Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (34 page)

“Nor I,” Laurana said. Shivering, she walked hesitantly past the cold image of the mage. The mage’s obsidian robes gleamed black in the moons’ light. Laurana remembered vividly the nightmare of Silvanesti, and she shuddered as she entered what she saw now was a ring of stone statues—each of them bearing a striking, almost frightening resemblance to her friends. Within that silent ring of stone stood a small temple.

The simple rectangular building thrust up into the fog from an octagonal base of shining steps. It, too, was made of obsidian, and the black structure glistened wet with the perpetual fog. Each feature stood as if it had been carved only days before; no sign of wear marred the sharp, clean lines of the carving. Its knights, each bearing the dragonlance, still charged huge monsters. Dragons screamed silently in frozen death, pierced by the long, delicate shafts.

“Inside this temple, they placed Huma’s body,” Silvara said softly as she led them up the stairs.

Cold bronze doors swung open on silent hinges to Silvara’s touch. The companions stood uncertainly on the stairs that encircled the columned temple. But, as Gilthanas had said, they could sense no evil coming from this place. Laurana remembered vividly the Tomb of the Royal Guard in the Sla-Mori and the terror generated by the undead guards left to keep eternal watch over their dead king, Kith-Kanan. In this temple, however, she felt only sorrow and loss, tempered by the knowledge of a great victory—a battle won at terrible cost, but bringing with it eternal peace and sweet restfulness.

Laurana felt her burden ease, her heart become lighter. Her own sorrow and loss seemed diminished here. She was reminded of her own victories and triumphs. One by one, all the companions entered the tomb. The bronze doors swung shut behind them, leaving them in total darkness.

Then light flared. Silvara held a torch in her hand, apparently taken from the wall. Laurana wondered briefly how she had managed to light it. But the trivial question left her mind as she stood gazing around the tomb in awe.

It was empty except for a bier carved out of obsidian, which stood in the center of the room. Chiseled images of knights supported the bier, but the body of the knight that was supposed to have rested upon it was gone. An ancient shield lay at the foot, and a sword, similar to Sturm’s, lay near the shield. The companions gazed at these artifacts in silence. It seemed a desecration to the sorrowful serenity of the place to speak, and none touched them, not even Tasslehoff.

“I wish Sturm could be here,” murmured Laurana, looking around, tears coming to her eyes. “This
must
be Huma’s resting place … yet—”

She couldn’t explain the growing sense of uneasiness that was creeping over her. Not fear, it was more like the sensation she had felt upon entering the vale—a sense of urgency.

Silvara lit more torches along the wall, and the companions walked past the bier, gazing around the tomb curiously. It was not large. The bier stood in the center and stone benches lined the walls, presumably for the mourners to rest upon while paying their respects. At the far end stood a small stone altar. Carved in its surface were the symbols of the orders of the Knights, the crown, the rose, the kingfisher. Dried rose petals and herbs lay scattered on the top, their fragrance still lingering sweetly in the air after hundreds of years. Below the altar, sunk into the stone floor, was a large iron plate.

As Laurana stared curiously at this plate, Theros came over to stand beside her.

“What do you suppose this is?” she wondered. “A well?”

“Let’s see,” grunted the smith. Bending over, he lifted the ring on top of the plate in his huge, silver hand and pulled. At first nothing happened. Theros placed both hands on the ring and heaved with all his strength. The iron plate gave a great groan and slid across the floor with a scraping, squeaking sound that set their teeth on edge.

“What have you done?” Silvara, who had been standing near the tomb regarding it sadly, whirled to face them.

Theros stood up in astonishment at the shrill sound of her voice. Laurana involuntarily backed away from the gaping
hole in the floor. Both of them stared at Silvara.

“Do not go near that!” Silvara warned, her voice shaking. “Stand clear! It is dangerous!”

“How do you know?” Laurana said coolly, recovering herself. “No one’s come here for hundreds of years. Or have they?”

“No!” Silvara said, biting her lip. “I—I know from the … legends of my people …”

Ignoring the girl, Laurana stepped to the edge of the hole and peered inside. It was dark. Even holding the torch Flint brought her from the wall, she could see nothing down there. A faint musty odor drifted from the hole, but that was all.

“I don’t think it’s a well,” said Tas, crowding to see.

“Stay away from it! Please!” Silvara begged.

“She’s right, little thief!” Theros grabbed Tas and pulled him away from the hole. “If you fell in there, you might tumble through to the other side of the world.”

“Really?” asked Tasslehoff breathlessly. “Would I really fall through to the other side, Theros? I wonder what it would be like? Would there be people there? Like us?”

“Not like kenders hopefully!” Flint grumbled. “Or they’d all be dead of idiocy by now. Besides, everyone knows that the world rests on the Anvil of Reorx. Those falling to the other side are caught between his hammer blows and the world still being forged. People on the other side indeed!” He snorted as he watched Theros unsuccessfully try to replace the plate. Tasslehoff was still staring at it curiously. Finally Theros was forced to give up, but he glared at the kender until Tas heaved a sigh and wandered away to the stone bier to stare with longing eyes at the shield and sword.

Flint tugged Laurana’s sleeve.

“What is it?” she asked absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

“I know stonework,” the dwarf said softly, “and there’s something strange about all this.” He paused, glancing to see if Laurana might laugh. But she was paying serious attention to him. “The tomb and the statues built outside are the work of men. It is old.…”

“Old enough to be Huma’s tomb?” Laurana interrupted.

“Every bit of it.” The dwarf nodded emphatically. “But yon great beast outside”—he gestured in the direction of the huge stone dragon—“was never built by the hands of man or elf or dwarf.”

Laurana blinked, uncomprehending.

“And it is older still,” the dwarf said, his voice growing husky. “So old it makes this”—he waved his hand at the tomb—“modern.”

Laurana began to understand. Flint, seeing her eyes widen, nodded slowly and solemnly.

“No hand of any being that walks upon Krynn with two legs carved the side out of that cliff,” he said.

“It must have been a creature with awesome strength,” Laurana murmured. “A huge creature—”

“With wings—”

“With wings,” Laurana murmured.

Suddenly she stopped talking, her blood chilled in fear as she heard words being chanted, words she recognized as the strange, spidery language of magic.

“No!” Turning, she lifted her hand instinctively to ward off the spell, knowing as she did so that it was futile.

Silvara stood beside the altar, crumbling rose petals in her hand, chanting softly.

Laurana fought the enchanted drowsiness that crept over her. She fell to her knees, cursing herself for a fool, clinging to the stone bench for support. But it did no good. Lifting her sleep-glazed eyes, she saw Theros topple over and Gilthanas slump to the ground. Beside her, the dwarf was snoring even before his head hit the bench.

Laurana heard a clattering sound, the sound of a shield crashing to the floor, then the air was filled with the fragrance of roses.

T
asslehoff heard Silvara chanting. Recognizing the words of a magic spell, he reacted instinctively, grabbed hold of the shield that lay on the bier, and pulled. The heavy shield fell on top of him, striking the floor with a ringing clang, flattening the kender. The shield covered Tas completely.

He lay still beneath it until he heard Silvara finish her chant. Even then, he waited a few moments to see if he was going to turn into a frog or go up in flames or something interesting like that. He didn’t—rather to his disappointment. He couldn’t even hear Silvara. Finally, growing bored lying in the darkness on the cold stone floor, Tas crept out from beneath the heavy shield with the silence of a falling feather.

All his friends were asleep! So that was the spell she cast. But where was Silvara? Gone somewhere to get a horrible monster to come back and devour them?

Cautiously, Tas raised his head and peered over the bier. To his astonishment, he saw Silvara crouched on the floor, near the tomb entrance. As Tas watched, she rocked back and forth, making small, moaning sounds.

“How can I go through with it?” Tas heard her say to herself. “I’ve brought them here. Isn’t that enough? No!” She shook her head in misery. “No, I’ve sent the orb away. They don’t know how to use it. I must break the oath. It is as you said, sister—the choice is mine. But it is hard! I love him—”

Sobbing, muttering to herself like one possessed, Silvara buried her face in her knees. The tender-hearted kender had never seen such sorrow, and he longed to go comfort her. Then he realized what she was talking about didn’t sound good. “Choice is a hard one, break the oath …”

No, Tas thought, I better find a way out of here before she realizes her spell didn’t work on me.

But Silvara blocked the entrance to the tomb. He might try to sneak past her.… Tas shook his head. Too risky.

The hole! He brightened. He’d wanted to examine it more carefully anyway. He just hoped the lid was still off.

The kender tiptoed around the bier until he came to the altar. There was the hole, still gaping open. Theros lay beside it, sound asleep, his head pillowed upon his silver arm. Glancing back at Silvara, Tas sneaked silently to the edge.

It would certainly be a better place to hide than where he was now. There were no stairs, but he could see handholds on the wall. A deft kender—such as himself—should have no trouble at all climbing down. Perhaps it led outside. Suddenly Tas heard a noise behind him. Silvara sighing and stirring.…

Without another thought, Tas lowered himself silently into the hole and began his descent. The walls were slick with moisture and moss, the handholds were spaced far apart. Built for humans, he thought irritably. No one ever considered little people!

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the gems until he was practically on top of them.

“Reorx’s beard!” he swore. (He was fond of this oath, having borrowed it from Flint.) Six beautiful jewels—each as big around as his hand—were spaced in a horizontal ring around the walls of the shaft. They were covered with moss, but Tas could tell at a glance how valuable they were.

“Now why would anyone put such wonderful jewels down here?” he asked aloud. “I’ll bet it was some thief. If I can pry them loose, I’ll return them to their rightful owner.” His hand closed over a jewel.

A tremendous blast of wind filled the shaft, pulling the kender off the wall as easily as a winter gale rips a leaf off a tree. Falling, Tas looked back up, watching the light at the top of the shaft grow smaller and smaller. He wondered briefly just how big the Hammer of Reorx was, and then he stopped falling.

For a moment, the wind tumbled him end over end. Then it switched directions, blowing him sideways. I’m not going to the other side of the world after all, he thought sadly. Sighing, he sailed along through another tunnel. Then he suddenly felt himself start to rise! A great wind was wafting him up the shaft! It was an unusual sensation, quite exhilarating. Instinctively, he spread his arms to see if he could touch the sides of whatever it was he was in. As he spread his arms, he noticed that he rose faster, borne gently upward on swift currents of air.

Perhaps I’m dead, Tas thought. I’m dead and now I’m lighter than air. How can I tell? Putting his arms down, he felt frantically for his pouches. He wasn’t certain, the kender had very vague ideas as to the afterlife—but he had a feeling they wouldn’t let him take his things with him. No, everything was there. Tas breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a gulp when he discovered himself slowing down and even starting to fall!

What? he thought wildly, then realized he had pulled both his arms in close to his body. Hurriedly he thrust his arms out again and, sure enough, he began to rise. Convinced that he wasn’t dead, he gave himself up to enjoying the flight.

Fluttering his hands, the kender rolled over on his back in midair, and stared up to see where he was going.

Ah, there was a light far above him, growing brighter and brighter. Now he could see that he was in a shaft, but it was much longer than the shaft he had tumbled down.

“Wait until Flint hears about this!” he said wistfully. Then he caught a glimpse of six jewels, like the ones he’d seen in the other shaft. The rushing wind began to lessen.

Just as he decided that he could really enjoy taking up flying as a way of life, Tas reached the top of the shaft. The air
currents held him even with the stone floor of a torch-lit chamber. Tas waited a moment to see if he might start flying again, and he even flapped his arms a bit to help, but nothing happened. Apparently his flight had ended.