Читать книгу The Riftwar Saga Series Books 2 and 3: Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 24

IT WAS A DISPIRITED GROUP THAT EMERGED FROM THE MINE.

The survivors sank to the ground, near exhaustion. Pug had fought tears for hours after Tomas had fled, and now he lay on the wet ground staring upward at the grey sky, feeling numb. Kulgan had fared worst of all, being completely drained of energy by the spell used to repel the wraith. He had been carried on the shoulders of the others most of the way, and they showed the price of their burden. All fell into an exhausted sleep, except Dolgan, who lit a fire and stood watch.

Pug awoke to the sound of voices and a clear, starry night. The smell of food cooking greeted him. When Gardan and the three remaining guards awakened, Dolgan had left them to watch over the others and had snared a brace of rabbits. These were roasting over a fire. The others awoke, except Kulgan, who snored deeply.

Arutha and the Duke saw the boy wake, and the Prince came to where he sat. The younger son of the Duke, ignoring the snow, sat on the ground next to Pug, who had his cloak wrapped around him. ‘How do you feel, Pug?’ Arutha asked, concern showing in his eyes.

This was the first time Pug had seen Arutha’s gentler nature. Pug tried to speak and found tears coming to his eyes. Tomas had been his friend as long as he could remember, more a brother than a friend. As he tried to speak, great racking sobs broke from his throat, and he felt hot, salty tears run down into his mouth.

Arutha placed his arm around Pug, letting the boy cry on his shoulder. When the initial flood of grief had passed, the Prince said, ‘There is nothing shameful in mourning the loss of a friend, Pug. My father and I share your pain.’

Dolgan came to stand behind the Prince. ‘I also, Pug, for he was a likable lad. We all share your loss.’ The dwarf seemed to consider something and spoke to the Duke.

Kulgan had just awakened, sitting up like a bear waking from winter’s sleep. He regained his bearings and, seeing Arutha with Pug, quickly forgot his own aching joints and joined them.

There was little they could say, but Pug found comfort in their closeness. He finally regained his composure and pulled away from the Prince. ‘Thank you. Your Highness,’ he said, sniffing. ‘I will be all right.’

They joined Dolgan, Gardan, and the Duke near the fire. Borric was shaking his head at something the dwarf had said. ‘I thank you for your bravery, Dolgan, but I can’t allow it.’

Dolgan puffed on his pipe, a friendly smile splitting his beard. ‘And how do you intend to stop me, Your Grace? Surely not by force?’

Borric shook his head. ‘No, of course not. But to go would be the sheerest folly.’

Kulgan and Arutha exchanged questioning looks. Pug paid little attention, being lost in a cold, numb world. In spite of having just awakened, he felt ready for sleep again, welcoming its warm, soft relief.

Borric told them, ‘This mad dwarf means to return to the mines.’

Before Kulgan and Arutha could voice a protest, Dolgan said, ‘I know it is only a slim hope, but if the boy has eluded the foul spirit, he’ll be wandering lost and alone. There are tunnels down there that have never known the tread of a dwarf’s foot, let alone a boy’s. Once down a passage, I have no trouble making my way back, but Tomas has no such natural sense. If I can find his trail, I can find him. If he is to have any chance of escaping the mines, he’ll be needing my guidance. I’ll bring home the boy if he lives, on this you have the word of Dolgan Tagarson, chief of village Caldara. I could not rest in my long hall this winter if I did not try.’

Pug was roused from his lethargy by the dwarf’s words. ‘Do you think you can find him, Dolgan?’

‘If any can, I can,’ he said. He leaned close to Pug. ‘Do not get your hopes too high, for it is unlikely that Tomas eluded the wraith. I would do you a disservice if I said otherwise, boy.’ Seeing the tears brimming in Pug’s eyes again, he quickly added, ‘But if there is a way, I shall find it.’

Pug nodded, seeking a middle path between desolation and renewed hope. He understood the admonition, but still could not give up the faint flicker of comfort Dolgan’s undertaking would provide.

Dolgan crossed over to where his shield and ax lay and picked them up. ‘When the dawn comes, quickly follow the trail down the hills through the woodlands. While not the Green Heart, this place has menace aplenty for so small a band. If you lose your way, head due east. You’ll find your way to the road to Bordon. From there it is a matter of three days’ walk. May the gods protect you.’

Borric nodded, and Kulgan walked over to where the dwarf made ready to leave. He handed Dolgan a pouch. ‘I can get more tabac in the town, friend dwarf. Please take this.’

Dolgan took it and smiled at Kulgan. ‘Thank you, magician. I am in your debt.’

Borric came to stand before the dwarf and place a hand on his shoulder. ‘It is we who are in your debt, Dolgan. If you come to Crydee, we will have that meal you were promised. That, and more. May good fortune go with you.’

‘Thank you, Your Lordship. I’ll look forward to it.’ Without another word, Dolgan walked into the blackness of Mac Mordain Cadal.

Dolgan stopped by the dead mules, pausing only long enough to pick up food, water, and a lantern. The dwarf needed no light to make his way underground – his people had long ago adapted other senses for the darkness. But, he thought, it will increase the chances of finding Tomas if the boy can see the light, no matter the risk of attracting unwelcome attention. Assuming he is still alive, he added grimly.

Entering the tunnel where he had last seen Tomas, Dolgan searched about for signs of the boy’s passing. The dust was thin, but here and there he could make out a slight disturbance, perhaps a footprint. Following, the dwarf came to even dustier passages, where the boy’s footfalls were clearly marked. Hurrying, he followed them.

Dolgan came back to the same cavern, after a few minutes, and cursed.

He felt little hope of finding the boy’s tracks again among all the disturbance caused by the fight with the wraith. Pausing briefly, he set out to examine each tunnel leading out of the cavern for signs. After an hour he found a single footprint heading away from the cavern, through a tunnel to the right of where he had entered the first time. Moving up it, he found several more prints, set wide apart, and decided the boy must have been running. Hurrying on, he saw more tracks, as the passage became dustier.

Dolgan came to the cavern on the lake and nearly lost the trail again, until he saw the tunnel near the edge of the landing. He slogged through the water, pulling himself up into the passage, and saw Tomas’s tracks. His faint lantern light was insufficient to illuminate the crystals in the cavern. But even if it had, he would not have paused to admire the sight, so intent was he on finding the boy.

Downward he followed, never resting. He knew that Tomas had long before outdistanced the wraith. There were signs that most of his journey was at a slower pace: footprints in the dust showed he had been walking, and the cold campfire showed he had stopped. But there were other terrors besides the wraith down here, just as dreadful.

Dolgan again lost the trail in the last cavern, finding it only when he spied the ledge above where the tracks ended. He had difficulty climbing to it, but when he did, he saw the blackened spot where the boy had snuffed out his torch. Here Tomas must have rested. Dolgan looked around the empty cavern. The air did not move this deep below the mountains. Even the dwarf, who was used to such things, found this an unnerving place. He looked down at the black mark on the ledge. But how long did Tomas stay, and where did he go?

Dolgan saw the hole in the wall and, since no tracks led away from the ledge, decided that was the way Tomas must have gone. He climbed through and followed the passage until it came to a larger one, heading downward, into the bowels of the mountain.

Dolgan followed what seemed to be a group of tracks, as if a band of men had come this way. Tomas’s tracks were mixed in, and he was worried, for the boy could have been along this way before or after the others, or could have been with them. If the boy was held prisoner by someone, then Dolgan knew every moment was critical.

The tunnel wound downward and soon changed into a hall fashioned from great stone blocks fitted closely together and polished smooth. In all his years he had never seen its like. The passage leveled out, and Dolgan walked along quietly. The tracks had vanished, for the stone was hard and free of dust. High overhead, Dolgan could make out the first of several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling by chains. They could be lowered by means of a pulley, so the candles might be lit. The sound of his boots echoed hollowly off the high ceiling.

At the far end of the passage he spied large doors, fashioned from wood, with bands of iron and a great lock. They were ajar, and light could be seen coming through.

Without a sound, Dolgan crept close to the doors and peered in. He gaped at what he saw, his shield and ax coming up instinctively.

Sitting on a pile of gold coins, and gems the size of a man’s fist, was Tomas, eating what looked to be a fish. Opposite him crouched a figure that caused Dolgan to doubt his eyes.

A head the size of a small wagon rested on the floor. Shield-size scales of a deep golden color covered it, and the long, supple neck led back to a huge body extending into the gloom of the giant hall. Enormous wings were folded across its back, their drooping tips touching the floor. Two pointed ears sat atop its head, separated by a delicate-looking crest, flecked with silver. Its long muzzle was set in a wolflike grin, showing fangs as long as broadswords, and a long forked tongue flicked out for a moment.

Dolgan fought down the overwhelming and rare urge to run, for Tomas was sitting, and to all appearances sharing a meal, with the dwarven folk’s most feared hereditary enemy: a great dragon. He stepped forward, and his boots clacked on the stone floor.

Tomas turned at the sound, and the dragon’s great head came up. Giant ruby eyes regarded the small intruder. Tomas jumped to his feet, an expression of joy upon his face. ‘Dolgan!’ He scrambled down from the pile of wealth and rushed to the dwarf.

The dragon’s voice rumbled through the great hall, echoing like thunder through a valley. ‘Welcome, dwarf. Thy friend hath told me that thou wouldst not forsake him.’

Tomas stood before the dwarf, asking a dozen questions, while Dolgan’s senses reeled. Behind the boy, the Prince of all dragons sat quietly observing the exchange, and the dwarf was having trouble maintaining the equanimity that was normally his. Making little sense of Tomas’s questions, Dolgan gently pushed him to one side to better see the dragon. ‘I came alone,’ he said softly to the boy. ‘The others were loath to leave the search to me, but they had to press on, so vital was the mission.’

Tomas said, ‘I understand.’

‘What manner of wizardry is this?’ asked Dolgan softly.

The dragon chuckled, and the room rumbled with the sound. ‘Come into my home, dwarf, and I will tell thee.’ The great dragon’s head returned to the floor, his eyes still resting above Dolgan’s head. The dwarf approached slowly, shield and ax unconsciously at the ready. The dragon laughed, a deep, echoing sound, like water cascading down a canyon. ‘Stay thy hand, small warrior, I’ll not harm thee or thy friend.’

Dolgan let his shield down and hung his ax on his belt. He looked around and saw that they were standing in a vast hall, fashioned out of the living rock of the mountain. On all its walls could be seen large tapestries and banners, faded and torn; something about their look set Dolgan’s teeth on edge, for they were as alien as they were ancient – no creature he knew of, human, elf, or goblin fashioned those pennants. More of the giant crystal chandeliers hung from timbers across the ceiling. At the far end of the hall, a throne could be seen on a dais, and long tables with chairs for many diners stood before it. Upon the tables were flagons of crystal and plates of gold. And all was covered with the dust of ages.

Elsewhere in the hall lay piles of wealth: gold, gems, crowns, silver, rich armor, bolts of rare cloth, and carved chests of precious woods, fitted with inlaid enamels of great craft.

Dolgan sat upon a lifetime’s riches of gold, absently moving it around to make as comfortable a seat as was possible. Tomas sat next to him as the dwarf pulled out his pipe. He didn’t show it, but he felt the need to calm himself, and his pipe always soothed his nerves. He lit a taper from his lantern and struck it to his pipe. The dragon watched him, then said, ‘Canst thou now breathe fire and smoke, dwarf? Art thou the new dragon? Hath ever a dragon been so small?’

Dolgan shook his head. ‘’Tis but my pipe.’ He explained the use of tabac.

The dragon said, ‘This is a strange thing, but thine are a strange folk, in truth.’

Dolgan cocked a brow at this but said nothing. ‘Tomas, how did you come to this place?’

Tomas seemed unmindful of the dragon, and Dolgan found this reassuring. If the great beast had wished to harm them, he could have done so with little effort. Dragons were undisputedly the mightiest creatures on Midkemia. And this was the mightiest dragon Dolgan had heard of, half again the size of those he had fought in his youth.

Tomas finished the fish he had been eating and said, ‘I wandered for a long time and came to a place where I could sleep.’

‘Aye, I found it.’

‘I awoke at the sound of something and found tracks that led here.’

‘Those I saw also. I was afraid you had been taken.’

‘I wasn’t. It was a party of goblins and a few Dark Brothers, coming to this place. They were very concerned about what was ahead and didn’t pay attention to what was behind, so I could follow fairly close.’

‘That was a dangerous thing to do.’

‘I know, but I was desperate for a way out. I thought they might lead me to the surface, and I could wait while they went on ahead, then slip out. If I could get out of the mines, I could have headed north toward your village.’

‘A bold plan, Tomas,’ said Dolgan, an approving look in his eyes.

‘They came to this place, and I followed.’

‘What happened to them?’

The dragon spoke. ‘I sent them far away, dwarf, for they were not company I would choose.’

‘Sent them away? How?’

The dragon raised his head a little, and Dolgan could see that his scales were faded and dull in places. The red eyes were filmed over slightly, and suddenly Dolgan knew the dragon was blind.

‘The dragons have long had magic, though it is unlike any other. It is by my arts that I can see thee, dwarf, for the light hath long been denied me. I took the foul creatures and sent them far to the north. They do not know how they came to that place, nor remember this place.’

Dolgan puffed on his pipe, thinking of what he was hearing. ‘In the tales of my people, there are legends of dragon magicians, though you are the first I have seen.’

The dragon lowered his head to the floor slowly, as if tired. ‘For I am one of the last of the golden dragons, dwarf, and none of the lesser dragons have the art of sorcery. I have sworn never to take a life, but I would not have their kind invade my resting place.’

Tomas spoke up. ‘Rhuagh has been kind to me, Dolgan. He let me stay until you found me, for he knew that someone was coming.’

Dolgan looked at the dragon, wondering at his foretelling.

Tomas continued, ‘He gave me some smoked fish to eat, and a place to rest.’

‘Smoked fish?’

The dragon said, ‘The kobolds, those thou knowest as gnomes, worship me as a god and bring me offerings, fish caught in the deep lake and smoked, and treasure gleaned from deeper halls.’

‘Aye,’ said Dolgan, ‘gnomes have never been known for being overly bright.’

The dragon chuckled. ‘True. The kobolds are shy and harm only those who trouble them in their deep tunnels. They are a simple folk, and it pleaseth them to have a god. As I am not able to hunt, it is an agreeable arrangement.’

Dolgan considered his next question. ‘I mean no disrespect, Rhuagh, but it has ever been my experience with dragons that you have little love for others not your own kind. Why have you aided the boy?’

The dragon closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again to stare blankly toward the dwarf. ‘Know this, dwarf, that such was not always the way of it. Thy people are old, but mine are the oldest of all, save one. We were here before the elves and the moredhel. We served those whose names may not be spoken, and were a happy people.’

‘The Dragon Lords?’

‘So your legends call them. They were our masters, and we were their servants, as were the elves and the moredhel. When they left this land, on a journey beyond imagining, we became the most powerful of the free people, in a time before the dwarves or men came to these lands. Ours was a dominion over the skies and all things, for we were mighty beyond any other.

‘Ages ago, men and dwarves came to our mountains, and for a time we lived in peace. But ways change, and soon strife came. The elves drove the moredhel from the forest now called Elvandar, and men and dwarves warred with dragons.

‘We were strong, but humans are like the trees of the forest, their numbers uncountable. Slowly my people fled to the south, and I am the last in these mountains. I have lived here for ages, for I would not forsake my home.

‘By magic I could turn away those who sought this treasure, and kill those whose arts foiled my clouding of their minds. I sickened of the killing and vowed to take no more lives, even those as hateful as the moredhel. That is why I sent them far, and why I aided the boy, for he is undeserving of harm.’

Dolgan studied the dragon. ‘I thank you, Rhuagh.’

‘Thy thanks are welcome, Dolgan of the Grey Towers. I am glad of thy coming also. It is only a little longer that I could shelter the boy, for I summoned Tomas to my side by magic arts, so he might sit my deathwatch.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Tomas.

‘It is given to dragons to know the hour of their death, Tomas, and mine is close. I am old, even by the measure of my people, and have led a full life. I am content for it to be so. It is our way.’

Dolgan looked troubled. ‘Still, I find it strange to sit here hearing you speak of this.’

‘Why, dwarf? Is it not true with thine own people that when one dieth, it is accounted how well he lived, rather than how long?’

‘You have the truth of that.’

‘Then why should it matter if the death hour is known or not? It is still the same. I have had all that one of my kind could hope for: health, mates, young, riches, and rest. These are all I have ever wanted, and I have had them.’

‘’Tis a wise thing to know what is wanted, and wiser still to know when ’tis achieved,’ said Dolgan.

‘True. And still wiser to know when it is unachievable, for then striving is folly. It is the way of my people to sit the deathwatch, but there are none of my kind near enough to call. I would ask thee to wait for my passing before thy leaving. Wilt thou?’

Dolgan looked at Tomas, who bobbed his head in agreement. ‘Aye, dragon, we will, though it is not a thing to gladden our hearts.’

The dragon closed his eyes; Tomas and Dolgan could see they were beginning to swell shut. ‘Thanks to thee, Dolgan, and to thee, Tomas.’

The dragon lay there and spoke to them of his life, flying the skies of Midkemia, of far lands where tigers lived in cities, and mountains where eagles could speak. Tales of wonder and awe were told, long into the night.

When his voice began to falter, Rhuagh said, ‘Once a man came to this place, a magician of mighty arts. He could not be turned from this place by my magic, nor could I slay him. For three days we battled, his arts against mine, and when done, he had bested me. I thought he would slay me and carry off my riches, but instead he stayed, for his only thought was to learn my magic, so that it would not be lost when I passed.’

Tomas sat in wonder, for as little as he knew about magic from Pug, he thought this a marvelous thing. In his mind’s eye he could see the titanic struggle and the great powers working.

‘With him he had a strange creature, much like a goblin, though upright, and with features of finer aspect. For three years he stayed with me, while his servant came and went. He learned all I could teach, for I could deny him not. But he taught as well, and his wisdom gave me great comfort. It was because of him that I learned to respect life, no matter how mean of character, and vowed to spare any that came to me. He also had suffered at the hands of others, as I had in the wars with men, for much that I cherished was lost. This man had the art of healing the wounds of the heart and mind, and when he left, I felt the victor, not the vanquished.’ He paused and swallowed, and Tomas could see that speech was coming to him with more difficulty. ‘If a dragon could not have attended my deathwatch, I would as soon have him sit here, for he was the first of thy kind, boy, that I would count a friend.’

‘Who was he, Rhuagh?’ Tomas asked.

‘He was called Macros.’

Dolgan looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve heard his name, a magician of most puissant arts. He is nearly a myth, having lived somewhere to the east.’

‘A myth he is not, Dolgan,’ said Rhuagh, thickly. ‘Still, it may be that he is dead, for he dwelt with me ages ago.’ The dragon paused. ‘My time is now close, so I must finish. I would ask a boon of thee, dwarf.’ He moved his head slightly and said, ‘In yon box is a gift from the mage, to be used at this time. It is a rod fashioned of magic. Macros left it so that when I die no bones will be left for scavengers to pick over. Wilt thou bring it here?’

Dolgan went to the indicated chest. He opened it to discover a black metal rod lying upon a blue velvet cloth. He picked up the rod and found it surprisingly heavy for its size. He carried it over to the dragon.

The dragon spoke, his words nearly unintelligible, for his tongue was swollen. ‘In a moment, touch the rod to me, Dolgan, for then will I end.’

‘Aye,’ said Dolgan, ‘though it will give me scant pleasure to see your end, dragon.’

‘Before that I have one last thing to tell. In a box next to the other is a gift for thee, dwarf. Thou mayest take whatever else here pleaseth thee, for I will have no use for any of it. But of all in this hall, that in the box is what I wish thee to have.’ He tried to move his head toward Tomas, but could not. ‘Tomas, thanks to thee, for spending my last with me. In the box with the dwarf’s gift is one for you. Take whatever else pleaseth thee, also, for thy heart is good.’ He drew a deep breath, and Tomas could hear it rattle in his throat. ‘Now, Dolgan.’

Dolgan extended the rod and lightly touched the dragon on the head with it. At first nothing happened. Rhuagh said softly, ‘It was Macros’s last gift.’

Suddenly a soft golden light began to form around the dragon. A faint humming could be heard, as if the walls of the hall reverberated with fey music. The sound increased as the light grew brighter and began to pulse with energy. Tomas and Dolgan watched as the discolored patches faded from Rhuagh’s scales. His hide shone with golden sparkle, and the film started to lift from his eyes. He slowly raised his head, and they knew he could again see the hall around him. His crest stood erect, and his wings lifted, showing the rich silver sheen underneath. The yellowed teeth became brilliant white, and his faded black claws shone like polished ebony as he stood upright, lifting his head high.

Dolgan said softly, ‘’Tis the grandest sight I’ve ever beheld.’

Slowly the light grew in intensity as Rhuagh returned to the image of his youthful power. He pulled himself to his full, impressive height, his crest dancing with silver lights. The dragon threw back his head, a youthful, vigorous motion, and with a shout of joy sent a powerful blast of flame up to the high vaulted ceiling. With a roar like a hundred trumpets he shouted, ‘I thank thee, Macros. It is a princely gift indeed.’

Then the strangely harmonic thrumming changed in tone, becoming more insistent, louder. For a brief instant both Dolgan and Tomas thought a voice could be heard among the pulsing tones, a deep, hollow echo saying, ‘You are welcome, friend.’

Tomas felt wetness on his face, and touched it. Tears of joy from the dragon’s sheer beauty were running down his cheeks. The dragon’s great golden wings unfolded, as if he were about to launch himself in flight. The shimmering light became so bright, Tomas and Dolgan could barely stand to look, though they could not pull their eyes from the spectacle. The sound in the room grew to a pitch so loud, dust fell from the ceiling upon their heads, and they could feel the floor shake. The dragon launched himself upward, wings extended, then vanished in a blinding flash of cold white light. Suddenly the room was as it had been and the sound was gone.

The emptiness in the cavern felt oppressive after the dragon vanished, and Tomas looked at the dwarf. ‘Let’s leave, Dolgan. I have little wish to stay.’

Dolgan looked thoughtful. ‘Aye, Tomas, I also have little desire to stay. Still, there is the matter of the dragon’s gifts.’ He crossed over to the box the dragon had identified and opened it.

Dolgan’s eyes became round as he reached in and pulled out a dwarven hammer. He held it out before himself and looked upon it with reverence. The head was made from a silver metal that shone in the lantern light with bluish highlights. Across the side were carved dwarven symbols. The haft was carved oak, with scrollwork running the length. It was polished, and the deep rich grain showed through the finish. Dolgan said, faintly, ‘’Tis the Hammer of Tholin. Long removed from my people. Its return will cause rejoicing in every dwarven long hall throughout the West. It is the symbol of our last king, lost ages ago.’

Tomas came over to watch and saw something else in the box. He reached past Dolgan and pulled out a large bundle of white cloth. He unrolled it and found that the cloth was a tabard of white, with a golden dragon emblazoned on the front. Inside were a shield with the same device and a golden helm. Most marvelous of all was a golden sword with a white hilt. Its scabbard was fashioned from a smooth white material like ivory, but stronger, like metal. Beneath the bundle lay a coat of golden chain mail, which he removed with an ‘Oh!’ of wonder.

Dolgan watched him and said, ‘Take them, boy. The dragon said it was your gift.’

‘They are much too fine for me, Dolgan. They belong to a prince or a king.’

‘I’m thinking the previous owner has scant use for them, laddie. They were freely given, and you may do what you will, but I think that there is something special to them, or else they wouldn’t have been placed in the box with the hammer. Tholin’s hammer is a weapon of power, forged in the ancient hearths of the Mac Cadman Alair, the oldest mine in these mountains. In it rests magic unsurpassed in the history of the dwarves. It is likely the gilded armor and sword are also such. It may be there is a purpose in their coming to you.’

Tomas thought for a moment, then quickly pulled off his great cloak. His tunic was no gambeson, but the golden mail went over it easily enough, being fashioned for someone of larger stature. He pulled the tabard over it and put the helm upon his head. Picking up the sword and shield, he stood before Dolgan. ‘Do I look foolish?’

The dwarf regarded him closely. ‘They are a bit large, but you’ll grow into them, no doubt.’ He thought he saw something in the way the boy stood and held the sword in one hand and the shield in the other. ‘No, Tomas, you do not look foolish. Perhaps not at ease, but not foolish. They are grand, and you will come to wear them as they were meant to be worn, I think.’

Tomas nodded, picked up his cloak, and turned toward the door, putting up his sword. The armor was surprisingly light, much lighter than what he had worn at Crydee. The boy said, ‘I don’t feel like taking anything else, Dolgan. I suppose that sounds strange.’

Dolgan walked over to him. ‘No, boy, for I also wish nothing of the dragon’s riches.’ With a backward glance at the hall, he added, ‘Though there will be nights to come when I will wonder at the wisdom of that. I may return someday, but I doubt it. Now let us find a way home.’ They set off and soon were in tunnels Dolgan knew well, taking them to the surface.

Dolgan gripped Tomas’s arm in silent warning. The boy knew enough not to speak. He also felt the same alarm he had experienced just before the wraith had attacked the day before. But this time it was almost physically felt. The undead creature was near. Putting down the lantern, Tomas shuttered it. His eyes widened in sudden astonishment, for instead of the expected blackness, he saw faintly the figure of the dwarf moving slowly forward. Without thought he said, ‘Dolgan—’

The dwarf turned, and suddenly a black form loomed up at his back. ‘Behind you!’ shouted Tomas.

Dolgan spun to confront the wraith, instinctively bringing up his shield and Tholin’s hammer. The undead creature struck at the dwarf, and only Dolgan’s battle-trained reflexes and dwarven ability to sense movement in the inky darkness saved him, for he took the contact on his iron-bosked shield. The creature howled in rage at the contact with iron. Then Dolgan lashed out with the legendary weapon of his ancestors, and the creature screamed as the hammer struck its form. Blue-green light sprang about the head of the hammer, and the creature retreated, wailing in agony.

‘Stay behind me,’ shouted Dolgan. ‘If iron irritates it, then Tholin’s hammer pains it. I may be able to drive it off.’

Tomas began to obey the dwarf, then found his right hand crossing to pull the golden sword free of the scabbard on his left hip. Suddenly the ill-fitting armor seemed to settle more comfortably around his shoulders, and the shield balanced upon his arm as if he had carried it for years. Without volition of his own, Tomas moved behind Dolgan, then stepped past, bringing the golden sword to the ready.

The creature seemed to hesitate, then moved toward Tomas. Tomas raised his sword, readying to strike. With a sound of utter terror, the wraith turned and fled. Dolgan glanced at Tomas, and something he saw made him hesitate as Tomas seemed to come to an awareness of himself and put up his sword.

Dolgan returned to the lantern and said, ‘Why did you do that, lad?’

Tomas said, ‘I … don’t know.’ Feeling suddenly self-conscious at having disobeyed the dwarf’s instructions, he said, ‘But it worked. The thing left.’

‘Aye, it worked,’ agreed Dolgan, removing the shutter from the lantern. In the light he studied the boy.

Tomas said, ‘I think your ancestor’s hammer was too much for it.’

Dolgan said nothing, but he knew that wasn’t the case. The creature had fled in fear from the sight of Tomas in his armor of white and gold. Then another thought struck the dwarf. ‘Boy, how did you know to warn me the creature was behind me?’

‘I saw it.’

Dolgan turned to look at Tomas with open astonishment. ‘You saw it? How? You had shuttered the lantern.’

‘I don’t know how. I just did.’

Dolgan closed the shutter on the lantern again and stood up. Moving a few feet away, he said, ‘Where am I now, lad?’

Without hesitation Tomas came to stand before him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. ‘Here.’

‘What—?’ said the dwarf.

Tomas touched the helm, then the shield. ‘You said they were special.’

‘Aye, lad. But I didn’t think they were that special.’

‘Should I take them off?’ asked the worried boy.

‘No, no.’ Leaving the lantern upon the floor, Dolgan said, ‘We can move more quickly if I don’t have to worry about what you can and can’t see.’ He forced a note of cheeriness into his voice. ‘And despite there being no two finer warriors in the land, it’s best if we don’t announce our presence with that light. The dragon’s telling of the moredhel being down in our mines gives me no comfort. If one band was brave enough to risk my people’s wrath, there may be others. Yon wraith may be terrified of your golden sword and my ancient hammer, but twenty or so moredhel might not be so easily impressed.’

Tomas could find nothing to say, so they started moving off into the darkness.

Three times they stopped and hid while hurrying groups of goblins and Dark Brothers passed nearby. From their dark vantage point they could see that many of those who passed harbored wounds or were aided by their kinsmen as they limped along. After the last group was gone, Dolgan turned to Tomas and said, ‘Never in history have the goblins and moredhel dared to enter our mines in such numbers. Too much do they fear my people to risk it.’

Tomas said, ‘They look pretty beat up, Dolgan, and they have females and young with them, and carry great bundles, too. They are fleeing something.’

The dwarf nodded. ‘They are all moving from the direction of the northern valley in the Grey Towers, heading toward the Green Heart. Something still drives them south.’

‘The Tsurani?’

Dolgan nodded. ‘My thought also. Come. We had best return to Caldara as quickly as we can.’ They set off and soon were in tunnels Dolgan knew well, taking them to the surface and home.

They were both exhausted when they reached Caldara five days later. The snows in the mountains were heavy, and the going was slow. As they approached the village, they were sighted by guards, and soon the entire village turned out to greet them.

They were taken to the village long hall, and Tomas was given a room. He was so tired that he fell asleep at once, and even the stout dwarf was fatigued. The dwarves agreed to call the village elders together the next day in council and discuss the latest news to reach the valley.

Tomas awoke feeling ravenous. He stretched as he stood up and was surprised to find no stiffness. He had fallen asleep in the golden mail and should have wakened to protesting joints and muscles. Instead he felt rested and well. He opened the door and stepped into a hall. He saw no one until he came to the central room of the long hall. There were several dwarves seated along the great table, with Dolgan at the head. Tomas saw one was Weylin, Dolgan’s son. Dolgan motioned the boy to a chair and introduced him to the company.

The dwarves all greeted Tomas, who made polite responses. Mostly he stared at the great feast of food on the table.

Dolgan laughed and said, ‘Help yourself, laddie; there is little cause for you to be hungry with the board full.’ Tomas heaped a plate with beef, cheese, and bread and took a flagon of ale, though he had little head for it and it was early in the day. He quickly consumed what was on the platter and helped himself to another portion, looking to see if anyone disapproved. Most of the dwarves were involved in a complicated discussion of an unknown nature to Tomas, having to do with the allocation of winter stores to various villages in the area.

Dolgan called a halt to the discussion and said, ‘Now that Tomas is with us, I think we had best speak of these Tsurani.’

Tomas’s ears pricked up at that, and he turned his attention fully to what was being said. Dolgan continued, ‘Since I left on patrol, we have had runners from Elvandar and Stone Mountain. There have been many sightings of these aliens near the North Pass. They have made camp in the hills south of Stone Mountain.’

One of the dwarves said, ‘That is Stone Mountain’s business, unless they call us to arms.’

Dolgan said, ‘True, Orwin, but there is also the news they have been seen moving in and out of the valley just south of the pass. They have intruded on lands traditionally ours, and that is the business of the Grey Towers.’

The dwarf addressed as Orwin nodded. ‘Indeed it is, but there is naught we can do until spring.’

Dolgan put his feet up on the table, lighting a pipe. ‘And that is true also. But we can be thankful the Tsurani can do naught until spring, as well.’

Tomas put down a joint of beef he was holding. ‘Has the blizzard struck?’

Dolgan looked at him. ‘Aye, laddie, the passes are all solid with snow, for the first winter blizzard came upon us last night. There will be nothing that can move out there, least of all an army.’

Tomas looked at Dolgan. ‘Then …’

‘Aye. You’ll guest with us this winter, for not even our hardiest runner could make his way out of these mountains to Crydee.’

Tomas sat back, for in spite of the comforts of the dwarven long hall, he wished for more familiar surroundings. Still, there was nothing that could be done. He resigned himself to that and returned his attention to his meal.