Darkness and Light

Chapter 19

The vegetation in the valley was much the same as elsewhere on Lunitari, but it grew less thickly and to greater size. The pink spears topped twelve feet in an hour's growth, and the toadstools towered twenty and thirty feet.

One new species the explorers found was a five-foot-wide puffball. After seeing one such puffball explode, sending a shower of javelin-sharp spikes in all directions, the marchers gave them a very wide berth.

The sky seemed brighter, too, and a steady hum filled their ears. Cutwood complained constantly of a loud buzz ing, despite his makeshift earmuffs. Wingover took to shielding his eyes with his hands, just to cut down on the intense glare he saw everywhere. The other gnomes found their special attributes becoming more and more onerous.

Roperig couldn't touch anything without his hands sticking.

He once accidentally scratched his nose, and it took an hour to free his fingers. Fitter fidgeted about like a hovering hum mingbird, moving with such speed that he seemed little more than a blur. He fell down a lot and continually bumped into other members of the party. Rainspot walked in a perpetual haze — a real fog that clung to his head and shoulders — his own private cloud. Moisture condensed on his face, and his ears and beard dripped nonstop.

Of all the gnomes, only Sighter exhibited no obvious ill effects. But Sturm noticed a subtle change in his expression;

Sighter's usually incisive gaze had given way to a hard smirk, as if he were listening to some lurid tale being whis pered in his ear. Sturm wasn't certain that the world was ready for a logical gnome.

Sturm worried about Kitiara, too. She kept ahead of the others, walking purposefully toward the waiting obelisk.

Her right arm was still slung across her chest, but her left hand, firmly clenched in a fist, rose and fell with each deter mined step. Each strike of her heels left a deep notch in the ground. Sturm wondered how much power she could bear.

He lost sight of Kitiara for a time among the pink spears and spidersticks. "Hello?" he called. "Kit, wait for us." There was no answer but the hive-hum that surrounded them.

Sturm spied Kitiara standing under an enormous toad stool. Pink spores rained lightly over her. Her hand was at her throat, and she was looking at something.

"Kit?" he said, touching her shoulder.

She flinched. "Sturm! I just noticed this." It was Tirolan's gem, the amethyst arrowhead that had turned clear after Kit had used it to free herself from the spell of the goblin rob bers. She held the crystal out for Sturm to see. It was blood red, like a heartsfire ruby.

"When did that happen?" he asked.

"At Rapaldo's palace, I saw that the gem was turning pale pink. The color has deepened since sunrise."

"Get rid of it, Kit. It's a receptacle of magic. It too may be affected by the atmosphere of Lunitari. Nothing good can come of it."

"No!" she said, slipping the gem back under her mail shirt. I intend to keep it. Have you so soon forgotten how

Tirolan helped us?"

"No, I haven't forgotten. But the gem may be filled with a different power now, a power you know nothing about.

Drop it on the ground, Kit, please! If you don't, the conse quences may be horrible."

"I will not!" she said, her dark eyes flashing. "You're a fool, Sturm Brightblade — a frightened little boy. I'm not afraid of power. I welcome it!"

Sturm was about to argue back, but the file of gnomes appeared. He was not willing to provoke a confrontation in front of the little people. There was a thinly veiled rage in

Kitiara, and to push her at this juncture would lead nowhere.

"Wingover says the obelisk should soon be in view for all of us," said Roperig. His right hand was stuck to Fitter's back. The apprentice was running in place, his short legs nearly invisible with motion. Roperig saw Sturm's startled expression and added, "Fit ter's having a hard time standing still. I'm the only one who can keep hold of him."

"How are the rest of you?" Sturm asked. Cutwood and

Wingover, muffled and blindfolded respectively, gallantly waved their good spirits. Rainspot looked sodden and for lorn under his cloud, but avowed that he felt well.

Sighter cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow in a maddeningly superior way. "It is evident that the closer we get to the obelisk, the more intensely the neutral power of

Lunitari infects us," he said.

"Let's push on," said Sturm.

They continued on for about an hour, when they came upon a path, cleared from the strange jungle. And where the cleared path met the horizon, there stood a tall spire — the mysterious obelisk of Lunitari. They were still some ten miles away, but the land sloped downward toward the obe lisk at an easy grade. There were no other features to over shadow it.

"Looks like we're expected," said Sturm.

"The Voice?" Fitter wondered.

"Who else?" Sighter replied. He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. "If I'm right, we're going to meet a very remarkable being. Someone who'll make all the other won ders of Lunitari seem like cheap carnival tricks."

The obelisk grew from a slim red line to a robust tower five hundred feet tall. It had a curiously striped appearance, caused by thin black bands that alternated with the red stone of its walls. The closer the explorers came, the higher the grand tower seemed to thrust into the sky.

Cutwood broke the long silence. He said, "Have you noticed how the plants lean toward the tower?" It was true.

All of them, even the spiny puffballs, were bent so that they faced the great obelisk.

"Like lilies turned to the sun," surmised Kitiara.

They halted fifty yards from the base of the obelisk. The red marble sides were beautifully dressed and squared, unlike the crude masonry of the tree-men's village. The black bands between the courses of marble were mortar of some kind. On ground level, facing the explorers, was an open entrance, a notch cut in the smooth stone. Inside was only darkness. At regular intervals, the obelisk's walls were pierced by long, narrow windows.

"What do we do now?" asked Fitter in a very small voice.

Come closer!

Sturm and Kitiara stepped back, reaching for their weap ons. "Who said that?" called Sturm.

I, the Keeper of the New Lives, said a soothing bass voice within their own heads.

"Where are you?" Kitiara demanded.

In the edifice before you. Come closer.

"We'll stay right here, thank you," said Cutwood.

Ah, you are afraid. Is mortal flesh so dear that you would ignore the opportunity to feast your eyes on a rare and won derful sight, namely myself? That the humans would be afraid I did not doubt, but I expected better of you gnomes.

"We saw a colleague die not long ago, so you'll excuse us if we're a bit cautious," Wingover said.

You require proof of my good will? Behold.

A small shape stirred in the dim doorway. It emerged into the light of day, stopped and waved. It looked like Stutts.

"Gears and sprockets!" Fitter crowed, dashing forward.

Of course, he dragged Roperig with him. Cutwood and

Wingover stumbled after them, while Rainspot wandered over in a fog, with Sighter chuckling at his side.

"Wait," said Sturm. "It could be an illusion."

But it was not an illusion. The gnomes engulfed Stutts, yelling with unrestrained delight. Birdcall and Flash appeared in the door and leaped on the pile of happy gnomes. After a heartily bruising hello, Stutts extricated himself from the press and toddled to Sturm and Kitiara. He shook Sturm's hand solidly and expressed concern for Kiti ara's bandaged shoulder.

"It is you," she said, pinching his ear.

"It is, and I am quite well, thank you. We've been waiting for you all for days."

"What happened to your stutter?" Sturm asked. Suspi cion made him blunt.

"Oh, that! It's gone, you know, poof! The Keeper says it's due to the leveling effect of the magic forces present on Luni tari." Stutts peered behind the humans. "Where's Bell crank?"

Sturm laid a hand on the gnome's shoulder. "I fear that we have grave news, my friend."

"Grave? How — ?"

Are your fears alleviated? intruded the voice.

"For now," Kitiara said. "May we have our flying ship back, please?"

Don't be so hasty! We've not been properly introduced.

Please come in, won't you?

"Explain later," Stutts said quickly. He took Kitiara's and

Sturm's hands and led them to the door. "We've had the most tremendous adventure since you left to prospect for ore," he reported. "The Keeper has treated us marvelously."

"Who is this Keeper? Where is he?" asked Kitiara.

"Come and see for yourselves."

Stutts let go of their hands. Sturm and Kitiara stepped through the deep door-notch into the shadowed interior of the grand obelisk.

Sunlight filtered down from the slit windows higher up in the obelisk. In the center of the floor, illuminated by the sunlight, sat the flying ship Cloudmaster. The ethereal air bag had shrunk to half its previous size, just a soft lump in many folds of loose netting. The wings had been detached from the hull, no doubt to allow the craft to fit through the door in the obelisk. The leather wings were neatly folded and lying on the red marble floor beside the ship. Clicking in the darkness beyond the Cloudmaster proved the presence of Micones.

Inevitably, the warriors' gazes were lifted by the soaring hollowness of the interior. As Sturm and Kitiara raised their eyes, they saw a series of ledges and horizontal pillars set into the immensely thick walls. Perched about fifty feet above the floor was the occupant of the obelisk, the Keeper.

A dragon. Where blades of sunlight struck him, his scales shone greenish gold.

No dragon had been seen on Krynn in centuries, so long, in fact, that their actual existence was a sorely debated point among historians, clerics, and natural philosophers. Sturm believed from boyhood that there had been dragons, but face to face with a living example, he felt so much fear that he thought he'd faint.

Be a man, a knight! he admonished himself. Men had faced dragons before. Huma had done it. So while Sturm's head swam from this newest and greatest revelation, he kept his feet firmly under him.

Kitiara, too, was stunned. Her eyes were huge and white in the dim light. She recovered more quickly than Sturm, however, and said, "Are you the Keeper who spoke to us?"

Yes. "Or do you prefer spoken language?" asked the dragon. Its voice was not as booming as Sturm had expected it to be; considering its size (thirty-five feet from nose to tail) and the distance to it, it was quite soft-spoken.

"Spoken is best. That way I can be sure of what I'm hear ing," answered Kitiara.

"As you wish. I do enjoy speaking, and I've gone such a long time without having anyone to speak to. The ants, you see, respond best to telepathy." The dragon shook its broad, angular head with a noise of clanging brass. It lifted its feet off the ledge and dropped to a lower perch with a single fluff of its wings. The breeze washed over the amazed explorers.

"Where are my manners? I am Cupelix Trisfendamir,

Keeper of the New Lives and resident of this obelisk." The gnomes had retreated behind the humans when the dragon appeared. Now they spread out and began to bombard him with questions.

"Keeper of what new lives?"

"How much do you weigh?"

"How did you get here?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Do you have any raisins?"

The dragon was amused by this barrage, but he dismissed the gnomes with a wave of one giant foreclaw. "You are Kiti ara Uth Matar and Sturm Brightblade, are you not?" he asked. The two nodded dumbly. "Your small friend, Stutts, speaks very highly of you both. Apparently, you have impressed him with many sterling qualities."

"Apparently'" said Kitiara dryly.

"I have only the evidence of Stutts's impressions. Be that as it may, I am very glad you are here. 1 followed your prog ress along the trail I had the Micones make — " Cupelix tilted his burnished head and peered at Sturm with dagger eyes.

"Yes, Sir Knight, the trail was deliberate."

"You read minds," Sturm said uncomfortably.

"Not deeply. Only when a thought is so clearly on the tip of one's tongue."

Stutts introduced his colleagues to the dragon. Cupelix exchanged witty banter with each one, until Sighter's turn came.

"You are a bronze dragons" questioned the gnome.

"Brass, if you must know. But enough of these trivialities!

You have come a long way and labored hard to recover your flying craft. Now that you have found it and each other once more, enjoy a moment of repose at my expense."

"We'd rather be on our way," said Sturm.

"But I insist," said the dragon. He slid along the edge of his perch, his rear legs gripping the stone ledge and his wings flaring out for balance. Cupelix worked his way around to just over the door — the only way out.

Sturm didn't like what was happening. By instinct, his hand strayed to the pommel of his sword — which changed to a chicken drumstick when he touched it. The gnomes looked popeyed, and Kitiara's jaw fell open in surprise.

"Please excuse my little joke," said Cupelix. In the wink of an eye, the poultry leg was gone and the sword was back.

"Your weapons are unnecessary here. That was just my way of showing you the truth of it. Men so often have to be shown the truth before they believe something. r,

"And now," said Cupelix, drawing himself erect. "Let there be victuals!" His eyes flashed with an inner light that seemed to leave bright sparkles in the air. The sparkles col lected in the open space before the bow of the Cloudmaster.

When they faded, they left behind a broad oak table groan ing under the weight of food and drink.

"Eat, my friends. Drink, and we shall tell each other tales of great doings," intoned the dragon. The gnomes fell upon the table with squeals of delight. Kitiara eyed the pitchers of foaming ale and sauntered over. Though the spear plants could taste like any food she wished, Kitiara had missed the sight of real food. Only Sturm remained where he stood, his hands folded at his waist.

"You do not eat, Master Brightblade," said Cupelix.

"The fruits of magic are not fit victuals," Sturm said.

The reptilian nostrils twitched. "You have poor manners for one who styles himself a knight."

Sturm answered carefully. "There are higher directives than mere manners. The Measure tells us to reject magic in all its forms, for example." The brass jaws widened, reveal ing saber-sized teeth and a forked black tongue flecked with gold. For a second, Sturm's heart contracted to a tight knot in his chest, for he knew he could not withstand this mon ster's attack. Then, he realized Cupelix was grinning at him.

"Oh, how boring it has been these centuries past without creatures to dispute with! Bless your stiff neck, Sturm

Brightblade! What pleasure you give me!" The jaws closed with a metallic clank. "But come now, surely you have heard of Huma the Lancer?"

"Of course."

"He got along quite well with some types of dragons, did he not?"

"So the histories say. I can only point out that while

Huma was a brave warrior and a great hero, he was not a model knight."

Cupelix burst out laughing; it sounded like a chorus of mighty gongs. "Do as you please, then! I would not want to be responsible for undermining such formidable virtue!"

With that, Cupelix sprang from his stand and, beating his wings furiously, flew up to the highest recesses of the hollow obelisk.

Sturm went to the sumptuous table. The gnomes were gorging themselves on baked apples, dove stuffed with bacon and chestnuts, wild rice with saffron, whole sweet onions glazed with honey, venison steaks, blood pudding, pickled eggs, breads, punch, wine, and ale.

Kitiara had taken her injured arm out of its sling and let it rest on the table. With her coat falling off one shoulder and the flush of new ale on her cheeks, she looked quite wanton.

She sniffed when her eyes met Sturm's, and she popped a whole pickled egg in her mouth.

'You're missing a feast," she said after swallowing. "The old emperors of Ergoth never ate so well."

"I wonder what it's made from?" Sturm said, picking up a warm roll and letting it fall back into its tray. "Sand? Poi sonous mushrooms?"

"Sometimes you are tiresome beyond belief," said Kitiara and quaffed a three-gulp swallow of ale. "If the dragon wanted to kill us, he could do it without resorting to the sub tleties of poison."

"Actually," Cutwood said, leaning across the table and spewing bread crumbs with every syllable, "brass dragons traditionally are not aligned with evil."

"Have we nothing to fear from this creature?" Sturm asked the table at large. He glanced up at the darkness that held the dragon, and lowered his voice. "Our ancestors on

Krynn fought long and hard to eliminate dragons from the world. Were they all wrong?"

"The situation here is completely different," said Stutts.

"Lunitari is this dragon's home. He has taken a kindly inter est in our plight. We shouldn't refuse his help because of ancient prejudices that have no application at the present time."

'What does he want from us?"

"He hasn't told us yet," Stutts admitted. "But he, ah, won't let us leave."

"What do you mean?" Sturm said sharply.

"Birdcall, Flash, and I wanted to go searching for you. We rerouted the engine control sufficiently to make short ascents — hops, really — but Cupelix refused to allow us out of the obelisk. He claimed it wasn't safe, and that he was taking steps to bring you all here."

"Well, we're here now," said Kitiara, reaching for another broiled dove. "And we'll soon be on our way."

"Will we?" Sturm asked, craning his neck again to peer into the dim heights of the obelisk. "Now that he has us all, will he let us go?"