Tanis the shadow years p2-3

by Barbara Siegel

  Then he realized what was happening.

  "Fistandantilus!" he breathed.

  The evil wizard had promised him death at the hands of those whom he loved most, if the half-elf and Brandella tricked him. From beyond Life, Fistandantilus had somehow brought his threatened spell to bear. And now Tanis's closest companions had come to slay him. Yet he could not possibly consider fighting them when they were mere pawns of the mage's magic.

  He continued to retreat, frantically trying to think of some way to break the spell. Then it came to him: Scowarr! Perhaps more magic remained in the statue; perhaps it could be used to break the spell that held his friends entrapped.

  He turned and ran toward the granite sculpture.

  His six companions continued their slow and steady pace, following him with an inexorable certainty more unnerving than an all-out charge.

  "End the spell!" begged Tanis of Scowarr. "Use your magic to save my friends.-Whatever power was given to the stone of your statue, please use it now!"

  The half-elf turned toward his old friends. They had not stopped their advance. They had spread out with the obvious intention of circling the statue and trapping him there.

  Clotnik, roused by Tanis's pleading to the statue, opened his eyes and tried, blearily, to see what the danger was. The dwarf wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. Perhaps he was delirious, he considered. Not trusting his own senses, he did not speak. Instead, he tried to rise and help Tanis fight this new enemy, not understanding that they were the half-elf's friends.

  The dwarf got as far as his knees before he toppled over. A cry escaped his lips, and Tanis rushed to his side.

  "Stay still," Tanis said, looking back at Sturm and the others. "You'll open your wounds." He would have thrown the dwarf over his shoulder and run, but he knew he wouldn't get far before his friends caught up to them. And with Clotnik in his arms, Tanis wouldn't be free to fight back. Yet even as he thought it through, the half-elf couldn't imagine battling Hint and the others.

  The sharp stab of pain that brought Tanis to Clotnik's aid also brought crystal clarity to the dwarf's mind. While the half-elf hovered over him, Clotnik glanced back at what had so troubled him before.

  'Tanis!" he cried, grabbing him by the front of his tunic. "Am I crazy? Where are the dead sligs?"

  The half-elf looked back. Clotnik was right; the bodies were gone, all except the one that had impaled itself on Scowarr's sword. They had killed seven of the sligs… Tanis finally understood. These weren't his friends who had surrounded him and were coming in for the kill. They were the images of his six companions, gleaned from his own mind. The evil wizard's spell worked through the dead, his only conduit to the living plane. The magic was not as powerful as that which Fistandan- tilus had once possessed, but it was strong enough to destroy Tanis. At least the half-elf knew he could fight these spell creatures. But could he win?

  The Caramon image broke from the circle and, with his head held low, ran deliberately at Tanis, trying to smash him against the base of the statue.

  The half-elf neatly sidestepped the charge, tripping Caramon as he passed. The big man went down hard but quickly jumped back to his feet. Tanis no longer paid any attention to him, though; the Tas image was already on the attack with his hoopak. At the same time, the images of Sturm and Kit came at him from either side, their blades flashing silver in the sunlight. The Flint image was on the other side of the statue, creeping up behind him. Only the image of Raistlin held back.

  Tanis finally reached for his sword, unsheathing it with a flourish. To his amazement, the blade glowed red!

  The magic flowed once again from his sword, through his arm, and into his heart. With a lightning flick of his wrist, he cut Tas's hoopak off just above the would-be kender's hand. In the same motion, he parried Kit's lunge at his stomach and kicked Sturm's blade to one side.

  Because Tanis was off balance from the kick. Caramon easily grabbed him by the hair and threw him into a crushing headlock. The half-elf countered by jabbing the point of his sword into Caramon's foot. The Caramon image immediately let go and tumbled over in pain, falling right next to Clotnik. The dwarf used the only weapon handy. He raised his brass juggling ball over Caramon's head…

  "Don't!" shouted Tanis, unable to separate, even now, that this was not really Caramon.

  Clotnik had no such confusion. He ignored Tanis, smashing Caramon's skull wide open with the brass ball. The image of Raistlin's brother twitched several times in death, then slowly turned back into a slig in front of Clotnik's disbelieving eyes. Except for Tanis's words to Clotnik, it was a peculiar battle, indeed, for there were no commands, shouts, oaths, or cries of pain from the remaining companions. Their images did not speak a single word or make a single sound. There were only the clash of weapons and a deathly, otherworldly silence. Even the breeze in the sunbathed village square had stilled. It was as if the village of Ankatavaka-the dead stones, the weeds, the crumbled buildings-held its breath.

  Clotnik battered Flint's right knee with an expertly thrown gold juggling ball; Mertwig's son was actually doing more damage than the half-elf. Tanis could easily have finished Flint off after Clotnik crippled him, but he looked at the face of his friend and could not bring himself to do it. He let him slip away, only to counter Hint's ferocious attack again a few moments later.

  It was the image of Kit who drew first blood, her blade piercing Tanis in the thigh. It was a minor wound, but it brought home to the half-elf that he could not count on his defensive swordsmanship forever. Even with his enchanted blade, he was not invincible.

  Sturm, Kit, and Tas regrouped as Hint was driven back, then came at Tanis all at once. The half-elf steeled himself, driving their faces from his mind, concentrating on their weapons and their bodies.

  Sturm and Kit made their thrusts at the same moment. Tanis parried them both with one motion, then slashed at Kit's waist. She didn't scream. But he did. He had to turn away as her image crumpled over sideways.

  His reaction left him wide open to Tas, who held a short, curved knife blade in his little hands. Clotnik shouted a warning, and Tanis saw the kender image, its brown topknot swinging just like the original, but it was too late. The blade ripped at Tanis's sword arm. The pain nearly caused Tanis to drop the glowing blade. Grimacing, he flailed with the sword. To his horror, he ran through Tasslehoff Burrfoot. He watched in shock as the kender fell to his knees. Tanis wanted to throw his sword away in shame and self-loathing, but even as he watched, the little kender begart changing into the lifeless form of a slig, four times Tas's size.

  The sword of Sturm Brightblade was upon the half-elf before he'd recovered. Even with the help of his enchanted blade, Tanis was at the Knight's mercy. But a silver juggling ball, toseed by Clotnik, struck Sturm's blade, knocking it askew. Tanis brought his own blade to bear on the Knight's throat, just above the breastplate of his armor. Sturm-at least the image of him-was no more. Tanis felt bile rise in his throat.

  Flint and Raistlin were the only ones left.

  "Fistandantilusl" screamed Tanis, not wanting to kill them, too. "Give it up!"

  "No need to shout," said Raistlin, his face expressionless, his voice the whispery, dead-leaf speech of the long- deceased wizard. "You have an odd assortment of friends, all of them good fighters except for this sickly mage. I easily could have had you killed and brought back to my world, but it seems you have had some magical help. I'll see to that interloper, you can be sure."

  Tanis smiled. "If I were you, I'd stay clear of Kishpa. He just might be too much for you to handle. Besides, he’ll have some help of his own."

  "Who?"

  "A great warrior named Scowarr."

  Fistandantilus made no reply; Flint and Raistlin simply slumped to the ground, their bodies slowly returning to slig form.

  In that same instant, Tanis's sword stopped glowing red. He raised it to the heavens and said, "Kishpa, I'm in your debt."

  He sheathed the sword and wearily made his way
to Clotnik, who sat propped against the base of the statue. "I'm glad that's over," said the dwarf, using one hand to stanch the bleeding from a reopened wound. "I was running out of juggling balls."

  Epilogue

  At the far end of the village sguare, the ancient elf showed himself again, staying at a distance but calling out, "Do you treat all your old friends like that?" Tanis laughed and shouted, "Be glad you're just an acquaintance." Then he waved for him to approach. Tentatively, the old elf made his way in their direction. 'This is the villager you chased earlier," Tanis explained to Clotnik, who nodded exhaustedly. When the elf sat next to Tanis, he patted him on the back, saying, "You remind me of another young fellow who was here about a hundred years ago. Fought alongside him" he said, pointing at the statue of Scowarr.

  Tanis narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but the old elf, amber eyes nostalgic, continued, "That human, Brandella, that you asked me about7"

  "Yes?" said Tanis anxiously.

  The elf's creased face assumed a wise expression. "I remember her. She was a beautiful weaver. My wife had several of her scarves."

  Tanis leaned close to the elf. "Do you remember anything personal about her?"

  The elf paused to think, resting one elbow on a patched trouser leg. "A pleasant girl. Well-liked in the village, even though she was human. Actually," he confided, "I thought she was rather plain-looking, myself. Kishpa thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen." The elf paused to consider, then added, "But of course, he had some human blood."

  "What became of her?" Tanis pressed while Clotnik just looked on.

  The elf, apparently tiring of the conversation, stood and brushed off his trousers. "She just disappeared one day," he said, leaving the impression that he, too, was about to take his leave. "Went off with a stranger. Kishpa went after her, but came back alone." The elf pursed his lips. "He never did say what happened."

  When Clotnik was well enough to travel, he and Tanis left Ankatavaka together, heading east. They did not stay together long. When they reached a crossroads, Clotnik veered off for the closest town to show off his juggling skills. Tanis, however, craved solitude.

  "Farewell," the dwarf said from atop a bullbogg. "We may never meet again." His sad expression deepened.

  Tanis scrutinized his friend, memorizing the emerald eyes, slanted forehead, rounded body, forest-colored clothes. "You can be sure that you will live in my memory," the half-elf said.

  Clotnik rewarded him with a quick smile so like Mertwig's that the half-elf caught his breath. "And you in mine, my friend." Then the dwarf, sitting as straight as one can on a six-legged creature with an impossibly broad back, guided his steed up the path.

  Tanis headed into the mountains near Solace. As he rode, he often read the letter Brandella had written him. It wasn't long, though, before the ancient parchment fell apart in his hands. It didn't matter. He had long since committed it to memory.

  Cool, crisp days and chilly nights stretched out before him as the autumn season broke early in the high country. It was on one of these nights, as he drifted somewhere near sleep, that he thought once again of Kishpa and Brandella, the two of them sharing their great love. And then it hit him, and he sat bolt upright.

  "It wasn't just Brandella whom I saved from Kishpa's memory," he whispered, "but Kishpa himself!"

  He lay back down, smiling. What a master stroke, he thought. What a brilliant conceit. The old mage had contrived not only to save the woman he loved, but to save himself. For in Tanis's memory, Brandella and Kishpa lived together again, at the height of their youthful love, sacrificing what they wanted most in life-each other. What greater gesture of love could there be?

  Tanis recalled their love as Kishpa remembered it. The half-elf knew he could change it all if he chose to. He could imagine that it was he whom Brandella really loved, and over time he could convince himself that this was so. The truth, he knew, was that memories not only fade; they change, become embellished, and are sometimes created out of whole cloth.

  Maybe it never happened the way Kishpa remembered it. But it was a beautiful memory nonetheless. No matter how much he might despair, Tanis would know that a great love could exist-and might, therefore, someday exist for him.

  As fall gave way to winter, Tanis began to brood that eventually, when he died, the story of Kishpa and Brandella would die with him. But there was another way that they might live on.

  Tanis had planned to try his hand at sculpting upon leaving the Inn of the Last Home. Hint's metalsmithing had first sparked his interest, but it was the statue of Scowarr in Ajikatavaka that truly inspired him. There was magic in that stone, and somehow it had come alive. He didn't know if he could fashion such a work, but he felt the passion to try. And he would do it in a way that was bigger than life.

  He began in the winter, in the ice, snow, and freezing cold. He chose a granite mountain peak, painstakingly chiseling away the stone to suggest a face of ineffable beauty, intelligence, and warmth. With longing eyes, she looked across a narrow pass at the second of Tanis's creations: her desperate, headstrong, loving mage.

  He worked on his masterpiece every day for more than fourteen months. By the spring of the following year, he didn't merely tell their story in stone, he toid it in mountains-so that it would last.

  He never left a signature in the stone or told anyone that he'd created it. It was his monument to memory. And imagination.

  Tanis never picked up a chisel again. He left the mountains near Solace and disappeared. His adventures between the finishing of his creation and his rendezvous with the companions at the Inn of the Last Home will, it seems, have to await their own timely telling.

  As for his sculpture, the mountain figures never came to life like the statue of Scowarr, but they did something even grander: They came to life in the minds of the untold thousands who saw them. People trekked from all over Krynn to be inspired by the images.

  In time, a legend grew up about the man and the woman, and about the sculptor who had fashioned them. And this is that legend.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-364d30-2a56-5446-8d86-4590-e960-330141

  Document version: 2

  Document creation date: 19.03.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.39, Fiction Book Designer, Fiction Book Investigator, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.3 software

  Document authors :

  Barbara Siegel

  Scott Siegel

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