"You'll have to get your arm out of the sleeve," he said.
"Cut the seams," said Kitiara.
Sturm checked. "The seams are underneath. You'll still have to slip it off."
"All right. Help me up."
As easily as he could, Sturm helped Kitiara to sit up. Her face went pale, and as he tried to loosen the sleeve from her right arm, tears of pain trickled down her face.
"You know, I've never seen you cry before," he said in a low voice.
"Ah! Ah! — what's the matter, didn't you think I could?"
Sturm kept his mouth shut and turned her fur coat. The leather he could cut away, but underneath she still wore her mail shirt. "I'll have to bind you over the mail," he said.
"Yes, yes," she said. Pain made her impatient.
He sat down facing her and carefully lifted her right arm until she could rest it on his shoulder. Sturm wound the lin en bandage over Kitiara's shoulder and under her arm.
"Tight enough?"
Gasp. "Yes."
"I'll leave enough cloth to make a sling," he said sympa thetically.
'Whatever." She lowered her head into her left hand. Her face was flushed.
I thought she'd be stronger than this, Sturm thought, as he wrapped. Surely she's been wounded in battle worse than this! Aloud, he said, "With all your combat experience, you must be an old hand at field dressings. Am I doing this right?"
"I've never been wounded," Kitiara murmured through her hand. "A few cuts and scrapes, that's all."
"You've been lucky." Sturm was amazed.
"I don't let enemies get close enough to hurt me."
Sturm helped her stand. He draped the empty sleeve over
Kitiara's shoulder. The gnomes were energetically debating the nature of Wingover's expanding talent.
— "Obviously, he is seeing a subtle variety of light that nor mal eyes cannot detect," said Cutwood.
"Obvious to any fool," Sighter countered. "The method is this: Wingover is now emitting rays from his eyes that pierce flesh and clothing. The source of his sight must be his own eyes."
"Ahem." interrupted Sturm, "Could you manage this argument while walking? We have a long way to go and a short night to do it in."
"How is the lady?" asked Roperig. "Can she walk?"
"I can run. How about youl" said Kitiara challengingly.
There wasn't much left to salvage from the smashed remains of the sleds. Sturm realized that for the first time the gnomes were going to have to travel light; they had no means left by which to carry their heavy, useless gear. They dithered over what to take and what to abandon. The gnomes were about to adopt Roperig's suggestion that they assign numerical values to each item and then choose a total value of items not to exceed two hundred points per gnome.
"I'm going," Kitiara said shortly. She tried to sling her and
Sturm's bedrolls on her good shoulder. Sturm caught the straps and took both rolls away from her. "I lost the bet," she admitted.
"Don't be a fool," he said. "I'll carry them."
They walked about half a mile and stopped to let the gnomes catch up. How they rattled and jingled! Each gnome had a workshop's worth of tools dangling from his vest and belt.
"I hope we don't have to sneak up on anybody," muttered
Kitiara. The weary but steadfast party formed again and set out for the great obelisk and the Voice that inhabited it.
Ten miles had passed beneath their feet when Cutwood started complaining of a pounding in his head. His col leagues made jokes at his expense until Sturm shushed them.
Rainspot gave Cutwood a cursory examination.
"I see nothing out of the ordinary," he said.
"You needn't shout," Cutwood said, wincing.
Rainspot raised his wispy white eyebrows in surprise.
"Who's shouting?" he asked mildly.
Sighter dropped back behind Cutwood, and when he was out of his sight, snapped his fingers. Cutwood ducked his head and put his hands up to ward off some unseen blow.
"Did you hear that crack of lightning?" he said, his voice wavering.
"Most interesting. Cutwood's hearing has intensified, just as Wingover's vision has," said Sighter.
"Does this mean we're getting more of the power?" won dered Rainspot.
"It would seem so," Sighter said gravely.
"Stop screaming!" begged Cutwood in a whisper.
Roperig quickly made a crude pair of earmuffs for Cut wood out of strips of rattan from his water bottle and a wad of old socks. Ears muffled, Cutwood smiled.
"The pounding is much less now, thank you!"
"Don't mention it," Roperig said in a slightly lower than normal voice. Cutwood beamed and clapped his colleague on the back.
"Do you feel any different?" Sturm asked Kitiara.
"My shoulder still hurts."
"You don't feel any new access of strength?"
She shook her head. "All I feel is a crying need for a mug of Otik's best ale."
Sturm had to smile. It seemed eons since they'd all sat at the inn and enjoyed Otik's brew. It felt as if it would be eons before they could do so again.
At the twelve-mile mark, the gnomes were trailing out in a long line behind Kitiara and Sturm. Their short legs sim ply couldn't maintain the humans' rapid pace. Reluctantly,
Sturm called for a break. The gnomes dropped where they stood, as though felled by a shower of arrows.
The air stirred. Glimmers of roseate light showed in the east — the direction they'd decided was east. "Sunrise," Kiti ara said flatly.
Westward, toward the center of the valley, an answering flicker of light greeted the sunrise. Sighter tried to get his spyglass trained on the source of this second dawn.
Wingover moved over to him.
"It's the obelisk," he said. He squinted into the far dis tance. "I can see a glow surrounding the peak."
Brilliant white streaks — more shooting stars — sprayed across the heavens. A bright, steady glow in the east was soon mimicked in the west. The sun was coming up over the cliffs, yellow and warm; the glow from the obelisk was a stubborn and muddy scarlet.
The rim of the sun broke over the cliffs. There was a clap of thunder, and bolts of red fire snapped from the far-off obelisk toward the surrounding chain of hills. The explorers put their faces to the ground, and all felt a blast of burning as the red beams crackled overhead. Five times the scarlet lightning lashed out, and the resulting thunder pounded the sky with ringing blows. When the sun was fully above the valley walls, the strange storm ceased.
Sturm sat up. The ground around them steamed lightly.
Kitiara struggled to her feet and surveyed the valley by day light. Plants were beginning to emerge from the flaky soil.
Wingover dusted himself off and looked back at the cliff they had sledded down.
"Now I understand how the sides got to be as hard and smooth as glass," he said. "The lightning must hit them ev ery morning."
The gentlest gnome said shakily, "Those were not pluvial discharges." He tried to stand and failed. "The atmosphere is charged with another power."
"Magic." Sturm felt his face harden with distaste as he practically spat the word. Though hardly unexpected, the sudden onset of such enormous magical power left him feel ing vulnerable, exposed — and tainted.
Chapter 19
Cupelix
The vegetation in the valley was much the same as elsewhere on Lunitari, but it grew less thickly and to greater size. The pink spears topped twelve feet in an hour's growth, and the toadstools towered twenty and thirty feet.
One new species the explorers found was a five-foot-wide puffball. After seeing one such puffball explode, sending a shower of javelin-sharp spikes in all directions, the marchers gave them a very wide berth.
The sky seemed brighter, too, and a steady hum filled their ears. Cutwood complained constantly of a loud buzz ing, despite his makeshift earmuffs. Wingover took to shielding his eyes with his hands, just to cut down on
the intense glare he saw everywhere. The other gnomes found their special attributes becoming more and more onerous.
Roperig couldn't touch anything without his hands sticking.
He once accidentally scratched his nose, and it took an hour to free his fingers. Fitter fidgeted about like a hovering hum mingbird, moving with such speed that he seemed little more than a blur. He fell down a lot and continually bumped into other members of the party. Rainspot walked in a perpetual haze — a real fog that clung to his head and shoulders — his own private cloud. Moisture condensed on his face, and his ears and beard dripped nonstop.
Of all the gnomes, only Sighter exhibited no obvious ill effects. But Sturm noticed a subtle change in his expression;
Sighter's usually incisive gaze had given way to a hard smirk, as if he were listening to some lurid tale being whis pered in his ear. Sturm wasn't certain that the world was ready for a logical gnome.
Sturm worried about Kitiara, too. She kept ahead of the others, walking purposefully toward the waiting obelisk.
Her right arm was still slung across her chest, but her left hand, firmly clenched in a fist, rose and fell with each deter mined step. Each strike of her heels left a deep notch in the ground. Sturm wondered how much power she could bear.
He lost sight of Kitiara for a time among the pink spears and spidersticks. "Hello?" he called. "Kit, wait for us." There was no answer but the hive-hum that surrounded them.
Sturm spied Kitiara standing under an enormous toad stool. Pink spores rained lightly over her. Her hand was at her throat, and she was looking at something.
"Kit?" he said, touching her shoulder.
She flinched. "Sturm! I just noticed this." It was Tirolan's gem, the amethyst arrowhead that had turned clear after Kit had used it to free herself from the spell of the goblin rob bers. She held the crystal out for Sturm to see. It was blood red, like a heartsfire ruby.
"When did that happen?" he asked.
"At Rapaldo's palace, I saw that the gem was turning pale pink. The color has deepened since sunrise."
"Get rid of it, Kit. It's a receptacle of magic. It too may be affected by the atmosphere of Lunitari. Nothing good can come of it."
"No!" she said, slipping the gem back under her mail shirt. I intend to keep it. Have you so soon forgotten how
Tirolan helped us?"
"No, I haven't forgotten. But the gem may be filled with a different power now, a power you know nothing about.
Drop it on the ground, Kit, please! If you don't, the conse quences may be horrible."
"I will not!" she said, her dark eyes flashing. "You're a fool, Sturm Brightblade — a frightened little boy. I'm not afraid of power. I welcome it!"
Sturm was about to argue back, but the file of gnomes appeared. He was not willing to provoke a confrontation in front of the little people. There was a thinly veiled rage in
Kitiara, and to push her at this juncture would lead nowhere.
"Wingover says the obelisk should soon be in view for all of us," said Roperig. His right hand was stuck to Fitter's back. The apprentice was running in place, his short legs nearly invisible with motion. Roperig saw Sturm's startled expression and added, "Fit ter's having a hard time standing still. I'm the only one who can keep hold of him."
"How are the rest of you?" Sturm asked. Cutwood and
Wingover, muffled and blindfolded respectively, gallantly waved their good spirits. Rainspot looked sodden and for lorn under his cloud, but avowed that he felt well.
Sighter cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow in a maddeningly superior way. "It is evident that the closer we get to the obelisk, the more intensely the neutral power of
Lunitari infects us," he said.
"Let's push on," said Sturm.
They continued on for about an hour, when they came upon a path, cleared from the strange jungle. And where the cleared path met the horizon, there stood a tall spire — the mysterious obelisk of Lunitari. They were still some ten miles away, but the land sloped downward toward the obe lisk at an easy grade. There were no other features to over shadow it.
"Looks like we're expected," said Sturm.
"The Voice?" Fitter wondered.
"Who else?" Sighter replied. He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. "If I'm right, we're going to meet a very remarkable being. Someone who'll make all the other won ders of Lunitari seem like cheap carnival tricks."
The obelisk grew from a slim red line to a robust tower five hundred feet tall. It had a curiously striped appearance, caused by thin black bands that alternated with the red stone of its walls. The closer the explorers came, the higher the grand tower seemed to thrust into the sky.
Cutwood broke the long silence. He said, "Have you noticed how the plants lean toward the tower?" It was true.
All of them, even the spiny puffballs, were bent so that they faced the great obelisk.
"Like lilies turned to the sun," surmised Kitiara.
They halted fifty yards from the base of the obelisk. The red marble sides were beautifully dressed and squared, unlike the crude masonry of the tree-men's village. The black bands between the courses of marble were mortar of some kind. On ground level, facing the explorers, was an open entrance, a notch cut in the smooth stone. Inside was only darkness. At regular intervals, the obelisk's walls were pierced by long, narrow windows.
"What do we do now?" asked Fitter in a very small voice.
Come closer!
Sturm and Kitiara stepped back, reaching for their weap ons. "Who said that?" called Sturm.
I, the Keeper of the New Lives, said a soothing bass voice within their own heads.
"Where are you?" Kitiara demanded.
In the edifice before you. Come closer.
"We'll stay right here, thank you," said Cutwood.
Ah, you are afraid. Is mortal flesh so dear that you would ignore the opportunity to feast your eyes on a rare and won derful sight, namely myself? That the humans would be afraid I did not doubt, but I expected better of you gnomes.
"We saw a colleague die not long ago, so you'll excuse us if we're a bit cautious," Wingover said.
You require proof of my good will? Behold.
A small shape stirred in the dim doorway. It emerged into the light of day, stopped and waved. It looked like Stutts.
"Gears and sprockets!" Fitter crowed, dashing forward.
Of course, he dragged Roperig with him. Cutwood and
Wingover stumbled after them, while Rainspot wandered over in a fog, with Sighter chuckling at his side.
"Wait," said Sturm. "It could be an illusion."
But it was not an illusion. The gnomes engulfed Stutts, yelling with unrestrained delight. Birdcall and Flash appeared in the door and leaped on the pile of happy gnomes. After a heartily bruising hello, Stutts extricated himself from the press and toddled to Sturm and Kitiara. He shook Sturm's hand solidly and expressed concern for Kiti ara's bandaged shoulder.
"It is you," she said, pinching his ear.
"It is, and I am quite well, thank you. We've been waiting for you all for days."
"What happened to your stutter?" Sturm asked. Suspi cion made him blunt.
"Oh, that! It's gone, you know, poof! The Keeper says it's due to the leveling effect of the magic forces present on Luni tari." Stutts peered behind the humans. "Where's Bell crank?"
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 Ke
eper? 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 hear ing," 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.
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