Dragons of a New Age

22 The Trail of Evil

Blister strolled across the deck of Flint’s Anvil. Her skin was nut-brown now, darkened from the weeks she’d spent on the ship, and it made her blue eyes stand out more, seem a little brighter.

The kender was wearing a dark blue tunic and matching gloves that had sharp metal nibs at the knuckles and along the fingertips. Her hair had been painstakingly arranged, and a painted seashell affixed to a small comb sat on the right side of her head, midway between her ear and her topknot. She was going into a large, new city, and she wanted to look her best.

“Dhamon, now that we’re in Palanthas, what are we supposed to do? You’ve been awfully tight-lipped about what Goldmoon told you.” She adjusted her belt with her thumbs. A chapak hung in a loop off the blue leather belt, between two bulging bags. A weapon of kender design that she’d previously kept hidden in one of her packs, the chapak was a small single-bladed hand axe, the back of which was pronged and sported a slingshot.

“Goldmoon said that evil breeds near Palanthas,” Dhamon replied, as he eyed her up and down, pausing to stare at the axe. He was wearing his black leather trousers and a forest green shirt Rig had picked out for him in Portsmith. The collar was open and trimmed in silvery-gray thread, and the sleeves were billowy. It was, in Dhamon’s opinion, the most functional and the least showy of the three Rig had gotten for him. His sword was strapped to his left side. He’d been polishing it, and the old pommel gleamed in the early morning sun. “And...” Blister coaxed.

“And I’d like to find just what that evil might be,” he answered. “But we’ve a stop to make first. A place called the Lonely Refuge.”

“Maybe we should just walk around the city, first—before we go anywhere,” the kender happily suggested. “Maybe we’ll notice something evil. Maybe we’ll overhear someone talking about something sinister. Or maybe someone will try to steal from us. We could follow them to an entire gang of thieves. Besides, look at the size of this place. It looks wonderful. We should explore it. All of it. Of course, we’ll have to be careful.” Dhamon followed Blister’s gaze. Flint’s Anvil sat near the northwestern-most point of a horseshoe-shaped maze of docks that clung to Palanthas’s shore. The buildings nearest the shore were stone. Other than signs and shutters, they had little painted trim—not much for the salt air to eat away at. Their roofs were tile—greens, reds, and grays mostly—and the walkways between them were made of tamped-down earth with planks here and there.

Glancing toward the heart of the city, he could see the more impressive buildings—towers made of pale gray stone, and the ivory and rose spires of the palace. The edge of an old, circular wall seemed to cut through the center of the town.

“The city used to be that big.” The mariner had silently crept up behind him and now stretched an arm toward the western edge of the old wall. “When the city kept growing, they had to build outside the wall and knock a few holes in it to accommodate more streets and buildings. Now the city extends to the mountains. There’s really no other direction for it to grow. Maybe a little more to the east. Maybe.”

Dhamon could see the mountains rising behind the buildings. It was as if Palanthas—all its homes, businesses, and empty temples—was cradled in a giant palm, ridged by mountains. “How do you know so much about the city?”

“I really don’t know all that much. I visited Palanthas about a dozen years ago, when I wasn’t much more than a kid. I don’t remember there being near as many docks then. But I remember a place call Myrtal’s Roost. Delicious steak. Had my first mug of rum there. I’ll have me another one there today—if the place is still standing.” Rig pursed his lips and shook his head, as if shaking away an old, stubborn memory. “I hope you’re done pretty soon, so I can have my ship back. No offense if I change the name to something a bit lighter-sounding afterward?”

“Wait a minute.” Dhamon’s eyes narrowed. “It is your ship, and I could care less what you do with the name—after Jasper and I are gone. But the deal is, you agree to stick around for a while, remember? Just in case we need a ride out of here.”

“How long?”

“A few days. Maybe a week. Just to be safe.”

The mariner moaned.

“Can you trust him?” Blister cut in. “If we take off strolling through the city, he might just leave.”

“I trust him,” Dhamon returned as he stepped on the plank leading to the dock. “I believe he’s a man of honor.”

“Honor again,” Rig groaned. His eyes met Dhamon’s. “Okay, I’ll wait—at least for a while.”

“Wait!” Feril rushed up the steps from below deck, Jasper on her heels. “I’m coming with you.”

“I’m not,” Jasper grumbled. “It’s too long a walk to the Lonely Refuge. And I don’t intend to tire myself out unnecessarily. Besides, something tells me I should stick around here.”

“But Goldmoon said you knew how to get there,” Dhamon curtly noted. “She said you’d help.”

“Oh, I’m helping all right. Here’s a map I drew. Follow it, and you’ll find the spot. Consider it a bit of insurance if I choose to rest up on the ship. I’ll make sure it stays in port.”

“I said I’d wait,” Rig snapped.

“And just in case, I’ll make sure you do,” Jasper said. The dwarf nodded to the Kagonesti, who slipped past Dhamon and hurried ahead. Blister followed her.

Dhamon hurriedly glanced at the map, cut a glowering look at the dwarf, and joined Feril and Blister, who were already plunging into the bustle on the docks.

On the deck of the Anvil, Flint, Rig, Groller, and Fury watched the trio go. Shaon padded up behind them. “I think I should go with them,” she pointed out.

“What?” the mariner said. “But you don’t even like land—at least that’s what you’ve always told me.”

“You know I’d rather be at sea,” she returned sharply. “And that’s precisely why I’m going with them. I want to help them find whatever it is they’re looking for—as soon as feasible. I’ll hurry them along. Then we can hurry back here, and the ship will be ours to reckon with that much sooner.”

Without waiting for his reply, she strapped on the sword the kender had used to pay for passage to Schallsea, then donned one of Rig’s voluminous yellow shirts. “Don’t leave port without me,” she said with a chuckle, as she went by.

Rig’s arm shot out and caught her wrist. He pulled her close. “What makes you so sure I wouldn’t?”

Her wide eyes fixed onto his, and she grinned. “Miss me, okay?”

“Miss you? I’d rather come with you.”

“And who would mind the Anvil? Groller, who can’t hear anyone? And Jasper, who doesn’t know anything about ships? You’re certainly not going to leave this ship in the hands of those two—or two hired mates we know little about.” Her lips formed a pout. “Besides, I don’t intend to be gone all that long. You know I don’t trust my footing on solid ground.”

“Then be careful,” he warned. “And be quick about it.”

“I will. I’d better go, before they get out of sight.”

Rig tugged on her wrist again, and his other arm circled her waist and pressed her to him. His lips closed tightly over hers, as he held her for a moment. “Stay out of trouble, Shaon,” he whispered.

She slowly withdrew from his embrace, offered him a sly smile, and hurried down the plank. Fury quietly slipped off the ship, following her.

“So something told you to stay here, huh?” Rig asked Jasper.

The dwarf had found an empty crate to sit on near the rear mast, and was sunning himself. “Yep.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” Jasper replied. “Besides, It’ll give me a chance to learn more of Groller’s sign language.”

The mariner growled and pulled up a crate. “I know what’s not a good sign. When Dhamon left the ship, all the women went with him.”

The group’s first stop was an unexpected one. Before they could exit the harbor area, they had to undergo inspection by Dark Knight sentries.

Feril, who was ahead of everyone else, was the first to be stopped. When Dhamon saw the cluster of Dark Knights forming around the Kagonesti, he rushed forward, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.

Shaon caught up to him, taking his hand in hers so he couldn’t draw his sword. “Mind if I join you?” she asked. “Thought I’d stretch my legs.”

“We aren’t looking for any trouble,” Feril quickly interjected.

“Good,” said a tall Dark Knight as he scanned the group with a critical eye. His left eyebrow arched when his gaze fell on Feril. “Now what is it you are looking for?” he asked, stepping closer to the Kagonesti.

“Who wants to know?” asked Blister, placing her gloved hands on her hips.

The three other Dark Knights moved toward the feisty kender but they halted when the tall one raised his hand as if to silence them. “Khellendros wants to know,” he said. “Any more questions and you’ll pay double the harbor tax.”

“The harbor tax?” Shaon asked.

“Triple,” said the Dark Knight.

Dhamon glared at his companions. “I’ll speak for my group,” he said, moving Feril aside and taking her place in front of the tall Dark Knight.

As the others were searched one at a time, Dhamon answered questions from the apparent leader of the sentries, who procured the triple harbor tax when he was finished.

Blister’s search took the longest. They kept finding more pouches and pockets—more things—much to her delight.

When they had finally cleared the Dark Knights’ checkpoint, Blister could no longer remain silent. “You should have let me do the talking. You’re still no good at lying. And why’s the Blue so concerned with our comings and goings? And... where are we going anyway?”

“The Lonely Refuge,” Dhamon answered, pausing in front of a cartographer’s shop that he had spotted from the shore.

Jasper’s map was all right, but incomplete. Dhamon wanted something a little more detailed and authoritative. Jasper’s map, which he waved at Blister, consisted of little more than the horseshoe-shaped harbor, an X indicating Palanthas, and a dotted line leading to another X northeast of the city. There was no scale, nor other points of reference. He stuffed the map in his front pocket and slipped inside the shop. Blister was one step behind him.

Shaon and the Kagonesti stood outside on the polished plank sidewalk. They drew appreciative and curious stares from passersby.

“C’mon,” Shaon said. She pointed to a tavern nearby. “I’m going to quench my thirst while I’m waiting.”

Feril wrinkled her nose, but joined the female barbarian out of curiosity.

Inside the shop, Dhamon stepped up to a low counter, the top of which was littered with rolled pieces of parchment and vials of ink. The walls of the business were covered with maps, old and yellowed, of buildings, towns, sea coasts, and islands. Behind a piece of glass, there was a rendering of Palanthas before the city spread beyond the circular stone wall. Only a handful of docks stretched out into the harbor, and a legend along the side indicated important places, such as the Tower of High Sorcery, the Great Library, and Nobles’ Hill. Next to it were city maps of Neraka, Qualinost, and Tarsis, all expertly sketched down to the tiniest landmarks.

“Look at that,” Blister pointed at the ceiling.

A map that was roughly six feet square was tacked directly overhead. It was a drawing of a hill, executed in black, brown, and green ink. Inside the hill were levels upon levels—thirty-five in all—of twisting stairways, large and small rooms, giant gears, and much more. A lower section was labeled “garbage dump,” and a squinting Dhamon could make out a tiny broken chair atop a pile of indistinguishable shattered odds and ends. Nearby were other labeled areas—agriculture, geothermal station, research, and gnomeflinger control room. Pipes ran from the adjacent “Crater Lake” and seemed to feed into every level of the mountain.

“Mount Nevermind.”

The voice was the proprietor’s, an elderly, stoop-shouldered man with a spattering of liver spots on his near-bald head. He stepped from behind a canvas curtain and up to the counter, dabbing at a spot of ink on his white tunic as he continued. “Probably the most accurate map on all of Krynn that you’ll find of the place, even with all of the rebuilding the gnomes have been doing.”

“Did you yourself draw it?” Blister was fascinated by the complicated map, and studied it with her head thrown back and her topknot dangling down behind her.”

“A gnome who used to work for me was born there. He drew it, and some of the other maps in the shop.” The man sighed as he waved his hand at some of the more elaborate charts. “Passed on a couple of years back. Still miss him.”

Dhamon stared at a map on the wall behind the old proprietor. It showed a V-shaped piece of land with the barrens of Tanith making up the left side, mountains forming the bottom of the V, and the coastline of Palanthas making up the right. The right tip was marked “Northern Wastes.”

“With all these maps, you must know a lot about the area,” Dhamon said. “Seen a lot.”

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” the man returned. “Never traveled much, but I vouch for my maps as accurate.”

“So you’re well-versed in the city.”

“I’ve seen Palanthas prosper, and I’ve seen it grieve. I watched the Tower of High Sorcery get swallowed up by a strange earthquake just about thirty years ago. I had a map of the Tower. No use now. No one needs a map of a black spot. Lots of things have gone away since...

“You’ve got some interesting maps.” Dhamon broke in, changing the subject. “Would you happen to have one to a place called the Lonely Refuge?”

The man raised a snow-white eyebrow. “It’s just an old ruin. Why would you want to go there?”

“To see Palin Majere,” Blister cut in. She stepped quickly aside, evading Dhamon’s attempt to elbow her sharply. “We’re supposed to go there to find him. At least, that’s what I overheard Goldmoon tell Dhamon.”

The old man stared at Dhamon and whistled softly. “Palin Majere. There ain’t much magic left on Krynn, but what little is left, he’d know about. A sorcerer, one of the few that’s left—and one of the most powerful.”

“You know him?” Blister asked, though her eyes were fixed on the wondrous outline of Mount Nevermind’s massive outer hall.

“No. But I saw him a couple of times. He lived in the Tower of High Sorcery after the War of the Lance.”

“The Lonely Refuge?” Dhamon prompted.

“Oh, yes. Well, a desert sits on three sides of the Refuge, and a rocky coast that plunges to the sea is on the fourth. I’ve a map of the area, and it shows where the ruin is—but I couldn’t guarantee you the place is still standing. Five steel pieces.”

Dhamon reached with visible surprise at the high sum. “Taxes,” said the old man, pointing to a group of Dark Knights that was passing by the front of the store.

Dhamon fished into his pocket and set the coins on the counter.

“Three,” Blister bargained.

“I already paid the man, Blister.” Dhamon stuck the parchment into his backpack. “Let’s go.”

“To the Lonely Refuge?”

“After we get some supplies.”

The kender grinned. She’d get to explore a little more of the city.

Despite the brightness of the morning outside, the interior of the tavern was dark, and the shades were drawn on its few windows. The tavern was open and busy, catering to sailors, who always seemed in the mood for ale—no matter the time of day.

The place was a single room crowded with old tables and chairs. It smelled heavily of spirits and sweat. Ships’ wheels, small rusted anchors, lanterns, broken spyglasses, and an assortment of belaying pins hung from the walls as decoration. Nets were draped here and there from the ceiling, and a big wrought iron chandelier that was ringed with thick candles hung in the middle.

The salty air that wafted in through the front door only added to the discordant scents. Rum, sweat, frying wheatcakes, and pipe smoke, competed for Shaon and Feril’s attention.

A half-dozen sailors sat around a table just inside the door. Four were attempting to play a dice game, the other two were facedown and snoring. A pair of rough-looking men with sun-weathered skin sat nearby, watching the sailors and working on a large plate of eggs and beef. They wore lizard-skin vests, homespun breeches, and sandals, and their hair was long and unruly.

Feril grimaced. “Smells worse than a weasel hole,” she whispered.

“Well, you’ll find a good share of weasels here,” Shaon retorted. The sea barbarian glided to the back of the room, where a long bar of deep mahogany stretched along the wall. Behind it, a young man polished glasses.

“Morning, ladies!” he chirped. His eyes quickly fixed on Shaon and her flamboyant garb, then they roamed to take in the striking Kagonesti. “What’ll it be?”

Shaon laid a steel piece on the bar. “Ale.”

“This early?” Feril whispered. The Kagonesti wriggled her nose in distaste.

The barkeep’s fingers snatched the coin. “The best I have,” he said as he filled a mug and sat it in front of the sea barbarian. “The best for my prettiest customer. Customers,” he corrected himself.

Shaon took a gulp and let the warm liquid run around her mouth before she swallowed. “It’s good,” she pronounced. “Hear of a place called the Lonely Refuge? It’s outside the city somewhere.”

The barkeep shook his head. “Don’t have any call to go outside Palanthas. And I wouldn’t advise you venturing outside the city limits either.”

The dark-skinned woman cocked her head, raising an eyebrow.

The barkeep leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “I’d advise leaving Palanthas altogether. Ladies like you are bound to attract attention, and people have been disappearing from the city—travelers mostly.”

The barkeep pointed to the pair of ruddy men in the lizardskin vests. “Ask them. They’re from northeast of town. They say people livin’ around there are getting scared. Very scared.”

Shaon walked over toward the two and pulled up a chair. Feril stayed close to the bar. The scent of the polish used to shine the dark wood eased the stench.

“There they are!” Blister cried. The kender pointed a metal-tipped finger down the street.

Shaon and Feril were strolling out of the tavern.

“We’re going shopping,” the kender explained. “For supplies.”

“Got your map?” Shaon asked.

Dhamon nodded, and the sea barbarian reached for it. “Let me see.” She unfolded the clothlike parchment and traced her finger along a line of villages that led to the northeast. “There,” she said, pointing at one village in particular. “The barbarians who live in the barrens are disappearing. So are travelers, and some of the goatherders who live in the foothills. A tiny village between Palanthas and a place called Ash—it must be this one here—is deserted. No one knows where the people went. It wasn’t a dragonstrike; everything is in perfect shape, undisturbed. Just the people are gone. And those outside of Palanthas aren’t the only ones who disappear.”

“How’d you learn all that so fast?” Blister huffed, her pride a little wounded.

“Two men from Ash told us,” Feril answered. “Ash is apparently a good-sized barbarian village about a hundred miles from here.”

“The men we talked to have no plans of ever going back home,” Shaon added. “They’re scared.”

“Ash is on the way to the Refuge,” Dhamon mused. “We could stop and take a look around. There are several other small villages marked between here and the Refuge. It won’t take that long to investigate them, maybe two days, two and a half. Worth the time.” He replaced the map and fumbled in his pocket to add up the rest of his coins. “I’ll see how expensive horses are. If you’re coming with me, I’ll meet you at the west gate in an hour.”

“A deserted village,” the kender wondered aloud. “Sounds kind of spooky. Of course, I don’t mind a good scare now and then but....”