Kitiara idly stirred her pink soup. "And what if you can't find it, or him? What then?"
"I shall keep searching," he said.
She set the bowl down on the ground between her feet.
"How long, Sturm? Forever? Haven't you thought of any life beyond your family? I never faulted you for wanting to find your father - it seemed a worthy cause and a great adventure - but I see now that there's more to it than that.
You're not out to restore just the Brightblade name and fortune; you want to restore the entire knightly order." Her tone was derisive.
Sturm's hands grew cold. "Is that such a terrible goal? The world could use a force for good again."
"These are modern times, Sturm! The knights are gone.
The people cast them off because they couldn't change to meet the changing times. There's a new code among warriors: Power is the only truth."
He stared at her. "Am I to give up my quest, then?"
"Look beyond, will you? You're a good fighter and you're smart. Think of what we could do together, you and I. If we joined the right mercenary band, in a year's time we'd be the captains. Then the glory and power would be ours."
Sturm stood up and slung his sword belt over one shoulder. "I could never live like that, Kit."
"Hey!" she called to his retreating back. Sturm continued down the corridor. The heat of fury filled Kitiara's heart. It surged through her, and she felt an overwhelming need to smash something. How dare he be so righteous! What did he know of the world, the real world? Sentimental, boring, knightly rubbish -
"Ma'am?" Fitter stood before her, the stew pot in his hand. "Are you all right?"
The quickening heat in her limbs subsided rapidly. She blinked at the gnome and finally said, "Yes, what do you want?"
"You were pounding on the wall," said the gnome.
"Sprockets! You've cracked it!"
Kitiara saw a spider's web of cracks radiating from a shallow hole in the soft sandy mortar. There was white dust on her knuckles. She didn't remember hitting the wall at all.
* * * * *
Rapaldo the First watched as his Royal Guard members slowed to rooted immobility and froze where they were.
Their eyes and mouths closed, leaving not a trace in the ridged bark. Seeing them this way, no one would ever imagine that they could walk and talk.
Rapaldo walked over and kicked the nearest Lunitarian.
It hurt his toe, and he hopped backward on one foot, cursing the entire pantheon of Enstar.
"Soon I'll be gone, and you'll have a new king," he said to the unheeding tree-man. "Flown away, that's what, in a flying ship built by gnomes! There's a neat trick! I had an accursed whirlwind lift me to this rotten moon, and they go and make wings and fly here on purpose! Ta-ra-ra! They can stay here, too. They'll stay behind, and I'll fly home."
He slipped an arm conspiratorially around the tree-man and whispered to him, "I could take the woman with me, yes? She is very beautiful, though a bit too tall. If the king commands it, she will go with me, yes? Yes, yes - how could she resist? I'll give the big fellow with the mustache to you.
He can be the new king, Brightblade the First. I appoint him heir apparent, remember that. For all I care, you can make him a god. I shall fly, fly, fly away home."
The lengthening shadows crept across the royal audience hall. Rapaldo stared into the darkest corner and shivered.
He grasped his axe and stalked to the middle of the room.
"I see you there, Darnino! Yes, it's you! You always come back to visit, don't you? Dead men should stay dead, Darnino! Especially when I kill them with my royal axe!" He charged into the shadows, throwing the axe from side to side. The heavy blade clinked off the rock walls, striking sparks. Rapaldo flailed away at the ghost in his mind for some time. Fatigue chased Darnino away more surely than any of the king's axe cuts.
"There's a lesson for you," he said, panting. "Trifle with Rapaldo the First, will you?"
He dragged his feet across the hall. By the throne, he stopped, ear cocked to the open sky. "Laughing? Who said you could laugh?" he said. The Lunitarians were still. "No one laughs at the king!" Rapaldo cried. He hurled himself at the nearest Lunitarian, chopping fiercely with his shipwright's axe. Chips of gray flew off the tree-man, who could not resist the unwarranted attack. Rapaldo yelled and cursed and chopped until the guard was a stump surrounded by scraps of broken wood-flesh.
The axe fell from his hand. Rapaldo staggered a few feet toward his throne and collapsed, sobbing.
Chapter 15
The King's Garden
Sturm awoke to a tapping on his nose. He cnacked an eyelid and saw Rainspot standing over him, his stubby forefinger poised for another tap.
"What do you want?" he rumbled. The gnome withdrew his finger.
"We're having a secret meeting," whispered Rainspot. "I can't find the lady, but we want you to take part."
Sturm sat up. It was still night and he could hear hushed murmurs from the gnomes down the hall. Kitiara's place was empty, but he wasn't too concerned. Sturm knew that she could take care of herself quite well.
He tightened the lacings on his leggings and went down the hall with Rainspot. The gnomes flinched in unison when they appeared.
"I told you it was them," said the sharp-eared Cutwood.
"But you didn't say when they were coming," objected Bellcrank.
"You should learn to be more exact," said Roperig. There was general nodding of small pink heads.
Sturm rubbed his forehead. It was too soon after waking to jump into a gnomish conversation. "What's all this about?" he asked at normal volume.
"Shh!" seven gnomes said at once. Wingover waved for Sturm to come to their level, so he knelt beside Sighter.
"We're discussing plans to, uh, abscond with some of King Rapaldo's scrap metal," said Wingover. "We'd like to hear your ideas."
Sturm was surprised at such tactics coming from the gnomes.
"My idea is, don't steal from your host," he said bluntly.
"Don't misunderstand, Master Brightblade," said Bellcrank quickly. "We don't want to steal from the king, it's just that we haven't any gold or silver to pay him with."
"Then we must arrange some other method," Sturm said.
"After all, we sorely need his help, and it will serve us ill to rob a potential benefactor."
"Suppose he won't give us any metal," said Wingover.
"We have no reason to be so suspicious."
"His Majesty seems rather unstable to me," Sighter said.
"He's completely off his gears," said Fitter.
"It's not our place to judge," said Sturm. "If the gods saw fit to take Rapaldo's wits, it's because he was so lonely here.
Imagine being on this moon for ten years or more with no one but the tree-folk for company. You should feel pity for Rapaldo." Sturm looked over the gnomes' crestfallen faces.
"Why not think of some way to win Rapaldo's gratitude?
Then he would probably give us the metal we need."
The gnomes looked ashamedly at the ground. After a moment's silence, Wingover said, "Perhaps we could invent something to cheer His Majesty up."
Six gnome faces popped up, smiling. "Excellent, excellent! What shall it be?" asked Bellcrank.
"A musical instrument," said Roperig.
"Suppose he doesn't know how to play it?" countered Sighter.
"We'll make one that plays itself," said Cutwood.
"We could give him a Personal Heating Apparatus -"
"An automatic bathing device -"
"- an instrument!"
Sturm stood and backed out of the newest wrangle. Let them figure it out, he thought. It'll keep them occupied. He decided to find Kit.
He wandered along the corridor. By night, the way was dim and confusing, and more than once he walked into a dead end. This place is a maze, he decided. He doubled back to what he believed was the main corridor and started again for the outside. There was a series of niches along
the right again, but he didn't hear the gnomes. The niches were dusty and empty. It was not the same hall.
At the end, the passage turned left. Sturm swung into the black gap and immediately stumbled over some dry sticks on the floor. He fell hard on his chest and banged his head against something solid that skittered away when he hit it.
The object bounced off the wall and rolled back to Sturm.
He heaved himself up on his hands. A wedge of starlight fell across the open end of the niche. Sturm held up the object that he'd knocked his head on. It was a dry white human skull. The 'sticks' he'd tripped over were bones.
He went back out into the open passage and examined the skull. It was broad and well developed; certainly a man's.
The most disturbing feature was the deep cleft in the bone of the forehead. The man had died by violence - as by an axe stroke.
Sturm carefully replaced the skull in the cul-de-sac. Out of reflex, he checked to see if his sword was hanging in its scabbard. The cold hilt was reassuring to his touch. He was worried. Where was Kitiara?
He bumped into Kitiara as she came skulking down the passage. She had a tousled, slightly wild look that made him think she'd been drinking. But no, ale was hard to come by on Lunitari.
"Kit, are you all right?"
"Yes. I am. I think."
He put an arm around her waist to support her and steered her to a low stretch of wall, where they sat.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I went walking," she said. "Rapaldo's gardens take longer to vanish after dark than the wild plants we saw. There were some big toadstools, with pink spores coming out. They smelled good."
"They've affected you," he said, noting the light dusting of pink on her shoulders and hands. "How do you feel I"
"I feel - strong. Very strong." She gripped his free hand and squeezed his wrist. Pain raced up Sturm's arm.
"Careful!" he said, wincing. "You'll break my arm!"
Her grip didn't slacken. Sturm felt the blood pounding in his fingertips. In her present state, it wasn't prudent to struggle. She might crush his arm without realizing it.
"Kit," he said as evenly as the pain would allow, "you're hurting me. Let go."
Her hand snapped open, and Sturm's arm dropped out like a dead weight. He massaged the bruised arm back to life.
"You must've inhaled those spores," he said. "Why don't you go lie down? Do you remember the way?"
"I remember," she said dreamily. "I never get lost." She slipped away like a sleepwalker, making unerring turns and avoiding all the wrong passages. Sturm shook his head.
Such uncontrolled strength was deadly. What was happening to her - to all of them?
Then, curious, he decided to see those mushrooms from a safe distance. He went along the path Kitiara had used until he reached the outside wall. The neatly boxed-in garden beds were empty. No trace of the mushrooms remained. He stepped over the low wall and dipped his hand into the ever-present scarlet dust. Had she indeed been walking in her sleep? Or had the mushrooms withered in the short time between her seeing them and his arrival? The stars and setting silver moon offered no clues.
Sturm noticed a dull light moving along the gallery on the north side of the palace. He cut across the gardens to inter-cept the light. It proved to be His Majesty, carrying a weakly burning oil lamp.
"Oh," said Rapaldo, "I remember you."
"Good evening, Your Majesty," said Sturm graciously. "I saw your lamp."
"Did you'? It's a feeble thing, but the oil I make is not of the best quality, heh, heh."
"Your Majesty, I wonder if I might have a word with you."
"What word?"
Sturm fidgeted. This was as bad as trying to talk with the gnomes. "My friends were wondering, Sire, if we might be able to get some scrap metal from you to fix our flying ship, once we find it."
"You'll never get it back from the Micones," said Rapaldo.
"We must try, Sire. Could we get some metal from your supply?"
"What kind and how much'?" asked the king sharply.
"Forty pounds of iron."
"Forty pounds! Ta-ra! That's a king's ransom, and I should know. I am the king!"
"Surely iron is not so precious -"
Rapaldo hopped backward, the wavering lamp throwing weird shadows behind him. "Iron is the most precious thing of all! It was the iron axe I carry that made me master of the red moon. Do you not see, Sir Knight, that there is no metal at all here? Why do you think my subjects bear swords of glass? Every scrap of iron is a buttress to my rule, and I will not part with any of it."
Sturm waited until Rapaldo's quivering hands had grown more steady. He said, slowly, "Sire, perhaps you would like to go with us when we leave on the gnomes' flying ship."
"Eh? Leave my kingdom?"
"If you so desire."
Rapaldo's eyes narrowed. "My subjects would never allow it. They won't even let me leave the town. I've tried.
I've tried. I'm their link with the gods, you know, and they are very jealous of me. They won't let me go."
"What's to stop you from leaving at night, when the Lunitarians are rooted where they stand?"
"Heh, heh, heh! They would hunt me down by daylight!
They move very fast when they want to, don't worry! And there's never been anyplace else to go. The ants have your craft and will not let you have it. The Voice has it now."
Sturm said firmly, "We intend to ask this Voice to return our ship."
"The Voice! Ta-ra-ra! Why not ask the High Lords of Heaven to bear you home on their backs, like birdies, tweet, tweet? The Voice is evil, Sir Knightblade; beware of it!"
Sturm felt as if he were swimming against a strong current. Rapaldo's mind could not follow the course of reason that Sturm had set out, but there were some nuggets of truth in what he said. The 'Voice,' if it existed, was a great unknown quantity. If it refused them, their hopes for getting home were destroyed.
Sturm made one last attempt to persuade Rapaldo. 'Your Majesty, if my friends and I can convince the Voice to release our flying ship, would you then provide us with forty pounds of iron! In return, we'll carry you back to Krynn -
to your home island, if you wish."
"Enstar?" said Rapaldo, blinking rapidly. Tears formed in his eyes. "Home?"
"To your very doorstep," Sturm promised.
Rapaldo set the lamp on the ground. His hand flashed to his hip, and came back gripping the broad shipwright's axe.
Sturm tensed.
"Come!" said Rapaldo. "I will show you the obelisk."
He padded away, leaving the lamp flickering on the floor.
Sturm looked at the lamp, shrugged, and followed the mad king of Lunitari. Rapaldo's skinny, rag-wrapped feet made only the faintest thumps as he scampered ahead of Sturm.
"This way, Sir Brightsturm! I have a map, a chart, a diagram, heh, heh."
Sturm followed him around half a dozen twists and turns.
When he faltered or felt uncertain, Rapaldo urged him on.
"The obelisk is in a secret valley, very hard to find! You must have my map to locate it!" Then Rapaldo's tread abruptly ceased, as did his lunatic cackle.
'Your Majesty?" Sturm called quietly. No reply. Carefully, Sturm drew his sword, letting the blade slip through his fingers to deaden the scrape of metal. "King Rapaldo?" The passage ahead was violet shadows and silence. Sturm advanced into the darkness, sliding his feet along the floor to avoid being tripped.
Rapaldo leaped down from a recess in the wall and brought the axe down on Sturm's head. His helmet saved his skull from the fate of Darnino, but the blow drove the light from his mind and left him laid out cold on the floor.
"Well, well," said Rapaldo, breathing quickly. "A rude dint, I'm sure, and not at all fitting for the new king of Lunitari, eh? The tree-men would never allow their only king to fly away, fly! So I'll take the flying ship and lady, I will, and the trees will have their king. You! Ha, ha!" He giggled and picked up Sturm's helmet. The
iron pot had taken the axe's edge with only a slight dent. Rapaldo tried the helmet on. It was far too large for him, and fell over his eyes. The monarch of the red moon stood over his victim, spinning the helmet around his head with his hands and laughing ceaselessly.
Chapter 16
The Royal Axe
The long night was almost spent when the gnomes dared wake Kitiara. She grunted with pain and got to her feet. "Suffering bloodstained gods," she muttered. "What happened? I feel like somebody's worked me over with a stick."
"Are you sore?" asked Rainspot.
She worked one shoulder around and grimaced. "Very."
"I have a liniment that may be of comfort to you." The gnome searched rapidly through his vest and pants pockets.
He produced a small leather bag with a tight drawstring.
"Here," said Rainspot.
Kitiara accepted the bag and sniffed the closed mouth.
"What is it?" she said suspiciously.
"Dr. Finger's Efficacious Ointment. Also known as the Self-Administered Massage Balm."
"Well, ah, thanks, Rainspot. I'll give it a try," she said, though she thought it more likely that the liniment would blister her skin than soothe her muscles. She tucked it away.
"Where's Sturm?" Kitiara asked with sudden realization.
"We saw him several hours ago. He was looking for you,"
said Cutwood.
"Did he find me?"
"How should we know? He told us we couldn't take any of Rapaldo's iron without asking permission, then he went looking for you," said Bellcrank peevishly.
Kitiara rubbed her aching temples. "I remember I went for a walk, came back obviously, but outside of that my memory is dry." She coughed. "So's my throat. Is there any water?"
"Rainspot called down a batch this morning," said Sighter. He proffered a full bottle to Kitiara, and she drank deeply. The gnomes watched this process solemnly. When Kitiara at last lowered the water bottle, Wingover said,
"Lady, we are unanimous in our resolve to be gone from here as quickly as possible. We think the king is dangerous; also, the trail of the Micones grows colder as we wait."
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