Darkness and Light

Chapter 23

The gnomes responded to Cupelix's invitation with characteristic enthusiasm. The new metal parts for the

Cloudmaster had to cool a while longer before they could be fitted into place, and the proposed descent into the caverns suited them very well. They turned the ship upside down hunting for proper equipment: pens and paper, of course; rope and tape measures; and transits for surveying the lay out of the caverns. Cutwood brought out a large balance scale to weigh representative specimens of dragon eggs.

"Oh, no," Sturm warned. "No one is to touch the eggs, not the least little bit."

"But why?" asked Rainspot, who was wearing his oilcloth slicker full-time now.

"The Micones are under orders to kill anyone who touch es them," Sturm said. "Not even Cupelix can countermand that order." Cutwood reluctantly abandoned his scale.

Two hours before dawn, Sturm and the gnomes presented themselves before one of the large, round holes in the obe lisk floor. Cupelix was poised on his ledge above them, and

Kitiara lingered in the doorway, watching the comic mar shaling of the gnome explorers. Some of them, particularly

Fitter, were so laden with gear that they could scarcely stand. Sturm's only special item was a long hank of rope, secured at one shoulder and draped across his chest.

"I hope you don't intend to climb down," said the dragon mildly. "The way presents many difficulties."

"How else shall we get down there?" asked Stutts.

"By allowing the Micones to take you."

Sturm's eyes narrowed. "How will they do that?"

"It's very simple," said Cupelix. He shut his mouth and lowered his head, as he usually did when communicating telepathically with the ants. Hard, armored heads appeared in all the holes, and before Sturm could protest six Micones presented themselves to the exploration party. "The ants are quite capable of carrying two gnomes apiece, and the sixth will be Master Brightblade's mount."

Sturm turned to Kitiara. "Are you certain you won't change your mind and go with us?"

She shook her head. "I've explored enough of this moon, thank you."

The gnomes were already scrambling over their mounts, measuring, touching, and tapping the crystalline creatures from mandible to stinger. The glass-smooth ants presented no footholds or handholds for mounting and riding. After some discussion (cut short by Sturm's impatient sigh), the gnomes tied lengths of rope together into reasonable halters and bridles. The Micones stood stock-still through all this indignity. Even their restless antennae were motionless.

Flash bent down on his hands and knees and Stutts stepped on his back to reach his seat on the Micone. He was still too short to reach the ant's arched thorax. Sighter tried to boost Stutts up. He planted both hands and one shoulder in the seat of Stutts's pants and shoved with all his might.

Stutts rose up the curving carapace of crystal, up and up — and over. He slid headfirst over the ant's body and thumped down on the other side. Fortunately, something soft broke his fall. It was Birdcall.

Sturm made a stirrup loop in his rope and levered himself onto the creature's back. "It's like sitting on a statue," he said, wiggling to situate himself. "Cold and hard."

The gnomes emulated Sturm's rope stirrup, and with only a few minor bruises, managed to mount their ants. The pairs were Stutts and Flash, Birdcall and Sighter, Cutwood and

Rainspot, Roperig and Fitter (naturally), with Wingover by himself. g "How do we steer these things?" Cutwood muttered. The makeshift halter ran around the giant ant's neck, but there was no way to control an animal that didn't breathe.

"There's no need for that," said the dragon. "I have told them to take you to the cavern, wait there, and bring you back. They will not deviate from my instructions, so don't try to get around them. Hold on and enjoy the ride."

"Ready, colleagues?" asked Stutts, with a wave.

"Ready!" "We're ready!" "Let's go!" were the replies.

Sturm wrapped the rope around his clenched fist and nod ded. The Micones were set in motion, and they were off. v The giant ant below Sturm was rock steady on its six spin dly legs, though its side-to-side motion was a bit odd to him, who was used to the up-and-down gait of a four-footed horse. Sturm's feet were only a few inches off the floor, but, the Micone bore him strongly to the nearest hole. He expect ed the ant to enter and descend like a man going down a spi ral stair, but no. The creature entered the hole headfirst and kept bending, tipping Sturm farther and farther forward.

He leaned down until his chest was pressed against the ant's domed back and clamped his arms and legs around its body.

The Micone walked down the hole's vertical wall and emerged, upside down, in the vaulted cavern below, with the astonished Sturm hanging on for all he was worth.

The gnomes' mounts entered the same way, and the squeals of delight and terror that followed rang off the milky, china blue walls. Huge stalactites, thirty and forty feet long and ten feet wide at their bases, reached down to the floor. The pale blue formations shone with a dim light of their own. The walls and ceiling (which Sturm found him self staring at) were likewise encrusted with a coating of the hard blue-white crystal. It looked as smooth as ice, but the ants' barbed feet clung tenaciously to it and never slipped.

Sturm's mount followed a well-worn path amid the cold spires. The Micone walked thirty yards across the cavern's ceiling, then abruptly turned and descended straight down the wall. A hundred feet below, the ant righted itself and moved across the cavern floor, which was littered with what resembled large scraps of old parchment and red leather.

This debris was kicked up around the ants' feet until they halted in a precise straight line, directly below the holes in the obelisk floor, now high above their heads. All around them the vaulted cavern glowed with faint luminescence. It was like Solinari in wane, but glowed from all directions and cast no shadows.

When Sturm and the gnomes had departed for the caverns, Kitiara waited nervously by the bow of the Cloud master. The gnomes' shrieks — half delight, half terror — faded as the ants carried them into the hollows below.

Cupelix alighted on the floor beside the flying ship. "Well, my dear, are you ready?" asked the dragon.

Kitiara bit her lip and rubbed the palms of her hands on her sleeves. "Sure," she said. "How do I get up there?"

"The simplest way is for me to carry you."

She eyed him uncertainly. Cupelix's forelegs were small compared to his massive hind legs, which could easily crush an ox. Noting her hesitation, the dragon said, "If you climb upon my back and sit astride my neck, I'll fly very carefully to the top of the tower." So saying, he laid his chin on the cold floor. Kitiara threw one leg over the beast's long, sin ewy neck. His scales were as cold and hard as she'd thought they would be. They were living flesh, but felt very much like true brass. Cupelix raised his head, and Kitiara felt taut muscles surge under the burnished scales. She leaned for ward and grasped the edges of two scales to secure a grip, as

Cupelix spread his wings and launched straight into the air.

The obelisk walls were square on its lowest third. Where one particularly heavy platform ringed the walls, they slanted inward, constricting the dragon's movement. Cupe lix flared his wings and grabbed hold of the ledge with his powerful hind legs. He hopped sideways, sliding his four toed feet along the sill, which was deeply worn by centuries of such movement. Kitiara looked over the dragon's shoul der and down. The Cloudmaster looked like a toy, and the holes that had so recently swallowed Sturm and the gnomes were mere ink blots on a crimson page.

Cupelix reached a horizontal pillar that crossed from the north ledge to the east side. He sidled on out onto this until he was almost centered in the shaft again. "Hold on!" he said, and leaped.

There was not enough room that high to allow him to fly, so he kept his wings furled. Cupelix leaped thirty yards up, to where the obelisk was very cramped indeed.

Kitiara opened her eyes. The floor, four hundred feet below, was a vague pink square. Above, the obelisk came to an abrupt end at a flat stone ceiling. She tightened her hold on the dragon's neck. A shiver ran through the great elephantine body.

"You're tickling me," he said, in a very undragonlike man ner. A wickedly hooked claw set on the leading edge of

Cupelix's right wing nudged against her. It scraped along the spot where Kitiara had held on, scratching the ticklish spot.

"Are you going to do any more jumping?" she asked, try ing not to let her anxiety show in her voice.

"Oh, no, from here on it's all climbing."

By claw and muscular leg, the dragon climbed the remaining few yards with deft deliberation. He stopped when his horned head bumped the flat ceiling separating them from the obelisk's uppermost section. Kitiara expected him to utter some magic word that would open the way, but instead Cupelix planted his angular head against a stone slab and pushed. His neck bowed under the pressure, and

Kitiara was pinned between the massive wing muscles. She was about to protest when a large section of the slab gave way grudgingly. Cupelix shoved it upward until it stood on edge. He lowered his neck, and Kitiara dismounted inside the dragon's inner sanctum. Her feet slipped on the marble, and for a second the distant floor below seemed ready to rush to her. Kitiara stepped farther away from the opening and breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Arryas shirak!" said the dragon. A globe fully eight feet across, set in the very apex of the obelisk roof, blazed with light. The details of Cupelix's lair leaped out at her: heaps of old books and scrolls, candle stands, censers, braziers, and other magical apparatus all wrought in heavy gold; four tapestries covered the walls, tapestries so old that the lowest edges were crumbling to dust. One hanging, fifteen feet wide by fifteen feet high, showed Huma the Lancer astride a fire-breathing dragon, impaling a denizen of the Dark

Queen's domain. The hero's armor was worked in gold and silver thread.

The second great tapestry was a map of Krynn. It showed not only the continent of Ansalon as Kitiara knew it, but other land masses to the north and west.

The third hanging showed a conclave of the gods. They were all there, the good, the neutral, and the evil, but the image that truly arrested her was that of the Dark Queen. Takhisis stood apart from the assembled gods of good and neutrality, regal and scornful. The weaver had made her not only beauti ful, but also terrible, with scaly legs and a barbed tail. As Kiti ara moved past the great figure, the expression on the Dark

Queen's face was by turns cruel, contemptuous, bitter, and bewitching. Kitiara might have stood there forever staring at her, had not Cupelix levered the stone slab back into place, restoring it for a floor. The several tons of marble thunked down, and broke Kitiara's trance.

The last tapestry was the most enigmatic. It was a depic tion of a balance, like the constellation Hiddukel, except that this scale was unbroken. In the right pan of the scales was an egg. On the left was the silhouette of a man. Cupelix clomped across the slab, his nails clicking on the stone.

"Do you understand the picture?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Kitiara replied. "What sort of egg is that supposed to be?"

"What kind do you think it is?"

"Well, if it's a dragon egg, then I guess the picture repre sents the world in balance between humans and dragons — as long as the dragons are just eggs."

Cupelix said, "That's very good. It's also the most obvi ous interpretation. There are many others."

"Who made the hangings?"

"I don't know. The gods, perhaps. They were here before

I was." The dragon went to the largest pile of books and lay back against them, drawing his tail around in front. Kitiara cast about for a convenient place to sit. She upended a black iron cauldron inlaid with silver runes and sat on that.

"So here I am," she said. "Why did you want to talk with me especially?"

"Because you are different from the others. The man

Sturm, I enjoy debating, but one can talk to him for five minutes and know his entire mind. He is very plain-spoken and single-minded, isn't he?"

She shrugged. "He's a good fellow when he doesn't inflict his narrow values on others. It's hard to like him sometimes."

"And love?" asked the dragon slyly.

"Hardly! Oh, he's not bad looking, well made and all, but it'll take a different sort of woman from me to capture

Sturm Brightblade's heart."

Cupelix cocked his head to one side. "In what way?"

"Innocent. Unworldly. Someone who fits his knightly version of purity."

"Ah," said the dragon. "A female untainted by lust"

Kitiara smiled crookedly. "Well, not completely."

"Ha!" Cupelix gave a hoot of laughter, thumping a six foot stack of tomes. Dust puffed from between the yellowed vellum pages. "That's what I like about you, my dear; you're so frank, yet unpredictable. I've not yet been able to read your mind."

"But you've tried?"

"Oh, yes. It's important to know what dangerous mortals are thinking."

Kitiara laughed. "Am I dangerous?"

"Very. As I explained, Master Brightblade is an open book to me, and the gnomes' thoughts fly about like mad butter flies, but you — you, my dear Kitiara, bear much watching."

"The time has come for you to answer some questions frankly, dragon," she said, planting her hands on her knees.

"What is it you want from us? From me?"

"I told you," said Cupelix, twisting his neck from side to side. "I want to leave this tower and go to Krynn. I'm sick of being cooped up in here, with no one to talk to and nothing to eat but the leavings the Micones can scrounge for me."

'You feed us quite well," Kitiara objected.

"You do not understand the essential formula of magic. A' small amount of matter can be changed by a large amount of energy — that is how it is done. What you consider a large meal would not be a snack for me."

'You're big and strong," she said. "Why don't you claw your way out?"

"And bring the stones down upon my head?" Cupelix preened his purplish cheeks. "That would hardly accom plish my purpose. Besides," his eyes narrowed vertically,

"there is geas, a magical prohibition against my damaging the structure. I have tried many times, using many formu lae, to convince the Micones to demolish the tower, but they would not. There is a higher power at work here, which requires the attention of a third force to overcome. Your ingenious little friends are that third force, my dear. Their fertile little brains can conceive a hundred schemes for every one you or I may devise."

"And none of them practical."

"Really? You surprise me again, dear mortal girl. Did these same gnomes not get you to Lunitari in the first place?"

She objected that that had been an accident.

"Accidents are only unexpected probabilities," said the dragon. "They can be encouraged."

When Cupelix said that, Kitiara looked over her left shoulder and saw the Dark Queen glaring down haughtily from her tapestry. "What," she began before taking her eyes off the mesmerizing visage, "will you do if we can get you out of here?"

"Fly to Krynn and take up residence there, of course. I am very keen to sample the mortal world with all its gaudy and vigorous life." She gave a derisive snort. "Why do you do that?" asked Cupelix.

"You think life on Krynn is strange! What do you call the creatures who dwell around you?" she said.

"To me, they are normal. They are all I have known, you see, and they bore me. Have you ever tried to talk philoso phy with a tree-man? One might as well talk to a stone. Did you know that the vegetable life that grows on Lunitari is so feeble and transient it has no magical aura of its own? It is only because of the pervasive force of my egg-bound com patriots that there is life here at all." Cupelix mustered a massive sigh. "I want to see oceans and forests and moun tains. I want to converse with wise mortals of every race, and so increase my knowledge beyond the boundaries set by these ancient books."

Now she understood. "You want power," said Kitiara.

Cupelix clenched his foreclaw into a fist. "If knowledge is power, then the answer is yes. I ache to be free of this perfect prison. When my Micone scouts discovered the gnomes' fly ing ship, for the first time I hoped that I might escape."

Kitiara was silent for a moment. Choosing her words care fully, she said, "Do you fear retribution, should you escape?"

The dragon's head pulled back in surprise, "Retribution from whom?"

"Those who made the obelisk. If a prison stands, then there likely is a warden somewhere."

"The gods sleep. Gilean the Gray Voyager, Sirrion, and

Reorx have laid down the reins of destiny. The way is clear for action. The very fact of your voyage to Lunitari bears this out. In the days of Huma, such a thing would not have been tolerated," Cupelix said.

The gods sleep, Kitiara mused. The way is clear for action! These thoughts stirred deep within her. It must be true; a dragon would know.

"Tell me your thoughts," Cupelix said. "I grow uneasy when you are so quiet."

A daring notion began to form in her head. "Have you considered what you will do once you reach Krynn?" she asked. "Your books are old. You could use a guide."

"Do you have anyone in mind, my dear?"

"Few know Ansalon as I do," Kitiara replied."My travels have taken me far. Together we could tour the world and reap what benefits would come to us." She looked the dragon in the eye. "As partners."

Cupelix wheezed and whistled like a boiling teapot. He clapped his forearms against his sides. He really was quite good at parodying human gestures.

"Oh, my dear woman! You wound me with mirth! I am killed!" he exclaimed.

Kitiara frowned. "Why do you laugh?"

"You speak of partnership with a dragon as casually as I speak of my servants, the Micones. Do you imagine that you and I are equals? That is a rich jest indeed!" Cupelix rocked so hard with merriment that he banged his head sharply on the wall behind him. That calmed him, but Kiti ara was already offended. She sprang to her feet.

"I wish to leave!" she exclaimed. "I see no reason to sit here and be laughed at!"

"Sit down," Cupelix said genially. When she struck a defi ant pose, the dragon swept his tail in behind her, and down she went to the marble floor.

"Let us be clear about one thing, my dear girl: On the scale of life, I sit far higher than you. And I will have good manners from my guests, yes?" Kitiara rubbed her bruised posterior and said nothing. "Face-to-face with one of the greatest creatures that ever existed, you are insolent. What makes you so proud?

"I am what I have made myself," Kitiara said tersely. "In a world where most are ignorant peasants, I made myself a warrior. I take what I can and give when I like. I don't need you, dragon. I don't need anyone!"

"Not even Tanis?" Kitiara's face darkened dramatically.

"Be at ease. Even your mortal friend Sturm could have heard your heart cry out his name just then. Who is this man, and why do you love him?"

"He's half-elf, not human, if you must know." Kitiara took a deep breath. "And I don't love him!"

"Indeed? Can my sense for such things be so wrong? I would hear the tale of Tanis," Cupelix said. He curled back his lips in a waggish imitation of a human smile. "Please?"

"You only want to hear so you can mock me."

"No, no! Human relationships fascinate me. I need to understand."

Kitiara slipped back onto the overturned cauldron. She gazed into space, marshaling images of her past. "I'd like to understand Tanis myself," she said. "Being a woman in a man's game — war — throws you in with all sorts of men.

Most of them are a scurvy lot of bullies and cutthroats. In my younger days, I must have fought a hundred duels with men who tried to push me around, take advantage of me, until I became as hard and cold as the blade I carried." Kiti ara fingered the hilt of her sword. "Then came Tanis.

"I was on my way back to Solace one autumn a few years back. The summer campaigning season was done, and I'd been paid off by my most recent commander. With a pocket full of silver, I rode south. In the forest, I was ambushed by a pack of goblins. An arrow took out my horse, and I was thrown down. The goblins came out of the brush with axes and clubs to finish me off, but I lay in wait for them. When they got close, I was on them before they could blink. I killed two right away and settled down to toy with the last pair. Goblins are startlingly bad thieves and even worse in stand-up combat. One of them tripped and managed to impale itself on its own weapon. I carved my mark on the last one, and it screamed its bloody head off. I was ready to finish the pest, when out of the bushes bounded this beauti ful fellow with a bow. He scared me for a second. I thought he was with the goblins. Before I could move, he'd put a gray-goose shaft into the last goblin. It was then I realized he thought he was rescuing me."

She paused, and the ghost of a smile played about her lips. "It's funny, but at the time I was mad. That goblin was mine to kill, you see, and Tanis had taken that away from me. I went after him, but he stood me off long enough for the blood-anger to leave me. How we laughed after that! He made me feel good, Tanis did. No one had done that for a long, long time. Sure, we were lovers soon enough, but we were more than that. We rode and hunted and played pranks together. We lived, you understand? We lived."

"Why did this love not continue?" asked Cupelix quietly.

"He wanted me to stay in Solace. I couldn't do that. I tried to get him to go on the road with me, but he wouldn't fight for pay. He's half-elf, as I said; some rogue mercenary molested his elf mother to conceive him, and he's ever had a cold place in his heart for soldiers." Kitiara made a fist. "If

Tanis had fought by my side, I would never have left him till the last drop of blood spilled from my body."

She slapped her knee. "Tanis was great fun, and in that he was far better as a companion than Sturm, who's always serious, but the time came when I had to choose between his way of living and mine. I chose, and here I am."

"I'm glad," said Cupelix. "Will you help liberate me?"

"Back to that, are we? What is it worth to you?"

Cupelix raised his ears, making the veined webbing behind them stand up. "Don't you worry about your own safety?" he asked in a rumbling voice.

"Don't bluff me, dragon. If you were going to use threats, you'd have threatened Stutts, Birdcall, and Flash before we got here. You can't force us to help. You're not the sort of dragon to do it."

The dragon's threatening posture collapsed, and the the atrical menace left his voice. "True, true," Cupelix said. "You are a razor, Kit. You cut deep with little effort."

Kitiara flipped a hand in salute, mockingly. "I'm not new to the game of threat and bluff," she said, standing. A slim band of new light fell across her shoulder from a slit window in the obelisk wall. "Consider what I said about partnership, dragon. It needn't be for life, just a year or two. Do that for me, and I'll speak for you."

Sunlight brightened the room. The magic globe at the ceiling's apex dimmed and went out. By the natural light,

Kitiara could see that the dragon's books and scrolls were more decayed than she thought. The tapestries were rotten, too. In the midst of this decay, the dragon's predicament was more obvious. Someday, Cupelix would have nothing to read or study but a heap of mildewed pulp.

"How many more centuries will you live?" Kitiara asked.

The dragon's eyes narrowed. "A great many."

"Well, maybe someone else will show up and help you escape. But think how lonely it will be. Soon no more books, no tapestries, no company."

"Partnership… one year?" said Cupelix.

"Two years," Kitiara said firmly. "A very short span in the life of a dragon."

"True, true." Cupelix gave his word that he would travel with Kitiara for two years upon their return to Krynn.

She stretched, smiling expansively. Kitiara felt good. She would come out of this crazy voyage to the red moon with more than increased muscle power. A dragon, a living dragon, as her companion for two whole years!

"It'll be a great adventure," she said to him.

Cupelix snapped his jaws. "Indubitably."

Kitiara went to the window to take in the fresh air. Light ning crackled from the obelisk peak as the magic essence dis charged into the red moon's sky. When the flashes ended,

Kitiara looked down at the valley below.

"The Lunitarians are moving!" she exclaimed.

"Of course; it's day, their time to move," said Cupelix.

"But they're forming ranks! I think they're going to attack!"

The Micones showed no signs of moving, so Sturm announced that they'd best proceed on foot. The gnomes were already untied and sliding off the backs of their mounts. Sturm got down and patted the Micone on the head, a habit he'd always had since owning his first horse.

The giant ant cocked its wedge-shaped head and clacked its mandibles together. A response of pleasure? Sturm wonder ed. It was hard to tell.

The rubbish around them was knee-deep to Sturm and chest-deep to the gnomes. Sturm found Sighter examining a piece of the red leather with his magnifying glass.

"Hm, doesn't look like vegetable material," said Sighter.

Cutwood tried writing on the soft brown parchment-stuff, but it wouldn't take a pencil mark; it was too soft and supple.

Sturm tried to tear a sheet of it in two, but couldn't do it.

"This would make admirable boot tops," he said. "I won der what it is?"

"I would say it's some form of animal hide," said Sighter, snapping his glass back into its case.

"We haven't found any animals on Lunitari, except the dragon," Stutts objected. "Even the Micones are more min eral than animal."

"Maybe," Wingover said slowly, "there are other kinds of animals in these caves. Animals we haven't seen before."

Rainspot swallowed audibly. "Gnome-eating animals?"

" "Bosh," said Sighter. "The Micones wouldn't allow any thing dangerous to live near the dragon eggs. Stop scaring yourselves."

Flash was off a little ways, touching the white crust on the walls. He plucked a tack hammer from his tool-laden belt and butted a cold steel chisel against the wall. Back swung the hammer.

Bong! The little hammer hit the chisel, and the whole cavern reverberated with the sound. So powerful were the vibrations, that the gnomes lost their footing and fell in the thick rubbish. Sturm braced himself against a squat stalag mite until the ringing ceased.

"Don't do that!" Cutwood said plaintively. With his aug mented hearing, the tone had been enough to start his nose bleeding. All the Micones were clicking their mandibles and shaking their heads.

"Fascinating," said Stutts. "A perfect resonant chamber!

Ah! It makes sense!"

"What does?" asked Roperig.

"This extraneous jetsam. It's padding, to deaden the ants' footsteps on the floor."

They waded though the rubbish toward the end of the oblong chamber. The ceiling level fell and the floor rose to form a tight circular opening. The rim of the opening had been notched with jagged spikes of quartz, probably by the

Micones. Anything softer than a giant ant would be cut to pieces if it tried to walk or crawl over the spikes. The gnomes held back and proposed many solutions to the problem of the entrance. Sturm planted his fists on his hips and sighed. He turned back and gathered up an armful of the tough parchmentlike shreds, then laid them across the spikes. He put his hands on the parchment and pushed. The spikes poked through three or four layers, but the top layers remained unpierced.

"Allow me," said Sturm. He lifted Stutts and sat him on the padding. Stutts slid through the opening to the chamber beyond. One by one, the other gnomes followed. Sturm went last. The gnomes plunged ahead in their bumbling, fearless way, and he had to catch up with them.

Sturm hurried down the narrow slit in the rock and into another large chamber. Here veins of wine red crystal oozed out of fissures in the rock. When the soft crystal touched the warmer, moister air of the cavern, it lightened to clear crim son and began to take more exact form. Around them were dozens of half-formed Micones; some only heads, some whole bodies but without legs, and some so complete that their antennae wiggled.

"So this is the ant hatchery," said Wingover.

"'Hatchery' isn't the right word for it," said Roperig.

"Living rock crystal," said Stutts breathlessly. "I wonder what influences it to take on an ant shape?"

"The dragon, I would think," said Sighter, turning a com plete circle to see all the budding Micones. "Remember, he said he tried to make the tree-folk into servants but failed.

He must have uncovered this living crystal and decided to use it to make perfectly obedient and hard-working slaves."

They walked in single file down the center of the high, narrow cavern. As before, bluish stalactites on the ceiling shed a weak light on the scene. Flash approached one of the nearly finished Micones and tried to measure the width of its head. The ant moved like lightning and clamped its power ful jaws on the gnome's arm. Flash let out a yell.

"Get back!" Sturm cried, drawing his sword. He tried to lever the jaws open, but the creature's grip was too strong.

The cruel saw-toothed jaws could easily cut through flesh and bone -

Sturm noticed that Flash's arm wasn't bleeding. The gnome struggled, beating the stone-hard ant on the head with his flimsy folding rule.

"Has he got you by the arm?" Sturm asked.

"Uh! Agh! Yes! What do you think this is, my foot?"

Sturm eased his hand forward and felt Flash's arm. The

Micone's jaws had missed the gnome's flesh. All it had was his jacket sleeve.

"Take your jacket off," Sturm said calmly.

"Uh! Argh! Eeel I can't!"

"I'll help you." Sturm reached in front of the gnome and undid the complex series of buttons and lacings on his jack et. He pulled Flash's left arm out, then his right. The empty jacket dangled in the Micone's jaws. The half-formed

Micone did not move.

"My jacket!" Flash howled.

"Never mind! Just thank your gods that your arm didn't get caught in that thing's pincers," Sturm said.

"Thank you, Reorx," said the gnome. He looked longing ly at the lost jacket. A big tear rolled down his cheek. "I designed that jacket myself. The One Size Fits All Wind proof Jacket Mark III."

"You can make another," Wingover said consolingly. "An even better one. With detachable sleeves, in case you ever get in such a predicament again."

'Yes, yes! What a splendid notion, detachable sleeves!"

Flash made a hasty sketch on his white shirt cuff.

Beyond the ant hatchery the cavern wound off in several directions, and there was no clear indication which way the explorers should go. Cutwood suggested that they split up and try all the tunnels, but Stutts vetoed that, and Sturm agreed.

"We've no idea how large this caverns is, and if you go off on your own, you stand a good chance of getting lost forever.

We also don't know how the Micrones will react to us if we split up," Sturm said.

"They do seem very literal-minded," Sighter said. "Sepa rate pairs may not mean the same thing to them as a band of ten." The sight of Flash's jacket locked in the unbreakable grip of the Micone's jaws was a powerful inducement to stay together. Nothing more was said about splitting up.

They chose the widest, straightest path onward. The floor sloped down from the Micones' birth chamber at such a steep angle that the gnomes gave up trying to walk down and instead sat down to slide. Sturm would have preferred to walk down, but the floor was slick with dew, so it didn't take him long to decide to do as the gnomes did.

Sturm slid gently into another, lower cavern. It was very much warmer and wetter here; the air was steamy. Water trickled down the walls and dripped from overhead. As he stood up, he saw the gnomes' dark shapes strolling through the wispy white clouds of steam.

"Stutts! Sighter! Where are all of you?" he called.

"Right here!" Sturm walked uncertainly into the mist.

The cavern was well lit from above (from a large number of the glowing stalactites), and considerable heat radiated from the floor.

"Mind the magma," said Cutwood, appearing in the steam in front of him. The gnome pointed to a raised funnel of glazed rock in their path. A fiery halo hung over the wide mouth.

Sturm bent over it and saw that the natural bowl was full of a bright orange liquid. A bubble burst wetly in its center.

"Molten rock," Cutwood explained. "That's why the cave is so warm."

Sturm had an almost irresistible urge to touch the bub bling stuff, but the glare of heat on his face told him quite plainly how hot the magma was. Another gnome,

Wingover, appeared in the swirling steam.

"This way!" he cried.

They wended their way through a garden of seething cauldrons, each one emitting gurgles as the molten rock boiled. The air around them became sulfurous and hard to take in. Sturm coughed and held a kerchief to his face.

The vapors abated somewhat near the cavern wall. The remaining gnomes were clustered by a small hole in the wall. Sturm raised his head and saw that the hole was dark.

"Is that it?" Sturm wondered aloud.

"Must be," said Sighter. "Seems to be no other way out."

"Perhaps one of the other tunnels we missed," Roperig suggested. The black circle was not very inviting.

"The established path clearly leads here," said Stutts. "As senior colleague, it is up to me to go first — "

"No, you don't," Sturm said. "I'm armed. 111 go first to make sure it's safe."

"Oh, excellent idea!" said Rainspot.

"Well, if you insist — " said Stutts.

"You will need a light," said Flash. He unbuttoned one of the capacious pockets on the front of his trouser legs. "Give me a moment and I'll lend you my Collapsing Self-Igniting

Pocket Lamp Mark XVI." Flash unfolded a flattish box of tin and set it on the floor. From a separate wooden case he extracted a bit of gooey stuff that resembled axle grease. He put a dollop of this in the lamp. From a different pocket,

Flash produced a slender glass vial, tightly stoppered. He broke the wax seal and popped the cork. A sharp, volatile aroma filled the cavern. Flash crouched down and extended his arm cautiously to the lamp. One eye clenched shut as a single drop of the fluid fell from the vial.

The droplet hit the plug of grease and went poof! The flash lit up the whole area, and the grease burned merrily.

Sturm reached for it, and the lamp popped and sputtered, sending bits of flaming grease in all directions.

"Are you sure this is safe?" he asked.

"Well, after a few minutes, the tin will melt," Flash said.

"But it should be all right until then."

"Wonderful." He picked up the violent little lamp by its slim metal ring and started through the hole. The gnomes clustered around the opening, their pink faces and white beards facing upward like so many daisies seeking the sun.

Sturm walked up a curving ramp and soon entered a chamber of profound silence. Even the lamp's sputtering declined to a fitful flicker. He stepped off the ramp and onto the roughly cleared stone floor and beheld a sight that no mortal had seen in millennia.

Dragon eggs. Row upon row of carved niches, each hold ing a single melon-sized egg. Row after row, tier upon tier, stretching far beyond the feeble range of light from the Col lapsing Self-Igniting Pocket Lamp Mark XVI. The lips of each niche glittered with dew, formed when the steamy air below met the cooler air of this chamber.

A gnomish voice drifted to Sturm. "What do you see?"

"This is it," he called back, hand cupped to his mouth.

"The great egg chamber!"

The gnomes scrambled up the ramp and spilled into the cavern, jostling past Sturm for a better view. They oohed and aahed and uttered fervent exclamations to their holy trio: Reorx, gears, and hydrodynamics.

"How many eggs do you suppose there are?" breathed Fit ter. Sturm shot a glance at Sighter.

"In view, there are eight tiers," said Sighter. "And sixty two per tier."

"For a total of — " Cutwood figured frantically.

"— 496, said Sturm, recalling the figure that Cupelix had given him.

"That's right," said Stutts, totting up his numbers.

They walked forward with Sturm leading. Wingover hovered at the rear, since the lamp dazzled his piercing eye sight. He could see through the velvet darkness, so he was able to keep their entry hole in sight.

"Ow," Sturm muttered, shifting the lamp to his other hand. The ring was getting very hot.

"This way! Turn this way!" said Roperig suddenly. Sturm turned to his left.

"What was it?" he asked.

"Something moved over there. I didn't see it very clearly."

A jet black thing scuttled out of the niche behind the eggs and leaped into the air toward Sturm's light. He recoiled clumsily and dropped the lamp. Something small and furry feeling brushed over his foot and was gone. The gnomes were all yelling and stamping their feet.

"Silence! Silence, I say!" Sturm roared. He found the lost lamp. Its fuel was almost extinguished. Only a faint corona of blue flame circled the lump of grease. Sturm sheltered the tiny fire with his hands and it grew brighter. He picked up the lamp and faced the gnomes.

They were not scared in the least. Wingover had bounded forward from his place in line and planted his foot on the thing that had burst from the egg niche. It squirmed under his toes, trying to get away. At first sight, it resembled a fat, hairy spider, but as Sturm brought the lamp nearer, they all recognized it.

"It's a glove!" said Stutts.

"One of Kit's gloves," said Sturm, recognizing the pattern of stitching on the back. "It's one of a pair she left behind on the Cloudmaster when we went off on our ore expedition."

"How'd it get here?" asked Rainspot. Birdcall twittered a question of his own.

"He says, 'Why is it alive?"' Stutts added.

Rainspot grasped the glove by its 'fingers' and told

Wingover to lift his foot. The weather seer brought the wriggling thing to eye level and grunted. "Strong little thing!"

Sighter glared through his ever-present lens. "This glove is made of cowhide and rabbit fur, but the seams have disap peared." He pressed a finger into the soft leather side. "It has a heartbeat."

"Ridiculous," Flash said. "Gloves don't come to life."

"On Lunitari?" said Stutts. "Why not?"

Sturm remembered Cupelix's remark about the cumula tive life force of all the dragon eggs being responsible for the intense aura of magical power on Lunitari. He offered this bit of information to the gnomes.

"Ah," said Sighter with a sage expression. "The level of magical force must be particularly high in these caverns. " dare say, any animal or vegetable product left down here long enough might develop a life of its own."

Roperig looked down at his own pigskin boots. "You mean my shoes might take on life and run away with me?"

"We shan't be down here long enough for that to happen,"

Stutts assured him.

Rainspot put the glove down on its back and pinned it with his foot. Cutwood suggested that they dissect it to see what internal organs it had.

"Let it go. It's harmless," said Sturm. "We don't have time to fool around with it."

Rainspot raised his foot and the glove flipped over. It scampered into the recesses of the egg niches.

"I wonder," said Flash, "what a living glove eats?"

"Finger food," said Fitter. Roperig cuffed him lightly on the head and his hand promptly stuck there.

"Are you finished?" Sturm said impatiently. "There's more of the cave to see, and I don't think the lamp will last much longer." Indeed, even as he spoke, silver drops of mol ten tin dripped off the lamp's front end.

They hurried down the tunnel. Sounds of movement came to them and they halted. The rear legs and teardrop abdomen of a working Micone maneuvered out of the dark ness. The Micone sensed their light and scuttled around to face the intruders. Its antennae almost straightened while it studied the man and gnomes. Sturm had a momentary flash of fear. If the Micone attacked, his lone sword would never prevail.

The Micone kinked its feelers again and turned away.

Sturm and the gnomes let out a collective sigh of relief.

They inched past the giant, who was busy chipping away glassy 'dew' from the shelf below a row of eggs. A fragment of the clear encrustation landed at Rainspot's feet, and he pounced on it. He dropped it in a tiny silk bag and pulled the drawstring. "For later analysis," he said.

The caverns gave no sign of ending, and after penetrating a hundred yards or so into them, Sturm called a halt. The place they stopped was thick with Micones, and the giant ants swept past the explorers without any heed. Cupelix had told the ants to ignore them, and the ants obeyed, in their precise, unswerving way.

"We'd best go back before we get trampled," Sturm said, dodging a flurry of Micone legs.

Rainspot drifted away from the others to where the ants were engaged in cleaning the dragon eggs. As they chipped and anointed and turned the blockish eggs, the ants exposed the undersides of the eggs to the air. Some of the shells had a scabrous layer peeling off, and the ants scrupulously removed this dead layer. It was this cast-off shell that made the parchmentlike skin they'd found in the first chamber.

Rainspot picked up a sheaf of cast-offs below the lowest egg shelf. A Micone turned sharply toward him and snatched the leathery shell fragment with its mandibles.

"No!" said Rainspot stubbornly. "It's mine, you threw it away!" The gnome dug in his toes and pulled. The shell wouldn't yield and neither would the ant. Rainspot got angry. His enveloping cloud thickened and lightning flashed within it.

"Rainspot, leave it. We'll take samples from the outer cave," said Wingover. But the Micone's implacable resist ance made the usually mild gnome madder and madder. A cyclone four feet wide lashed at the ant, and miniature claps of thunder reverberated through the cave.

Sturm entered Rainspot's tiny tempest. To his surprise, the whirling rain was hot. "Rainspot!" he said, grabbing the little fellow by the shoulders. "Let go!"

A bolt of lightning, diminutive by nature's standards, yet still five feet long, struck the Micone in the center of its head. The strike knocked Sturm and Rainspot backward at least six feet. The gnome landed on Sturm, shook his head, and found that he was holding the scrap of eggshell.

"I have it!" he said triumphantly.

Sturm, flat on his back and not happy, said, "Do you mind?" Rainspot blushed and rolled off the man's stomach.

"Look at that," Cutwood said in awe. The gnomes ringed the lightning-struck ant.

The bolt had split the createature's head in half with the pre cision of a diamond cutter. The Micone's headless body col lapsed, the thorax sagging to the floor. Immediately, two more Micones appeared and began to clean up. They nipped the shattered ant's carcass apart and carried each bit away.

"At least we know they can be killed," said Roperig.

"And our Rainspot did it!" said Fitter. The gentle weather seer was mortified.

"I've never lost my temper like that," he said. "I'm sorry. It was unforgivable. The poor myrmidon was only doing its appointed task, and I killed it."

"You very thoroughly killed it," Sturm said, impressed.

"Remind me not to make you angry, Rainspot."

"I hope Cupelix won't be angry," Rainspot said worriedly.

"It wasn't intentional," said Roperig consolingly.

"I doubt any single ant is that important to him," Sturm said. "Now can we go back l"

The lamp failed before they were all up the ramp to the steam chamber. Wingover took the lead and each one held the hand of the person in front and behind him. They avoid ed the budding giants in the birthing cave — though Flash cast a longing look at his jacket, still dangling from the

Micone's jaws — and soon they were back in the rubbish filled grand cavern. The six Micones who had brought them were just as they'd left them, unmoved by as much as an inch. Sturm and the gnomes mounted, and without a word or gesture needed, the giant ants lurched into motion.