Darkness and Light

Chapter 15

Sturm awoke to a tapping on his nose. He cnacked an eyelid and saw Rainspot standing over him, his stubby forefinger poised for another tap.

"What do you want?" he rumbled. The gnome withdrew his finger.

"We're having a secret meeting," whispered Rainspot. "I can't find the lady, but we want you to take part."

Sturm sat up. It was still night and he could hear hushed murmurs from the gnomes down the hall. Kitiara's place was empty, but he wasn't too concerned. Sturm knew that she could take care of herself quite well.

He tightened the lacings on his leggings and went down the hall with Rainspot. The gnomes flinched in unison when they appeared.

"I told you it was them," said the sharp-eared Cutwood.

"But you didn't say when they were coming," objected

Bellcrank.

"You should learn to be more exact," said Roperig. There was general nodding of small pink heads.

Sturm rubbed his forehead. It was too soon after waking to jump into a gnomish conversation. "What's all this about?" he asked at normal volume.

"Shh!" seven gnomes said at once. Wingover waved for

Sturm to come to their level, so he knelt beside Sighter.

"We're discussing plans to, uh, abscond with some of

King Rapaldo's scrap metal," said Wingover. "We'd like to hear your ideas."

Sturm was surprised at such tactics coming from the gnomes.

"My idea is, don't steal from your host," he said bluntly.

"Don't misunderstand, Master Brightblade," said Bell crank quickly. "We don't want to steal from the king, it's just that we haven't any gold or silver to pay him with."

"Then we must arrange some other method," Sturm said.

"After all, we sorely need his help, and it will serve us ill to rob a potential benefactor."

"Suppose he won't give us any metal," said Wingover.

"We have no reason to be so suspicious."

"His Majesty seems rather unstable to me," Sighter said.

"He's completely off his gears," said Fitter.

"It's not our place to judge," said Sturm. "If the gods saw fit to take Rapaldo's wits, it's because he was so lonely here.

Imagine being on this moon for ten years or more with no one but the tree-folk for company. You should feel pity for

Rapaldo." Sturm looked over the gnomes' crestfallen faces.

"Why not think of some way to win Rapaldo's gratitude?

Then he would probably give us the metal we need."

The gnomes looked ashamedly at the ground. After a moment's silence, Wingover said, "Perhaps we could invent something to cheer His Majesty up."

Six gnome faces popped up, smiling. "Excellent, excel lent! What shall it be?" asked Bellcrank.

"A musical instrument," said Roperig.

"Suppose he doesn't know how to play it?" countered

Sighter.

"We'll make one that plays itself," said Cutwood.

"We could give him a Personal Heating Apparatus — "

"An automatic bathing device — "

"— an instrument!"

Sturm stood and backed out of the newest wrangle. Let them figure it out, he thought. It'll keep them occupied. He decided to find Kit.

He wandered along the corridor. By night, the way was dim and confusing, and more than once he walked into a dead end. This place is a maze, he decided. He doubled back to what he believed was the main corridor and started again for the outside. There was a series of niches along the right again, but he didn't hear the gnomes. The niches were dusty and empty. It was not the same hall.

At the end, the passage turned left. Sturm swung into the black gap and immediately stumbled over some dry sticks on the floor. He fell hard on his chest and banged his head against something solid that skittered away when he hit it.

The object bounced off the wall and rolled back to Sturm.

He heaved himself up on his hands. A wedge of starlight fell across the open end of the niche. Sturm held up the object that he'd knocked his head on. It was a dry white human skull. The 'sticks' he'd tripped over were bones.

He went back out into the open passage and examined the skull. It was broad and well developed; certainly a man's.

The most disturbing feature was the deep cleft in the bone of the forehead. The man had died by violence — as by an axe stroke.

Sturm carefully replaced the skull in the cul-de-sac. Out of reflex, he checked to see if his sword was hanging in its scabbard. The cold hilt was reassuring to his touch. He was worried. Where was Kitiara?

He bumped into Kitiara as she came skulking down the passage. She had a tousled, slightly wild look that made him think she'd been drinking. But no, ale was hard to come by on Lunitari.

"Kit, are you all right?"

"Yes. I am. I think."

He put an arm around her waist to support her and steered her to a low stretch of wall, where they sat.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I went walking," she said. "Rapaldo's gardens take longer to vanish after dark than the wild plants we saw. There were some big toadstools, with pink spores coming out. They smelled good."

"They've affected you," he said, noting the light dusting of pink on her shoulders and hands. "How do you feel I"

"I feel — strong. Very strong." She gripped his free hand and squeezed his wrist. Pain raced up Sturm's arm.

"Careful!" he said, wincing. "You'll break my arm!"

Her grip didn't slacken. Sturm felt the blood pounding in his fingertips. In her present state, it wasn't prudent to strug gle. She might crush his arm without realizing it.

"Kit," he said as evenly as the pain would allow, "you're hurting me. Let go."

Her hand snapped open, and Sturm's arm dropped out like a dead weight. He massaged the bruised arm back to life.

"You must've inhaled those spores," he said. "Why don't you go lie down? Do you remember the way?"

"I remember," she said dreamily. "I never get lost." She slipped away like a sleepwalker, making unerring turns and avoiding all the wrong passages. Sturm shook his head.

Such uncontrolled strength was deadly. What was happen ing to her — to all of them?

Then, curious, he decided to see those mushrooms from a safe distance. He went along the path Kitiara had used until he reached the outside wall. The neatly boxed-in garden beds were empty. No trace of the mushrooms remained. He stepped over the low wall and dipped his hand into the ever present scarlet dust. Had she indeed been walking in her sleep? Or had the mushrooms withered in the short time between her seeing them and his arrival? The stars and set ting silver moon offered no clues.

Sturm noticed a dull light moving along the gallery on the north side of the palace. He cut across the gardens to inter cept the light. It proved to be His Majesty, carrying a weakly burning oil lamp.

"Oh," said Rapaldo, "I remember you."

"Good evening, Your Majesty," said Sturm graciously. "I saw your lamp."

"Did you'? It's a feeble thing, but the oil I make is not of the best quality, heh, heh."

"Your Majesty, I wonder if I might have a word with you."

"What word?"

Sturm fidgeted. This was as bad as trying to talk with the gnomes. "My friends were wondering, Sire, if we might be able to get some scrap metal from you to fix our flying ship, once we find it."

"You'll never get it back from the Micones," said Rapaldo.

"We must try, Sire. Could we get some metal from your supply?"

"What kind and how much'?" asked the king sharply.

"Forty pounds of iron."

"Forty pounds! Ta-ra! That's a king's ransom, and I should know. I am the king!"

"Surely iron is not so precious — "

Rapaldo hopped backward, the wavering lamp throwing weird shadows behind him. "Iron is the most precious thing of all! It was the iron axe I carry that made me master of the red moon. Do you not see, Sir Knight, that there is no metal at all here? Why do you think my subjects bear swords of glass? Every scrap of iron is a buttress to my rule, and I will not part with any of it."

Sturm waited until Rapaldo's quivering hands had grown more steady. He said, slowly, "Sire, perhaps you would like to go with us when we leave on the gnomes' flying ship."

"Eh? Leave my kingdom?"

"If you so desire."

Rapaldo's eyes narrowed. "My subjects would never allow it. They won't even let me leave the town. I've tried.

I've tried. I'm their link with the gods, you know, and they are very jealous of me. They won't let me go."

"What's to stop you from leaving at night, when the Luni tarians are rooted where they stand?"

"Heh, heh, heh! They would hunt me down by daylight!

They move very fast when they want to, don't worry! And there's never been anyplace else to go. The ants have your craft and will not let you have it. The Voice has it now."

Sturm said firmly, "We intend to ask this Voice to return our ship."

"The Voice! Ta-ra-ra! Why not ask the High Lords of

Heaven to bear you home on their backs, like birdies, tweet, tweet? The Voice is evil, Sir Knightblade; beware of it!"

Sturm felt as if he were swimming against a strong cur rent. Rapaldo's mind could not follow the course of reason that Sturm had set out, but there were some nuggets of truth in what he said. The 'Voice,' if it existed, was a great unknown quantity. If it refused them, their hopes for getting home were destroyed.

Sturm made one last attempt to persuade Rapaldo. 'Your

Majesty, if my friends and I can convince the Voice to release our flying ship, would you then provide us with forty pounds of iron! In return, we'll carry you back to Krynn — to your home island, if you wish."

"Enstar?" said Rapaldo, blinking rapidly. Tears formed in his eyes. "Home?"

"To your very doorstep," Sturm promised.

Rapaldo set the lamp on the ground. His hand flashed to his hip, and came back gripping the broad shipwright's axe.

Sturm tensed.

"Come!" said Rapaldo. "I will show you the obelisk."

He padded away, leaving the lamp flickering on the floor.

Sturm looked at the lamp, shrugged, and followed the mad king of Lunitari. Rapaldo's skinny, rag-wrapped feet made only the faintest thumps as he scampered ahead of Sturm.

"This way, Sir Brightsturm! I have a map, a chart, a dia gram, heh, heh."

Sturm followed him around half a dozen twists and turns.

When he faltered or felt uncertain, Rapaldo urged him on.

"The obelisk is in a secret valley, very hard to find! You must have my map to locate it!" Then Rapaldo's tread abruptly ceased, as did his lunatic cackle.

'Your Majesty?" Sturm called quietly. No reply. Careful ly, Sturm drew his sword, letting the blade slip through his fingers to deaden the scrape of metal. "King Rapaldo?" The passage ahead was violet shadows and silence. Sturm advanced into the darkness, sliding his feet along the floor to avoid being tripped.

Rapaldo leaped down from a recess in the wall and brought the axe down on Sturm's head. His helmet saved his skull from the fate of Darnino, but the blow drove the light from his mind and left him laid out cold on the floor.

"Well, well," said Rapaldo, breathing quickly. "A rude dint, I'm sure, and not at all fitting for the new king of Luni tari, eh? The tree-men would never allow their only king to fly away, fly! So I'll take the flying ship and lady, I will, and the trees will have their king. You! Ha, ha!" He giggled and picked up Sturm's helmet. The iron pot had taken the axe's edge with only a slight dent. Rapaldo tried the helmet on. It was far too large for him, and fell over his eyes. The mon arch of the red moon stood over his victim, spinning the hel met around his head with his hands and laughing ceaselessly.