They left the temple and crossed the plaza by the well. The trees ended on the water, and Riverwind told Di An to climb upon his back. She complied meekly. He waded into the black water, flies and mosquitoes buzzing around his face. He went in up to his chin, then the bottom rose and he was able to walk onto a bare, dry island. The Cursed Lands seemed to stretch out around them forever, an endless vista of dark green foliage, black stagnant water, and dry sandy spits rising from quiet lagoons. Behind the companions, the temple of Mishakal was lost in the trees.
Riverwind set Di An down, and they rapidly crossed the island and came to another band of open water. He carried the befuddled elf girl through that one, too, though he slipped halfway across and both of their heads went under. He struggled against her dead weight, for Di An was so removed from reality that she didn’t even fight to keep her head above water. Wheezing and spitting the foul water of the swamp, the plainsman managed to get their heads above water. Riverwind staggered ashore on another barren island only a dozen yards wide and collapsed.
“The cave is very damp,” Di An said, her hair hanging in dripping ringlets. “We’d better avoid this route in the future.”
The sun had nearly set. Its ruddy glow spread over the dull swamp, giving it an almost golden tinge. To the east, the high dome of the temple of Mishakal just barely showed above the treetops.
“We can’t go on the way we have,” Riverwind said, almost to himself. “Plunging straight into these mires. One of these times we’ll go so deep we’ll never get out.”
“I wish I had a slice of bread,” Di An commented. “And a nice red apple.”
“So do I.” Riverwind rubbed his face briskly with his hands. “We’ve got to push on. Though the swamp seems endless, I believe we ought to be able to reach the mountains by morning.”
“The copper deposits in this cave are very rich.”
The plainsman took Di An’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She looked at him and smiled. “You are a very kind master, Mors.”
Suddenly, the staff, which had been lying across Riverwind’s knees, began to glow. Riverwind jumped up, holding it out like a blazing torch. “On your feet,” he said, staring at the staff. “Something’s happening!”
Even at the distance of almost a mile, Riverwind could feel the leading edge of the dragonfear projected by Khisanth. The dragon was coming. He jerked Di An to her feet and started down the sloping sand to the water’s edge.
A black shape rose in the twilight sky above the ruined city. Even in her muddled state, Di An felt the dragonfear. She gasped with apprehension and pulled her hand free of Riverwind’s—not to run away from him, but to run ahead of him.
They splashed into the dirty water. Scum clung to their legs, browning the elf girl’s pale white skin. Riverwind wouldn’t look back to see if the dragon was coming. The staff was glowing brighter, like a beacon in the half-light. As they slogged through the shallow mire, a gust of wind swept over them as Khisanth’s wings disturbed the air.
The Blue Crystal Staff went dark as suddenly as it had begun to glow. The dragon circled around for an attack.
“No!” Riverwind shouted, shaking the inert wooden rod. “Don’t leave! What did I do wrong?”
Khisanth extended her long, snaky neck. Her mouth gaped as she drew in air. “Meddling vermin!” she roared. A steaming mist of acid gushed from the dragon’s throat. It settled over the swamp like a lethal fog. Riverwind saw the yellowish cloud descending, but the Staff of Mishakal was useless wood in his grip.
“Get down!” he said to the weeping Di An.
“Help me, Mors!” she pleaded fearfully. Riverwind grabbed her arms and threw her down in the brackish water. He followed close behind.
It was dark and unpleasantly warm in that muddy soup. He held Di An close and stayed under for as long as he could hold his breath. Then, he raised his head cautiously. The poisonous acid was drifting away on the wind, but the ironclaw trees on a nearby high point showed signs of withering.
Their hard, shiny leaves shriveled, turned black, and dropped like dead birds into the water.
Khisanth was flapping hard to regain height. Dragging Di An along by the wrist, Riverwind splashed into shallower water, toward a bed of marsh reeds. The dragon was banking left, circling around for another attack.
Working fast, Riverwind lopped off two stalks and snapped the flowering heads off the reeds. He pushed Di An down into the soft, muddy clot of roots. “Put this end in your mouth,” he explained hurriedly. “Breathe through it. And don’t move until I tell you, all right?”
Riverwind made sure she had the reed in her mouth. He eased her down into the black gruel of mud, then lay down beside her and submerged himself. Warm mud trickled in his ears. Reed roots poked him in the sides and back. Riverwind lay very still, listening, listening—
He distinctly heard the whoosh as the dragon passed over. Khisanth screeched, “Where are you, worms? You cannot hide from me!”
The dragon flew back and forth over the swamp, crying maledictions and spewing acid on anything that moved. An hour passed. Then two. The creatures of the swamp returned to their habits even as Riverwind and Di An lay embedded in their home. Slithery things slipped over and around him; crawling things with many legs marched up and down his motionless body. He wanted to yell, to scrape the itchy, filthy mud from his skin, but he knew that Khisanth was waiting, watching, circling, ready to tear them both to pieces.
The dragon eventually ceased its frustrated crying and kept watch silently, tempting her prey to reveal themselves. But Riverwind’s resolve never weakened. He waited for what seemed like half the night before raising himself to the surface. Foul water ran off his face. He opened his eyes. A glistening green face was only inches from his.
He puckered his lips, blew hard, and the frog hopped away. The two bright moons of Krynn were up, their combined light casting a pinkish aura over the swamp. The sky was clear of clouds and the dragon. Riverwind sat up. Gobs of gray mud slid off his chest. He reached over and roused Di An. She was slow to respond. He shook her. Di An sat up, mudbugs scurrying off her shoulders and neck. “Hello, Father,” she said. “I’m hungry.”
“I know. I’m hungry, too.” He turned his head slowly, listening and looking. “I think the dragon has gone.” Riverwind stood. Di An gave a mild exclamation. “What is it?” he asked.
“You have warts.”
“Warts? What?” Riverwind ran a hand down the back of one leg and felt soft lumps on his skin. He twisted around to see.
“Filthy leeches!” he cried. Nearly a dozen spotted the backs of his legs. Di An rose. She hadn’t a one. Apparently Hestite blood didn’t appeal to them.
“My eye for a crock of salt!” he groaned. “Or a heated brand!”
“Shall I make a fire, Father?” the elf girl asked.
“No!” Riverwind said sharply. “The dragon might see it.” Shivering with disgust, Riverwind used his sword to scrape the nasty creatures off. When he was done, his legs were streaked with blood. He looked as if he’d been in a fearsome battle.
“We’ve got to get out of this swamp,” he said. “We’ll be better off in the highlands even if the dragon does continue to hunt us.” Di An’s answer was dreamy and nonsensical.
With the stars to guide him, Riverwind chose a path that led due west. It took them through the black heart of the Cursed Lands, Fever Lake. They tramped all night in slimy water up to Riverwind’s thighs. He remembered the leeches and shook with revulsion. Di An hummed a repetitive tune.
“Do you have to do that?” he asked through chattering teeth. She paid him no heed, and he turned on her in a quick blaze of fury. “Be quiet!”
Di An stared blankly at him, unmindful of the flies and gnats that crawled across her face.
Riverwind passed a hand across his forehead. The heat of his dry brow was evident. “I’ve got the fever,” he said. “And no wonder. Lying in the mud all night, and those damned bloodsuckers—” Di An aroused such pity in
him that his anger went away as quickly as it had arisen. “I’m sorry I shouted,” Riverwind said. A chill swept over him. “It’s—ahh—not your fault.”
“You are kind.” She pushed a strand of mud-caked hair behind her high-pointed ear. “Mors, are you certain this is the right tunnel?”
Riverwind looked west across the flat, marshy plain and sighed. “It’s the only tunnel we’ve got,” he said. He hooked his arm in hers. “Come. Let’s not waste the darkness.”
Shanz and his remaining draconian soldiers stood on a dry spit of sand not far from the temple of Mishakal. Hulking large above them was the upright form of Khisanth.
“They have entered Fever Lake,” Shanz said. His reptilian eyes could pierce the dark of night and follow Riverwind and Di An by the heat of their trail. From where he stood now, he could see their path twisting dimly away.
“No warm-blood has ever crossed the lake and lived,” the dragon said smugly.
“What is your bidding, Great One?” Shanz asked.
Khisanth’s massive foreclaw rested lightly on the draconian’s bare head. She petted Shanz as a woman would stroke a cat. “We have much work to do here. In a few days, go out and recover that staff. I cannot allow so powerful a talisman to fall into human hands.”
“It shall be done, Great One.”
“Excellent. Then I shall see to the enlargement of your garrison. Prepare for the arrival of more troops.”
Shanz asked, “The end of Krago’s plan does not distress you?”
“Not overly much, little Shanz. Like all humans, Krago imagined he could seize hold of the elemental forces with his soft, bare hands. Only the race of dragons can achieve such things.” Khisanth opened her wings prior to leaping into flight. “Our armies will conquer Krynn without help from humans,” she said.
“They will be fodder for our swords!” Shanz declared.
“As I expect.” Khisanth sprang into the air, made one lazy circle, and flew back to Xak Tsaroth. Shanz and his officers remained a few moments. The captain stared out at the darkness and watched the faint traces of scarlet dim and disappear into the sickly miasma rising out of Fever Lake.
The sun struck their backs when it first cleared the horizon. A gray mist rose from the shallow waters of the lake. Frogs and water bugs ceased their night songs with the coming of the light, so an eerie silence fell over the swamp.
Riverwind ached from head to toe from the poisoning of his blood by the fever. Chills and shakes came upon him in great surges, often so strong that he had to stop walking. His eyes burned, and his throat was raw. He did not have the strength or concentration to hunt, fish, or even gather wild grasses to eat.
The fever had come to Di An, too. Her teeth rattled when the chills racked her slim body, and when the fever burned her face, Di An’s breath came in short, hard gasps. Throughout it all she remained in her lost dream of home, the familiar caverns of Hest.
Still they slogged forward. There was no place to rest except in the stinking boggy water. Riverwind couldn’t believe the dragon would forget and let them go, if only because she wouldn’t want word of her presence in Xak Tsaroth to spread. It was this idea that drove him on. That and the Staff of Mishakal, which he never let leave his fevered grip.
“I return in triumph,” he whispered. “I have fulfilled Arrowthorn’s impossible quest.” Riverwind smiled over chattering teeth. “All of Que-Shu will watch as I hand the Staff of Mishakal to my beloved. She will hold it proudly aloft. She will know how to use it. The villagers will cheer, and Arrowthorn will have to agree to our joining. Our joining, Goldmoon. Our joining …”
Riverwind moved doggedly through the swamp, the imagined cheers of his people still ringing in his ears.
The sun burned away the mist, and in the distance the plainsman saw something that cheered his heart enormously. Rising like blue shadows from the marshy plain were the mountains. They were not forsaken to him, but a glorious sight.
“Do you see?” he said excitedly to Di An. “The mountains! Beautiful, wonderful mountains! Clear, cold streams, game, fish.”
“Slice of bread … a pear … a peach …,” Di An murmured. “ ’Neath the golden waterfall. Strange. I feel strange.”
“It’s the fever,” he said.
Di An laid a hand on her breast. “Why am I like this?” She looked down at her mud-spattered legs. “Those are not my legs!” she said, her voice rising. “What has happened to me?”
Riverwind extended a trembling hand. “You grew up, remember? Krago gave you a potion.”
Her face contorted. “You—you’re trying to trick me. You’re not Mors! I’m not in my body! What have you done to me?”
“Stop it! Listen to me. You are Di An, and I am Riverwind. We’ve escaped from Xak Tsaroth and the underground world.”
“Lies—evil magic. You work for Li El! You are an illusion of the queen!”
Di An turned and started to run from Riverwind. He leaped and caught her, wrapping her in his arms. She struggled and raved that Li El was destroying her mind.
“Listen to me! Listen to me!” Riverwind kept repeating. Di An’s response was to sink her teeth into his hand. That broke his fever-weakened composure. He struck her crisply on the jaw, and she sagged in his arms. The elf girl was featherlight, but holding her and the staff was a burden. Still, Riverwind dragged himself and his charges toward the promise of the distant blue mountains.
The marsh became more shallow. Small hummocks of dry land rose above the smooth water. Rather than a cause for joy, these dry hills proved a great challenge; Riverwind had to climb up and over them, or lengthen his journey further by going around them. Finally, with the edge of Fever Lake in sight, his legs failed him. He collapsed on a moss-covered, low hummock, Di An beside him and the Staff of Mishakal between. Riverwind did not lose consciousness.
He simply lay face down in the moss, breathing in quick, shallow gasps and burning with fever.
Great Goddess, I’ve failed you, he thought. This is as far as I can go.
Are you so certain? asked the sweet voice of Mishakal. Riverwind tried vainly to rise, but couldn’t. You have reservoirs of strength you haven’t tapped yet, she said.
He could feel the fever heat pouring from his face and his heart laboring in his chest. “I don’t think I have any strength left,” he said into the moss. “Please, merciful Mishakal, heal me. Show me how to use your staff.”
Heal you? But what of the girl next to you? She is ill, also.
“Can’t you heal us both?”
I choose not to.
Riverwind’s dry mouth finally stopped his tongue, but the goddess heard his unspoken “why?”
Virtue is won by struggle, not by ease. Nothing is learned when a task is made easy to do, or a problem is solved without difficulty. The gods require that mortals suffer, fight, and die for virtue, in order to prove and preserve the worth of these ideals. Only evil promises expedience.
Riverwind wasn’t sure he understood. If the goddess’s words were true, why did she bother speaking to him now?
Because you have a task greater than your own life. To restore belief in the gods by bringing forth my staff; that is a labor of glory.
“Should I be the one you heal?” he whispered through swollen lips.
I will heal you or the girl. Decide, and lay the staff across whoever you chose.
Riverwind heaved himself up on his hands and looked into the sky. “You condemn one of us to death, the other to perpetual madness! Where is the justice in that?” he demanded.
The voice of Mishakal was gone.
On the ground beside Riverwind lay her staff. As he watched, the dull wood began to shimmer. A glow, palest blue at first, suffused the staff. The radiance grew brighter, its color deeper, and the staff was once more a thing of sapphire crystal. Riverwind reached out for it.
And quickly withdrew his hand. Who was more valuable? he wondered. He had a divine mission, to bring the staff to Goldmoon. But Di An had a mission, too. H
er people were waiting for news of the surface world. She could be the one to bring it to them. Mors would be angry—but if she could offer to lead the Hestites up to the blue sky, he certainly would forgive her. If Di An died, it might be years before the Hestites got the help they needed. The poor food and sickly air would only increase the diggers’ suffering, and no one would ever know of it.
No one but the gods.
Riverwind raged against Mishakal. She had done this deliberately! She posed him this question and left him to decide: life or death, divine will or human compassion. How could he choose?
Di An murmured under her breath, almost awake. He left his anger for a moment and studied the elf girl—no, she was a girl no longer. Di An lay there, caked with mud and dried scum; her copper mesh dress hung in tatters, the black color long since scuffed off most of the red metal links. Here was a person two hundred years old, who had lived longer as a child and slave than he had lived as a free man. Di An loved him, or thought she did. Could he dismiss her feelings as the whim of a child? What would she do if the choice were hers? He knew the answer to that. He knew he couldn’t put his own needs before hers.
Riverwind turned her grimy, slightly sunburned face to him. A new bruise was showing on her jaw where he’d hit her. It stabbed him to his heart. Brushing the dried dirt from her lips, Riverwind bent down and kissed Di An lightly. He raised the glowing staff of blue crystal and laid it across her body. Just as he did, her eyes fluttered open.
“Riverwind,” she said clearly, staring directly at him.
In a single, silent, blinding flash, the elf woman and the sacred sapphire staff vanished.
Chapter 26
“Whom the gods favor is a hero born”
—Astinus, The Iconochronous
Gone!
Riverwind groped in the dirt where Di An and the staff had been. This was no figment of his sickness-strained mind. The woman and rod were gone. He rocked back on his haunches and stared blankly at the spot. He had made the wrong choice. The Blue Crystal Staff was lost, his quest had failed. Pain welled up in his heart and exploded. His anguished scream reverberated across Fever Lake. Animal sounds ceased, and all was quiet.
Riverwind the Plainsman Page 30
