The Day Of The Tempest

by Jean Rabe

  “It’s part of the long story.” Dhamon looked at the elf for a long moment and then turned to Feril. “Oh, this is Gilthanas,” she said. “We found him in the desert” She kissed Dhamon again. “But all that can wait for later, too.”

  “Then let’s be on our way,” the Qualinesti said. “There might be more knights close by, and even with your remarkable weapon, we’re not in fighting shape anymore.”

  Dhamon nodded. “Wherever on our way is,” he said. “I... uh... have no idea where we are.”

  “However you managed to end up here, it is good to see you,” Palin said. The sorcerer looked the former knight up and down and then nodded toward Ulin. “Dhamon, this is my son.”

  “Let me carry him,” Dhamon said, passing the glaive to the sorcerer, and effortlessly scooping up Ulin. “Oh, he’s not as heavy as he looks.”

  The group turned and headed back to Witdel, Feril leading the way with Dhamon at her side. Behind the entourage, the freed captives chattered animatedly about their rescue.

  “Good thing Feril has nothing against humans,” Gilthanas said, winking at Palin. “Otherwise she and Dhamon would never work out.”

  Chapter 15

  DIVIDING TO CONQUER

  They reached Witdel shortly before noon. Japer barely had time to register surprise at Dhamon’s return before Ulin was thrust at him. The dwarf quickly fell to tending the younger Majere, while Usha and Palin hovered around trying to help.

  Rig acted pleased to see the former knight, but his expression didn’t match his words, and his eyes wouldn’t hold Dhamon’s gaze. Groller was another matter however. The half-ogre warmly clapped him on the back, pointed curiously at the scale, and then found some of the mariner’s old clothes for Dhamon to wear.

  Blister chattered nonstop – about Khellendros’s cave, the prisoners, and anything else that popped into her head.

  Dhamon thrust the kender’s animated banter to the back of his head and watched Feril. The Kagonesti directed him to sit on a barrel, and she stood behind him as she set about cutting the tangles from his hair and shaving his uneven beard. Dhamon could have easily handled the tasks himself with the proper tools, but he enjoyed being fussed over. In the end, he looked far better than he had in a long while. His hair was short now – falling in one neat length that just brushed the back of his neck and the bottoms of his ears. Feril smiled apologetically and said there were just too many knots to do anything else with it.

  “It’ll grow back,” he told her. “If I let it.” Dhamon reached out to her, drawing her close, then scowling when Blister raised her voice so they could hear her better.

  “Your hair looks good. Since it’s all one length, it’s more swingy,” Blister said as she surveyed Feril’s handiwork. “Well, it definitely looks better than it looked a few minutes ago. How come you’re not dead?” It was a question she’d wanted to ask since she spotted him and the others heading toward the ship, but she’d restrained herself for what she considered a polite, but inordinately long time.

  Dhamon offered a brief version of his rescue by Shimmer the bronze dragon. “The dragon gave me the glaive and agreed to send me someplace – a place not held by an overlord. I thought about you,” he said, as he brushed a curl away from Feril’s face. “And somehow the dragon transported me nearby”

  “But not your clothes,” the kender cut in. “Nice weapon, from what I hear, though. The spell probably only worked on flesh and metal.”

  “A part of me died when I thought you had died,” Feril said. She cupped Dhamon’s face and ran her fingers along his lips.

  “I wonder if Palin knows the spell that got you here?” the Kender continued. “Say, Dhamon, how long were you with the Knights of Takhisis?”

  Dhamon sighed and stared down at the kender. “Six years, nearly seven. I was young when they recruited me.” He hoped the kender wouldn’t press the matter, as he had no desire to talk anymore about it, and hoped she’d get distracted with another topic.

  “What rank did you hold?”

  “I was promoted to knight-officer before I left.”

  “And just why did you —”

  “We’ll be pushing off within the hour,” Gilthanas announced as he stepped between Blister and Dhamon. “Feril’s probably told you that_we’re in a hurry – a race to gain some ancient magic. You’ve got just enough time to run into town and buy yourself a few clothes.” The elf extended a handful of steel pieces, which Rig had hesitantly surrendered a few minutes earlier. “I know Feril’s not especially enamored of cities, but I bet she could help.”

  The Kagonesti happily tugged Dhamon toward the docks, and away from Blister’s suggestions about colors, styles, and fabrics.

  “Within the hour!” Gilthanas called after them. The Qualinesti turned his attention to the kender, who wanted to hear his version of the fight with the knights outside Witdel.

  *

  Later that night, when Flint’s Anvil was again heading toward Southern Ergoth, Palin and Usha called a meeting. Sageth paced near them, consulting his tablet and speculating as to whether the ship or the dragon would reach the artifacts first.

  “Ulin, Gilthanas, and Groller will be traveling to the Tomb of Huma to find the lance,” Palin began. “And he with the purest heart should carry it,” Sageth interrupted. “It will scald the soul and body of an evil man – burn the flesh, singe the bone, destroy the —”

  “We’re all good people here,” Ulin said.

  Palin nodded. “And we all understand the importance of what we’re undertaking. While they search, the ship will continue to Ankatavaka near the Qualinesti lands. From there, Feril, Jasper, and I will...”

  Blister waved her hand to get the sorcerer’s attention. “Since Feril’s from Southern Ergoth, why isn’t she going to the tomb?”

  The Kagonesti, who was clutching Dhamon’s hand, leaned close to the kender. “My decision, Blister. It is my home. And because of that, I would be distracted, thinking about the land and the dragon, the wolves I left behind. Nothing must interfere with getting the lance. Beside that, I don’t know where the tomb is. Gilthanas does.”

  Blister thought about it for a moment. “Good idea,” she said finally.

  Palin cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention again. “In the Qualinesti forest, we will search for the scepter – the Fist of E’li. I know those lands well, and Feril knows forests. Hopefully we can find the tower that Sageth has spoken of, even though the land has been altered.”

  “An old tower,” Sageth ducked, “older than me and standing straighten”

  “Rig, Dhamon, Blister and Sageth will go to Schallsea to meet with Goldmoon and ask for her medallion.” He looked at Dhamon. “Perhaps Goldmoon can do something about the scale.”

  The former knight turned to Feril. “I don’t ever want to leave you again.”

  “This won’t take long,” she finished. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together.”

  Rig rolled his eyes at the pair. “Anyway, that’s only three artifacts “he said to Palin. “Where do we get the fourth?”

  “Yes, must have four,” Sageth said.

  “I know where to find Dalamar’s ring,” Palin replied. “Obtaining it will not be difficult.”

  “Good, the land of the sea elves is too far away,” the mariner said.

  “I will reunite us all in the end” the sorcerer concluded. And may we be successful, he thought, before all the free lands of Krynn go away forever.

  *

  Palin slipped away from the others briefly that night, journeying hundreds of miles to the Tower of Wayreth.

  The Shadow Sorcerer greeted him, telling him of the Peak of Malys – a lofty ridge ringed by volcanoes. Several glowed orange, and lines of vermillion ran down their sides, ribbons of steaming lava that in the scrying bowl looked like bright strands of thread sewn against dark fabric.

  The Master of the Tower interrupted their discussion. “I have found nothing in your Uncle Raistlin’s notes about d
ragon scales embedded in humans, nothing to even hint at how or why it might be done. Perhaps it has never been done before.” He closed a thick tome and replaced it on the shelf. “In any event, I do not like the sound of it. Such a graft is evil magic to be certain and should be removed immediately”

  “The knight said that would kill Dhamon.”

  “The scale itself might kill him, might be killing him now,” the Master said. There was an edge to his soft voice. “You have a healer with you. Perhaps the dwarf can save your Dhamon Grimwulf after the scale is extracted.”

  “Do you want to take that chance?” The Shadow Sorcerer asked. “I would trust the knight’s words, Majere. The scale was on him, and you said when he pried it off he died quickly. You are wise to wait and have Goldmoon attend to the matter. She is a much more accomplished healer than your dwarf.”

  Palin glanced at both of his robed associates. Their features obscured by their hoods, it was impossible to read their expressions or guess what they were thinking. “The scale seems to be doing him no harm at the moment. Perhaps there is time to wait until Goldmoon can look at it.”

  The Shadow Sorcerer bowed slightly to Palin. “She is the one who selected him as her champion. Let her deal with him.”

  Chapter 16

  ACROSS THE ICE

  Bundled in furs they’d purchased in the last port, they looked like bears walking on their hind legs. Groller was distinguishable because of his size, but from more than a few feet away it would have been impossible to tell Ulin and Gilthanas apart. Fury plodded through the snow several paces behind them, his whiskers and jaws sheathed in ice crystals, and his nose quivering, taking in the scents of the frigid place.

  The Qualinesti’s teeth chattered. “From the deserts of the Northern Wastes to the windswept barrens of Southern Ergoth in less than two months,” he said aloud, knowing Ulin couldn’t hear him through his muffled hood and over the whipping wind. “And it’s noon here, the hottest part of the day. How will I endure the coldest?” He knew that the former homeland of the Kagonesti would be icy because the White had altered the climate, but he hadn’t fathomed that the cold would be so intense. The cold seeped through the seams in his fur garments and stung his skin and eyes. His feet were likewise chilled – despite the leather and fur boots he wore.

  The wind keened like a clan of maddened ghosts. The sound unnerved Gilthanas and Ulin. The Qualinesti looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Flint’s Anvil – the carrack’s sails specks of white against a bay dotted with miniature icebergs. Then he turned back toward the frigid heart of Southern Ergoth and continued walking. Despite the snow cover he knew he could still find his way to the tomb.

  In most places the snow was packed so hard that a glistening sheet of ice had formed over the top, a thick crust that was relatively easy to walk over – even though the heavy furs they wore were cumbersome and made the going slow. In other places the snow was loose and fluffy, and Gilthanas, who was in the lead, found himself floundering up to his waist, like a man caught in quicksand. Groller helped him up each time, careful not to get caught himself. Then Gilthanas would probe ahead with the dragonlance Rig had reluctantly loaned him, hoping to find the safest places to walk. Midway through the afternoon the sky became completely overcast, making everything look even bleaker and more foreboding.

  “One month,” the Qualinesti whispered. “It will take us one month to reach the tomb and find the lance.” He glanced at Ulin. “Maybe just a little longer. Have you been away from your wife this long before?”

  Ulin shook his head. “I’m sure it’s hard.”

  “I love her, and the children,” Ulin said. “But love isn’t enough. Something’s missing in my life”

  “And you expect to find it in a snowdrift?”

  “I need to make a difference in this world, whether with my magic or my wits.”

  “There’s too much of your great-uncle and your father hi you.”

  The younger Majere would contact Palin if they, when they, Gilthanas corrected himself, attained their goal. Then his father would magically whisk them all out of here. Bringing someone home was a lot easier than sending them someplace he wasn’t sure of. “You could end up in the middle of a glacier,” Gilthanas remembered Palin saving.

  Fury seemed to handle the climate much better. He strayed from the trio only occasionally, and that was when he smelled something particularly interesting. Ears laid back against the sides of his head, the wolf would creep forward, sniffing and stalking. Gilthanas, Ulin, and Groller slowed their pace to a crawl at those times, glancing about furtively.

  Ulin had the feeling they were being watched, or followed, and he was certain that was why Fury seemed so wary. They could find no signs of tracks, but twice the younger Majere swore he saw a man-shaped thing standing on the drifts behind them. But by the time he got Groller and Gilthanas to look, the creature had vanished. There were no tracks to be found, and Fury could pick up no trace of a presence.

  Nightfall found them sitting against a curving bank of snow that resembled a frozen wave. It provided shelter against the still-blowing wind. Ulin was still nagged by the memory of the shape he was certain he had seen, and worried that their position wasn’t defensible enough. But they were too tired to search for a better spot, so they quickly settled in.

  The cloud cover thinned and the stars poked through, reflecting off the snow and making the landscape breathtakingly beautiful. Gilthanas admired the view, all the while silently cursing the cold and keeping his eye trained on the horizon. Perhaps Ulin had spotted an ogre, Gilthanas speculated, or maybe a Kagonesti bundled in furs – a lone wild elf who hadn’t left when the dragon took over and who didn’t want to approach strangers.

  Protected by the bank and shielded from the whistling wind, they could hear each other for the first time since they had set foot in Southern Ergoth. Ulin shook his head, saying that what he had seen was not like any creature he had ever looked upon before, and it certainly wasn’t an elf bundled up. The manlike shape was large and bloated, but too far away to describe in any more detail.

  Gilthanas leaned back against the hard-packed snow, closing his eyes. He had suggested leading this small expedition to Huma’s Tomb, and his words had been persuasive enough to put him in charge. His own lanky elven legs were having trouble with the rigors of the trip. He set the lance against the drift behind him. “I hope we won’t need this,” he told Ulin. “Rig’s been itching to use it against a dragon. Even though it was forged to slay them, I doubt it would do much against an overlord.”

  Ulin nodded and closed his eyes. He had decided to come to Southern Ergoth of his own accord. Though he admired his father greatly, the opportunity to be out from under Palin Majere’s formidable shadow while doing something important on his own appealed to him. “I’m a grown man who’ll always live in my father’s shadow,” he said to himself, “but not here.”

  The Qualinesti drew the furs tighter around himself and scooted closer to Ulin to gain some semblance of warmth. He tried to picture sand and sparkling waters, and tall oak trees in the spring – anything to keep his mind off this cold. But nothing worked.

  *

  One week later, they saw two of the manlike creatures, and this time they carried spears or staves. “And not friendly,” the elf observed.

  That day they also spotted boot tracks that led in the direction of the tomb. There were nine distinct sets of tracks, and none of them were large enough to be ogres or the bloated creatures that were stalking them.

  “I don’t like it,” Gilthanas told Ulin that night. This time they’d found shelter in a small clearing in a grove of pine trees. “For a place as desolate as this, there shouldn’t be any signs of company.”

  “But someone is here,” Ulin said, “ahead of us and going in practically the same direction – a straight line to the Tomb of Huma, And those things behind us,” he added as he munched on a strip of dried beef from his rations, “wonder what they are? I guessed the
y were hostile when I saw their spears, but so far they have stayed away. Perhaps it is they who are afraid of us.”

  Groller, oblivious to their words, stood and sniffed the wind. The half-ogre glanced nervously about, smelling something out of place – something that he couldn’t identify. Yet the scent seemed familiar. Fish? The sea? He cocked his head to the side and headed away from his companions.

  Fury growled, the hair standing in a frost-covered ridge along his back. The wolf crept forward, slinking between a pair of smaller pines. Groller threw off his hood so he could see better.

  Suddenly, the wolf howled and jumped back from a deep drift. Groller saw a spear jab into the wolf’s side. Reaching into the folds of his fur cloak, the half-ogre tugged free his belaying pin and churned forward, the snow spraying Ulin and Gilthanas who were behind him.

  Erupting from a drift ahead of him, between a pair of tall pines, were four creatures. They were man-shaped, but the moonlight filtering down through the branches softly illuminated their grotesque features so that the men could finally see them clearly.

  They were taller than the half-ogre, each at least eight feet in height, blue-gray, with shoulders a yard or more wide. They were exceedingly muscular, despite the thick folds of blubber that hung about their waists. Appearing to be a cross between men and walruses, they had thick torsos from which sprouted humanlike arms that ended in stubby, webbed claws. Their walruslike heads were set on short, thick necks. Twin tusks nearly two feet long curved down from mouths filled with blunt teeth. Their eyes were small, shiny black and set atop rows of bristles that grew down to their upper lips. And the skins they wore were crude and poorly cured.

  They jabbered something, deep and guttural. Groller only saw their mouths move, clouds of vapor steaming from them as the heat of their breath met the chill air. The half-ogre slammed his belaying pin against the chest of the nearest one, but so thick was the creature’s hide, that the blow was virtually ineffectual, bouncing off.