Fistanadantilus Reborn ll-2

by Douglas Niles

  "Why don't they rule the world, then?" Danyal couldn't think of any way that a serpent such as Flayze could be stopped, if the monster took it into his head to claim any kind of realm for himself.

  "That's a good question. What does our historian have to say on the matter?"

  Foryth scowled, tsking a few times as he pondered the subject. "The best reason seems to be that they don't want to," he said finally. "Gilean knows that any one of them could wreak a great deal of havoc if it decided to do so. But they fight among themselves all the time-at least, all the time when they're not sleeping. And a big dragon sleeps a lot, sometimes for ten or twenty years at a stretch. Each dragon is more concerned with its own comfort than with other matters."

  "Don't the Knights of Solamnia hold them in check, sort of?" Dan asked. Remembering the gleaming armor, the brawny size, and easy, capable grace of the few such armored horsemen that he had seen, the lad tried to picture a human fighter competing with the massive killing force of a red dragon. Even that picture was scary, as Danyal was forced to conclude that the would-be drag-onslayer would truly be facing a hopeless task.

  Both Kelryn and Foryth were shaking their heads.

  "Bah!" the bandit lord said with a curse. "The knights are old women now, weaklings who are afraid of their own shadows. There are none of the bold lancers left from the days of the war."

  "That is open to debate," the historian disputed. "But you should know, lad, that the tales of a knight on horseback killing a dragon, no matter how courageous he is, how pure his heart and steady his hand, are merely the stuff of legend and fiction. No, a mighty dragon has very little to fear from anything except another mighty dragon."

  "But there has to be some way!" insisted Danyal, so intently that both men turned to regard him with interest. "I mean, it's hard to believe all those stories, all the legends of dragonslayers and heroes and stuff, were just made up," he concluded lamely.

  "Remember the old saying: "Never underestimate the imagination, nor the thirst, of a bard,' " Foryth noted with a benign chuckle. "Most of those tales you're recalling were invented by a traveling minstrel who needed a good tale in order to sing himself a supper and a pitcher or two of fine ale. Such poets and artists should not be confused with the true student of history-that is, the dispassionate historian."

  "Ssst!"

  The warning came from the darkness ahead. Danyal stiffened, watching the hunched figure of Zack slip off the road. The other men of the band, too, shrank into the shadows.

  Then he heard whistling, melodic notes rising through the night air.

  And he knew that the bandits had found another victim.

  CHAPTER 26

  A Heart of Blood and Fire

  circa 374 AC

  Fistandantilus heard the pulse through the ears of his host, and it was closer than it had ever been before. Blood quickened in the incorporeal stuff of his mind, and renewed hunger tingled in his tongue, tantalized his memories.

  The bloodstone!

  Fistandantilus lusted for the touch of that potent artifact, knew that its arcane force would allow him to master-and then destroy-this wretched kender. The wizard's essence churned with vigor as he tried-as he had tried for so many decades-to make his power felt.

  And for the first time in the foggy expanse of his entrapment, he was close to succeeding. At last the bloodstone and his kender host were nearing each other, approaching the connection that would open the way to his freedom and his revenge!

  For a moment, the spirit basked in anticipation of tormented victims, of the blood and the souls and the lives that would be his for the feasting. He was determined that there would be killing enough to satiate the hunger nurtured in this unthinkably long imprisonment.

  But then another power intruded into his arcane awareness. This was a force that disturbed the true linkage between the essence of the wizard and his ancient bloodstone! It was a mysterious presence, a film of gauze that shrouded his control, masked his power, yet at the same time it was a force magical, spiritual, and ghostly. And it fought for the bloodstone with the same vigor and the same sense of proprietary ownership that drove the wizard's own hungry essence.

  He sensed vaguely that this intrusive power was centered near the person of a human, and it was competing with Fistandantilus, powerful enough to block the arch-mage's best hope of success.

  Seething, hateful of this new complication, the wizard sensed that the bloodstone was getting closer still. He heard the pulse as a loud cadence, thumping through his very self.

  It was really, truly near! Now the talisman reached out to him with tendrils of glorious heat, close enough to be almost within his reach. Tingles of power and awareness shivered through the archmage's ethereal being. The cadence of life that had once been a distant suggestion was now a thunderous drumbeat resonating constantly, driving him with insatiable hunger and need.

  But it was a bitter fact that the bloodstone was actually within the reach only of the pathetically directionless kender, the person who had been an unwilling and unwitting host to the spiritual essence of Fistandantilus for more than a century.

  The ghostly spirit writhed and twisted, groping for a tiny snippet of control. But there was still that interference, the force that blocked him, competed for the power of the gemstone. And instead, the essence of evil could only despair as the fiery enchantment of the stone came so close that it all but sang out its message of vitality, of hope, of life itself.

  Then the impending conjunction was shattered beyond restoration, cast aside by the shield he could perceive but not identify. Infuriated, Fistandantilus turned the full power of his attentions toward one of these companions. Quickly he saw that this was a human lad, a person easily distinguished from the faceless mass of humanity.

  This was his enemy, the source of the mask that was a power equal to the ancient one's. The presence, the competing essence fought with him, brushed him aside. Overwhelmed, Fistandantilus felt his awareness slipping away.

  The kender was once again his own master.

  And another person, the human boy, was added to the list of those who had to die.

  CHAPTER 27

  A Whistling Wanderer

  First Kirinor, Reapember

  374 AC

  Danyal watched as the whole group of bandits took shelter in the ditch, while Kelryn seized Foryth and him by the arms and pulled them out of sight behind a boulder beside the mountain road. The slope above them was steep and rocky, while across the way, the ground dropped into infinite blackness. From the remembered view at sunset, the lad knew that the terrain on the other side of the road plunged down a steep incline toward a mountain stream far below.

  He tried to see through the darkness, but Dan could make out nothing of what was approaching along the track. All he could hear was the tuneful whistling, the sound growing slowly louder as they waited.

  "Who do you suppose it is?" Foryth asked, the sound of his voice carrying through the night air.

  "Silence!" hissed Kelryn, pulling the historian farther back from the road.

  Danyal, meanwhile, lowered himself to the ground and peered around the edge of the large rock, seeking some sign of the approaching whistler. He could see the vague shapes of the huddled bandits crouching in the ditch, fading moonlight reflecting dully off exposed steel. The lad remembered Zack's keen blade, the bandit's willingness to wet that razor edge in the blood of seemingly anyone within reach, and he prayed that the unwitting traveler would suddenly turn around, would flee down that dark mountain road.

  The next sounds he heard dashed all those hopes, even as they sent the bandits into consternation.

  "Hi there! What are you doing in that muddy ditch? It's a lot drier up here on the road."

  The eight men of Kelryn's band lunged forward to form a ring around the diminutive traveler Danyal saw in their midst. The thugs growled like wild animals, though their presence didn't seem to startle or worry the lone wanderer.

  "Oh, were you wait
ing for me? That's nice. Pleased to make your acquaintance-Emilo Haversack, at your service. And you are…?"

  "A kender!" declared Zack in disgust, advancing on the unconcerned fellow.

  "Why, yes. Haversack is a kender name, after all-one of the finest, oldest, and most honorable of all the kender clans, if I say so myself. And of course I do, because nobody else will."

  Somehow the kender had passed through the ring of bandits to make his final remarks before Kelryn, Foryth, and Danyal. Though they hadn't emerged from the shelter of the concealing boulder, Danyal realized with vague surprise, the diminutive stranger had somehow wandered right up to them.

  "Emilo Haversack, at your service," he repeated, clasping Danyal's bound hands and pumping enthusiastically.

  "Hey-he got my purse!" shouted one of the bandits, a burly and sullen archer known as Bolt, as the group whirled toward the kender.

  "What? Oh, this?" Emilo was holding a small leather sack, a pouch that jingled as he lifted it. "You must have dropped it. Here!"

  The kender tossed the pouch back to Bolt, but as it sailed through the air, a stream of silvery coins tumbled out, bouncing and rolling across the road.

  "My steel!" roared the bandit, dropping to his knees and trying to sweep together all the coins. Laughing uproariously, the other members of the band joined in the fun, snatching any of their compatriot's coins that rolled out of his reach.

  Danyal watched in amazement as Emilo took Foryth's hands in a vigorous handshake, then bowed deeply to Kelryn Darewind.

  "Anyone could see that you're the esteemed leader of these bold fellows. I'm honored to make your acquaintance. Emilo Haversack, at-"

  "I know," Kelryn interjected drily. "At my service. But how, pray, can a kender offer service? And why should I accept it, if offered?"

  Emilo chuckled good-naturedly. "Both very good questions, of course. Actually, I wouldn't think that you'd get many kender around here. But if there is anything I can do for you, well, I'd be glad to talk about it."

  "Stop that confounded midget!" shouted Bolt, who was still upset about his lost steel pieces. "I'll take each missing coin out of his hide."

  "Well, really," said Emilo in exasperation. "I'm the one who returned your purse. I don't see why you should be taking such an attitude."

  It was then that Danyal noticed his bonds had miraculously fallen from his wrists. Remembering the enthusiastic handshake from the kender, he regarded Emilo Haversack with growing awe.

  And concern. Unmollified, Bolt was advancing on the little fellow. The bandit's short sword was raised, and he was clearly in no mood for fancy explanations.

  "Hey! My purse is missing, too!" Zack's roar of outrage checked Bolt's menacing approach.

  "Is this it?" Emilo was holding up another pouch full of coins. "You should really be a little more careful." Again the purse flew through the air, and again, to cries of outrage and glee, valuable coinage tumbled to the road, bouncing into the ditches, rolling along the ruts.

  Even Kelryn had paused, hand on his sword as he watched in amusement, Danyal noticed. The bandit lord advanced to stand close behind Emilo Haversack and finally put his hands on his hips to laugh aloud at the antics of his followers.

  The lad cast a glance at Foryth and saw the historian looking with amazement at the loose ropes dangling from his own wrists. Dan felt a flickering dawn of hope, but it was quickly dashed. Even free from their bonds, it didn't seem likely that the two of them could evade their captors for long before they would be run down and caught. And he didn't even want to think about the precautions the bandits might take if the pair showed an intention to escape, nor about the vengeance Zack might take if he should recapture his fugitives.

  "Here, let me help with that," Emilo offered genially. He sauntered toward the men, who backed away, each unconsciously revealing the location of his valuables as he placed a hand at belt, side pouch, or, in one case, the top of his boot.

  Ignoring their distress, the kender skipped through the group of suspicious bandits. "Here!" he cried, flipping a steel piece to Bolt. "And another!" This time the glittering coin tumbled past Zack's outstretched hand, bouncing onto the road, then rolling between Bolt's legs.

  "That's mine!"

  "Keep yer paws off it!"

  Immediately the two bandits lunged, colliding heavily, then falling to the ground where they exchanged sharp punches. Rolling back and forth, spitting and swearing, the pair thrashed from one side of the road to the other. Steel flashed in the darkness, and Danyal saw that Zack had drawn his wicked knife.

  "No blades!" Kelryn Darewind's voice cracked through the night, and the one-eyed bandit, cursing loudly, tossed his dagger aside and delivered his fist into Bolt's blunt nose.

  "Hi again!"

  Danyal whirled at the sudden voice, almost falling down as he saw that somehow Emilo Haversack had sauntered around the large boulder and now stood behind the youth and the historian, regarding them curiously.

  "You stirred them up pretty good," Danyal noted, grimacing as Bolt bit down on Zack's wrist, drawing a howl of outrage from his writhing opponent.

  "Yes," the kender agreed, nodding with a certain sense of justified pride. "I'd like to stay and watch, but don't you think we should be going?"

  "Tsk-we're prisoners," Foryth Teel chided. "We're not allowed to-"

  "We're not prisoners right now!" hissed Danyal urgently, seeing a design behind the kender's antics and hoping there was more to the plan than simply running as fast as they could into the night. "He's right. Let's go!"

  "But-"

  "Come on!" Danyal insisted, grabbing Foryth's hand and pulling. The historian reluctantly stumbled along, though he cast a glance at the bandits, almost as if he hoped Kelryn might see them and put a stop to this nonsense about escape.

  For his own part, the lad felt certain their argument and departure would draw the attention of the bandits, but a quick look showed that Kelryn had joined the ring at the edge of the fight, which was building to a climax as Zack tore his bleeding hand from Bolt's mouth and tried to get a stranglehold around the burly man's neck.

  "This way," Emilo said, leading them up the road. "I picked this spot on purpose."

  The sounds of the fight receded in the distance as they sprinted into the night. Danyal was tense and fearful, expecting a shout of alarm at any moment, but if anything the intranecine duel raged with increasing intensity.

  "Here." Emilo Haversack halted quickly, pointing to a niche between two rocks on the downhill side of the road. "Sit down, and you'll be safe."

  "What? How?" demanded Danyal, who thought that the place offered precious little concealment, and even then barely enough for one person.

  Any further objections, however, were overcome by a sound of real alarm down the roadway. Kelryn's voice barked through the chaos. "Find them. Bring them to me!"

  "You go first! I'll follow!" whispered the kender, prodding Foryth toward the place he had indicated.

  With a sigh, the historian stepped off the road-and immediately vanished from sight. Danyal heard an "oof" of alarm, but even that sound swiftly faded into the night.

  "Now you go!" urged the kender. Hearing the sounds of running feet, the lad didn't hesitate. He stepped after Foryth and felt his foot lose purchase on the edge of a slippery, smooth-walled chute. Instantly he was on his back, skidding and sliding over a muddy surface with incredible speed. Only with the greatest of effort did he bite back the shout of alarm that threatened to explode from his mouth.

  Instead, he tried to pay attention, to pick out the features of the hillside before him. A thin trickle of water drained down this smooth ravine, providing lubrication for a plummeting, headlong slide. Danyal had a fearful thought of Foryth coming to a halt below only to be smashed by the lad's uncontrolled plunge. Or what if this gully debouched into a waterfall and dumped them unceremoniously onto a waiting pile of jagged, unforgiving rocks?

  But the slide seemed to continue smoothly for a very long way. Thro
ugh the bouncing and scraping and the rushing of the wind, Dan gradually became aware of another body plunging along the gully behind him, and he guessed-and fervently hoped-that Emilo had accompanied them. He had to pray the Render wouldn't have recommended the route if he didn't have some hope of its success. Still, the lad was far from enjoying the slide as he skidded through a patch of mud, then felt a rough surface of rock scrape him painfully on the back.

  And suddenly he was airborne, floating, falling, certain that he was doomed, yet even then some deep-seated instinct kept him from crying out.

  He smacked into water that was icy cold and deep. The force of the impact knocked the breath from his lungs, but he was immediately stroking for the surface, kicking desperately until his face broke free and he could draw a deep lungful of air.

  Another figure splashed into the water beside him, and only when Emilo popped to the surface, treading water easily, did Danyal hear the churning, choking sounds a short distance away. The two swimmers each grabbed one of Foryth's flailing arms and thrashed through the chilly pool until they could pull the historian onto a sandy bank. All three lay for several minutes, gasping for breath, slowly absorbing the awareness of their changed circumstances.

  Danyal noticed heavy evergreens drooping overhead, and the lad felt certain they were concealed from the road on the mountainside so far above. He waded into the shallow water to look upward and saw the ridgeline, where the road was, silhouetted high against the night sky.

  "My guess is that they'll figure we kept running and chase along that road for a long distance," Emilo explained. "The chute we came down is pretty much invisible at night, though if they're still up there at dawn, they won't have much trouble spotting our trail."

  "Perhaps by dawn, then, we should be somewhere else," Danyal suggested. "And thanks for rescuing us."