Dragons of The Dwarven Depths Part 32

Flint sat in the wagon, holding onto the Helm of Grallen, and he heard the wheels clicking out the words, "Not much time. Not much time. Not much time..."

Chapter 8.

The Old Dwarven Road. Tracks in The snow.

The refugees trudged through the snow, which Riverwind con-sidered a blessing from the G.o.ds. The snow fell in huge flakes that came drifting straight down from the gray sky. The air was calm, the wind still. All was silence, for the snow m.u.f.fled every sound. He feared that the snow, though a blessing, would also be a curse, for it would make the road slippery and dangerous to travel. Hederick, finding the G.o.ds had once again outfoxed him, spoke ominously of compound fractures and people slipping on the ice and falling to their deaths, for of course this ancient road would be in bad repair, cracked and broken.

Hederick did not know dwarves. When dwarves build a road, they build it to last. Though narrow, the road was intact and safe to walk, for the dwarves had taken into account the fact that those traveling the road would be doing so in bad weather and good, in winter and summer, through rain and snow, hail and fog, sleet and wind. They had carved grooves in the stone where the road was steepest, to prevent slipping, and they had built walls to prevent people from falling off the mountain side.

While the snow hid them from their enemies, it also hid them from each other. The people stayed close together, not daring to lose sight of those ahead of them for fear they would end up lost. At times, when the snow fell so thickly that no one could see anything except the woolly flakes, they were forced to halt to wait until the flurries pa.s.sed and they could once again move on.

Still, they were making good time and Riverwind was hopeful that everyone would be off the mountain by nightfall.

Thus far, they had not been attacked, and Riverwind couldn't help but wonder why. He feared his enemy would be waiting for them in the forest, but his scouts had thus far found no trace of draconians, whose tracks would have been easy to spot in the snow.

"Perhaps, like lizards, draconian blood runs sluggish in the cold," he suggested to Gilthanas.

The two walked near the front of the line. The pine forest was directly ahead of them; they could see the trees, so dark green as to be almost blue, through the breaks in the snow. Some of the refugees had already reached the forest and were setting up camp. Riverwind's plan was that they would remain here, sheltered beneath the trees, while he ventured up the mountain to investigate the opening to find out if it was the gate to the dwarven kingdom.

"Or else our enemy is waiting until night falls," Gilthanas remarked.

"You're such a comfort," said Riverwind.

"You are the one who insists on looking the G.o.ds' blessing in the mouth," Gilthanas returned.

"This is too easy," Riverwind muttered.

At that moment, Gilthanas lost his footing in a slushy mix of snow and ice and would have taken a nasty fall if Riverwind hadn't caught hold of him.

"If this is easy, I would hate to see what you consider hard, Plainsman," Gilthanas grumbled. "My clothes are soaked through. My feet are so cold I can no longer feel them. I'd almost welcome a dragon for his fire."

Riverwind s.h.i.+vered suddenly, not from cold but from some unnamed foreboding. He turned to look back up the mountain, blinking away the snow that settled on his eyelashes. When the snow lifted for a moment, he could see the people spread out along the trail, slogging along the road.

"The snow will be ending soon," Gilthanas predicted.

Riverwind agreed. He could feel change coming. The wind was picking up, blowing the snow in swirling circles. The air was growing warmer. The snow would end, and dragons could fly once more.

By the time he and Gilthanas reached the pines, some of the refugees had built a large bonfire in a cleared area. Riverwind was pleased with the location his scouts had chosen for their campsite. The pine branches were thickly intertwined, forming a canopy that even dragon eyes would have a difficult time penetrating. Women were hanging wet blankets and clothes from the branches near the fire to dry, and some, led by Tika, were considering what they might cook for supper. Gilthanas forget his complaints about the cold and spoke of forming a hunting party. He went off to find men to join him.

Tika had recovered from her wounds, but Riverwind was still concerned about her. She stood among the group of women talking of stews, soups, and roast venison. Ordinarily, her infectious laughter would have shaken the snow from the tree limbs and caused all around to smile or join in her merriment. She still spoke her piece, giving her opinion, but she was subdued and quiet. Goldmoon came up to stand beside her husband. She clasped her hands over his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her gaze, too, was fixed on Tika.

"She is not herself," he said. "Perhaps she is not fully healed. You should speak to Mishakal about her."

Goldmoon shook her head. "The G.o.ds can heal wounds made to flesh and bone. They cannot heal those of the heart. She is in love with Caramon. He loves her, or rather he would if he if were free to love her."

"He is free," said Riverwind grimly. "All he has to do is tell that brother of his to let him live his own life for a change."

"Caramon can't do that."

"He could if he wanted. Raistlin is powerful in magic, more powerful than he lets on. He's clever and intelligent. He can make his way in this world. He doesn't need his brother."

"You don't understand. Caramon knows all that. It is his greatest fear," said Goldmoon softly, "the day his brother does not need him."

Riverwind snorted. His wife was right; he didn't understand. He turned to Eagle Talon, who had been standing patiently at his elbow.

"We have found something you should come see," said the scout in quiet tones. "Just you," he added with a glance at Goldmoon.

Riverwind followed. The snow had fallen more lightly in this area, barely covering the ground with a white feathery powder. After walking about two miles deeper among the trees, they came to the ruin of the village and the charred bodies of the gully dwarves.

"Poor, miserable wretches," Riverwind said, his brow furrowed in anger.

"They tried to flee. They had no thought of fighting," Eagle Talon said.

"No, gully dwarves would not," Riverwind agreed.

"They were cut down trying to run from their attackers. Look at this-arrows in the back, heads sliced off. Children hacked to. bits. And here." He pointed to clawed footprints in the frozen mud. "Draconians did this."

"Any recent signs of them?"

"No. The attack took place days ago," Eagle Talon said. "The ashes are cold. The attackers are long gone. But come see what else we have found."

"Here," he said, indicating footprints. "And here. And here and here. And this."

He pointed to a bent pewter spoon that had been gently laid upon the body of a gully dwarf child, along with a little sprig of pine and a white feather.

"A gift to the dead," he said quietly. "These footprints are those of the kender."

Riverwind looked from the spoon to the small body and shook his head. "I recognize the spoon. It belongs to Hederick."

"He must have dropped it," said Eagle Talon, and they both smiled.

"You can see Ta.s.slehoff's footprints are all over the place, and there is more-two sets of prints that keep together-large feet and small. Here the b.u.t.t of a staff has left its mark."

"Caramon and Raistlin. So they made it this far," said Riverwind.

"Here the half-elf has left his customary trail marker, and there are the tracks of hob-nailed boots for the dwarf and these for the knight, Sturm Brightblade. As you can see, they stood here for some time talking. Their tracks sank deep in the mud. Then they went off together in that direction, heading up the mountain."

"Our friends are alive and they are together, unless," Riverwind said, his expression darkening, "they were here when the draconians attacked."

"I think not. They came after. You can see where their feet trod in the ashes. Whatever reasons the draconians had for committing this slaughter, it was not because of our friends. My guess is they did it for the love of killing."

"Perhaps," said Riverwind, unconvinced. He did not want to speak his thoughts aloud, for though he did not know it, they tended along the same line as Raistlin's speculations-the gully dwarves had died for a reason. "Keep this to ourselves, no need to worry the others. As you say, whoever did this is long gone."

Eagle Talon agreed, and he and the other scouts returned to camp, there to eat and rest. They would head out early in the morning, making their way up the mountain.

The snow quit during the night. The air grew warmer as the wind s.h.i.+fted, blowing from the ocean waters to the west. The snow began to melt and Riverwind, before he fell asleep, worried that on the morrow the sun would s.h.i.+ne and the dragons would return.

The G.o.ds had not forgotten them. When dawn came, the sun was not to be seen. A thick layer of fog rolled off the snow and over the pine trees. Wrapped in the gray blanket, the people waited in the forest as Gilthanas and Riverwind, and two of the scouts climbed the face of the mountain, heading for the gaping hole that might or might not be the Gates of Thorbardin.

Chapter 9.

The Life Tree. The Council of Thanes. Bad To Worse.

The rattling wagon on wheels rocked along the metal tracks, carrying the companions to the heart of Thorbardin-an enormous cavern. Before them was a gigantic underground lake, and rising out of the lake was one of the wonders of the world.

So astonis.h.i.+ng was the sight that for long moments no one could neither move nor speak. Caramon gulped. Raistlin breathed a soft sigh. Ta.s.slehoff was struck dumb, an amazing occurrence in itself. Tanis could only stare. Flint was moved to the depths of his soul. He had heard stories of this all his life and the thought that he was here, the first of his people in three hundred years to view this fabled place, stirred him profoundly.

Arman Kharas stepped out of the wagon.

"The Life Tree of the Hylar," he said, gesturing like a showman. "Impressive, isn't it?"

"I've never seen the like," said Tanis, awed.

"Nor ever will," Flint said huskily, his heart swelling with pride. "Only dwarves could have built this."

The Life Tree of the Hylar was a gigantic stalact.i.te rising up out of the lake known as the Urkhan Sea. Narrow at the bottom, the stalact.i.te widened gradually as it soared upward to the ceiling so far above them they had to crane their necks to see the upper levels. A strange sort of iridescent coral found in the sea had grown up the outside of the stalact.i.te, and the warm glow pulsing from its myriad branches lit the vast cavern almost as bright as day. In addition, lights twinkled from all parts of the Life Tree, for the dwarves had built an enormous city complex in the stalact.i.te. This was the fabled Life Tree, home of the Hylar dwarves for many centuries.

Boats drawn by cables crossed the lake at different points, carrying dwarves of all the clans back and forth from the Life Tree, for as implied by its name, it was the beating heart of Thorbardin. The Hylar dwarves might claim it as their city, but dwarves from all the other clans did business here and took advantage of the inns, taverns, and ale houses that could be found on every level.

The boat docks were busy places. Dock workers tromped about loading and unloading cargo from the boats, while the boat pa.s.sengers stood patiently in long lines, waiting their turn to cross.

Word had spread from the West Warrens that the gate had been opened, and the Talls who had entered were prisoners and were going to be taken before the Council of Thanes. A large crowd of dwarves had gathered on the docks to see the strangers. There were no disturbances here as there had been in the outlying district. A few dwarves scowled at the sight, with Flint, the kender, and the wizard coming in for the majority of their enmity. Flint noted, however, that many dwarven eyes were fixed on what he carried-the Helm of Grallen. Word of that had spread, too. The looks were dark, bitter, and accusing. Many dwarves made the ancient sign to ward off evil.

Flint juggled the helm nervously. Whatever curse this helm carried must be a potent one. These dwarves were not the ignorant, superst.i.tious Theiwar or the wild-eyed Klar. They were Hylar for the most part, well educated and practical-minded. Flint would have chosen shouted insults over the heavy, ominous silence that lay like on a pall on the crowd.

As Arman Kharas sent soldiers ahead to commandeer a cable boat, Caramon cast Tanis a troubled glance.

"What are we going to do about the dwarf?" he said.

"What about him?" Tanis asked, not understanding.

Caramon jerked a thumb at the boat. "He swore he'd never set foot in one again."

Tanis remembered. Flint was terrified of boats. He claimed it was because Caramon had once nearly drowned him during a fis.h.i.+ng expedition. Tanis glanced with trepidation at his friend, expecting a scene. To his surprise, Flint regarded the boats with quiet equanimity and did not seem in the least bothered. After a moment, Tanis realized why.

The dwarf has not been born who can swim. A dwarf in the water sinks like a rock-like a whole sack of rocks. No dwarf feels comfortable on the water, and they had designed their boats with this in mind. The boats were flat-bottomed, long, wide, and solidly built, with never a thought of rocking, swaying, or bobbing in the water. Low seats lined high, windowless, wooden sides that blocked out all sight of the water gurgling beneath.

Arman hustled the companions into the boat, saying they had a long way to go yet before they reached the Court of Thanes, which was located on one of the upper levels. The dwarves on the docks continued to stare after them as they departed. Then one voice called out.

"Throw the cursed helm in the lake and Marman Arman along with it."

Marman Arman. "Marman" was Dwarvish slang for "crazy." Flint glanced at Arman, curious to see what he would do. All he could see was his back. Arman stood in the prow, staring straight ahead. His back was rigid, his shoulders braced, his chin jutting in the air. He acted as if he hadn't heard the insulting play on words.

Flint s.h.i.+fted slightly so that he could see Arman's face. The young dwarf was flushed, his jaw set. His fists were clenched, nails digging into his palms.

"I will find it," he swore. His eyes blinked rapidly, and tears glittered on his lashes. "I will!"

Flint looked away in embarra.s.sment, wis.h.i.+ng he hadn't seen. He did not like Arman, considering him a boaster and a braggart, but he found himself feeling sorry for him, as he had once felt sorry for a half-elf who could not find a home among either elves or humans, as he'd felt sorry for orphaned twins left to fend for themselves at an early age, and for a young Solamnic boy separated from his father and forced to live in exile.

Flint did not consciously equate Arman with the others. He certainly had no intention of coming to the aid of this young dwarf who had put them under arrest, but by the same token, Flint had never intended to come to the aid of Tanis, Sturm, Raistlin, or Caramon. If anyone had accused him of such a thing, he would have vehemently denied it. The twins happened to be neighbors; Tanis happened to need a business partner. That was all.

Still, at that moment, Flint felt extremely sorry for Arman Kharas. If the old dwarf could have found who shouted out the insult, he would have slugged him.

The cable boat landed on the Life Tree dock. There were larger crowds here, a mixture of all the clans. Soldiers had cordoned off an area and were holding back the gawkers. The companions met with the same scowls, the same dark looks, the same ominous silence that was broken only by the cheerful voice of the kender, who was constantly trying to stop to introduce himself and shake hands, only to be dragged away by a grim-faced Caramon.

Then, from somewhere in the crowd's midst, a low rumbling sound started, like the growl of a gigantic beast with many throats. The growling grew louder and more menacing and suddenly the mob surged forward, straining against the soldiers, who held them in place with by locking arms and bracing their feet firmly on the stone floor.

"You'd better get them out of here, Your Highness!" a captain cried in dwarven to Arman. "Some are Klar dock workers, and you know the Klar, crazy as rabid bats. I can't hold them back for long."

Arman pointed to a transport shaft that carried the dwarves up and down the levels of the Life Tree. The companions raced for it, with Hylar soldiers closing in behind them, prodding those who came too close with the ends of the spears.

They scrambled into the large bucket-like carriers, which, Caramon was thankful to see, were far more stable than the crude kettle-turned-bucket-turned-carrier they'd encountered at Xak Tsaroth. Crammed inside the bucket along with Arman Kharas, the companions stared out at the thwarted mob. The car gave a lurch and began to clank upward, jolting everyone.

They made the clanking, clattering, jerking ascent in tense silence. The strange world in which they found themselves, the oppressive darkness, the dangers they had already faced, and the hostile reception were beginning to tell on all of them.

"I wish you'd never found this helm," Flint said suddenly, glaring at Raistlin. "Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!"

"Do not blame me," Raistlin retorted. "If the fool knight had heeded my warning and not stuck his his nose in the helm-" nose in the helm-"

"-we wouldn't be here in Thorbardin now," Sturm countered in icy tones.

"No," Flint returned caustically, "we'd be someplace else, someplace where people didn't want to slit our throats!"

"Just get off Raistlin's back, will you, Flint?" Caramon said heatedly. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

"I do not need you to defend me, Caramon," Raistlin said, adding bitterly, "You can all go to the Abyss for all I care."

"I've always wanted to go to the Abyss," Ta.s.slehoff said. "Wouldn't you like to go there, Raistlin? It must horrible! Wonderfully horrible, that is."

"Oh, just shut up, you doork.n.o.b!" Flint thundered.

"Good advice for us all," said Tanis quietly.

He stood braced against the side of the lurching carrier, his arms crossed, his head bowed. Everyone knew immediately what he was thinking-of the refugees who were their responsibility, and of the people counting on them to find safety. Perhaps the refugees were fleeing for their lives this moment, running from their enemies, putting all their hopes for survival on them, and this would be their welcome: angry mobs, swords and spears, boulders hurled at them from the darkness.