Feril walked over to face Sageth. “Imprisoned you? Why didn’t they just kill you if they thought you were such a threat?”
“I’m no threat,” the old man cackled. “My bones are old and brittle. Only what I know is a threat. But I think the knights would have killed me eventually—if you hadn’t come along. I’d be seeing Alicia and Genry. Hamular, well, I don’t know if I’d want to see him. See them soon enough anyway. I’m old.”
“Just how do you know what Khellendros wants?” Feril persisted. “How did you learn the dragon seeks the ancient magic? Why should we trust you? Believe you? Why should we even bother listening to you?”
He sadly shook his head. “Ah, Alicia and Genry were more believable than me. They had a way with words and could make people understand. No one has listened to me yet, only the knights, and when they heard my dire warnings, they put me away in the desert.”
He made a soft clucking sound and shook his head at Feril. “Dear elf, I was a scholar at the library in Palanthas. The contents of the building were stolen by a mysterious force more than thirty years ago, on the very day the Tower of High Sorcery collapsed. Alicia died in the attack; Genry and Hamular died years later of who knows what. The dragon wanted something there—in the library and in the tower, and I began to research just what that might be. I figured something important to a dragon, something that cost the lives of my friends, might also prove important to men.”
Feril’s expression softened. “So this ancient magic, what does the Blue intend to do with it?”
“He wants to keep the magic out of the hands of men because he believes destroying ancient artifacts would raise the level of magic permeating Krynn. And with that magic, men can maybe stand up to the dragons again.”
“What?” Jasper blurted. “When the gods left after the Chaos War, they took magic with them. Most healers and sorcerers can cast only simple enchantments now. It would seem that truly powerful magic is beyond everyone.”
“Powerful sorcerers can cast harder spells,” Palin said.
The old man nodded and grinned. “There is so much power in the artifacts from the Age of Dreams that if several of those artifacts were destroyed at the same time, the energy released would permeate Krynn, would raise the level of magic to what it was before the gods left. The gods created those artifacts, after all.”
“Goldmoon has such an artifact,” Palin said,
“One will not be enough,” the old man cautioned. “You will need at least three, four to be certain according to my research. And you will need to gather them soon. Time is crucial. With each passing day Khellendros moves closer to gaining the ancient magic.”
“There are so few artifacts remaining from that age,” Palin said.
“Precisely,” Sageth continued. “That is why you must beat the dragon to them. There is little time, and I doubt the dragon knows exactly where to look. This is a race against time, and you must win it if Krynn is to—”
“If you’ve researched what the dragon wants, then you must have some idea where we can find the artifacts,” Feril interrupted.
Again the old man consulted his tablet. “Some such remnants from the Age of Dreams are more powerful than others. These, I believe, are what the Storm Over Krynn will seek. According to my studies, and mind you some of this is cryptic, one can be found about the slender neck of an old woman who lives at the base of an ancient, glistening staircase.”
“Goldmoon’s medallion of faith,” Palin whispered.
“Another is a ring, once worn by the sorcerer men called Dalamar. It sits about another’s finger now, hidden and polished and in a building that calls no land home.”
Palin’s mind whirled. The building—the Tower of Wayreth? Did one of his associates possess Dalamar’s ring?
“Another is a jeweled scepter that rests in an old fortress in the heart of a murky forest, a realm where elves once walked peacefully. The scepter is called the Fist of E’li, and it was once wielded by Silvanos himself. It lies within a realm that is overgrown, corrupted by the Green Feril.”
“The Qualinesti forest, Beryllinthranox’s realm” Palin said. “I have scryed the dragon before, and I am familiar with the land; I know of the fortress.”
“The fourth is a crown that lies far away beneath the waves. Elves once held sway in this land, too. Now they are prisoners, trinkets on a watery shelf.”
“He’s talking about Dimernesti, the sunken land of the sea elves,” Feril said.
“The last I am aware of is a weapon, perhaps the most powerful weapon ever crafted. It was intended all along to fight dragons. Find it in a grave as white as the land that surrounds it, a resting place sealed with ice and legend.”
“Huma’s lance.” Gilthanas had remained silent to this point. The elf stepped forward. “I know exactly where the tomb lies—in Southern Ergoth. I was to meet someone there years ago. I was … unable to make the journey. We should go after the lance first. It is the closest. I can lead you there.” He directed the last statement at Palin. “Helping you is the least I can do. You saved my life and the lives of all the other prisoners.”
The old man studied Palin and Gilthanas. “I had not thought there were any on Krynn who would believe me, let alone have the courage to attempt this. But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps fate led me to be imprisoned so I could be rescued by you. If you can attain these artifacts, I will help you destroy them and return magic to the world.”
The sorcerer made a move to rise from the bed, but the dwarf put a strong hand on his shoulder.
“You must get some rest first,” Jasper said, waggling a stubby finger at Palin. Feril and Gilthanas helped the sorcerer lie down again. “Now, Feril, Gilthanas, Sageth, the three of us have some planning to do. Southern Ergoth, eh? I’ll bet it’s pretty cold there.”
It was dark when Palin awoke. He was feeling much better, practically as good as new, he tried to tell himself. But he felt weak, felt older than his fifty-four years. He slowly dressed and took a few steps toward the porthole. Krynn’s single moon hung low in the sky, sending a dazzling display of pale white light dancing across the choppy water. Palin realized he had slept the day away.
The Anvil creaked softly. Palin heard the faint snap of the sails. The ship was heading west. When it was beyond Palanthas’s harbor, which would be in a few more days, it would round the tip of Tanith and start toward Southern Ergoth and Huma’s Tomb.
“But will the old man’s plan work?” Palin mused aloud. “I would like to be certain, to know that this isn’t some goose chase, a waste of precious time. Perhaps my associates will know.” He stared at the moon and pictured a tower sitting atop the water in its place. “The Tower of Wayreth,” he whispered.
Palin was a master at transporting himself from place to place. Though magic was no longer easy, this spell—particularly when he traveled to and from the tower—came easier than all the others. Perhaps it was the tower’s own residual magic that powered the enchantment. The ancient structure moved about at the behest of its occupants, calling no single place home.
” … in a building that calls no land home,” Palin recalled Sageth saying. “Has one of my fellow wizards been hiding something from me?”
Palin focused his thoughts, and the moon appeared to shimmer and turn as insubstantial as fog. In an instant an image of the Tower of Wayreth sat on the horizon in its place. The moon was not truly gone, nor was the tower truly there, but visualizing the building at the edge of his sight helped him to cast the spell. Dark, mysterious and illuminated only by the faint starlight from overhead, the tower beckoned.