Steel and Stone

by Ellen Porath

  It was Maleficent they had spotted. Caven clung to the horse’s back. The animal, its hide streaked with sweat and lather, plunged and bucked, panicked by the sands that flowed around its hooves. Caven was hoarse from shouting. His hands were bloodied from sawing at the reins, his face lined with fatigue. Man and horse alike were encrusted with grime.

  Tanis reached for Maleficent’s bridle, fought with the mount for a moment, then soothed it. Within seconds, he was stroking the stallion’s muzzle. The horse still breathed in bursts, but it stood still. Caven slid from the animal into the sand. His knees buckled, but he waved away Tanis’s hand irritably. “I’m all right, damn it.”

  Xanthar snickered. Certainly you are. Humans!

  Caven glared at the bird. “I see your parakeet friend still speaks, half-elf.” Bird and human exchanged nasty looks.

  “Where did you wait out the storm?” Tanis asked.

  Caven rose to his feet, dusted off his clothes, and brushed his hand through his beard. Sand fell from him like snow. “We found an outcropping of rock back there.” He pointed to the north. “I thought we would be sheltered on the leeward side.”

  Xanthar snorted, an odd sound coming through a beak. Caven snapped at the owl. “All right, you overgrown canary, I was naive. I didn’t know there wouldn’t be a leeward side in a swirling mess like that.” Caven narrowed his eyes, then turned again to Tanis. “I covered our heads so we could breathe. But the power of the sandstorm, by the gods! I can see why everything in this forsaken region is scoured to nothing. So would we have been if it had lasted much longer.”

  Tanis saw that the outsides of the mercenary’s hands were as raw as his palms. Blood trickled from the wounds. Caven’s gaze followed Tanis’s. “I had to hold Maleficent. My hands were exposed.” The half-elf’s gaze returned to the horse; sand had blasted patches of hair from the creature’s skin. “The question is,” Caven said, “what do we do now?

  Leave the pony behind. I will carry you both.

  “You can’t,” Tanis said to Xanthar. “You’re weakening even with one passenger, and you’re losing your sight. You couldn’t have carried two men at your peak. You certainly can’t do it now.”

  I will if I have to. The bird pulled himself to his full height, towering over the two men. Get on, both of you.

  Clearly Xanthar couldn’t be dissuaded. They didn’t have too many other choices. Tanis climbed aboard, but Caven Mackid stubbornly remained standing aside, one hand on his horse’s bridle. “I’m not leaving Maleficent,” he insisted.

  “The stallion can make his own way out of the plains,” Tanis said. “We’ve lost enough time.” When Caven showed no sign of budging, Tanis added, “What’s more important to you, Mackid, a horse or the fate of Kitiara and the lady mage?”

  To say nothing of the horrors that the Valdane will unleash on Ansalon if he isn’t stopped.

  Caven glowered at both of them. “Unlike Kitiara, half-elf, Maleficent has never robbed me of my savings. And I don’t owe this Lida woman anything. Anyway, owl, who’s to say we’ll be able to stop the mage and the Valdane, if it comes to that?”

  The portent …

  Caven snorted. “A veiled dream. And dreamed in Darken Wood, at that. Based on that weak logic, we’re going to risk our lives?”

  “We are continuing,” Tanis said wearily. “Will you come with us, or are you going to stay here and die with your horse?”

  They locked stares. Finally the Kernan looked down. “I will not ride the owl.”

  “Then stay here. Perhaps the sands will bear you like a magic carpet.”

  Tanis nodded to Xanthar. The giant owl took off into the sky once again. They were high above the Kernan when the half-elf finally looked down. Caven had remounted the stallion and was urging it forward through the sand. Maleficent fought against the shifting morass. “Will wonders never cease?” Tanis murmured to the giant owl. “Caven’s heading south. Is the fool still trying to get to the Icereach?”

  The sun was warm on his right cheek. Far ahead, Tanis could see what appeared to be the edge of the sandy expanse. The sand glittered.

  All of a sudden Tanis recalled a gnome named Speaker Sungear, back in Haven, and Speaker’s use of a glowing purple jewel. He slapped his hand against Xanthar’s shoulder, jarring a protest out of the tired owl. Tanis apologized, but he couldn’t hide the excitement behind the words.

  What is it?

  Quickly Tanis sketched out his idea to the giant owl.

  We need to act before sunset, then.

  Xanthar wheeled and headed northwest, his wings beating powerfully; he seemed to have found new energy. Caven halted Maleficent and watched the pair, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun. Xanthar circled slowly just west of the stallion and rider as Tanis reopened Kitiara’s knapsack.

  Hurry. It will be sunset soon.

  “I thought you didn’t care if Caven died here?”

  A pause. No one deserves death. Especially for a good cause.

  “Xanthar,” Tanis said, “you’re becoming a sentimental old bird in your golden years.”

  Gray feathers rose on the back of Xanthar’s head. I would point out that, at a few seasons shy of a century, you’re no spring chicken, yourself, half-elf.

  Tanis laughed. He displayed one of the ice jewels between thumb and forefinger. “I’m ready,” he said. At a signal from Tanis, Xanthar faced into the south. The half-elf held the stone high above his head, watching to make sure it was aligned correctly. “The stone is growing warm,” he shouted.

  Didn’t you say this Sungear fellow finally blew up the jewel he had?

  The stone had become hot in Tanis’s hand, but still no beam shot from the crystal. Even if the stone did work as the gnome’s had, Tanis didn’t know if he’d be able to continue holding the searing jewel. Finally, with a curse, he dropped the stone and it plummeted, glittering, to the sands below. The jewel disappeared into the shifting sand.

  Xanthar turned-north again while Tanis drew an arrow from his quiver. With his dagger, he split the arrow shaft lengthwise, leaving the two parts attached at one end to form a rude pair of tongs. He removed another jewel from the pack.

  Try not to lose them all. I thought you had some idea of using them for ransom.

  Tanis muttered and wedged the jewel between the prongs of the new implement. Then he held the whole apparatus above his head, trying a different approach.

  Hurry. The sun …

  “I know.”

  Again the jewel heated, but the makeshift tongs enabled Tanis to grasp it without difficulty. Even so, the stone seemed to grow only so hot, and then no more. “It’s your wings,” Tanis grumbled.

  What?

  “Your wings! The sun’s dropping lower. Your wings keep shading the stone.”

  Would you rather I didn’t use them?

  “Don’t be sarcastic.”

  Xanthar, shrugging, headed north again. Caven, meanwhile, had dismounted and was attempting to lead the stallion. This met with no greater success; the horse was floundering in the sand.

  “I have another idea.” Without pausing to consider the risk, Tanis loosened the harness that held him to the owl. Carefully he knelt on the back of the bird.

  What are you doing? Half-elf, you’re off balance—I won’t be able to catch you if you fall!

  Ignoring the bird, Tanis crouched on Xanthar’s back. The owl’s feathers were slippery beneath Tanis’s moccasins. The half-elf rose to his full height, his left arm outstretched to the side for balance. Then, with his right arm, he stretched the tongs and the jewel high above his head. He tried not to think of the ground so far below him. Suddenly Kitiara’s pack, with the remaining seven jewels, tumbled from the bird’s back. Tanis lurched and slipped, landing on Xanthar’s back with a cry. He was sprawled crosswise on the giant owl, his legs dangling on one side, his head jutting over the other. This gave him a fine view of the pack spinning end over end and smashing into the plain. Dust rose around the area of impact. Tanis
scrambled to regain his seating. At least he hadn’t dropped the tongs.

  Again Xanthar turned north, then, after a short time, headed south once more. Soon Tanis was back in position, standing with one arm outstretched to the side, the other, with the jewel, high above his head. He dared not look up to see if the stone was in the correct alignment.

  Half-elf …

  The bird’s telepathy was interrupted. Humming burst from above. Out of the corner of his eye, Tanis saw an amethyst-colored beam arrow toward the sand. “Is it working?” he cried. “Is the sand melting?”

  From this angle, I cannot tell.

  “Keep going.”

  They continued their slow passage southward, the stone thrumming all the way, until practically an hour had passed and Tanis’s muscles screamed for relief. Finally they reached the edge of the sand. Tanis slipped gratefully to his knees and clung to the owl as the creature glided to a landing. Then, just as the sun slipped below the horizon, they turned and looked back.

  Trailing straight through the expanse of plain was a gleaming path of melted and hardened sand. And in the distance, inching cautiously down the strange trail, were Caven Mackid and a visibly limping Maleficent. Caven waved Kitiara’s fallen pack triumphantly over his head.

  * * * * *

  They had stopped for the night. Xanthar napped. Meanwhile, Caven tended Maleficent, who had pulled a tendon struggling in the sand. The huge horse stood with one leg dangling. His breath rasped, and he refused food.

  “There’s nothing to do but let him rest,” Tanis said.

  The next morning, Maleficent was hot with fever and barely conscious. Caven stood looking down at his horse, saying nothing, hand on the hilt of his dagger. Tanis moved away, and the Kernan put the stallion out of his pain.

  “What now?” Caven asked Tanis afterward. “We’re at least a hundred miles from the Icereach. The owl can’t carry us both.”

  Their gaze turned to Xanthar, still asleep on a rock overlooking camp. His exhausted snoring was audible a hundred feet away. As though the men’s gaze had disturbed him, the owl awakened with a snuffle and looked around dimly.

  “He won’t be able to haul even me much longer,” Tanis whispered. “He keeps calling me Kai-lid.” Caven’s eyebrows rose, and Tanis explained. “Lida’s Darken Wood name, the owl said.”

  The Kernan’s confused look changed to one of expectation. “So what do we do now?”

  Irritation rose in the half-elf. “Who elected me emperor of this expedition?” Caven waited. “Do?” the half-elf repeated. “I believe that what Xanthar should do is go back to Darken Wood; obviously he drew strength and powers from there, and he’s losing both. And what you and I should do, Caven Mackid, is to continue on without him.”

  “How?” Caven demanded.

  “How else? We’ll walk.”

  Chapter 17

  Kitiara and the Valdane

  “HURRY, HURRY! VALDANE WAIT.”

  Both of the ettin’s heads spoke at once as the beast looked down from the access hole high in the dungeon cell. The ettin’s roar reverberated through the bare chamber, and Lida jumped. Kitiara took pleasure in goading the beast by taking her time in sauntering to the wall opposite the portal. The two-headed troll flung a rope through the opening and climbed down. He grasped at her with dirt-encrusted hands. “Hurry. Want now. Now, now, now.” Kitiara caught the fetid odor of fish on his breath.

  The thirteen-foot ettin dragged her over to the crude ladder. Lida attempted to follow, but Res-Lacua stopped her. “Just soldier lady.”

  “It’s a private party,” Kitiara said acerbically.

  Res-Lacua cuffed her above her right ear, lifted her to his shoulder with one hand, and then sprang up the rope. “No touch ice,” he chanted in a whisper. “No touch corpses. Not eat, not, not. No touch ice.” He flung her through the hole, then drew up the rope and hung it on a peg on the wall.

  The swordswoman ignored the cry of “Kitiara, don’t cooperate with them!” that wafted through the portal. Instead, she took a swing at the ettin. “If I had my sword …” she threatened. The creature guffawed and towed her up a sloping hallway bathed in icy blue light, then through a maze of identical hallways.

  Kitiara complained as she struggled to keep her footing. “The man abandons us for days … ignores us completely … doesn’t even send us food … then all of a sudden he has to see me right away?”

  The ettin skidded to a halt, crashing a fist into an oak door. When he thundered on the door again, Kitiara realized it was an ettin version of knocking.

  “By Morgion, ettin!” the Valdane exploded, opening the portal. “Can’t Janusz teach you any—”

  His eyes widened when he saw Kitiara. Then his hand snaked out, caught the swordswoman by the shoulder, and propelled her into the room. The ruler slammed the door in Res-Lacua’s faces.

  The Valdane’s quarters were as opulent as the dungeon had been spartan. Velvet tapestries in deep blues, greens, and purples covered most of the walls, with only a few sections of ice left exposed, probably to let in the blue light. A gilded throne stood in the center of the room. The ruler’s huge bed was draped with brocade and silk embroidered in the colors of the Valdane’s standard, purple and black. One wall boasted a window of sorts—undoubtedly magical, as they were hundreds of feet below the surface. As Kitiara watched, the scene shifted from a view of the Icereach to a springtime panorama of the Valdane’s former holdings near Kernen.

  Kit felt his breath on her shoulder, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. The Valdane had bathed, combed his red hair, and donned clean clothing—tight black leggings, knee-high boots of the same color, and a loose purple shirt laced loosely at the front. He looked only a few years older than she. He gazed at her, and she saw appreciation and hunger in his eyes.

  He spoke softly and smiled, but the hard look in his eyes never varied. “The mage believes I should let him torture you, Captain, until you give him some information about the ice jewels. And then he wants to have the pleasure of killing you himself.”

  “The mage shouldn’t be too optimistic about torture. I’ve been tortured before—by the best, or should I say worst?”

  The Valdane nodded. “So I told him. But he feels he has a personal score to settle with you, Captain.”

  She grinned crookedly. “He shouldn’t leave his belongings lying around where anyone can make off with them.”

  “I agree.”

  They sized up each other. Then the Valdane spoke offhandedly. “I submit it would be best for us all to cooperate.” The Valdane lounged on his bed, stroking the silken coverlet. He beckoned to Kitiara. Kit came over and sat next to him, judging him a fool. “You have something we want, and we—or at least I—can provide something that Captain Kitiara Uth Matar desires above all else.”

  “And what is that, Valdane?” Kit asked coyly.

  “Power.”

  “Indeed.” She raised one eyebrow.

  “And wealth.”

  “Really.”

  “You saw my troops. Could you command them in alliance with Toj?”

  She barked out a laugh. “The soldiers haven’t been born yet that I can’t command.”

  “Then you will join us?”

  “In exchange for …?”

  “The jewels, of course.”

  Kitiara leaned back lazily against the bed and smiled up at him. “I know where the stones are, and I know that once they’ve been mastered, they could provide all the power and wealth I need. Why should I cooperate with you or your mage?”

  The Valdane’s eyes danced with fury. He jabbed a finger toward the window. When Kitiara looked, she saw Janusz’s face. The mage was chanting. Suddenly pain tore through her. She twisted and rolled off the bed and fell writhing to the floor, her hands clutching her abdomen. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and felt blood trickle down her chin. Through a haze of pain, she heard the Valdane rap out an order. The chanting stopped, and the agony vanished as suddenly as it had begun. K
itiara lay panting on the thick carpet. She fought the desire to retch.

  The Valdane’s boots swam into her vision. The toe of one boot nudged her chin until she was peering up at him.

  “Why should you go along with me?” he repeated gently. “You forget the being growing within you, Kitiara. We can deal with it however we want, the mage and I. And don’t mistake us; some of our tricks are quite painful. This was just a modest sample.”

  She spat at him. Spittle dripped down his left leg, but the Valdane didn’t flinch. “Where are the ice jewels, Kitiara?” he asked quietly.

  “Go to the Abyss.”

  “Where are they?” His voice rose.

  “Didn’t you hear me the first time, Valdane?” She rolled cautiously over and pulled herself to a crouch. Her head swam; she hadn’t eaten in nearly a week, and being with child was yet another drain. “I don’t have the damned stones anymore, Valdane.”

  “Yet you said your friends, coming so valiantly to rescue you, do.”

  “I said they had information. They’d hardly be so stupid as to haul the jewels straight to you.” Hoping that last remark was true, she wiped the sweat from her face on the silk of his bed covers. Then she rose. “You need me more than I need you, Valdane. Who’s going to lead your army? Toj? Those power-mad minotaurs? Do you think they’ll stand by and let you hoard all the wealth? The walrus men? They’ll serve as little more than dumb bulwark. And the ettins … there isn’t an ettin on Krynn with an ounce of brains.”

  “Res-Lacua …”

  “Res-Lacua is terrified of the mage, who drills him endlessly to coordinate his every move. Those ettin slaves can’t think for themselves. Why, they can’t even get their right and left heads to agree with each other.”

  “The mage …”

  “The mage has exerted himself to his limit.”

  The Valdane looked thoughtful, but when he spoke, he oozed with sarcasm. “And Kitiara Uth Matar, about to become a proud mother, could you do anything about all that? Do you think I ought to plan my campaign around your confinement?” He affected a whine. “ ‘I’m sorry, Valdane … we can’t take Tarsis now, Valdane … I think I’m having contractions today, Valdane.’ ”