Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (48 page)

After an exhilarating ride in the catapult, he found Gnosh in the Examination Room. The pieces of the broken dragon orb—tagged and numbered—were spread out across two tables.

“Absolutely fascinating,” Gnosh spoke so fast he stuttered, “because we have analyzed the glass, curious material, unlike nothing we’ve ever seen, greatest discovery, this century—”

“So your Life Quest is over?” Tas interrupted. “Your father’s soul—”

“Resting comfortably!” Gnosh beamed, then returned to his work. “Andsogladyoucouldstopbyandifyou’reeverintheneighborhoodcomebyandseeusagain—”

“I will,” Tas said, smiling.

Tas found Fizban two levels down. (A fascinating journey—he simply yelled out the name of his level, then leaped into the void. Nets flapped and fluttered, bells went off, gongs sounded and whistles blew. Tas was finally caught one level above the ground, just as the area was being inundated with sponges.)

Fizban was in Weapons Development, surrounded by gnomes, all gazing at him with unabashed admiration.

“Ah, my boy!” he said, peering vaguely at Tasslehoff. “You’re just in time to see the testing of our new weapon. Revolutionize warfare. Make the dragonlance obsolete.”

“Really?” Tas asked in excitement.

“A fact!” Fizban confirmed. “Now, you stand over here—” He motioned to a gnome who leaped to do his bidding, running to stand in the middle of the cluttered room.

Fizban picked up what looked, to the kender’s confused mind, like a crossbow that had been attacked by an enraged fisherman. It was a crossbow all right. But instead of an arrow, a huge net dangled from a hook on the end. Fizban, grumbling and muttering, ordered the gnomes to stand behind him and give him room.

“Now, you are the enemy,” Fizban told the gnome in the center of the room. The gnome immediately assumed a fierce, warlike expression. The other gnomes nodded appreciatively.

Fizban aimed, then let fly. The net sailed out into the air, got snagged on the hook at the end of crossbow, and snapped back like a collapsing sail to engulf the magician.

“Confounded hook!” Fizban muttered.

Between the gnomes and Tas, they got him disentangled.

“I guess this is good-bye,” Tas said, slowly extending his small hand.

“It is?” Fizban looked amazed. “Am I going somewhere? No one told me! I’m not packed—”

“I’m
going somewhere,” Tas said patiently, “with Laurana. We’re taking the lances and—oh, I don’t think I’m supposed to be telling anyone,” he added, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry. Mum’s the word,” Fizban said in a hoarse whisper that carried clearly through the crowded room. “You’ll love Palanthas. Beautiful city. Give Sturm my regards. Oh, and Tasslehoff”—the old magician looked at him shrewdly—“you did the right thing, my boy!”

“I did?” Tas said hopefully. “I’m glad.” He hesitated. “I wondered … about what you said—the dark path. Did I—?”

Fizban’s face grew grave as he gripped Tas firmly on the shoulder “I’m afraid so. But you have the courage to walk it.”

“I hope so,” Tas said with a small sigh. “Well, good-bye. I’ll be back. Just as soon as the war’s over.”

“Oh, I probably won’t be here,” Fizban said, shaking his head so violently his hat slid off. “Soon as the new weapon’s perfected, I’ll be leaving for—” he paused. “Where was that I was supposed to go? I can’t seem to recall. But don’t worry. We’ll meet again. At least you’re not leaving me buried under a pile of chicken feathers!” he muttered, searching for his hat.

Tas picked it up and handed it to him.

“Good-bye,” the kender said, a choke in his voice.

“Good-bye, good-bye!” Fizban waved cheerfully. Then—giving the gnomes a hunted glance—he pulled Tas over to him. “Uh, I seem to have forgotten something. What was my name again?”

Someone else said good-bye to the old magician, too, although not under quite the same circumstances.

Elistan was pacing the shore of Sancrist, waiting for the boat that would take him back to Southern Ergoth. The young man, Douglas, walked along beside him. The two were deep in conversation, Elistan explaining the ways of the ancient gods to a rapt and attentive listener.

Suddenly Elistan looked up to see the old, befuddled magician he had seen at the Council meeting. Elistan had tried for days to meet the old mage, but Fizban always avoided him. Thus it was with astonishment Elistan saw the old man come walking toward them now along the shoreline. His head was bowed, he was muttering to himself. For a moment, Elistan thought he would pass by without noticing them, when suddenly the old mage raised his head.

“Oh, I say! Haven’t we met?” he asked, blinking.

For a moment Elistan could not speak. The cleric’s face turned deathly white beneath its weathered tan. He was finally able to answer the old mage, his voice was husky. “Indeed we have, sir. I did not realize it before now. And though we were but lately introduced, I feel that I have known you a long, long time.”

“Indeed?” The old man scowled suspiciously. “You’re not making some sort of comment on my age, are you?”

“No, certainly not!” Elistan smiled.

The old man’s face cleared.

“Well, have a pleasant journey. And a safe one. Farewell.”

Leaning on a bent and battered staff, the old man toddled on past them. Suddenly he stopped and turned around. “Oh, by the way, the name’s Fizban.”

“I’ll remember,” Elistan said gravely, bowing. “Fizban.”

Pleased, the old magician nodded and continued on his way along the shoreline while Elistan, suddenly thoughtful and quiet, resumed his walk with a sigh.

T
his is crazy, I hope you realize that!” Caramon hissed.

“We wouldn’t be here if we were sane, would we?”

Tanis responded, gritting his teeth.

“No,” Caramon muttered. “I suppose you’re right.”

The two men stood in the shadows of a dark alleyway, in a town where generally the only things ever found in alleyways were rats, drunks, and dead bodies.

The name of the wretched town was Flotsam, and it was well named, for it lay upon the shores of the Blood Sea of Istar like the wreckage of a broken vessel tossed upon the rocks. Peopled by the dregs of most of the races of Krynn, Flotsam was, in addition, an occupied town now, overrun with draconians, goblins, and mercenaries of all races, attracted to the Highlords by high wages and the spoils of war.

And so, “like the other scum,” as Raistlin observed, the companions floated along upon the tides of war and were deposited in Flotsam. Here they hoped to find a ship that would take them on the long, treacherous journey around the northern part of Ansalon to Sancrist—or wherever—

Where they were going was a point that had been much in contention lately—ever since Raistlin’s recovery from his illness. The companions had anxiously watched him following his use of the dragon orb, their concern not completely centered on his health. What had happened when he used the orb? What harm might he have brought upon them?

“You need not fear,” Raistlin told them in his whispering voice. “I am not weak and foolish like the elven king. I gained control of the orb. It did not gain control of me.”

“Then what does it do? How can we use it?” Tanis asked, alarmed by the frozen expression on the mage’s metallic face.

“It took all my strength to gain control of the orb,” Raistlin replied, his eyes on the ceiling above his bed. “It will require much more study before I learn how to use it.”

“Study …” Tanis repeated. “Study of the orb?”

Raistlin flicked him a glance, then resumed staring at the ceiling. “No,” he replied. “The study of books, written by the ancient ones who created the orb. We must go to Palanthas, to the library of one Astinus, who resides there.”

Tanis was silent for a moment. He could hear the mage’s breath rattle in his lungs as he struggled to draw breath.

What keeps him clinging to this life? Tanis wondered silently.

It had snowed that morning, but now the snow had changed to rain. Tanis could hear it drumming on the wooden roof of the wagon. Heavy clouds drifted across the sky. Perhaps it was the gloom of the day, but as he looked at Raistlin, Tanis felt a chill creep through his body until the cold seemed to freeze his heart.

“Was this what you meant, when you spoke of ancient spells?” Tanis asked.

“Of course. What else?” Raistlin paused, coughing, then asked, “When did I speak of … ancient spells?”

“When we first found you,” Tanis answered, watching the mage closely. He noticed a crease in Raistlin’s forehead and heard tension in his shattered voice.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing much,” Tanis replied warily. “Just something about ancient spells, spells that would soon be yours.”

“That was all?”

Tanis did not reply immediately. Raistlin’s strange, hourglass eyes focused on him coldly. The half-elf shivered and nodded. Raistlin turned his head away. His eyes closed. “I will sleep now,” he said softly. “Remember, Tanis. Palanthas.”

Tanis was forced to admit he wanted to go to Sancrist for purely selfish reasons. He hoped against hope that Laurana and Sturm and the others would be there. And it was where he had promised he would take the dragon orb. But against this, he had to weigh Raistlin’s steady insistence that they must go to the library of this Astinus to discover how to use the orb.

His mind was still in a quandary when they reached Flotsam. Finally, he decided they would set about getting passage on a ship going north first and decide where to land later.

But when they reached Flotsam, they had a nasty shock. There were more draconians in that city than they had seen on their entire journey from Port Balifor north. The streets were crawling with heavily armed patrols, taking an intense interest in strangers. Fortunately, the companions had sold their wagon before entering the town, so they were able to mingle with the crowds on the streets. But they hadn’t been inside the city gates five minutes before they saw a draconian patrol arrest a human for “questioning.”

This alarmed them, so they took rooms in the first inn they came to—a run-down place at the edge of town.

“How are we going to even get to the harbor, much less buy passage on a ship?” Caramon asked as they settled into their shabby rooms. “What’s going on?”

“The innkeeper says a Dragon Highlord is in town. The draconians are searching for spies or something,” Tanis muttered uncomfortably. The companions exchanged glances.

“Maybe they’re searching for
us,”
Caramon said.

“That’s ridiculous!” Tanis answered quickly—too quickly. “We’re getting spooked. How could anyone know we’re here? Or know what we carry?”

“I wonder …” Riverwind said grimly, glancing at Raistlin.

The mage returned his glance coolly, not deigning to answer. “Hot water for my drink,” he instructed Caramon.

“There’s only one way I can think of,” Tanis said, as Caramon brought his brother the water as ordered. “Caramon and I will go out tonight and waylay two of the dragonarmy soldiers. We’ll steal their uniforms. Not the draconians—” he said hastily, as Caramon’s brow wrinkled in disgust. “The human mercenaries. Then we can move around Flotsam freely.”

After some discussion, everyone agreed it was the only plan that seemed likely to work. The companions ate dinner without much appetite—dining in their rooms rather than risk going into the common room.

“You’ll be all right?” Caramon asked Raistlin uneasily when the two were alone in the room they shared.

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” Raistlin replied. Rising to his feet, he had picked up a spellbook to study, when a fit of coughing doubled him over.

Caramon reached out his hand, but Raistlin flinched away.

“Be gone!” the mage gasped. “Leave me be!”

Caramon hesitated, then he sighed. “Sure, Raist,” he said, and left the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Raistlin stood for a moment, trying to catch his breath. Then he moved slowly across the room, setting down the spellbook. With a trembling hand, he picked up one of the many sacks that Caramon had placed on the table beside his bed. Opening it, Raistlin carefully withdrew the dragon orb.

Tanis and Caramon—the half-elf keeping his hood pulled low over his face and ears—walked the streets of Flotsam, watching for two guards whose uniforms might fit them. This would have been relatively easy for Tanis, but finding a guard whose armor fit the giant Caramon was more difficult.

They both knew they had better find something quickly. More than once, draconians looked them over suspiciously. Two draconians even stopped them, insisting roughly on knowing their business. Caramon replied in the crude mercenary dialect that they were seeking employment in the Dragon Highlord’s army, and the draconians let them go. But both men knew it was only a matter of time before a patrol caught them.

“I wonder what’s going on?” Tanis muttered worriedly.

“Maybe the war’s heating up for the Highlords,” Caramon began. “There, look, Tanis. Going into that bar—”

“I see. Yeah, he’s about your size. Duck into that alley. We’ll wait until they come out, then—” The half-elf made a motion of wringing a neck. Caramon nodded. The two slipped through the filthy streets and vanished into the alley, hiding where they could keep on eye on the front door of the bar.