“ ‘ “Take this message to your Dragon Highlord. Palanthas has lived in peace and beauty for many centuries. But we will buy neither peace nor beauty at the price of our freedom.”
“ ‘ “Then buy it at the price of your lives!” Lord Soth shouted. Out of the air, seemingly, materialized his legions—thirteen skeletal warriors, riding upon horses with eyes and hooves of flame, took their places behind him. And, behind them, standing in chariots made of human bone pulled by wyvern, appeared banshees—the spirits of those elven women constrained by the gods to serve Soth. They held swords of ice in their hands, to hear their wailing cry alone meant death.
“ ‘Raising a hand made visible only by the glove of chain steel he wore upon it, Lord Soth pointed at the gate of the city that stood closed, barring his way. He spoke a word of magic and, at that word, a dreadful cold swept over all who watched, freezing the soul more than the blood. The iron of the gate began to whiten with frost, then it changed to ice, then—at another word from Soth—the ice gate shattered.
“ ‘Soth’s hand fell. He charged through the broken gate, his legions following.
“ ‘Waiting for him on the other side of the gate, mounted upon the bronze dragon, Fireflash (his dragonish name being Khirsah), was Tanis Half-Elven, Hero of the Lance. Immediately upon sighting his opponent, the death knight sought to slay him instantly by shouting the magical power word, “Die!” Tanis Half-Elven, being protected by the silver bracelet of magic resistance, was not affected by the spell. But the bracelet that saved his life in this first attack, could help him no longer—’ ”
“ ‘Help him no longer!’ ” cried Tas, interrupting Caramon’s reading. “What does that mean?”
“Shush!” Caramon hissed and went on. “ ‘—help him no longer. The bronze dragon he rode, having no magical protection, died at Soth’s command, forcing Tanis Half-Elven to fight the death knight on foot. Lord Soth dismounted to meet his opponent according to the Laws of Combat as set forth by the Knights of Solamnia, these laws binding the death knight still, even though he had long since passed beyond their jurisdiction. Tanis Half-Elven fought bravely but was no match for Lord Soth. He fell, mortally wounded, the death knight’s sword in his chest—’ ”
“No!” Tas gasped. “No! We can’t let Tanis die!” Reaching up, he tugged on Caramon’s arm. “Let’s go! There’s still time! We can find him and warn him—”
“I can’t, Tas,” Caramon said quietly. “I’ve got to go to the Tower. I can sense Raistlin’s presence drawing closer to me. I don’t have time, Tas.”
“You can’t mean that! We can’t just let Tanis die!” Tas whispered, staring at Caramon, wide-eyed.
“No, Tas, we can’t,” said Caramon, regarding the kender gravely. “You’re going to save him.”
The thought literally took Tasslehoff’s breath away. When he finally found his voice, it was more of a squeak. “Me? But, Caramon, I’m not a warrior! Oh, I know I told the guard that I—”
“Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” Caramon said sternly, “I suppose it is possible that the gods arranged this entire matter simply for your own private amusement. Possible—but I doubt it. We’re part of this world, and we’ve got to take some responsibility for it. I see this now. I see it very clearly.” He sighed, and for a moment his face was solemn and so filled with sadness that Tas felt a choking lump rise up in his throat.
“I know that I’m part of the world, Caramon,” Tas said miserably, “and I’d gladly take as much responsibility as I think it likely I can handle. But—it’s just that I’m such a short part of the world—if you take my meaning. And Lord Soth’s such a tall and ugly part. And—”
A trumpet sounded, then another. Both Tas and Caramon fell silent, listening until the braying had died away.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Tas said softly.
“Yes,” Caramon replied. “You better hurry.”
Closing the book, he shoved it carefully into an old knapsack Tas had managed to “acquire” when they were in the deserted New City. The kender had managed to acquire some new pouches for himself, as well, plus a few other interesting items it was probably just as well Caramon didn’t know he had. Then, reaching out his hand, the big man laid it on Tas’s head, smoothing back the ridiculous topknot.
“Good-bye, Tas. Thank you.”
“But, Caramon!” Tas stared at him, feeling suddenly very lonely and confused. “Wh-where will you be?”
Caramon glanced up into the sky to where the Tower of High Sorcery loomed, a black rent in the storm clouds. Lights burned in the top windows of the Tower where the laboratory—and the Portal—were located.
Tas followed his gaze, looking up at the Tower. He saw the storm clouds lowering around it, the eerie lightning play around it, toying with it. He remembered his one close-up glimpse of the Shoikan Grove—
“Oh, Caramon!” he cried, catching hold of the big man’s hand. “Caramon, don’t … wait.…”
“Good-bye, Tas,” Caramon said, firmly detaching the clinging kender. “I’ve got to do this. You know what will happen if I don’t. And you know what you’ve got to do, too. Now hurry up. The citadel’s probably over the gate by now.”
“But, Caramon—” Tas wailed.
“Tas, you’ve got to do this!” Caramon yelled, his angry voice echoing down the empty street. “Are you going to let Tanis die without trying to help him?”
Tas shrank back. He’d never seen Caramon angry before, at least, not angry at him. And in all their adventures together, Caramon had never once yelled at him. “No, Caramon,” he said meekly. “It’s just … I’m not sure what I can do.…”
“You’ll think of something,” Caramon muttered, scowling. “You always do.” Turning around, he walked away, leaving Tas to stare after him disconsolately.
“G-good-bye, Caramon,” he called out after the retreating figure. “I—I won’t let you down.”
The big man turned. When he spoke, his voice sounded funny to Tas, like maybe he was choking on something. “I know you won’t, Tas, no matter what happens.” With a wave, he set off again down the street.
In the distance, Tas saw the dark shadows of Shoikan Grove, the shadows no day would ever brighten, the shadows where lurked the guardians of the Tower.
Tas stood for a moment, watching Caramon until he lost him in the darkness. He had hoped, if the truth be told, that Caramon would suddenly change his mind, turn around and shout, “Wait, Tas! I’ll come with you to save Tanis!”
But he didn’t.
“Which leaves it up to me,” Tas said with a sigh. “And he yelled at me!” Snuffling a little, he turned and trudged off in the opposite direction, toward the gate. His heart was in his mud-coated shoes, making them feel even heavier. He had absolutely no idea how he was going to go about rescuing Tanis from a death knight, and, the more he thought about it, the more unusual it seemed that Caramon would give him this responsibility.
“Still, I did save Caramon’s life,” Tas muttered. “Maybe he’s coming to realize—”
Suddenly, he stopped and stood stock-still in the middle of the street.
“Caramon got rid of me!” he cried. “Tasslehoff Burrfoot, you have all the brains of a doorknob, as Flint told you many times. He got rid of me! He’s going there to die! Sending me to rescue Tanis was just an excuse!” Distraught and unhappy, Tas stared down the street one way and up it another. “Now, what do I do?” he muttered.
He took a step toward Caramon. Then he heard a trumpet sound again, this time with a shrill, blaring note of alarm. And, rising above it, he thought he could hear a voice, shouting orders—Tanis’s voice.
“But if I go to Caramon, Tanis will die!” Tas stopped. Half-turning, he took a step toward Tanis. Then he stopped again, winding his topknot into a perfect corkscrew of indecision. The kender had never felt so frustrated in his entire life.
“Both of them need me!” he wailed in agony. “How can I choose?”
Then—“I know!” His brow cleared. �
��That’s it!”
With a great sigh of relief, Tas spun around and continued in the direction of the gate, this time at a run.
“I’ll rescue Tanis,” he panted as he took a short-cut through an alley, “and then I’ll just come back and rescue Caramon. Tanis might even be of some help to me.”
Scuttling down the alley, sending cats scattering in a panic, Tas frowned irritably. “I wonder how many heroes this makes that I’ve had to save,” he said to himself with a sniff. “Frankly, I’m getting just a bit fed up with all of them!”
The floating citadel appeared in the skies over Palanthas just as the trumpets sounded for the changing of the watch. The tall, crumbling spires and battlements, the towering stone walls, the lighted windows jammed with draconian troops—all could be seen quite plainly as the citadel floated downward, resting on its foundation of boiling, magical cloud.
The wall of Old City was crammed with men—townsmen, knights, mercenaries. None spoke a word. All gripped their weapons, staring upward in grim silence.
But, after all, there was one word spoken at the sight of the citadel—or several, as it were.
“Oh!” breathed Tas in awe, clasping his hands together, marveling at the sight. “Isn’t it wonderful! I’d forgotten how truly magnificent and glorious the flying citadels are! I’d give anything, anything, to ride on one.” Then, with a sigh, he shook himself. “Not now, Burrfoot,” he said to himself sternly in his Flint voice. “You have work to do. Now”—he looked around—“there’s the gate. There’s the citadel. And there goes Lord Amothus.… My, he looks terrible! I’ve seen better looking dead people. But where’s—Ah!”
A grim processional appeared, marching up the street toward Tas—a group of Solamnic Knights, walking on foot, leading their horses. There was no cheering, they did not talk. Each man’s face was solemn and tense, each man knew he walked—most likely—to his death. They were led by a man whose bearded face stood out in sharp contrast to the clean-shaven, mustached faces of the knights around him. And, although he wore the armor of a Knight of the Rose, he did not wear it with the ease of the other knights.
“Tanis always hated plate-mail,” Tas said, watching his friend approach. “And here he is, wearing the armor of a Knight of Solamnia. I wonder what Sturm would have thought of that! I wish Sturm was here right now!” Tas’s lower lip began quivering. A tear sneaked down his nose before he could stop it. “I wish anyone brave and clever was here right now!”
When the Knights drew near the Gate, Tanis stopped and turned to face them, issuing orders in a low voice. The creaking sound of dragon wings came from overhead. Looking up, Tasslehoff saw Khirsah, circling, leading a formation of other bronze dragons. And there was the citadel, coming closer to the wall, dropping down lower and lower.
“Sturm’s not here. Caramon’s not here. No one’s here, Burrfoot,” Tas muttered, resolutely wiping his eyes. “Once again—you’re on your own. Now, what am I going to do?”
Wild thoughts ran through the kender’s mind—everything from holding Tanis at swordpoint (“I mean it, Tanis, keep those hands in the air!”) to clunking him over the head with a sharp rock (“Uh, say, Tanis, would you mind taking off your helm for a moment?”). Tas was even desperate enough to consider telling the truth (“You see, Tanis, we went back in time, then we went ahead in time, and Caramon got hold of this book from Astinus just as the world was coming to an end, and, in the next to the last chapter, it tells in there how you died, and—”). Suddenly, Tas saw Tanis raise his right arm. There was a flash of silver—
“That’s it,” said Tas, breathing a profound sigh of relief. “That’s what I’ll do—just what I do best.…”
“No matter what happens, leave me to deal with Lord Soth,” Tanis said, looking grimly at the knights standing around him. “I want you to swear this, by the Code and the Measure.”
“Tanis, my lord—” began Sir Markham.
“No, I’m not going to argue, Knight. You’ll stand no chance at all against him without magical protection. Each one of you will be needed to fight his legions. Now, either swear this oath, or I will order you off the field. Swear!”
From beyond the closed gate, a deep, hollow voice spoke, calling out for Palanthas to surrender. The knights glanced at each other, feeling shivers of fear run through their bodies at the inhuman sound. There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the creaking of dragons’ wings overhead as the great creatures—bronze, silver, blue, and black—circled, eyeing each other balefully, waiting for the call to battle. Tanis’s dragon, Khirsah, hovered in the air near his rider, ready to come down upon command.
And then they heard Lord Amothus’s voice—brittle and tight, but strong with purpose—answering the death knight. “Take this message to your Dragon Highlord. Palanthas has lived in peace and beauty for many centuries. But we will buy neither peace nor beauty at the price of our freedom.”
“I swear,” said Sir Markham softly, “by the Code and the Measure.”
“I swear,” came the responses of the other knights after him.
“Thank you,” Tanis said, looking at each of the young men standing before him, thinking that most wouldn’t be alive much longer.… Thinking that he himself—Angrily, he shook his head. “Fireflash—” The words that would summon his dragon were on Tanis’s lips when he heard a commotion break out at the rear of the line of knights.
“Ouch! Get off my foot, you great lummox!”
A horse whinnied. Tanis heard one of the knights cursing, then a shrill voice answering innocently, “Well, it’s not my fault! Your horse stepped on me! Flint was right about those stupid beasts—”
The other horses, sensing battle and already affected by the tenseness of their riders, pricked their ears and snorted nervously. One danced out of line, his rider grasping at the bridle.
“Get those horses under control!” Tanis called out tensely. “What’s going on—”
“Let me past! Get out of my way. What? Is that dagger yours? You must have dropped it.…”
Beyond the gate, Tanis heard the death knight’s voice.
“You’ll pay for it with your lives!”
And from the line ahead of him, another voice.
“Tanis, it’s me, Tasslehoff!”
The half-elf’s heart sank. He wasn’t at all certain, at that moment, which voice chilled him more.
But there didn’t seem to be time for thought or wonder. Glancing over his shoulder, Tanis saw the gate turn to ice, he saw it shatter.…
“Tanis!” Something had hold of his arm. “Oh, Tanis!” Tas clutched at him. “Tanis! You’ve got to come quickly and save Caramon! He’s going into Shoikan Grove!”
Caramon? Caramon’s dead! was Tanis’s first thought. But then Tas is dead, too. What’s going on? Am I going mad from fear?
Someone shouted. Looking around dazedly, Tanis saw the faces of the knights turn deathly white beneath their helms, and he knew Lord Soth and his legions were entering the gates.
“Mount!” he called, frantically trying to pry loose the kender, who was clinging to him tenaciously. “Tas! This is no time—Get out of here, damn it!”
“Caramon’s going to die!” Tas wailed. “You’ve got to save him, Tanis!”
“Caramon’s … already … dead!” Tanis snarled.
Khirsah landed on the ground beside him, screaming a battle cry. Evil and good—the other dragons shrieked in anger, flying at each other, talons gleaming. In an instant, battle was joined. The air was filled with the flash of lightning and the smell of acid. From above, horns sounded in the floating citadel. There were cries of glee from the draconians, who began eagerly dropping down into the city, their leathery wings spread to break their fall.
And moving closer, the chill of death flowing from his fleshless body, rode Lord Soth.
But, try as he might, Tanis couldn’t shake Tas loose. Finally, swearing beneath his breath, the half-elf got a grip on the writhing kender. Catching hold of Tas around the waist, so
angry he was literally choking with rage—Tanis hurled the kender into a corner of a nearby alley.
“And stay there!” he roared.
“Tanis!” Tas pleaded. “You can’t go out there! You’re going to die. I know!”
Giving Tas a last, furious glance, Tanis turned on his heel and ran. “Fireflash!” he shouted. The dragon swooped over to him, landing on the street beside him.
“Tanis!” Tas screamed shrilly. “You can’t fight Lord Soth without the bracelet!”
CHAPTER
2
he bracelet! Tanis looked down at his wrist. The bracelet was gone! Whirling, he made a lunge for the kender. But it was too late. Tasslehoff was dashing down the street, running as if his life depended on it. (Which, after glimpsing Tanis’s furious face, Tas figured it probably did.)
“Tanis!” cried out Sir Markham.
Tanis turned. Lord Soth sat upon his nightmare, framed by the shattered gates of the city of Palanthas. His flaming-eyed gaze met Tanis’s and held. Even at that distance, Tanis felt his soul shrivel with the fear that shrouds the walking dead.
What could he do? He didn’t have the bracelet. Without it, there’d be no chance. No chance whatsoever! Thank the gods, Tanis thought in that split second, thank the gods I’m not a knight, bound to die with honor.
“Run!” he commanded through lips so stiff he could barely speak. “Fly! There is nothing you can do against these! Remember your oath! Retreat! Spend your lives fighting the living—”
Even as he spoke, a draconian landed in front of him, its horrible reptilian face twisted in bloodlust. Remembering just in time not to stab the thing, whose foul body would turn to stone, encasing the sword of its killers, Tanis bashed it in the face with the hilt of his weapon, kicked it in the stomach, then leaped over it as it tumbled to the ground.
Behind him, he heard the sounds of horses shrieking in terror and the clattering of hooves. He hoped the knights were obeying his last command, but he could spare no time to see. There was still a chance, if he could get hold of Tas and the magical bracelet.…
Test of the Twins: Legends, Volume Three (Dragonlance Legends) Page 20
