3

Godshome.

It was a long and weary day spent wandering through the mountains aimlessly as near as the impatient half-elf could tell.

The only thing that kept him from throttling Fizban—after they had walked into the second box canyon in less than four hours—was the undeniable fact that the old man kept them headed in the right direction. No matter how lost and turned around they seemed to get, no matter how often Tanis could have sworn they’d passed the same boulder three times, whenever he caught a glimpse of the sun they were still traveling unerringly to the southeast.

But as the day wore on, he saw the sun less and less frequently. Winter’s bitter chill had gone from the air and there was even the faint smell of green and growing things borne on the wind. But soon the sky darkened with lead-gray clouds and it began to rain, a dull, drumming drizzle that penetrated the heaviest cloak.

By mid-afternoon, the group was cheerless and dispirited— even Tasslehoff, who had argued violently with Fizban over directions to Godshome. This was all the more frustrating to Tanis since it was that obvious neither of them knew where they were. (Fizban, in fact, was caught holding the map upside down.) The fight resulted in Tasslehoff stuffing his maps back in his pouch and refusing to get them out again while Fizban threatened to cast a spell that would turn Tasslehoff’s topknot into a horse’s tail.

Fed up with both of them, Tanis sent Tas to the back of the line to cool off, mollified Fizban, and nursed secret thoughts of sealing them both up in a cave.

The calmness that the half-elf had felt in Kalaman was slowly vanishing on this dismal journey. It had been a calmness, he realized now, brought about by activity, the need to make decisions, the comforting thought that he was finally doing something tangible to help Laurana. These thoughts kept him afloat in the dark waters that surrounded him, much as the sea elves had aided him in the Blood Sea of Istar. But now he felt the dark waters begin to close over his head once more.

Tanis’s thoughts were constantly with Laurana. Over and over, he heard Gilthanas’s accusing words—She did this for you! And though Gilthanas had, perhaps, forgiven him, Tanis knew he could never forgive himself. What was happening to Laurana in the Dark Queen’s Temple? Was she still alive? Tanis’s soul shrank from that thought. Of course she was alive! The Dark Queen would not kill her, not as long as she wanted Berem—

Tanis’s eyes focused on the man walking ahead of him, near Caramon. I will do anything to save Laurana, he swore beneath his breath, clenching his fist. Anything! If it means sacrificing myself or—

He stopped. Would he really give up Berem? Would he really trade the Everman to the Dark Queen, perhaps plunge the world into a darkness so vast it would never see light again?

No, Tanis told himself firmly. Laurana would die before she would be part of such a bargain. Then—after he’d walked a few more steps—he’d change his mind. Let the world take care of itself, he thought gloomily. We’re doomed. We can’t win, no matter what happens. Laurana’s life, that’s the only thing that counts . . . the only thing . . .

Tanis was not the only gloomy member of the group. Tika walked beside Caramon, her red curls a bright spot of warmth and light in the gray day. But the light was only in the vibrant red of her hair, it had gone out of her eyes. Although Caramon was unfailingly kind to her, he had not held her since that wonderful, brief moment beneath the sea when his love had been hers. This made her angry in the long nights—he had used her, she decided, simply to ease his own pain. She vowed she would leave him when this was over. There was a wealthy young nobleman in Kalaman who had not been able to take his eyes off her . . . But those were night thoughts. During the day, when Tika glanced at Caramon, and saw him plodding along next to her, his head bowed, her heart melted. Gently she touched him. Looking up at her quickly, he smiled. Tika sighed. So much for wealthy young noblemen.

Flint stumped along, rarely speaking, never complaining. If Tanis had not been wrapped up in his own inner turmoil, he would have noted this as a bad sign.

As for Berem, no one knew what he was thinking—if anything. He seemed to grow more nervous and wary the farther they traveled. The blue eyes that were too young for his face darted here and there like those of a trapped animal.

It was on the second day in the mountains that Berem vanished.

Everyone had been more cheerful in the morning, when Fizban announced that they should arrive in Godshome soon. But gloom quickly followed. The rain grew heavier. Three times in one hour the old mage led them plunging through the brush with excited cries of ‘This is it! Here we are!’ only to find themselves in a swamp, a gorge, and—finally—staring at a rock wall.

It was this last time—the dead end—that Tanis felt his soul start to rip from his body. Even Tasslehoff fell back in alarm at the sight of the half-elf’s rage-distorted face. Desperately Tanis fought to hold himself together, and it was then he noticed.

‘Where’s Berem?’ he asked, a sudden chill freezing his anger.

Caramon blinked, seemingly coming back from some distant world. The big warrior looked around hastily, then turned to face Tanis, his face flushed with shame. ‘I—I dunno, Tanis. I—I thought he was next to me.’

‘He’s our only way into Neraka,’ the half-elf said through clenched teeth, ‘and he’s the only reason they’re keeping Laurana alive. If they catch him—’

Tanis stopped, sudden tears choking him. Desperately he tried to think, despite the blood pounding in his head.

‘Don’t worry, lad,’ Flint said gruffly, patting the half-elf on the arm. ‘We’ll find him.’

‘I’m sorry, Tanis,’ Caramon mumbled. ‘I was thinking about—about Raist. I—I know I shouldn’t—’

‘How in the name of the Abyss does that blasted brother of yours work mischief when he’s not even here!’ Tanis shouted. Then he caught himself. ‘I’m sorry, Caramon,’ he said, drawing a deep breath. ‘Don’t blame yourself. I should have been watching, too. We all should have. We’ve got to backtrack anyway, unless Fizban can take us through solid rock . . . no, don’t even consider it, old man . . .. Berem can’t have gone far and his trail should be easy to pick up. He’s not skilled in woodlore.’

Tanis was right. After an hour tracing back their own footsteps, they discovered a small animal trail none of them had noticed in passing. It was Flint who saw the man’s tracks in the mud. Calling excitedly to the others, the dwarf plunged into the brush, following the clearly marked trail easily. The rest hurried after him, but the dwarf seemed to have experienced an unusual surge of energy. Like a hunting hound who knows the prey is just ahead of him, Flint trampled over tangleshoot vines and hacked his way through the undergrowth without pause. He quickly outdistanced them.

‘Flint!’ Tanis shouted more than once. ‘Wait up!’

But the group fell farther and farther behind the excited dwarf until they lost sight of him altogether. Flint’s trail proved even clearer than Berem’s, however. They had little difficulty following the print of the dwarf’s heavy boots, not to mention the broken tree limbs and uprooted vines that marked his passing.

Then suddenly they were brought to a halt.

They had reached another rock cliff, but this time there was a way through—a hole in the rock formed a narrow tunnel-like opening. The dwarf had entered easily—they could see his tracks—but it was so narrow that Tanis stared at it in dismay.

‘Berem got through it,’ Caramon said grimly, pointing at a smear of fresh blood the rock.

‘Maybe,’ Tanis said dubiously. ‘See what’s on the other side, Tas,’ he ordered, reluctant to enter until he was certain he was not being led a merry chase.

Tasslehoff crawled through with ease, and soon they heard his shrill voice exclaiming in wonder over something, but it echoed so they had trouble understanding his words.

Suddenly Fizban’s face brightened. ‘This is it!’ cried the old mage in high glee. ‘We’ve found it! Godshome! The way in— through this passageway!’

‘There’s no other way?’ Caramon asked, staring at the narrow opening gloomily.

Fizban appeared thoughtful. ‘Well, I seem to recall—’

Then, ‘Tanis! Hurry!’ came through quite clearly from the other side.

‘No more dead ends. We’ll get through this way,’ Tanis muttered, ‘somehow.’

Crawling on hands and knees, the companions crept into the narrow opening. The way did not become easier; sometimes they were forced to flatten themselves and slither through the mud like snakes. Broad-shouldered Caramon had the worst time, and for a while Tanis thought perhaps they might have to leave the big man behind. Tasslehoff waited for them on the other side, peering in at them anxiously as they crawled. ‘I heard something, Tanis,’ he kept saying. ‘Flint shouting. Up ahead. And wait until you see this place, Tanis! You won’t believe it!’

But Tanis couldn’t take time to listen or look around, not until everyone was safely through the tunnel. It took all of them, pulling and tugging, to drag Caramon through and when he finally emerged, the skin on his arms and back was cut and bleeding.

‘This is it!’ Fizban stated. ‘We’re here.’

The half-elf turned around to see the place called Godshome.

‘Not exactly the place I’d choose to live if I were a god,’ Tasslehoff remarked in a subdued voice.

Tanis was forced to agree.

They stood at the edge of a circular depression in the center of a mountain. The first thing that struck Tanis when he looked upon Godshome was the overwhelming desolation and emptiness of the place. All along the path up into the mountains, the companions had seen signs of new life: trees budding, grass greening, wild flowers pushing their way through the mud and remnants of snow. But here there was nothing. The bottom of the bowl was perfectly smooth and flat, totally barren, gray and lifeless. The towering peaks of the mountain surrounding the bowl soared above them. The jagged rock of the peaks seemed to loom inward, giving the observer the impression of being pressed down into the crumbling rock beneath his feet. The sky above them was azure, clear, and cold, devoid of sun or bird or cloud, though it had been raining when they entered the tunnel. It was like an eye staring down from gray, unblinking rims. Shivering, Tanis quickly withdrew his gaze from the sky to look once more within the bowl.

Below that staring eye, within the center of the bowl itself, stood a circle of huge, tall, shapeless boulders. It was a perfect circle made up of imperfect rocks. Yet they matched so nearly and stood so close together that when Tanis tried to look between them, he could not make out from where he was standing what the strange stones guarded so solemnly. These boulders were all that was visible in the rock-strewn and silent place.

‘It makes me feel so terribly sad,’ Tika whispered. ‘I’m not frightened—it doesn’t seem evil, just so sorrowful! If the gods do come here, it must be to weep over the troubles of the world.’

Fizban turned to regard Tika with a penetrating look and seemed about to speak, but before he could comment, Tasslehoff shouted. ‘There, Tanis!’

‘I see!’ The half-elf broke into a run.

On the other side of the bowl, he could see the vague outline of what appeared to be two figures—one short and the other tall—struggling.

‘It’s Berem!’ screamed Tas. The two were plainly visible to his keen kender eyes. ‘And he’s doing something to Flint! Hurry, Tanis!’

Bitterly cursing himself for letting this happen, for not keeping closer watch on Berem, for not forcing the man to reveal those secrets he was so obviously holding back, Tanis ran across the stony ground with a speed born of fear. He could hear the others calling to him, but he paid no attention. His eyes were on the two in front of him and now he could see them clearly. Even as he watched, he saw the dwarf fall to the ground. Berem stood over him.

‘Flint!’ Tanis screamed.

His heart was pounding so that blood dimmed his vision. His lungs ached, there didn’t seem air enough to breath. Still he ran faster, and now he could see Berem turn to look at him. He seemed to be trying to say something—Tanis could see the man’s lips moving—but the half-elf couldn’t hear through the surge of blood beating in his ears. At Berem’s feet lay Flint. The dwarf’s eyes were closed, his head lolled over to one side, his face was ashen gray.

‘What have you done?’ Tanis shrieked at Berem. ‘You’ve killed him!’ Grief, guilt, despair, and rage exploded within Tanis like one of the old mage’s fireballs, flooding his head with unbearable pain. He could not see, a red tide blurred his sight.

His sword was in his hand, he had no idea how. He felt the cold steel of the hilt. Berem’s face swam within a blood-red sea; the man’s eyes filled—not with terror—but with deep sorrow. Then Tanis saw the eyes widen with pain, and it was only then he knew he had plunged the sword into Berem’s unresisting body, plunged it so deeply that he felt it cleave through flesh and bone and scrape the rock upon which the Everman was leaning.

Warm blood washed over Tanis’s hands. A horrible scream burst in his head, then a heavy weight fell on him, nearly knocking him down.

Berem’s body slumped over him, but Tanis didn’t notice. Frantically he struggled to free his weapon and stab again. He felt strong hands grab him. But in his madness, the half-elf fought them off. Finally pulling his sword free, he watched Berem fall to the ground, blood streaming from the horrible wound just below the green gemstone that glittered with an unholy life in the man’s chest.

Behind him, he heard a deep, booming voice and a woman’s sobbing pleas and a shrill wail of grief. Furious, Tanis spun around to face those who had tried to thwart him. He saw a big man with a grief-stricken face, a red-haired girl with tears streaming down her cheeks. He recognized neither of them. And then there appeared before him an old, old man. His face was calm, his ageless eyes filled with sorrow. The old man smiled gently at Tanis and, reaching out, laid his hand on the half-elf’s shoulder.

His touch was like cool water to a fevered man. Tanis felt reason return. The bloody haze cleared from his vision. He dropped the bloodstained sword from his red hands and collapsed, sobbing, at Fizban’s feet. The old man leaned down and gently patted him.

‘Be strong, Tanis,’ he said softly, ‘for you must say good-bye to one who has a long journey before him.’

Tanis remembered. ‘Flint!’ he gasped.

Fizban nodded sadly, glancing at Berem’s body. ‘Come along. There’s nothing more you can do here.’

Swallowing his tears, Tanis staggered to his feet. Shoving aside the mage, he stumbled over to where Flint lay on the rocky ground, his head resting on Tasslehoff’s lap.

The dwarf smiled as he saw the half-elf approach. Tanis dropped down on his knees beside his oldest friend. Taking Flint’s gnarled hand in his, the half-elf held it fast.

‘I almost lost him, Tanis,’ Flint said. With his other hand he tapped his chest. ‘Berem was just about to slip out through that other hole in the rocks over there when this old heart of mine finally burst. He—he heard ‘me cry out, I guess, because the next thing I knew he had me in his arms and was laying me down on the rocks.’

‘Then he didn’t—he didn’t—harm you . . .’ Tanis could barely speak.

Flint managed a snort. ‘Harm me! He couldn’t harm a mouse, Tanis. He’s as gentle as Tika.’ The dwarf smiled up at the girl, who also knelt beside him. ‘You take care of that big oaf, Caramon, you hear?’ he said to her. ‘See he comes in out of the rain.’

‘I will, Flint.’ Tika wept.

‘At least you won’t be trying to drown me anymore,’ the dwarf grumbled, his eyes resting fondly on Caramon. ‘And if you see that brother of yours, give him a kick in the robes for me.’

Caramon could not speak. He only shook his head. ‘I—I’ll go look after Berem,’ the big man mumbled. Taking hold of Tika, he gently helped her stand and led her away.

‘No, Flint! You can’t go off adventuring without me!’ Tas wailed. ‘You’ll get into no end of trouble, you know you will!’

‘It’ll be the first moment of peace I’ve had since we met,’ the dwarf said gruffly. ‘I want you to have my helm—the one with the griffon’s mane.’ He glared at Tanis sternly, then turned his gaze back to the sobbing kender. Sighing, he patted Tas’s hand. ‘There, there, lad, don’t take on so. I’ve had a happy life, blessed with faithful friends. I’ve seen evil things, but I’ve seen a lot of good things, too. And now hope has come into the world. I hate to leave you’—his rapidly dimming vision focused on Tanis—’just when you need me. But I’ve taught you all I know, lad. Everything will be fine. I know . . . fine . . .’

His voice sank, he closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Tanis held tightly to his hand. Tasslehoff buried his face in Flint’s shoulder. Then Fizban appeared, standing at Flint’s feet.

The dwarf opened his eyes. ‘I know you, now,’ he said softly, his eyes bright as he looked at Fizban. ‘You’ll come with me, won’t you? At least at the beginning of the journey . . . so I won’t be alone? I’ve walked with friends so long, I feel . . . kind of funny . . . going off like this . . . by myself.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Fizban promised gently. ‘Close your eyes and rest now, Flint. The troubles of this world are yours no longer. You have earned the right to sleep.’

‘Sleep,’ the dwarf said, smiling. ‘Yes, that’s what I need. Wake me when you’re ready . . . wake me when it’s time to leav—’ Flint’s eyes closed. He drew in a smooth easy breath, then let it out . . .

Tanis pressed the dwarf’s hand to his lips. ‘Farewell, old friend,’ the half-elf whispered, and he placed the hand on the dwarf’s still chest.

‘No! Flint! No!’ Screaming wildly, Tasslehoff flung himself across the dwarf’s body. Gently Tanis lifted the sobbing kender in his arms. Tas kicked and fought, but Tanis held him firmly, like a child, and finally Tas subsided—exhausted. Clinging to Tanis, he wept bitterly.

Tanis stroked the kender’s topknot, then—glancing up— stopped.

‘Wait! What are you doing, old man?’ he cried.

Setting Tas back down on the ground, Tanis rose quickly to his feet. The frail old mage had lifted Flint’s body in his arms and, as Tanis watched in shock, began walking toward the strange circle of stones.

‘Stop!’ Tanis ordered. ‘We must give him a proper ceremony, build a cairn.’

Fizban turned to face Tanis. The old man’s face was stern. He held the heavy dwarf gently and with ease.

‘I promised him he would not travel alone,’ Fizban said simply.

Then, turning, he continued to walk toward the stones. Tanis, after a moment’s hesitation, ran after him. The rest stood as if transfixed, staring at Fizban’s retreating figure.

It had seemed an easy thing to Tanis to catch up with an old man bearing such a burden. But Fizban moved incredibly fast, almost as if he and the dwarf were as light as the air. Suddenly aware of the weight of his own body, Tanis felt as if he were trying to catch a wisp of smoke soaring heavenward. Still he stumbled after them, reaching them just as the old mage entered the ring of boulders, carrying the dwarf’s body in his arms.

Tanis squeezed through the circle of rocks without thinking, knowing only that he must stop this crazed old mage and recover his friend’s body.

Then he stopped within the circle. Before him spread what he first took to be a pool of water, so still that nothing marred its smooth surface. Then he saw that it wasn’t water—it was a pool of glassy black rock! The deep black surface was polished to a gleaming brilliance. It stretched before Tanis with the darkness of night and, indeed, looking down into its black depths, Tanis was startled to see stars! So clear were they that he looked up, half-expecting to see night had fallen, though he knew it was only mid-afternoon. The sky above him was azure, cold and clear, no stars, no sun. Shaken and weak, Tanis dropped to his knees beside the pool and stared once more into its polished surface. He saw the stars, he saw the moons, he saw three moons, and his soul trembled, for the black moon visible only to those powerful mages of the Black Robes was now visible to him—like a dark circle cut out of blackness. He could even see the gaping holes where the constellations of the Queen of Darkness and the Valiant Warrior had once wheeled in the sky.

Tanis recalled Raistlin’s words, ‘Both gone. She has come to Krynn, Tanis, and He has come to fight her . . .’

Looking up, Tanis saw Fizban step onto the black rock pool, Flint’s body in his arms.

The half-elf tried desperately to follow, but he could no more force himself to crawl out upon that cold rock surface than he could have made himself leap into the Abyss. He could only watch as the old mage, walking softly as if unwilling to waken a sleeping child in his arms, moved out into the center of glistening black surface.

‘Fizban!’ Tanis called.

The old man did not stop or turn but walked on among the glittering stars. Tanis felt Tasslehoff creep up next to him. Reaching out, Tanis took his hand and held it fast, as he had held Flint’s.

The old mage reached the center of the rock pool . . . and then disappeared.

Tanis gasped. Tasslehoff leaped past him, starting to run out onto the mirror-like surface. But Tanis caught him.

‘No, Tas,’ the half-elf said gently. ‘You can’t go on this adventure with him. Not yet. You must stay with me awhile. I need you now.’

Tasslehoff fell back, unusually obedient, and as he did so, he pointed.

‘Look, Tanis!’ he whispered, his voice quivering. ‘The constellation! It’s come back!’

As Tanis stared into the surface of the black pool, he saw the stars of the constellation of the Valiant Warrior return. They flickered, then burst into light, filling the dark pool with their blue-white radiance. Swiftly Tanis looked upward—but the sky above was dark and still and empty.