by Tina Daniel
Finally she spoke. “I could perform tricks like that all day,” boasted Chen’tal Pyrnee, breaking the tension. In spite of herself, she was satisfied by the respectful demeanor of these three unlikely companions. Suddenly she stopped her incessant stirring. “But,” the ugly ogress added, giving Raistlin a placating wink with her purplish eye, “you are in a hurry and have business to conduct. What brings you here to see old Chen’tal? It had better be important, or at least interesting. I don’t entertain dull visitors. Not for long, anyway.” She gave a dissonant cackle.
Raistlin took a step forward, digging into his pack and offering a thick wedge of speckled cheese wrapped in rough white paper. “We brought you a gift,” he said politely.
Reaching out, Chen’tal Pyrnee grabbed the offering and swiftly unwrapped it. Her lone eye gleamed with obvious pleasure as she held the thick wedge of cheese in her gnarled palm. All Flint could think of as he watched her was how hungry he was all of a sudden and what a waste of fine cheese this was. The dwarf hoped the ogress couldn’t hear his stomach rumbling.
Chen’tal Pyrnee plucked at the cheese and stuffed a chunk into her mouth, grotesquely dribbling bits of it as she chewed ferociously. “Mmmm … tasty,” the Oracle said grudgingly. She held her hand up high and let the rest of the cheese plop into the steaming caldron.
Flint gulped with disappointment. Reading his thoughts, Tanis could barely repress a smile.
“Morath remembered how much you like the cheese from town,” Raistlin continued smoothly. “And this”—the young mage held out a pouch tied with a ribbon, obviously stuffed with coins—“is what I brought as payment for the favor we ask of you.”
“Which is?” asked Chen’tal Pyrnee with curiosity, taking the pouch and hefting it in her hand. It jingled, obviously heavy. She didn’t need to empty and count the pouch to know that it was sufficient payment for the services she was usually asked to perform.
“From the Master Mage, I have learned that you possess the key to a portal that could transport us to Ogrebond at the edge of the Blood Sea. Our friends, including my brother, have been taken captive in that part of the world and are held in dire jeopardy. We do not have enough time to journey there by land or sea and are desperate for swifter means of travel. We come to you, trusting that you will appreciate the urgency of our quest.”
The ugly ogress made a reproachful face and wagged a finger at Raistlin. “Morath shouldn’t be telling folks that I have knowledge of a portal. He should know better.”
She lowered her voice conspiratorially and leaned closer to Raistlin, so that their faces were an arm’s length apart. Her mouth twisted, as if she were attempting a rare smile. Her breath smelled worse than any horse’s. The purple eye bulged in its socket. “Portals exist through the benevolence of the Hulderfolk. They are not to be used for purposes of mere expediency. The Hulderfolk set certain conditions. The magic involved is of the highest potency.”
“But do the Hulderfolk truly exist?” interjected Tanis from behind Raistlin. “Are they not simply legend?”
The purple eye swiveled to scrutinize Tanis, who had spoken without thinking. The half-elf braced for some type of abuse from the Oracle, but Chen’tal Pyrnee seemed amused rather than angry at his outburst. “Oh, I should think the Hulderfolk do exist,” the ogress cackled. “There’s no real proof, of course, as there is no real proof of many things. People say the Hulderfolk are invisible during the day and shy at night. Yet I believe they are always with us, watching and waiting. You must live according to what you believe.” She shrugged. “I, for one, believe in the Hulderfolk.”
Here she endeavored another rare smile. Two smiles in one day, probably a record, thought Flint to himself.
The ugly ogress turned back to Raistlin, hefting the money pouch once again. Her smile vanished. With a flick of her hand, she tossed the pouch back in his direction. It landed at his feet.
“A cartload of coins would not be enough for me to tempt the Hulderfolk,” she said flatly. “I would be risking my very existence.”
She leaned toward Raistlin again, speaking softly with her stinking breath. “Magic would raise the stakes. Now, I’m not saying I know the whereabouts of a portal, and I’m not saying I don’t. If I did, it would take a magic artifact to grant your request. No amount of coinage would make the slightest difference. If you had a magic bauble to trade, we might have something to talk about. Being a noteworthy pupil of Morath’s and all, you might happen to have such a bauble. If so, you’d be well advised to barter with it.”
With a smirk, the unpleasant hag resumed stirring the hot, bubbling caldron. She cackled and muttered to herself, her purple eye remaining fixed on Raistlin.
The young mage stood with a wan, defeated expression. He started to say something, then thought better of it. The silence in the room grew oppressive.
“Raistlin!” whispered Tanis, beckoning him to his side. The mage turned to confer with his friend. Flint, who was weary of the ogress, sidled up next to them, listening.
“What about the message bottle from Tasslehoff?” asked Tanis, “That’s a magical artifact, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got it with you, don’t you?” put in Flint.
“Yes,” said Raistlin tersely.
“We have no further use for it,” added Tanis. “She might want it.”
“You don’t understand,” said Raistlin stubbornly.
“I can hear practically every word you are saying!” crowed the ogress. Chen’tal Pyrnee cupped one hand to her ear, bent her head toward them, and cackled. “Practically every word,” she muttered to herself grumpily, stirring the caldron.
The three companions moved away from her and huddled closer together. Raistlin lowered his voice. “The bottle means nothing to me,” the young mage whispered, “but to give it to Chen’tal Pyrnee goes against my teaching. This ogress traffics with whomever will pay her price. In the past, she has allied herself with evil. She may do so again. No magical artifact, however innocent, should fall into her hands.”
“But she already has at least one artifact—the magical key or whatever it is that unlocks the portal,” puzzled Flint. “Therefore, wouldn’t it be acceptable to give her ours in exchange? That way, she’s not really gaining any power.”
“That’s true,” admitted Raistlin hesitantly.
“After all,” added Tanis, “it may be a question of Caramon’s life.”
“Sturm’s, too,” chimed in Flint, “not to mention Tasslehoff.”
Raistlin frowned. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. The mage turned back to Chen’tal Pyrnee, who had been observing the huddle and trying to eavesdrop. Her purplish orb gleamed with interest.
Fumbling in his pack, Raistlin pulled out the message bottle. Immediately Chen’tal Pyrnee grabbed it and held it up in two hands, her hideous face alight with pleasure.
“A message bottle!” she exclaimed. “It’s so pretty! I haven’t seen one for eons! They’re not very practical, however. Each owner can use it only once. But they do come in handy.” Suddenly her brow furrowed. “I hope there’s a good message inside, so I don’t get bored with it in the meantime.”
“If you like kender, you’ll love—” Flint began before Tanis clapped his hand over the dwarf’s mouth.
Chen’tal Pyrnee turned to stare suspiciously at the dwarf, but Raistlin cut in, waving his hand reasurringly. “It’s from a kender on an ocean voyage, and—”
Listening to Raistlin, she nodded excitedly. “Oooh! A kender!” Chen’tal Pyrnee squealed with delight. “I couldn’t be more pleased. They are such diverting creatures. I hired one to clean and sweep for me over seven years ago, but it didn’t work out, because one day … Oh, never mind. It’s a long story—kender stories always are—and as I recall, you’re in a bit of hurry.”
Moving with surprising speed, the ogress bustled over to the large trunk and opened it, with her copious backside carefully screening the interior from her visitors’ view. She rummaged among the conte
nts, noisily shoving things aside, until at last she straightened up and turned around, triumphantly clutching a shimmering black gem dangling from a silver chain.
“Here it is!” the Oracle proclaimed, handing it over to Raistlin. “It is very powerful, so use it wisely.”
“The Amulet of Darkness,” said Raistlin wonderingly, holding it up for the others to see. The gem spun slowly on its chain, catching the pale light in the room.
Flint thought it looked like a lot of other black gemstones he had seen in his life. Tanis could tell that Raistlin recognized it as unique.
“Of course,” Chen’tal Pyrnee added wistfully, “I have never had an opportunity to use it myself, so I can only suggest how best to make use of it.”
“I thought the Amulet of Darkness had been lost forever,” mused Raistlin.
“Lost, perhaps,” said the ogress, “but not forever. Besides, I didn’t say it was the one and only Amulet of Darkness. You did. All I guarantee is that it will take you through the portal to Ogrebond. It will do that, I know. You can call it the Amulet of Mustard Pie, for all I care.”
“How do we release the magic?” asked Raistlin.
Looking around warily, the ugly ogress leaned over and whispered into Raistlin’s ear. The mage nodded, giving a sign to the others that he was satisfied. He pocketed the amulet.
“Where do we find the portal?” asked Tanis.
“Easy enough,” said Chen’tal Pyrnee. She launched into a shrill recital of directions that were so elaborate they left Tanis dizzy. Something about due east, sharp left at dog rock, follow the tree line up to a high precipice, a gusty overhang, and then …
“I know the spot,” said Flint.
The ogress stopped talking and turned her suspicious stare to the dwarf. The other two companions also looked at the dwarf in surprise. “I’ve hiked around these parts for thirty years,” he said proudly. “You can’t name a peak I haven’t climbed or at least seen.”
Tanis looked at Raistlin. “Then let’s go,” the half-elf said eagerly.
“Yes,” Raistlin agreed. He made another slight bow to the Oracle. “Thank you for your help.”
All three of them backed out of the cave, keeping their eyes on the one-eyed hag who was stirring her misty caldron with one hand and, with the other, happily holding the message bottle aloft.
“Thank you for the kender message bottle!” Chen’tal Pyrnee called to them as they retreated from sight. “Good luck with the portal! One never knows about portals. And if you happen to run across that old grump Morath, tell him not to send me any more visitors for at least a decade! I’m all done in!”
Tired and ill-tempered, the three companions made camp only a few short miles from the Oracle’s cave. The strange, smelly ogress hadn’t put any of them in a better mood for the adventure ahead. Tanis collected sticks and fallen branches for a fire, while Flint made a flaxweed broth for supper. Raistlin stayed apart from the half-elf and dwarf, eating placidly, his face drained, his eyes preoccupied as they stared into the dancing tongues of flame.
Finally Flint’s cranky muttering got to the mage. “If you want to turn back, then turn back!” snapped Raistlin. “Both of you! If necessary, I’ll find the portal and go to Ogrebond myself!”
“I didn’t say anything about turning back,” retorted Flint. “I was talking about where we’re heading tomorrow!”
“Flint says it’s a remote ledge at the top of a sheer cliff,” explained Tanis diplomatically. “Very difficult to climb.”
“How far away?” asked Raistlin, having regained his customary composure.
“Not far,” huffed Flint, sipping his brown broth. “That’s not the problem. I can climb it, and probably Tanis. But,” he added, eyeing the young mage’s less than impressive physique, “it may not be, uh, practicable for a fellow in your, uh, condition.”
“How far away?” insisted Raistlin.
“One, maybe two hours only,” said Tanis.
“Good,” said Raistlin.
“How do we know the Oracle told the truth? How do we know there’s a portal up there? How do we know it’s not a waste of our blasted time?” Flint’s voice rose vehemently.
“She told the truth,” muttered Raistlin. “Morath said if Chen’tal Pyrnee chose to bargain, she would bargain fairly.”
“But how do you expect to climb a precarious rock face?”
“Stop worrying about me,” ordered Raistlin, “and get some sleep!”
Snorting angrily, Flint said nothing further. He hauled out his bedroll, lay down on it with his back to the others, and within minutes was snoring loudly. No words were exchanged between Tanis and the young mage during this awkward interlude.
Lunitari and Solinari shone at opposite ends of the sky, rising slowly toward each other, twin paths that at this time of year, late summer, would not intersect. The night was bright with stars at this elevation. The foliage had thinned considerably. The slope was strewn with sculpted rock. The light of the stars and moons revealed sparse, stunted trees rimmed by nearby peaks frosted with shining snow.
The serenity of the night echoed with the furtive sounds of nocturnal creatures. A gentle wind rustled the treetops. Tanis breathed deeply of the pine and earth and crisp mountain air.
He ventured to glance at Raistlin who sat, hands cupped together, still lost in thought, looking so worried and worn that a sharp breeze could knock him over. As Tanis watched, the young mage sighed, stood, and began pacing around the campfire. The half-elf was well aware of Raistlin’s physical limitations, especially compared to his more robust twin. But he also knew that the young mage regularly adventured side by side with Caramon. And on more than one occasion, Tanis had seen a flash of the same fire that animated Raistlin’s half-sister, Kitiara. No, Flint was wrong to underestimate the young mage, Tanis decided, physically or otherwise.
At that moment, Raistlin looked up and met Tanis’s gaze, returning it defiantly.
“What’s really bothering Flint,” offered Tanis gently, “is the idea of the Blood Sea. He knows you’ll make the journey all right. But he himself has a deadly terror of crossing any body of water, dating back to that unfortunate camping trip on the shores of Crystalmir Lake.”
Raistlin gave a low chuckle and sat back down. The weariness of the day’s effort settled on him like a great weight. “Perhaps,” the young mage said softly.
Some months back, Flint and Tasslehoff had arranged an overnight expedition on the far shores of Crystalmir Lake. Caramon and Sturm had come along and spent the day learning hunting and tracking skills from the grizzled dwarf. Tasslehoff tagged along with Raistlin, who busied himself searching for herbs and flowers for his spell components. It was on that day, ironically, that Tasslehoff had told Raistlin about his good friend Asa and the unusual minotaur herbalist from Southern Ergoth Asa had spoken of.
It had been a glorious day, one of their first extended experiences as companions, marred only by an incident on the following morning. Tas had “found” a boat, then persuaded the rest of them to launch it on peaceful Crystalmir Lake. Some distance from shore, Caramon had spotted a large green dart-eel lazing about, and with typical ebullience, he had boasted he could catch it by hand. However, Raistlin’s twin had leaned over too far, and the boat capsized.
Quick thinking by Raistlin led him to bob up underneath the boat in the air pocket entrapped there. Tas and Sturm were good swimmers and succeeded in righting the boat. Flint dove to rescue the burly Caramon, who couldn’t swim and had sunk to the bottom. The long seconds stretched into minutes as the trio waited anxiously. Finally Sturm and Tas jumped in again. Sturm hauled a sputtering Caramon to the surface, and shortly thereafter, Tas came up holding on to Flint’s collar. The half-drowned dwarf, choking and chilled to the bone, vowed that nobody would ever coax him into another boat for the rest of his life.
“Considering what a weak swimmer Flint is,” said Tanis, “it was rather heroic of him to try to save your brother.”
“Heroic a
nd foolish,” grunted Raistlin. But his tone had grown milder. Tanis, his gaze diverted by the rhythmic swaying of the treetops, didn’t notice the young mage as he slumped down on his blanket and wrapped his cloak around himself.
“Yes,” chuckled Tanis. “Heroic and foolish. Two words that go well together.” He gazed up at the beauty of the moons and stars, drinking in the peacefulness of the place. “Flint has mentioned that incident several times,” he mused softly. “It’s engraved on his consciousness. Worst of all, for him, may be the fact that he was rescued by Tasslehoff. Any way you look at it, he owes his life to the kender—at least that time. Repaying that debt might be the only thing that gets him back onto a body of water—even one as accursed as the Blood Sea.”
Tanis paused, his thoughts returning for a moment to Kitiara. A rush of confused emotions swept over him. The half-elf had never been able to bring himself to speak to Raistlin about her. This might be a good time.
“Tell me, Raist,” Tanis began. Then he heard soft breathing, turned, and saw that the young mage was deep in slumber.
He crossed over to Raistlin and dropped an extra blanket on him. The air was turning cold. Tanis sat back down, pulled his own cloak over his shoulders, and sighed. Although they should be in safe territory, he decided that he’d better keep watch for a few hours before catching some sleep himself.
By late morning of the next day, after following a rugged, steep path up the mountain flanks, the companions came to the place that the ogress had described and that Flint knew from his previous journeys. Standing in a narrow ravine, he pointed upward to a cluster of eroded sandstone crags that rose like a fortress high in the sky. At the top of one of them, they could see a shelf of stone that jutted toward the east, where the spectacular configuration was dwarfed by even more imposing mountain ranges.
Flint took the lead, climbing up the sheer rock face, following the line of crooked trees that clung stubbornly to cracks and crevices. Tanis came next, trailed by Raistlin. Each was roped to the other around the waist.
