"Just shut up and start moving!" the dwarf snapped.
A torch flared. Tine companions started at the sudden, blinding light that Silvara held.
"We must have light," she said before any could protest. "Do not fear. The vale we are in is sealed shut. Lang ago, there were two entrances: one led to human lands where the knights had their outpost, the other led east into the lands of the ogres. Both passes were lost during the Cataclysm. We need have no fear. I have led you lay a way known only to myself:"
"And to your people;' Laurana reminded her sharply.
"Yes-my people . . :' Silvara said, and Laurana was surprised to see the girl grow pale.
"Where are you taking us?" Laurana insisted.
"You will see. We will be there within the hour:"
The companions glanced at each other, then all of them looked at Laurana.
Damn them, she thought. "Don't look to me for answers!" she said angrily. "What do you want to do: Stay out here, lost in the fog-"
"I won't betray you!" Silvara murmured despondently. "Please, just trust me a little further:"
"Go ahead." said Laurana tiredly. "We'll fallow:"
The fog seemed to close around them mare thickly, until all that kept the darkness at bay was the light of Silvara's torch.
No one had any idea of the direction they traveled. The landscape did not change. They walked through tall grass. There were no trees. Occasionally a large boulder loomed out of the darkness, but that was all. Of night birds or animals, there was no sign. There was a sense of urgency that increased as they walked until all of them felt it, and they hurried their steps, keeping ever within the light of the torch.
Then, suddenly, without warning, Silvara stopped.
"We are here;" she said, and she held the torch aloft.
The torch's light pierced the fog. They could all see a shadowy something beyond. At first, it was so ghostly materializing out of the fog that the companions could not recognize it.
Silvara drew closer. They followed her, curious, fearful.
Then the silence of the night was broken by bubbling sounds like water boiling in a giant kettle. The fog grew denser, the air was warm and stifling.
"Hot springs!" said Theros in sudden understanding. "Of course, that explains the constant fog. And this dark shape-"
"The bridge which leads across them;' Silvara replied, shining the torchlight upon what they could see was a glistening stone bridge spanning the water boiling in the streams below them, filling the night air with its warm, billowing fog.
"We're supposed to cross that!" Flint exclaimed, staring at the black, boiling water in horror. "We're supposed to cross-"
"It is called the Bridge of Passage;" said Silvara.
The dwarf's only answer was a strangled gulp.
The Bridge of Passage was a long, smooth arch of pure white marble. Along its sides-carved in vivid relief-long columns of knights walked symbolically across the bubbling streams. The span was so high that they could not see the top through the swirling mists. And it was old, so old that Flint, reverently touching the worn rock with his hand, could not recognize the craftsmanship. It was not dwarven, not elven, not human. Who had done such marvelous work?
Then he noticed there were no hand-rails, nothing but the marble span itself, slick and glistening with the mist rising constantly from the bubbling springs beneath.
"We cannot cross that;" said Laurana, her voice trembling. "And now we are trapped-"
"We earl cross;" Silvara said. "For we have been summoned:' "Summoned?" Laurana repeated in exasperation. "By what? Where?"
"Wait;" commanded Silvara.
They waited. There was nothing left for them to do. Each stood staring around in the torchlight, but they saw only tile mist rising from the streams, heard only the gurgling water.
"It is the time of Solinari;" Silvara said suddenly, andswinging her arm-she hurled her torch into !the water.
Darkness swallowed them. Involuntarily, they crept closer together. Silvara seemed to have vanished with the light. Gilthanas called for her, but she did not answer.
Then the mist turned to shimmering silver. They could see once more, and now they could see Silvara, a dark, shadowy outline against the silvery mist. She stood at the foot of the bridge, staring up into the sky. Slowly she raised her hands, and slowly the mists parted. Looking up, the companions saw the mists separate like long, graceful fingers to reveal the silver moon, full and brilliant in the starry sky.
Silvara spoke strange words, and the moonlight poured down upon her, bathing her in its light. The moon's light shone upon the bubbling waters, making them come alive, dancing with silver. It shone upon the marble bridge, giving life to the knights who spent eternity crossing the stream.
But it was not these beautiful sights that caused the companions to clasp each other with shaking hands or to hold each other closely. The moon's light on the water did not cause Flint to repeat the name of Reorx in the most reverent prayer he ever uttered, or cause Laurana to lean her head against her brother's shoulder, her eyes dimmed with sudden tears, or cause Gilthanas to hold her tightly, overwhelmed by a feeling of fear and awe and reverence.
Soaring high above them, so tall its head might have torn a moon from the sky, was the figure of a dragon, carved out of a mountain of rock, shining silver in the moonlight.
"Where are we?" Laurana asked in a hushed voice. "What is this place?"
"When you cross the Bridge of Passage, you wall stand before the Monument of the Silver Dragon;" answered Silvara softly. "It guards the Tomb of Huma, Knight of Solamnia.''
The tomb of Huma.
In Solinari's light, the Bridge of Passage across the bubbling streams of Foghaven Vale gleamed like bright pearls threaded on a silver chain.
"Do not fear;" Silvara said again. "The crossing is difficult only for those who seek to enter the Tomb for evil purposes:"
But the companions remained unconvinced. Fearfully they climbed the stairs leading them up to the bridge itself. Then, hesitantly, they stepped upon the marble arch that rose before them, glistening wet with the steam from the springs. Silvara crossed first, walking lightly and with ease. The rest followed her more cautiously, keeping to the very center of the marble span.
Across from them, on the other side of the bridge, loomed the Monument of the Dragon. Even though they knew they must watch their footing, their eyes seemed constantly drawn up to it. Many times, they were forced to stop and stare in awe, while below them the hot springs boiled and steamed.
"Why-I bet that water's so hot you could cook meat in it!" Tasslehoff said. Lying flat on his stomach, he peered over the edge of the highest part of the arched bridge.
"I'll b-bet it c-could c-cook you;' stuttered the terrified dwarf, crawling across on his hands and knees.
"Look, Flint! Watch. I've got this piece of meat in my pack. I'll get a string and we'll lower it in the water-"
"Get moving!" Flint roared. Tas sighed and closed his pouch.
"You're no fun to take anywhere;" he complained, and he slid down the other side of the span on the seat of his pants.
But for the rest of the companions, it was a terrifying journey, and all of them sighed in heartfelt relief when they came down off the marble bridge onto the ground below.
None of them had spoken to Silvara as they crossed, their minds being too occupied with getting over the Bridge of Passage alive. But when they reached the other side, Laurana was the first to ask questions.
"Why have you brought us here?"
"Do you not trust me_yet?" Silvara asked sadly.
Laurana hesitated. Her gaze went once again to the huge stone dragon, whose head was crowned with stars. The stone mouth was open in a silent cry, and the stone eyes stared fiercely. The stone wings were carved out of the sides of the mountain. A stone claw stretched forth, .as massive as the trunks of a hundred vallenwood trees.
"You send the dragon orb away, then bring us to a monument dedicated to a d
ragon!" Laurana said afters moment, her voice quivering. "What am I to think? And you bring us to this place you call l-Iuma's Tomb. We do not even know if Huma lived,. or if he was legend. What is to prove this is his resting place? Is his body within?"
"N-no;" Silvara faltered. "His body disappeared, as did-"
"As did what?"
"As did the lance he carried, the Dragonlance he used to destroy the Dragon of All Colors and of None:" Silvara sighed and lowered her head. "Come inside;' she begged, "and rest for the night. In the morning, all will be made clear, I promise:"
"I don't think-" Laurana began.
"We're going inside!" Gilthanas said firmly. "You're behaving like a spoiled child, Laurana! Why would Silvara lead us into danger? Surely, if there was a dragon living here, everyone on Ergoth would know it! It could have destroyed everyone on the island long ago. I sense no evil about this place, only a great and ancient peace. And it's a perfect hiding place! Soon the elves will receive word that the orb has reached Sancrist safely. They'll quit searching, and we can leave. Isn't that right, Silvara? Isn't that why you brought us here?"
"Yes;' Silvara said softly. "Th-that was my plan. Now, come, come quickly, while the silver moon still shines. For only then can we enter:"
Gilthanas, his hand holding Silvara's hand, walked into the shimmering silver fog. Tas skipped ahead of them, his pouches bouncing. Flint and Theros followed more slowly, Laurana more slowly still. Her fears were not eased by Gilthanas's glib explanation, nor by Silvara's reluctant agreement. But there was no place else to go and-as she admitted-she was intensely curious.
The grass on the other side of the bridge was smooth and flat with the steamy clouds of moisture, but the ground began to rise as they approached the body of the dragon carved out of the cliff. Suddenly Tasslehoff's voice floated back to them from the mist where he had run far ahead of the group.
"Raistlin!" they heard him cry in a strangled voice. "He's turned into a giant!"
"The kender's gone mad;' Flint said with gloomy satisfaction. "I always knew it-"
Running forward, the companions found Tas jumping up and down and pointing. They stood by his side, panting for breath.
"By the beard of Reorx," gasped Flint in awe. "It is Raistlin!"
Looming out of the swirling mist, rising nine feet in the air, stood a stone statue carved in a perfect likeness of the young mage. Accurate in every detail, it even captured his cynical, bitter expression and the careen eyes with their hourglass pupils.
"And there's Caramon!" Tas cried.
A few feet away stood another statue, this time shaped like the mage's warrior twin.
"And Tanis . . . " Laurana whispered fearfully. "What evil magic is this?"
"Not evil;" Silvara said, "unless you bring evil to this place. In that case, you would see the faces of your worst enemies within the stone statues. The horror and fear they generate would not allow you to pass. But you see only your friends, and so you may pass safely:"
"I wouldn't exactly count Raistlin among my friends," muttered Flint.
"Nor I;" Laurana said. Shivering, she walked hesitantly past the cold image of the mage. The mage's obsidian robes gleamed black in the moons' light. Laurana remembered vividly the nightmare of Silvanesti, and she shuddered as she entered what she saw now was a ring of stone statues-each of them bearing a striking, almost frightening resemblance to her friends. Within that silent ring of stone stood a small temple.
The simple rectangular building thrust up into the fog from an octagonal base of shining steps. It, too, was made of obsidian, and the black structure glistened wet with the perpetual fog. Each feature stood as if it had been carved only days before; no sign of wear marred the sharp, clean lines of the carving. Its knights, each bearing the dragonlance, still charged huge monsters. Dragons screamed silently in frozen death, pierced by the long, delicate shafts.
"Inside this temple, they placed Huma's body," Silvara said softly as she led them up the stairs.
Cold bronze doors swung open on silent hinges to Silvara's touch. The companions stood uncertainly on the stairs that encircled the columned temple. But, as Gilthanas had said, they could sense no evil coming from this place. Laurana remembered vividly the Tomb of the Royal Guard in the SlaMori and the terror generated by the undead guards left to keep eternal watch over their dead king, Kith-Kanan. In this temple,, however, she felt only sorrow and loss, tempered by the knowledge of a great victory-a battle won at terrible cost, but bringing with it eternal peace and sweet restfulness.
Laurana felt her burden ease, her heart become lighter. Her own sorrow and loss seemed diminished here. She was reminded of her own victories and triumphs. One by one, all the companions entered the tomb. The bronze doors swung shut behind them, leaving them in total darkness.
Then light flared. Silvara held a torch in her hand, apparently taken from the wall. Laurana wondered briefly how she had managed to light it. But the trivial question left her mind as she stood gazing around the tomb in awe.
It was empty except for a bier carved out of obsidian, which stood in the center of the room. Chiseled images of knights supported the bier, but the body of the knight that was supposed to have rested upon it was gone. An ancient shield lay at the foot, and a sword, similar to Sturm' s, lay near the shield. The companions gazed at these artifacts in silence. It seemed a desecration to the sorrowful serenity of the place to speak, and none touched them, not even Tasslehoff.
"I wish Sturm could be here;" murmured Laurana, looking around, tears coming to her eyes. "This must be Huma's resting place . . .yet-" She couldn't explain the growing sense of uneasiness that was creeping over her. Not fear, it was more like the sensation she had felt upon entering the vale-a sense of urgency.
Silvara lit more torches along the wall, and the companions walked past the bier, gazing around the tomb curiously. It was not large. The bier stood in the center and stone benches lined the walls, presumably for the mourners to rest upon while paying their respects. At the far end stood a small stone altar. Carved in its surface were the symbols of the orders of the Knights-the crown, the rose, the kingfisher. Dried rose petals and herbs lay scattered on the top, their fragrance still lingering sweetly in the air after hundreds of years. Below the altar, sunk into the stone floor, was a large iron plate.
As Laurana stared curiously at this plate, Theros came over to stand beside her.
"What do you suppose this is?" she wondered. "A well?"
"Let's see;' grunted the smith. Bending over, he lifted the ring on top of the plate in his huge, silver hand and pulled. At first nothing happened. Theros placed both hands on the ring and heaved with all his strength. The iron plate gave a great groan and slid across the floor with a scraping, squeaking sound that set their teeth on edge.
"What have you done?" Silvara, who had been standing near the tomb regarding it sadly, whirled to face them.
Theros stood up in astonishment at the shrill sound of her voice. Laurana involuntarily backed away from the gaping
hole in the floor. Both of them stared at Silvara.
"Do not go near that!" Silvara warned, her voice shaking.
"Stand clear! It is dangerous!"
"How do you know?" Laurana said coolly, recovering herself. "No one's come here for hundreds of years. Or have they?"
"No!" Silvara said, biting her lip. "I-I know from the . . . legends of my people . . :'
Ignoring the girl, Laurana stepped to the edge of the hole and peered inside. It was dark. Even holding the torch Flint brought
her from the wall, she could see nothing down there. A faint musty odor drifted from the hole, but that was all.
"I don't think it's a well;' said Tas, crowding to see.
"Stay away from it! Please!" Silvara begged.
"She's right, little thief!" Theros grabbed Tas arid pulled him away from the hole. "If you fell in there, you might tumble through to the other side of the world:"
"Really?" asked Tasslehoff breathle
ssly. "Would I really fall through to the other side, Theros? I wonder what it would be
like? Would there be people there? Like us?"
"Not like kenders hopefully!" Flint grumbled. '-Or they'd all be dead of idiocy by now. Besides, everyone knows that the world rests of the Anvil of Reorx. Those falling to the other side are caught between his hammer blows and the world still being forged. People on the other side indeed!" He snorted as he watched Theros unsuccessfully try to replace the plate. Tasselhoff was still staring at it curiously. Finally Theros was forced to give up, but he glared at the kender until Tas heaved a sigh and wandered away to the stone bier to stare with longing eyes at the shield and sword.
Flint tugged Laurana's sleeve.
"What is it?" she asked absently, her thoughts elsewhere.
"I know stonework;' the dwarf said softly, "and :here's something strange about all this:' He paused, glancing to see if Laurana might laugh. But she was paying serious attention to him. "The tomb and the statues built outside are the work of men. It is old. . . :'
"Old enough to be Huma's tomb?" Laurana interrupted.
"Every bit of it:" The dwarf nodded emphatically. "But yon great beast outside"-he gestured in the direction of the huge stone dragon-"was never built by the hands of man or elf or dwarf:'
Laurana blinked, uncomprehending.
"And it is older still;' the dwarf said, his voice growing husky. "So old it makes this"-he waved his hand at the tomb-"modern:"
Laurana began to understand. Flint, seeing her eyes widen, nodded slowly and solemnly.
"No hand of any being that walks upon Krynn with two legs carved the side out of that cliff;' he said.
"It must have been a creature with awesome strength-" Laurana murmured. "A huge creature-"
"With wings-"
"With wings;' Laurana murmured.
Suddenly she stopped talking, her blood chilled in fear as she heard words being chanted, words she recognized as the strange, spidery language of magic.
"No!" Turning, she lifted her hand instinctively to ward off , the spell, knowing as she did so that it was futile.
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