“The map?” interrupted Tanis.
“Yes, the map.” Tas sighed. “Here. It was my father’s, I think. Here’s where we are, as near as Fizban and I can figure. And here’s Godshome.”
“What’s that?”
“An old city. It’s in ruins, abandoned during the Cataclysm—”
“And probably crawling with draconians,” Tanis finished.
“No, not that Godshome,” Tas continued, moving his small finger over into the mountains near the dot that marked the city. “This place is also called Godshome. In fact, it was called that long before there was a city, according to Fizban.” Tanis glanced at the old mage, who nodded.
“Long ago, people believed the gods lived there,” he said solemnly. “It is a very holy place.”
“And it’s hidden,” added Tas, “in a bowl in the center of these mountains. See? No one ever goes there, according to Fizban. No one knows about the trail except him. And there is a trail marked on my map, at least into the mountains...”
“No one ever goes there?” Tanis asked Fizban.
The old mage’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “No.”
“No one except you?” Tanis pursued.
“I’ve been lots of place, Half-Elven!” The mage snorted. “Got a year? I’ll tell you about them!” He shook a finger at Tanis. “You don’t appreciate me, young man! Always suspicious! And after everything I’ve done for you—”
“Uh, I wouldn’t remind him about that,” Tas said hurriedly, seeing Tanis’s face darken. “Come along. Old One.”
The two hurried off down the trail, Fizban stomping along angrily, his beard bristling.
“Did the gods really live in this place we’re going to?” Tas asked him to keep him from bothering Tanis.
“How should I know?” Fizban demanded irritably. “Do I look like a god?”
“But—”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you talk entirely too much?”
“Almost everyone,” Tas said cheerfully. “Did I ever tell you about the time I found a woolly mammoth?
Tanis heard Fizban groan. Tika hurried past him, to catch up with Caramon.
“Coming, Flint?” Tanis called.
“Yes,” the dwarf answered, sitting down suddenly on a rock. “Give me a moment. I’ve dropped my pack. You go on ahead.”
Occupied in studying the kender’s map as he walked, Tanis did not see Flint collapse. He did not hear the odd note in the dwarf’s voice, or see the spasm of pain that briefly contracted the dwarf’s face.
“Well, hurry up,” Tanis said absently. “We don’t want to leave you behind.”
“Aye, lad,” Flint said softly, sitting on the rock, waiting for the pain to subside—as it always did.
Flint watched his friend walk down the trail, still moving somewhat clumsily in the dragonarmor. We don’t want to leave you behind.
“Aye, lad,” Flint repeated to himself. Brushing his gnarled hand quickly across his eyes, the dwarf stood up and followed his friends.
3
Godshome.
It was a long and weary day spent wandering through the mountains aimlessly as near as the impatient half-elf could tell.
The only thing that kept him from throttling Fizban—after they had walked into the second box canyon in less than four hours—was the undeniable fact that the old man kept them headed in the right direction. No matter how lost and turned around they seemed to get, no matter how often Tanis could have sworn they’d passed the same boulder three times, whenever he caught a glimpse of the sun they were still traveling unerringly to the southeast.
But as the day wore on, he saw the sun less and less frequently. Winter’s bitter chill had gone from the air and there was even the faint smell of green and growing things borne on the wind. But soon the sky darkened with lead-gray clouds and it began to rain, a dull, drumming drizzle that penetrated the heaviest cloak.
By mid-afternoon, the group was cheerless and dispirited—even Tasslehoff, who had argued violently with Fizban over directions to Godshome. This was all the more frustrating to Tanis since it was that obvious neither of them knew where they were. (Fizban, in fact, was caught holding the map upside down.) The fight resulted in Tasslehoff stuffing his maps back in his pouch and refusing to get them out again while Fizban threatened to cast a spell that would turn Tasslehoff’s topknot into a horse’s tail.
Fed up with both of them, Tanis sent Tas to the back of the line to cool off, mollified Fizban, and nursed secret thoughts of sealing them both up in a cave.
The calmness that the half-elf had felt in Kalaman was slowly vanishing on this dismal journey. It had been a calmness, he realized now, brought about by activity, the need to make decisions, the comforting thought that he was finally doing something tangible to help Laurana. These thoughts kept him afloat in the dark waters that surrounded him, much as the sea elves had aided him in the Blood Sea of Istar. But now he felt the dark waters begin to close over his head once more.
Tanis’s thoughts were constantly with Laurana. Over and over, he heard Gilthanas’s accusing words—She did this for you! And though Gilthanas had, perhaps, forgiven him, Tanis knew he could never forgive himself. What was happening to Laurana in the Dark Queen’s Temple? Was she still alive? Tanis’s soul shrank from that thought. Of course she was alive! The Dark Queen would not kill her, not as long as she wanted Berem—
Tanis’s eyes focused on the man walking ahead of him, near Caramon. I will do anything to save Laurana, he swore beneath his breath, clenching his fist. Anything! If it means sacrificing myself or—
He stopped. Would he really give up Berem? Would he really trade the Everman to the Dark Queen, perhaps plunge the world into a darkness so vast it would never see light again?
No, Tanis told himself firmly. Laurana would die before she would be part of such a bargain. Then—after he’d walked a few more steps—he’d change his mind. Let the world take care of itself, he thought gloomily. We’re doomed. We can’t win, no matter what happens. Laurana’s life, that’s the only thing that counts ... the only thing . . .
Tanis was not the only gloomy member of the group. Tika walked beside Caramon, her red curls a bright spot of warmth and light in the gray day. But the light was only in the vibrant red of her hair, it had gone out of her eyes. Although Caramon was unfailingly kind to her, he had not held her since that wonderful, brief moment beneath the sea when his love had been hers. This made her angry in the long nights—he had used her, she decided, simply to ease his own pain. She vowed she would leave him when this was over. There was a wealthy young nobleman in Kalaman who had not been able to take his eyes off her... But those were night thoughts. During the day, when Tika glanced at Caramon, and saw him plodding along next to her, his head bowed, her heart melted. Gently she touched him. Looking up at her quickly, he smiled. Tika sighed. So much for wealthy young noblemen.
Flint stumped along, rarely speaking, never complaining. If Tanis had not been wrapped up in his own inner turmoil, he would have noted this as a bad sign.
As for Berem, no one knew what he was thinking—if anything. He seemed to grow more nervous and wary the farther they traveled. The blue eyes that were too young for his face darted here and there like those of a trapped animal.
It was on the second day in the mountains that Berem vanished.
Everyone had been more cheerful in the morning, when Fizban announced that they should arrive in Godshome soon. But gloom quickly followed. The rain grew heavier. Three times in one hour the old mage led them plunging through the brush with excited cries of “This is it! Here we are!” only to find themselves in a swamp, a gorge, and—finally—staring at a rock wall.
It was this last time—the dead end—that Tanis felt his soul start to rip from his body. Even Tasslehoff fell back in alarm at the sight of the half-elf’s rage—distorted face. Desperately Tanis fought to hold himself together, and it was then he noticed.