Chapter 19

The company awoke the next morning feeling rested and as cheerful as was possible under the circumstances. Nothing had disturbed their sleep, and the fire had kept them warm. They dragged the yeti’s corpse from the cave and left it under a gathering snowdrift. Already some of the elves were beginning to speak of their return journey and to make plans for traveling overland from Zeriak to once again board the Starfinder. Harfang listened to their talk without comment.

Emerging from the yeti’s cave, they were greeted by a blue sky across which wisps of cloud gusted, alternating with plumes of snow blown from the surrounding peaks. Ahead was the pass over which their road lay. Beyond it, if the draconians had spoken truly, were the Mountains of the Moons and the White Wyrm’s lair.

With lightened packs, the elves looked at the climb to the pass without trepidation. Each obstacle on their long road had been met and overcome. At last they were almost within sight of their goal, and they looked on the rest of the quest as practically accomplished.

They shouldered their packs and moved on. Harfang brought up the rear and stopped outside the cave’s mouth, faced it, and bowed solemnly in final tribute to Jeannara’s body, resting beneath its cairn of stones. He turned and followed the company, led by Tashara. Closely behind her, as usual, was the gaunt dark figure of Malshaunt, his robes flapping around him. At times he seemed like a dark cloud following a pale moon across a night sky.

The snow had blown away from the gravel-strewn slope, and they could see their way clearly toward the pass. Tashara led the way, head raised, sniffing the wind for elusive scents that evaded the noses of her sighted followers.

The air seemed to grow thinner, and some of the elves once or twice had to stop and catch their breath. Harfang’s heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the veins in his temples throbbing. He looked back and was surprised to see how far the party had already climbed. The sun was fully overhead, and the clay felt very warm. His face was red with exertion.

“Company halt!” he called.

The elves stopped, and Tashara turned.

“Harfang!”

The mate walked forward.

“Why are we stopping? We are near. I can feel it.” Tashara’s face, as always, was pale, but Harfang could hear her voice break in quick, sharp pants. Beside her, Malshaunt leaned against a rock. His pale face twisted in pain.

“We should go slowly, ma’am,” the mate replied. “Air is scarce here, and we must preserve our strength to fight. Better to exercise some prudence.”

Tashara was unhappy with the delay but agreed to a short rest. While the others sat on the path and concentrated on their breathing, she paced to and fro.

From their height, they could see the valley spread out below them. A distant smudge marked the entrance to the yeti’s cave. Beyond, the rock-strewn way extended back into the distance. A patch of whiteness showed where the avalanche had fallen, snuffing out the lives of Thasalana and Lindholme.

At the very edge of sight was a thin line of brilliant white that marked the beginning of the great Snow Sea. The mate looked in awe, marveling at how far they had come.

Harfang’s thoughts turned farther, north and west. What of his old home, of Palanthas? To his surprise he even found himself giving a thought to Aunt and wondering at her fate.

He turned and saw the dwarf watching him. For the first time since Ayshe had come aboard the Starfinder; it was he who spoke words of comfort and advice to the mate. He gestured toward the horizon.

“You can’t go back, you know,” he said in a low voice so the others couldn’t hear. “I have learned that now. Palanthas is too far back and too far away. As it is for me, so it is for you. There’s no road back.”

Harfang was startled to find the dwarf had read his thoughts. “What about you, Master Dwarf?” he asked. “Is there any road back to the lands of the living for you?”

Ayshe shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps not. And yet… and yet…” He hesitated. “One part of me will not give up hope.”

The mate nodded. “This journey is different for each us,” he said, “but for each of us, as well, there is something in common. You made this labor to atone for your sins. Oh, yes,” he said, lifting a hand to still Ayshe’s startled exclamation. “I know why you came. That was clear from the start. What you did in the past I neither know nor care, but when you came aboard the Starfinder, I could see the guilt writ plain on your face. I should know. I read the face of every male and female who comes aboard the ship.

“Every member of this band, Master Dwarf, is seeking to blot out some part of the past. Many of us have sinned and are trying to forget that sin, to pay back fate. We’re a ship of the damned, and now we’ve landed on a strange shore. But I can tell you, my friend, even if you expiate your deed, the past is gone. What’s done is done.”

Ayshe smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the pacing Tashara. “Does she believe that?” he asked.

The mate shook his head. “No. I don’t believe she does. Therein lies the tragedy, Master Ayshe, one we’re now heading toward, with our eyes wide open.”

He rose and called the company to order. Once again they set off.

Distances in that land continued to deceive. Harfang, looking toward the head of the pass, had thought it seemed no more than a mile or two away, but they labored through the morning without cresting it. Several more times they were forced to halt for rest. They’d been steadily climbing ever since leaving the Snow Sea, days before.

The slope was broken and scored in a way that had not been obvious from below. Some of the crevices they could go around or even leap across, but some were too wide even for that, and they could traverse them only by means of ropes and tackle. It was a slow, cautious business, and Tashara openly chafed at each delay.

The sun had crossed the zenith when they mounted the last part of the summit. Tashara halted at the top of the slope, staring with her blind eyes. The others gathered around her, looking at the scene beyond in wonderment.

The road dipped down there, for a distance of perhaps a half mile, into a long valley that ran north and south as far as they could see. Its floor was filled with dense-growing evergreens of great height. The path led directly beneath their boughs. On the other side of the valley, two or three miles distant, at about an equal height to where they stood, was a gap between two mountains.

“Look!” Otha-nyar cried.

They gazed upward. The peak of one of the mountains was white with snow, but through it the companions could see dark streaks, as if the drifts had blown apart enough to reveal a dark sheen of rock. To the right, the facing mountain slope showed a” glow of red beneath the snow, while beyond the two mountains was a third, somewhat taller than the other two, of pure, gleaming white.

“The Mountains of the Moons!” Malshaunt exclaimed. His face was rapt, his expression mirroring that on the visage of Tashara. Indeed, it seemed for a moment to the others that they were two halves of the same being, one sighted, the other blind, but both gazing on something that filled them with awe and joy. The others also stared in silence.

“What about the wood?” Samustalen finally said.

“What about it?” Harfang growled. “We go through it. We’ll rest here the night and tackle this first thing in the morning.”

“No!” Tashara’s voice rang out, and the company looked at her, surprised. It was rare for the captain to contradict the mate’s orders, and usually only in dire circumstances.

“No,” she repeated. “We cannot afford the delay. We go on now. The wood is not wide—I can smell the snow on the other side of the trees. It will not take us long to cross it.”

Harfang stepped to her side. “There’s no need for hurry,” he said in a low voice. “The crew is tired. By morning they’ll be rested and ready for battle.”

Tashara shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re speaking of, Harfang. I know the signs. I know the time. We must hurry.” She strode away along the path, which wound downward toward the trees’ edge.

Harfang stared after her a moment, then turned to the others. “You heard the captain. Forward!”

Like many dwarves, Ayshe had no great love of forests. The land around Thargon had included patches of woods, but they were mostly low trees, widely spaced—stands of poplars, elms, and birch. The trees around him, on the other hand, were tall, hundreds of feet high, and they grew so close together, their tops blocked out the light. The path wound around the trunks and vanished into the forest. The elves walked along it without hesitation. Ayshe paused a moment and looked back at the snow, almost ruefully. He turned, gritted his teeth, and plunged into another color, the darkness of the trees.

The first thing he noticed was there was no wind. Out on the Snow Sea, the wind had been constant; after the party had left and entered the pass, it had whistled and hummed incessantly. Apart from the awful time when the Starfinder had drifted helplessly south, the wind had been a steady companion throughout his journey. With it gone, absent, vanished, it was as though someone had clapped a hand over its mouth.

Minus the wind, the silence was deafening. In the forests around Thargon, there were always sounds of the creaking and scraping of tree branches, the scuttle of squirrels as they ran from twig to twig, the chatter of birds, and a hundred other sounds that brought the forest alive. But there was nothing around them… only grim silence.

He turned to Samustalen, who walked next to him. “It’s so quiet,” he said in a whisper, as if some part of him were reluctant to break the spell.

The elf made no reply, and Ayshe looked at him. Perhaps it was the pale light that filtered through from far above, where the needles of the evergreens met the sky, but he thought the elf looked strangely white. When Samustalen spoke at last, his voice seemed drained, as though it were coming from far away down some tunnel or corridor.”

“This forest is dead,” he said. “The trees are here, they’re green, but they have no life. Nothing here is alive except for us. Can’t you feel it? All around us is death, cloaked in the appearance of life.”

Ayshe noticed the other elves were similarly affected by the forest. When they’d first seen it, they’d been eager to once more walk among trees, their natural habitat. But once they were on the path, they spoke in whispers or not at all, their hands resting on their swords and bows. Harfang had drawn his blade and walked just behind Tashara. Malshaunt walked stiffly next to them, his entire body bespeaking alertness. The captain alone seemed unaffected by the weird forest and stepped along the path as usual, her head erect.

The air was very cold, but there was no snow there. Evidently the tree branches prevented any from reaching the floor of the forest. The ground was covered in gray lichens except for the path, which curiously stayed free of them. To each side, Ayshe could see nothing but endlessly receding trunks until they were lost in the darkness.

The silence was so intense, he became aware of his companions’ breathing, and each step they took seemed to echo. He began to long for the forest’s end, when he could emerge into the familiar white snow and feel the wind on his face. The darkness was suffocating, intolerable.

He could keep no clear track of time, but after a while, began to feel something was wrong. He could see his companions felt the same, for the members of Dragonsbane began to glance warily at one another and around them. The wood had only appeared to be about three miles thick when they saw it from the top of the pass, and it should have taken them only about an hour to move through it. Yet much more time than that had elapsed, and they were still walking with no sign of emerging.

At last, up ahead, they spied a stronger light and hurried toward it, eager to escape. However, they found themselves not at the edge of the wood, but in a great clearing. The trees there had not been cut, but instead simply stopped growing as abruptly as they had started at the edge of the wood. The clearing was roughly circular, and above they could spot clear blue sky darkening with evening. It lifted their spirits a bit to see something beyond the dark-banded trees, but at the same time it appeared they had another great distance to go.

In the very center of the clearing was an obelisk of white stone. Its four sides were smooth and polished, and it rose some fifty feet into the air, where it ended in a sharp point. It rested upon a large black stone, which bore many carvings. The edges of the incisions were sharp and distinct, yet the obelisk and its base had an indefinable air of antiquity.

The carvings were in a language none of the party recognized, though Ayshe thought they bore some resemblance to dwarf runes. They walked around it, puzzling over what it was doing there and how it had escaped the ravages of time.

Alone among them, Samustalen hung back. His face, sorrowful since the death of Thasalana and Lindholme in the pass, was even more unhappily wrought.

“Let’s go on!” he urged Harfang. “Why do we wait here? There’s nothing here.”

The mate looked about. “No,” he said finally. “Not by my advice. Already the light is beginning to fade, and though I’d rather not be caught here after darkness falls, better to be here where there’s some room and some light than among the trees. I don’t know how long it’s going to take us to get out of this damned wood, but I won’t chance having to make camp on the dark path ahead.” He gestured to the far side of the clearing, where the path they had been traveling on continued among the thick tree trunks.

Samustalen shuddered. Ayshe approached him.

“Are you cold?” he asked the elf. “Here, I’ve an extra blanket in my pack.”

The elf shook his head. His teeth were chattering, and he wrapped his arms around himself. “No. It’s just… I don’t like this place. There’s something wrong about it.” He moved away to stare at the obelisk. Something about it appeared to both fascinate and repel him, and he could scarcely take his eyes off it.

Harfang, meanwhile, was speaking to Tashara. The captain appeared to take the news they were stopping for the night in bad grace, but she admitted it made more sense to camp near the obelisk than along the path. The elves set up their tents and started a small fire. The flames twinkled and glowed beneath the great gloom of the strange forest, making them feel even smaller and more isolated than before. Malshaunt bent in meditation, concentrating on his spells, but after a time he rose and joined the others by the fire.

“I cannot rest,” he said. His face was troubled. “Something here drives the words of my spells from my mind.” He sat silent, apparently brooding on his failure.

Samustalen sat a little apart from the others, his head turned toward the obelisk. He took no part in the general talk, which was brief and whispered. All of them were puzzled by the wood and the strange stone monument, and it was with some relief that they scattered to the tents to sleep until morning.

Late that night, Ayshe awoke. The silence was oppressive, and the soft breathing of his companions sounded unnaturally loud. He sat up and realized one space in the tent was empty. Samustalen was missing.

Ayshe crawled to the tent entrance and looked out. The elf was sitting by the coals of the fire. His back was hunched, and he was staring again at the obelisk. The dwarf debated whether to approach him but decided against it. Whatever was bothering Samustalen, he did not seem willing to communicate his thoughts to the others. Perhaps it was still the memories of his dead friends; perhaps it was the silence and foreboding of the forest. The dwarf sighed and returned to his blanket.

The morning’s light came as a relief to all of them. They emerged from their tents, yawning; then Shamura gave a cry.

Samustalen was sitting upright where Ayshe had seen him the previous night. His eyes were open, staring blindly before him. A trickle of red ran down his cheek from beneath his right eye. His face was white as paper, his body stiff and cold.

Ayshe stared at him in horror. The elf’s expression was one of utmost terror and loathing. His dead gaze was still fixed on the obelisk. Ayshe peered closely at the obelisk, running his eyes over it from the base to the apex. It might be some trick of the light, but he could swear that the sharpened tip of the stone glowed red.

Harfang hurried up and stared at the body. He looked at the others, who stood in groups, fear writ plain on their faces.

“Shamura, Ridrathannash, dig a hole. The rest of you pack. Ready to leave in ten minutes. Move!”

Spurred by fear, the party fell on their chores with hasty fingers. Once the camp was packed, the elves took the body of Samustalen and gently lowered it into the grave. The two elves had dug a hole as far as possible from the obelisk, beneath the boughs of the trees that bordered the clearing. They covered the grave and faced it for a few minutes, heads uncovered. No other ritual, such as that they had given others who had died, was possible. All of them were anxious to leave that grove of horror.

Ayshe could not help but reflect on the shrinking party. It seemed very far from the proud band he’d first encountered aboard the Starfinder Even if they came safely to the lair of the White Wyrm, he wondered, would they have the force to conquer it?

Led by Tashara, Dragonsbane passed out of the clearing and back into the forest.

Either their luck was improving or the forest, having received its blood debt, decided to let the travelers go without Further incident. After a march of two hours or so, to their great joy, they saw the trees fall away and they tumbled into the familiar winter landscape. Sounds also resumed as soon as they stepped from the forest, and Ayshe never thought the noise of the wind whistling over snow could sound as sweet. Looking back, they saw the forest, dark and forbidding, and they realized they had passed the last barrier. Before them lay the Mountains of the Moons and the pass to the Valley of the White Death.

A low call went up from one of the elves toward the front. Ahead of them, near the top of the pass, were arrayed a group of small figures.

“Dwarves!” observed Harfang. “Come, Master Ayshe. Let’s find out what your kinsmen are doing in this godsforsaken place.”

The two, accompanied by Tashara and Malshaunt, hurried forward. The dwarves approached, walking down the slope in a disciplined band. All bore axes, and most carried large packs. They were wrapped in furs and seemed well accustomed to the harshness of their surroundings.

Harfang lifted a hand. “Halt! Greetings!”

One of the dwarves stepped forward, his face a picture of astonishment. “Hail, strangers! We did not look to meet anyone here on the edge of forever.”

“Nor did we,” replied the mate, his face grim. “Are you miners?”

“Yes. We’re leaving a site within these mountains.” The dwarf looked on them with open curiosity. “What brings elves and a human into the frozen wastes?”

“And a dwarf,” said Ayshe, stepping from behind Tashara. “Hello, Brother,” he said, speaking Dwarvish.

“Hail, Brother! I’m Callach, son of Oriolle.” The dwarf’s accent marked him as Daewar, a well-respected clan of dwarves that included branches dwelling near Thoradin and Blöde to the north. “In the name of Reorx, what are you doing here?”

“Let everyone understand,” Ayshe answered, switching to Common. “This is Callach.”

Harfang nodded. “Aye. No need for missed speech or misunderstandings.”

Callach shrugged, his dark eyes flicking over the party. “Very well. What business have you in these mountains?”

Tashara spoke for the first time. “We hunt the White Wyrm, Master Dwarf.”

Callach’s face beneath his beard turned almost as white as the snow, but his voice remained steady. “Then you are fools, mistress.”

There was silence so deep Ayshe could hear the hiss of the wind. Malshaunt’s body tightened, and he glared at the dwarf, his face pale save for two spots of red in his cheeks.

Tashara’s face betrayed no emotion. “We have held to this quest for a long time, Callach, son of Oriolle.”

Ayshe frowned. He was sure he had not mentioned Callach’s patronymic. Did the captain understand Dwarvish? Or did she know of the dwarf leader in some other fashion? He was constantly surprised by her. He realized she was still speaking.

“Tell us what you know of the Great White Wyrm and where it lairs. If we are fools, that is our own affair.”

Callach shrugged. “The White Wyrm, mistress, is no ordinary white dragon. It bursts from the sky even on a clear day with no warning to its victims. It carries ice and fire in its breath. Those who hunt it do not survive.”

Tashara gestured impatiently. “Yes, yes. All this we know. Where is its lair? Beyond this pass? That is what we have been told.”

“Yes.” The word came reluctantly, as if dragged from Callach’s throat. “You’ll find a valley, the Valley of the White Death. On the far side of that valley is a deep cave, called by some the Dreamchamber. When the wyrm sleeps, it lairs there.”

“When? When does it sleep?” Malshaunt broke in, his face sharp with impatience.

“Soon,” Callach answered. “The sun and the stars have come round to their appointed places. They’re only waiting for the three moons to join them, and then it’ll be time for the wyrm to sleep until she issues forth again to bring death to Krynn.” He took a step closer, and his voice grew softer, as if he feared being overheard. “Take this warning kindly, mistress. Go back! There is nothing here but white death.”

Tashara smiled slightly. “In that case, Master Callach, what are you doing here?”

Callach glanced back over his band. “Seeking a way out of here, truth be told. We’ve been mining near here. Fear of the wyrm keeps most far away from here, and there are rich pickings in these mountains for those bold enough to seek them when the wyrm is roving the rest of Krynn. But enough’s enough! I know the signs. The wyrm’s due back, and the three moons will converge. We’ll not be here when the beast comes. Neither will you, if you’ve any sense.”

“On the contrary,” the elf woman told him, “we shall wait for it. We shall wait and conquer it. And someday, in some tavern, you may hear the Tale of Tashara and how she slew the Great White Wyrm, the legendary Death That Comes From the Sky.”

Callach stared at her, shaking his head. “Well,” he observed, “if you’re bound and determined to die, I won’t stop you. But remember what I said. That’s no natural dragon. It’s a scourge sent down by the gods!”

Tashara burst out laughing. In that cold, high place it seemed to Ayshe that the surrounding peaks of the Mountains of the Moons bent closer, as if to stifle the unaccustomed sound.

“The gods!” she cried. “The gods on whom every fool blames woes that fall upon him! The gods who hurled a mountain upon Istar because they so loved the people of Krynn! The gods who visit war and ruin upon Ansalon in the name of divine justice! The gods who deserted us for centuries and returned upon a whim! I have never seen these gods! Why should we even believe they exist?”

Callach’s face was very grave. “Careful, mistress,” he said. “It never does to blaspheme something, even something you’ve never witnessed. I’ve never seen Reorx, but damned if I’ll say aught against him.”

“The more fool you, then!” retorted the captain. “I say the Great White Wyrm, if indeed it was sent by the gods, is a sign that once again they have abandoned us. I say I shall slay it and free all Krynn from its terror. I say that in this wasteland there is no god but me!”

Harfang gave Tashara a long, astonished stare, and Ayshe saw his fingers work, but he remained silent. Malshaunt was quiet as well, but his face was turned to his leader in adoration.

The dwarf leader shrugged again. “Well, mistress, as I say, it’s all one to me.” He turned to Ayshe. “Are you part of this foolishness, Brother?” he asked in Dwarvish.

Ayshe hesitated then nodded. “Yes. These are my friends and companions. I will not abandon them.” As he spoke the words, he stood straighter and knew he had made his final, irrevocable choice. There would be no turning back, even if it meant his life.

The dwarves insisted that Dragonsbane share a meal with them, and the two parties broke bread, sitting on the lap of the nearest peak, the one whose rocks shone red in the sunlight. Callach said little more beyond some general directions to the Dreamchamber in the valley beyond. The valley itself, he told them, was only a mile or two broad. Though the sky above them was clear, he warned several times of what they already knew: the White Wyrm could materialize without warning from a cloudless firmament. In exchange, Tashara told him about their fight with the yeti and the stores they had left in the beast’s cave.

Harfang was silent through much of the meal. Toward its conclusion he asked, “What do you know of yonder forest, Master Callach?”

Callach looked at him. “It’s a place best traveled quickly, master. The Glen of Darkness some call it. It stretches twenty miles in that direction’?—he waved north—“and farther there,” he said, gesturing to the south. “We’ve passed through it once, but I would not make that journey again unless I had magical means to defend myself.”

“Do you know of the great stone pillar in its midst,” Harfang asked.

“Aye.” Callach’s face paled again.

“What do you know of it?”

Callach shook his head. “I’ll not speak of it. It’s evil and should be avoided. We’re going north around the edge of the glen. It will add some days to our journey, but I’d rather have a whole skin at the end of the road.” He would say no more concerning the obelisk.

Finally Callach stood, and his followers joined him, assembled in their marching order.

“Well, mistress, all I can say is good luck. You’re fools, I think, but brave fools. There’s no denying that.” He turned to Ayshe. “Farewell, Brother,” he said in Dwarvish. “May your axe always be sharp.”

“Farewell,” Ayshe returned.

Dragonsbane stood as the dwarves filed past. The elves, Ayshe, and Harfang watched as they turned north at the border of the forest and moved along its edge, leaving a wide margin between themselves and the perilous wood.

Harfang, Tashara, and the mage turned. Ahead, their road rose to a crest, covered with snow and flanked by the jutting peaks.

The rest of Dragonsbane turned as well. Silently they shouldered their packs and lifted their weapons. They moved off up the slope, still with no word spoken among them.