The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 8

“Are we gonna feed ‘em?” Blister anxiously looked up at Rig, leaned against the rear mast, and yawned. She was not used to getting up at dawn, and she dabbed at the sleep in her eyes with the padded fingertips of her gloves.

No one had made her get up, especially after she had stayed awake half the night helping the freed prisoners on board— refugees, Rig was calling them. It was just too hard to sleep with all of these people milling about. There were too many chances that she might miss something, might miss out on some especially interesting conversation. “They’re all so hungry. I can hear their stomachs growling from here. Wake up, Rig Mer-Krel! I’m down here! How are we ever gonna feed ‘em?”

The mariner glanced down at her, and shrugged his broad shoulders. The kender made a soft huffing sound, crossed her arms petulantly, and returned to ogling the many people gathered on the forward section of Flint’s Anvil.

Some were sleeping near the mainmast, others were too giddy with freedom to do anything other than stand at the railing, take in their watery surroundings, and chatter about the future. There were nearly as many below deck—the more malnourished and injured of the lot. Jasper had been tending to them. The ship was seriously overcrowded.

Blister had counted them seven times. It took her that many attempts to get the same number twice—one hundred and eighteen. Nearly all of them were human. Gilthanas was one of six elves.

“Where are we gonna get enough food?” the kender persisted.

“And you wanted to bring one of the elephants on board? Then you really would have had something to worry about” The mariner studied her. It was clear she wasn’t going to drop the subject. “A couple of the men are in the galley fixing breakfast. Can’t you smell it?” Rig took a deep breath, held it, and smiled at the scent of eggs and spiced pork lingering in the sea air. He was hungry too.

“What about after that?” the kender said, sniffing the air.

“We took on supplies before we left Palanthas—dried meat, plenty of grain for bread, and bins full of potatoes and carrots,”

“All of which will last three days—if we’re lucky. I already figured it out. The water should last six or seven—maybe.” The kender pursed her small lips. “Saving all these people was wonderful, and I’m glad I got to help. But what are we gonna do with all of ‘em?”

Rig shrugged again. The mariner knew the escaped prisoners couldn’t be dropped off in Palanthas, the closest sizeable city. The Knights of Takhisis controlled the place— Khellendros’s knights. Hiding them in the cargo hold while they took on more supplies in the city wouldn’t work—the knights were inspecting practically every ship that pulled into the Palanthas docks.

“Gander, maybe ,” he said after a long silence. It was three and a half weeks away, perhaps a couple of days less if the winds were favorable. The kender was right, they’d have to take on food and water at some point, but any place before Gander was too close to the dragon as far as Rig was concerned. “Witdel, Portsmith, maybe Gwyntarr farther to the south,” he added. “Maybe we’ll drop a couple dozen off in each place to avoid too much attention. Those cities are all in Coastlund, and Skie doesn’t make too much trouble there.”

“So there wouldn’t be as many knights around?”

“Right. Should be safer.”

Blister shook her head. “I don’t think any place is really safe anymore, but I definitely vote for Gwyntarr. It’s the farthest from here. Besides, I’ve never been there, and I’d like to see it. Wonder how it got its name?”

The kender was determined to see as much of Krynn as possible during her lifetime. Itchy feet, she called k—the inability to stay in any one spot for too long. Her passion for traveling was the reason she had left Kendermore a few decades ago, and it had compelled her to join forces with Dhamon several long months ago. The prospect of travel made her continue to keep company with the mariner and Palin Majere. If she could fight a few dragons along the way, all the better.

“So what will they do?” she continued. “Provided that we can find enough food to keep ‘em all alive?”

“I don’t know. Start a new life in one of those towns. Stay out of trouble. Stay away from any Knights of Takhisis they might see.”

The kender scowled and shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. These people have no money, only the clothes on their backs—which aren’t even very nice clothes. Look at that fella—he’s got no shirt and his pants are ripped. And that one—the tunic has more holes than thread! How are they gonna start from nothing in a strange town? Who’d hire these beggars?”

Rig caught several of the former prisoners staring at him, smiling. It made him happy to think he had helped save them, had deadened some of the pain he was still experiencing over Shaon’s loss.

“They might have to steal to get some money or food. And if they get caught they could end up dead or in prison.” The kender was continuing to contemplate the freed prisoners’ fate in a soft enough voice that they couldn’t hear her, but loud enough that Rig couldn’t ignore her. “And if they end up in prison, maybe more Knights of Takhisis will come along and kidnap them. Or maybe they’ll starve. Maybe…”

The mariner looked down at the concerned kender and gave a hard tug on her braid. “Give it a rest, Blister,” he said. “We’ll give them a stake, some coins, help them start a new life.”

“How? Palin isn’t that rich. He’s already paid for the repairs on the ship, bought us supplies. Paid for—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

” You’ll take care of it?”

“Don’t ask,” he replied firmly. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He headed toward the wheel to relieve Groller. The money from the dragon’s jewelry was going to be earmarked for supplies for the ship, and it would have lasted a good long while. There were pearls, rubies, emeralds—enough to buy a bigger ship and supplies for it if he wanted. Now Rig made the decision to divide most of it between the refugees, and he’d keep just enough to supply the Anvil for a couple of months.

Groller joined Jasper below decks. The dwarf was in the cargo hold, checking this bandage, feeling that bump, offering a reassuring word, and in general doing his best to make everyone feel better. Some of the refugees were helping the dwarf. The elf, Gilthanas, was passing around mugs of water. Several in the hold didn’t need much tending. They were simply keeping their friends company or fighting off minor cases of seasickness.

Fury was busy sniffing everyone and lingering here and there to get his ears and belly scratched. The wolf eventually settled himself next to a young man who seemed to know just where to rub his neck.

The half-ogre waved to get the dwarf’s attention. Groller pointed to his head with one hand, his stomach with another, and made a sad-looking face. Next, he brought his hands close together in front of his chest, then moved them about three feet apart.

“Sick.” Jasper translated the first gesture. “Much.” The dwarf grimaced, then his face brightened. “How much? How badly are they injured? Are they very sick?” The dwarf waved his arms around to indicate all of his patients, then he brought a thumb to his breastbone and waggled the fingers of that hand—the gesture for fine, all right, and a couple of other things. Groller got the gist of what the dwarf was trying to say.

“Allufem be all right,” the half-ogre said. “Jaz-pear good healer. Jaz-pear suhmart. And tard.”

The dwarf nodded. He hadn’t slept since the refugees came onto the ship, and using his mystic magic to heal the worst wounds took a lot of energy. Initially he had spent most of his time ministering to Palin—and praying to the departed gods that the sorcerer would pull through. He motioned to Groller that he had to go check on Palin now.

Palin lay in his bunk, a damp cloth covering his eyes and forehead. His badly sunburned skin stood out against the white of the sheets. Feril sat near him, seemingly studying a spot on the floor. She looked up when Jasper and Groller entered, and drew a finger to her lips, signaling them to be quiet.

“He’s finally sleeping,” she whispered.

“No, I’m not.” Palin tugged the cloth loose and opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, but quickly stopped himself. He winced and looked down at his chest, which was partially covered with a thick bandage. It effectively hid the claw marks from the spawn and the arrow wound in his shoulder.

“You’re going to be hurting for the next few days,” Jasper said. “You were badly injured. I did the best I could, but — “

“I owe you my life ” Palin said.

“Well, you probably would’ve made it anyway. You’re more stubborn than just about anyone I know.” The dwarf stroked his short beard and shuffled over to examine Palin’s bandages. He poked and prodded at the sorcerer’s shoulder, ignoring Palin’s painful expression. “Hmm. Still bleeding. Was worse than I thought. Must fix that.”

Jasper had dug out two arrow heads the night before. It was a procedure that the sorcerer thought more painful than getting wounded in the first place. Then the dwarf had cast a couple of curative spells, which had gone a long way toward making certain that Palin would live.

The dwarf closed his eyes in concentration. He put his hand on Palin’s shoulder and shut out the creaking of the ship’s timbers and the sound of the waves beyond the porthole. He shut out everything until all he could hear was the beating of his own heart.

“Your heart gives you life,” Goldmoon had lectured him. “But your heart also gives you strength and power.” He remembered her words, heard her voice softly repeat them over and over in his mind. “The magic to heal is inside you,” she had told him, “inside your heart.” It had taken him a few years to discover that she was right.

A soft orange glow radiated from the dwarf’s fingers, left his hand, and hovered above the wound for a moment. Palm’s skin took on a warm sheen, and his chest rose and fell more quickly. Then the healing aura disappeared as quickly as it had come, Palin’s breathing slowed, and the dwarf let out a deep breath, surveying his handiwork. He tossed aside the bandage. The spell had made the bleeding stop, and only a raw red patch of skin remained to remind the sorcerer of the arrow. “You’ll scar,” jasper said.

“It’s not where anyone would notice,” the sorcerer said. “Thank you.”

“And you’ll be weak. You lost a lot of blood. Can’t do anything about your sunburn. Yours either, Feril. Or Blister’s. You all should’ve dressed better—going off into the desert like that. Your skin will be peeling for days. Can’t do nothing about the boils on your feet either.”

“Thank you,” Palin said again.

“You’re welcome.”

Groller tilted his head to the side and laid it in his open hand, then he pointed to Palin.

Jasper nodded. “Yes, he needs rest. But first he needs to talk to one of the refugees, that old man with the tablet. The man keeps mentioning the Blue, Khellendros, and says he must speak to you. Frankly, the man babbles. I think he’s a touch mad. But if you’ll give him a few minutes, maybe he’ll leave the rest of us alone.”

Feril looked at Palin. “He tried to talk to you on the way from the stronghold.”

“I don’t recall much of the trip back,” Palin admitted. With her help, the sorcerer sat up in his bunk and slowly swung his legs over the side. “All right, let’s go see this gentleman.”

“You’re not going anywhere — Jasper’s orders,” the dwarf said. “We’ll bring the old man to you.”

Several minutes later, Gilthanas escorted the old man to Palin’s quarters. The man was grizzled and bent, wearing tattered but clean clothes. He clutched a small clay tablet protectively.

“This is Raalumar Sageth,” Gilthanas announced. The elf stepped back and let the old man shuffle closer to Palin.

“Call me Sageth,” he said in a soft, cracking voice. “That’s what my friends called me. But my friends are all dead now. Hamular, Genry, Alicia, all gone — old, dead, buried.” His rheumy blue eyes carefully consulted the tablet he held, and he muttered to himself for several moments about age and wrinkles. “Southern Ergoth. You’re going there, I heard the sailors say. Cold place.” He cackled and wheezed. “Cold now in any event. Right place to go, wrong reason.”

Palin cocked his head. Jasper sidled over and sat next to the sorcerer on the bunk. “Told you he babbles,” he whispered to Palin. “Maybe this could have waited.” Jasper turned to the old man and said, “What’s wrong about our reason for going there?”

“Let’s see, let’s see.” Sageth consulted his tablet and chortled. “Ah, here it is. Alicia could have told you quicker. Did I tell you she’s dead?”

The dwarf and Palin nodded.

“Let’s see. You mean to fight the White there. Right?”

Feril stepped up behind him, and noted that his tablet was filled with a myriad of symbols and scratchings she couldn’t hope to fathom.

“Somebody needs to fight the dragon, any dragon,” Jasper said. “If we don’t stand up to the overlords soon, there’ll be no spot on Krynn left free “

Sageth glanced at the tablet again. “I miss Alicia, poor Genry the most. Better use for your energies than fighting. Hamular could have told you that, too. The White has an ally now. You see, some of the overlords are joining forces, the White of Southern Ergoth with the Red near Kender-more.”

“Malystryx,” Palin said.

“Yes, the Red Marauder. It was inevitable.” The old man wheezed and grabbed his side. “The Red seeks to establish a formidable power base. And something dreadful will happen if she is successful.”

“So killing the White will help erode that power base,” the dwarf said.

The old man closed his eyes. When next he spoke, his voice was clearer, as if he were putting all of his energy into talking. “Listen to me. Use your energies better. Forget about the White. Worry about magic first, the ‘dragons second. The Blue, Khellendros, the so-called Storm Over Krynn, searches for the ancient magic—magic from the Age of Dreams.”

Palin grew instantly interested. “What do you know of that magic?”

“Ancient, more powerful than all of the arcane items enchanted since.” The old man opened his eyes, looked down at his tablet, then peered intently at Palin. “More magic pulses through those artifacts than does in the veins of the dragons. The Storm Over Krynn wants the magic, and because I know he wants it, the knights imprisoned me.”

Feril walked over to face Sageth. “Imprisoned you? Why didn’t they just kill you if they thought you were such a threat?”

“I’m no threat,” the old man cackled. “My bones are old and brittle. Only what I know is a threat. But I think the knights would have killed me eventually—if you hadn’t come along. I’d be seeing Alicia and Genry. Hamular, well, I don’t know if I’d want to see him. See them soon enough anyway. I’m old.”

“Just how do you know what Khellendros wants?” Feril persisted. “How did you learn the dragon seeks the ancient magic? Why should we trust you? Believe you? Why should we even bother listening to you?”

He sadly shook his head. “Ah, Alicia and Genry were more believable than me. They had a way with words and could make people understand. No one has listened to me yet, only the knights, and when they heard my dire warnings, they put me away in the desert.”

He made a soft clucking sound and shook his head at Feril. “Dear elf, I was a scholar at the library in Palanthas. The contents of the building were stolen by a mysterious force more than thirty years ago, on the very day the Tower of High Sorcery collapsed. Alicia died in the attack; Genry and Hamular died years later of who knows what. The dragon wanted something there—in the library and in the tower, and I began to research just what that might be. I figured something important to a dragon, something that cost the lives of my friends, might also prove important to men.”

Feril’s expression softened. “So this ancient magic, what does the Blue intend to do with it?”

“He wants to keep the magic out of the hands of men because he believes destroying ancient artifacts would raise the level of magic permeating Krynn. And with that magic, men can maybe stand up to the dragons again.”

“What?” Jasper blurted. “When the gods left after the Chaos War, they took magic with them. Most healers and sorcerers can cast only simple enchantments now. It would seem that truly powerful magic is beyond everyone.”

“Powerful sorcerers can cast harder spells,” Palin said.

The old man nodded and grinned. “There is so much power in the artifacts from the Age of Dreams that if several of those artifacts were destroyed at the same time, the energy released would permeate Krynn, would raise the level of magic to what it was before the gods left. The gods created those artifacts, after all.”

“Goldmoon has such an artifact,” Palin said,

“One will not be enough,” the old man cautioned. “You will need at least three, four to be certain according to my research. And you will need to gather them soon. Time is crucial. With each passing day Khellendros moves closer to gaining the ancient magic.”

“There are so few artifacts remaining from that age,” Palin said.

“Precisely,” Sageth continued. “That is why you must beat the dragon to them. There is little time, and I doubt the dragon knows exactly where to look. This is a race against time, and you must win it if Krynn is to—”

“If you’ve researched what the dragon wants, then you must have some idea where we can find the artifacts,” Feril interrupted.

Again the old man consulted his tablet. “Some such remnants from the Age of Dreams are more powerful than others. These, I believe, are what the Storm Over Krynn will seek. According to my studies, and mind you some of this is cryptic, one can be found about the slender neck of an old woman who lives at the base of an ancient, glistening staircase.”

“Goldmoon’s medallion of faith,” Palin whispered.

“Another is a ring, once worn by the sorcerer men called Dalamar. It sits about another’s finger now, hidden and polished and in a building that calls no land home.”

Palin’s mind whirled. The building—the Tower of Wayreth? Did one of his associates possess Dalamar’s ring?

“Another is a jeweled scepter that rests in an old fortress in the heart of a murky forest, a realm where elves once walked peacefully. The scepter is called the Fist of E’li, and it was once wielded by Silvanos himself. It lies within a realm that is overgrown, corrupted by the Green Feril.”

“The Qualinesti forest, Beryllinthranox’s realm” Palin said. “I have scryed the dragon before, and I am familiar with the land; I know of the fortress.”

“The fourth is a crown that lies far away beneath the waves. Elves once held sway in this land, too. Now they are prisoners, trinkets on a watery shelf.”

“He’s talking about Dimernesti, the sunken land of the sea elves,” Feril said.

“The last I am aware of is a weapon, perhaps the most powerful weapon ever crafted. It was intended all along to fight dragons. Find it in a grave as white as the land that surrounds it, a resting place sealed with ice and legend.”

“Huma’s lance.” Gilthanas had remained silent to this point. The elf stepped forward. “I know exactly where the tomb lies—in Southern Ergoth. I was to meet someone there years ago. I was … unable to make the journey. We should go after the lance first. It is the closest. I can lead you there.” He directed the last statement at Palin. “Helping you is the least I can do. You saved my life and the lives of all the other prisoners.”

The old man studied Palin and Gilthanas. “I had not thought there were any on Krynn who would believe me, let alone have the courage to attempt this. But perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps fate led me to be imprisoned so I could be rescued by you. If you can attain these artifacts, I will help you destroy them and return magic to the world.”

The sorcerer made a move to rise from the bed, but the dwarf put a strong hand on his shoulder.

“You must get some rest first,” Jasper said, waggling a stubby finger at Palin. Feril and Gilthanas helped the sorcerer lie down again. “Now, Feril, Gilthanas, Sageth, the three of us have some planning to do. Southern Ergoth, eh? I’ll bet it’s pretty cold there.”

It was dark when Palin awoke. He was feeling much better, practically as good as new, he tried to tell himself. But he felt weak, felt older than his fifty-four years. He slowly dressed and took a few steps toward the porthole. Krynn’s single moon hung low in the sky, sending a dazzling display of pale white light dancing across the choppy water. Palin realized he had slept the day away.

The Anvil creaked softly. Palin heard the faint snap of the sails. The ship was heading west. When it was beyond Palanthas’s harbor, which would be in a few more days, it would round the tip of Tanith and start toward Southern Ergoth and Huma’s Tomb.

“But will the old man’s plan work?” Palin mused aloud. “I would like to be certain, to know that this isn’t some goose chase, a waste of precious time. Perhaps my associates will know.” He stared at the moon and pictured a tower sitting atop the water in its place. “The Tower of Wayreth,” he whispered.

Palin was a master at transporting himself from place to place. Though magic was no longer easy, this spell—particularly when he traveled to and from the tower—came easier than all the others. Perhaps it was the tower’s own residual magic that powered the enchantment. The ancient structure moved about at the behest of its occupants, calling no single place home.

” … in a building that calls no land home,” Palin recalled Sageth saying. “Has one of my fellow wizards been hiding something from me?”

Palin focused his thoughts, and the moon appeared to shimmer and turn as insubstantial as fog. In an instant an image of the Tower of Wayreth sat on the horizon in its place. The moon was not truly gone, nor was the tower truly there, but visualizing the building at the edge of his sight helped him to cast the spell. Dark, mysterious and illuminated only by the faint starlight from overhead, the tower beckoned.

The sorcerer steadied himself, closed his eyes, and felt the gently rolling deck of the ship turn to solid stone beneath his feet.

“Palin!”

“Usha?”

She was in his arms in a heartbeat, hugging him fiercely and causing his mending wounds to flare up with pain. But the sorcerer didn’t mind. He returned her embrace and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her lilac perfume. After several long moments, she edged away from him, a slight frown on her unblemished face.

“Where have you been? Look at your face!” She ran her smooth fingers over the short beard he’d grown. He hadn’t shaved since he’d left the Anvil to journey through the desert.

“I think it makes me look more distinguished.”

“Liar,” she tsk-tsked at him. “You’re not a young man anymore, Palin Majere, but you’ve been running around Ansalon like one. And you’re so sunburnt.”

He smiled and stared wistfully at her, glad that his clothes covered his bandages so she wouldn’t fuss over him. Usha Majere was only a few years younger than Palin, though she could pass for a woman nearly twenty years younger than that. Her silvery-white hair fell in soft curls about her shoulders, framing her face and her golden eyes.

Palin thought she still looked very much like the girl he had met more than thirty years ago. His love for her grew stronger with each passing day.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. He raised his hand, and cupped her chin. Her skin was soft and smooth and unblemished by the years. “It’s not that I’m not glad to see you. I certainly am. But why aren’t you in Solace?”

“I was worried about you,” she said. “I hadn’t heard from you in a while. And neither had they.” She pointed to the cloaked men moving up behind Her. “The Master brought me here, said he knew you’d be coming for a visit soon. I’m just happy he was right.”

The Master of the Tower nodded to Majere. “You have news for us?” His voice barely rose above a whisper and was muffled by the folds of the hood of his black robe. The dark-cloaked man was the caretaker of the Tower of High Sorcery, hence his title. Despite all the time they’d spent together, Palin scarcely knew him. The Master kept his past a secret, dressed in somber robes that hid his features, and rarely talked about anything save magic and the dragons.

Near him stood the Shadow Sorcerer, an even greater enigma. Dressed in voluminous gray robes that effectively masked individual features, the sorcerer could have been a man or a woman. It was impossible to tell. The voice was too indistinct to provide a clue, and though the Shadow Sorcerer had spent much time over the years with Palin and the Master, there was never a revealing slip about his—or her—past.

Palin had given up trying to figure either sorcerer out. His Uncle Raistlin had been a bit eccentric; many sorcerers seemed to wrap themselves in secrets and puzzles. He knew only that they were able colleagues interested in combating the menace of the overlords. He trusted them and welcomed their counsel.

“We looked in on you,” the Master began, gesturing toward a crystal ball on the shelf. “We saw you in the Blue’s lair. You were most fortunate that he was not at home.”

Palin smiled, and nodded his head. “It wasn’t exactly the lair we were looking for, but the trip was valuable nonetheless. We learned how spawn are created.” He continued to regale the sorcerers and Usha with the tale of his escapades in the Northern Wastes while the quartet climbed the stairs to the tower’s topmost level.

A rectangular ebonwood table stretched nearly the length of the room. Maps detailing where dragons had claimed territory hung on all four walls. Palin sat at the head of the table and steepled his fingers. The climb had taken more effort than he had expected, and he didn’t want his wife to realize that he was winded. Usha, who rarely joined the sorcerers’ sessions, sat next to him, looking intently into his eyes.

“Khellendros is becoming an increasing threat,” Palin said finally.

The Shadow Sorcerer brushed by the Majeres and stood in front of one of the room’s windows. “All of the dragons are becoming an increasing threat, Majere. An army of blue spawn? If Khellendros has discovered the secret for making dragonspawn, the other dragons will learn it soon — if they don’t know already. We’ll be facing armies of spawn. But spawn are the least of our worries. Some dragons are gathering human slaves. Now you say Khellendros wants to gather ancient artifacts — magic from the Age of Dreams? If he seeks them, other dragons will, too.”

“That ancient magic,” the Master cut in. “It is more powerful than any could comprehend. Palin, I believe Sageth could be correct — destroying it might unleash enough energy to increase Krynn’s magic.”

“But something bothers you about the idea,” Palin prompted. “I can tell by the tone of your voice.”

“What troubles me is that the Shadow Sorcerer and I had not considered such a venue before. It took a half-mad old scholar from a prison cell to open our minds. Enhancing magic, if it could be done, sorcerers could command more powerful spells, and with them, the dragons could be challenged.”

“That settles it, then,” Palin said. “My companions and I will search for the artifacts. While we do so, I want you to research the matter. I want to be absolutely certain we’d be taking the right path by destroying the items once we found them.”

The Master nodded. “Research takes time, and it doesn’t always lead to the conclusion one expects.”

“Time isn’t something we have a lot of,” Palin said. “But regardless of whether we decide to destroy the items, we need to find them before Khellendros.” He inhaled deeply, looked into the recesses of the Master’s shadowy hood, and then turned to glance at the Shadow Sorcerer. “I recently learned that a piece of the ancient magic sits within this tower. It is a ring.”

“Dalamar’s ring,” the Master answered, his singularly soft voice even more difficult to hear than usual.

“You have it?”

The Master extended his right hand beyond the folds of his long sleeve. A thick band of braided gold encircled his middle finger. The entire piece gleamed with an eldritch light, and Palin felt the waves of its dark energy from several feet away.

The Shadow Sorcerer pushed himself back from the table. “And just what other secrets do you have?”

“Perhaps as many as you.” The Master withdrew his hand back into his sleeve.

“How did you come into possession of such a ring?” asked the Shadow Sorcerer.

“Dalamar studied in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. It was one of the items he left behind, and I rescued it before the tower was destroyed many years ago.”

“And Dalamar was a Wizard of the Black Robes, just as Raistlin was. And Raistlin would have known just where Dalamar left the precious ring.”

“I have no qualms, Shadow Sorcerer, about surrendering this ring to Palin,” the Master said. “It is a very powerful artifact. But first I would prefer to conduct the research he requires. I would prefer to know that my sacrifice of the ring will not be wasted. I’ll review Raistlin’s notes. Certainly they discuss the ancient magic. Raistlin knew how.”

“Raistlin,” the Shadow Sorcerer hissed. “Not even he could have hoped to stand against these dragons.”

“You don’t know that,” the Master argued. “He was powerful. His books and tomes are filled with—”

“Words and suppositions about the arcane,” the Shadow Sorcerer finished. “But do what you will. Maybe you will find something of use amid his musty ruminations.”

The Master glanced at Palin. “Sageth spoke of needing four artifacts. When you’ve gained three, return to me. Then you can have Dalamar’s ring—the fourth.”

“Such a noble sacrifice,” the Shadow Sorcerer whispered. “But then it’s no greater sacrifice than any loving uncle would make.”

Palin cleared his throat. “I’ll return to the Anvil We’ve people on board to find homes for. We’ll be stopping in some of the coastal cities on our way to Southern Ergoth.”

“Fine,” the Shadow Sorcerer said. “You’ll go sailing. The Master will delve into Raistlin’s books; one of us studying the ancient magic is sufficient. I will busy myself with a more crucial task—looking in on the great Red to the west. I think she is far more of a threat than your Storm Over Krynn and more important than your artifact chase.”

The Shadow Sorcerer returned to the window, looking out at the stars and at the surrounding orchard. “Tomorrow I will scry the Peak of Malys.”

“I will leave in the morning,” Palin said.

“So soon?” the Master asked.

“I didn’t tell my friends I was coming here, and if they find me missing on the ship, they’re liable to think I fell overboard.”

“This time I’m going with you.” Usha’s voice was firm and invited no argument.

“So am I.” The speaker stood in the doorway. His eyes were golden, like his mother’s, and his hair chestnut brown, just like his father’s was many years ago. “It’s past time I involved myself in all of this.”

Palin smiled and nodded a greeting to his son. Yet the sorcerer was taken aback to see Ulin—he expected his son to be in Solace with his wife and children. “Very well, I welcome your help. I’ll take us back to Flint’s Anvil shortly after dawn—after we’ve thoroughly stocked up on food.”