The Gates of Thorbardin h2-5 Page 6

  Against these forces, Thorbardin had fought a defensive action. Then, under King Duncan and his sons with Prince Grallen leading the Hylar dwarves — the armies of Thorbardin went out to carry the fight to their enemies, right to the mountain called Skullcap, lair of the great wizard himself.

  What came to pass then — the tragic end of both armies in one last, terrible act of magic by Fistandantilus — was now old history. Of those who might be old enough to remember, few cared to.

  But through it all, the shattered north portal had held, as had all of

  Thorbardin's defenses. More than two centuries later, the undermountain kingdom still stood. Concerns about threats from outside were no longer acute. In very recent times there had been unsettling rumors, of course — rumors the traders brought, about migrations of goblins and ogres to the north, about whole villages disappearing in distant places beyond the northern wilderness. Some suspected that, far off somewhere, armies were being amassed, and there were whispered comments about "Highlords" and infamous plots. Someone had even claimed to have seen a dragon, but no one believed that. There were no dragons, not anywhere on the entire world of

  Krynn. It was common knowledge.

  There were rumors, and a few were concerned, but life went on in

  Thorbardin as it had for two hundred years. Some trade had been restored — not as in the fabled past, before the War of the Gates, when open trade roads had linked Thorbardin with Pax Tharkas and other realms but some trade with other places and other races outside. Time had passed, and the old legends of a secret gate somewhere passed also into oblivion. The old tales of untold evils that might yet lurk about the blasted and glazed grotesqueries of Skullcap Mountain to the north — the legends of the glory of King Duncan and the noble Prince Grallen — grew dim.

  It was not in the nature of mountain dwarves to dwell upon the past. And certainly, in the teeming cities of Thorbardin, few cared to reflect upon such antiquities.

  Under the Kharolis Mountains, Thorbardin was what it had always been — hundreds of square miles of busy, bustling, squabbling, and delving dwarfdom, where the past was past and the problems of any one person were seldom of concern to many others.

  And this was the reality that Jilian Firestoke faced. No one knew where

  Chane Feldstone had gone, and no one except her really cared, either.

  However, she was sure now that she knew where Chane had gone, and certain of the mischief her father had engineered.

  And so, as was her custom, Jilian made up her own mind.

  "I am going outside," she told her neighbor, Silicia Orebrand. "I intend to go and find Chane Feldstone and bring him home. There is just no telling what sort of mess he may be in out there."

  The stocky Silicia's eyes went wide with horror. "Outside? Do you mean outside, outside?"

  "Of course I mean outside," Jilian said. "Chane's dream told him to go and find an old helmet, because Thorbardin was threatened and it was up to him to save it. So I know that's where he went. And my own father, tarnish his whiskers, put him up to it and then betrayed him. I know all about it, you see. So I am going outside to find him."

  "But Jilian… outside? Nobody goes outside! I've never heard of such a thing."

  "Tarnish, Silicia. Don't be silly. Of course people go outside. Traders, scouts, metallurgists… lots of people ga outside. Even Chane has been outside before, helping Rogar Goldbuckle load his packs. He told me about it."

  "But can you? I mean, go outside? Is it allowed?"

  "I asked Ferrous Spikemold. He knows about such things. He said anybody who wants to, can go outside. There is no law against going outside. It's just coming back in that gets sticky."

  "Did you tell him that you were thinking about going outside 7"

  "No, I don't see how that's any of his business. And you know what a gossip he can be. I just asked him in general, about people going outside.

  He said anybody can, if they want to."

  Silicia frowned. "But, Jilian, you've never been outside. I mean… out?

  I bet in your whole life you've never seen the sky except from the Valley of the Thanes. I know I certainly haven't. I've never even dreamed of such a thing. Why, they say there are all sorts of awful things out there — ogres and goblins, warrior elves, humans. By Reorx, they say half the world is overrun with humans these days. Jilian, are you feeling well? I can't imagine thinking such a thing. Outside?"

  "Outside," Jilian said firmly. "And it will serve my father right if I never come back."

  "But, Jilian, dear…" Silicia paused, then fired her best shot. 'What will people think?"

  "Oh, tarnish what people think. I'm going, Silicia, and that's an end to it. All I ask is that you look in on my father from time to time and see that he pays his tap fees when they are due. The old ruster hasn't a brain in his head when it comes to household duties."

  "Well, of course I would do that, dear." Silicia still was blinking rapidly, only half-believing what she was hearing. "But how would you even know where to look for your young man, dear? Outside is… well, it's just awfully big!" She shuddered, just thinking about it.

  "Oh, that. Well, at least I know where to start. I have a map of where he was last seen."

  "A map?" Silicia blinked again, awe following awe. "How could you possibly have a map? Did your father… 2"

  "I haven't even told him about this yet. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't, either. No, I saw the armsmen he sent to drive Chane away. I didn't know who they were at the time, but I remembered later. Then I saw one of them again, at the tinsmith's stall, and I followed him and got him to draw a map for me."

  "An armsman? A warren ruffian? Why would he have done that for you?

  Jilian, you didn't…"

  "Oh, nothing like that, Silicia. Don't be silly. No, I just followed him until I caught him alone in a cable-shaft, then I crept up behind and hit him in the head with a prybar. Then, while he was unconscious, I chained him to a cable-wagon track. When he woke up I told him that if he would draw the map for me I would give him a chisel to cut himself loose. So he drew the map. He was very willing, because we could hear an orewagon coming."

  Silicia goggled at her, totally at a loss for words. Finally she shook her head and sighed. "Do you have everything you'll need for such a journey?"

  "I have some warm clothing and a pack and waterskin. And my map. I suppose a company of armed fighters might be good to take along, but I can't afford anything like that."

  "Well, of course not!" Silicia snapped. "The wages people charge these days, just for single escort through the markets. There's no telling what you'd have to pay to get an escort to go… ah… outside." She looked around at the walls and cabinets of her great room. Swords and shields, hammers and pikes were displayed and stacked in various places. Her husband, Stonecut Orebrand, prided himself on his collection. "At the very least, I suppose you should take a weapon or two."

  "I couldn't take your husband's — "

  "Tarnish! He's lost track of what he has, anyway. What he doesn't know, he'll never miss." She went to a corner cabinet and poked around in it, emerging with a small, double-edged sword and a sheathed dagger. "Take these," she said. "My Brother gave them to Stoney one time, in a fit of generosity, but I don't think he's even looked at them in years. He doesn't think much of my brother, you know."

  Jilian took the sword from her and squinted at it curiously. "This is heavier than a prybar," she noted.

  "Have you ever used a sword before, Jilian?"

  "Well… not really. Have you?"

  "No. It can't be very complicated, though. One just swings it, I suppose."

  "Like swinging a prybar, do you think?"

  "Maybe with two hands, though. The handle is long enough for both of your hands. Here, stand in the middle of the room and swing it around a bit. Then you'll be used to it if you ever want to fight with something."

  Jilian helped Silicia slide the furniture out of the way, then placed herself
in the cleared area and lifted the sword, gripping it carefully with both hands. Though shorter than most of the swords in Stonecut

  Orebrand's collection, the weapon still was only six inches shorter than

  Jilian was, and much of its weight was forward, toward the point, in the dwarven style. Being a sturdy dwarven girl, Jilian had no trouble lifting it, even holding it out at arm's length, but it did tend to off-balance her a bit. "What should I swing it at?" she asked.

  Silicia went to a corner and brought back a candlestand with a foot-long taper set in it. "Cut the candle," she suggested.

  "All right. Stand back." Jilian placed herself with the candlestand to her left, sighted on it, raised the sword and swung… and gasped, then clung for dear life as the sword seemed to take charge. It whisked past the top of the candle and kept going as the momentum of the cut becaine centrifugal force. Like a spinning top, Jilian twirled around and around, her feet a blur, trying to keep up with the sword in her hands, trying to keep her balance as she spun.

  On its second rotation, the sword clove through the candle. On its third it bisected the oakwood candlestand. On its fourth it cut the legs off the stand and took two candles out of a hanging chandelier on the other side of Jilian. Silicia shrieked and dived for cover as the rate of spin increased and the twirling Jilian began to move. Four more revolutions and the sword eviscerated an herb pot, beheaded a chair, bisected a hanging tapestry, and embedded itself firmly in a doorframe. Jilian blinked in amazement, while momentary dizziness subsided, then wrenched the weapon free and stared at it. "Goodness!" she said.

  Silicia peeked from behind a stone bench. "Are you finished, do you think?"

  "I think so." Jilian looked around. "Oh, rust! Look at the mess I've made."

  Silicia came from hiding to gaze in wonder at the sword in Jilian's hand. "I don't think you need any more practice. I believe you've mastered the skill, don't you?"

  "I suppose so, but look what we've done to your nice room! Oh, Silicia,

  I am sorry."

  Silicia walked around the room, pursing her lips as she surveyed the damage. "It's not so bad, really. I never liked that candlestand, you know. And that awful tapestry! Honestly, I have thought about making a pair of framed needleworks out of it…" She came to look at the sword again. "By the lusters, I never realized how much fun a person might have with one of these. I wonder if some of the ladies might like to jrganize a class."

  Jilian nodded. "I believe I will borrow this, if you're sure Stonecut won't mind."

  "Not in the slightest. It's as much mine as his, anyway. Now, you take it, and the dagger, too, and you have a nice time with them. We could rent a hall," she continued with her own thoughts, "and practice to music. Some of the girls could certainly use the exercise…"

  After her visit with Silicia Orebrand, Jilian went to see the trader,

  Rogar Goldbuckle.

  "You are going where?" he squinted at her in disbelief.

  "Outside," she repeated. "I want to find Chane Feldstone and bring him home. He may be lost and starving, or something."

  "You?" the trader still couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'You can't go traveling around out there. Don't you know what could happen to you?"

  "I plan to take a sword," she said, to put his concerns to rest. "I'm remarkably good with a sword. But what I wondered was… well, since you have dealings with people outside, maybe you could tell me who to talk to out there, to help find him."

  "Don't talk to anybody outside!" Goldbuckle snapped. "Don't trust anybody or anything out there! Rust and corruption, girl, you have no idea

  — "

  "I have a map," she said. "But it will only show me where he was last seen. He may not be there any more, so I might need to ask about him." A new thought occurred to her. "I don't suppose you have any trading parties going northward, do you? I might just go along with them, as far as the wilderness. That's where I'll start looking."

  Goldbuckle eased himself back to a bench and sat down with a thump. The girl before him was as lovely a young dwarf-maiden as he had ever seen, and he had always thought of her as very practical and sensible, the times she had come to shop his bazaar or to deliver purchase orders for her father. But now…

  "I don't have any parties going that way," he said weakly. "Nobody goes to that wilderness. There hasn't been a trade route through there since before the Cataclysm, and even then it was chancy. Of course, that crazy

  Wingover has been up that way. He wagered he'd go to Pax Tharkas and back, if I'd give him a commission. Plan of a fool. But, of course, he is a fool, to begin with."

  "Wingover? What an odd name." Jilian pursed pretty lips. "Maybe that's who I should talk to. Where can I find him?"

  "Well, not anywhere in Thorbardin, certainly. He'd never be allowed within twenty miles of the gate."

  "Why on Krynn not? What did he do?"

  'You don't understand, girl," Goldbuckle shook his head. "Wingover isn't a dwarf. He's… well. I've traded with him a bit and learned to trust him. But he's… well. He's a human."

  Jilian stared at him, amazed. 'What would you trade from humans? I mean,

  I know there used to be some trade, but aren't humans — ?"

  "Unreliable, yes. As a rule. Also unstable and generally unpleasant. Of course, one can make some allowances, considering how short-lived they usually are… Girl, have you ever seen a human?"

  "Of course not. I've never been outside of Thorbardin. But I've heard about them. Chane has seen several, when he's gone out to carry reports or messages for you, and he talks about them. He even saw an elf once."

  "Yes, I know," Goldbuckle sighed. "All sorts show up at barter camps, but such places are no place for a girl like you. I swear! Why, I shudder to think of — "

  "Chane is out there, somewhere. And he's visited these barter camps before, at your employ, after all."

  "That's different! Chane can take care of himself. You — "

  "That's the other thing I wanted to talk about. He may need the money he earned from you. If you'll give it to me, I'll give it to him… when I find him."

  Chapter 7

  For miles, the black path would and curved through dense forest. Then, past one final, long curve, it broke out of the forest and extended arrow-straight across a mounded plain where little vegetation grew only mosses and spindly, scattered shrubs. The light of the moons Lunitari and

  Solinari — the first nearly overhead, the second just above the crags of

  Westwall bathed the scene in eerie red and white highlights beneath a spangled sky. "More ruins," Chestal Thicketsway declared, pointing about.

  "There might have been a city here once. Maybe the Cataclysm — " "Much older than that," Glenshadow the Wanderer said. "Oh, far older than that.

  Ages old. The legends say it was a city in the Age of Dreams."

  "Legends say?" Chane Feldstone growled. 'You're a wizard. Don't you know?"

  "Not without a powerful spell for time-seeing," the winter voice rasped.

  "And I'll cast no spells in this place. Strange things happen to magic here."

  Near them, somewhere close, something seemed to agree… something that lamented the fact.

  "It's said there was a city in this valley," the wizard continued. "And in the city was a king, who captured and held in bond the source of all magic. The king's name was Gargath."

  "How could he capture the source of magic?" Chess asked, excitedly. "Do you suppose it is still here?"

  "No. Only the place where it was once held, and the device that held it.

  A god-wrought thing called Spellbinder. It still has power, though. Power enough to confuse and bind even the highest orders of spell."

  "Misery," something voiceless seemed to say.

  "Is that what's wrong with my spell?" Chess asked, looking around. "He's bound?"

  The wizard nodded. "Most likely."

  "He certainly doesn't seem to be very happy about it," the kender noted.


  "He?" the dwarf grumped, "What do spells know? They aren't people." He looked up at the wizard. "How much farther do we have to go?"

  "Not far," Glenshadow said. "Are you tired so soon?"

  "Of course I'm not tired! But I have things to do and I don't see how all this is — "

  "It is," Glenshadow assured him. 'You want to find the helm, as you dreamed. This is how you must begin."

  The dwarf scowled. 'What does this have to do with you, though I It's my dream. What makes it important to you?"

  "It might be important to a great many people," the wizard sighed. "In ominous times, significances take on new meanings. I have my own reasons for helping you fulfill your destiny, Chane Feldstone… if you can fulfill it."

  "If it's important to you, then why don't you just go and find the helm, and let me get back to Thorbardin? I'm not fond of having no roof over my head."

  "Of course you aren't. You're a mountain dwarf. But it's your dream,

  Chane Feldstone. Not mine."

  "Corrosion," the dwarf muttered. "It's like trying to get a sensible answer from that kender. What do you mean 'ominous times?' "

  "There have been omens. Some have interpreted them, and some believe them. Some think that devastation is about to fall on these lands. Some say it has already begun. Invasion. War. The worst of imaginings."

  Chane stopped, staring up at the man. "When?"

  "Soon," the wizard said. "Some say within five years. Some say within the year."

  "But… why?"

  "I think there will be further omens," Glenshadow said softly, his voice as chill as a winter's night. "Then, perhaps, we will know."

  Ahead of them, the path approached what might have been a huge, open gate in a great wall, except that whatever gate might once have been there was long since gone. All that remained was a ragged cleft in a long, high structure of broken stone which ran off to left and right into moon-shadowed distance. An ancient wall, sundered here and there to rubble. Near the wall, just off the dark path, was a separate mound of rubble that looked familiar. It was like the mound they had found back in the forest — a clutter of what might once have been various things all connected together, with stumps and odd shapes protruding from it.