“Welcome to my home.”
They stared out into a wild, golden field. It would have been quite easy to believe that somewhere within the field elves danced and played. Butterflies and small birds flew hither and yonder while the bright, ripe wheat waved lazily after them. Small, furred creatures hopped among the occasional trees that dotted the forest perimeter. If there were truly a paradise on all of Krynn, this seemed to be it.
In the center of this wondrous field stood the citadel of Magius, a tower that, like the field surrounding it, might have been made of gold. A single gigantic wooden gate acted as a door. Windows dotted the top half of the tower, and there was even a small walking area up at the top. The tip gave the citadel the appearance of a spearhead, well-crafted and needle-sharp. The sides gleamed metallically, and Huma’s one regret was that it briefly reminded him of the sinister bronze tower perched precariously on the edge of the infernal Abyss.
Magius bowed and indicated they should go before him. The elemental had vanished, perhaps to patrol the outer limits of the grove once more.
“You are safe here, my friends. As safe as anywhere on all of Ansalon.”
The knight and the minotaur stepped out into the field like two children. Gone was anxiety concerning the war. Gone were the hatred, the fear. There was only the breathtaking beauty of the open land before them.
The mage watched them pass, the smile briefly vanishing from his face.
As they walked, a strange thing seemed to happen. The citadel grew. With each step it grew taller and taller. By the time they reached its gate, Huma and Kaz were forced to stare up into what seemed the ceiling of the sky itself.
“How can the dragons not see something of such scale?” There was no suspicion in the words of Kaz this time, only wonder.
“Like this field,” Magius replied. “Things are not always what they appear to be—or are seen to be. Someone created this place long before men ever set foot on Krynn. I have spent much time trying to discover their secrets, but the fragments hint at the handiwork of ogres. I cannot believe that ogres could ever build a place of such beauty. Perhaps, this was made as a garden paradise for the gods themselves. I think that would be more appropriate.”
Huma chose to spoil the serenity of the scene by coughing just then.
The mage grimaced. “Forgive me. You must be tired and thirsty. We shall go inside and be refreshed. After that, we shall speak.”
Magius raised his staff again and muttered a long string of seemingly nonsensical words. The staff, whose earlier glow had diminished, suddenly blazed with a new life. Both Huma and Kaz were forced to momentarily shield their eyes.
The gate opened, perhaps moved by some great, invisible hand. Magius was continually amazing Huma, although it might very well be that the castle, too, was a product of these ancients.
They passed through the gate and into a hallway which, while smaller than that of any noble’s estate home, outshone most by pure extravagance. Sculptures of elves, animals, tall manlike beings, humans, and what could only be the gods themselves lined the walls. Like an oversized serpent, a single stairway curled its way up to the floors above. A gold and red tapestry displaying the constellations draped one side while another one depicted a mountain that virtually towered over the landscape. It was so real that it drew Huma’s attention. At the back of his mind nagged the feeling that he knew this place from somewhere, although, in fact, Huma knew he had never seen the mountain before. He continued to stare at it until Magius’s voice broke the tapestry’s spell.
“Not all of it is original, but one cannot have everything. Be careful!”
The last was aimed at Kaz, who was busily inspecting an ageless sculpture of an odd-looking dragon. It was long and narrow, almost like a snake with legs and wings. What little remained of the coloring indicated it had once been green and blue, intermingled, an odd hodgepodge of colors for any dragon.
“This sculpture was made by one of my people.”
“Impossible. It must be elven. Look at it.”
Kaz snorted. “Do you think we have no artisans? I recognize the telltale patterns in the clay, even if your ‘well-versed’ mind cannot make anything out of them.”
“Why would anyone want to mold a dragon like that? I’ve never seen one so long and narrow. Did such exist?” Huma asked, turning to Magius.
The mage shrugged. “I have never uncovered evidence of such a beast. It is my belief that this is purely an artistic representation, the product of someone’s imagination. Another reason why it cannot be the work of minotaurs, not to mention the fact that it is far too old.”
“We were the first civilized race.”
“Civilized or domesticated?”
Kaz moved swiftly, but the statuette froze in midair some three feet before Magius’s face. The mage’s look of contempt was matched only by the intense disappointment draped across Kaz’s visage. “Make your next throw a good one, cow, because it will be your last. And next time use something a little less valuable.”
With a wave of his free hand, Magius returned the dragon sculpture to its resting place. Kaz snorted continuously, and his eyes were crimson. Suddenly Huma stepped between them, brandishing his sword.
“Stop it!”
The outburst was so savage that both mage and minotaur stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Huma looked from one to another with what he hoped was a ferocious expression.
“Ansalon, perhaps all of Krynn, may be lying helpless beneath the Dragonqueen, and you two are acting like schoolchildren!”
Kaz was the only one of the two to look ashamed. Magius took the reprimand as he did all else. He merely shrugged and pretended as if the incident had never happened.
“There’s much more to see, but I imagine you two might wish to get some rest. Am I correct?”
“On that point, at least,” Kaz muttered.
Huma sheathed his sword, but his temper was still aroused. “What happens after that? Can you contact your order? We cannot stay here forever. You came looking for us. Don’t you have a plan?”
“Of course.” The answer came quickly, but there was something in the spellcaster’s eyes that Huma thought belied his response. Here, again, was a Magius with whom he was unfamiliar. Here was a Magius who held back secrets from the one person he should have been able to trust. How he had changed.
Or is it I who am changing? thought Huma. In the old days, he would have never truly questioned Magius or probed at his friend’s answers. The knighthood had opened his eyes to the veiled half-truths that played so large a part in most people’s lives.
Deliberately, Huma said, “I should like to hear your plan.”
“In good time. There are far too many matters here that I must attend to immediately. While I do so, you two may relax and perhaps enjoy some food.”
Magius tapped his staff on the ground. Huma felt a shiver cut through him. Then he saw the mist.
It fluttered about Magius as a pet bird might around its master. Huma could not feel any sort of breeze, nor was there any seeming source of the mist. It moved as if with a life of its own.
“Guests. Guide.” Magius spoke the words, not to Huma or Kaz, but to the cloud—and it responded:
“Guesssstssss. Guiiiiiiidde.” The mist’s voice sounded like steam escaping from a doused campfire.
“Rooms for the night.”
“Rooommmmss.”
Magius grimaced. “Air elementals are so slow.” He waved his hand at the floating mist. “Now, if you please.” To Huma, the spellcaster said, “When you are fed and rested, things will be clearer.”