Dragons of The Dwarven Depths Part 11

"Sunset," was all he would say and kept walking.

The forested part of the valley ended. Open gra.s.sland spread before them. The trail they had been following through the trees disappeared, yet Raistlin kept going, moving out onto the snow-covered gra.s.s. He walked with his head down, leaning heavily on his staff. He looked neither to the right nor the left but kept his gaze fixed on his feet, as though all his will was bent on placing one foot in front of the other. His hand pressed against his chest. His breath rattled in his lungs.

Sturm expected the mage to collapse at any moment. He knew better than to say anything, however, knowing that any attempt to try to make Raistlin rest would result in a venomous look and a sarcastic gibe.

"This will be the death of your brother," Sturm warned Caramon in a low voice.

"I know," said Caramon, worried, "but he won't stop. I've tried to talk to him. He just gets mad."

"Where is he going in such a hurry? There's nothing ahead of us but a solid stone wall!"

The gra.s.s lands, smooth and trackless, stretched on for about two miles, coming to an abrupt end at a sheer wall of rock jutting up from the valley floor. The rock wall formed a span, like a natural bridge, between two mountains.

"Once we step out from under the cover of the trees and onto the empty gra.s.slands, a blind gully dwarf could spot us."

Caramon acknowledged the truth of this with a slow nod and kept walking.

"I don't like this, Caramon," Sturm continued. "There's something strange at work here." He had been going to say "evil," but he changed it at the last moment, fearing to upset Caramon, who nodded again and kept walking.

Sturm halted to draw breath. Gazing after the twins, he shook his head.

"I think Raistlin could order Caramon to follow him into the Abyss and he'd never hesitate," he said to himself. Loyalty to a brother was admirable, but loyalty should see with clear eyes, not stumble along blind.

Caramon peered around over his shoulder. "Sturm? You coming?"

Sturm hefted his pack and walked on. Loyalty to friends went unquestioned.

Chapter 9.

Pheragas Who? Wake Me if you see a Ghost.

As the sun waned and Flint and Tanis bedded down for the night on the mountain, Sturm, Caramon and Raistlin reached the end of their day's journey-a blank wall.

Both Caramon and Sturm could see quite clearly their sojourn across a snow-covered meadow was headed straight for a dead end. The rays of the setting sun struck the immense stone wall full on. Caramon thought they might climb it, but the bright sunlight revealed that the wall was smooth-sided with nary a hand or foot-hold in sight. The wall was slightly curved, like the side of a bowl, and so high that the tallest siege engines ever constructed would have reached only to its midpoint. There were no caves, no cracks, no way through it or over it, yet Raistlin made for the wall with dogged determination.

Caramon said nothing about the fact that they were on a journey to nowhere, for he was loathe to cross his brother. Sturm said nothing to Raistlin aloud, though he said plenty beneath his breath. Caramon could hear the knight muttering to himself as he slogged along behind him. Caramon knew Sturm was angry with him as well as his brother. Sturm believed Caramon should call a halt to this and force Raistlin to turn back. Sturm a.s.sumed that Caramon didn't because he feared his twin.

Sturm was only half-right. Caramon did fear his brother's anger, but he would have willingly risked his twin's snide comments and disparaging remarks if he thought that Raistlin was doing something wrong or putting himself in danger. Caramon was not so sure that was the case. Raistlin was acting very strangely, but he was also acting with purpose and resolve. Caramon felt compelled to respect his brother's decisions.

If it turns out he's wrong and we've come all this way for nothing, Caramon reflected wryly, Sturm will at least have the satisfaction of saying, "I told you so."

They continued to march across the gra.s.sland. Raistlin increased his pace as the shadows of coming night spread across the valley. They came at last to the base of the great gray wall.

The land was silent with that eerie, heavy silence that comes with a blanket of snow. The sky was empty, as was the land around them. They might have been the only living beings in the world.

Raistlin shoved back the cowl so that it fell around his shoulders and stared at the wall before him. He blinked and looked vaguely astonished, very much like he was seeing it for the first time, with no clear idea how he came to be here.

His confusion was not lost on Sturm.

The knight dropped his pack containing his armor with a clang and a clatter that echoed off the mountainside and jarred every tooth in Caramon's head.

"Your brother has no idea where he is, does he?" Sturm said flatly. "Or what he's doing here?" He glanced over shoulder. "It will be dark soon. We can make camp back in the woods. If we start now-"

He stopped talking because no one was listening to him. Raistlin had begun to walk along the base of the wall, his gaze intently scanning the gray rock that glimmered orange in the light of a flaring sunset. He walked several paces in one direction, then, not finding what he was seeking, he turned around and walked back. His gaze never left the wall. At length he paused. He brushed off snow that had stuck to the wall and smiled.

"This is it," he said.

Caramon walked over to look. His brother had uncovered a mark chiseled into stone at about waist-height. Caramon recognized the mark as a rune, one of the letters of the language of magic. His gut twisted, and his flesh crawled. He longed to ask his brother how he had known to trek miles across an unfamiliar, desolate valley and walk up to this vast wall of stone at precisely this location. He did not ask, however, perhaps because he feared Raistlin might tell him.

"What... what does it mean?" Caramon asked instead.

Sturm shoved forward. He saw the mark and said grimly, "Evil, that's what it means."

"It's not evil; it's magic," Caramon said, though he knew he was wasting his breath. In the mind of the Solamnic knight, they amounted to the same thing.

Raistlin paid no attention to either of them. The mage's long, delicate fingers rested lightly, caressingly, on the rune.

"Don't you know where you are, Pheragas?" Raistlin said suddenly. "This was to be our supply route in case we were besieged, and this was to have been our means of escape if the battle went awry. I know that you are dull-witted sometimes, Pheragas, but even you could not have forgotten something this important."

Caramon glanced around in perplexity, then stared at his brother. "Who are you talking to, Raist? Who's Pheragas?"

"You are, of course," returned Raistlin irritably. "Pheragas..."

He looked at Caramon and blinked. Raistlin put his hand to his forehead. His eyes lost their focus. "Why did I say that?" Seeing the rune beneath his fingers, he suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away. He looked up the wall and down, looked side to side. Turning to Caramon, Raistlin asked in a low voice. "Where are we, my brother?"

"Paladine save us," said Sturm. "He's gone mad."

Caramon licked dry lips, then said hesitantly, "Don't you know? You brought us here, Raist."

Raistlin made an impatient gesture. "Just tell me where we are!"

"The eastern end of the valley." Caramon peered at their surroundings. "By my reckoning, Skullcap must be somewhere on the other side of this wall. You said something about an 'escape route'. 'In case the battle went awry.' What... uh... did you mean by that?"

"I have no idea," Raistlin replied. He gazed at the wall and at the rune, his brow furrowed. "Yet I do seem to remember . '. ." ."

Caramon laid a solicitous hand on his brother's arm. "Never mind, Raist. You're exhausted. You should rest."

Raistlin wasn't listening. He stared at the wall, and his expression cleared. "Yes, that's right." He spoke softly. "If I touch this rune..."

"Raist, don't!" Caramon grabbed hold of his brother's arm.

Raistlin whipped his staff around, giving Caramon a crack on the wrist. Caramon yelped and drew back his hand. Raistlin touched the rune and pressed on it hard.

The portion of the wall on which the rune was etched depressed, sliding into the wall about three inches. A grinding sound emanated from inside the stone wall, followed by loud snapping and groaning. The outline of a doorway, about five feet in height and rectangular, appeared etched into the wall. The door s.h.i.+vered, displacing the snow sticking to the side of the wall, then the noise stopped. Nothing else happened.

Raistlin stood, frowning at it.

"Something must be wrong with the mechanism. Pheragas, put your shoulder to the door and push on it. You, too, Denubis. It will take both of you to force it."

Neither man moved.

Raistlin glanced irritably at them both. "What are you waiting for? Your brains to come back? Trust me. It will not happen. Pheragas, quit standing there gaping like a gutted fish and do as I command you."

Caramon simply stared at his twin, his mouth wide open. Sturm frowned deeply and took a step backward.

"I'll have nothing to do with evil magic," he said.

Raistlin gave a mirthless laugh.

"Magic? Are you daft? This is not magic. If this door was magic, it would be reliable! This mark is not a magical rune. It is the dwarven rune for the word 'Door'. The mechanism is three hundred years old and it is stuck, that's all."

He eyed his brother. "Pheragas-"

"I'm not Pheragas, Raist," said Caramon quietly.

Raistlin stared at him. His eyes flickered, and he said quietly, "No, no, you're not. I don't know why I keep calling you that. Caramon, please, you have nothing to fear. Just put your shoulder to the door-"

"Wait a minute, Caramon." Sturm halted the big man as he was about to obey. "This door might not be magic, as you say-" though he gave the doorway a dark glance- "but I for one want to know how your brother knew it was here." door might not be magic, as you say-" though he gave the doorway a dark glance- "but I for one want to know how your brother knew it was here."

Raistlin glared at the knight and Caramon cringed, expecting him to lash out at Sturm. Caramon was always getting caught in the middle between his brother and his friends, and he hated it. Their fighting made his stomach twist. He cast Sturm a pleading glance, begging him to let the subject drop. After all, it was just a door...

His brother did not lash out. The explosion of rage Caramon feared did not happen. Raistlin's lips compressed. He looked at the door, looked at the trail they had left through the snow, the trail that stretched back to the woods and across the valley. His gaze went to Sturm, and there came a ghost of a smile to the thin lips.

"You have never trusted me, Sturm Brightblade," Raistlin said quietly, "and I do not know why. To my knowledge, I have never betrayed you. I have never lied to you. If I have kept certain information to myself from time to time, I suppose that is my right. To be honest," Raistlin added with a shrug, "I do not know how I found this door. I do not know how I knew it was here. I do not know how I knew to open it. I did, and that is all I can say."

He raised his hand, as Sturm would have spoken. "I also know this. Inside the door we will find a tunnel that will lead us directly into the fortress of Zhaman, what is now known as Skullcap."

Raistlin glanced at the door and sighed. "At least, it used to. The tunnel might have been destroyed in the blast."

"Now that you're being so open and honest," said Sturm grimly, "I suppose you a.s.sume we'll walk right in."

"Either that or spend the next several days searching for a way over these mountains, and more days after that in crossing them," Raistlin replied. "It is up to you, Sir Knight. Which would you rather do? In the interests of saving time, Caramon and I will take this route. Won't we, my brother?"

"Sure, Raist," said Caramon.

Sturm was still frowning at the door.

"C'mon, Sturm," said Caramon in low tones. "You don't want to go traipsing over these mountains. You might never find a way. Like Raist says, the door's not magic. Dwarves built it. We saw doors that worked like this in Pax Tharkas. As for how Raist knew it was here, it doesn't matter. Maybe he read about it in a book and just forgot."

Sturm regarded his friend thoughtfully. Then he smiled and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. "If all mankind were as loyal and trusting as you are, Caramon, the world would be a better place.

Unhappily-" his gaze s.h.i.+fted to Raistlin- "such is not the case. Still, as you say, this saves us time and effort."

Sturm walked over to the door and put his shoulder against the stone. Caramon joined him, and both shoved on the rock. At first, they made no progress. They might have been pus.h.i.+ng on the side of the mountain. They gave it another shove, digging their heels into the ground, and suddenly the block of stone slid backward, moving so fast on steel tracks that Caramon lost his footing and fell flat. Sturm stumbled too, barely catching himself.

The sun had vanished. The afterglow was all the light in the sky, and that would be gone soon.

"s.h.i.+rak," said Raistlin, raising his staff. The crystal on top, held fast in the golden claw, burst into light. He walked past his brother, and Sturm, who stood hesitantly near the opening in the stone wall, and entered the tunnel.

Light gleamed on a steel rail about six feet in length, running straight into the pa.s.sage until, at this juncture, the rail line split, part of it curving around to the left to come up against a wall, The rest continued on down the tunnel, disappearing in the darkness. Raistlin examined the mechanism with interest.

"Look at this," he said, pointing. "The door is mounted on wheels that run along the rail. The door can then be pushed against this wall, so that it is out of the way."

Four carts mounted on rails stood in a row. The carts were still in good condition, for the pa.s.sage beneath the mountain had been sealed up tight. The floor and walls were dry. Raistlin glanced inside the carts. They were empty. By the looks of them, they had never been used.

"Supply wagons could be driven up to the tunnel, their contents unloaded onto these carts. The carts were either pushed or pulled along the rails, down the tunnel, and into Zhaman. Thus, even besieged, the fortress could still be resupplied, and in case defeat was imminent, those inside the fortress could use this route to escape."

"That doesn't make any sense," stated Caramon, entering and peering around.

"What doesn't?" asked his brother impatiently.

"According to Flint, when the wizard saw that he was about to be defeated, he decided to destroy himself and kill thousands of his own troops." Caramon gestured to the tunnel. "Why would he do that when he could have fled to safety?"

"And we know we're not being followed," said Caramon with a yawn.

As it turned out, they were both wrong. Tas and Tika were out there, and they were following them.

Midway through the day, Ta.s.slehoff and Tika had finally managed to sneak away from laundry detail. When it came time to spread the sopping wet clothes and bedding over bushes to dry, Tika had eagerly volunteered for the task. A quick poke in the ribs had caused Tas to volunteer as well. Tas had managed to retrieve their packs and hide them beneath a rotted log. Snagging these, the two of them had dumped the laundry they were supposed to be hanging and slipped away from camp.

They'd picked up the trail of the three men with ease. They could see in the snow the print of Raistlin's narrow feet, the brush-marks left by the hem of his robes, and indentations made by his staff. Caramon's large footprints were always near the smaller prints of his brother, and Sturm's heavy prints came behind, guarding the rear.

Well aware that they'd lost valuable time and that they had only half the day left before darkness overtook them, Tika tried her best to hurry along. This proved difficult, for Ta.s.slehoff was constantly being distracted by something he saw and continually starting to venture off to investigate. Tika had to either argue him out of it, forcibly restrain him, or if she happened to be looking the other way, go chase him down.

When night fell, the two were still inside the forest.

"We have to stop," Tika said, dispirited. "If we go on, we might miss their tracks in the dark. Does this clearing look like a good place to camp?"

"As good as any," said Tas. "There are probably wolves out there ready to tear us apart, but if we build a fire we can keep them away."

"Wolves?" Tika glanced nervously around the dark forest.

She had traveled far from Solace and the Inn of the Last Home, where she had worked as a barmaid, going on a journey she had never expected to take. Neither had she expected to fall in love on this journey and certainly not with Caramon Majere, who had teased her unmercifully when she was a little girl, calling her "Carrot-top."

"Freckle-face" and "Skinny b.u.t.t."

He didn't call her those names now, of course. No one did. Tika had filled out nicely; too nicely, she thought, when she compared herself to the graceful, sylph-like Laurana. Buxom and broad-shouldered, with strong, muscular arms, gleaned from years of carrying heavy trays of food and hefting mugs of ale, Tika was always amused when someone termed her "pretty". Her red curls, green eyes and flas.h.i.+ng smile had captured more than one heart back in Solace, and now Caramon's was among them, his the most treasured.

Here she was, far from home, far from anything resembling a home, if you came down to it, spending the night in a dark-extremely dark-forest, her only companion a kender. While Ta.s.slehoff was her best friend and she was very glad he was with her, she couldn't help wis.h.i.+ng he wouldn't talk quite so much or so loudly and especially that he wouldn't keep jumping up at every strange noise and crying out eagerly, "Did you hear that, Tika? It sounded like a bear!"

Tika had spent many nights in the wilderness on this trip but always in company with skilled warriors who knew how to defend themselves. Tika had been in a few fights, but thus far the only weapon she had ever wielded with elan was a heavy iron skillet. She had found a sword, but she knew quite well, for she'd been told often enough, that when she wielded it, she was dangerous only to herself.