Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (28 page)

Goldmoon looked around the ruins as Zebulah paused to catch his breath between stories.

“Where is the fabled temple of the Kingpriest?” she asked.

A shadow passed over the mage’s face. The look of pleasure he had worn was replaced by an expression of deep sorrow tinged with anger.

“I’m sorry,” Goldmoon said quickly. “I did not mean to cause you pain.…”

“No, it’s all right,” Zebulah said with a brief, sad smile. “In fact, it is good for me to remember the darkness of that dreadful time. I tend to forget—in my daily ramblings here—that this used to be a city of laughing, crying, living, and breathing beings. Children played in these streets—they were playing that terrible evening when the gods cast the fiery mountain down.”

He was silent for a moment then, with a sigh, continued.

“You ask where the temple stands. It stands no longer. In the place where the Kingpriest stood, shouting his arrogant demands to the gods, there is a dark pit. Although it is filled with sea water, nothing lives within it. None know its depth, for the sea elves will not venture near it. I have looked into its dark, still waters as long as I could bear the terror, and I do not believe there is an end to its darkness. It is as deep as the heart of evil itself.”

Zebulah stopped in one of the sea-dark streets and peered at Goldmoon intently. “The guilty were punished. But why the innocent? Why did they have to suffer? You wear the medallion of Mishakal the Healer. Do you understand? Did the goddess explain it to you?”

Goldmoon hesitated, startled by the question, searching within her soul for the answer. Riverwind stood beside her, stern and silent as always, his thoughts hidden.

“Often I myself have questioned,” Goldmoon faltered. Moving nearer Riverwind, she touched his arm with her hand as though to reassure herself he was near. “In a dream, once, I was punished for my questioning, for my lack of faith. Punished by losing the one I love.” Riverwind put his strong arm around her and held her close. “But whenever I feel ashamed of my questioning, I am reminded that it was my questioning that led me to find the ancient gods.”

She was silent a moment. Riverwind stroked her silver-gold hair and she glanced up at him with a smile. “No,” she said softly to Zebulah, “I do not have the answer to this great riddle. I still question. I still burn with anger when I see the innocent suffer and the guilty rewarded. But I know now that my anger can be as a forging fire. In its heat, the raw lump of iron that is my spirit is tempered and shaped to form the shining rod of steel that is my faith. That rod supports my weak flesh.”

Zebulah studied Goldmoon silently as she stood amid the ruins of Istar, her silver-golden hair shining like the sunlight that would never touch the crushed buildings. The classic beauty of her face was marked by the effects of the dark roads she had traveled. Far from marring that beauty, the lines of suffering and despair had refined it. There was wisdom in her eyes, enhanced now by the great joy that came from the knowledge of the new life she carried within her body.

The mage’s gaze went to the man who held the woman so tenderly. His face, too, bore the marks of the long, tortuous path he had walked.

Although stern and stoic that face would always be, his deep love for this woman showed clearly in the man’s dark eyes and the gentleness of his touch.

Perhaps I have made a mistake staying beneath the waters so long, Zebulah thought, suddenly feeling very old and sad. Perhaps I could have helped, if I had stayed above and used my anger as these two used theirs, to help them find answers. Instead, I let my anger gnaw at my soul until it seemed easiest to hide it down here.

“We should delay no longer,” said Riverwind abruptly. “Caramon will soon get it into his head to come looking for us, if he has not already.”

“Yes,” said Zebulah, clearing his throat. “We should go, although I do not think the young man and woman will have left. He was very weak—”

“Was he injured?” Goldmoon asked in concern.

“Not in body,” Zebulah replied as they entered a tumbledown building on a crumbling side-street. “But he has been injured in his soul. I could see that even before the girl told me about his twin brother.”

A dark line appeared between Goldmoon’s finely drawn brows, her lips tightened.

“Pardon me, Lady of the Plains,” Zebulah said with a slight smile, “but I see that the forging fire you spoke of blazes in your eyes.”

Goldmoon flushed. “I told you I was still weak. I should be able to accept Raistlin and what he did to his brother without questioning. I should have faith that it is all part of the greater good I cannot envision. But I’m afraid I can’t. All I can do is pray that the gods keep him out of my path.”

“Not me,” said Riverwind suddenly, his voice harsh. “Not me,” he repeated grimly.

Caramon lay staring into the darkness. Tika, cradled in his arms, was fast asleep. He could feel her heart beating, he could hear her soft breathing. He started to run his hand through the tangle of red curls that lay upon his shoulder, but Tika stirred at his touch and he stopped, fearful of waking her. She should rest. The gods alone knew how long she had been awake, watching over him. She would never tell him, he knew that. When he had asked, she had only laughed and teased him about his snoring.

But there had been a tremor in her laughter, and she had been unable to look into his eyes.

Caramon patted her shoulder reassuringly and she nestled close. He felt comforted as he realized she slept soundly, and then he sighed. Only a few weeks ago, he had vowed to Tika that he would never take her love unless he could commit himself to her body and soul. He could still hear his words, “My first commitment is to my brother. I am his strength.”

Now Raistlin was gone, he had found his own strength. As he had told Caramon, “I need you no longer.”

I should be glad, Caramon told himself, staring into the darkness. I love Tika and I have her love in return. And now we are free to express that love. I can make that commitment to her. She can come first in all my thoughts now. She is loving, giving. She deserves to be loved.

Raistlin never did. At least that’s what they all believe. How often have I heard Tanis ask Sturm when he thought I couldn’t hear why I put up with the sarcasm, the bitter recriminations, the imperious commands. I’ve seen them look at me with pity. I know they think I’m slow-thinking sometimes and I am—compared to Raistlin. I am the ox, lumbering along, bearing the burden without complaint. That’s what they think of me.

They don’t understand. They don’t
need
me. Even Tika doesn’t
need
me, not like Raist needed me. They never heard him wake screaming in the night when he was little. We were left alone so much, he and I. There was no one there in the darkness to hear him and comfort him but me. He could never remember those dreams, but they were awful. His thin body
shook with fear. His eyes were wild with the sight of terrors only he could see. He clutched at me, sobbing. And I’d tell him stories or make funny shadow-pictures on the wall to drive away the horror.

“Look, Raist,” I’d say, “bunnies …” and I’d hold up two fingers and wiggle them like a rabbit’s ears.

After a while, he’d stop trembling. He wouldn’t smile or laugh. He never did either, much, even when he was little. But he would relax.

“I must sleep. I am so tired,” he’d whisper, holding my hand fast. “But you stay awake, Caramon. Guard my sleep. Keep them away. Don’t let them get me.”

“I’ll stay awake. I won’t let anything hurt you, Raist!” I’d promise.

Then he would smile—almost—and, exhausted, his eyes would close. I kept my promise. I would stay awake while he slept. And it was funny. Maybe I did keep them away, because as long as I was awake and watching, the nightmares never came to him.

Even when he was older, sometimes he’d still cry out in the night and reach out to me. And I’d be there. But what will he do now? What will he do without me when he’s alone, lost, and frightened in the darkness?

What will I do without him?

Caramon shut his eyes and, softly, fearful of waking Tika, he began to cry.

A
nd that’s our story,” said Tanis simply.

Apoletta had listened attentively to him, her green eyes intent upon his face. She had not interrupted. When he was finished, she remained silent. Resting her arms on the side of the steps leading into the still water, she seemed lost in thought. Tanis did not disturb her. The feeling of peace and serenity present beneath the sea soothed and comforted him. The thought of returning to the harsh, glaring world of sunlight and blaring noise seemed suddenly frightening. How easy it would be to ignore everything and stay here, beneath the sea, hidden forever in this silent world.

“What about him?” she asked finally, nodding her head at Berem.

Tanis came back to reality with a sigh.

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging, glancing at Berem. The man was staring into the darkness of the cavern. His lips were moving, as if repeating a chant over and over.

“He is the key, according to the Queen of Darkness. Find him, she said, and victory is hers.”

“Well,” Apoletta said abruptly, “you’ve got him. Does that make victory yours?”

Tanis blinked. The question caught him by surprise. Scratching his beard, he pondered. It was something that had not occurred to him.

“True … we have got him,” he murmured, “but what do we do with him? What is there about him that grants victory—to either side?”

“Doesn’t he know?”

“He claims he doesn’t.”

Apoletta regarded Berem, frowning. “I would say he was lying,” she said after a moment, “but then he is human, and I know little of the strange workings of the human mind. There is a way you can find out, however. Journey to the Temple of the Dark Queen at Neraka.”

“Neraka!” repeated Tanis, startled. “But that’s …” He was interrupted by a cry of such wild fear and terror that he nearly leaped into the water. His hand went to his empty scabbard. With a curse, he whirled around expecting nothing less than a horde of dragons.

There was only Berem, staring at him with wide eyes.

“What is it, Berem?” Tanis asked irritably. “Did you see something?”

“He didn’t see anything, Half-Elf,” Apoletta said, studying Berem with interest. “He reacted that way when I said Neraka—”

“Neraka!” Berem repeated, shaking his head wildly. “Evil! Great evil! No … no …”

“That’s where you came from,” Tanis told him, stepping nearer.

Berem shook his head firmly.

“But you told me—”

“A mistake!” Berem muttered. “I didn’t mean Neraka. I m-meant … Takar … Takar! That’s what I meant …”

“You meant Neraka. You know the Dark Queen has her great Temple there, in Neraka!” Apoletta said sternly.

“Does she?” Berem looked directly at her, his blue eyes wide and innocent. “The Dark Queen, a Temple in Neraka? No, there’s nothing there but a small village. My village …” Suddenly he grasped his stomach and doubled over, as if in pain. “I don’t feel good. Leave me alone,” he mumbled like a child and slumped to the marble floor near the edge of the water. Sitting there, clutching his stomach, he stared into the darkness.

“Berem!” said Tanis in exasperation.

“Don’t feel good …” Berem muttered sullenly.

“How old did you say he was?” Apoletta asked.

“Over three hundred years, or so he claims,” Tanis said in disgust. “If you believe only half of what he says, that cuts it down to one hundred and fifty, which doesn’t seem too plausible either, not for a human.”

“You know,” replied Apoletta thoughtfully, “the Queen’s Temple at Neraka is a mystery to us. It appeared suddenly, after the Cataclysm, so far as we have been able to determine. Now we find this man who would trace his own history to that same time and place.”

“It is strange …” said Tanis, glancing again at Berem.

“Yes. It may be nothing more than coincidence, but follow coincidence far enough and you’ll find it tied to fate, so my husband says.” Apoletta smiled.

“Coincidence or not, I don’t see myself walking into the Temple of the Queen of Darkness and asking why she’s searching the world for a man with a green gemstone buried in his chest,” Tanis said wryly, sitting down near the water’s edge again.

“I suppose not,” Apoletta admitted. “It’s hard to believe, though from what you say, that she has grown so powerful. What have the good dragons been doing all this time?”

“Good dragons!” Tanis repeated, astounded. “What good dragons?”

Now it was Apoletta’s turn to look amazed. “Why, the good dragons. The silver dragons and gold dragons. Bronze dragons. And the dragonlances. Surely the silver dragons gave you those that were in their keeping.…”

“I never heard of silver dragons,” Tanis replied, “except in some old song about Huma. The same with dragonlances. We’ve been searching for them so long without a trace, I was
beginning to believe they didn’t exist except in children’s stories.”

“I don’t like this.” Apoletta rested her chin on her hands, her face drawn and pale. Something’s wrong. Where are the good dragons? Why aren’t they fighting? At first I discounted rumors of the sea dragons’ return, for I knew the good dragons would never permit it. But if the good dragons have disappeared, as I must believe from talking with you, Half-Elf, then I fear my people truly are in danger.” She lifted her head, listening. “Ah, good, here comes my husband with the rest of your friends.” She pushed away from the edge. “He and I can go back to my people and discuss what we must do—”