Dragons of The Dwarven Depths Part 10

"We don't know that. You have one week."

"Two," Grag temporized, "or I will not agree."

Dray-yan eyed him. "I could find another commander who would."

"That is true," said Grag coolly, "but that would mean one more who knows your little secret, Lord Verminaard."

"You have two weeks," Dray-yan said. "Make the most of the time."

"I plan to." Grag rose to his feet. "How do negotiations come with the dwarves of Thorbardin?"

"Quite well," Dray-yan replied. "If this works out, we will have no need for the humans and you may simply kill them."

"We're going to a lot of trouble if we don't really need them," Grag pointed out.

"We cannot be seen to be weak. If nothing else, the deaths of these slaves will serve to instill fear in others who might be thinking of rebelling."

Grag nodded. He hesitated a moment, then said, "You know I do not like you, Dray-yan."

Dray-yan's lip curled. "We were not put into this world to be liked, Commander."

"And that I would never stoop to flattery," Grag continued.

"Where is all this leading, Commander? I have work to do."

"I want to say that I consider this plan of yours one of genius. We will make history. Emperor Ariakas and the other Highlords will look on our race with new respect and admiration."

"That is my hope," said Dray-yan. Though he did not say it, he was pleased by Grag's praise. He could already see himself in a Highlord's armor. "Do your job well, Commander. You have two weeks."

Grag saluted and left to start making arrangements.

"Oh, Commander," Dray-yan called after him, "if you think of it, you might mention this brilliant plan of mine to Her Dark Majesty. Just mention it in pa.s.sing..."

Chapter 8.

A Dwarf's Knowledge. A Wizard's Mystery.

The valley in which the refugees sheltered formed a bowl perhaps ten miles long and ten miles wide. Flint and Tanis walked due south, keeping in the foothills at the base of the mountains, not descending into the valley. Flint set a meandering course. Tanis might have thought the dwarf was lost and wandering, but he'd traveled with Flint for many years and knew better.

A dwarf might lose his way in the desert. A dwarf would most certainly lose himself at sea, should he ever have the misfortune to wind up there, but the dwarf had not been born who could get lost among the mountains and hills of Kharolis, long trod by the boots of his ancestors. Flint kept his gaze fixed on the stone walls that thrust up from the valley floor, and every so often, he would adjust their course, s.h.i.+ft direction.

They had been traveling for several hours when the dwarf suddenly veered to the right. Leaving the foothills, he began to climb a steep grade.

Tanis followed. He had been searching for some sign that Raistlin, Caramon, and Sturm had come this way, but he'd found none.

"Flint," said Tanis, as they started to ascend, "which way is Skullcap from here?"

Flint paused to get his bearings then pointed to the east. "That way. On the other side of that mountain. If they've gone in that direction, they won't get far. I guess we were worried for nothing."

"There's no pa.s.s in that direction?"

"Use your eyes, lad! Do you see a pa.s.s?"

Tanis shook his head, then smiled. "I don't see a pa.s.s in this direction either."

"Ah, that's because you're not a dwarf!" said Flint and continued the ascent.

Caramon, Sturm, and Raistlin were down in the valley, following a trail that was faint, overgrown, and occasionally impa.s.sable, forcing them to make detours into the forest. No matter how far they ventured from the trail, Raistlin always led them unerringly back.

The stream that ran near their campsite wound through the valley like a gleaming snake, cutting across the trail at several points. Up until now, whenever they'd been forced to cross the stream, it was shallow enough that they could wade through it. They had come to a place where the stream flowed deep and swift, and they could not cross it. Raistlin struck off to the north, following the bank, and eventually found a place where the water was only ankle deep.

Once they were on the other side, Raistlin led the way along the bank until they once more picked up the trail.

"How did he know where to find the ford?" Sturm asked in a low voice.

"Lucky guess," Caramon returned.

Sturm regarded Raistlin grimly. "He seems to make a lot of those."

"A good thing, too," Caramon muttered, "otherwise we'd be wandering around here lost."

Caramon increased his pace to catch up with his far-ranging twin.

"Don't you think you should rest, Raist?" Caramon asked solicitously as he caught up. Caramon was worried at the pace his frail twin was setting. They'd walked for hours without a break. "You've really pushed yourself this morning."

"No time," Raistlin said, walking faster. He glanced at the sky. "We must be there by sunset."

"We must be where by sunset?" Caramon asked, puzzled.

Raistlin appeared momentarily confused then brushed the question aside. "You will-"

His words were interrupted by a coughing spasm. He choked, gasping for breath.

Caramon hovered nearby, watching helplessly as Raistlin wiped his mouth then quickly crumpled the handkerchief, thrusting it back into a pocket, though not before Caramon had seen spots on the white cloth that were as red as the mage's robes.

"We're stopping," said Caramon.

Raistlin tried to protest, but he lacked the breath to argue. Glancing up at the sun, which had yet to reach its zenith, he gave in and slumped down on a fallen log. His breath came in wheezes. Caramon removed the stopper from the water skin, and as he held it out for his brother to drink, saw that Raistlin's golden-tinged skin had a feverish flush. Knowing better than to say anything about this, fearing to draw his brother's ire, Caramon took the opportunity as he handed over the water to brush his hand against his brother's. Raistlin's skin always seemed unnaturally warm to the touch, but Caramon fancied that it was hotter than normal.

"Sturm, could you gather some wood? I want to start a fire," Caramon said. "I'll brew your tea, Raist. You can take a nap."

Raistlin flashed his twin a look that caused the words to dry up in Caramon's mouth.

"A nap!" Raistlin said scathingly. "Do you think we are on a kender outing, brother?"

"No," said Caramon, unhappy. "It's just that you-"

Raistlin rose to his feet. His eyes glinted from the shadow of his cowl. "Go ahead, Caramon. Start a fire. You and the knight have your picnic. Perhaps you can go fis.h.i.+ng, catch a trout. When the two of you are finished, you might consider catching up with me!" He pointed with his staff to his tracks in the snow. "You will have no difficulty following my trail."

He started to cough, but he managed to stifle it in the sleeve of his robes. Leaning on his staff, he strode off.

"By the G.o.ds, for a bent copper I would would go fis.h.i.+ng," Sturm said vehemently. "Let him end up in a wolf's belly!" go fis.h.i.+ng," Sturm said vehemently. "Let him end up in a wolf's belly!"

Caramon did not answer but silently gathered up his gear and that of his brother and started off in pursuit of his twin.

"For a bent copper," Sturm muttered.

Since there was no one around to offer him such an incentive, the knight hefted his own equipment and stalked grimly after them.

Tanis was not the least bit surprised when Flint found the old dwarven trail, hidden from sight, carved out of the side of the mountain. Flint had been walking with one eye fixed on the ground and the other searching the mountain walls, looking for signs only he could see, secret marks left by his people who had lived in and around the Kharolis mountains since the time of the forging of the world by the dwarven G.o.d, Reorx.

Tanis pretended to be surprised, however, swearing he'd been certain they were lost past recovery. Flint flushed with pride, though he pretended he'd done nothing special. Tanis eyed the route of path that stretched ahead of them, meandering across the face of the mountain.

"It's narrow," he said, thinking of the refugees that might have to use it, "and steep."

"It is that," Flint agreed. "It was meant to be trod by dwarven feet, not human." He pointed ahead. "See that cleft in the walls up ahead? That's where this path leads. That's how we cross the mountains."

The cut was so narrow that it formed almost a perfect V shape. Tanis could not tell how wide it was, for they were yet some distance away, but from this vantage point, it looked as if two humans walking side-by-side would be a tight squeeze. The path on which he stood could accommodate two humans at some points, but he could see plainly that in other places people would need to walk single-file.

He and Flint had been climbing steadily since they left the foothills. The path had the solid backing of the mountain on one side, with nothing on the other except a long drop. Traversing such terrain did not bother dwarves in the least. Flint claimed that so long as they had rock beneath their feet, dwarven boots did not slip. Tanis thought of Goldmoon, who was terrified of heights, walking this path, and he wished for a moment that he believed in these new-found G.o.ds, so that he could pray to them to spare her and the people the necessity of making this terrible journey. As it was, he could only hope, and his hope was bleak.

He and Flint continued, their pace slowing, for though the dwarf marched with confidence along the trail, Tanis had to take more care.

Fortunately, the mountain had sheltered the path from the snow, so that the trail wasn't icy. Even so, Tanis had to watch his step, and though heights didn't bother him, every time he looked over the edge to the boulders below, certain parts of him shriveled.

By late afternoon, he and Flint had reached the cut that was every bit as narrow and difficult to cross as it had looked from a distance.

"We'll camp here for the night where the walls protect us from the wind," said Flint. "We cross in the morning."

As Tanis scouted out the best of a bad place in which to spend a cold night in a rock-strewn ravine, Flint stood with his hands on his hips, his lips pursed, staring up at the peak that towered above them. At length, after a good long perusal, he grunted in satisfaction.

"I thought as much," he said. "We need to leave Riverwind a sign."

"I have been leaving signs," Tanis pointed out. "You've seen me. He'll have no trouble finding the path."

"It's not the path I'm wanting to show him. Come take a look." Flint pointed at large boulder. "What do you make of that, lad?"

"It's a rock," said Tanis. "Like every other rock around here."

"Aye, but it's not!" Flint said triumphantly. "That rock is striped- red and orange. The rocks around it are gray."

"Then it must have tumbled down the side of the mountain. There's lots of loose rocks and boulders up there."

"That boulder didn't fall. Someone put it there. Now why do you suppose someone would do that?" Flint grinned. He was enjoying himself.

Tanis shook his head.

"It's a keystone," Flint stated. "Knock it out and it takes out that boulder, and that boulder takes out that one, and before you know it the whole shebang comes cascading down on your head."

"So you want me to warn Riverwind that no one should disturb this boulder," said Tanis.

Flint snorted. "The cold has frozen your brain, Half-Elf. I want you to tell him that if he's being pursued, once all the people have safely crossed, he should knock it out. It will block the pa.s.s behind him.

"Bring pick-axes, you advised." Tanis recalled their conversation that morning. He gazed thoughtfully at the rock and shook his head. "Explaining something this complicated is going to be difficult, short of leaving him a written note. You should have said something to him this morning."

"I wasn't certain I would find it. For all I knew, if my people had had left a keystone, and sometimes they do and sometimes they don't, it might have already been triggered or tumbled down on its own." left a keystone, and sometimes they do and sometimes they don't, it might have already been triggered or tumbled down on its own."

"Which would have meant that this cut was impa.s.sable," said Tanis. "We would have come all this way for nothing, unless there is another way out."

Flint shrugged. "From the signs my people left, this is the only pa.s.s there is. There was no way of knowing if it was open without coming to see for ourselves."

"Still, you should have told Riverwind about the keystone."

Flint glowered at him. "I'm breaking faith with my people by showing it to you, Half-Elven, much less going around blabbing secrets to a pack of humans."

Irate, he stomped off, leaving Tanis to solve the problem. At length, the half-elf picked up Flint's pick-axe and laid it down beside the keystone with its point facing the boulder. Anyone happening upon it would think they had either dropped it or abandoned it. Riverwind, he hoped, would remember that Flint had specifically mentioned pickaxes and would realize that this was a clue. Whether he realized it was a clue to blocking the trail behind them if they were being pursued was another matter.

He found Flint comfortably ensconced among the rocks, chewing on strips of dried venison.

"I was thinking about what you said, about dwarves sharing their secrets with humans. It seems to me that if we could all see ourselves as one 'people', this would be a better world."

"What are you grousing about, Half-Elven?" Flint demanded.

"I was saying it's a d.a.m.n shame we can't trust each other."

"Ah, if we all trusted each other, we'd all be kender," Flint said. "Then where would we be? I'm going to sleep. You take first watch."

Flint finished his meal, then wrapped himself in his blanket, and lay down on his back among the rocks.

Tanis propped himself up against a sloping wall, and, unable to get comfortable, he gazed into the starlit night.

"If there is no other way out of the valley, how will Raistlin reach Skullcap?" he asked.

"Fly there on his broomstick, most likely," Flint muttered, and giving a great yawn, he shoved a stone out from beneath his shoulders, closed his eyes, and sighed in deep contentment.

"This feels like home," he said, lacing his fingers over his chest. He was soon snoring.

Raistlin, Caramon, and Sturm continued their trek across the valley, walking all through the afternoon. Raistlin seemed infused with an unnatural energy that would not permit him to rest but kept driving him on. Caramon often insisted that they stop, but he wasted his time, for Raistlin would sit down for only a few moments, then he would be back on his feet, pacing restlessly, his gaze going to the sun now starting its descent into afternoon.