanas lay on the floor beside him, more dead than alive.
“What happened? Who did this?”
“An ambush,” Riverwind answered, grimacing in pain. He drew breath haltingly. “Draconians. Waiting for us at the gate. Don’t worry. The refugees are safely hidden. I left Elistan in charge …”
“Hush, don’t talk. I’ll sort this out.”
Riverwind seized hold of him with a bloody hand. “That dwarf, the one in the helm, he tried to make us admit we were here to invade …” Riverwind sank back, breathing hard. Sweat beaded his brow and ran down his face.
Tanis put his hand to Gilthanas’s neck, felt for the life beat. The elf lord needed care.
Hornfel managed to shout down the other Thanes and obtain some semblance of order. The dwarf guards started their tale by relating first how the kender had escaped and knocked them out (they glossed over this fairly quickly), then, in mounting rage, they stated that when they’d regained consciousness, they were set upon by four Theiwar. The next thing they knew, the Tall (Tanis) was cutting loose their bonds and insisting on seeing Hornfel.
Hornfel glowered at Realgar. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I will tell you, Thane,” said Tanis, rising to his feet. “The Theiwar wanted our guards out of the way so they could poison us.”
“That’s a lie,” Realgar snarled. “If someone tried to poison you, human, it was not me or my people. As for these guards, my men caught them drunk on their watch and decided to teach them a l
esson.”
The guards were vehement in denial. One leaped at Realgar, and his companion had to drag him back.
“We have evidence to prove our claim,” said Tanis. “We have the poisoned mushrooms and the bodies of two Theiwar who came to gloat over their handiwork, and we have further evidence of an even more serious matter than the attempt on our lives, great Thanes.”
“What of our evidence?” Realgar demanded, pointing at Riverwind. “This human and those with him admit that they are with an army of humans and elves planning to invade our realm.”
“If he or any of those with him said this, they did so to escape the pain of their torment. Look what has been done to them!” Tanis said. “Is this how men of honor of any race treat their captives?
“I bring you this warning, Thanes of Thorbardin,” Tanis continued grimly, “there is an army prepared to invade your realm, but it is not an army of humans. It is an army of the Dark Queen’s dragonmen.”
“He would have us believe this wild tale to distract us so that he and his humans can take us unaware! I, for one, will not waste my time by staying around to listen to this human’s lies. I must go prepare my forces to repel the human army’s invasion—”
Realgar started walking toward the door.
“Stop him, Thanes!” Tanis warned. “He has betrayed you. He is in league with these dragonmen and their evil master, Lord Verminaard. He has opened the gates of Thorbardin to them.”
“Realgar,” said Hornfel sternly, “you must remain to answer these charges—”
“You are not High King, Hornfel!” Realgar retorted. “You can’t order me about!”
“Guards, detain him!” Hornfel commanded.
Realgar opened his palm, exhibited a ring of black jet, and slipped it on his finger. Foul-smelling smoke billowed out from the ring, driving back the soldiers, who began to gasp and cough. Realgar disappeared.
“The Theiwar is telling the truth, Hornfel,” Rance stated. “These humans and their friends the elves are the real danger. Don’t listen to the lies of this Tall.”
“I have proof!” Tanis countered. “My friends and I have captured one of the dragonmen. They are bringing the monster here so that you can see for yourselves!”
“I will not wait,” said Hornfel decisively. “I will go see for myself. You will come with me, Half-Elven.”
“I will come, Thane,” Tanis answered, “but first I must see to my friends. Their injuries are serious. They need healing care.”
“I have already summoned physicians,” Hornfel said. “Your friends will be taken to the Houses of Healing, but,” he added in grim tones, “you will all remain prisoners until I have determined the truth of what is going on.”
He left the Court of the Thanes, and Tanis had no choice but to accompany him. The other Thanes decided to go with them, including Rance, who was starting to think that he, too, had been betrayed by Realgar.
The Highbluph came along, but only because he was under the mistaken impression they were all going to lunch.
20
Flight. A swim.
War beneath the mountain.
he draconian lay sprawled on the floor. Caramon stood over him, sucking on his bruised knuckles.
“That thing has a hard skull,” he complained. “What I want to know is why we just don’t kill it and show the dwarves the body? It would be a lot easier.”
“I take back everything I said about your intelligence, my brother,” Raistlin said. He was feeling sick and weak, the after-effects of his spell casting, and that put him in a bad temper.
“Huh?” Caramon was puzzled.
“There wouldn’t be a body to show,” Sturm explained patiently. “You remember what happens if we kill one of these things. They either blow up, turn to dust, or—”
“Oh, yeah, right. I forgot.” Caramon thumped himself good-naturedly on the head.
“We should go now,” Raistlin said. “Tanis has had time enough to speak to the Thanes.”
“The sight of this beauty should make the Thanes sit up and take notice,” Sturm said. “Bring over the table, Caramon, and help me hoist him onto it.”
They had tried to lift the draconian, but the monster’s wings made carrying the creature awkward. Caramon came up with the idea of knocking the legs off the table and turning the wooden board into a makeshift litter. He now hauled it over and set it down next to the unconscious draconian.
Grunting at the effort, he shoved the draconian over on his belly, so that the wings would not be an impediment. The draconian had kept his wings close to his body in order to cover them with the robes, but when he’d been hit by the sleep spell, the wings had relaxed and now flopped out on either side. Between Caramon and Sturm, they heaved and wrestled the creature onto the wooden table top.
“This thing weighs as much as a small house!” Sturm gasped.
Caramon, who could probably have picked up a small house had he been inclined to do so, nodded in agreement and wiped sweat from his face. Not only was the draconian heavy, it was wearing armor beneath its robes, as well as a sword. Sturm removed the weapon and tossed it aside.
“We have to haul this demon-spawn clear to the top of the Life Tree?” Caramon asked, shaking his head. “Uh, Raist, I don’t suppose you could—”
“No, I could not,” Raistlin snapped. “I am already weakened from the spells I’ve cast this day. You must do the best you can.”
“You take the head,” said Sturm to Caramon.
The big man bent down, took hold of the table with the monster on top of it and, with a grunt, lifted it off the floor. Sturm took hold of his end, and they managed to maneuver table and draconian out the door.
“Wait!” Raistlin ordered. “We should cover it with a blanket. We’ll draw enough attention to ourselves as it is, without being seen hauling a monster through the streets.”
“Hurry up!” Sturm gasped.
Raistlin grabbed up two blankets and draped them over the draconian.
“I’ll walk ahead of you,” Raistlin offered, “to clear the way.”
“You’re sure that won’t take too much out of you?” Sturm said bitterly.
Either Raistlin did not hear him, or he chose to ignore him. He preceeded them through the street, the light of his staff shining brightly.
Sturm and Caramon had to stop every so often to rest and shift position to ease cramps in their backs and shoulders. They made relatively good time until they reached the populated parts of Thorbardin. At the sight of the Talls, dwarves immediately surrounded them and demanded to know where they were going and why.
Raistlin managed to find a dwarf who spoke enough Common to carry on a limited conversation. Raistlin explained that one of their number had been taken ill, and they wanted to transport him to the upper levels, where he said they had been told there were Houses of Healing.
The dwarf wanted to take a look at the sick Tall, and he reached for the blanket. Raistlin laid his hand on the blanket-covered head.
“You don’t want to touch him,” he said softly, in his whispering voice. “We fear it might be the plague.”
The dwarf fell back, glaring darkly at the companions, and crying out a warning to the other dwarves, who regarded them with even more distrust than before, if that were possible.
“What did you tell them?” Sturm demanded. “By the looks of them, they mean to kill us all!”
“Never mind,” said Raistlin. “We’ll sort it out later. For the moment they’ll stay clear of us. Keep moving.”
The dwarves gave them a clear path, but they fell in behind them, forming a grim and silent escort. The companions arrived at the lift, and this presented their next problem.
“The table won’t fit in the bucket,” Caramon pointed out.
“Dump the draconian into the bottom,” said Sturm.
“They are watching us,” Raistlin warned. He gestured to the crowd of dwarves growing larger by the moment. “Be careful to keep the monster covered.”
&
nbsp; He climbed into the lift. Sturm and Caramon tilted the table and the draconian slid off, landing in a heap at the bottom of the bucket. Raistlin hurriedly arranged the blanket over him. As many dwarves as could fit crowded into a second lift and rode up alongside them, keeping an eye on them.
Sturm sank back against the side of the bucket, massaging his shoulders. Caramon flexed his hands and then arched his back, trying to ease a kink in his muscles. Raistlin kept watch on the dwarves in the lift. The dwarves kept their eyes fixed on him.
None of them noticed the faint quivering of the blanket covering the draconian until it was too late.
Grag had come to his senses to find himself being hauled off to some unknown destination by his enemies. He had continued to feign unconsciousness, biding his time, and cursing the Theiwar, who had managed to bungle everything. The draconian would have to reveal himself for what he was, and that was a pity, but it couldn’t be helped. Grag had to return to his command and let Dray-yan know what had happened, so they could alter their plans accordingly.
Being dumped into the bottom of the bucket gave Grag his chance. Flinging off the blanket, he leapt to his feet. His first care was to fell the wizard. An elbow to the gut rendered him harmless. The wizard gasped in agony and crumpled. The two warriors were reaching for their swords. Grag whirled about, catching both of them with his lashing tail, knocking the knight backward and nearly flipping the other out of the lift.
Grag would have liked to have settled the score and finished off these three humans, especially the knight, but he didn’t have time. He jumped onto the edge of the bucket and perched there for a moment, getting his bearings. He looked down the lift shaft to see the base of the Life Tree far, far below. His idea had been to try to coast down on his wings, but the shaft was narrow, and he feared he might strike his wings on the stone sides and damage them.
The dwarves in the second lift were raising a ruckus, pointing and shouting and bellowing in horror at the sight of the monster. Those dwarves waiting for the lift on the next level, hearing the commotion echoing up the shaft, saw the draconian poised on the edge of the bucket, wings spread, tail twitching. One quick-thinking dwarf seized the control lever, shoved it in place, halting the lift.
Dragons of the Dwarven Depths Page 41
