“How do you know?” Caramon asked.
Raistlin shook his head, unable to answer for long moments. Then, when the spasm had passed, he drew a shuddering breath and glanced at his brother irritably. “Haven’t you learned yet?” he said bitterly. “I know! Put it at that. I paid for my knowledge in the Towers of High Sorcery. I paid for it with my body and very nearly my reason. I paid for it with—” Raistlin stopped, looking at his twin.
Caramon was pale and silent as always whenever the Testing was mentioned. He started to say something, choked, then cleared his throat. “It’s just that I don’t understand—”
Raistlin sighed and shook his head, withdrawing his arm from his brother’s. Then, leaning on his staff, he began to walk down the hill. “Nor will you,” he murmured. “Ever.”
Three hundred years ago, Tarsis the Beautiful was Lordcity of the lands of Abanasinia. From here set sail the white-winged ships for all the known lands of Krynn. Here they returned, bearing all manner of objects, precious and curious, hideous and delicate. The Tarsian marketplace was a thing of wonder. Sailors swaggered the streets, their golden earrings flashing as brightly as their knives. The ships brought exotic peoples from distant lands to sell their wares. Some dressed in gaily colored, flowing silks, bedizened with jewels. They sold spices and teas, oranges and pearls, and bright-colored birds in cages. Others, dressed in crude skins, sold luxuriant furs from strange animals as grotesque as those who hunted them.
Of course, there were buyers at the Tarsian market as well; almost as strange and exotic and dangerous as the sellers. Wizards dressed in robes of white, red, or black strode the bazaars, searching for rare spell components to make their magic. Distrusted even then, they walked through the crowds, isolated and alone. Few spoke even to those wearing the white robes, and no one ever cheated them.
Clerics, too, sought ingredients for their healing potions. For there were clerics in Krynn before the Cataclysm. Some worshiped the gods of good, some the gods of neutrality, some the gods of evil. All had great power. Their prayers, for good or for evil, were answered.
And always, walking among all the strange and exotic peoples gathered in the bazaar of Tarsis the Beautiful, were the Knights of Solamnia: keeping order, guarding the land, living their disciplined lives in strict observance of the Code and the Measure. The Knights were followers of Paladine, and were noted for their pious obedience to the gods.
The walled city of Tarsis had its own army and—so it was said—had never fallen to an invading force. The city was ruled, under the watchful eyes of the Knights—by a Lord-family and had the good fortune to fall to the care of a family possessing sense, sensitivity, and justice. Tarsis became a center of learning; sages from lands all around came here to share their wisdom. Schools and a great library were established, temples were built to the gods. Young men and women eager for knowledge came to Tarsis to study.
The early dragon wars had not affected Tarsis. The huge walled city, its formidable army, its fleets of white-winged ships, and its vigilant Knights of Solamnia daunted even the Queen of Darkness. Before she could consolidate her power and strike the Lordcity, Huma drove her dragons from the skies. Thus Tarsis prospered and became, during the Age of Might, one of the wealthiest and proudest cities of Krynn.
And, as with so many other cities in Krynn, with its pride grew its conceit. Tarsis began seeking more and more from the gods: wealth, power, glory. The people worshiped the Kingpriest of Istar who, seeing suffering in the land, demanded of the gods in his arrogance what they had granted Huma in humility. Even the Knights of Solamnia—bound by the strict laws of the Measure, encased in a religion that had become all ritual with little depth—fell under the sway of the mighty Kingpriest.
Then came the Cataclysm—a night of terror, when it rained fire. The ground heaved and cracked as the gods in their righteous anger hurled a mountain of rock down upon Krynn, punishing the Kingpriest of Istar and the people for their pride.
The people turned to the Knights of Solamnia. “You who are righteous, help us!” they cried. “Placate the gods!”
But the Knights could do nothing. The fire fell from the heavens, the land split asunder. The seawaters fled, the ships foundered and toppled, the wall of the city crumbled.
When the night of horror ended, Tarsis was landlocked. The white-winged ships lay upon the sand like wounded birds. Dazed and bleeding, the survivors tried to rebuild their city, expecting any moment to see the Knights of Solamnia come marching from their great fortresses in the north, marching from Palanthas, Solanthus, Vingaard Keep, Thelgaard, marching south to Tarsis to help them and protect them once more.
But the Knights did not come. They had their own troubles and could not leave Solamnia. Even if they had been able to march, a new sea split the lands of Abanasinia. The dwarves in their mountain kingdom of Thorbardin shut their gates, refusing admittance to anyone, and so the mountain passes were blocked. The elves withdrew into Qualinesti, nursing their wounds, blaming humans for the catastrophe. Soon, Tarsis lost all contact with the world to the north.
And so, following the Cataclysm, when it became apparent that the city had been abandoned by the Knights, came the Day of Banishment. The lord of the city was placed in an awkward position. He did not truly believe in the corruption of the Knights, but he knew the people needed something or someone to blame. If he sided with the Knights, he would lose control of the city, and so he was forced to close his eyes to angry mobs that attacked the few Knights remaining in Tarsis. They were driven from the city—or murdered.
After a time, order was restored in Tarsis. The lord and his family established a new army. But much was changed. The people believed the ancient gods they had worshiped for so long had turned away from them. They found new gods to worship, even though these new gods rarely answered prayers. All clerical powers that had been present in the land before the Cataclysm were lost. Clerics with false promises and false hopes proliferated. Charlatan healers walked the land, selling their phony cure-alls.
After a time, many of the people drifted away from Tarsis. No longer did sailors walk the marketplace; elves, dwarves, and other races came no more. The people remaining in Tarsis liked it this way. They began to fear and mistrust the outside world. Strangers were not encouraged.
But Tarsis had been a trade center for so long that those people in the outlying countryside who could still reach Tarsis continued to do so. The outer hub of the city was rebuilt. The inner part—the temples, the schools, the great library—was left in ruins. The bazaar was reopened, only now it was a market for farmers and a forum for false clerics preaching new religions. Peace settled over the town like a blanket. Former days of glory were as a dream and might not have even been believed, but for the evidence in the center of town.
Now, of course, Tarsis heard rumors of war, but these were generally discounted, although the lord did send his army out to guard the plains to the south. If anyone asked why, he said it was a field exercise, nothing more. These rumors, after all, had come out of the north, and all knew the Knights of Solamnia were trying desperately to reestablish their power. It was amazing what lengths the traitorous Knights would go to—even spreading stories of the return of dragons!
This was Tarsis the Beautiful, the city the companions entered that morning, just a short time after sunrise.
4
Arrested!
The heroes are separated.
An ominous farewell.
The few sleepy guards upon the city walls that morning woke up at the sight of the sword-bearing, travel-worn group seeking entry. They did not deny them. They did not even question them—much. A red-bearded, soft-spoken half-elf, the like of which had not been seen in Tarsis in decades, said they had traveled far and sought shelter. His companions stood quietly behind him, making no threatening gestures. Yawning, the guards directed them to the Red Dragon Inn.
This might have ended the matter. Tarsis, after all, was beginning to see more and more strange
characters as rumors of war spread. But the cloak of one of the humans blew aside as he stepped through the gate, and a guard caught a flash of bright armor in the morning sun. The guard saw the hated and reviled symbol of the Knights of Solamnia on the antique breastplate. Scowling, the guard melted into the shadows, slinking after the group as it walked through the streets of the waking town.
The guard watched them enter the Red Dragon. He waited outside in the cold until he was sure they must be in their rooms. Then, slipping inside, he spoke a few words to the innkeeper. The guard peeped inside the common room and, seeing the group seated and apparently settled for some time, ran off to make his report.
“This is what comes of trusting a kender’s map!” said the dwarf irritably, shoving away his empty plate and wiping his hand across his mouth. “Takes us to a seaport city with no sea!”
“It’s not my fault,” Tas protested. “I told Tanis when I gave him the map that it dated before the Cataclysm. ‘Tas,’ Tanis said before we left, ‘do you have a map that shows us how to get to Tarsis?’ I said I did and I gave him this one. It shows Thorbardin, the dwarven Kingdom under the Mountain, and Southgate, and here it shows Tarsis, and everything else was right where the map said it was supposed to be. I can’t help it if something happened to the ocean! I—”
“That’s enough, Tas.” Tanis sighed. “Nobody’s blaming you. It isn’t anybody’s fault. We just let our hopes get too high.”
The kender, his feelings mollified, retrieved his map, rolled it up, and slid it into his mapcase with all his other precious maps of Krynn. Then he put his small chin in his hands and sat staring around the table at his gloomy companions. They began to discuss what to do next, talking half-heartedly.
Tas grew bored. He wanted to explore this city. There were all kinds of unusual sights and sounds—Flint had been forced to practically drag him along as they entered Tarsis. There was a fabulous marketplace with wonderful things just lying around, waiting to be admired. He had even spotted some other kenders, too, and he wanted to talk to them. He was worried about his homeland. Flint kicked him under the table. Sighing, Tas turned his attention back to Tanis.
“We’ll spend the night here, rest, and learn what we can, then send word back to Southgate,” Tanis was saying. “Perhaps there is another port city farther south. Some of us might go on and investigate. What do you think, Elistan?”
The cleric pushed away a plate of uneaten food. “I suppose it is our only choice,” he said sadly. “But I will return to Southgate. I cannot be away from the people long. You should come with me, too, my dear.” He laid his hand over Laurana’s. “I cannot dispense with your help.”
Laurana smiled at Elistan. Then, her gaze moving to Tanis, the smile vanished as she saw the half-elf scowl.
“Riverwind and I have discussed this already. We will return with Elistan,” Goldmoon said. Her silver-gold hair gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window. “The people need my healing skills.”
“Besides which, the bridal couple misses the privacy of their tent,” Caramon said in an audible undertone. Goldmoon flushed a dusky rose color as her husband smiled.
Sturm glanced at Caramon in disgust and turned to Tanis. “I will go with you, my friend,” he offered.
“Us, too, of course,” said Caramon promptly.
Sturm frowned, looking at Raistlin, who sat huddled in his red robes near the fire, drinking the strange herbal concoction that eased his cough.
“I do not think your brother is fit to travel, Caramon—” Sturm began.
“You are suddenly very solicitous of my health, knight,” Raistlin whispered sarcastically. “But then, it is not my health that concerns you, is it, Sturm Brightblade? It is my growing power. You fear me—”
“That’s enough!” said Tanis as Sturm’s face darkened.
“The mage goes back, or I do,” Sturm said coldly.
“Sturm—” Tanis began.
Tasslehoff took this opportunity to leave the table very quietly. Everyone was focused on the argument between the knight, the half-elf, and the magic-user. Tasslehoff skipped out the front door of the Red Dragon, a name he thought particularly funny. But Tanis had not laughed.
Tas thought about that as he walked along, looking at the new sights in delight. Tanis didn’t laugh at anything anymore. The half-elf was certainly carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, it seemed. Tasslehoff suspected he knew what was wrong with Tanis. The kender took a ring out of one of his pouches and studied it. The ring was golden, of elven make, carved in the form of clinging ivy leaves. He had picked it up in Qualinesti. This time, the ring was not something the kender had “acquired.” It had been thrown at his feet by a heart-broken Laurana after Tanis had returned it to her.
The kender considered all this and decided that splitting up and going off after new adventure was just what everyone needed. He, of course, would go with Tanis and Flint—the kender firmly believed neither could get along without him. But first, he’d get a glimpse of this interesting city.
Tasslehoff reached the end of the street. Glancing back, he could see the Red Dragon Inn. Good. No one was out looking for him yet. He was just about to ask a passing street peddler how to get to the marketplace when he saw something that promised to make this interesting city a whole lot more interesting.…
Tanis settled the argument between Sturm and Raistlin, for the time being at least. The mage decided to stay in Tarsis to hunt for the remains of the old library. Caramon and Tika offered to stay with him, while Tanis, Sturm, and Flint (and Tas) would push southward, picking up the brothers on their way back. The rest of the group would take the disappointing news back to Southgate.
That being settled, Tanis went to the innkeeper to pay for their night’s lodging. He was counting out silver coins when he felt a hand touch his arm.
“I want you to ask to have my room changed to one near Elistan’s,” Laurana said. Tanis glanced at her sharply.
“Why is that?” he asked, trying to keep the harshness out of his voice.
Laurana sighed. “We’re not going to go through this again, are we?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Tanis said coldly, turning away from the grinning innkeeper.
“For the first time in my life, I’m doing something meaningful and useful,” Laurana said, catching hold of his arm. “And you want me to quit because of some jealous notion you have about me and Elistan—”
“I am not jealous,” Tanis retorted, flushing. “I told you in Qualinesti that what was between us when we were younger is over now. I—” He paused, wondering if that were true. Even as he spoke, his soul trembled at her beauty. Yes, that youthful infatuation was gone, but was it being replaced by something else, something stronger and more enduring? And was he losing it? Had he already lost it, through his own in-decisiveness and stubbornness? He was acting typically human, the half-elf thought. Refusing that which was in easy reach, only to cry for it when it was gone. He shook his head in confusion.
“If you’re not jealous, then why don’t you leave me alone and let me continue my work for Elistan in peace?” Laurana asked coldly “You—”
“Hush!” Tanis held up his hand. Laurana, annoyed, started to talk, but Tanis glared at her so fiercely, she fell silent.
Tanis listened. Yes, he’d been right. He could hear clearly now the shrill, high-pitched, screaming whine of the leather sling on the end of Tas’s hoopak staff. It was a peculiar sound, produced by the kender swinging the sling in a circle over his head, and it raised the hair on the back of the neck. It was also a kender signal for danger.
“Trouble,” Tanis said softly. “Get the others.” Taking one look at his grim face, Laurana obeyed without question. Tanis turned abruptly to face the innkeeper, who was sidling around the desk. “Where are you going?” he asked sharply.
“Just leaving to check your rooms, sir,” the innkeeper said smoothly, and he vanished precipitously into the kitchen. Just then, Tasslehoff burst
through the door of the inn.
“Guards, Tanis! Guards! Coming this way!”
“Surely they can’t be here because of us,” Tanis said. He stopped, eyeing the light-fingered kender, struck by a sudden thought. “Tas—”
“It wasn’t me, honest!” Tas protested. “I never even reached the marketplace! I just got to the bottom of the street when I saw a whole troop of guards coming this direction.”
“What’s this about guards?” Sturm asked as he entered from the common room. “Is this one of the kender’s stories?”
“No. Listen,” Tanis said. Everyone hushed. They could hear the tramp of booted feet coming their direction and glanced at each other in apprehension and concern. “The innkeeper’s disappeared. I thought we got into the city a bit too easily. I should have expected trouble.” Tanis scratched his beard, well aware that everyone was looking to him for orders.
“Laurana, you and Elistan go upstairs. Sturm, you and Gilthanas remain with me. The rest of you go to your rooms. Riverwind, you’re in command. You, Caramon, and Raistlin protect them. Use your magic, Raistlin, if necessary. Flint—”
“I’m staying with you,” the dwarf stated firmly.
Tanis smiled and put his hand on Flint’s shoulder. “Of course, old friend. I didn’t even think you needed telling.”
Grinning, Flint pulled his battle-axe out of its holder on his back. “Take this,” he said to Caramon. “Better you have it than any scurvy, lice-ridden city guards.”
“That’s a good idea,” Tanis said. Unbuckling his swordbelt, he handed Caramon Wyrmslayer the magical sword given to him by the skeleton of Kith-Kanan, the Elven King.
Gilthanas silently handed over his sword and his elven bow.
“Yours, too, knight,” Caramon said, holding out his hand.
Sturm frowned. His antique, two-handed sword and its scabbard were the only legacy he had left of his father, a great Knight of Solamnia, who had vanished after sending his wife and young son into exile. Slowly Sturm unbuckled his swordbelt and handed it to Caramon.
Dragons of Winter Night Page 4
