The wizards believed that Caramon would never permit Palin to take the Test, a grueling ordeal that all wizards must pass before they can advance in their arcane art. The Test leaves none unscathed, none unaltered. Caramon would not risk losing his beloved son, as he had once lost a beloved brother. The wizards feared that Caramon’s over-protective love would cause Palin to rebel outright, perhaps turn to evil, as had his uncle. The wizards took the matter out of Caramon’s hands, had tricked both him and Palin.
In his Test, Palin believed that he had entered the Abyss, had there found his uncle being tortured by the Dark Queen. He had freed his uncle, led him back through the Portal, only to discover that Raistlin planned to leave the Portal open to permit the Dark Queen entrance. In return, she would give Raistlin rulership of the world.
Raistlin offered to make Palin his heir, if only Palin would turn to evil, would assume the black robes. Palin had refused and had been prepared to sacrifice himself in order to prevent his uncle from succeeding. It was then he had discovered that everything—his uncle, the Portal, the Abyss—had been part of his Test. None of it had been real.
Or had it?
Palin could still hear Raistlin’s words.
I have trimmed my ambition. No longer will I strive to be a god. I will be content with the world.… This will be my gift to the Dark Queen, to prove my loyalty—admittance to the world. And the world will be her gift to me. Here she will rule and I … I will serve.
So his uncle had said. But had it really been his uncle? Dalamar claimed that the image of Raistlin had been nothing more than illusion. The Raistlin Palin had met had been a Raistlin of Dalamar’s creation.
But the Staff of Magius, held fast in Palin’s hand, was certainly not an illusion.
“We’d better hurry,” Palin said abruptly. “It is near midnight.”
Steel was patting the dragon on the neck, exchanging a few soft words. Palin caught the phrase, “Dargaard Keep,” guessed that was where Flare would be hiding out. Lord Soth, the dread death knight, ruled that place still. Soth had once been a Knight of Solamnia. Forbidden love for an elfmaid had driven him to break his knightly vows, led him to commit murder. The gods’ curse was on him. He would never die, but lived forever in bitter torment, hating the living, envying them. He was loyal to the Dark Queen and her cause. No mortal dared venture within a hundred leagues of his accursed castle. And, according to legend, the soul of Steel’s dead mother was constrained to remain in Dargaard Keep with the knight. The blue dragon would be safe there, amidst such dark company.
Numerous fishing shanties dotted the beach. Either they were uninhabited or their occupants had long since gone to bed. Palin kept uneasy watch on them, fearful that someone would wake.
“Hurry,” he repeated, nervously. “I thought I heard something.”
“Don’t worry, Majere.” Steel displayed the skull-handled dagger. “If anyone sees us, I’ll shut his eyes permanently.”
“No killing, for gods’ sake!” Palin protested. “I have a sleep spell memorized. I’ll use that if we’re discovered.”
“Sleep spell.” Steel snorted in derision. “Will that work on the undead guardians of the Shoikan Grove, do you think?”
“It will probably do about as much good as your dagger,” Palin returned crossly, not liking the reminder. The glimpse of the Shoikan Grove, seen from the air, had shaken him.
Steel said nothing more. The knight’s eyes glinted with what may have been amusement. He returned the dagger to his boot.
Flare used her powerful hind legs to propel her off the sandy ground. She leapt into the air, spread her wings, caught the meager sea breeze blowing from the ocean, and soared into the sky.
Palin watched the dragon leave with a certain amount of regret. He and Steel were on their own now, and the two of them seemed terribly inadequate.
“Coming, Majere?” Steel asked. “You were the one in such a hurry.”
They found a small fishing boat that had been beached on the shore. Steel loaded the supplies into the boat, pushed it out into the water. He held it near shore long enough for Palin—hampered by his robes—to climb in, then Steel towed the boat into the water, splashing into the waves up to his knees, before climbing on board himself.
He took hold of the oars, slid them into the water, and silently, stealthily, rowed the boat toward the harbor.
“There’s a lantern in the bottom. Light it,” he ordered Palin. “We don’t want to look suspicious.”
The other, larger ships in the harbor had lanterns hung out, in order to keep other boats from ramming into them. Palin did as he was told, using tinder and flint he found in the prow. As he worked, it struck him as odd that there should be a lantern on board this small fishing boat and, if so, how Steel had known it would be there. In fact, how had Steel known the boat would be there? Perhaps the fishermen used the light for night fishing or smuggling—a far more lucrative trade than fishing these days.
Palin held the lantern aloft as Steel propelled the boat forward; the mage made certain he kept the light from shining on the dark knight’s armor.
The night was still and hot. They lost the sea breeze almost the minute they entered the shelter of the harbor. Palin was bathed in sweat. Steel must be in far more discomfort, for he kept his cloak on over his breastplate and other accoutrements underneath. Palin, glancing back as they passed very near a tall, three-masted, minotaur ship, saw the knight’s face glistening with perspiration. His black hair was wet, curling about his temples.
He made no complaint, but plied the oars with an effortless strength and skill Palin envied. His own arms ached, just watching.
A gruff voice from the minotaur ship hailed them. Looking up, Palin saw a horned head, outlined against the stars.
“Avast there, you lubbers! Keep clear! Put a hole in my ship and I’ll plug it with your miserable bodies!”
“Drunk,” Steel observed. “We’re nowhere near him.”
But Palin noticed that the knight leaned on the oars, sent their boat skimming rapidly across the dark water. Palin waved the lantern in apology, received a parting curse in response.
“Douse the light!” Steel ordered when they were near the docks.
Palin did so, blowing the lantern out with a puff of breath.
Steel stopped his rowing, let the boat glide forward of its own momentum, helped along by the incoming tide. Occasionally, he dipped an oar in the water to correct the direction. Reaching the docks, he caught hold of one of the supporting poles, held on as the boat veered around, nearly sliding under the dock.
“Get out!” he ordered.
Palin searched for the dock’s ladder, found it. He was going to have to stand up in a small, rocking boat, grasp the ladder, haul himself up. He looked down into the inky black water that gurgled and lapped against the poles.
“What about my staff?” he demanded, turning to face Steel. “I can’t carry it with me.”
“I’ll hand it to you!” Steel said, gripping the post with both hands, fighting the tide that was attempting to carry the boat into shore.
“No …” Palin clung to the staff.
“Then ask it to follow you up there on its own! Hurry up, Majere! I can’t hold on much longer!”
Palin hesitated, not out of fear, but out of concern for leaving his valued staff behind.
Steel made a hissing sound, cast the young mage a furious glance. “Now, damn you!”
Palin had no choice. He had to trust, as Steel had intimated, that the staff would take care of itself. Laying the staff gently upon the seat, he rose to his feet, struggled to maintain his balance. Steel managed, by sheer force of strength alone, to swing the boat close to the dock. Palin flung himself at the ladder, caught hold of it, and clung to it in terror as the boat slid out from under him.
His feet scrabbled for purchase, found the last rung. With a gasp of relief, he climbed, tripping over his robes, but making it safely to the top. Immediately, he turned, leaned over to ret
rieve his staff.
He saw, with horror, that it wasn’t there.
“What have you done with my staff?” he cried, forgetting, in his fear and outrage, that they were supposed to be quiet.
“Shut up!” Steel said through clenched teeth. “I haven’t done anything with it! One minute it was there and the next it wasn’t!”
Palin, panic-stricken, his heart constricting in pain, was on the point of throwing himself into the filthy, murky water when, putting his hand down on the dock, he felt his fingers close over warm, smooth wood.
The Staff of Magius lay at his side.
Palin gasped, almost dizzy with relief.
“Never mind,” he whispered shamefacedly to Steel. “I’ve found it.”
“Praise Her Dark Majesty!” Steel muttered.
Standing up in the boat, he caught hold of the ladder and—despite being burdened by his armor and his weapons—swung himself up with graceful ease. The boat drifted away.
Steel stood on the dock, but almost immediately crouched behind a large barrel, pulled Palin down with him.
“What?” Palin whispered.
“Patrol going by,” Steel whispered back. “They can see us against the boat lights.”
Palin couldn’t see them, but—now that the knight had drawn his attention—he could hear the tramp of booted feet. Palin and Steel remained hunched on the dock, hiding behind the barrel, until the sound had faded into the distance.
Rising, Steel strode forward swiftly but silently, padding soft-footed along the dock. Palin marveled that the knight could move so quietly. Any other warrior Palin had ever known would have jangled and clanked, his sword thumping against his thigh, his armor rattling or squeaking. Steel was as silent as the darkness itself.
Palin pictured legions of such knights, marching noiselessly across Ansalon, conquering, enslaving, killing.
And here I am, he realized, suddenly appalled at himself, allied with one of them, my sworn enemy, one of those responsible for killing my brothers. And I’m taking him to the one place where the Dark Queen’s knights will probably be able to enhance their power! What am I doing? Have I gone mad? I should cry out to the guards now! Denounce him! Turn him over to them.
No!—came the voice—We need him, you and I. You will need his sword to win your way through the grove. You will need him inside the tower. Once he’s brought you safely that far, then you can be free of him.
This isn’t right, Palin said to himself, but the warnings of his conscience weren’t nearly as loud as his uncle’s voice, so he was able to ignore them. Besides, Palin reflected wryly, I did give Steel my word. And after I made such an issue of that with my father, I can’t very well go back on it now.
Having squared matters with his conscience—or at least rationalized his way out—he gripped the staff tightly and hastened on.
Steel was headed in the direction of the Old City wall. He took long, rapid strides, and Palin, hampered by his wet robes flapping around his ankles, had to walk swiftly to keep up. The guard posts showed clearly, well lit. The patrols’ voices carried in the still, night air. Palin had a dozen glib lies prepared in order to get them through the wall and into the city. Unfortunately, none sounded the least bit convincing. He studied the wall anxiously, thinking that they could find some dark, unguarded spot, climb over it.
Iron spikes, spaced about a hand’s-breadth apart along the top, ruled out that idea.
Palin was just wondering if there was family resemblance enough between himself and his cousin to convince the gate guard that they were brothers, when he noticed that they were no longer walking in the direction of the main gate. Steel had veered to his right, to a collection of ramshackle buildings huddled beneath the wall.
It was extremely dark in this section; the wall’s shadow blocked the moonlight, and a large ship, docked nearby, cut off the ships’ light from the harbor. An ideal place for smugglers to hide, Palin thought uneasily, and he jumped, his heart lurching, when he felt Steel’s hand touch his arm. The knight drew Palin into the darker shadows of an alley.
Despite the fact that it was so dark Palin couldn’t see his nose on his face—an old kender expression—his nose told him precisely where he was.
“Fishmongers!” he said softly. “Why—”
Steel’s hand on Palin’s arm tightened its grip, warning him to be silent.
A patrol tramped by, marching slowly through this section, peering down the alleys. Steel pressed himself back against the wall of the building. Palin did the same. The guards were making a thorough investigation, evidently sharing Palin’s belief that this was an ideal hideout. One actually started to venture into the alley. Palin felt Steel’s hand slide away, guessed that the hand was now grasping the hilt of the dagger.
Uncertain whether to stop Steel or help him, Palin waited tensely to be discovered.
A scuffling sound, some distance away, caught the guards’ attention. The captain called off his man and the patrol hastened down the docks.
“We’ve got one!”
“Where?”
“I can see him! There he is!” cried one of the guards.
Boots thumped on the docks; truncheons whacked. A shrill scream echoed over the water. Palin stirred uneasily; that scream didn’t sound like a vicious smuggler to him.
Steel grunted at Palin. “Don’t move. It’s not our concern.”
One of the guards yelped. “Damn! He bit me!”
There came the sound of more whacking. The scream dissolved into sniveling.
“No hurt! No hurt! Me not do nothing bad! Hunt rats. Fat rats! Juicy rats!”
“Gully dwarf,” pronounced one of the guards in tones of deep disgust.
“He bit me, sir!” repeated the guard, now sounding truly worried. “I feel sick.”
“Should we run him in, sir?” asked another.
“Take a look in that sack he’s carrying,” ordered the captain.
There seemed some reluctance to obey this command, because the captain was forced to repeat it several times. Finally, one man apparently did. They could hear him retching.
“Rats all right, sir,” said another. “Dead or dying.”
“I give you all rats!” said the sniveling voice. “You take all, General, Your Worshipfulness! Make fine supper. Don’t hurt poor Slug. Don’t hurt.”
“Leave the wretch alone,” said the captain. “If we take him in, they’ll only have to delouse the jail again. He’s no smuggler, that’s for sure. Come along, Lieutenant. You’re not going to die of a gully dwarf bite.”
“You don’t know that, sir.” The man whimpered. “I heard tell of a man who did. Right awful, it was, sir. He foamed at the mouth and his jaws locked together and—”
“We’ll take you to Paladine’s temple,” the captain said. “Two of you men go with him. Sergeant Grubb, come with me.”
The patrol marched off for the main gate. When the guards were safely out of earshot, Steel left the alley, moving so suddenly that Palin had to jump to keep up.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
Steel made no reply. He walked straight toward the sound of snuffling. Reaching into the darkness, the knight plucked forth a wriggling, disreputable figure that smelled only slightly worse than the alley in which it was hiding.
“Help! Help! Murderers! Robbers! No hit! No hit!” begged the gully dwarf. “You want rats? Me give …”
“Shut up,” said Steel, shaking the gully dwarf until he couldn’t whine for his teeth rattling. “Quit screeching. I’m not going to hurt you. I need some information. Which shop is One-eyed Kate’s?”
The gully dwarf went limp in the knight’s grasp. “Me know,” he said cunningly. “What it worth?”
“How about your miserable life?” Steel said, shaking the creature again.
Palin intervened. “You won’t get anything out of him that way.” He rummaged in one of his pouches. “Why are we going to a fishmonger’s?” he asked in a low voice. “Unless you’ve got
a sudden craving for halibut …”
“I have my reasons, Majere. And you’re wasting time,” Steel said impatiently.
“Here,” said Palin, pulling out a coin and handing it to the gully dwarf. “Take this.”
The gully dwarf snatched it, peered at it through the darkness. “Copper?” He sniffed. “Me want steel.”
Palin handed over another coin hurriedly. He had heard the knight suck in an exasperated breath. “Now, where is this One-eyed … what was the name?”
“Kate,” Steel said, grinding the word with his teeth.
“Two shops down,” said the gully dwarf. “No more than two.”
Palin sighed. “That could mean anything from two to twenty. What does the shop look like?”
“Big fish on sign. Only got one eye.”
The gully dwarf practically poked out his own eye, trying to get a good look at his prize. He was apparently satisfied, for he stuffed the coins in a shabby pocket and suddenly ran off, probably fearful Palin might have second thoughts and take the money back.
Steel started walking along the docks. “I need light. I can’t see a damn thing. A pity we didn’t bring that lantern.”
“What about the guards?” Palin asked.
“They won’t be able to see us. Their view is blocked by that big ship. Not that it matters—”
“Shirak,” Palin said.
The crystal, clutched by a dragon’s claw atop the Staff of Magius, began to glow with a soft radiance. Steel gave Palin an approving glance.
“Well done, Majere.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Palin said, with a return of his bitterness. “The staff does it all by itself. I’m not even certain how the spell works.” He held the staff up and shone the light on the signs of the shops they were passing.
Dragons of Summer Flame Page 23
