Sturm laid a hand on the gnome's shoulder. "I fear that we have grave news, my friend."
"Grave? How - ?"
Are your fears alleviated? intruded the voice.
"For now," Kitiara said. "May we have our flying ship back, please?"
Don't be so hasty! We've not been properly introduced.
Please come in, won't you?
"Explain later," Stutts said quickly. He took Kitiara's and Sturm's hands and led them to the door. "We've had the most tremendous adventure since you left to prospect for ore," he reported. "The Keeper has treated us marvelously."
"Who is this Keeper? Where is he?" asked Kitiara.
"Come and see for yourselves."
Stutts let go of their hands. Sturm and Kitiara stepped through the deep door-notch into the shadowed interior of the grand obelisk.
Sunlight filtered down from the slit windows higher up in the obelisk. In the center of the floor, illuminated by the sunlight, sat the flying ship Cloudmaster. The ethereal air bag had shrunk to half its previous size, just a soft lump in many folds of loose netting. The wings had been detached from the hull, no doubt to allow the craft to fit through the door in the obelisk. The leather wings were neatly folded and lying on the red marble floor beside the ship. Clicking in the darkness beyond the Cloudmaster proved the presence of Micones.
Inevitably, the warriors' gazes were lifted by the soaring hollowness of the interior. As Sturm and Kitiara raised their eyes, they saw a series of ledges and horizontal pillars set into the immensely thick walls. Perched about fifty feet above the floor was the occupant of the obelisk, the Keeper.
A dragon. Where blades of sunlight struck him, his scales shone greenish gold.
No dragon had been seen on Krynn in centuries, so long, in fact, that their actual existence was a sorely debated point among historians, clerics, and natural philosophers. Sturm believed from boyhood that there had been dragons, but face to face with a living example, he felt so much fear that he thought he'd faint.
Be a man, a knight! he admonished himself. Men had faced dragons before. Huma had done it. So while Sturm's head swam from this newest and greatest revelation, he kept his feet firmly under him.
Kitiara, too, was stunned. Her eyes were huge and white in the dim light. She recovered more quickly than Sturm, however, and said, "Are you the Keeper who spoke to us?"
Yes. "Or do you prefer spoken language?" asked the dragon. Its voice was not as booming as Sturm had expected it to be; considering its size (thirty-five feet from nose to tail) and the distance to it, it was quite soft-spoken.
"Spoken is best. That way I can be sure of what I'm hearing," answered Kitiara.
"As you wish. I do enjoy speaking, and I've gone such a long time without having anyone to speak to. The ants, you see, respond best to telepathy." The dragon shook its broad, angular head with a noise of clanging brass. It lifted its feet off the ledge and dropped to a lower perch with a single fluff of its wings. The breeze washed over the amazed explorers.
"Where are my manners? I am Cupelix Trisfendamir, Keeper of the New Lives and resident of this obelisk." The gnomes had retreated behind the humans when the dragon appeared. Now they spread out and began to bombard him with questions.
"Keeper of what new lives?"
"How much do you weigh?"
"How did you get here?"
"How long have you been here?"
"Do you have any raisins?"
The dragon was amused by this barrage, but he dismissed the gnomes with a wave of one giant foreclaw. "You are Kitiara Uth Matar and Sturm Brightblade, are you not?" he asked. The two nodded dumbly. "Your small friend, Stutts, speaks very highly of you both. Apparently, you have impressed him with many sterling qualities."
"Apparently'" said Kitiara dryly.
"I have only the evidence of Stutts's impressions. Be that as it may, I am very glad you are here. 1 followed your progress along the trail I had the Micones make -" Cupelix tilted his burnished head and peered at Sturm with dagger eyes.
"Yes, Sir Knight, the trail was deliberate."
"You read minds," Sturm said uncomfortably.
"Not deeply. Only when a thought is so clearly on the tip of one's tongue."
Stutts introduced his colleagues to the dragon. Cupelix exchanged witty banter with each one, until Sighter's turn came.
"You are a bronze dragons" questioned the gnome.
"Brass, if you must know. But enough of these trivialities!
You have come a long way and labored hard to recover your flying craft. Now that you have found it and each other once more, enjoy a moment of repose at my expense."
"We'd rather be on our way," said Sturm.
"But I insist," said the dragon. He slid along the edge of his perch, his rear legs gripping the stone ledge and his wings flaring out for balance. Cupelix worked his way around to just over the door - the only way out.
Sturm didn't like what was happening. By instinct, his hand strayed to the pommel of his sword - which changed to a chicken drumstick when he touched it. The gnomes looked popeyed, and Kitiara's jaw fell open in surprise.
"Please excuse my little joke," said Cupelix. In the wink of an eye, the poultry leg was gone and the sword was back.
"Your weapons are unnecessary here. That was just my way of showing you the truth of it. Men so often have to be shown the truth before they believe something. r,
"And now," said Cupelix, drawing himself erect. "Let there be victuals!" His eyes flashed with an inner light that seemed to leave bright sparkles in the air. The sparkles collected in the open space before the bow of the Cloudmaster.
When they faded, they left behind a broad oak table groaning under the weight of food and drink.
"Eat, my friends. Drink, and we shall tell each other tales of great doings," intoned the dragon. The gnomes fell upon the table with squeals of delight. Kitiara eyed the pitchers of foaming ale and sauntered over. Though the spear plants could taste like any food she wished, Kitiara had missed the sight of real food. Only Sturm remained where he stood, his hands folded at his waist.
"You do not eat, Master Brightblade," said Cupelix.
"The fruits of magic are not fit victuals," Sturm said.
The reptilian nostrils twitched. "You have poor manners for one who styles himself a knight."
Sturm answered carefully. "There are higher directives than mere manners. The Measure tells us to reject magic in all its forms, for example." The brass jaws widened, revealing saber-sized teeth and a forked black tongue flecked with gold. For a second, Sturm's heart contracted to a tight knot in his chest, for he knew he could not withstand this monster's attack. Then, he realized Cupelix was grinning at him.
"Oh, how boring it has been these centuries past without creatures to dispute with! Bless your stiff neck, Sturm Brightblade! What pleasure you give me!" The jaws closed with a metallic clank. "But come now, surely you have heard of Huma the Lancer?"
"Of course."
"He got along quite well with some types of dragons, did he not?"
"So the histories say. I can only point out that while Huma was a brave warrior and a great hero, he was not a model knight."
Cupelix burst out laughing; it sounded like a chorus of mighty gongs. "Do as you please, then! I would not want to be responsible for undermining such formidable virtue!"
With that, Cupelix sprang from his stand and, beating his wings furiously, flew up to the highest recesses of the hollow obelisk.
Sturm went to the sumptuous table. The gnomes were gorging themselves on baked apples, dove stuffed with bacon and chestnuts, wild rice with saffron, whole sweet onions glazed with honey, venison steaks, blood pudding, pickled eggs, breads, punch, wine, and ale.
Kitiara had taken her injured arm out of its sling and let it rest on the table. With her coat falling off one shoulder and the flush of new ale on her cheeks, she looked quite wanton.
She sniffed when her eyes met Sturm's, and she popped a whole pickled egg
in her mouth.
'You're missing a feast," she said after swallowing. "The old emperors of Ergoth never ate so well."
"I wonder what it's made from?" Sturm said, picking up a warm roll and letting it fall back into its tray. "Sand? Poisonous mushrooms?"
"Sometimes you are tiresome beyond belief," said Kitiara and quaffed a three-gulp swallow of ale. "If the dragon wanted to kill us, he could do it without resorting to the sub-tleties of poison."
"Actually," Cutwood said, leaning across the table and spewing bread crumbs with every syllable, "brass dragons traditionally are not aligned with evil."
"Have we nothing to fear from this creature?" Sturm asked the table at large. He glanced up at the darkness that held the dragon, and lowered his voice. "Our ancestors on Krynn fought long and hard to eliminate dragons from the world. Were they all wrong?"
"The situation here is completely different," said Stutts.
"Lunitari is this dragon's home. He has taken a kindly interest in our plight. We shouldn't refuse his help because of ancient prejudices that have no application at the present time."
'What does he want from us?"
"He hasn't told us yet," Stutts admitted. "But he, ah, won't let us leave."
"What do you mean?" Sturm said sharply.
"Birdcall, Flash, and I wanted to go searching for you. We rerouted the engine control sufficiently to make short ascents - hops, really - but Cupelix refused to allow us out of the obelisk. He claimed it wasn't safe, and that he was taking steps to bring you all here."
"Well, we're here now," said Kitiara, reaching for another broiled dove. "And we'll soon be on our way."
"Will we?" Sturm asked, craning his neck again to peer into the dim heights of the obelisk. "Now that he has us all, will he let us go?"
Chapter 20
A New Age
Aften Kitiara and thee gnomes had their fill, they stole off to the Cloudmaster for a nap. Only Stutts remained with Sturm. The two of them strolled around the interior of the vast obelisk, and Sturm related the story of Bellcrank's death.
"It was pure chance that Bellcrank died instead of Kit or Sighter." They paused in their walk as Stutts plucked a handkerchief from his vest pocket and dabbed at his nose.
Sturm told of Rapaldo's death, and how they placed Bellcrank in the middle of the mushroom garden.
"He and I were at gear-making school together, you know," Stutts said softly. "I'll miss him a great deal." They passed under the bow of the flying ship, and Sturm saw a smooth round hole, eight feet wide, bored in the hard marble floor. He asked Stutts what it was.
"The Micones live in a cavern below," Stutts said. "They enter and leave by these holes." He indicated two others not far away. Sturm stood on the lip of one of the holes and looked down. There was a feeble bluish glow below, and he could see the jagged shapes of stalagmites. A faintly bitter smell wafted up from the depths.
"Did the Micones build this place?" Sturm asked.
"Not as far as I can tell," Stutts replied, resuming his walk.
"The Micones are a rather new addition to this place. Cupelix hints that he created them, but I don't believe he's that powerful. But to address your question: The obelisk was here even before the dragon."
"How do you know that?"
"By observing Cupelix. While a healthy adult specimen of a brass dragon, his features are in many ways molded by the fact that he grew up inside this obelisk. Notice, for example, his short wings and powerful legs; he spends all his time perching on the ledges rather than flying. He can jump tremendous distances, even straight up." Stutts stopped, seeing that Sturm was studying him. "What?" asked the gnome.
'You're so changed," said Sturm. "Not just the lack of a stutter; you seem so calm and collected."
Stutts blushed pink under his neatly trimmed beard. "I suppose we gnomes must appear awfully disorganized and impractical to you humans."
Sturm smiled. "Not at all."
Stutts returned the grin. He said, "Being on Lunitari has changed me - all of us. The flight of the Cloudmaster, while erratic, has been the first true success in my life. I spent years in the workshops of Mt. Nevermind, building flying machines. They all failed. It wasn't until I learned of Bellcrank's experiments with ethereal air that the Cloudmaster became possible." Mention of the lost chemist quelled conversation for a moment.
"Be at peace," Sturm finally said. "He was avenged."
They passed below the tail of the flying ship. A mixed chorus of snores issued from the open portholes. Stutts gestured toward the sound.
"They are a fine band of colleagues," he said. "They deserve to go home to the cheers of all Sancrist."
"Do you think we'll ever see Krynn again?" Sturm asked.
"That all depends on Cupelix and what he wants. I have a theory - "
A wind flowed over them. With a customary metallic ringing, the dragon alighted on the lowest sill, perhaps fifteen feet above Sturm and Stutts. The gnome sidled away from Cupelix.
"I trust you are satiated," Cupelix said to Stutts.
"The meal was excellent, as always," Stutts replied. He yawned. "It weighs a bit heavy on my stomach, though. I think I shall join my colleagues." With a polite nod, Stutts returned to the ship. Cupelix loomed over Sturm.
"So it is you and I, Master Brightblade. What shall we talk about l Let us debate our philosophies, knight to dragon. What do you say?"
"No magic?"
Cupelix laid a burnished claw on his breast. "Dragon's honor."
"How is it," Sturm wondered, "that you speak so fluently the Krynnish tongue!"
"Books," replied the dragon. "My nest on high is plentiful-ly supplied with books by authors mortal and immortal.
Now I shall ask a question: What is it you seek from life?"
"To live honorably and in the manner befitting an Oath-taken knight. My turn. Have you always lived inside this tower?"
"From the days when I was a dragonlet no larger than a gnome, I have been the Keeper. I have never seen outside these walls, save what I spy by the doors and windows." His broad pupils narrowed. "Do you ever question the tenets of the Knights' Oath or Measure? After all, the Order of Solamnus was not revived after the Cataclysm."
Sturm folded his arms across his chest. "If you are well read, then you know the Cataclysm was not caused by anything the knights did. They accepted the blame of the common people, as all preservers of order must do when that order breaks down. Where did the Micones come from?"
"They were created to serve me. The Lunitarian tree-folk did not prove reliable." Cupelix flicked out his tongue. "Are you in love with the woman, Kitiara?"
Cupelix's pointed query threw Sturm off guard. "I have some affection for her, but I'm not in love with her, if you understand the difference." The dragon nodded, human-fashion. Sturm continued, "So the tree-men and the Micones were created in succession as your servants, the tree-men being a failed effort. Who created them?"
"Higher powers," replied Cupelix evasively. "This is wonderful! I wish people had come to Lunitari centuries ago! But hark now: If you're not in love with the woman, why is she so predominant in your thoughts? Behind many of your spoken thoughts is an image of her."
Drops of sweat broke out on Sturm's face. "I'm very concerned about her. The magical force that pervades this moon has invested her with enormous physical strength.
Her temper has sharpened, too. I worry about the power getting control of her."
'Yes, magic can cause problems. I studied Stutts, Birdcall, and Flash as the power changed them. It was most interesting. So the woman has become very strong? That must
"complicate your feelings. I've never yet heard of a human male who relished a female being stronger than he."
"That's ridiculous! I don't care -" Sturm halted his out-burst. Blast that sly dragon. He was deliberately probing for a sore point.
"My turn to ask something," Sturm said. "Why does a powerful, magic-using dragon like yourself need servants?
What
can they do that you can't?"
"I cannot leave the obelisk; isn't that obvious? The door and windows are far too small to permit me to pass through."
"Ah, but a skillful magic-user could overcome a problem of mere size."
Cupelix's tail swept back, thwack! against the marble wall. "I'm not allowed to leave. I cannot pass the windows or door, and have not been able to break, cut or bore through the walls, nor magic them aside. I am Keeper of the New Lives, and such is my lot until darkness claims me!"
"What new lives?"
"All in good time, Sir Knight. A more pressing matter engages my attention: the matter of my freedom."
'You need us to get you out," Sturm said.
A wisp of fine vapor trickled from the dragon's nostrils.
"Yes, I need you. Only clever machines can release me from this stifling prison. Tree-men could not do it. The Micones will not. The gnomes can. You shall have your flying ship when I am free."
The vaporous threads thickened until they enveloped Sturm. He felt the strength drain from his limbs. His eyelids drooped.... A sleeping mist! Sturm's legs buckled. He mumbled, "No magic, you said."
"Not magic, exactly," Cupelix said soothingly. "Merely a soporific vapor I have at my disposal. My dear fellow, you're so full of suspicions. This will help you. Sleep, and you will not remember this distressing conversation. Sleep, rest, dream. Sleep. Rest. Dream. Forget...."
* * * * *
Kitiara woke up. She had that vaguely troubled feeling that often went with a sudden return to consciousness, as though she'd been having a bad dream that she couldn't remember. She was lying on the deck of the dining room aboard the Cloudmaster. Below, the gnomes snored with the regularity of a water-driven mill. Kitiara combed through her short curls with her fingers. Her skin was clam-my, and her hair damp with sweat.
Outside, the air was cool. She inhaled deeply, but her breath caught when she saw Sturm lying crumpled on the stone floor some yards away. Kitiara hurried down the ramp and ran to where he lay. Sturm breathed, strong and steady, soundly asleep.
Kitiara became aware that she was being watched. She whirled and saw Cupelix lying on his side along the lower ledge. His neck was bowed and he held his tail off the stone.
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