The Day Of The Tempest

by Jean Rabe

  Come to me, she hissed. Come to the Peak of Malys. You are a most worthy pawn.

  *

  In the highest room in the Citadel of Light, Feril regained consciousness and crawled toward Blister. The kender lay unmoving, breathing awkwardly. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, her nose broken from Dhamon’s kick. Feril shakily got to her feet

  Fiona was unconscious, but at first glance seemed otherwise unhurt Goldmoon was dead. And Jasper....

  Feril knelt by the dwarf. There was so much blood. The cut through his chest was deep. It had parted a couple of his rib bones and punctured a lung beneath. But somehow he lived, for the moment at least “I know of healing magic, but I can’t do it alone,” the Kagonesti said softly. “Help me, Jasper.” She clutched his stubby fingers and brought them to his chest. She laid his hands across the wound, as he had laid them across Palin’s wound long weeks ago. She fought back the tears that filled her eyes. “Please help me, my friend.”

  *

  A few miles beyond the Citadel of Light, Groller and the old man examined a wide patch of ground. Fury sniffed about the perimeter, only occasionally raising his furry head and staring at Sageth.

  They were oblivious to what had transpired in Goldmoon’s room.

  “Good you can’t hear me “the old man tittered to Groller. He glanced at the tablet and spoke to it. “This spot will do nicely. It shouldn’t be long now.”

  Chapter 23

  LOOSE ENDS

  The blue dragon banked over the Northern Wastes. The moon was so large and bright and low against the white sand that it cast the dragon’s shadow ahead of him. The silhouette passed over the ruined Bastion of Darkness, glided over a decimated barbarian village and a small oasis. The dragon smelled the fresh, sweet water below and idly considered stopping to quench his considerable thirst and to feast on the camels and riders he could also smell sleeping beneath the palms. But he decided such a luxury would have to wait.

  The dragon continued on toward a rocky rise, where a massive cave was partially hidden by the ridge’s shadow. Tucking his wings in close to his scaly body, he disappeared inside the cave, leaving behind the comforting warmth and accepting the cooler confines of the underground lair.

  “Khellendros,” the blue dragon began. He lowered his sapphire head, showing proper homage.

  “Gale “Khellendros replied. “What has delayed you?”

  The younger blue dragon related the tale of his battle with Dhamon Grimwulf, and how the human – his former partner – had wounded him seriously, blinded him. He had to rely on his other senses now, and on his rage, which was unstoppable. The dragon knew Dhamon Grimwulf lived, and he swore the man would die for leaving him in a world of darkness.

  Behind Khellendros, a talon of Knights of Takhisis rested. They had managed to retrieve a set of crystalline keys, magic from the Age of Dreams. They listened intently as the younger dragon retold the story of plunging into the cold lake, sinking to its bottom and laying still for so long. He had expected to die, felt his blood and energy leave him, felt sadness and anger that his once-partner, whom he had considered a brother, delivered the killing blow. The dragon wanted to die in a glorious battle. He had been on duty in Northern Ergoth during the fighting in the Abyss, and had lived through the Chaos War. This death seemed such a waste.

  It was perhaps those thoughts, he told Khellendros, that kept him alive. Gale stayed at the bottom of the lake for hours, the air stored in his great lungs keeping hint from drowning. He had sensed two humans and an elf standing on the shore of the lake, and he hadn’t wanted to crawl out while they were there and he was weak and at their mercy. So he waited until he was sure they were gone, then slowly made his way into the hills around Palanthas.

  Gale spent months there, nursing his wounds and recovering his strength, sleeping for several weeks at a time and learning how to exist by his heightened senses of hearing and smell. Even now traces of the battle lingered. His eyes were fixed and pale. A scar stretched nearly two feet along the side of his neck. The cut had been deep, and the wound festered. No scales grew along the wound, and never would again. There were other scars, one near the base of his neck, another on his side where Dhamon had buried his sword up to its hilt and used it as a mountain climber would, lodging a piton in rock to haul himself up the creature’s back.

  Khellendros was relieved his lieutenant had survived the ordeal. The dragon was as loyal as any dragon could be, though Khellendros would never completely trust him – or anyone. The Storm Over Krynn had not killed him during the Dragon Purge, and had in fact kept other dragons from killing him, too.

  “My purpose now is to serve you, and slay Dhamon Grimwulf,” Gale growled, the deep sounds reverberating off the cavern walls. Sand trickled down through the cracks in the rocks.

  “His death shall come in time,” the Storm answered. “For now, I would have you watch my desert . I have something to attend to.”

  Chapter 24

  AGE OF DREAMS

  The spot Sageth had selected, a few miles north of the Citadel of Light, had once been the courtyard of a castle. The afternoon sunlight revealed bits of high crenelated walls that girded what was decades ago an octagonal white stone tower. The little ruins that remained hinted that the castle must have been impressive in its time.

  Jasper choked back a sob, and inspected the wide bandage that was wrapped around his chest. Somehow, with Feril’s help, he had managed to heal himself – though he would never be quite the same. Walking was now a chore. His lung was punctured, and his chest ached.

  “I should’ve saved her... like she saved me.” His frame shuddered as he thought about the healer, whose body was wrapped in a shroud in a small dome in the Citadel of Light. She would be buried as soon as Palin and Usha arrived.

  Rig stood near the dwarf, looking out to sea. “We’re stranded,*he said. “Dhamon sank the ship.” He was responsible for Shaon dying, he added to himself. He was responsible for ail the bad things that had happened since they joined forces with him. “I intend to kill him.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Feril said.

  “I think he does mean that,” Jasper said. “And if I’m feeling up to it, I’ll help him.”

  The Kagonesti walked toward the pair. “I want to know what happened, what came over him. I believe it was that dragon scale. Something possessed him.”

  “Maybe it was nothing,” the mariner replied. His dark eyes flashed at her. “Maybe he was just biding his time, playing us all for fools and waiting for the best tune to strike. Maybe he even orchestrated the blue dragon’s attack on the Anvil, purposefully caused Shaon’s death. If that blue dragon’s alive somewhere, you’ll know for certain that Dhamon was in cahoots with it, that this was all part of some grand stinking scheme of his. If Palin doesn’t come soon, I’m leaving. I’ll find passage in the port of Schallsea. It might take a while, but I’ll hunt him down. That glaive can’t cleave weapons Dhamon doesn’t see coming.” For emphasis, he rubbed the pommel of a dagger that stuck out of his boot

  The Kagonesti was silent, listening to Rig’s tirade and watching Grotler and Sageth pace off the clearing. Fiona Quinti stood apart from everyone else, and looked around cautiously, occasionally meeting the Kagonesti’s gaze.

  Feril felt a tear edge over her left cheek.

  “Lady elf,” Sageth called, as he checked his tablet and hobbled toward her. “We can’t wait much longer for Palin Majere. Should have destroyed the artifacts last night – despite the havoc in the Citadel. The moon was low, perfect

  We must do it tonight. We’ll not have a better time for at least a month.”

  “We don’t have enough artifacts,” she answered.

  “But we do.” His rheumy eyes sparkled. “We’ve Huma’s lance, and the Fist of E’li you retrieved from the forest” He nodded toward the leather sack at the dwarf’s feet. “Then there’s Goldmoon’s two medallions.”

  “Two?” the Kagonesti asked.

  “That’s right.” Bl
ister came forward. “The one she gave me, and the one that’s still around her neck. I can go get it if you want.”

  “No,” Jasper answered. “Let me.” It was an effort to stand, an effort to take a few steps. And he knew it would be a great chore to walk the few miles to the Citadel and climb the steps again. But he wasn’t going to have anyone else remove Goldmoon’s medallion. “I’ll be back here by nightfall.”

  The half-ogre spotted Blister fingering the medallion around her neck and guessed what they were talking about. He retrieved Huma’s lance, and padded toward them, Fury at his heels.

  “So, you see, we have four after all,” Sageth concluded. “Tonight, when the last bit of sunlight fades, we shall change the course of Ansalon’s future.”

  *

  Palin had spent several days meditating alone at the Tower of Wayreth, while the Master concluded his research on the ancient artifacts. The Shadow Sorcerer was helping him, temporarily putting aside his studies of the overlords. In that time, Palin and Usha had tried to discern how the dragons could bring back Takhisis. His colleagues were skeptical. If the dark goddess could return, would the other gods follow?

  Usha urged Palin to focus on the matter at hand, one even more pressing than speculating on the return of Takhisis. “Dhamon and the others,” she began, “they’re waiting for us – and the ring you said you could get”

  Palin climbed the tower steps. The Master was in the room where all of Par-Salian’s journals were stored. He was hunched over a thick volume written by the former head of the Conclave of Wizards. The book was bound in dark green lizard hide. Palin cleared his throat to get the man’s attention.

  “It could work,” the Master said. The wind was blowing strongly outside the room’s lone window, and Palin had to strain to hear his colleague’s unusually soft voice. “Magic from the Age of Dreams was created by the gods, as is all magic. Destroying the items should release an incredible amount of energy.”

  “Enough to permeate Krynn?”

  “I do not know if it will be enough to heighten the level of magic,” the Master continued, “but according to Par-Salian’s journals on the Age of Dreams, the artifacts are so saturated with arcane power that they should be able to at least increase the general level of magic in a good-sized area.”

  “The Shadow Sorcerer claims you are Raistlin.”

  The Master pushed himself away from the table and faced Palin. “So you believe the Shadow Sorcerer’s assumption? Just because I am so familiar with your uncle’s works? And just because there is something familiar about my presence?”

  “You do seem familiar.”

  Beneath his hood, he smiled, but offered no reply.

  “If you’re not Raistlin, then just who are you?”

  “It took you all these years to ask me,” the Master said.

  “I respected your privacy, the secrecy you seemed to enjoy.”

  “And now you don’t respect it?”

  “Now I need to know. If you are Raistlin, you’re far more powerful than I am. You could help us.”

  “I’m not your Uncle Raistlin,” the Master began. “But I knew him well And Dalamar. And many, many others. There is some of RaistUn in me – just as there is a bit of every mage who ever took a Test of High Sorcery. All who take the Test become a part of me. I think, however, that Raistlin was the most formidable of those who studied within my walls.”

  “Within your walls?”

  “I am the Tower of Wayreth.”

  “Preposterous! You’re a man, not a building.” Palin’s voice rose and he felt anger color his cheeks. “Palanthas’s Tower of High Sorcery was destroyed more than thirty years ago. There’s nothing left of the building.”

  “But the magic that pervaded its stones remained. I am a living manifestation of the tower. I am all of the towers. I am the essence of all of the old magic of High Sorcery”

  The Master raised his hands to his hood and drew back the heavy cloth. For an instant the face Palin saw beneath was his Uncle Raistlin’s, the familiar silvery-white hair spilling over the man’s shoulders. Then the visage changed, becoming Par-Salian of the White Robes. Next, Gilthanas’s face appeared, then the visages of Dalamar, Ladonna of the Black Robes, Fistandantilus, and Justarius of the Red Robes. There were others, some Palin only guessed at from descriptions he’d heard. He had no clue as to who others were.

  “All of these people came to the tower, studied there, left an impression on me. Their power helped create the essence you see before you.” The Master pulled the hood back over his head. “I am the Master of the Tower and also what is left of the tower.”

  “The Shadow Sorcerer...”

  “Thinks I’m Raistlin. And I’ve no intention of telling the Shadow Sorcerer otherwise.” Palin pulled out a chair and sat heavily on it. “I thought you were a man.”

  “I am – in a sense. I am your colleague. And I’ve come to think of you as a friend.”

  Palin nodded. “You are my friend.”

  “Now let us move on to more important matters,” the Master urged. “This Age of Dreams magic. It has been hard for me to come to terms with

  destroying such magnificent artifacts, but Sageth is to be heeded in the matter of gaining the ancient magic. I believe it is the answer, our best hope at defeating the overlords. The more of it you can find, the better. The more divinely crafted power we have to work with, the greater our chance of success.”

  “There’s something more. What?”

  “Let me show you.” He went over to a large bureau and opened one of the drawers, retrieving a crystal ball on a hammered bronze pedestal. He gingerly carried it to the table and held his hands a hair’s breadth above its shimmering surface. “This is what I saw mis morning when I finished my research and tried to find Sageth. No man with any sorcerous ability matches his description. The crystal could not locate him. But it did reveal this.”

  A tiny image appeared in the center of the ball It was small at first, looking like a raven. But it grew larger until it filled the crystal.

  “Khellendros!” Palin exclaimed.

  “He is the power behind Sageth. The man is his puppet, I suspect. Look closer, there’s more.”

  The Blue Dragon faded, and the Red filled the crystal. “Malystryx the Red, the one our associate the Shadow Sorcerer concerns himself with. She too is involved in all of this somehow. And a woman.” A face imposed itself over Malys’s, a young human woman with curly black hair and soft brown eyes. “Kitiara uth Malar,” the Master said. “She died several years before your birth, and yet somehow her spirit has a hand in all of this.”

  He drew his hands away from the crystal, and the images faded. “Don’t let your friends relinquish the ancient magic. They’ll be putting it in the hands of an overlord. I’ll give you Dalamar’s ring – when we know for certain how to use the artifacts – and when no dragon is involved.”

  “I’ve got to stop them.” Palin pushed back from the table and hurried from the room, the spell that would transport him to Goldmoon’s dome already racing through his mind. He bumped into the Shadow Sorcerer as he flew down the stairs. The mysterious sorcerer nodded a farewell.

  “Did you enjoy your chat with your Uncle Raistlin?” the sorcerer asked.

  But Palin Majere couldn’t answer. He was already growing transparent, the stone beneath his feet becoming the shore outside the Citadel of Light.

  *

  Thick gray clouds filled the sky shortly before sunset. Jasper struggled toward his friends, gathered about the clearing. He hoped that the storm would hold off until after dark, when the stars came out and they could perform whatever ceremony they had in mind to destroy the artifacts. Then the magic could increase on Krynn, the sorcerers could band together and would have a hope of standing up to the overlords, and then at last he could properly mourn Goldmoon.

  As the sun edged toward the horizon, thin flickers of lightning began to dance between the clouds, and the thunder that followed was soft, like a dist
ant drum beating.

  Sageth selected a spot where there were no stones, and where the ground was flat. They waited there as the sun dipped lower, the last of its orange-red rays all but obscured by die still-darkening sky.

  “The magic,” he said, as he consulted his tablet. “It’s time.”

  Blister wondered how an old man could read when it was this dark out. She made a mental note to ask him about it when the ceremony was over. The kender didn’t want to distract him now.

  “The lance first.” Sageth looked up at the sky, pointing with his finger through a gap in the clouds where a faint star could be seen. “Put the lance here.”

  Jasper translated Sageth’s words, and Groller took a last look at Huma’s prize, then carefully set it on the ground where Sageth indicated.

  “Now the Fist of E’li. See that it touches the lance.” Jasper wheezed as he walked forward, still exhausted from his trip to the Citadel. “And the medallions. Make sure the chains touch both weapons.” Blister came forward and took the medallion off from around her neck. She did as she was instructed, then backed away, not wanting to take her eyes off Goldmoon’s gift. Jasper pulled the other one from his pocket and laid it next to the first

  “No!”

  All of a sudden Palin was among them, running toward them, the white of his tunic illuminated by flashes of lightning. “Don’t give him the medallion! Don’t give him anything! It’s a trick!”

  Rig reacted first. He leaped forward, and grabbed the wooden haft of the scepter. In that same instant, the ground beneath the mariner seemed to melt; the grass dissolved and the dirt turned to quicksand. Rig felt himself sinking into the sucking, wet earth. He gasped and tried to free himself, but only sank deeper, faster. He was completely covered now, his chest tightening and then feeling as if it would explode with thirst for air. Shaon, he thought. Perhaps we’ll be reunited sooner than I expected. Then he felt big hands fishing about and latching onto his legs. Groller’s hands. They pulled Rig to the surface, and the mariner coughed up a mouthful of sand and slime.