Flint looked up at Sturm in alarm. The knight’s face had drained of blood. ‘Derek,’ Sturm said softly, ‘you’re mad! There are thousands of them! They’ll cut you to ribbons!’
‘Yes, that’s what you’d like to see, isn’t it?’ Derek sneered. ‘Be ready at dawn, Brightblade.’
That night, Tasslehoff—cold, hungry, and bored—decided that the best way to take his mind off his stomach was to explore his surroundings. There are plenty of places to hide things here, thought Tas. This is one of the strangest buildings I’ve ever seen.
The Tower of the High Clerist sat solidly against the west side of the Westgate Pass, the only canyon pass that crossed the Habbakuk Range of mountains separating eastern Solamnia from Palanthas. As the Dragon Highlord knew, anyone trying to reach Palanthas other than by this route would have to travel hundreds of miles around the mountains, or through the desert, or by sea. And ships entering the Gates of Paladine were easy targets for the gnomes’ fire-throwing catapults.
The High Clerist’s Tower had been built during the Age of Might. Flint knew a lot about the architecture of this period—the dwarves having been instrumental in designing and building most of it. But they had not built or designed this Tower. In fact, Flint wondered who had—figuring the person must have been either drunk or insane.
An outer curtain wall of stone formed an octagon as the Tower’s base. Each point of the octagonal wall was surmounted by a turret. Battlements ran along the top of the curtain wall between turrets. An inner octagonal wall formed the base of a series of towers and buttresses that swept gracefully upward to the central Tower itself.
This was fairly standard design, but what puzzled the dwarf was the lack of internal defense points. Three great steel doors breached the outer wall, instead of one door—as would seem most reasonable, since three doors took an incredible number of men to defend. Each door opened into a narrow courtyard at the far end of which stood a portcullis leading directly into a huge hallway. Each of these three hallways met in the heart of the Tower itself!
‘Might as well invite the enemy inside for tea!’ the dwarf had grumbled. ‘Stupidest way to build a fortress I ever saw.’
No one entered the Tower. To the knights, it was inviolate. The only one who could enter the Tower was the High Clerist himself, and since there was no High Clerist, the knights would defend the Tower walls with their lives, but not one of them could set foot in its sacred halls.
Originally the Tower had merely guarded the pass, not blocked it. But the Palanthians had later built an addition to the main structure that sealed off the pass. It was in this addition that the knights and the footmen were living. No one even thought of entering the Tower itself.
No one except Tasslehoff.
Driven by his insatiable curiosity and his gnawing hunger, the kender made his way along the top of the outer wall. The knights on guard duty eyed him warily, gripping their swords in one hand, their purses in the other. But they relaxed as soon as he passed, and Tas was able to slip down the steps and into the central courtyard.
Only shadows walked down here. No torches burned, no guard was posted. Broad steps led up to the steel portcullis. Tas padded up the stairs toward the great, yawning archway and peered eagerly through the bars. Nothing. He sighed. The darkness beyond was so intense he might have been staring into the Abyss itself.
Frustrated, he pushed up on the portcullis—more out of habit than hope, for only Caramon or ten knights would have the strength necessary to raise it.
To the kender’s astonishment, the portcullis began to rise, making the most god-awful screeching! Grabbing for it, Tas dragged it slowly to a halt. The kender looked fearfully up at the battlements, expecting to see the entire garrison thundering down to capture him. But apparently the knights were listening only to the growlings of their empty stomachs.
Tas turned back to the portcullis. There was a small space open between the sharp iron spikes and the stone work—a space just big enough for a kender. Tas didn’t waste any time or stop to consider the consequences. Flattening himself, he wriggled beneath the spikes.
He found himself in a large, wide hall—nearly fifty feet across. He could see just a short distance. There were old torches on the wall, however. After a few jumps, Tas reached one and lit it from Flint’s tinder box he found in his pouch.
Now Tas could see the gigantic hall clearly. It ran straight ahead, right into the heart of the Tower. Strange columns ranged along either side, like jagged teeth. Peering behind one, he saw nothing but an alcove.
The hall itself was empty. Disappointed, Tas continued walking down it, hoping to find something interesting. He came to a second portcullis, already raised, much to his chagrin. ‘Anything easy is more trouble than it’s worth,’ was an old kender saying. Tas walked beneath that portcullis into a second hallway, narrower than the first—only about ten feet wide—but with the same strange, toothlike columns on either side.
Why build a tower so easy to enter? Tas wondered. The outer wall was formidable, but once past that, five drunken dwarves could take this place. Tas peered up. And why so huge? The main hall was thirty feet high!
Perhaps the knights back in those days had been giants, the kender speculated with interest as he crept down the hall, peering into open doors and poking into corners.
At the end of the second hallway, he found a third portcullis. This one was different from the other two, and as strange as the rest of the Tower. This portcullis had two halves, which slid together to join in the center. Oddest of all, there was a large hole cut right through the middle of the doors!
Crawling through this hole, Tas found himself in a smaller room. Across from him stood two huge steel doors. Pushing on them casually, he was startled to find them locked. None of the portcullises had been locked. There was nothing to protect.
Well, at least here was something to keep him occupied and make him forget about his empty stomach. Climbing onto a stone bench, Tas stuck his torch into a wall sconce, then began to fumble through his pouches. He finally discovered the set of lock-picking devices that are a kender’s birthright—‘Why insult the door’s purpose by locking it?’ is a favorite kender expression.
Quickly Tas selected the proper tool and set to work. The lock was simple. There was a slight click, and Tas pocketed his tools with satisfaction as the door swung inward. The kender stood a moment, listening carefully. He could hear nothing. Peering inside, he could see nothing. Climbing up on the bench again, he retrieved his torch and crept carefully through the steel doors.
Holding his torch aloft, he found himself in a great, wide, circular room. Tas sighed. The great room was empty except for a dust-covered object that resembled an ancient fountain standing squarely in the center. This was the end of the corridor, too, for though there were two more sets of double doors leading out of the room, it was obvious to the kender that they only led back up the other two giant hallways. This was the heart of the Tower. This was the sacred place. This was what all the fuss was about.
Nothing.
Tas walked around a bit, shining his torchlight here and there. Finally the disgruntled kender went to examine the fountain in the center of the room before leaving.
As Tas drew closer, he saw it wasn’t a fountain at all, but the dust was so thick, he couldn’t figure it out. It was about as tall as the kender, standing four feet off the ground. The round top was supported on a slender three-legged stand.
Tas inspected the object closely, then he took a deep breath and blew as hard as he could. Dust flew up his nose and he sneezed violently, nearly dropping the torch. For a moment he couldn’t see a thing. Then the dust settled and he could see the object. His heart leaped into his throat.
‘Oh, no!’ Tas groaned. Diving into another pouch, he pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed the object. The dust came off easily, and he knew now what it was. ‘Drat!’ he said in despair. ‘I was right. Now what do I do?’