Fistanadantilus Reborn ll-2

by Douglas Niles

  My actions kept the boy alive, but at what terrible cost to my objectivity? I have searched The Book of Learning, seeking some sign indicating the severity of the affront, but the tome has been ominously silent on the matter.

  Even in self-recrimination I forget myself. It is my duty to put aside my distress and to continue with the task that brought me to this corner of Kharolis. The deception of which I speak has occurred some two days prior to my recording of these notes; I shall hasten to put down the events of the current day and to describe as best I can my situation and prospects.

  Following the escape of that rather frightening horse and Kelryn's healing spell, the bandits tied my hands before me, prodding me through the darkness on the narrow trail (upon which I tripped several times, scuffing my hands and, once, bloodying my nose) until we again reached the Loreloch Road and the bridge of gray stone. It was not until then that I saw that the youth, Danyal Thwait, had been similarly bound and forced to follow behind me.

  Footsore and weary, we ascended the winding, rough road through the remainder of the night. We were slowed by the need of Gnar to be helped by two men, and in this I was fortunate. Indeed, should the band have proceeded at its normal pace, I have no doubts but that it would have been me who restricted the pace of the rest of the party, with all the awkward attentions-particularly from the one-eyed bandit, Zack-that would have entailed.

  By the time dawn began to color the sky, we had reached a small grove of pines in the protection of a low saddle. This was not a pass through the range-I could see higher and more rugged elevations rising on the north side of the ridge-but it provided a place for our captors to seek concealment and rest through the day.

  I gather that, though they are bold and lawless men, the bandits of Kelryn Darewind's band do in fact fear the Knights of Solamnia. Else how can I explain the hidden clearing, deep in the woods, where we sheltered during the day? Also, consider the fact that one of the men trailed behind us after we departed the road; I looked back to see that he was sweeping a pine bough, heavy with needles, across our trail. Thus all sight of our passage was concealed.

  Hearing the deisultory talk of the men during the long trek and through the daylight hours of inactivity, I gather that they were returning from a successful raid on a specific enemy. Kelryn had taken them to kill the Solamnic Knight, Sir Harold the White, and his family, eliminating that enforcer of the law from the territory the bandits wanted for themselves. (Although I learned that their success was not complete; Zack complained loudly about a girl, a daughter of the knight, who somehow escaped their murderous net.)

  The men's spirits were still inflamed by their cruel sport, and the gruesome stories of the murder could only enhance their villainy. At times I found it nearly impossible to consider their acts with dispassion, yet I was able to muster my faith, to forcefully remind myself that theirs was a current in history's river as worthy of telling as any other.

  Danyal and I were bound together at one side of the encampment. My request that we be released and that I be provided with my book and writing implements was rudely laughed away.

  Lacking the means to record events, I tried to talk to the lad, to explain my distress about the failure of my objectivity that had led me to lie about him. He was surprisingly appreciative, as I suppose is only natural. After all, as the old saying goes, even the meanest of lives is treasured by the one who lives it.

  The boy showed traces of brightness and perception in our conversations, yet he seemed remarkably unsympathetic to my own dilemma. Indeed, so clearly did he treasure his own survival that he seemed rather put off when I mentioned my regrets at the loss of my historical dispassion.

  Eventually I was released from my tether and taken to join Kelryn. I was able to gather much information from him, though he still denied me the chance to take notes as we talked. I can only hope that my memory has served me as accurately as does my pen.

  He told me that when the True Gods returned to Krynn, with them came Fistandantilus, risen to the exalted status of a deity. Kelryn Darewind had demanded power of that god. He told me he used it to keep the memory and the knowledge of the archmage alive. His followers had woven great tapestries depicting the wizard's life, and he boasted of how those artistic fabrics still draped the halls of Loreloch.

  It must have been the destruction of Skullcap, I mused, that somehow converted the archmage into god-hood. After all, he had opened the portal to chaos, a path to the Dark Queen herself. But when I voiced my speculations, I discerned that Kelryn Darewind had not the slightest interest in my suppositions.

  Instead, he made mention of something that he called "the skull of Fistandantilus." I gathered that this was an object that he sought with a great deal of interest, though he would share little information about it when I pressed him for further explanation. I speculated upon an unconfirmed rumor I had heard in Palanthas, a report that Fistandantilus had existed as an undead lich after the destruction of Skullcap, at which Kelryn Darewind scornfully laughed in my face.

  When I sought response to my other questions, the bandit became suddenly reluctant to talk. I was again secured to my tree, and we two prisoners spent the rest of the day in boredom and slumber.

  With the coming of darkness, again we took to the road. The bandits prodded us with obvious urgency, and we followed the descending route down the north side of the ridge. At the base of the incline, we came to a rapid stream, here crossed by a sturdy bridge. After making the crossing, we proceeded upward again, and I sensed that we were drawing close to the lofty massif of the High Kharolis.

  The long night of climbing exhausted me and many of the others, though Kelryn Darewind displayed no sign of fatigue. Finally we made camp again, this time in the depths of a mountainside cave. My captors have at last consented to provide me with the tools of my trade, and thus I hasten to write my observations, to record the history of the last few days with as much dispassion and objectivity as possible.

  But as I look at the young lad who sleeps restively nearby and know that my interference was the act that kept him alive, I fear that I have already failed.

  CHAPTER 25

  Wyrmtales

  First Majetog, Reapember

  374 AC

  Danyal pulled on the pole, saw the trout break the surface in a ripple of droplets and gleaming silver scales. He tugged gently, but then it was a violent force, and he ripped the hook from the fish's mouth. The pole felt stiff and heavy in his hands.

  Then he heard the fish scream, a sound so full of suffering that his heart nearly broke.

  And then he was the fish, and the water closed over his head, but he couldn't swim! He was badly injured, torn and bleeding, and held by the unbreakable strands of a long, tethering line.

  He awakened, thrashing in panic, finally sitting upright and blinking through the smoky shadows of the cave. His garments were soaked with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead by the clammy perspiration. Danyal had to draw several deep, gasping breaths, reassuring himself that it had been a nightmare. Even so, only slowly did the sensation of drowning recede.

  And he was still bound by the long tether-that part had not been a dream. The rope bit into his wrists, and the loss of circulation stung his hands, deadened his fingers. The other end of the twisted braid of tough leather was wrapped securely around a massive wooden stake that had been driven into the ground within the cave some time before their arrival.

  He saw Foryth Teel, blinking slowly, stirring from slumber, and Dan guessed that his own thrashing had awakened the historian, who had been busily writing when the youth had drifted off to sleep.

  But what was that scream? Danyal sensed that the sound had been a part of the real world. As he came to that conclusion, he heard an angry shout, then a man's voice that broke into sobs, broken by desperate pleading. "No-leave me here! Just go on without me. I'll stay out of sight till I can-"

  "Get it over with, Zack!"

  The last words, spoken in the voice of Kel
ryn Dare-wind, cut off the objections, though the sounds of soft sobbing still burbled through the cave.

  Danyal crept forward, to the limits of the rope, and looked toward the entryway. He saw Gnar, the bandit with the broken knee, crawling slowly backward across the ground, while Zack advanced on him with his face split into a menacing leer. In the one-eyed bandit's hand was the gleaming knife.

  "Yer too slow, old Gnar," cackled Zack. "Ya never were good for much, and now with that knee, yer just an anchor holding back the rest of us!"

  "By all the gods, leave me here!" begged the injured man.

  Abruptly Zack thrust. Gnar tried to roll away, but the blade snicked through his throat with a whiplike slice.

  Danyal was horrified to hear the rush of air, the gurgling noise of death as the crippled bandit, his wrapped knee holding his leg unnaturally stiff, thrashed across the ground. Back arching, Gnar's hands scraped to either side for a long moment. Then, with a reflexive shudder, his struggles ceased and he lay still.

  Kelryn Darewind turned away, and his eyes met Danyal's. The youth was frightened by the look he saw there-an expression of deep, unquenched hunger-but he found that he couldn't tear his gaze away. Instead, he imagined the bandit leader attacking, consuming him.

  "His wound was infected," declared Kelryn. "He was doomed, and he was slowing the rest of us down. I merely gave the order to hasten the inevitable."

  Zack was busy cleaning his blade on the dead man's cloak. His one eye gleamed as he cackled at Danyal. "And I am the inevitable!"

  Shrinking back against the wall, Danyal tried to vanish into the shadows. He was startled to realize that he was shaking, and his mind echoed relentlessly with the horrid gulping slurp that had been Gnar's dying sound. Creeping as far back as he could, Dan tried to will himself to disappear. Memories of the bandits' stories, of the murder of Sir Harold, of spitting his baby on a sword, of the awful things they had done to his wife, chilled the lad. He found himself remembering the girl he had heard about and hoped that she was safe.

  Foryth Teel, the lad was not surprised to see, busied himself copying down some notes. The historian had certainly seen the grim scene enacted before them, but his face gave no clue to any distress that he might have been feeling.

  Trying to disappear into his corner, Danyal let his hands settle protectively over his belt buckle. He pulled on his shirt, insuring that the material drooped over the metal bracket. He had left behind his fishing pole and creel when he was captured, and the bandits had taken his knife, but he was determined to keep secret the existence of the silver heirloom.

  Some time later Zack came toward them. Danyal was certain they were going to be killed, but Foryth merely held up his hands, allowing the man to cut the leather thong that had bound the historian to the stake. Hesitantly Danyal did the same, recoiling as the butcher wheezed a waft of putrid breath in his face.

  The lad's tether was cut, and soon he and Foryth were standing, flexing their muscles, allowing circulation to reach into the previously deadened parts of their bodies. Their hands remained tightly bound together at the wrists, but at least they could move around, stretching their legs and working the kinks out of their backs.

  "Hurry up there," snapped Kelryn Darewind, striding farther into the cave to address his two captives. "We've got to get started. It'll take us all night to get to our next shelter, and I want to be inside by the dawn."

  Danyal thought the bandit leader seemed jumpy and anxious; he looked over his shoulder for a moment, then stared intently into the shadows at the edges of the cave.

  "Tsk — it'll take a minute just to be able to move again," Foryth said, limping forward, leaning against the cave wall to help him balance. Kelryn glared at the man, and Danyal had a glimmer of terrible fear.

  "I'll give you a hand," the lad offered, stepping to the historian's other side and taking his arm. Together, still hobbling, they made their way to the entrance of the cave.

  Two of the bandits had already dragged Gnar's corpse away, but the place where he had died was marked by a great smear of blood, and Danyal found his eyes drawn to the place with magnetic inevitability.

  "Lot of blood in a man — or boy, for that matter!" hissed Zack, his breath hot in Danyal's ear as the murderer cackled gleefully.

  "Let's go!" snapped Kelryn, and Zack flipped an angry look at his leader before leading the party out of the cave.

  Fortunately Foryth had restored the feeling to his legs by the time they reached the rutted road. Under the pale light of a half-full Solinari, they started northward again, climbing along the edge of one of the steep-sided valleys that cut into the heights of the Kharolis Mountains.

  For several hours, they marched in grim silence. The bandits seemed surly and suspicious, cursing at the unexpected sound of a clattering stone or softly griping at each other about inconsequential matters. Danyal kept quiet, wishing he could just be forgotten, left to himself in this rugged wilderness.

  Kelryn, who had been leading the band, eventually ambled to the side of the road and waited for the two captives to reach him. He fell into step beside Foryth Teel, regarding the historian with a pensive expression that seemed darkly sinister in the moonlight.

  "I can't help noticing that it seems you have started out on your quest with a rather ill-suited selection of companions and weaponry. What, in fact, do you know of the dangers that might be encountered in these mountains?"

  "Tsk," Foryth replied dismissively. "It is the historian's job to record the details of those dangers where they are discovered. It is not my place to do battle, to change the face of Krynn through actions of my own."

  "Yet you very nearly didn't survive to record that history," replied the bandit. "And you should know that I am not the only thing you need to fear in these heights." "And what other manner of danger might we encounter?" Foryth reached for his book, then, apparently deciding that the complications of writing and walking outweighed the need for immediate accuracy, dropped the tome back into his pack.

  "There's a dragon." Danyal spoke boldly, forgetting himself enough that he wanted to contribute to the conversation.

  "Ah, the squire speaks. And he is correct." Kelryn addressed Foryth Teel. "I assume that you caught sight of the wyrm in the days before our meeting?"

  "No!" Foryth objected. "I would certainly have remembered such an occurrence."

  "Um, you were asleep," Danyal said, giving the historian a nudge with his elbow. "I saw the dragon fly over, but I didn't want to wake you."

  "What?" Foryth scowled at the lad, and for a moment Danyal had a glimpse of what a real squire might feel like after he had displeased his master. "You should always wake me up for a dragon!"

  "Yes, sir. I–I'll make sure I do that," Dan replied, uncertain as to whether the historian was really making a point or simply going along with the youth's story.

  "And was there enough light that you could see the nature of this serpent?" asked Kelryn, turning his own attention to the youth.

  "Yes. It was red-and huge," Danyal said, his voice thickening as he recalled the monster.

  He wanted to say that it had destroyed his village, flown from the sky to bring ruin and death to innocent Waterton. But he dared say no more, or he would risk revealing the charade of his relationship to Foryth Teel, the utterly fictional relationship with its promise of ransom that seemed to be the only thing currently keeping Danyal alive.

  "You felt the awe?"

  The lad nodded mutely, remembering the way his guts had seemed to liquefy in his belly at the sight of the monster, hating the tears that welled in his eyes with the memory. Fortunately Kelryn seemed to take his emotions as nothing more than the normal reaction in one who had encountered such an awe-inspiring beast.

  "I suspect you saw the red dragon known as Flayze," the bandit lord declared. "He is the bane of these mountains, a bully and predator against elf, dwarf, and man. Wicked to the core, he relishes nothing so much as the slow death of one of his enemies, unless it is go
rging himself on a haunch of charred meat."

  "You know him?" Danyal was amazed to hear the man speak of the serpent with such familiarity.

  "Indeed. He has something that I cherish, that I want very much. Yet even more, I have had cause to hate him for many long years."

  "What does he have?" asked the youth, only to recoil as Kelryn's eyes went blank and his face lost every hint of emotion.

  Any thoughts of obtaining further information about that history were blocked by the forbidding expression on Kelryn's face.

  "Always wake me up for a dragon!" Foryth insisted once more, as if distressed that the conversation had proceeded so far without him.

  "Why?" snapped the lad peevishly. "Would you try to kill it?"

  "Of course not!" Foryth was horrified. "Why, such an act would completely shatter any historian's pretense of neutrality! It's hard to think of anything that could be more disruptive of the proper observer's role."

  "Not to mention that killing a dragon is far from an easy thing to do," Kelryn noted. Once again his tone was light, and in spite of himself, Danyal felt a flash of relief that the bandit lord's aloof mood had passed so quickly.

  "How can a dragon be slain?" asked the youth. He had a vague memory of his intentions when he had started up the valley from Waterton. From the vantage of a few days' distance, his goal of killing the monstrous serpent seemed laughably unattainable, not to mention suicidal.

  "The best way has always been to get a bigger, stronger dragon to do it for you," Kelryn said with a bitter laugh. "It's how the Dark Queen was defeated during the last war."

  "But this dragon wasn't killed."

  "No." The bandit lord shook his head seriously, considering his reply. "If you live long enough, you will find that many dragons, wyrms of all the clans of metal and color, still dwell in many of the hidden corners of Ansa-lon."