The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 24

The spot Sageth had selected, a few miles north of the Citadel of Light, had once been the courtyard of a castle. The afternoon sunlight revealed bits of high crenelated walls that girded what was decades ago an octagonal white stone tower. The little ruins that remained hinted that the castle must have been impressive in its time.

Jasper choked back a sob, and inspected the wide bandage that was wrapped around his chest. Somehow, with Feril’s help, he had managed to heal himself—though he would never be quite the same. Walking was now a chore. His lung was punctured, and his chest ached.

“I should’ve saved her … like she saved me.” His frame shuddered as he thought about the healer, whose body was wrapped in a shroud in a small dome in the Citadel of Light. She would be buried as soon as Palin and Usha arrived.

Rig stood near the dwarf, looking out to sea. “We’re stranded,* he said. “Dhamon sank the ship.” He was responsible for Shaon dying, he added to himself. He was responsible for ail the bad things that had happened since they joined forces with him. “I intend to kill him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Feril said.

“I think he does mean that,” Jasper said. “And if I’m feeling up to it, IT! help him.”

The Kagonesti walked toward the pair. “I want to know what happened, what came over him. I believe it was that dragon scale. Something possessed him.”

“Maybe it was nothing,” the mariner replied. His dark eyes flashed at her. “Maybe he was just biding his time, playing us all for fools and waiting for the best tune to strike. Maybe he even orchestrated the blue dragon’s attack on die Anvil, purposefully caused Shaon’s death. If that blue dragon’s alive somewhere, you’ll know for certain that Dhamon was in cahoots with it, that this was all part of some grand stinking scheme of his. If Palin doesn’t come soon, I’m leaving. Til find passage in the port of Schallsea. It might take a while, but I’ll hunt him down. That glaive can’t cleave weapons Dhamon doesn’t see coming.” For emphasis, he rubbed the pommel of a dagger that stuck out of his boot

The Kagonesti was silent, listening to Rig’s tirade and watching Groller and Sageth pace off the clearing. Fiona Quinti stood apart from everyone else, and looked around cautiously, occasionally meeting the Kagonesti’s gaze.

Feril felt a tear edge over her left cheek.

“Lady elf,” Sageth called, as he checked his tablet and hobbled toward her. “We can’t wait much longer for Palin Majere. Should have destroyed the artifacts last night—despite the havoc in the Citadel. The moon was low, perfect. We must do it tonight. We’ll not have a better time for at least a month.”

“We don’t have enough artifacts,” she answered.

“But we do.” His rheumy eyes sparkled. “We’ve Huma’s lance, and the Fist of E’li you retrieved from the forest” He nodded toward the leather sack at the dwarf’s feet. “Then there’s Goldmoon’s two medallions.”

“Two?” the Kagonesti asked.

“That’s right.” Blister came forward. “The one she gave me, and the one that’s still around her neck. I can go get it if you want.”

“No,” Jasper answered. “Let me.” It was an effort to stand, an effort to take a few steps. And he knew it would be a great chore to walk the few miles to the Citadel and climb the steps again. But he wasn’t going to have anyone else remove Gold-moon’s medallion. “I’ll be back here by nightfall.”

The half-ogre spotted Blister fingering the medallion around her neck and guessed what they were talking about. He retrieved Huma’s lance, and padded toward them, Fury at his heels.

“So, you see, we have four after all,” Sageth concluded. “Tonight, when the last bit of sunlight fades, we shall change the course of Ansalon s future.”

Palin had spent several days meditating alone at the Tower of Wayreth, while the Master concluded his research on the ancient artifacts. The Shadow Sorcerer was helping him, temporarily putting aside his studies of the overlords. In that time, Palin and Usha had tried to discern how the dragons could bring back Takhisis. His colleagues were skeptical. If the dark goddess could return, would the other gods follow?

Usha urged Palin to focus on the matter at hand, one even more pressing than speculating on the return of Takhisis.

“Dhamon and the others,” she began, “they’re waiting for us—and the ring you said you could get”

Palin climbed the tower steps. The Master was in the room where all of Par-Salian’s journals were stored. He was hunched over a thick volume written by the former head of the Conclave of Wizards. The book was bound in dark green lizard hide. Palin cleared his throat to get the man’s attention.

“It could work,” the Master said. The wind was blowing strongly outside the room’s lone window, and Palin had to strain to hear his colleague’s unusually soft voice. “Magic from the Age of Dreams was created by the gods, as is all magic. Destroying the items should release an incredible amount of energy.”

“Enough to permeate Krynn?”

“I do not know if it will be enough to heighten the level of magic,” the Master continued, “but according to Par-Salian’s journals on the Age of Dreams, the artifacts are so saturated with arcane power that they should be able to at least increase the general level of magic in a good-sized area.”

“The Shadow Sorcerer claims you are Raistlin.”

The Master pushed himself away from the table and faced Palin. “So you believe the Shadow Sorcerer’s assumption? Just because I am so familiar with your uncle’s works? And just because there is something familiar about my presence?”

“You do seem familiar.”

Beneath his hood, he smiled, but offered no reply.

“If you’re not Raistlin, then just who are you?”

“It took you all these years to ask me,” the Master said.

“I respected your privacy, the secrecy you seemed to enjoy.”

“And now you don’t respect it?”

“Now I need to know. If you are Raistlin, you’re far more powerful than I am. You could help us.”

“I’m not your Uncle Raistlin,” the Master began. “But I knew him well And Dalamar. And many, many others. There is some of Raistlin in me—just as there is a bit of every mage who ever took a Test of High Sorcery. All who take the Test become a part of me. I think, however, that Raistlin was the most formidable of those who studied within my walls.”

“Within your walls?”

“I am the Tower of Wayreth.”

“Preposterous! You’re a man, not a building.” Palin’s voice rose and he felt anger color his cheeks. “Palanthas’s Tower of High Sorcery was destroyed more than thirty years ago. There’s nothing left of the building.”

“But the magic that pervaded its stones remained. I am a living manifestation of the tower. I am all of the towers. I am the essence of all of the old magic of High Sorcery”

The Master raised his hands to his hood and drew back the heavy cloth. For an instant the face Palin saw beneath was his Uncle Raistlin’s, the familiar silvery-white hair spilling over the man’s shoulders. Then the visage changed, becoming Par-Salian of the White Robes. Next, Gilthanas’s face appeared, then the visages of Dalamar, Ladonna of the Black Robes, Fistandantilus, and Justarius of the Red Robes. There were others, some Palin only guessed at from descriptions he’d heard. He had no clue as to who others were.

“All of these people came to the tower, studied there, left an impression on me. Their power helped create the essence you see before you.” The Master pulled the hood back over his head. “I am the Master of the Tower and also what is left of the tower.”

“The Shadow Sorcerer…”

“Thinks I’m Raistlin. And I’ve no intention of telling the Shadow Sorcerer otherwise.”

Palin pulled out a chair and sat heavily on it. “I thought you were a man.”

“I am—in a sense. I am your colleague. And I’ve come to think of you as a friend.”

Palin nodded. “You are my friend.”

“Now let us move on to more important matters,” the Master urged. “This Age of Dreams magic. It has been hard for me to come to terms with destroying such magnificent artifacts, but Sageth is to be heeded in the matter of gaining the ancient magic. I believe it is the answer, our best hope at defeating the overlords. The more of it you can find, the better. The more divinely crafted power we have to work with, the greater our chance of success.”

“There’s something more. What?”

“Let me show you.” He went over to a large bureau and opened one of the drawers, retrieving a crystal ball on a hammered bronze pedestal. He gingerly carried it to the table and held his hands a hair’s breadth above its shimmering surface. “This is what I saw this morning when I finished my research and tried to find Sageth. No man with any sorcerous ability matches his description. The crystal could not locate him. But it did reveal this.”

A tiny image appeared in the center of the ball It was small at first, looking like a raven. But it grew larger until it filled the crystal

“Khellendros!” Palin exclaimed.

“He is the power behind Sageth. The man is his puppet, I suspect. Look closer, there’s more.”

The Blue Dragon faded, and the Red filled the crystal. “Malystryx the Red, the one our associate the Shadow Sorcerer concerns himself with. She too is involved in all of this somehow. And a woman.” A face imposed itself over Malys’s, a young human woman with curly black hair and soft brown eyes. “Kitiara uth Malar,” the Master said. “She died several years before your birth, and yet somehow her spirit has a hand in all of this.”

He drew his hands away from the crystal, and the images faded. “Don’t let your friends relinquish the ancient magic. They’ll be putting it in the hands of an overlord. I’ll give you Dalamar’s ring—when we know for certain how to use the artifacts—and when no dragon is involved.”

“I’ve got to stop them.” Palin pushed back from the table and hurried from the room, the spell that would transport him to Goldmoon’s dome already racing through his mind. He bumped into the Shadow Sorcerer as he flew down the stairs. The mysterious sorcerer nodded a farewell.

“Did you enjoy your chat with your Uncle Raistlin?” the sorcerer asked.

But Palin Majere couldn’t answer. He was already growing transparent, the stone beneath his feet becoming the shore outside the Citadel of Light.

Thick gray clouds filled the sky shortly before sunset. Jasper struggled toward his friends, gathered about the clearing. He hoped that the storm would hold off until after dark, when the stars came out and they could perform whatever ceremony they had in mind to destroy the artifacts. Then the magic could increase on Krynn, the sorcerers could band together and would have a hope of standing up to the overlords, and then at last he could properly mourn Goldmoon.

As the sun edged toward the horizon, thin flickers of lightning began to dance between the clouds, and the thunder that followed was soft, like a distant drum beating.

Sageth selected a spot where there were no stones, and where the ground was flat. They waited there as the sun dipped lower, the last of its orange-red rays all but obscured by die still-darkening sky.

“The magic,” he said, as he consulted his tablet. “It’s time.”

Blister wondered how an old man could read when it was this dark out. She made a mental note to ask him about it when the ceremony was over. The kender didn’t want to distract him now.

“The lance first.” Sageth looked up at the sky, pointing with his finger through a gap in the clouds where a faint star could be seen. “Put the lance here.”

Jasper translated Sageth’s words, and Groller took a last look at Huma’s prize, then carefully set it on the ground where Sageth indicated.

“Now the Fist of E’li. See that it touches the lance.” Jasper wheezed as he walked forward, still exhausted from his trip to the Citadel. “And the medallions. Make sure the chains touch both weapons.” Blister came forward and took the medallion off from around her neck. She did as she was instructed, then backed away, not wanting to take her eyes off Goldmoon’s gift. Jasper pulled the other one from his pocket and laid it next to the first

“No!”

All of a sudden Palin was among them, running toward them, the white of his tunic illuminated by flashes of lightning. “Don’t give him the medallion! Don’t give him anything! It’s a trick!”

Rig reacted first. He leaped forward, and grabbed the wooden haft of the scepter. In that same instant, the ground beneath the mariner seemed to melt; the grass dissolved and the dirt turned to quicksand. Rig felt himself sinking into the sucking, wet earth. He gasped and tried to free himself, but only sank deeper, faster. He was completely covered now, his chest tightening and then feeling as if it would explode with thirst for air. Shaon, he thought. Perhaps we’ll be reunited sooner than I expected. Then he felt big hands fishing about and latching onto his legs. Groller’s hands. They pulled Rig to the surface, and the mariner coughed up a mouthful of sand and slime.

The half-ogre pulled his friend away from the area. The mariner could see that Palin, Jasper, Feril, Fiona, and Fury— all of them were also running away. The patch of quicksand was growing, racing outward to engulf them.

Fiona charged forward, her long sword reflecting the lightning as she skirted the growing pool of quicksand.

Palin held something in his hands and recited arcane words. Feril was doing the same, but their words weren’t coming fast enough—the sand was going to overtake them. It swelled like a tide around their ankles, sloshed up to their knees.

On the other side of the sandy pond, Sageth threw back his head and laughed. The stone tablet melted from his arms, forming a foot-high man who joined in the malevolent laughter.

“You did well,” Fissure replied. “I am quite proud of you.” The diminutive gray man looked up at his accomplice and blinked his large black eyes. He smiled, showing a row of tiny pointed teeth. “The Storm Over Krynn will be most happy. And when this is all over, he will suitably honor both of us.”

The gray man motioned to the sand, and it belched forth Huma’s lance and Goldmoon’s medallions. The objects fell at his tiny feet. Then he gestured at the sand again, and it grew hard, turning to stone, trapping Palin and his friends.

Lightning arced to the ground, striking near Rig, and making the ground tremble. The thunder boomed deafeningly, and the rain began. It was a hard, pummeling rain. It was a warm rain, too, uncomfortably so, and it came at them sideways now, driven by a fierce wind.

Palin continued the words to his spell, a complex enchantment that he couldn’t afford to cast improperly. Feril’s spell finished first, and a chunk of the solidified quicksand shot up and struck the gray man in the side of his head. He reeled from the blow, but quickly regained his balance. A master of the element of earth, he could not be truly hurt by it, nor could it much slow him down.

He dropped the medallion over his short neck, picked up the handle of the dragonlance, and dragged the weapon behind him. Sageth turned and followed the diminutive man.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the pair’s retreating forms—and highlighting another approaching one. A dragon was slowly dropping toward them through the clouds. His sapphire scales slick with rain, his eyes glowing yellow, the dragon snarled. Lightning danced along his teeth and talons and raced to meet the earth.

“Khellendros!” Feril cried.

Sageth and the hutdrefolk continued to walk in a northerly direction. “It looks like everything is progressing smoothly,” the old man said. “How long before I receive my reward for my part in all of this?”

“Now, I think,” Fissure replied. He faced the elderly man and stretched out his long thin fingers. He touched the man’s side, and within a heartbeat the huldrefolk had drained away the scant remainder of the man’s years. Sageth turned to stone and then crumbled to dust that was swiftly washed away by the rain.

Fissure grinned and continued north, occasionally glancing back to see if the Storm Over Krynn was finished playing with the foolish people.

“Majere!” The word exploded like a clap of thunder from the dragon’s mouth. “I’ve let you live long enough!” Khellendros beat his wings, spurring on the rain and hovering in one position, angling his head toward his captured, squirming foes.

His eyes fixed on the struggling sorcerer, and he thought of Kitiara. “Whelp of Kitiara’s enemies!” he bellowed. He wished his once-cherished partner were here to see this victory, to savor this success. She would know of it, he vowed. When he again found her spirit, and brought her back to Krynn, he would regale her with tales of the day he had destroyed Palin Majere and stolen the magic that made it possible for her to return. He would let one or two of the others live so that they would continue to hamper Malys.

Fiona, meanwhile, had barely managed to avoid being trapped in the stone. She stood defiantly, waving her sword and daring the dragon to come closer. The young Knight of Solamnia knew to face a dragon of this size would mean certain death, but not to stand up against it would mock everything she believed in. “Skie!” she cried, using the name humans had given the dragon. “Fight me! I’m not some helpless target!”

Behind her, Rig held the scepter over his shoulder. “This is supposed to be such a very powerful artifact,” he said to himself. “Let’s see if that’s so.” He drove the Fist of E’li against the stone that held him, clenching the haft in his sweating hands. The macelike head connected with a sound like breaking glass that split the air and parted the stone, sending spider-web cracks racing in all directions away from his feet. “Magic indeed!” The mariner quickly broke free and raised the scepter near Feril’s feet. “You next,” he told her.

Above, Khellendros opened his jaws and unleashed a bolt of lightning, thick and bright. The dragon overlord sped toward the ground, landing mere feet away from Feril and Rig. The Kagonesti was in the midst of another spell, but Rig struggled to keep his footing and drove the scepter at the stone in front of her. Seconds later, she was climbing out

Jasper gave up struggling against the magically hardened earth. His breaths were shallow, and he felt incredibly dizzy. “If it is Reorx’s wish, I will join you, Goldmoon ” he said.

Several feet away, Palin clenched his teeth and fought to keep his concentration. His own spell was almost complete. It might save us, he thought. It has to save us or we are dead, and everything will be lost

Somehow Fury had freed himself, and now the wolf was at Palin’s side, growling at the dragon. The energy the sorcerer had been gathering from the air and ground about him came faster now—and stronger. He felt the arcane force race outward into his limbs as the last word of the spell fell from his Ups. Fury howled, and the sorcerer sagged, spent from his effort.

As the Blue swooped overhead, Fiona swung at it, grazing its underside. Unfortunately, her blade was unable to penetrate the hard scales.

“Don’t ignore me, dragon!” she cried. “Fight me!”

“Do you fear death, Majere?” Khellendros hissed. “Do you fear me?” He opened his mouth to breathe lightning again, but suddenly a stream of quicksilver struck his side, pushing him away, ruining his aim.

“Jasper” the mariner cried, seeing that the dragon had been distracted, “I’m coming!” He raised his scepter and brought it down. The dwarf gasped, prodding his side. Then he gratefully accepted the mariner’s help getting out of the hole in which he had been stuck,

Khellendros turned to the south, where a silver dragon was banking toward him, skimming just below the clouds. The dragon looked gray under the cloud cover. A rider was on her back, and behind her trailed a gold dragon, younger, with a rider also.

The Storm Over Krynn roared his defiance. Neither of them was large enough to defeat him. Even if the approaching dragons worked together, they would not win. But he knew they might hurt him, and he had no time to waste on licking his wounds. He would not let these dragons keep him from the artifacts, from Kitiara.

As the gold and silver beat their wings in an effort to close the distance, he gazed pitilessly at the sorcerer and his friends. Perhaps he would kill them all. His thick blue lips pulled back, and he unleashed a barrage of lightning bolts. The forks of yellow-white light rebounded off the figures below—the female kender, the short-bearded dwarf, the wolf, and the defiant Kagonesti. They also struck Rig Mer-Krel, the dark-skinned man with even darker eyes, and Palin Majere, the sorcerer.

Khellendros’s lightning rained down again and again—and all the while his massive blue body withstood the blasts of quicksilver emanating from the silver dragon and the gouts of fire from the gold. He ignored the tremendous pain, thrust it to the back of his consciousness, and directed one last barrage.

The lightning and thunder rocked the earth. Chunks of hardened quicksand flew into the air, then fell down again on the broken form of Palin Majere, covering the sorcerer and his friends in an impromptu mass grave provided by the Storm Over Krynn.

Then, with the gold and silver nearly on him, he beat his wings to carry himself higher, beyond their attack. He’d won, garnered magic from the Age of Dreams, blessed artifacts that he could use to return Kitiara to his side. And he had destroyed his enemies in the process.

The gold and silver would try to pursue him, but they were smaller, and their wings could not take them as far and as fast as Khellendros’s. They would not be able to catch him. The Storm Over Krynn ached from absorbing the impact of their dragon breath, but his heart soared with pride.

Higher he flew, until he buried himself in the thickest cloud overhead. Lightning skittered down his sides and helped to ease his agony. The fierce wind washed over his massive head, and the rain refreshed him.

Then he climbed higher still, heading north, swooping below the clouds only once, and that was to snag Fissure in a great claw—and the lance in the other.

“The Storm Over Krynn shall triumph!” the Blue bellowed to the heavens. “With this magic I will bring Kitiara home!” His triumphant cries turned to shrieks of agony as the lance burned his evil flesh. Still, the dragon flew higher.

The clouds thinned and the rain lessened. The gold and the silver gave up their chase and returned to the scene of the carnage.

“Father! We answered your call too late!” Ulin gasped as he slid from Sunrise’s back and stared at the rubble strewn over the shattered bodies. Tears welled up in his eyes, and spilled down his cheeks. He felt faint with grief and tried to stifle a sob—which quickly turned into a cry of surprise.

A portion of the clearing shimmered. As the dragons and Gilthanas and Ulin watched, shapes formed, transparent at first, but then growing brighter, appearing solid. There were eight figures—Palin, Rig, Fiona, Groller, Fury, Feril, Blister, and Jasper.

The elder Majere dropped to his knees. The spell he had cast to cloak their presence and make false images of themselves had sapped the last of his energy. He was exhausted, and his sides heaved mightily as he tried to suck air into his lungs. He had not cast that type of illusion since the gods of magic had withdrawn from the world,

Gilthanas, Silvara, Ulin, and Sunrise had provided a much needed distraction and had made it easier to fool the Blue. Now the dragons kept their necks craned toward the thinning clouds, wanting to make sure Khellendros would not be returning.

“We still have a chance,” Rig said, as he shouldered the Fist of E’li and helped Palin to his feet At least he had one artifact, and Palin knew where Dalamar’s ring rested. There was Age of Dreams magic with the Dimernesti beneath the sea. And there was Dhamon’s glaive, which the mariner intended to claim after he slew the treacherous ex-knight.

“Goldmoon is dead. We’re wounded. What chance do we have?” Jasper asked.

“A chance,” Rig said quietly. “And it’s a chance we have to take,” He stared at the scepter in his hands. “If we give up now, all of Krynn loses.”

It was a place of swirling gray mists—insubstantial, yet solid enough to stand upon. Goldmoon stood there, the tendrils swirling about her legs, and wrapping tight as if to hold her there, to keep her from falling or floating away.

She was dressed in leather breeches and a fringed leather tunic that hung to her thighs. The clothes looked new and fit her perfectly. Her long, gold and silver hair was braided, as she had worn it in her younger years, with beads and feathers stuck here and there as adornments.

Though there was no sun or moon, there was a hazy light, provided by the gray mists. Her hair shone in the light, and her eyes sparkled as her lips crept upward into a smile.

Goldmoon looked as she did then, on that first day they met, her eyes wide open and fixed on the man’s handsome form.

Riverwind stood before her, with tanned skin, jet black hair, and eyes that were piercing and filled with a quiet mirth. He was just as she had remembered him being at their first meeting that seemed like yesterday, though it was long ago. He reached out a hand and touched her smooth race. .

“Husband,” she said simply.

“I have been waiting for you,” Riverwind replied.