For a moment she could see nothing through the red mist before her eyes. When it cleared, she saw Tasslehoff roll the body over. Bakaris lay dead. His eyes stared up at the sky, a look of profound shock and surprise on his face. His hand still clutched the dagger he had driven into his own gut.
“What happened?” Laurana whispered, quivering with anger and revulsion.
“You knocked him down and he fell on his knife,” Tas said calmly.
“But before that—”
“Oh, I stuck him,” Tas said. Plucking his knife from the man’s side, he looked at it proudly. “And Caramon told me it wouldn’t be of any use unless I met a vicious rabbit! Wait until I tell him!”
“You know, Laurana,” he continued, somewhat sadly, “everyone always underestimates us kender. Bakaris really should have searched my pouches. Say, that was a neat fainting trick you pulled. Did you—”
“How’s Flint?” Laurana interrupted, not wanting to remember those last few horrible moments. Without quite knowing what she was doing or why, she pulled her cape from her shoulders and threw it down over the bearded face. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“He’ll be all right,” Tas said, glancing over at the dwarf, who was groaning and shaking his head. “What about the wyvern? Do you think they’ll attack us?”
“I don’t know,” Laurana said, eyeing the animals. The wyvern stared around uneasily, uncertain as to what had happened to their master. “I’ve heard they’re not very smart. They generally won’t act on their own. Maybe—if we don’t make any sudden moves—we can escape into the forest before they figure out what’s happened. Help Flint.”
“Come on, Flint,” Tas said urgently, tugging at the dwarf. “We’ve got to esc—”
The kender’s voice was cut off by a wild cry, a cry of such fear and terror that it made Tas’s hair stand on end. Looking up, he saw Laurana staring at a figure that had—apparently—emerged from the cave. At the sight of the figure, Tasslehoff felt the most terrible sensation sweep over his body. His heart raced, his hands went cold, he couldn’t breathe.
“Flint!” he managed to gasp before his throat closed completely.
The dwarf, hearing a tone in the kender’s voice he’d never heard before, struggled to sit up. “What—”
Tas could only point.
Flint focused his bleary vision in the direction Tas indicated.
“In the name of Reorx,” the dwarf said, his voice breaking, “what is that?”
The figure moved relentlessly toward Laurana, who—held spellbound at its command—could do nothing but stare at it. Dressed in antique armor, it might have been a Knight of Solamnia. But the armor was blackened as if it had been burned by fire. An orange light flared beneath its helm, while the helm itself seemed perched on empty air.
The figure reached out an armored arm. Flint choked in horror. The armored arm did not end in a hand. The knight seemingly grasped hold of Laurana with nothing but air. But she screamed in pain, falling to her knees in front of the ghastly vision. Her head slumped forward, she collapsed, senseless from the chill touch. The knight released his grip, letting the inert body slip to the ground. Bending down, the knight lifted her in his arms.
Tas started to move, but the knight turned his flaring orange gaze upon him and the kender was held fast, gazing into the orange flame of the creature’s eyes. Neither he nor Flint could look away, though the horror was so great that the dwarf feared he might lose his reason. Only his love and concern for Laurana kept him clinging to consciousness. Over and over he told himself he must do something, he must save her. But he couldn’t make his trembling body obey. The knight’s flickering gaze swept over the two.
“Go back to Kalaman,” said a hollow voice. “Tell them we have the elfwoman. The Dark Lady will arrive tomorrow at noon, to discuss terms of surrender.”
Turning, the knight walked over Bakaris’s body, the figure’s shimmering armor passing right through the corpse as if it no longer existed. Then the knight vanished into the dark shadows of the woods, carrying Laurana in his arms.
With the knight’s departure, the spell was lifted. Tas, feeling weak and sick, began to shiver uncontrollably. Flint struggled to his feet.
“I’m going after it—” the dwarf muttered, though his hands shook so he could barely lift his helm from the dirt.
“N-no,” stammered Tasslehoff, his face strained and white as he stared after the knight. “Whatever that thing was, we can’t fight it. I-I was scared, Flint!” The kender shook his head in misery. “I-I’m sorry, but I can’t face that—that thing again! We’ve got to go back to Kalaman. Maybe we can get help—”
Tas started off into the woods at a run. For a moment Flint stood angry and irresolute, staring after Laurana. Then his face crumpled in agony. “He’s right,” he mumbled. “I can’t go after that thing either. Whatever it was, it wasn’t of this world.”
Turning away, Flint caught a glimpse of Bakaris, lying beneath Laurana’s cloak. Swift pain cramped the dwarf’s heart. Ignoring it, Flint said to himself with sudden certainty, “He was lying about Tanis. And so was Kitiara. He’s not with her, I know it!” The dwarf clenched his fist. “I don’t know where Tanis is, but someday I’ll have to face him and I’ll have to tell him... I let him down. He trusted me to keep her safe, and I failed!” The dwarf closed his eyes. Then he heard Tas shout. Sighing, he stumbled blindly after the kender, rubbing his left arm as he ran. “How will I ever tell him?” he moaned. “How?”
14
A peaceful interlude.
“All right,” said Tanis, glaring at the man who sat so calmly in front of him. “I want answers. You deliberately took us into the maelstrom! Why? Did you know this place was here? Where are we? Where are the others?”
Berem sat before Tanis in a wooden chair. It was ornately carved with figures of birds and animals in a style popular among the elves. In fact, it reminded Tanis strongly of Lorac’s throne in the doomed elven kingdom of Silvanesti. The likeness did nothing to calm Tanis’s spirits, and Berem flinched under the half-elf’s angry stare. The hands that were too young for the middle-aged man’s body plucked at his shabby trousers. He shifted his gaze to glance nervously around their strange surroundings.
“Damn it! Answer me!” Tanis raved. Flinging himself at Berem, he gripped the man’s shirt and yanked him up from his chair. Then his clenching hands moved to the man’s throat.
“Tanis!” Swiftly Goldmoon rose and laid a restraining hand on Tanis’s arm. But the half-elf was beyond reason. His face was so twisted with fear and anger that she didn’t recognize him. Frantically she tore at the hands that gripped Berem. “Riverwind, make him stop!”
The big Plainsman grasped Tanis by the wrists and wrenched him away from Berem, holding the half-elf in his strong arms.
“Leave him alone, Tanis!”
For a moment, Tanis struggled, then went limp, drawing a deep, shuddering breath.
“He’s a mute,” Riverwind said sternly. “Even if he wanted to tell you, he couldn’t. He can’t talk—”
“Yes, I can.”
The three stopped, startled, staring at Berem.
“I can talk,” he said calmly, speaking Common. Absently he rubbed his throat where the marks of Tanis’s fingers stood out red against his tan skin.
“Then why pretend you can’t?” Tanis asked, breathing heavily.
Berem rubbed his neck, his eyes on Tanis. “People don’t ask questions of a man who can’t talk...”
Tanis forced himself to calm down, to think about this a moment. Glancing at Riverwind and Goldmoon, he saw Riverwind scowl and shake his head. Goldmoon shrugged slightly. Finally Tanis dragged another wooden chair over to sit in front of Berem. Noticing that the back of the chair was split and cracked, he sat down carefully. “Berem,” Tanis spoke slowly, curbing his impatience, “you’re talking to us. Does that mean you’ll answer our questions?”