Riverwind the Plainsman

by Paul B. Thompson

  Riverwind sat up. “What arrow?”

  “Gray beard have arrow in side.” The gully dwarf pointed solemnly. “You see.”

  Riverwind went on hands and knees to Catchflea’s side. The old man was lying on his back. The stump of a quarrel poked out of his right side. His ragged clothes were soaked with dark blood.

  “You’re wounded, old man!” Riverwind cried. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “What could you do?” Catchflea asked weakly.

  Di An knelt beside Catchflea. She tried to probe the wound with her fingers, but it was too painful for the old soothsayer.

  “If we can stop the flow of blood …,” she said, dabbing at the edges of the wound with a piece of Catchflea’s clothing. The old man caught her arm with his hand. His grasp was already cold.

  “Do not trouble yourself,” Catchflea said. “I am done.”

  “Don’t say that!” she cried.

  “It’s true. My only regret is that I did not get to see the stars one last time.” He coughed. “As the oracle said …”

  Riverwind leaned close. “What did the oracle say?”

  “You will find … glory Defeat great … darkness. That you have done.”

  Riverwind looked bitter. “All I did was stay alive.”

  “Sleep,” Catchflea said. He closed his eyes. “Sleep, yes.” His hands, which had been holding Di An’s and Riverwind’s, slowly went slack.

  Riverwind gazed down at Catchflea for a long minute. The beard, the ragged clothes, the foolish talk. Pictures raced through the plainsman’s mind. He saw Catchflea telling him about the heavens when he’d been a boy, Catchflea cooking the first rabbit Riverwind had brought him many years ago, Catchflea finding their first meal on this trip, after Kyanor and his wolf pack had stolen Riverwind’s sheep. He should never have brought him along. He should’ve made him stay in Que-Shu. He should’ve done so many things. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

  “Catchflea was brave,” Di An said softly.

  Riverwind stiffened. “Catchstar. His name was Catchstar.”

  The plainsman continued to stare at the body of his friend. Di An, wiping away her tears, turned to the assembled gully dwarves. “Are you the leader here?” she asked the bearded one.

  “Yes. Me Glip,” he replied.

  “What is this place, Glip?”

  “This Hall of Ancestors,” Glip said. He looked sadly at Catchflea. “Him dead?” At Di An’s nod, he gestured at the crypts and niches that lined the corridor and said, “This burial place. You bury him here?”

  “We’ve no time for burials. Riverwind,” Di An said, touching the grieving warrior’s arm. “We must go.”

  Riverwind inhaled deeply. “I know. I know.” He brushed his tears away. Gently, he lifted the body of the old man. “I can’t leave him lying here.” He bore the body to one of the niches off the southern passage. He laid Catchflea down and composed his hands across his chest.

  “Should I say something?” he murmured in the close darkness of the crypt.

  “The gods will know him when he arrives,” Di An replied.

  As Riverwind and Di An returned to the top of the lift, a massive tremor ran through the temple. The dust of ages cascaded down on them. The gully dwarves scattered with yelps and squeals. Riverwind grabbed Glip by the back of his shirt as the gully dwarf ran by. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “The dragon comes!” the terrified Aghar replied. Riverwind let go. In seconds, all the gully dwarves had vanished into previously prepared nooks and “mouse holes.”

  The counterweight—an iron pot identical to the one that had fallen—swayed and rolled over into the hole. It bobbled upright, like a cork in the sea.

  “Dragon my eye! It’s Shanz! He’s levitating the pot,” Riverwind said. Di An took his hand and dragged him away. They ran into the south passage again, all the way to the end. The corridor continued to their right. Beautiful and intricate bas-reliefs and frescoes decorated the temple walls.

  They reached a large octagonal room just as the quaking stopped. It was suddenly deathly silent and still. Di An and Riverwind froze, listening. The only sound to hear was the musical rattle of chain links paying out as the lift went down.

  “Which way?” Di An whispered. To the right, more passages could be seen, but the floor had fallen in, creating a large pit that made progress difficult. On the left was a crumbling spiral staircase leading up. Up was where they wanted to go.

  “Come on!” Riverwind said.

  They went cautiously. The Hall of Ancestors was structurally more dubious than any other building they’d been in, in Xak Tsaroth. The stone slab steps were loose and in the half-darkness—for there were a few small brands burning here and there in wall brackets—one never knew if the next turn would lead to a quick, fatal plunge. Round and round the steps went. Riverwind’s moccasins flapped around his ankles, threatening to trip him. He cast them off.

  They reached the top of the huge pillar around which the steps wound and found themselves in a circular room with a high, domed ceiling. A torch burned feebly on the wall. Facing them were double doors covered with ancient gold. The patina on the yellow metal told them that the doors had probably not been disturbed since the Cataclysm.

  Riverwind inserted the tip of his sword in the crack of the doors and pushed them apart.

  “Get the torch,” he said in a soft voice. Di An lifted the pine knot out of its holder. Riverwind took it in his left hand and slowly walked through the doors. It was a small antechamber, empty, and in front of him was another set of identical golden doors.

  “This isn’t a temple, it’s a maze,” Riverwind said. “When do we ever get outside?” He wedged the second doors open. Cold, white light flooded over them.

  Di An drew close. “What is it?”

  “It must be the sanctuary,” the plainsman whispered.

  Before them was a high pedestal of white stone inlaid with gold. A statue carved in creamy white marble rose, in the form of a slim woman. She leaned on a tall staff that was not marble, but wood. Her long gown trailed in loose folds, as if blown by a strong breeze. Riverwind and Di An circled the statue from opposite sides. The cool light that suffused the chamber had no source, but banished the shadows from every corner of the room.

  They came together again facing the statue. “Quenesti Pah,” Di An said reverently. “It is the goddess.”

  Riverwind had never heard the name. He gazed at the youthful face, so full of compassion and quiet wisdom. “The goddess of what?” he asked, though reverently.

  “The healing arts,” Di An replied solemnly. “She aids those who are ill and seek relief.”

  “I’ve never heard of this Quenesti Pah,” Riverwind said, never taking his eyes from the figure.

  A distant clanging of metal shocked them out of their reverie. Riverwind rushed back to the antechamber and closed the first set of golden doors. He shut the second and cast about for something to bar the door with.

  “Fetch me that rod,” he said, meaning the staff held in the goddess’s hands.

  “That is a sacred staff!” Di An protested. “It belongs to the goddess!”

  “I need it to block the door!” Riverwind insisted. Di An frowned, but she grasped the staff near the bottom and tugged. The carved marble fingers of the goddess held the wooden rod firmly.

  “I can’t free it,” she said.

  “Never mind! We must get out of here.” The noise beyond the doors was louder. “That way!”

  Di An threw open the doors facing the goddess’s statue. There was another ceremonial hall beyond, and another set of double golden doors. Riverwind ran to her. A booming filled the ancient temple. Shanz and his draconians were at the first golden doors.

  Riverwind fumbled with the latch on the doors. It was old and stiff. The antechamber door burst under Shanz’s pounding. “Goldmoon,” he said under his breath, “let all the old gods aid us who can!”

  He brought the pommel of the goblin sword down smar
tly on the reluctant latch. It yielded with a screech, and Riverwind butted the doors apart. A brilliant hot light struck them as they rushed through the open doors of the temple.

  The sun!

  Di An gave a brief cry and flung an arm over her eyes. Riverwind squinted, groping for the elf girl’s hand. Shouts rang in the temple chamber. Riverwind and Di An staggered down the steps of the temple, bumping blindly against the delicate, fluted columns that flanked the entrance.

  Sun. Sunlight! It was like fire after so much time beneath the surface. But while it blinded Riverwind, it also warmed him to the core of his being and flowed like new strength into his limbs. The air was fresh and warm, free of the damp moldiness of the caverns. Even as Di An’s fingers slipped from his, Riverwind relaxed his contorted eyelids and stood gladly in the blazing light as his pale face warmed.

  Di An made feeble protesting sounds as she pressed her face to the ground. Riverwind quickly looked back at the temple portal. The draconians had not emerged. The ever thorough Shanz must be searching the whole building.

  “Di An,” the plainsman said, kneeling beside her, “are you all right?” She could make only choking gasps in reply. “What is it?”

  “Too much light. Too much air!”

  Her mind reeled at the sight of it. A vast openness, no roof, no walls of sturdy, comforting rock. The world was filled with air and light. Just air and light. Di An pushed the heels of her hands against her closed eyes. The darkness didn’t comfort her. She knew the emptiness was there, all around her. Pain lanced through her head, and her stomach heaved. She felt as though her feet would leave the ground, as if she would fall up, not down, be swallowed, be drowned, float forever in a sea of endless, boundless, nothing …

  She hunched herself into a tight ball and moaned. Riverwind tried to untangle her arms and legs, but she held together so firmly he only succeeded in turning her on her side. Sunlight fell across her face despite her shielding hands, and Di An let out a heartrending scream.

  “No, please! The draconians will hear—”

  Too late. The first armored lizard man appeared at the main door of the temple. He shouted over his shoulder to his comrades. Three more appeared.

  Riverwind stepped in front of the stricken elf girl. “Here I am,” he said. “Come see how a Que-Shu man defends his life!”

  They knew he was dangerous, having seen him fight the mighty Thouriss, so the draconians entertained no ideas of honor and attacked in unison. Riverwind said, “Di An, run for your life!” She crept away on hands and knees. He advanced to the steps of the temple to meet his enemies.

  The four lizard men attacked. Their heavier swords threatened to break the crude goblin blade Riverwind had. He traded glancing slashes with the two middle warriors, while the outside pair tried to work around him. With a skillful feint he laid open the face of one of the draconians. The creature floundered back, dazed and bleeding.

  Riverwind ducked as another draconian aimed a cleaving blow at his skull. The thick steel blade gouged a chip out of one of the temple pillars. Riverwind thrust under the lizard man’s high attack, skidding off his cuirass but burying his point in the draconian’s shoulder. He pushed his blade in and spun forward, whirling the impaled lizard man with him. The draconian dropped his sword and sagged to his knees. Riverwind let go of the goblin blade. The draconian fell forward, driving the blade deeper under his breastplate.

  The mortally wounded lizard man shuddered. He raised a wavering hand, the fingers of which were rapidly turning gray. All over the dying draconian, his dark green skin lost its color, becoming dry and hard. Riverwind gaped. The draconian changed from flesh to stone before his eyes. Even his blood, pooled on the temple floor, changed to fine gray ash.

  There was no time to celebrate. The wounded warrior and his two comrades closed on the weaponless Riverwind. The plainsman dodged their straight thrusts by backing through the open doors into the temple. He prayed no more draconians were coming.

  By the soft white light in the statue chamber, the scaled soldiers turned an especially vivid green. They fanned out, trying to cut Riverwind off from the side chambers and the route back to the Hall of Ancestors. Riverwind found himself backed to the base of the goddess’s statue without so much as a knife. His hands slipped over the cool marble and found wood. The staff.

  He swung around, keeping the enemy in sight as they drew nearer. With the intention of freeing the staff, or at least breaking off the lower half, Riverwind put all his strength into one great pull. To his surprise, the staff readily came away in his grasp.

  A draconian attacked. Riverwind parried with the staff and swung the free end around, rapping the lizard man hard on the elbow. He chopped at the plainsman again, and Riverwind drove the end of the staff into the creature’s left knee. It buckled, and down he went. The second draconian intervened, slashing hard at Riverwind’s exposed side. He parried and parried, blocking the stout blade with a wooden staff no more than two inches thick. Thus engaged, Riverwind didn’t see the crippled draconian rise on his good knee and make a desperate thrust with his blade.

  The blow felt as if a hot iron had passed through the plainsman’s unprotected back. Riverwind bolted away, swinging the staff like a cudgel. It connected solidly with the crippled draconian’s helmet and he pitched forward, out cold.

  Blood coursed down Riverwind’s hip and leg. The remaining two draconians came at him from two sides. The half-blinded one made a wild swing with his sword that Riverwind knocked aside. The blade continued its wide swath until it stopped in the throat of the other draconian. He was stone before he hit the floor.

  The domed chamber swam before Riverwind’s eyes. He felt very cold as his life drained from the wound in his back. The last draconian, with only one good eye himself, came after him. Riverwind’s staff connected with the lizard man’s chin, snapping his head back. He fell and struggled for a few moments trying to get up. Riverwind found a sword and finished him off.

  “Di An!” the plainsman croaked weakly. “Help me …” Leaning on the staff, now stained with his blood, Riverwind wobbled to the open door. Di An was nowhere in sight. There were marks in the soft, peaty soil where she had crawled away. He had to find her.

  He swung a leg out to take a step, but collapsed as it crumpled under him. He retained his desperate grip on the staff. Riverwind’s eyelids fluttered closed. There was no fight left in him. It was over.

  Chapter 24

  Sapphire Light

  His life has been one of searching. Always he has wandered, over forest, hill, mountain, and plain, seeking. He needed to belong. The father he saw die in disgrace and disrepute had taught him that the gods live, even in these dark times. He believed, if only because it was his father’s word. No one else listened to the old man, but Riverwind did.

  He opened his eyes. “Is this death?” Riverwind said aloud. “If it is, it is a most pleasant ending to a painful life.” Peace and tranquility washed over the plainsman.

  He affects to be brave in the face of the unknown. How like his father he is.

  Riverwind sat up. He could not see anything around him but a penetrating blue glow. “Who is speaking?” he asked.

  I am the one you have sought for so long. It was in my temple that you slew the minions of Takhisis, and it is where you lie even now.

  “Am I dead?” Curiously, this idea brought no fear with it.

  I hold your life in the small of my hand. Your body was grievously injured, and I had to act quickly to catch your soul before it departed.

  “You are … Quenesti Pah?”

  So the folk of Silvanesti have called me. You would know me better by this symbol.

  In front of Riverwind’s eyes appeared a symbol in glittering steel: two teardrops joined tip to tip. The symbol worn by his beloved Goldmoon.

  The plainsman sank to his knees. “Great Goddess Mishakal, forgive me!”

  Forgive you for what? Your doubts? Doubt has been a plague on Krynn these centuries past. Your
fear? Fear is part of being in the world of flesh and blood. It makes life quick and sweet, but also hard and deadly. There is nothing to forgive, son of Wanderer.

  A white figure appeared before him. It was a woman in the prime of life, with white skin and long tresses of scarlet that tossed in a wind he could neither hear nor feel. She held the rude wooden staff Riverwind had wrenched from the statue’s hands.

  Stand up. Face me, Riverwind.

  He did so.

  I formed the staff from a single celestial sapphire, the same crystals that make up the thrones of the gods of Good. In the Age of Dreams, so many good people were hurt and maimed by the dragons of evil that I struck off this shard from my throne and sent it to Krynn, so that the priests who worshiped me could heal the sick brought to them.

  The figure’s lips did not move as she spoke. The wooden staff glowed brighter and brighter, until all semblance of wood was banished. Now you see its true nature. It is the Blue Crystal Staff.

  The goddess smiled and continued. Only one whose heart is inherently good can touch the staff and remain unharmed. It can heal, make light, dispel curses and evil compulsions, banish fear, and if welded by one in whom I have dwelt, raise the dead to life again.

  “What am I to do with it, great goddess?”

  Take it to your beloved. She will know what to do. My Blue Crystal Staff will fulfill your quest, and make my name known to your people once more. But it cannot long remain outside my temple, for even a fragment of celestial sapphire will decay if held too long in mortal hands. Take the staff, good Riverwind, and bear it to Goldmoon.

  “I swear it, Holy One,” Riverwind said. “I shall not part with your staff until I lay it in the hands of my beloved.”

  The white figure faded into the blue light. Riverwind felt pain in his back again, and the light intensified until he could see nothing.

  “Goddess! Mishakal!” he cried. The Blue Crystal Staff fell out of the light and into his hands. A tingle ran through him, and the wound in his back healed. His swollen eye opened, clear. His cuts disappeared. For a moment, Riverwind glimpsed the hall of the gods: vast, glittering towers of crystal, the facets of which he knew were broader than the whole of Krynn. These towers were but single legs of the thrones of the gods. Their sum was beyond the comprehension of a mortal mind.