Part 21 (2/2)

”Time-the one thing we don't have,” Laurana said with a sigh.

In the end, most of the people decided to go with Riverwind. The terror of the dragons flying over their camp did as much to convince them to leave as any of his arguments. Hederick and his followers, however, let it be known that they planned to stay.

”We will be here waiting to welcome those who turn back,” Hederick announced, adding in ominous tones, ”Those who survive...”

Riverwind worked tirelessly that day and long into the night and all the next day, answering questions, a.s.sisting people to decide what to take, helping them pack. The refugees had made the hard journey from Pax Tharkas to the valley, and they knew already what they would need for the road. Even little children made up their small bundles.

Riverwind could not sleep the night before the departure. He lay awake, staring into the darkness, doubting himself, doubting his decision, until Goldmoon took him in her arms. He kissed her and held her, and matching his breathing to hers, he fell asleep.

Riverwind was up before dawn. The people emerged from their caves in the half-darkness, greeting friends or scolding children, who viewed this departure as a holiday and were behaving with untoward exuberance. Hederick made an appearance, sighing a great deal and bidding people farewell with a mournful air, as though he could already see them dead on the trail.

Riverwind could sense a few people starting to waver in their decisions, and he was determined to set off the moment there was the faintest light in the sky, before they had a chance to change their minds. His scouts had picked up Tanis's blazed trail, and they reported that the first part of the journey would be easy; that would help boost people's spirits and give them confidence.

The day dawned bright and sunny. Just before they started, scouts returned with news that the dwarf's trail led to a hitherto unnoticed pa.s.s between the mountains. Riverwind studied the crude map Flint had drawn up for him and the scouts agreed that his map matched with what they had found. Looking at the map, Riverwind recalled the dwarf's last enigmatic command-bring along pick-axes. Though this meant an added burden for some, he followed the dwarf's order.

The people cheered at news that a pa.s.s had been discovered, taking it for a good omen for the future. The refugees set forth quietly, without undue fuss or bother. Their harsh lives had innured them to hards.h.i.+p. They were accustomed to physical exertion; they had walked miles to reach this place, and they were prepared to walk many more miles. They were in good health. Mishakal had healed their sick. Even Tika was almost back to normal. Laurana noted that her friend was unusually somber and silent and chose to walk by herself, eschewing any offer of company. The wounds of the body had healed; the wounds of the heart were deeper, and not even a G.o.ddess could remedy those.

The sun shone. The day grew warm, with just enough chill in the air to keep the exertion of hiking from overheating anyone. Maritta started singing a marching song, and soon everyone joined in. The refugees made good time, trudging along the trail at a steady pace.

Riverwind felt his burden ease.

That night, after the refugees' departure, Hederick the High Theoocrat sat alone in his cave. He had spent the day regaling those of his followers who had chosen to stay with some of his best speeches. Fewer had chosen to stay han he'd expected, and they had heard all Hederick's harangues before. As darkness fell, they made some excuse to slip away, either going to their beds or gathering by the firelight to play black dots-a gambling game in which white tiles marked with black dots are arranged in various number patterns. Since the High Theocrat had laid down a strict injunction against wagering, the men thought it best to keep their game secret.

Hederick found himself alone without an audience. The night was quiet, unbelievably quiet. He was accustomed to the noise and bustle of the campsite, accustomed to walking around the camp being important. All that was gone now. Though he had taken care not to show it, he was irate that so few people had trusted him enough to stay, choosing instead to go off into the unknown with a crude, uneducated savage. Hederick told himself they would be sorry.

Now that he was alone with time to think, he was the one who was sorry. He sat in the darkness and wondered uneasily what would happen to him if that silly barmaid should turn out to be right.

Chapter 17.

No shadows. Too Many shadows. A Dwarf's Dreams.

The same suns.h.i.+ne that warmed the hearts and spirits of the refugees shone in the sky above Caramon, Raistlin, Sturm, and Tas. The sun brought no warmth or cheer to any of these four, however. They walked a land barren and wasted, a devastated land, bleak, empty, and desolate. They walked the Plains of Dergoth. They had all thought nothing could be worse than wading through the swamp surrounding Skullcap. The water stank of rot and decay. They had no idea what sort of creatures could live beneath the slime-covered water, but something did. They could tell by the ripples on the surface, or sudden dartings around their feet, that they had disturbed some species of swampy denizen. They had to keep close together or lose sight of each other in the thick mists. They were forced to move slowly, with a shuffling gait, to avoid snags and dead branches hidden beneath the water.

Fortunately, the swamp was not large, and they soon left it, emerging from the murk onto ground that was dry, flat, and hard. The mists grasped at them with wispy fingers, but a cold wind soon blew them apart. They could see the sun again, and they thought well of themselves, believing they'd survived the worst. Sturm pointed to a distant mountain range.

”Beneath that peak known as Cloudseeker lies Thorbardin,” Prince Grallen told them, and Raistlin cast Caramon a triumphant look.

After a short rest, they continued on, entering the Plains of Dergoth. Soon each one of them began to wish he was somewhere else, even back in the foul miasma they had just left. At least the swamp was alive. The life within was green and slimy, scaly and sinuous, creepy and slithering, but it was life.

Death ruled the Plains of Dergoth. Nothing lived here anymore. Once there had been gra.s.slands and forest, populated by birds and animals. Three hundred years ago, this had been a battlefield, with dwarf battling dwarf in bitter contest. The field had been soaked in blood, the deer slaughtered, the birds fled. The gra.s.s was trampled and trees cut down to make funeral biers on which to burn the corpses. Still, life remained. The trees would have grown back. The gra.s.s would have flourished, the birds and animals returned.

Then came the horrific blast that brought down a mighty fortress and killed all those on both sides. The blast destroyed all living things, tearing life apart with such fury that no little bit of it survived. No trees, no gra.s.s, no beasts, no bugs. No lichen, no moss. Nothing but death. Grotesque piles of twisted, blackened, melted armor and mounds of ash littered the fire-swept ground-all that was left of two great armies whose struggles had ended in a single terrible moment, as the fire devoured their flesh, boiled their blood, and consumed them utterly.

The Plains of Dergoth, standing between Skullcap and Thorbardin, were plains of despair. The sun shone in the blue sky, but its light was cold, like the light of the faraway stars, and held no warmth for any of those forced to cross this dread place that was so horrible it even quenched the spirits of the kender.

Ta.s.slehoff was marching along, staring down at his ash-covered boots, for staring at his boots was better than looking ahead and seeing nothing except nothing, when he noticed something odd. He looked up at the sky and back down at the ground and then said in a tense voice, ”Caramon, I've lost my shadow.”

Caramon heard the kender, but he pretended he hadn't. He had enough to do worrying about his brother. Raistlin was having a difficult time of it. Whatever strange energy had sustained and strengthened him on the trip to Skullcap appeared to have deserted him at their departure. The trip through the swamp had left him exhausted. He walked slowly, leaning on his staff, every step seeming to cost him an effort.

He refused to stop to rest, however. He insisted that they continue their journey, pointing out that Prince Grallen would not allow them to stop, which was probably true. Caramon was constantly having to reign in Sturm, who marched along at a rapid pace, his gaze fixed on the mountains, or he would have left the slow-moving mage far behind.

”Look, Caramon, you've lost yours, too,” said Tas, relieved. ”I don't feel so bad.”

”Lost what?” Caramon asked, only half-listening.

”Your shadow,” Tas said, pointing.

”It is probably near noon time,” returned Caramon wearily. ”You can't see your shadow when the sun's directly over head.”

”That's what I thought,” said Tas, ”but look at the sun. It's almost on the horizon. Only a couple of hours 'til dark. Nope.” He sighed. ”Our shadows are gone.”

Caramon, feeling silly, actually turned to look for his shadow. Tas was right. The sun was before him, but no shadow stretched out behind him. He could not even see his footprints, which should have shown up clearly in the fine, gray ash. He had the terrible feeling suddenly that he'd ceased to exist.

”We walk a land of death. The living do not belong here,” Raistlin said, his voice barely above a whisper. ”We cast no shadows. We leave no marks.”

Caramon shuddered. ”I hate this place.”

He balefully eyed Sturm, who had stopped to wait for them and was tapping his foot impatiently. ”Raist, what if that accursed helm he's wearing is leading us into a death trap? Maybe we should turn back.”

Raistlin thought longingly of returning to Skullcap. He could not account for it, but while he'd been there he'd felt strong and healthy, almost whole again. Out here, he had to force himself to take each step, when what he longed to do was to drop down to the ash-gray ground and sleep in the dust of the dead. He coughed, shook his head, and made a feeble gesture toward the knight.

Caramon understood. Sturm, under the influence of the helm, was bound to go to Thorbardin. If they turned back, he would go on without them.

Raistlin plucked at Caramon's sleeve.

”We must keep moving!” he gasped. ”We must not find ourselves benighted in this terrible place!”

”Amen to that, brother!” said Caramon feelingly. He placed his strong arm supportively under his twin's arm, aiding his faltering footsteps, and caught up with Sturm.

”I hope I get my shadow back,” said Ta.s.slehoff, trailing behind. ”I was fond of it. It used to go everywhere with me.”

They slogged on.

Tanis could see his shadow lengthening, sliding across the trail. Only a few hours of daylight left. They had descended the mountain, moving rapidly on the old dwarven road that led down among the pine trees. A few more miles and they would reach the forest. A bed of pine needles sounded very good after the uncomfortable and cheerless nights on the mountain, with rock for a mattress and a boulder for a pillow.

”I smell smoke,” said Flint, coming to a sudden halt.

Tanis sniffed the air. He, too, smelled smoke. He had not noticed it particularly. Back in camp, the smell of smoke from the cook fires had been pervasive. He was tired from walking all day and didn't fully appreciate what this might mean. When he did, he lifted his head and searched the sky.

”There it is,” he said, spotting a few tendrils of black drifting up out of the pine trees not far from them. He eyed the smoke. ”Maybe it's a forest fire.”

Flint shook his head. ”It smells like burnt meat.”

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