The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 7 Stronghold

“Palin…” The voice, soft and harmonious, gently roused the sorcerer from a sound slumber. His legs and chest ached; his neck was still sore. However, his wounds were healing, and he had to admit that he felt much better than he had last night—even though he’d only managed to get a few hours of rest.

“Palin?” The same voice again, though not audible. At first he thought he’d dreamt a woman calling to him, his wife Usha. He remembered dreaming of her last night. But he was wide awake now, and the voice persisted. He blinked and stared at the face of the rock several feet away. The air swirled in front of it, and the grains of white sand the magical wind picked up twinkled like miniature stars in the early morning light.

Feril slept only inches away, curled up like a dog, Blister next to her. The mariner was deep in sleep, too, oblivious to the voice in Palin’s head or to the magical breeze. Though they’d found a crevice in which to pass what was left of the night, and though it protected them from the brunt of the storm that sprang up from seemingly out of nowhere, it didn’t entirely shelter them—or keep them dry. But being damp was better than being swelteringly hot, Palin thought. The heat would come soon enough.

“Palin...”

“Goldmoon,” he whispered. The sands fell away to reveal the translucent image of a woman. Long blonde hair wreathed her slender shoulders, and the hem of her pale cloak swirled like a cloud at her feet. Her startling blue eyes bore into his. He was glad to see her, even if what he saw was only an image borne by her spell. It had been weeks since they’d last communicated.

“1 was worried about you,” the healer began. She was one of the original Heroes of the Lance, responsible for bringing clerical magic back to Krynn roughly six decades ago, and she remained a close friend to Palin’s family. Though human and more than eighty years old, she wore her age remarkably well, and remained exceptionally vital. Goldmoon had managed to hang onto her faith through the years—despite the departure of the gods, and despite the death of her beloved husband, Riverwind. She’d taken many pupils to her side along the way. Among them was Jasper Fireforge, the dwarf who waited on Flint’s Anvil. Palin greatly admired her and often sought her counsel on matters of the heart.

“I was thinking about the dragons last night,” she said. “A vision came to me. I saw the Blue—Side—and you were in his clutches.”

Palin quickly related how he, Rig, Blister, and Feril had escaped from Khellendros’s cave several hours ago, then spoke of spawn and how he believed they were being created. “We are heading toward one of Skie’s strongholds now,” he added. “We must try to free his prisoners, prevent more people from being transformed into spawn. Then we will try to topple an overlord, the White—”

“And Dhamon?”

Palin lowered his head. “I’m sorry. A lesser blue dragon. One that…”

Goldmoon’s image faltered at the news, and Palin watched as she bowed her head and offered a silent prayer. “I thought he was the one,” she said softly. “I believed Dhamon Grimwulf to be a leader of men. I contacted him at the Tomb of the Last Heroes, brought him into all of this, to you. He was to use the lance….”

“Rig has the lance now,” Palin said. “I have faith in him.”

Goldmoon looked at the sleeping mariner. “He is brave,” she admitted. “But he is also reckless and overconfident. Be careful, my friend. See that he doesn’t lead you into a fight you cannot hope to win. We will speak later.”

Goldmoon turned away from Palin and away from the topmost window in the Citadel of Light, severing her mystical connection with the sorcerer in the desert.

Hundreds of miles from the Northern Wastes, on the island of Schallsea, she now paced across the marble floor. “I was so certain he was the one,” the healer said. “My visions, my divinations, they all pointed to Dhamon Grimwulf. I know so little of this Rig Mer-Krel. What’s that you say?” She tilted her head to the side, as if listening to someone, though she was alone in the room. “Trust Palin? Of course I trust Palin, you know that. I have always trusted the Majeres. Yes, I agree, Palin is a good judge of character. And if he has faith in this sea barbarian, I should too. It’s just that there is so much at stake— the fate of Krynn.” Her shoulders slumped and she walked to a narrow, high-backed chair, easing her slight frame into it.

“It was all so much easier when you were here with me,” she said. “Together we were…” Goldmoon closed her eyes and a lone tear edged over her cheek. “When we were together, I was complete.”

“Morning already?” Feril yawned, stretched, and stood. She looked refreshed, her eyes clear and bright. “That was quite a storm last night. It woke me several times.” She smiled at Palin and ran her fingers through her curly hair in an effort to comb it. She nudged Rig with her foot. “Let’s get moving. Palin looks like he’s impatient.”

“He’s been talking to himself,” Blister said as she climbed to her feet and gazed up at the bright morning sky. “About the Blue.”

The mariner grumbled and pushed himself up. The cuts on his chest still looked fresh. He grimaced when he moved, then allowed Feril to smear what was left of her healing poultice across his cuts. “The stronghold,” he said, as his eyes met the Kagonesti’s. She was quick to turn away. “It shouldn’t be far from here—if the wyverns can be believed.” He drained the last of his waterskins, then refilled them by dipping into the crevices where the night’s rain had collected. “Let’s see if we can make it before noon. I don’t want to be traveling in the middle of the day again.”

Palin silently agreed, falling in step with Blister behind the mariner and the elf. He fished about in his pocket for something to eat, retrieved a strip of dried beef, tore off a piece, and then offered the rest to the kender. Rig and Feril also ate as they walked.

By midmorning they’d passed by the cluster of cacti and the ridge of black rocks, and the Kagonesti’s keen vision spotted part of a black, volcano-like structure between sand dunes located to the north. Even from a distance it looked ominous and unnatural.

“A tower of Khellendros’s stronghold,” Feril said with certainty. “Relgoth can’t be far.”

As they drew closer, more of the black sand castle could be viewed, along with the small city of which it was a part The structure looked as if it had erupted from the earth itself, and its sprawling bulk was stretched across the ruins of almost half of the town.

Palin, Blister, Rig, and Feril settled themselves behind a dune near Relgoth that was tall enough to provide a view over the city wall. Peering over the top, they could see many buildings—most of them in ruins—and a small stone castle in the center of the town. A few people moved about the streets, but it was clear that Relgoth was not all it had once been.

The stronghold dominated the view, its black sand sparkling in the sunlight and smothering the buildings beneath it. The castle had three towers that rose to a height of thirty feet or more, with windows in the shape of dragon scales scattered along their lengths. The tops of the towers were linked by a formidable wall, across which several Knights of Takhisis were patrolling. The stronghold also appeared to be encircled by a deep moat.

“Wow!” Blister said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Khellendros,” Palin whispered. “The dragon must have used his magic to build this place. He must have found a way to harden the sand like stone. Impressive.” He stared at the expansive courtyard of the castle, and at a diagram etched into the center of it. The sorcerer was too far away to make out the curious markings. “If only my eyes were better” he said.

“I can make it out.” Feril followed his gaze with a frown. “It’s like the symbol in the dragon’s cave.”

“So the dragon turns people into spawn here?” Blister asked.

“Convenient,” Palin said. “That way the dragon doesn’t have to transport unwilling prisoners, only obedient spawn.”

In the northeast quarter of the courtyard, a military formation of a couple dozen Knights of Takhisis stood just beyond a drawbridge. They were taking orders from a black-cloaked man who paced back and forth in front of them. Nearby, a wide path led to the city gates and out into the desert. The path was guarded by knights and appeared to be the only way in or out of Relgoth.

“What are those beasts?” the Kagonesti poked her finger over the top of the dune, indicating four gray, hairless behemoths that were being led into the courtyard. “They’re spectacular.”

“Elephants,” Rig whispered. “Definitely not native to around here. Haven’t seen many in my travels, but I know you can find them around Kharolis, and in parts of Kern and Nordmaar. It took a lot of work to bring them here.”

“We’re a long way from those countries,” she said. “I’ve never seen any animals like them. They’re magnificent. Let’s move closer”

“Wait a minute,” Palin warned as he put a firm hand on her shoulder. “That stronghold’s a little too much for us to tackle—even if we did go back to the ship and enlist the others to help. Look at all of those knights, and the brutes.”

“Brutes?” Rig followed Palin’s line of sight and perceived a quartet of tall, blue-skinned men walking behind the elephants. They were exceedingly muscular and wore little clothing—blue loincloths and primitive jewelry. The men were barefoot. “Knights and brutes. Black and blue men, like the wyverns said.**

“That’s blue paint,” the sorcerer added. “They’re warriors, also not from around here. Barbarians, some would call them, but they’re not stupid. From everything I’ve heard, they’re pretty formidable fighters. And the blue paint is supposed to protect or heal them in some way.”

“I wonder where they’re keeping the prisoners?” Feril mused. She was still watching the elephants. “Let’s see if we can find out.”

The Kagonesti closed her eyes and laid her head against the sand. Warm and coarse, it was pleasing to her, and she let her senses drift into the dune, focusing on one grain and then another. As she slipped further away from Palin, Rig, and Blister, she felt herself become part of the desert, so vast, yet comprised of so many tiny grains of sand. She reached out to the next grain and the next, rapidly moving from one to another until her senses stretched past the dunes, under the city wall, and beneath the assembled Knights of Takhisis.

“What do you hear?” she whispered to the sand, her voice sounding soft and breathy.

“We will leave at sunset, when it is cooler to travel,” the Kagonesti heard the knight-commander say to his men. The words were as loud as if the man was standing in front of her. “We will head to Palanthas, take whatever prisoners are in the city’s jails and return them here. Their minds are already tainted by evil, and it will not be difficult for the dragon to transform them into spawn. The Storm Over Krynn will be pleased, and we will be suitably rewarded. Your time is your own until sunset Dismissed.”

The knights gathered in small groups in the shade of the walls of the courtyard as Feril’s thoughts wandered to the sand beneath the feet of the brutes tending the gray behemoths.

“Share the words with me,” she continued. Two of the blue-painted warriors were conversing, their talk centering on the amazing amount of food and water the great animals consumed. But when their conversation drifted to the subject of the prisoners, the elf increased her concentration.

“Prisoners, more the knights want,” the larger of the two fellows said. He was more than seven feet tall, with incredibly broad shoulders and a shaved head. His voice was clear and low-pitched, and his accent was unusual. “Prisoners, well more than a hundred now. Tower is almost full.”

“Dragon, he wants an army,” the other said. “Army, grisly way to gain one. Soldiers, willing ones perform better. Not starving ones.”

“Dragon, he be done, they be willing enough,” the first said. “Safe they be for a few days more. Me, don’t want to watch it again.”

“Me, never seen the men change.”

“Terrible.”

“Dragon, you question what he does?”

The taller one shook his head. “Me, no. Pay, it be good. Dragon, he be better to work for than to be hunted by. Me, just don’t want to watch it.”

“Fates, worse ones I would imagine. Other overlords, heard they capture people, keep them like cattle and eat them.”

“Death, not worse than being turned into a spawn “

Feril shuddered and tugged her senses back to her body. She was quick to relay what she had overheard. The quartet watched the stronghold for the several hours, the sun baking them.

There were about sixty Knights of Takhisis, with half to two-thirds of them scheduled to leave soon—the sun was already edging toward the horizon. Palin suspected more knights would eventually take their place. The troops were probably being rotated. Fortunately, they hadn’t noticed any Knights of the Thorn or Knights of the Skull, which meant the fortress was probably devoid of spellcasters.

“I agree we have to try something,” Palin finally said. “Even though we’re drastically outnumbered.” The knights had gathered, and their commander was barking final orders, readying them to march. “But we can’t just walk right in there. Even after most of the knights leave, there’ll still be too many for us to handle in a fight. We’ll be throwing our lives away.”

“Maybe we can walk right in.” The kender was looking over her shoulder, away from Relgoth and toward the south. “Or ride.” At the edge of her vision was a small caravan, and it looked like it was headed in their direction.

The caravan consisted often large wagons pulled by horses and loaded with barrels of water and other supplies. Each wagon had a driver, and the caravan was accompanied by about two dozen barbarians dressed in flowing hooded robes.

It took one of Rig’s thumb-sized rubies to bribe the last driver, who was lagging slightly behind. The mariner and the driver settled on a plan. Palin and Feril were to be the driver’s cousins, and Blister their child. Rig was to be a friend of the family. And for a few pearls, the driver provided hooded robes for each of them to wear—even, after some cutting and fashioning, a child-size garment for Blister.

The driver called the stronghold the “Bastion of Darkness.” He explained that supplies came to the castle nearly twice a week—food, clothes, paint for the brutes, whips and tethers to replace the ones that were used on prisoners, and, of primary importance, water from an oasis to the south. The prisoners, knights, and elephants consumed a lot of water.

Shortly after sunset, the caravan reached the city gates. Palin felt like he had a fever, his skin burned so, and he imagined the others felt the same. But with the onset of evening, it was cooling a little. A soft breeze washed over the dunes and stirred the air around the town. The Knights of Takhisis wing was just leaving, wending its way down the path and toward Palanthas. The men all wore black mail with death lilies on the breastplates. Foolish military protocol wouldn’t allow them to wear lighter clothing.

“Put the barrels in the courtyard!” A knight waved to a tall, hulking barbarian, the caravan master. The wagons rolled through part of the town and into the castle’s courtyard. A moment later, barrels were being carefully rolled down planks positioned at the ends of the wagons. They were rolled across the sand, over the drawbridge, and toward the center tower, which had an attached shelter to shade the barrels and help keep the water from becoming intolerably hot. Each wagon carried roughly a dozen large barrels, and it would take several trips to unload them all. On the return trips the men rolled empty barrels that were to be taken back to the oasis and refilled.

Blister darted around the wagon and tried to take everything in, while Feril, Palin, and Rig helped the nomads with the barrels. “The dragon should’ve built his sand castle closer to the well,” the kender softly said. “Would’ve made things easier on the nomads.”

On his second pass over the drawbridge, Palin glanced down into the deep ditch. Scorpions the size of his hand skittered at the bottom, thousands of them. The walls of the ditch were steeply slanted to provide shade. He whispered to Rig and Feril to watch their step. The ditch was more lethal than any moat filled with crocodiles.

The mariner hovered around the barrels in the courtyard, helping to stack the full ones against the wall, while Palin and Feril made another trip to the wagons. He rested his hand against the black sand structure, marvelling at its solidity. Looking closely, he could see the individual grains of sand that made up the wall. They magically clung together without any mortar or moisture of any sort. These were not compressed bricks of black sand. The wall, the entire castle, was made of millions of sand particles that were held together magically.

Meanwhile, Blister grew more anxious. “How are we going to sneak into the Bastion?” she whispered to Palin as he hefted another barrel. Her voice was muffled beneath the too-large hood of her robe. It hung far over her head. “I overheard the caravan master say we’d be leaving as soon as we’re done. I thought they’d spend the night here.”

“It’s getting dark, and no doubt they prefer to travel at night,” Palin observed, setting the barrel down on the ground.

“Or they can’t stomach staying around here,” Feril muttered

“We’ll find somewhere to hide. There.” The sorcerer pointed toward a crude stable with four large stalls for the elephants. “That should do.” The brutes were putting the elephants away for the night, and Feril brightened at the prospect of being near the exotic animals.

“You two,” the caravan master barked as he pointed at Palin and the Kagonesti. “Leave your child be and stop loafing! Move more barrels!”

The pair was quick to comply. Palin relayed their plan to the mariner, and when there were only a dozen barrels left to be moved, the quartet slipped away, sticking to the growing shadows, and stealing into an elephant’s stall. The straw that covered the floor was musty and insect-laden, and the animal’s considerable dung was pungent and made their eyes water. The elephant took sharing its home in stride, and busied itself eating fresh grasses that one of the brutes had left for it.

“It stinks in here.” Blister wrinkled her nose and tried to find a dean spot of hay to sit on. The kender instantly quit complaining when the elephant turned its head and seemed to study her. “Never seen anything like you before,” she said. “Wonder if you’d fit on the Anvil. I’d feed you and—”

“No,” Rig said, then turned his attention to Palin and Feril. “The central tower inside the walls is for the knights. The smaller towers at the corners are filled with weapons and food. Knights are constantly stationed here.”

“How’d you learn all this?” the Kagonesti asked.

“I listen well,” the mariner continued, his dark eyes flashing mischievously at her. “And I asked a few questions when a couple of knights strolled by for a drink of water.”

Palin drew his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “I hope you didn’t ask too many questions. We don’t need anyone on alert.” Then he heard the wagons moving, the cracks of whips against the camels, and he fervently hoped the knights hadn’t counted the number of barbarians entering the stronghold and discovered the three missing adults and one “child.”

“The medium-sized tower near us has only a couple of draconians in it.” Rig seemed pleased with himself for collecting that piece of news. “The administrator of the stronghold, a Sivak draconian called Lord Sivaan, has his office there. Humans are held in the area of the castle near it.”

Palin crept to the front of the stall and looked up at the black sand tower. “The draconians are needed for the transformation spell. A portion of their spirit is used to create spawn. We’ll have to kill them to keep Khellendros from using them again.”

“Fine, you do that. I want to go after the prisoners,” Rig said.

“That’s the plan,” Palin replied. “We’ll wait until close to midnight. Most of the knights and brutes should be sleeping then.”

“I want to go after the prisoners now—before somebody decides to bring the elephants some water and discovers about half of their new barrels are broken and empty.”

“What?” Palin asked, almost too loudly. He dropped his voice to a whisper again and edged farther back into the darkness of the stall “What did you do?”

Rig grinned. “When I was helping stack the barrels, I used a dagger to make a few strategic holes. “The sand’ll absorb a lot of the water, but I suspect there’ll be a spreading wet spot that gets noticed sooner or later. I thought drastically cutting their water supply was a great idea. Strike them where it’ll hurt the most.”

Palin inhaled sharply. That would certainly Hurt the knights—and alert them that something was terribly wrong. They’d be scouring the place for saboteurs soon. “All right, let’s move,” he said. He turned to address the mariner. “You’ll have to be careful—and quiet—going after the prisoners. It won’t be easy.”

“Sure it will.” The kender stopped staring at the elephant long enough to reach into the folds of her robe and pull out a bulging leather bag. It had a cork stopper and made a sloshing sound as she passed it to Rig. “Paint,” she said. “Got it off one of the wagons. Figured the … brutes, I think you called them, wouldn’t miss this little bit. And if it does have magical protection properties, more’s the better.”

Several minutes later Rig walked toward the area of the castle that housed the prisoners. He had left most of his clothes in the stall with the elephant—along with all but three of his weapons. His cutlass remained strapped to his side, and he carried a dagger in his right hand. Feril had fashioned a loincloth for him out of part of his robe, and a second dagger was carefully thrust into the waistband. Blister had painted the loincloth to match the mariner’s skin and short hair. He wasn’t as tall as most of the brutes, but he was nearly as muscular, and the growing shadows helped his disguise.

The blue mariner confidently strode past a trio of patrolling knights, who gave him only a casual glance. Then he quietly slipped into the shadows of an archway. A moment after the knights walked by, Palin glided from the stall, clinging to the shadows and heading toward the medium-sized tower. He had two of the mariner’s daggers with him, and retained the hooded cloak. If he was caught, he’d claim he was left behind when the caravan pulled away and was just looking for a place to sleep.

Feril and Blister watched the sorcerer disappear into the doorway. Then the Kagonesti crept forward and stood next to the elephant. She ran her fingers over the animal’s coarse, wrinkled skin, reached up and scratched behind its massive ear. She was awed by the seemingly gentle creature. Next, she fashioned her lump of clay into an approximation of the elephant, and within minutes she and the elephant were involved in a meaningful conversation filled with “wuffles” and snorts, which Blister complained about not understanding.

There were two brutes with pointed ears in a small chamber just inside one of the outside archways of the castle. They were sharpening their swords on pieces of stone and initially paid the mariner no heed. A shadowy corridor stretched beyond them, and Rig started to walk toward it. But the brutes sniffed the air, eyed the mariner a little more closely, and then decided that he wasn’t one of them.

The largest, nearly seven feet tall, was the first on his feet, barking words at Rig in an unknown language. The mariner answered by throwing one of his daggers. It lodged in the brute’s throat. The large man backed up against the wall, sliding down into a seated position. He pulled the dagger from his throat, and pressed his hands over the wound. His breathing was labored, but he did not die.

The wounded brute’s companion rushed forward, swinging his blade and yelling.

Rig darted below the brute’s swing and at the same time, thrust upward with his cutlass, intending to skewer the fellow. But the blue man was agile and deftly stepped aside. “Intruder,” he sneered at Rig through clenched teeth. The brute was no longer speaking the mysterious tongue.

The brute lunged again, and the mariner barely missed being run through, pressing himself up against the sand wall just in time. As the brute stepped past him, Rig pushed off and drove his elbow into the man’s side. But the force of the blow didn’t faze the warrior, whose blue-painted skin seemed to function like armor. The mariner ducked to avoid another slash.

To buy himself several feet of maneuvering room, Rig started down the corridor, then turned to face his charging opponent. His left hand dropped to his loincloth and the dagger there. In one motion, he grabbed the weapon and flung it. The mariner’s aim was good, and the blade sank into the brute’s stomach up to the pommel.

He didn’t topple. The healing properties of the paint sustained him and the muscular blue man looked down at the dagger, gripped the pommel, and tugged it free. Bright red blood poured from the mortal wound, but the brute was determined to keep on his feet until he could take the intruder down with him.

With a guttural growl, the brute darted forward, raising his sword high above his head. Rig crouched and raised his cutlass, ready to meet the blow. Then suddenly the brute was flying through the air, his sword clattering at Rig’s feet.

The brute had slipped on his own blood. The mariner jumped to the side to avoid the falling warrior, and drove his cutlass between the man’s shoulder blades. The brute didn’t get up.

Rig took a few deep breaths and glanced around. The other brute sat against the wall, his eyes open and unblinking. The effect of the paint had not been enough to overcome the mortal wound.

The clamor had been brief, and likely muted by the thick sand walls. No one had come to investigate—yet. He retrieved his two daggers, wiped them on the fallen brute’s loin-doth, and tugged his cutlass free. Then he hurried down the corridor in search of the prisoners.

Palin made his way up a curving staircase. With Rig’s daggers he had dispatched the pair of unprepared guards at the bottom of the stairs. The sorcerer had briefly considered using a spell that would put them to sleep, but realized he needed to save his energy for future spells.

He thought the way was clear until he suddenly encountered another knight at the top of the stairs.

“You’re not supposed to be here, nomad,” the knight sneered. He stared into the recesses of Palin’s hood. “You’d best leave and catch your caravan.”

“It left a while ago,” Palin said.

The knight reached over to remove Palin’s hood and the sorcerer ducked below the man’s grip.

“Intruder!” barked the knight, bringing his blade above his head and driving it down.

Palin lunged away, but not fast enough. The sword cut into his arm and he couldn’t help but cry out.

“I haven’t time for this!” Palin hissed between clenched teeth.

The man charged him. The sorcerer cast a summoning spell on himself and disappeared. The knight rushed through the empty space where Palin had once been and clattered down the stairs, ending up in a motionless heap near the bottom.

Palin took several deep breaths and glanced down at his arm. The left sleeve of his light brown robe was dark with blood. Ripping off the other sleeve, the sorcerer quickly wrapped it around his wound, then moved toward a door— the only one on this level There was a small window set into it, through which he could see two Sivaks.

They were the largest of the draconians created by Takhisis, made from stolen silver dragon eggs and bred to follow the Dark Queen’s evil directions. One of the Sivaks had an almost emaciated silvery-scaly body. His beady black eyes were downcast and his lizardlike snout pointed at the floor. His head hung in shame as the other Sivak, a larger, more robust creature seated behind a hulking wooden desk, berated him. Palin guessed that the larger Sivak was Lord Sivaan, the administrator of this entire gruesome facility. The skinny one was undoubtedly a minion of the officer.

Palm took a deep breath, and threw open the door. Lord Sivaan stood up from behind his desk, knocking his chair to the ground. Palin raised his unwounded arm and sent a jagged stream of flame into the Sivak’s broad chest and out the other side. He turned to find the emaciated Sivak slinking toward the door. Palin paused for a second, pitying the creature, and the Sivak turned to hurl a dagger at the sorcerer. Palin released another burst. The hot light passed through the Sivak’s chest in an instant. The dagger clattered to the floor, and the Sivak crumpled after it

Palin, weak from the exertion and the wound on his arm, stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The corridor was empty. Palin stopped for a moment, steadying himself by leaning against the wall. He knew that a Sivak killed by a human assumed the appearance of his slayer — announcing the identity of the murderer to all those who found the body. The corpses inside the office would hold Palin’s appearance for several days. There was no way around it, the effect being part of the enchantment Takhisis had breathed into them at their birth. The Dark Queen had wanted to know who killed her children.

Palin headed down the stairs quickly. His chest felt tight, his throat dry, and his wounded arm throbbed. The knight he had pushed down the steps was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.

Rig moved down the corridor quiet and quick like a cat. A lone, guttering torch provided just enough light for him to see where he was going. The mariner’s skin itched terribly from the blue paint, but he resisted the urge to scratch it off.

The air was hot and fetid and it carried the stench of sweat and urine. He turned a corner and saw a row of cell doors and another brute guard. This brute was massive, with tree trunk legs and thick, bulging arms. He was easily more than seven feet tall, and the sword at his side looked impossibly big and long.

The brute tilted his head and looked at Rig as the mariner’s grip tightened on his dagger’s pommel. He spoke a few words the mariner couldn’t understand. The big brute’s brow furrowed. The mariner shrugged and grinned, giving up on the charade and drawing out his dagger.

The brute charged forward in that instant, finally realizing Rig wasn’t one of his kinsmen. The dagger flew from the mariner’s fingers, and the blade sank into the big man’s chest. Still the brute kept coming, and Rig pulled himself up against the corridor wall as the blue-skinned giant rushed past him.

Not even bothering to remove the dagger lodged in his chest, the brute turned and came back at Rig.

The two fought intensely, large blue blurs against the background of black sand walls. Rig eventually backed off a bit, deciding he was simply going to have to wear out the wounded brute. He dodged and ducked, thrust and withdrew, until the brute finally grew dizzy from the loss of blood and fell dead, face forward on the floor. Rig knelt and quickly found a ring of keys on the dead man.

Rig stepped toward the closest cell door, opened it, and shuddered as a nauseating stench wafted out. The cell had no sanitary considerations. Excrement lined one wall, and a half-dozen elves huddled in the rest of the space better suited for two or three. They were gaunt and expressionless, eyes staring unblinking from sunken sockets. Their clothes were filthy, stained with sweat and urine, and their skin was covered with grime. A couple of the elves who were pressed together on the sole cot in the room looked like corpses. Rig stared at them and finally noted the faint rising and falling of their chests.

He swallowed hard. “Let’s get out of here.” He motioned them out of the cell, but they held their position, continuing to stare blankly at him. “Look, I’m not here to haul you off and turn you into spawn.” He rubbed at a spot on his arm until the blue paint came off and revealed dark skin beneath. Then he instantly realized that proved nothing — he had no idea what color the brutes were beneath their paint. “I’m here to rescue you. Palin Majere, Feril, and… .”

“Majere?” The faint male voice came from the direction of the cot. An elf with long, matted hair and a facial scar shakily stood up. “The sorcerer?”

“He’s outside. We’ve got to hurry,” Rig said. He motioned again, and this time the elves followed him, slowly shuffling out into the corridor. The mariner hurriedly unlatched the other doors.

One cell contained only women. Another contained more than twenty men who must have been fairly new arrivals because they appeared a little healthier and moved more quickly. One room contained a sole occupant — an elderly man madly clutching a small clay tablet to which he mumbled. Rig had to pick him up off the cot and carry him out into the corridor with the rest of the prisoners.

The mariner continued to free the captives, working rapidly and continually watching the hallway for fear that more brutes might come around the corner. “Leave us alone!” he heard from behind one cell door. He opened it and cringed when he saw a few women and more than a dozen girls and boys. The knights had kidnapped children, too. There were wooden bowls on the floor, filled with a pasty gruel that crawled with insects. It was the first sign the mariner had seen that the people were even being fed. The women stared at him defiantly and placed themselves in front of the youths.

“We’ll not go willingly!” one spat at the mariner. She clenched her bony fist and waved it at him.

“It’s all right” said the elf who had recognized the name Majere. “We’re being freed.”

The woman glared at the blue mariner skeptically, until the elf with matted hair reassured her and tugged her gently from the cell, the others following. Rig busied himself with freeing the rest of the prisoners.

Corpses were stacked like cordwood in the two cells farthest down the corridor. Rig guessed from the various states of decay that some had been dead less than a day, while others had been moldering here for weeks.

“Any more cells?” Rig asked the pathetic-looking throng.

The matted-haired man nodded back toward the way Rig had come. “I understand there are a few more cells upstairs. But they would be guarded, too.”

The mariner drew his cutlass and edged past the group of prisoners.

Palin rushed down the last few steps and leapt at the knight. The air rushed from the man’s lungs with a muffled “whoof,” as the sorcerer knocked off his helmet, grabbed a fistful of dark brown hair, pulled the man’s head back and flashed the dagger against his throat. He paused for an instant when he looked into the man’s eyes. “Steel Brightblade?” the sorcerer whispered.

“The water!” the sorcerer heard someone outside yell.

The knight used the distraction to push Palin off him, but the young man’s movements were clumsy and slow. Palin drove the dagger into the knight’s chest, between a gap in the armor plates, and the man’s mouth opened in a scream. The sorcerer thrust the blade in again, and the scream died as blood gurgled from the knight’s mouth.

Palin, blood staining the front of his robes, struggled to his feet and out into the courtyard in time to see Rig leading out a throng of haggard-looking people. A brute trundled around the corner and pointed at the bloodied sorcerer.

“Trespassers!” the brute hollered.

“Our water’s gone!” came another cry from somewhere in the inner courtyard.

“Look!” shouted one of the knights stationed at the top of the nearest tower. “The prisoners are escaping!” He drew a horn to his lips, and a shrill bleating sound filled the air.

“Palin!” Blister yelled. “Over here!” The kender was frantically waving her arms. At the edge of the stable, the sorcerer spied a trio of Knights of Takhisis, tied and gagged. Nearby, the Kagonesti was gesturing at four elephants. The beasts were charging toward a large group of knights and brutes who were racing toward them.

Almost in unison, three of the elephants raised their trunks and trumpeted, then their great feet pounded over the sand, following the Kagonesti’s directions, and they charged at the onrushing knights. The fourth elephant thundered past them and headed around the corner of the fortress.

Palin shrugged off his bloodied robe. The tunic and leggings he was wearing beneath it were also stained. There’d been so much blood from the knights and the draconians that it had soaked through to his skin. He struggled for breath, and an incantation began to tumble from his cracked lips. Behind him he heard Rig shout to the prisoners. In front of him he heard the screams of the first knights to fall beneath the elephants’ feet

Chaos was erupting everywhere. The Kagonesti wrestled with a knight who had slipped past the elephants. The kender loaded her sling with elephant dung and pelted the knights. The largest elephant skewered a knight on one of its tusks and pitched the broken body to the side.

Rig motioned for the former prisoners to run, then left them, dashing headlong into the fray. He slipped between two of the incensed elephants, his blade arcing down and drawing blood with practically every swing.

From somewhere in the inner courtyard, where the fourth elephant had gone, there were more screams and barked orders. “To the walls!” the sorcerer barely heard someone say. “Get the bows!”

Palin continued to mouth the words of his spell, and the energy in his hand surged outward, a catapulting magical force.

He stared at the castle of sand, at the black walls, the towers, and the ornate crenelated tops. Then he uttered the last syllable of his summoning spell, urging some of the castle’s foundation to disappear.

At the same instant, a barrage of arrows filled the air. Arrows pelted the elephants, but only served to madden them. One found its mark, lodging in Palin’s right shoulder. A second and a third struck his left thigh. The sorcerer groaned in pain, and dropped to his knees. Another arrow struck in the sand perilously close to him, and another. The pain was intense, but the sorcerer shoved it to the back of his mind. He couldn’t let it overwhelm him, lest his concentration on spellcasting break. The magic was harder now, but not out of his reach. He bit down on his bottom lip and fixed his gaze on the castle’s sandy base.

“Palin!” he heard Feril cry. She was running toward him. He heard her feet pounding across the sand, then felt the sand, the ground deep beneath him, vibrate. Then came the piercing pain of another arrow lodging in his upper arm. The sensations—the trumpeting of the elephants, the pain he felt, the warmth of his sunburnt skin, and the wet, sticky heat of the blood from his wounds—started to overlap one another.

“What’s happening?” Palin heard a knight cry. “The Bastion! Run!” Other words were shouted, but the sorcerer could no longer make them out. He felt himself slipping toward a welcoming blackness.

Then he felt Feril tugging at him, helping him up. His legs were lead weights and didn’t want to move, let alone support him, but she persisted. Was this what my brothers felt, what my cousin Steel felt? Palin wondered. Did they feel agony like this before they died?

Feril worked her way under his left arm, propped him up and started dragging him forward. The vibrations in the ground were increasing, and Palin tilted his head toward the stronghold. The walls were collapsing, and the towers were folding in upon themselves. Black sand exploded in all directions. Knights who were perched on the walls and towers pitched forward into the ditch, and those who survived the fall suffered further horror.

“The scorpions,” Palin whispered.

A loud thud cut through the din and the ground shook. One of the elephants had fallen, slain by the knights. The other two elephants continued to trample the knights and the brutes creating a sea of limbs and blood.

Buster hurried to Palin and Feril, and then the trio saw Rig. He was covered in blood — his own and that of the knights he’d been fighting. The mariner was racing toward the path that led through the city gates and to the desert. The freed prisoners were already straggling down that path as his cries urged them to move faster. A few of the prisoners were being carried by their fellows, a couple of them were being dragged.

Feril and Blister guided Palin in that direction, too. The knights they passed were too busy to try to stop them. The knights were intent on staying alive, avoiding the elephants’ feet and tusks, and staring wide-eyed at the thousands of scorpions pouring out of the ditch.

The scorpions swarmed over knights who had lost their footing, scrabbling over their plate armor and stinging their victims’ hands, necks and faces. The knights screamed and writhed on the ground, trying to brush the creatures off. But for each one flung away, three more skittered up to take its place. Scorpions swarmed up the legs of the brutes, who tried frantically to brush them off. Distracted, the brutes couldn’t defend themselves from the elephants’ tusks or get out of the way of their massive feet. Many of the brutes were trampled as the elephants plodded past them on their way to join the Kagonesti.

“So much death,” Palin whispered. His thoughts drifted back to the Chaos War where bodies of Knights of Takhisis, Knights of Solamnia, and dragons littered the floor of the Abyss.

“We’ll be next” the kender said. “If we don’t get moving.”

Feril and Blister nudged the sorcerer forward. The two were practically carrying him. “We’ve got to stop, tend to your wounds,” the Kagonesti was saying. “You’ll bleed to death.”

Palin shook his head. “Not that bad,” he insisted. “Keep moving. Blister’s right. We’ve got to get away from here—the scorpions.” The elf protested, but they had reached the escaped prisoners who were poised on the lip of the depression and the murmurs of the many excited voices drew her attention.

Rig was talking to the gaunt elf with long, matted blond hair and ragged clothes who had urged the prisoners to trust the blue-skinned mariner. When Rig noticed Palin, Blister, and Feril, he rushed toward them.

“I’ve got him,” Rig said. The Kagonesti and kender let Rig take over propping up the sorcerer.

“Palin Majere?” the prisoner said, meeting the sorcerer’s clouding gaze. His voice was weak, but tinged with awe. “I’ve heard of you. I know your parents. You’re the most powerful sorcerer on Krynn.”

“I don’t feel so powerful” Palin answered. “And you’re…”

“Gilthanas.” The man brushed a clump of hair behind a dirty, but gracefully-pointed ear. “I was second to the throne of Qualinesti. You saved us. All of us.” He swept his hand out to indicate the more than one hundred men, women and children. “We owe you more than our lives. We were destined to be …”

“Spawn,” Rig finished.

“Not the elves,” Gilthanas said. “It seems they don’t want elves for their process. I was taken when I tried to keep the knights from capturing humans outside Palanthas. I was slated to be executed in front of the Blue for my insolence.”

“Did you say Gilthanas?” asked Palin, blinking and looking around, as disoriented as if he’d just woken up. He turned to face the elf and almost lost his balance. “My father told me stories of the legendary Gilthanas. Where have you been? Your sister has long sought your return. We’ve got to get out of here before the dragon comes back.”

The mariner nodded. “We’ve got a lot of sand to cover.” Palin nodded and grew dizzy. Rig rushed forward and almost effortlessly picked up Palin. “Feril, do you think you can talk those elephants into accepting a few passengers?”

“I hope the dragon doesn’t figure out who is responsible for all that carnage” Palin heard Gilthanas say. “Dragons are a vengeful lot.”

“Skie will know,” Palin whispered. The sorcerer pictured the dead Sivaks who now bore the face and form of their slayer. Then Palin gave into the pain and fatigue and slipped into peaceful unconsciousness.