Dragons of The Dwarven Depths Part 12

Tika had not meant to be spending this night alone. She'd meant to be spending the night with Caramon. She knew that once she'd caught up with them, neither Sturm nor Caramon would send her back alone and unprotected, no matter what Raistlin might say. They would have to take her and Tas along with them, and she would be able to keep Caramon out of whatever trouble his brother was likely to get him into.

A snapping sound nearby caused her heart to stop.

"What was that?" she gasped.

Tas had grown sleepy by this time and gone to bed.

"Probably a goblin," he said drowsily. "You're taking first watch."

Tika gave a m.u.f.fled shriek and grabbed her sword.

"Don't worry," said Tas, yawning and pulling his blanket up over his head. "Goblins almost never attack by night. Ghosts and ghouls attack by night."

Tika, who had been rea.s.sured, wasn't anymore.

"You don't think there are ghosts here?" she asked, dismayed.

"There aren't any burial grounds around, at least that we've found, so I expect not," said Tas, after giving the matter some thought. He added, with another jaw-cracking yawn, "If a ghost does show up, Tika, be sure to wake me. I wouldn't want to miss it."

Tika told herself that the snapping noise she had heard was a deer, not a bear or a wolf, but she quickly threw more wood on the fire until she realized that the fire would reveal them to their enemies. Then she wondered in a panic if she should put it out.

Before she could decide, the fire began to die and there was no more fuel. Tika was afraid to go out to gather wood, and when the last flickering light from the last ember disappeared, she sat in the darkness, clutching her sword and hating Ta.s.slehoff with all her might for sleeping so soundly and peacefully when there were ghosts, goblins, wolves, and other horrible things all around them.

Terror is exhausting, however, not to mention she'd spent half the day hauling water and wringing out wet clothes and the other half traipsing through the woods. Tika's head sank onto her chest. The hand holding the sword relaxed its grip.

Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that one was never ever supposed to fall asleep on watch.

Chapter 10.

A Memory Of The Past.

Hope For The Future. Mumblety-peg.

Sturm took first watch for their group that night. Caramon took second. They did not ask Raistlin to stand watch. Sturm would not have trusted him, and Caramon proclaimed his brother too weak; Raist needed his sleep.

The night pa.s.sed in such profound peace and quiet that Sturm found it difficult to stay awake. He was at length forced to march up and down along the tunnel to fight off the longing to close his eyes. As he marched, his mind went, as it generally did when he was alone, to the time he'd spent in Solamnia, a bittersweet time, with more bitter than sweet.

The knighthood that had once been so revered in Solamnia had long since fallen into disrepute. The reasons for this were numerous. The Cataclysm brought death and destruction to all parts Krynn, not excluding the nation of Solamnia. Shortly after the disaster struck, rumors began to spread throughout Solamnia that the knights had been given the power by the G.o.ds to prevent the Cataclysm and had failed to stop it.

People who had lost everything-homes, livelihood, friends and family-were glad to have someone to blame, and the knights were easy targets. Add to this volatile situation those who had always been jealous of the power wielded by the knights, and those who believed, rightly or wrongly, that the knights had grown wealthy at the expense of the poor, and it was small wonder the mixture exploded.

Mobs attacked the knights' halls and castles. The knights could not win under such circ.u.mstances. If they defended themselves against the mobs and killed people, they were called murderers. If they did not stand up to the mobs, they risked losing everything, including their lives. The turmoil in Solamnia would abate for a time, then again rear its monstrous head. The knights continued to try desperately to bring stability and peace to the land, and in some places they would succeed, but because their Order was fractured, individual knights could never hold onto power for long.

Sturm's family had worked hard to maintain peace in their ancestral holding, and they had succeeded longer than most, for the Brightblades were revered and honored by those they governed. Outsiders came to the villages and towns under their control, however, and began stirring up trouble, as they were now doing over much of Solamnia. This was, in truth, a concerted effort by the forces of the Dark Queen to undermine the power of her most implacable enemies. None knew this at the time, however. Angriff Brightblade, foreseeing trouble, sent his wife and son south to the tree-top town of Solace, long known as a safe haven for those in desperate straits.

Sturm grew up in Solace, raised on his mother's tales of the past glories of the knighthood. He read and studied the Measure-the code of laws devised by the knights-and he lived by the Oath Est sularus et mithas Est sularus et mithas, "My honor is my life." He and his mother heard little news from the north, and what they did hear was bad. Then the time came that they heard no news at all. When Sturm's mother died, he determined to seek out his father and he traveled north to Solamnia.

Sturm discovered his family's hall in ruins, for it had not only been ransacked, it had also been burned and razed. He could not find his father, nor could he discover what had happened to Angriff Brightblade. Some said this; some said that. No one knew for certain. Sturm believed his father must be dead; otherwise nothing would have kept him from returning to claim the castle of his ancestors.

While his father might be dead, his father's debts were very much alive. Angriff had borrowed heavily on his lands in order to keep them up and provide aid to the poor and dest.i.tute under his protection. The bitter irony of the fact that those who had attacked the hall were those who were alive to do so because of his father's help was not lost upon Sturm. He was forced to sell off the lands of his forefathers in order to settle the debts. All that was left when he was finished was his father's sword and armor. And his honor.

Sturm thought back to all this as he walked his watch in the darkness of the tunnel, his pacing lit by the feeble light of a lantern. The night before he left to return to Solace, the only home he had ever known, he had entered the Brightblade vault where the dead lay in repose. Located in the ruins of the family chapel, the burial chamber was accessible only by a sealed bronze door, the key to which was hidden in the chapel. There was evidence that the mob had attempted to batter down the door, probably hoping to find wealth inside. The door held firm, as had the Brightblades, down through the centuries.

Sturm found the hidden key and opened the door and went, hushed and reverent, into the vault, his eyes half-blinded by his tears. The tombs holding his forebearers stood in the gloom. Stone knights lay atop upon the sarcophagi, their graven hands holding graven swords. Sturm's father had no tomb, for none knew where his body lay buried. Sturm placed on the floor a living rose in memory of his father, and he went down on his knees and asked his ancestors for forgiveness for having failed them.

Sturm kept vigil all that night. When the light of dawn crept into the chamber, he rose stiffly to his feet and made a solemn vow on the sword, which was all he had left, that he would restore the honor and glory of the Brightblade family. He left the vault, shutting and sealing the bronze door. He kept the key with him until he was on board ship back to Abanasinia. Standing on the deck in the silver light of Solinari, Sturm consigned the key to the ocean's depths.

As yet, he'd done nothing to fulfill that oath.

He walked the tunnel with measured tread, thinking his melancholy thoughts, when he was interrupted.

"Will you stop that pacing!" Raistlin demanded peevishly. "I cannot sleep with you stomping about."

Sturm halted, turned to confront the mage.

"What is it you hope to find in this accursed place, Raistlin? What is so important that you risk all our lives to find it?"

All Sturm could see of Raistlin were his strange hourgla.s.s eyes gleaming in the lantern light. Sturm had not really expected an answer, and he was startled when Raistlin said, his voice cool and clear in the darkness, "What is it you are hoping to find in Skullcap?"

When Sturm made no reply, Raistlin continued, "You did not choose to go with us for love of me certainly. You know that both Caramon and I are capable of taking care of ourselves, so why did you come?"

"I see no need to bandy words with you, Raistlin," Sturm returned. "My reasons are my own."

"The Hammer of Kharas," said Raistlin. He drew out the last syllable into a sibilant hiss.

Sturm was startled. He had spoken of the Hammer only to Tanis. His first impulse was to turn away, but he could not resist the challenge.

"What do you know of the Hammer?" he asked in a low voice.

Raistlin made a hoa.r.s.e, rasping sound that might have been a bitter chuckle, or else he was clearing his throat. "While you and my brother were smashing each other over the head with wooden swords, I pursued my studies, something for which you mocked me. Now you come running to me for answers."

"I never mocked you, Raistlin," Sturm said quietly. "Whatever else you may think of me, you must at least give me credit for that. I often protected you, as in the time the mob was about to turn you into a burnt offering to that snake G.o.d. If you must know, my dislike of you stems from the miserable way you treat your brother."

"What is between my brother and me is between my brother and me, Sturm Brightblade," Raistlin returned. "You cannot possibly understand."

"You are right. I do not understand," Sturm replied coolly. "Caramon loves you. He would lay down his life for you, and you treat him like garbage. Now I must get some sleep, so I will bid you good-night-"

"That which is now known as the Hammer of Kharas was originally known as the Hammer of Honor," said Raistlin. "The hammer was made to honor the Hammer of Reorx, used by the G.o.d to forge the world. The Hammer of Honor was a symbol of peace between the humans of Ergoth, the elves of Qualinesti, and the dwarves of Thorbardin. During the Third Dragon War, the Hammer was given to the great knight, Huma Dragonbane, to be used along with the magical Silver Arm to forge the first dragonlances. They drove the Dark Queen back into the Abyss, where she has been ever since, or rather, up until now.

"In the time of the High King Duncan and the Dwarfgate Wars, the Hammer of Honor was given into the hands of the hero, Kharas, a dwarf so revered that the Hammer's name was changed in his honor. The Hammer was last seen during the war being wielded by Kharas, but he departed the field of battle early, grieved at being forced to fight his own kind. He carried the Hammer with him back into Thorbardin, and there it has been lost to all knowledge, for the gates of the mountain kingdom were sealed shut and hidden from the world."

Raistlin paused to draw breath then added, "The one who recovers the Hammer and uses it to forge dragonlances will be lauded a hero. He will find fame and fortune, honor, and glory."

Sturm cast Raistlin an uneasy glance. Was the mage speaking in generalities, or he had been prying into the knight's innermost thoughts?

"I must get some sleep," Sturm said, and he walked over to wake up the loudly snoring Caramon.

"The Hammer is not in Skullcap," Raistlin told him. "If it still exists, it is in Thorbardin. If you are seeking the Hammer, you should have gone with Tanis and Flint."

"You said the key to Thorbardin lies in Skullcap," said Sturm.

"I did," Raistlin replied, "but since when does anyone ever listen to me?"

"Tanis listens," said Sturm, "and that is why he sent me with you and your brother, to make sure that if you do find the key, you deliver it."

The mage had nothing to say to that, for which Sturm was grateful. Conversations with Raistlin always upset him, left him with feeling that all his sterling notions of the world were in reality blackened and tarnished.

Sturm woke Caramon. The big man, yawning and stretching, took up the watch. Sturm was weary, and he sank almost immediately into a deep sleep. In his dreams, he used the Hammer of Kharas to batter down the bronze door of his family's vault.

The night pa.s.sed without event for all those who wandered. Those who kept watch saw nothing and heard nothing. Those who did not keep watch-Tika and Ta.s.slehoff-slept undisturbed. All-seeing eyes kept watch over them.

Day dawned slowly and reluctantly. The sun struggled to pierce thick, gray clouds and ended up failing miserably and eventually went, sulking, into hiding. The sky threatened rain or snow, though it did neither.

When a gray and feeble sun lit the tunnel entrance, Sturm, Caramon, and Raistlin resumed their journey. They discussed shutting the entrance behind them, shoving the stone door back in place.

Upon examination, none of them, not even Raistlin, could determine how to operate the mechanism and open the door once it was shut. Even if they did finally figure it out, the mechanism had broken down once. It might do so again. Then they would be trapped, and they had no idea what they would find farther on. The tunnel might be blocked, in which case they would have to admit defeat and retrace their steps. They agreed to leave the door open.

The three proceeded down the tunnel, the light of the crystal atop Raistlin's staff illuminating their way. Sturm carried a lantern, for he disliked intensely the idea that Raistlin could suddenly, with a single word, plunge them into darkness.

The tunnel, constructed by dwarven engineers, cut straight through the mountain. The walls were rough hewn, the floor relatively smooth. There were no signs that anyone had ever been inside it.

"If the dwarves had been fleeing their besieged fortress, we'd find discarded armor, broken weapons, bodies," said Caramon. "This was never used."

"Which proves the theory that Fistandantilus did not bring down Zhaman deliberately," Raistlin stated. "The blast was accidental."

"Then what caused it?" Caramon asked, interested.

"Foul magic," Sturm stated.

Raistlin shook his head. "I know of no magic, foul or otherwise, that has the power to level such a mighty fortress. According to Flint, the blast laid waste to the land for miles around Zhaman. The wise have long wondered what really happened in that fortress. Perhaps we will be the ones to discover the truth."

"You will write a treatise on the subject, no doubt," said Sturm, "and read it aloud at the next Wizard's Conclave."

"I might at that," Raistlin said with a smile.

The three walked on.

Ta.s.slehoff woke Tika by scolding her for having fallen asleep. She had undoubtedly missed any number of ghosts that could have visited them in the night.

Tika scolded herself, flushing to think how Caramon would have berated her for sleeping on watch. Tika told Tas irritably to shut up and get a move on. They picked up the trail of the three ahead of them and set out in dogged pursuit.

She and Tas also got an early start to their day; making up for lost time. Lack of sleep and the knowledge that she was far from home and help put Tika in a bad mood. She was grumpy with Tas and did not want to chat, even about such interesting tidbits of gossip as the fact that Ta.s.slehoff had discovered Hederick the High Seeker had his own secret stash of food hidden away.

Tika stalked along the trail, keeping her gaze on the ground, following the tracks in the snow and fighting the strong urge to turn around and run back to the settlement. If she'd been able to think of a way to sneak back without anyone knowing she'd been gone, she would have.

Tika could have come up with a plausible tale, but she knew that Ta.s.slehoff would never be able to keep from blurting out the truth, and she dreaded the idea that people would laugh at her and say she'd gone running after Caramon like some infatuated school girl.

To give her credit, it wasn't all fear of being ridiculed that kept her going. Tika's heart was warm, her love for Caramon deep, and her fear for him very real. The idea that she might be able to save Caramon from Raistlin's machinations kept her slogging along the trail.

As for Tas, he was happy to be on the road to adventure once more.

The two reached the edge of the forest about midmorning and saw the trail snake across the barren, snow-covered field.

"Look, Tika!" Tas pointed excitedly, as they drew near the mountain. "There's a cave. Their trail leads into a cave!"

Tas grabbed Tika's hand and tugged at her, trying to hurry her along.

"I'm very fond of caves. You never know what you're going to find inside. Did I ever tell you about the time I went into this cave and there were two ogres and they were playing at mumblety-peg, and at first they were going to tear me limb from limb and eat me, starting with my toes. I didn't know this, but kender toes are considered a delicacy among ogres. Anyway, I told the ogres I was really good at mumblety-peg, better than either of them, and I wagered them that if I won, they wouldn't eat me. Of course they had to play, because I had made a wager. The ogres handed me a knife, which I was supposed to throw, but instead I used the knife to stab the ogres in the knees. That way they couldn't chase after me, and I escaped being eaten. Can you play mumblety-peg, Tika, in case ogres inside the cave want to eat us?"

"No," said Tika. She did not not like caves at all, and her heart was beating fast at the thought of going into one. like caves at all, and her heart was beating fast at the thought of going into one.

Tas was about to launch into more details about the ogres, but Tika ordered him to hush up and when he didn't, she gave his topknot a yank and threatened to pull it out by the roots if he didn't for mercy's sake keep quiet and let her think.

Tas wasn't sure what it was she had to think about, but he was fond of his topknot, and while he didn't really believe Tika would pull it out, he didn't want to take any chances. She'd gone very pale and tight-lipped, and whenever she thought he wasn't looking, she wiped away a tear.

The footprints they were following led straight to the cave, which turned out to be a tunnel. There were muddy boot prints inside, large muddy boot prints. Tika knew Caramon and the others had come this way.

"Light the lantern!" Tas said. "Let's see what's down here."

"I didn't bring a lantern," Tika said in dismay.

"Never mind!" cried Tas, rooting around in the darkness. "I found a whole stack of torches."

"Oh, good," said Tika. She stared into the darkness that stretched on and on ahead of them, and she felt her knees go weak and her stomach turn to jelly.

Tas had managed to light one of the torches, and he was walking all around the cave, peering into the carts and stopping to scan the walls. "Hey, look, Tika! Come here! Look at this!"

Tika didn't want to look. She wanted to turn and run, run all the way back to camp. Then Tas would tell everyone that Tika had run away like a big scared baby. Gritting her teeth, Tika went to see what he'd found, hoping it wasn't too horrible.

Tas was pointing at the wall. There, scrawled in charcoal, was a heart. In the middle of the heart was the word "Tika".

"I'll bet Caramon drew that," said Tas, grinning.

"I'll bet he did, too," said Tika softly. She reached out and took the flaring torch from the kender.

"Follow me," she said, and feeling her own heart soar to the heavens with happiness, she led the way along the tunnel, deeper into the darkness.