22

Bupu's gift.

An ominous sight.

Just as they pulled Riverwind out of the lift, a sharp tremor shook the floor of the Hall of the Ancestors. The companions, dragging Riverwind with them, scrambled back as the floor cracked. The floor gave way and tumbled down, carrying the great wheel and the iron pots down into the mist below.

"This whole place is caving in!" Caramon shouted in alarm, holding his brother in his arms.

"Run! Back to the temple of Mishakal." Tanis gasped with pain.

"Trusting in the gods again, huh?" Flint said. Tanis could not answer.

Sturm took hold of Riverwind's arms and started to lift him but the Plainsman shook his head and shoved him away. "My wounds are not serious. I can manage. Leave me." He remained slumped on the shattered floor. Tanis glanced questioningly at Sturm. The knight shrugged. The Solamnic Knights considered suicide noble and honorable. The elves considered it blasphemy.

The half-elf took hold of the Plainsman's long dark hair and jerked his head back so that the startled man was forced to look into Tanis's eyes. "Go ahead. Lie down and die!" Tanis said through clenched teeth. "Shame your chieftain! She at least had the courage to fight!"

Riverwind's eyes smoldered. He caught hold of Tanis's wrist and flung the half-elf away from him with such force that Tanis staggered into the wall, groaning in agony. The Plainsman stood up, staring at Tanis with hatred. Then he turned and stumbled down the shaking corridor, his head bent.

Sturm helped Tanis to his feet, the half-elf dizzy from the pain. They followed the others as fast as they could. The floor tilted crazily. When Sturm slipped, they crashed against a wall. A sarcophagus slid out into the hallway, spilling its grisly contents. A skull rolled over by Tanis's feet, startling the half-elf who fell to his knees. He feared he might faint from the pain.

"Go," he tried to say to Sturm, but he couldn't talk The knight picked him up and together they staggered on through the dust-choked corridor. At the foot of the stairs called the Paths of the Dead, they found Tasslehoff waiting.

"The others?" Sturm gasped, coughing in the dust.

"They've already gone up to the temple," Tasslehoff said. "Caramon told me to wait here for you. Flint says the temple's safe, dwarven stonework, you know. Raistlin's conscious. He said it was safe, too. Something about being held in the palm of the goddess. Riverwind's there. He glared at me. I think he could have killed me! But he made it up the stairs-"

"All right!" Tanis said to stop the prattling. "Enough! Put me down Sturm. I've got to rest a minute or I'll pass out. Take Tas and i'll meet you upstairs. Go on, damn it!"

Sturm grabbed Tasslehoff by the collar and dragged him up stairs. Tanis sank back. Sweat chilled his body; every breath was agony. Suddenly the remainder of the floor in the Hall of the Ancestors collapsed with a loud snapping noise. The Temple of Mishakal trembled and shook. Tanis staggered to his feet, then he paused a moment. Faintly, behind him, he could now hear the low, thundering rumble of water surging. Newsea had claimed Xak Tsaroth. The city that was dead was now buried.

Tanis emerged slowly from the stairwell into the circular room at the top. The climb had been a nightmare, each new step a miracle. The chamber was blessedly quiet, the only sound the harsh breathing of his friends who had made it that far and collapsed. He, too, could go no farther.

The half-elf glanced around to make certain the others were all right. Sturm had set down the pack containing the Disks and was slumped against a wall. Raistlin lay on a bench, his eyes closed, his breathing quick and shallow. Of course, Caramon sat beside him, his face dark with anxiety. Tasslehoff sat at the bottom of the pedestal, staring up at the top. Flint leaned against the doors, too tired to grumble.

"Where's Riverwind?" Tanis asked. He saw Caramon and Sturm exchange glances, then lower their eyes. Tanis staggered up, anger defeating his pain. Sturm rose and blocked his path.

"It's his decision, Tanis. It is the way of his people as it is the way of mine."

Tanis shoved the knight aside and walked toward the double doors. Flint did not move.

"Get out of my way," the half-elf said, his voice shaking. Flint looked up; the lines of grief and sorrow etched by a hundred years softened the dwarf's scowling expression. Tanis saw in Flint's eyes the accumulated wisdom that had drawn an unhappy half-human, half-elven boy into a strange and lasting friendship with a dwarf.

"Sit down, lad," Flint said in a gentle voice, as if he, too, remembered their origins. "If your elven head cannot understand, then listen to your human heart for once."

Tanis shut his eyes, tears stinging his lids. Then he heard a great cry from inside the temple-Riverwind. Tanis thrust the dwarf aside and pushed open the huge golden doors. Striding rapidly, ignoring his pain, he threw open the second set of doors and entered the chamber of Mishakal. Once again he felt peace and tranquility flood over him, but now the feeings only added to his anger over what had happened.

"I cannot believe in you!" Tanis cried. "What kind of gods are you, that you demand a human sacrifice? You are the same gods who brought the Cataclysm down on man. All right-so you're powerful! Now leave us alone! We don't need you'" The half-elf wept. Through his tears, he could see that Riverwind sword in hand, knelt before the statue. Tanis stumbled forward, hoping to prevent the act of self-destruction. Tanis rounded the base of the statue and stopped, stunned. For a minute he refused to believe his own sense of sight; perhaps grief and pain were playing tricks on his mind. He lifted his eyes to the statue's beautiful, calm face and steadied his reeling confused senses. Then he looked again.

Goldmoon lay there, sound asleep, her breast rising and falling with the rhythm of her quiet breathing. Her silver-gold hair had come loose from its braid and drifted around her face in the gentle wind that filled the chamber with the fragrance of spring. The staff was once again part of the marble statue but Tanis saw that now Goldmoon wore around her throat the necklace that had once adorned the statue.

I am a true cleric now," Goldmoon said softly. "I am a disciple of Mishakal and, though I have much to learn, I have the power of my faith. Above all else, I am a healer. I bring the gift of healing back into the land."

Reaching out her hand, Goldmoon touched Tanis on the forehead, whispering a prayer to Mishakal. The half-elf felt peace and strength flow through his body, cleansing his spirit and healing his wounds.

"We've got a cleric, now," Flint said, "and that'll come in handy. But from what we hear, this Lord Verminaard's a cleric too, and a powerful one at that. We may have found the ancient gods of good, but he found the ancient gods of evil a lot sooner. I don't see how these Disks are going to help much against hordes of dragons."

"You are right," Goldmoon said softly. "I am not a warrior. I am a healer. I do not have the power to unite the peoples of our world to fight this evil and restore the balance. My duty is to find the person who has the strength and the wisdom for this task. I am to give the Disks of Mishakal to that person."

The companions were silent for long moments. Then . . .

"We must leave here, Tanis," Raistlin hissed from out of the shadows of the Temple where he stood, staring out the door into the courtyard. "Listen."

Horns. They could all hear the shrill braying of many, many horns, carried on the north wind.

"The armies," said Tanis softly. "War has begun."

The companions fled Xak Tsaroth into the twilight. They traveled west, toward the mountains. The air was cold with the bite of early winter. Dead leaves, blown by chill winds, flew past their faces. They decided to head for Solace, planning to stock up on supplies and gather what information they could before determining where to go in their search for a leader. Tanis could foresee arguments along those lines. Already Sturm was talking of Solamnia. Goldmoon mentioned Haven, while Tanis himself was thinking the Disks of Mishakal would be safest in the elven kingdom.

Discussing vague plans, they traveled on well into the night. They saw no draconians and supposed that those escaping Xak Tsaroth had traveled north to join up with the armies of this Lord Verminaard, Dragon Highmaster. The silver moon rose, then the red. The companions climbed high, the sound of the horns driving them on past the point of exhaustion. They made camp on the summit of the mountain. After eating a cheerless supper, not daring to light a fire, they set the watch, then slept.

Raistlin woke in the cold gray hour before dawn. He had heard something. Had he been dreaming? No, there it was again-the sound of someone crying. Goldmoon, the mage thought irritably, and started to lie back down. Then he saw Bupu, curled in a ball of misery, blubbering into a blanket.

Raistlin glanced around. The others were asleep except for Flint standing watch on the other side of camp. The dwarf had apparently heard nothing, and he wasn't looking in Raistlin's direction. The mage stood up and padded softly over. Kneeling down beside the gully dwarf, he laid his hand on her shoulder "What is it, little one?"

Bupu rolled over to face him. Her eyes were red her nose swollen. Tears streaked down her dirty face. She snuffled and wiped her hand across her nose. "I don't want to leave you I want to go with you," she said brokenly, "but-oh-I will miss my people!" Sobbing, she buried her face in her hands.

A look of infinite tenderness touched Raistlin's face a look no one in his world would ever see. He reached out and stroked Bupu s coarse hair, knowing what it felt like to be weak and miserable, an object of ridicule and pity.

"Bupu," he said, "you have been a good and true friend to me. You saved my life and the lives of those I care about. Now you will do one last thing for me, little one. Go back I must travel roads that will be dark and dangerous before the end of my long journey. I cannot ask you to go with me "

Bupu lifted her head, her eyes brightening. Then a shadow tell across her face. "But you will be unhappy without me."

No, Raistlin said, smiling, "My happiness will lie in knowing you are safely back with your people."

"You sure?" Bupu asked anxiously.

"I am sure," Raistlin answered.

"Then I go." Bupu stood up. "But first, you take gift" She began to rummage around in her bag.

"No, little one," Raistlin began, remembering the dead lizard thats not necessary-" The words caught in his throat as he watched Bupu pull from her bag-a book! He stared in amazement, seeing the pale light of the chill morning illuminate silver runes on a night-blue leather binding.

Raistlin reached out a trembling hand. "The spellbook of Fistandantilus!" he breathed.

"You like?" Bupu said shyly.

"Yes little one!" Raistlin took the precious object in his hands and held it lovingly, stroking the leather. "Where-"

"I take from dragon," Bupu said, "when blue light shine. I glad you like. Now, I go. Find Highbulp Phudge I, the great" She slung her bag over her shoulder. Then she stopped and turned. "That cough-you sure you not want lizard cure?"

"No, thank you, little one," Raistlin said, rising.

Bupu looked at him sadly, then-greatly daring-she caught his hand in hers and kissed it swiftly. She turned away, her head bowed, sobbing bitterly.

Raistlin stepped forward. He laid his hand on her head. If I have any power at all, Great One, he said inside himself, power that has not yet been revealed to me, grant that this little one goes through her life in safety and happiness.

"Farewell, Bupu," he said softly.

She stared at him with wide, adoring eyes, then turned and ran off as fast as her floppy shoes would carry her.

"What was all that about?" Flint said, stumping over from the other side of the camp. "Oh," he added, seeing Bupu running off. "So you got rid of your pet gully dwarf."

Raistlin did not answer, but simply stared at Flint with a malevolence that made the dwarf shiver and walk hurriedly away.

The mage held the spellbook in his hands, admiring it. He longed to open it and revel in its treasures, but he knew that long weeks of study lay ahead of him before he could even read the new spells, much less acquire them. And with the spells would come more power! He sighed in ecstasy and hugged the book to his thin chest. Then he slipped it swiftly into his pack with his own spellbook. The others would be waking soon-let them wonder how he got the book.

Raistlin stood up, glancing out to the west, to his homeland, where the sky was brightening with the early morning sun.

Suddenly he stiffened. Then, dropping his pack, he ran across the camp and knelt down beside the half-elf.

"Tanis!" Raistlin hissed. "Wake up!"

Tanis woke and grabbed his dagger. "What-"

Raistlin pointed to the west.

Tanis blinked, trying to focus his sleep-scummed eyes. The view from the top of the mountain where they were camped was magnificent. He could see the tall trees give way to the grassy Plains. And beyond the Plains, snaking up into the sky-

"No!" Tanis choked. He gripped the mage. "No, it can't be!"

"Yes," Raistlin whispered. "Solace is burning."