Part 31 (1/2)

Of all of his friends, Tanis was the only one the dwarf would even consider telling. He knew what the others would say if they found out that Reorx had promised him a chance to find the Hammer of Kharas. Once they heard that all he had to do was put on the helm, Raistlin and Sturm would be dragging it down around his ears. Telling Caramon was out of the question. He'd just tell his twin. Flint didn't even consider Ta.s.slehoff.

”No,” Flint decided. ”I can't tell Tanis, either. He's got all those refugees on his hands. He'd never do anything to cause me harm, but if it came right down to it and he had to make a choice, he'd ask me to put on the helm...”

Flint sighed, then said gruffly to himself. ”It was a dream! A stupid dream. As if I could ever be a hero... or even want want to be!” to be!”

Arman woke them for an early start the next morning-at least, they a.s.sumed it was morning; there was no way to tell what time it was. They continued walking through the dwarven realm, the vast-ness of which amazed them, for it seemed to go on and on, and as Ta.s.slehoff said, ”went up and down and sideways.”

”Thorbardin encompa.s.ses three hundred square miles beneath the mountain,” Arman bragged. ”We have built dwellings, shops, and businesses on every level, level upon level, all of them laid out in orderly fas.h.i.+on. You can go into any city in any part of Thorbardin, and you will always know exactly what to find where.”

You could not have proven that by Tanis. He was lost in the maze; all the streets, shops, and dwellings looked alike to him, until they came to what Arman termed ”transport shafts”-large holes bored in the rock that connected all the levels. Buckets attached to huge chains clanked up and down between the levels. Those wanting to go from one level to another (and not wanting to climb the chain ladders suspended between levels) could enter one of the buckets and ride to their destination.

Tanis peered over the edge of one of these shafts, and he was astounded to see how many levels there were. Arman Kharas considered these buckets a marvel of dwarven engineering, and he expected the companions to be impressed. He was disappointed to find that they'd seen a similar device at use in the ruined city of Xak Tsaroth, and said dismissively that dwarven engineers must have designed it.

They did not ride in the buckets, for which Caramon was grateful; his last experience with dwarven transportation having been one he'd just as soon forget. They continued walking on what Arman called the Road of the Thanes. Their journey took them from the abandoned city delvings of the Theiwar to a forest-a strange and wondrous forest located in a large natural cavern dubbed the ”West Warrens.” Here the companions were impressed enough to suit even Arman Kharas.

”The trees are all mushrooms!” cried Ta.s.slehoff.

The kender clapped his hands in delight and inadvertently let fall a small knife which Tanis recognized as belonging to Arman Kharas. Tanis swiftly retrieved the knife, and when the dwarf was busy showing off the wonders of the mushroom forest, he slipped it deftly into the top of the dwarf's boot.

Raistlin, who had long made a study of herbs and plants, was eager to inspect the gigantic mushrooms towering over their heads. The mushrooms, other fungi, and strange darkness-thriving plants sprouted up out of rich loam that filled the area with an earthy, pungent odor. The smell was not unpleasant, but served to remind Tanis that he was deep underground, buried alive.

He suddenly had the terrible feeling that if he didn't get out of here, he was going to smother to death. His chest constricted. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He was strongly tempted to break away and run back to the gate. Even the thought of boulders raining down on him didn't deter him. He licked dry lips and looked about for an escape route.

Then there was Flint, solid and rea.s.suring beside him.

”The old trouble?” asked the dwarf softly.

”Yes!” Tanis tugged on the collar of his tunic that, though loose, wasn't loose enough.

Flint brought out a water skin he had filled from a public well near the temple. ”Here, take a drink. Try to think of something else.”

”Something other than being sealed up in a tomb!” Tanis said, swallowing the cool water and laving it on his forehead and neck.

”I had a dream last night,” Flint said gruffly. ”Reorx came to me and offered to give me the Hammer of Kharas. All I have to do is put on this helm.” had a dream last night,” Flint said gruffly. ”Reorx came to me and offered to give me the Hammer of Kharas. All I have to do is put on this helm.”

”Then put it on,” said Sturm. ”Why do you hesitate?”

Flint scowled and glanced around behind him to see the knight breathing down his neck. ”I wasn't talking to you, Sturm Brightblade. I was talking to Tanis.”

”The G.o.d of the dwarves comes to you and tells you to put on the helm and in return he will guide you to the Hammer of Kharas, and you weren't going to tell me!”

”It was a dream!” Flint said loudly.

”What was a dream?” Caramon asked, coming up.

Sturm explained.

”Hey, Raist,” Caramon called. ”You'd better come hear this.”

”Come hear what?” cried Ta.s.slehoff, das.h.i.+ng over.

Raistlin reluctantly pulled himself away from studying the fungi and joined them. Sturm told the story, and Flint again stated testily that it was nothing but a dream and he was sorry he'd ever brought it up.

”Are you sure about it being a dream?” Tanis asked. ”We were in Reorx's temple, after all.”

”So you're saying that now you believe in the G.o.ds?” Flint demanded.

”No,” said Tanis.

Sturm gave him a reproachful look.

”But I do think...” Tanis stopped.

”You think I should put on the helm?” Flint said.

”Yes!” Sturm said firmly and Raistlin echoed him.

Tanis did not answer.

”The helm didn't tell Sturm where the Hammer was,” Flint pointed out.

”Sturm isn't a dwarf,” Caramon said.

Flint glowered at him. ”Would you put on this helm, you big lummox?”

”I will!' Ta.s.slehoff cried.

Caramon shook his head.

”I thought not,” Flint grunted. ”Well, Half-Elven?”

”If you found the Hammer of Kharas and returned it to the dwarves, you would be a hero,” Tanis said. ”The Thanes would be willing to grant you anything you asked for, maybe even open up their kingdom to the refugees.”

”Oh, bos.h.!.+” said Flint, and he stomped off in high dudgeon.

”You have to make him put on that helm, Tanis,” Sturm said. ”One of the soldiers speaks Common, and I asked him about the Hammer. He told me outright that it never existed; it is only a myth. According to him, Arman Kharas has been up and down the Valley of the Thanes for years searching for the way inside the tomb. But if Flint knows how to find the hammer...”

”He's right, Tanis,” said Raistlin. ”You have to convince Flint to put on the helm. It won't hurt him. It didn't hurt Sturm.”

”Just enslaved him, taking over his body,” Tanis returned, ”changing him into another person and forcing him to come here.”

”But it brought him back,” said Raistlin, spreading his hands, as though he couldn't understand the fuss.

”You know Flint. You know how stubborn he can be. How do you suggest we get the helm on him if he refuses to even consider it? Tie him up and hold him down and jam it on his head?”

”I have rope in my pouch!” Tas offered helpfully.

”It has to be his choice,” Tanis stated. ”You know that the more you badger him, the more he'll get his back up and the less likely he'll be to do anything. I suggest you two leave him alone. Let him make his own decisions.”