Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “Been hitting the dwarf spirits again, eh?” Tas said with sympathy.

  “I’m not drunk!” Dougan returned indignantly. “The guardians! They’re there, between the trees.”

  “There’s nothing but dark shadows between the trees,” Tas observed.

  “That’s them,” Dougan whispered. “Only they are not shadows. They are shadow-wights, fearful warriors of Chaos.”

  “They’re made out of shadows?” Tas asked, impressed.

  “They are made of holes in the fabric of mortal being. You do not look at them, but through them, into their realm, which is the plane of nonexistence. If they touch you, you become as they are: nothing. That is the doom Chaos prepares for this world and every person, every animal, every rock, tree, and plant, every river, stream, and ocean. All, all will be nothing.”

  Tas experienced a sudden hollow, unhappy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought of himself being nothing, of everything around him being nothing, of everyone being nothing … all disappearing into the darkness of oblivion, with no one anywhere ever knowing that it had all once been something.

  “Are … are you sure, Dougan?” Tas asked, gulping and rubbing his hand over his stomach, to try to convince the unhappy feeling to leave.

  “Aye, Laddie. I’m sure. It’s what Himself promised, and he’ll keep that promise. It’ll be all he keeps,” Dougan added ominously.

  “But if we get hold of the Graygem, we can stop him?”

  “I’m thinking so, Lad. Mind you, I’m not sure. It’s just a bit of an idea I had.” He sighed. “It’s the only idea anyone’s had, so far. And so we thought we’d give it a try.”

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Tas said, peering back at the shattered altar beneath which lay the two halves of the Graygem. “We have to get those broken halves away from those shadows?”

  “Shadow-wights,” said Dougan in a low voice.

  “Yes. Well, this shouldn’t be too difficult. I have”—Tas plunked himself down on the ground, began to rummage through his pouches—“this very powerful magical artifact.…”

  “You do?” Dougan squatted on his heels, tried to see into the pouch.

  “Yes, I do. It was given me by my Uncle Trapspringer—”

  “Of course. Who else?” Dougan muttered sourly. “Would that be it now?”

  “No, that’s a dried-up lizard. At least, I think it’s a dried-up lizard …”

  “What about that?”

  “A handkerchief with the initials ‘FB.’ Hmm. Who do I know with the initials FB? Oh, well … No, that’s not it, either. Aha!” Tas cried.

  “Shhhh!” Dougan gestured frantically.

  “Aha!” Tas whispered. “This is it! The Kender Spoon of Turning.”

  Dougan eyed the spoon, snorted in disgust. “It might be of some use, if the shadow-wights all turn into shadow soup, which I don’t think likely.” Getting to his feet, he stomped about in irritation, groaning and tearing at his beard. “Why me? Why is it always me?”

  “This,” said Tas, drawing himself up with dignity, which put him taller than the dwarf, not counting the hat, “is a very famous kender artifact. You watch. You’ll see how it works.”

  Tasslehoff walked out from behind the tree, headed toward the altar, holding out in front of him Dalamar’s silver teaspoon.

  22

  Tasslehoff in trouble.

  Dougan’s plan. The thief.

  as? Where are you?” Palin called out.

  There was no response.

  Every traveler on Krynn, either brave or misguided enough to journey in the company of a kender, knows that while it is nerve-racking to be in the same party with a kender, it is ten times more unnerving to discover that the kender has wandered off on his own. Being quite fond of having adventures, kender have the interesting habit of bringing the adventure back to share with their companions, whether they want it or not.

  Roundly cursing himself for his mistake—though he’d only turned his back on Tas for about five minutes—Palin searched the area and soon discovered the set of small footprints, leading off down the path.

  “Where does this go?” he asked Usha.

  She looked around sadly. “It’s all so different. It’s hard to recognize. I think … Yes, that must be the path leading to the altar the Irda built for the Graygem.”

  “Dear god. That’s where he’s gone, then.” Palin gripped the staff hard, asked a silent prayer, and then, watchful and wary, he and Usha followed Tas.

  What remained of the fire-ravaged trees lined the pathway: burned stumps, cremated limbs, ashes. It began to seem to Palin as if there were only three colors in the world: char black, ash gray, and the fire red of the sky.

  “Are we close to it?” Palin asked.

  “We must be! It wasn’t far.” Usha said. She was silent a moment, searching, then she pointed. “There! The seven pines …”

  The massive trees, once proud guardians, stood damned and blasted, skeletal warriors forever constrained to watch over the object that had brought about their doom. In the center of the dead grove lay a pile of wood. Palin caught the slightest glint of what might have been light reflecting off the facet of a gemstone. But then a shadow passed between him and the trees.

  Palin cringed, froze in fear, the way a rabbit freezes to the ground when the shadow of the hawk’s wings flows across its back. The fear passed, almost immediately. The shadow flitted across the woodpile, obliterating it from sight, and disappeared among the dead trees. He could see again that faint sparkle of light.

  Despite the heat of the merciless sun, Palin shivered, drew his robes more closely around him. He was puzzling over the strange sensation of fear, was about to ask Usha if she had experienced a similar feeling, but she was staring off in a different direction.

  “Look, Palin!” Usha said. “Isn’t that Dougan?”

  “Yes. Where’s Tas, I wonder?”

  They spoke softly, but the sound must have carried. The dwarf pivoted, peered around. Catching sight of them, he began to make frantic hand motions.

  “Come quickly!” he mouthed, alternately waving his hands and wringing them. “Quiet! Quiet!” he cautioned. “But quickly!”

  Having a sick feeling that this urgency had something to do with Tasslehoff, Palin hurried forward, moving as silently as he could through the ashes and fallen logs. He had the distinct and uneasy impression that something was watching him.

  “Dougan!” Palin said softly, approaching the distraught dwarf. “Have you seen Tas—”

  Dougan answered by directing Palin’s attention toward the dead grove.

  Palin shifted his gaze, was alarmed to see the kender heading straight into the pines.

  “Tas! Tas, come back here!” Palin started to follow him.

  Dougan caught hold of the sleeve of Palin’s robe, held on with a deathlike grip. “Don’t go after him, Lad,” the dwarf warned in a deep, grim voice. “There’s nothing you can do. I tried to stop him …” Dougan’s shoulders slumped. He bowed his head, shook it, and groaned.

  Palin stared at the kender.

  “What in the name of all that is holy is he doing?”

  Tasslehoff was slowly advancing toward the pine grove, moving at a funereal pace, walking with measured tread, solemn mien. He held something shining in his hand.

  “A spoon?” Palin said, bewildered. “What’s he doing with a spoon?”

  “The Kender Spoon of Turning or some such thing,” Dougan muttered.

  “Yes, I remember! From the tower.” Palin swore softly in frustration. “Damn it, he didn’t realize … that was all my uncle’s doing. Where’s he going?”

  “To try to recover the Graygem.” Dougan gave another great groan, tore at his beard. “It’s there, under what’s left of the altar. Don’t go after him, I tell you, Laddie! He’s walking into terrible danger. Did you see … something like a bit of shade … gliding from out the trees?”

  “Yes,” said Palin, shivering again at the recollecti
on. “What—”

  “Shadow-wights, Laddie,” Dougan said in low, dread tones, “creatures of Chaos. They’ll draw you into oblivion, first your soul, then your body. You will vanish as if you had never been.”

  “I felt their touch,” Palin said softly, “though I didn’t understand what it was.”

  “I don’t think you understand yet, Lad,” Dougan said grimly. “When I say you will vanish as if you had never been, I mean just that! Your memory will vanish from the minds of all who knew you. Your mother will forget she ever bore a son. Your father will not recognize your name. Those who love you will not mourn for you, not pray for you, never think back on you with loving thoughts. It will be as if you had never been!

  “This is what Himself plans for all the world. We gods will forget all we created, then we will die, and Creation will forget us. And then the stars themselves will forget.”

  “Palin, I think they’ve seen him,” Usha said urgently. “He’s getting too close!”

  “How, Dougan?” Palin rounded on the dwarf. “How can we stop them?”

  “The Graygem!” Dougan had worriedly twisted his beard into knots. “We must have the Graygem!”

  “But how do we get it if those creatures have it surrounded?”

  Tas was drawing closer. The shadows had begun to move.

  “Tas!” Palin risked a low call. “Tas, come back!”

  But the kender didn’t hear because, at that moment, he began to speak.

  “Out of my way, you soul-sucking scum! Leave now, lest I unleash the lethal power of my ancestor’s tableware! Leave now, lest I use this spoon to scoop out your shadowy innards!”

  “Tas!” Usha raised her voice. “Tas, please! Come—”

  “Hush!” Dougan clutched at her, nearly knocked her down. “Look! Look! They’re coming for him!”

  Darkest, deepest, blackest night glided out from beneath the charred pines. All light, all sound, all color, all movement, all hope was sucked into that fathomless darkness, never to find the way out. Four of the awful formless shapes converged, began slipping over the ground, moving toward the kender. The shadow-wights blotted out the sun, the trees, the sky, the ground.

  “Lad, Lassie! Look!” Dougan whispered in a state of high excitement. “They’ve left the Graygem unguarded!”

  Palin had difficulty seeing the altar, had trouble even remembering where it was. Behind the shadow-wights, nothing existed. When they moved, objects reemerged, looking as if they had just at that moment sprung into existence.

  “Fool kender! I’m going after him,” Palin said. He ran over his catalog of spells in his mind, wondering which—if any—might destroy the shadow-wights.

  “I’m going with you,” Usha announced.

  “No.” Palin shook his head. “You stay here with—”

  “You go after the Graygem, Lassie,” Dougan interrupted, his black eyes gleaming with cunning. “You could nip in there and swipe it before those creatures ever knew it was gone. You’ve been trained to the art, Lass. I’ve seen your work.… Nine-Fingers says you’re one of the best … No time for questions now, Lass. Can you lay hold of the gem?”

  “Would that stop the shadow-wights?” Usha asked.

  “Aye, Lassie. Aye, it might,” Dougan said. “At least,” he added, “it can’t hurt.”

  “Turn me into nothing, will you?” Tasslehoff’s voice rose shrilly, though it quavered a bit, as the shadow-wights drew nearer. “Well you can take your nothingness and put it where the sun don’t shine—”

  “Now, Lass!” Dougan urged.

  Usha dropped her pack on the ground, to leave her hands free. Ignoring Palin’s protests, she gave him a swift kiss on the cheek, patted his arm, and—slipping out of his grasp—sped off with silent tread through the trees.

  Palin eyed Dougan grimly. “You’re a god—supposedly. Why don’t you do something?”

  Dougan appeared no end astonished. “I am, Lad! I am! It was my idea to send the girl after the gem, wasn’t it?”

  “I mean against those creatures!” Palin waved his hand at the shadow-wights.

  “Ah, Lad,” Dougan said softly, “they are formed of the same stuff I am. They are god-beings, same as me. And though I am immortal on your plane, I am not on theirs, if you take my meaning. And what would happen to the world if they destroyed me, Lad?”

  “I don’t know,” Palin said coldly. “Perhaps you’d care to place a wager on that?”

  Dougan scratched at his beard. “I think you’d better go now, Lad. Your kender friend appears to be in a bit of trouble.”

  “If anything happens to either him or Usha, by Paladine, I’ll make you regret it!” Palin promised.

  “Shirak.” He commanded the staff to light, hurried forward toward the seven pines, toward Tasslehoff.

  The kender was about halfway there. The shadow-wights were lined up in front of him, leaving the Graygem unguarded.

  A kender’s taunting could unhinge the most easygoing person, drive him to commit murder and mayhem. But had Tas’s insults truly provoked the shadow-wights into leaving their post? Palin had the uneasy feeling that this was not the case. He considered it far more likely that the otherworldly creatures had small interest in guarding the Graygem. They had only one objective, and that was destruction.

  But if they noticed Usha trying to take the Graygem, they would turn on her fast enough. Palin watched her out the corner of his eye, afraid to look at her directly, lest the shadow-wights follow his line of sight and discover her. She slipped with silent ease through the burned wreckage of the forest.

  At least, for the moment, she was safe. The shadow-wights were completely focused on Tasslehoff. And in a short time, they would have another subject—Palin.

  He was too preoccupied to be afraid. He had to form a plan that would rescue Tas, at the same time keeping the creatures’ attention from Graygem, and—hopefully—end up by getting them all out of this alive.

  He considered his catalog of spells. It seemed logical to him that since the shadow-wights were creatures of darkness they might be sensitive to light, could be either destroyed by light or at least intimidated. The Staff of Magius shed its own radiant glow on Palin. He reached into his component pouch, removed a small ball of bat guano, rolled in sulfur, and—concentrating his thoughts—brought the words of the magical fireball to mind.

  Keep your mind on the plunder, Lynched Geoffrey would say. Touch it, hold it, make it yours in your heart before it’s yours in the hand.

  Which meant, don’t let anything distract you, turn you from your objective. Think about the Graygem, think about how you want it! Don’t think about Palin; don’t think about Tas. Don’t think about those terrible creatures, who will try to destroy you … The Graygem, the Graygem … That’s all and everything.

  Usha watched the shadow-wights slowly drawing nearer the kender. Tas sounded far less sure of himself; his voice faltered now and then, his steps slowed, the spoon—which he had formerly presented so boldly—wavered in his hand.

  “I’m not afraid!” Tas cried out. “I’m … I’m annoyed! You’re really starting to get on my nerves. So … just back off! I—” His voice changed, sounded strangled. “Stop … you stop that! What do you think you’re doing? … Quit looking like me … !”

  Tasslehoff was wild-eyed, staring as if he saw something terrible beyond belief before him.

  Palin strode out from among the trees. The crystal atop the Staff of Magius shone with a white, vibrant light.

  “The gem, girl!” Dougan’s voice came to her. “That’s the only way you can help them! Get the gem!”

  She tore her gaze from Palin and Tas, refocused on her objective, as she had been taught.

  Entering the ring of seven dead pines, she slipped through their unseeing guard. The woodpile that had once been the altar stood in the center. Now that she was close, she could see the terrible destruction. Some gigantic hand, working in rage and fury, had pummeled the once- beautiful, hand-polished, rune-covered wo
od to splinters.

  Usha had a sudden poignant memory of the Irda building this altar, of them working long hours with their tools and their magic, carving, smoothing, sanding, planing, weaving their spells into the wood, spells that would hold the Graygem fast.

  Prot had not approved. Prot had been opposed to the plan from the beginning. She remembered him watching, remembered his foreboding.

  “You were right, dear friend, dear father,” Usha whispered, her tears gathering, threatening to blind her.

  “The gem, girl! The gem!”

  Usha blinked back her grief. The altar was a dead thing now. The Irda were dead. She couldn’t bring them back. But she could try to undo the mischief they had done.

  The Graygem, which had once shone with its own eerie gray light, lay in two pieces on the ground, partially buried by the splintered wood. The gem was split in two, like a cracked walnut shell. The inside of the gem was hollow, as though some insidious worm had been gnawing away at it for long, long years.

  Even broken, the gem enthralled, fascinated. It was so beautiful it was ugly, so large it was small, so shiny it was dull, so hard it was soft. Usha stretched out her hands to it, touched it, lifted it. The gem weighed nothing, yet she was conscious of a great weight. The innumerable facets were sharp, cutting, soft. The gem was cold to the touch, burning cold.

  She was about to slip the Graygem triumphantly into her pouch when a fear-rimed cry chilled her soul.

  Palin stood in front of Tasslehoff. The staff’s light still shone, but it was fading, dimming. The shadow-wights were closing in. Already, she could see very little of Tas—only the very tip of his topknot. She could see Palin’s shoulders and his face.

  And on his face, the same expression of wild-eyed, staring horror that had overcome even the fear-immune kender.

  23

  I am not nothing!

  alin was coming up on Tas. The kender had ceased to taunt his foes. It seemed that Tas was attempting to bolster up his own courage—unheard of, for a kender.

  “I’m not afraid!” Tas cried out. “I’m … I’m annoyed! You’re really starting to get on my nerves. So … just back off! I—” His voice changed, sounded strangled. “Stop … you stop that! What do you think you’re doing? Quit looking like me!”