“This is the cave that was shown to me in my dream,” Laka confirmed.
“Who or what is this ally?” he demanded to know, not for the first time.
Laka shook her head. “You will see when you see. Now come; we must make haste.”
“But how will I fit inside?” demanded Ankhar, leaning forward to peer into the cleft. The interior was lost in shadow.
“You will fit. But the wizard should go first,” Laka replied.
Hoarst stood beside the half-giant, his expression unreadable. He had consented to join the commander and the witch doctor on this quest-of course, he really had had no choice-though he had his doubts. Now he merely shrugged and started into the dark, stone-walled passage. He drew his rapier and murmured a word of magic, causing a glare of bright light to burst from the blade. Holding this metallic glow over his head, he led the way forward.
“You go next,” Laka said. “I’ll follow.”
Mutely, Ankhar lowered his head-not quite enough because almost immediately he bumped his noggin against a sharp stalactite-and followed. He had to edge sideways to move his bulky form through the tight passageway, and with a subsequent turn to the side, the pale daylight of the cave’s mouth was utterly screened from his view. But then the cavern widened, and the ceiling arched to a more comfortable height overhead. Hoarst and the light were moving a few paces in front of him, and the half-giant hurried unconsciously, reluctant to find himself isolated in the encompassing darkness. Laka, her dark eyes gleaming like sparks, traipsed after him with her short, nimble steps. She held her death’s-head talisman aloft, and the emerald stones glinted wickedly.
The green glow added to the light from Hoarst’s blade, and gradually Ankhar’s eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The cavern floor descended through a series of winding turns, not unlike the creek bed in a narrow canyon. Indeed, there were stones and boulders jumbled together as if they had been washed here by torrents of water. The half-giant shivered as he pictured a subterranean flood, a deluge sweeping through here that could drown him in the eternal depths of the world.
But the stones on the floor seemed dry, and any flood of old seemed long gone. The trio made their way deeper and deeper below the surface of Krynn. For a long time they walked. Ankhar had a hard time estimating the hours they had been underground. Nevertheless, he felt certain that they had walked many miles and gradually became convinced that those hours had stretched through the night and into the following day.
Of course, there was no way to tell by the absent sun. The chill of the subterranean shadow land penetrated his clothes and his skin, made his sweat clammy and acrid. The place was utterly soundless except for the faint sounds of their passage: the scuff of the Thorn Knight’s leather moccasins on the rocks, the clinking crunch of Ankhar’s hobnails. Laka’s breaths came from behind, sharp pants that indicated her exertion or perhaps her taut excitement.
The half-giant grunted as he pulled his bulky frame around a large boulder. He cursed under his breath every time his head knocked into an unseen overhead obstacle.
“Hold that damned light higher!” he hissed, irritated at the panic in his voice. Hoarst seemed to be pulling farther away from him. The magic-user obligingly halted and held his blade so the path at Ankhar’s feet was clearly revealed. The cavern floor continued to descend, growing steeper with every footstep until they were almost skidding down a narrow chute.
Abruptly Hoarst halted and raised a cautioning hand. Ankhar came up slowly behind him, straining to see. He saw exactly nothing, only a void of cold air. The magic-user waved his illuminated sword around, revealing that the cavern walls to the right, the left, and above them all abruptly terminated; so did the floor.
They appeared to stand at the edge of a vault of space.
“I saw this place in the dream!” Laka declared excitedly, her breath hot at Ankhar’s side. Her flashing eyes fixed upon the magic-user. “We must leave this cliff and get down to the bottom!”
Hoarst’s eyes narrowed, but he bit his tongue.
“How?” demanded Ankhar.
“You tell us!” Laka cackled, still staring at the Thorn Knight. “ You must get us down from here. To the bottom! And then our quest will go on.”
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Hey, I thought we were going right to Coryn’s!” Moptop protested as the two travelers materialized on the highway about a mile south of the great city of Palanthas. The towers, walls, gates, and palaces of the place stood outlined by the morning sun, gleaming against a clear blue sky. “I’m the pathfinder, remember? What did you do to screw up my path?”
“We’ll be there in an hour or two,” Jaymes replied, starting forward with measured strides. “But first I’d like the people in the city to know that I’ve arrived.”
Ignoring the dozen additional questions and objections lodged by the kender, the lord marshal turned into a reputable livery stable. He purchased a fine white gelding with a saddle and tack to match the splendid animal. Thus mounted, he proceeded toward the city gate with the sulking kender perched on the saddle before him.
Palanthas sprawled along the southern shore of the Bay of Branchala, white and glittering and prosperous looking. The whole of the place was visible from the mountain road, and Jaymes found the sight both energizing and oddly sinister. He liked the commerce of the great city, the throngs of people, the wealth of goods and services unmatched anywhere else on Ansalon. But he distrusted the lords and nobles who ruled here, who jealously amassed then guarded their fortunes with such miserly greed.
The richest, and probably most miserly, of these was the lord regent of the city, Bakkard du Chagne. His palace was clearly visible from the road, for it stood not within the city walls, but upon the slopes of one of the mountains that rose over Palanthas. The Golden Spire, the regent’s lofty tower where his great treasure of gold was secured, rose from the midst of his residential compound, the highest point for miles around. It was a fitting location, Jaymes reflected, for Bakkard du Chagne to live, as the lord regent considered himself not of this place, but above it in all ways. He had cheated, stolen, deceived and-though only a few knew this-committed murder to achieve his station.
Jaymes was one who knew the full extent of the regent’s crimes. It was quite possible that he could have brought the arrogant nobleman tumbling down from his high pedestal by publicizing all that he knew. But such a destructive act would not serve any useful purpose, Jaymes had decided some time ago. So instead he had bit his tongue, taking some comfort from the fact that the regent knew he knew… and hated and feared him.
But Jaymes had not teleported to Palanthas to visit Bakkard du Chagne. He had other things in mind.
Moptop Bristlebrow brightened as the prancing gelding moved down the wide highway toward the city’s main gate. “Let’s go to the docks, first, all right?” the kender suggested, pointing excitedly. “They were bringing some huge crabs in from the north shore just before I left. Maybe there’s still a few claws left. They were giving them away!”
“Giving them away?” Jaymes mused. “I thought they were a delicacy-a few claws can pay the wages of a fisher for two tendays.”
“Well, they were giving them away to me,” Moptop declared offhandedly. “I guess other people might have to pay.”
“No doubt,” said the marshal. “But I don’t have time for crab claws just now. If you want to go to the waterfront, I’ll happily drop you off right here. It sounded like Lady Coryn’s summons was rather urgent, though, so I think I’d best check in with her.”
“Well, yeah. She did kind of indicate that it was important. So maybe I’ll go with you for now. And later on we can visit the docks, right?”