The Day of the Tempest

Chapter 16

Bundled in furs they'd purchased in the last port, they looked like bears walking on their hind legs. Groller was distinguishable because of his size, but from more than a few feet away it would have been impossible to tell Ulin and Gilthanas apart. Fury plodded through the snow several paces behind them, his whiskers and jaws sheathed in ice crystals, and his nose quivering, taking in the scents of the frigid place.

The Qualinesti’s teeth chattered. “From the deserts of the Northern Wastes to the windswept barrens of Southern Ergoth in less than two months,” he said aloud, knowing Ulin couldn’t hear him through his muffled hood and over the whipping wind. “And it’s noon here, the hottest part of the day. How will I endure the coldest?” He knew that the former homeland of the Kagonesti would be icy because the White had altered the climate, but he hadn’t fathomed that the cold would be so intense. The cold seeped through the seams in his fur garments and stung his skin and eyes. His feet were likewise chilled—despite the leather and fur boots he wore.

The wind keened like a clan of maddened ghosts. The sound unnerved Gilthanas and Ulin. The Qualinesti looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Flint’s Anvil—the carrack’s sails specks of white against a bay dotted with miniature icebergs. Then he turned back toward the frigid heart of Southern Ergoth and continued walking. Despite the snow cover he knew he could still find his way to the tomb.

In most places the snow was packed so hard that a glistening sheet of ice had formed over the top, a thick crust that was relatively easy to walk over—even though the heavy furs they wore were cumbersome and made the going slow. In other places the snow was loose and fluffy, and Gilthanas, who was in the lead, found himself floundering up to his waist, like a man caught in quicksand. Groller helped him up each time, careful not to get caught himself. Then Gilthanas would probe ahead with the dragonlance Rig had reluctantly loaned him, hoping to find the safest places to walk. Midway through the afternoon the sky became completely overcast, making everything look even bleaker and more foreboding.

“One month,” the Qualinesti whispered. “It will take us one month to reach the tomb and find the lance.” He glanced at Ulin. “Maybe just a little longer. Have you been away from your wife this long before?”

Ulin shook his head.

I'm sure it’s hard.”

“I love her, and the children ,” Ulin said. “But love isn’t enough. Something’s missing in my life”

“And you expect to find it in a snowdrift?”

“I need to make a difference in this world, whether with my magic or my wits.”

“There’s too much of your great-uncle and your father hi you.”

The younger Majere would contact Palin if they, when they, Gilthanas corrected himself, attained their goal. Then his father would magically whisk them all out of here. Bringing someone home was a lot easier than sending them someplace he wasn’t sure of. “You could end up in the middle of a glacier,” Gilthanas remembered Palin saving.

Fury seemed to handle the climate much better. He strayed from the trio only occasionally, and that was when he smelled something particularly interesting. Ears laid back against the sides of his head, the wolf would creep forward, sniffing and stalking. Gilthanas, Ulin, and Groller slowed their pace to a crawl at those times, glancing about furtively.

Ulin had the feeling they were being watched, or followed, and he was certain that was why Fury seemed so wary. They could find no signs of tracks, but twice the younger Majere swore he saw a man-shaped thing standing on the drifts behind them. But by the time he got Groller and Gilthanas to look, the creature had vanished. There were no tracks to be found, and Fury could pick up no trace of a presence.

Nightfall found them sitting against a curving bank of snow that resembled a frozen wave. It provided shelter against the still-blowing wind. Ulin was still nagged by the memory of the shape he was certain he had seen, and worried that their position wasn’t defensible enough. But they were too tired to search for a better spot, so they quickly settled in.

The cloud cover thinned and the stars poked through, reflecting off the snow and making the landscape breathtakingly beautiful. Gilthanas admired the view, all the while silently cursing the cold and keeping his eye trained on the horizon. Perhaps Ulin had spotted an ogre, Gilthanas speculated, or maybe a Kagonesti bundled in furs—a lone wild elf who hadn’t left when the dragon took over and who didn’t want to approach strangers.

Protected by the bank and shielded from the whistling wind, they could hear each other for the first time since they had set foot in Southern Ergoth. Ulin shook his head, saying that what he had seen was not like any creature he had ever looked upon before, and it certainly wasn’t an elf bundled up. The manlike shape was large and bloated, but too far away to describe in any more detail.

Gilthanas leaned back against the hard-packed snow, closing his eyes. He had suggested leading this small expedition to Huma’s Tomb, and his words had been persuasive enough to put him in charge. His own lanky elven legs were having trouble with the rigors of the trip. He set the lance against the drift behind him. “I hope we won’t need this,” he told Ulin. “Rig’s been itching to use it against a dragon. Even though it was forged to slay them, I doubt it would do much against an overlord.”

Ulin nodded and closed his eyes. He had decided to come to Southern Ergoth of his own accord. Though he admired his father greatly, the opportunity to be out from under Palin Majere’s formidable shadow while doing something important on his own appealed to him. “I’m a grown man who’ll always live in my father’s shadow,” he said to himself, “but not here.”

The Qualinesti drew the furs tighter around himself and scooted closer to Ulin to gain some semblance of warmth. He tried to picture sand and sparkling waters, and tall oak trees in the spring—anything to keep his mind off this cold. But nothing worked.

One week later, they saw two of the manlike creatures, and this time they carried spears or staves. “And not friendly,” the elf observed.

That day they also spotted boot tracks that led in the direction of the tomb. There were nine distinct sets of tracks, and none of them were large enough to be ogres or the bloated creatures that were stalking them.

“I don’t like it,” Gilthanas told Ulin that night. This time they’d found shelter in a small clearing in a grove of pine trees. “For a place as desolate as this, there shouldn’t be any signs of company.”

“But someone is here,” Ulin said, “ahead of us and going in practically the same direction—a straight line to the Tomb of Huma, And those things behind us,” he added as he munched on a strip of dried beef from his rations, “wonder what they are? I guessed they were hostile when I saw their spears, but so far they have stayed away. Perhaps it is they who are afraid of us.”

Groller, oblivious to their words, stood and sniffed the wind. The half-ogre glanced nervously about, smelling something out of place—something that he couldn’t identify. Yet the scent seemed familiar. Fish? The sea? He cocked his head to the side and headed away from his companions.

Fury growled, the hair standing in a frost-covered ridge along his back. The wolf crept forward, slinking between a pair of smaller pines. Groller threw off his hood so he could see better.

Suddenly, the wolf howled and jumped back from a deep drift. Groller saw a spear jab into the wolf’s side. Reaching into the folds of his fur cloak, the half-ogre tugged free his belaying pin and churned forward, the snow spraying Ulin and Gilthanas who were behind him.

Erupting from a drift ahead of him, between a pair of tall pines, were four creatures. They were man-shaped, but the moonlight filtering down through the branches softly illuminated their grotesque features so that the men could finally see them clearly.

They were taller than the half-ogre, each at least eight feet in height, blue-gray, with shoulders a yard or more wide. They were exceedingly muscular, despite the thick folds of blubber that hung about their waists. Appearing to be a cross between men and walruses, they had thick torsos from which sprouted humanlike arms that ended in stubby, webbed claws. Their walruslike heads were set on short, thick necks. Twin tusks nearly two feet long curved down from mouths filled with blunt teeth. Their eyes were small, shiny black and set atop rows of bristles that grew down to their upper lips. And the skins they wore were crude and poorly cured.

They jabbered something, deep and guttural. Groller only saw their mouths move, clouds of vapor steaming from them as the heat of their breath met the chill air. The half-ogre slammed his belaying pin against the chest of the nearest one, but so thick was the creature’s hide, that the blow was virtually ineffectual, bouncing off.

“Get Groller away from the trees!” Ulin called to Gilthanas. The younger Majere crouched in the snow, mouthing the words to an enchantment he’d been discussing with his father, and keeping his eyes on the boughs of the pines. “If this worked against the Knights of Takhisis’s ship, it’ll work against pine trees!”

The half-ogre spotted the other three closing in on him, and he backed up a few steps until he was against the trunk of one of the thicker pines. The creature directly in front lunged forward with the spear, and Groller didn’t sidestep the attack. Instead, his hands shot forward, dropping the belaying pin and closing about the haft. The half-ogre’s muscles tensed, and he just barely managed to keep the spear tip from its target. Then he tugged upward, wrenching the spear away from the walrus-man. The other three closed, and Groller used the spear to parry their weapons, alternately defending himself with it, then striking out

Fury howled behind him, then sprinted across the snow, launching himself against the weaponless creature in front of the half-ogre. The frenzied wolf began tearing at the walrus-man’s folds of blubber. The creature flailed about, trying desperately to dislodge the animal. The wolf, though wounded, nimbly dodged the creature’s tusks as it darted in closer. Blood soaked the snow, looking rosy beneath the pale moon.

“I can’t get Groller’s attention!” Gilthanas cried as he scooped up the dragonlance and started toward the half-ogre.

“Stay back!” Ulin called. “Can you shield him?” Ulin’s hands were glowing faintly red and he was angling his fingers, thumbs touching and pointing toward the tree that Groller stood beneath.

The Qualinesti closed his eyes and shrugged the fur cloak off his shoulders. He felt the wind whip about his body, felt it as if it were a living thing, a lover caressing his skin. He beckoned to the wind, urged it closer, tugging the energy from each gust The energy pulsed through him, not warming him, but giving him magical strength.

He tugged more, and his lips began to tremble from the cold. Gilthanas felt ice forming under his nose, though he continued to coax the energy. His fingers and toes grew numb. He felt himself shivering uncontrollably, but finally the wind was his to control, and he cupped his hand in front of his face, mimicking a shield.

“Finish, Ulin!” the Qualinesti shouted as he tried to hold his concentration. “I can’t keep this up forever!”

As Gilthanas’s words died, Ulin released his spell. Instantly the large pine Groller stood against turned into giant kindling. Its trunk and limbs were suddenly coated with brilliant red-orange tendrils of fire. Flaming needles fell from the branches and coated the creatures. None touched Groller, however, as the wind formed a dome around the surprised half-ogre, effectively insulating him from the magic.

The creatures, unaccustomed to the heat, writhed on the ground as more needles and bits of branches fell on them and caught their fur cloaks on fire. The air was filled with the scent of burning wood and flesh, and the stench from the dying creatures was overpowering. Groller watched in fascination and horror, glancing toward Fury. The wolf was just beyond the circle of destruction and continued to tear at the remaining walrus-man, whose struggles were becoming increasingly feeble.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Gilthanas shouted above the wind as he picked up his cloak and wrapped it around himself. He hefted the lance over his shoulder. “That fire can be seen for miles!”

“The White,” Ulin breathed, realizing he might have made a terrible mistake.

“Frost might notice it” Gilthanas replied, as he started from the clearing. “And if he sees us—unless I’m very, very lucky with this lance—we’re dead.”

All that was left of the large pine was a black silhouette that creaked in the wind. The fire had left almost as quickly as it had come, and Groller carefully edged away from the tree. Fury, his muzzle red with blood, followed. The trio stared at the wolf. The wound from the spear had healed in the passing of a few minutes.

“No time to wonder about that now!” Gilthanas shouted, pointing at the wolf. “Let’s move!”

Groller and Fury took the lead, cutting toward the edge of a canyon. It stretched like a deep scar across the land, the moonlight hitting the edges of it and filtering down to the snow-covered floor far below.

They descended the terrain for hours, and dawn found them at the bottom of the canyon. They rested there, sleeping in shifts to keep watch for more of the creatures and ice bears.

They’d found tracks of the latter just before they started down the ridge, and at the bottom they had found nine additional sets of boot tracks.

Then they spent days wending their way through the canyon, which had the advantage of offering considerable protection from the wind. They could hear each other without shouting, and Gilthanas passed the time asking Ulin questions about his magical training. They diligently tried to follow the boot tracks, jumped at every unusual sound, and contemplated what was so extraordinary about Fury that had made him heal so easily.

A three-day blizzard slowed their progress to a crawl, completely covered the boot tracks they’d been following, and had them wondering if they would die before reaching their destination. But finally the blizzard broke, and the sun made a rare appearance.

“Three weeks. At least I think it’s been that long,” Ulin said as they neared the end of the canyon.

“Closer to four,” Gilthanas returned.

“It seems like we’ve been here forever.” The mouth of the canyon widened, opening onto a vast plain of ice. “You said a month right?”

“My best guess,” the elf replied. “Decades ago, when this was all scrub, it would’ve taken me two or three weeks to traverse this ground. So I guessed a month given all the snow.”

“I think you were being optimistic,” Ulin said. “I wonder if my father has found the scepter yet. He’ll probably be safe and sound with Goldmoon at the Citadel of Light long before we ever locate the tomb “

“And warm,” Gilthanas added.

“I can’t remember what warm is like.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not much farther. A few more days from my recollection” the elf replied. “It’s just past the plains.” He shook his hands. His fingers were numb beneath his gloves, and he could barely feel his frozen toes. He and Ulin had taken turns complaining about the cold for the first week or so of the journey. Now the Qualinesti kept all the complaints to himself. He glanced down at the ground, and sucked in his breath. Just ahead, there were traces of crimson in the snow. Frozen, it was impossible to tell how fresh the blood was.

“Ize bear!” Groller hollered. The half-ogre spun and hurled the spear he’d appropriated from one of the walrus creatures. A large ice bear, easily a dozen feet tall, was poised to strike a little more than a dozen feet from them. Nothing but white fur against all that snow and ice, it had been difficult to see. Only its black eyes and nose had given the half-ogre an inkling. The spear sank into the bear’s stomach, but the bear didn’t move, and it didn’t growl. It remained frozen and unblinking, with the spear protruding from it.

The wolf’s hair stood in a ridge along his arched back. Fury hunkered low in the snow, his nostrils quivering and his tail straight out

Groller stood puzzled as Ulin shuffled toward him. The younger Majere wished he would have paid more attention when the half-ogre was teaching the Kagonesti and the dwarf some of the hand signals he employed for words. Ulin tugged on the half-ogre’s furry sleeve, then balled his gloved hands and vigorously shook them in front of his chest. It was the gesture for cold, frozen. Ulin pointed to the bear and repeated the gesture, trying to explain to Groller that somehow the bear had died frozen in that position. But the half-ogre shook his head.

“Dno,” he said to Ulin. “Ooo-lin wrong ‘bout bear.” Groller sniffed the air and plodded toward the bear, pulling loose his spear and gazing beyond the unfortunate creature. Ulin and Gilthanas followed him, but Fury held his position, refusing to go any closer and growling all the louder.

“In the name of Paladine,” Ulin whispered.

Groller brushed away some of the snow along the wall behind the frozen bear, revealing a thin sheet of ice that cracked quickly after the half-ogre pounded on it several times. Also revealed was the entrance to a massive cave. Inside were more frozen bears and dozens of seals. A whale, looking like it somehow had beached itself upon the cave floor far from the sea, was also there.

“Here, over here.”

At first Ulin thought it was the wind whispering, but the sound repeated itself, with a little more volume this time. Glancing deeper into the massive chamber, Ulin spied nine figures—eight of them wearing the mailed armor of the Knights of Takhisis beneath their furry cloaks. The ninth, a young woman, was clad in the silver-plated armor of a Solamnic Knight of the Crown. Frost covered her exposed face and hands, but her eyes blinked.

“Here!” one of the Knights of Takhisis called.

Ulin and Groller rushed forward. Gilthanas stood at the cave entrance, swallowing hard. “Gellidus’s larder,” he whispered. “Ulin” the elf said a little louder, “If we’re going to try to free anyone alive, we’ve got to do it quickly. We can’t afford to stay here. Who knows when the dragon will get hungry and come back here looking for something to snack on?”

Ulin and Groller chipped frantically away at the ice. Only two of the eight Knights of Takhisis lived—and the young Solamnic, though just barely. The other Knights of Takhisis had been smothered by ice that covered their entire forms. Practically all of the other creatures in the larder were covered with ice, too, and in some cases the coating was an inch or more thick.

“The White,” the first Knight of Takhisis to be freed said. He wobbled, unable to stand on his frozen legs. “He came upon us in the valley. I thought he meant to kill us all there.”

“But he wanted to save you for later,” Ulin surmised. The younger Majere helped the Solamnic Knight, while Gilthanas and Groller each supported one of the Knights of Takhisis as they hurried from the cave.

It wasn’t until they were well away from the valley that they stopped and interrogated the knights.

“Fiona Quinti,” the Solamnic introduced herself. She took off her helmet and a shock of curly red hair cascaded out. “I’m new to the order at Castle Eastwatch on the westward side of Southern Ergoth.”

“You were headed to Huma’s Tomb,” Gilthanas said in a hushed voice. “What did you want there? And what were you doing in the company of Knights of Takhisis?”

“I was with four others, hunting for deer, when the Dark Queen’s men came upon us. They slew my companions, kept me alive.” She cast a sullen look at the Knights of Takhisis.

The younger of the two knights glowered at her. “We needed at least one alive,” he hissed. “To carry the lance.”

“For Khellendros,” the older knight added. “We couldn’t have safely touched it. She posed the least threat, was the easiest to handle.”

“Are you going to kill us now?” the younger asked.

“I’d like to,” Gilthanas replied. “But I suspect Ulin and Groller might object. They seem a little more kind-hearted than me.” The elf looked at the ground, remembering his time spent as a prisoner of the Dark Knights. His brow furrowed, and he looked to the knights standing before him. He let his gaze drift from the knights to the sky above. He was still more than a little worried about the White Dragon.

“And if you had managed to get Huma’s lance?” Ulin pressed.

“We were to deliver it to the dragon,” the older knight quickly answered.

“And then?”

“We would have received other orders, been sent elsewhere.”

“Are there more knights searching for other magic?”

The older knight shook his head. “I don’t know. I was only privy to our unit’s orders. I will not speculate on what the Storm Over Krynn desires.”

Ulin turned his attention to the young woman and noticed that she had dark green eyes. She seemed so incredibly young. “There are other Solamnics at Eastwatch?”

“Yes, nearly two dozen of us,” she answered. “We protect the elves and humans there. I’m certain my brethren are looking for me. My senior knight won’t rest until she knows what has happened to me and the others.”

“When we’re finished here, we’ll find a way to get you back home.”

“My thanks, stranger” she replied.

Ulin introduced himself, Groller, and Gilthanas. Fury was quick to make friends with Fiona, settling next to her while they rested, then walking at her side when they resumed their trek toward the tomb.

Indeed, by the end of the following day even the Knights of Takhisis had agreed to join the quest, vowing to leave their Order. To return to the Blue empty-handed would be to invite death, and to return to their commander would invite nearly the same thing.

Ulin believed, however, that the knights accompanied them solely for the chance of finding the lance and salvaging their mission. He kept a prudent eye on them, and noted that Fiona was doing the same.

The heroes quietly passed by the stone ruins of a small keep as they entered Foghaven Vale. They slowed their pace as they descended a treacherous, snowy slope, and then the thick mist that hung over Foghaven Plain enveloped them.

“Stick together, and keep heading north,” Gilthanas directed. “The tomb is somewhere straight ahead.”

Ulin turned to cast a wary glance at the group of Knights of Takhisis. It was going to be hard to keep an eye on them in all of this fog. “How long is this going to take?” he asked, rushing over a few small snowdrifts in order to catch up with Gilthanas.

“About an hour,” answered the elf, quickening his pace.

Meanwhile, Groller, who along with Fiona and Fury brought up the rear, seemed particularly troubled about having another of his senses hampered. He took slow, heavy steps, his feet often breaking through the snowdrifts to the ground below. “See,” he asked Fiona repeatedly, “see?”

Fury darted in and out of the fog nervously, disappearing for a few moments, and then reappearing at Groller’s side. The half-ogre, unable to hear the wolf approach, jumped a little each time Fury materialized out of the mist.

The group slowly made its way across the plain, pausing when it game to a bridge. Made of marble, the wide arch rose over bubbling water that gave off steam and coated the bridge with a sheen of ice.

“The fog is created when the hot springs on the right side of the valley and the cool lake on the left side run together,” explained Gilthanas. “We’re going to cross over their meeting point now. Of course, thanks to the White the fog is even thicker because both bodies of water now mingle with cold glacial air.”

One by one, the adventurers crawled across the slippery span on all fours. They had all gathered together on the other side of the bridge when the fog slightly parted to the north.

“Look! Right up there!” cried Ulin. “It’s the White!” A great dragon emerged from the swirling mist, its massive, rock-solid body wrapped in undulating gray and white vapors.

The group quickly disbanded, some rushing forward to attack, others retreating to the bridge.

“Hold it! Hold it!” called Gilthanas, waving his hands and laughing. “That’s only a statue! That’s Dragon Mountain! It’s not moving, see?” The giant carved visage disappeared behind a veil of fog.

Ulin relaxed his defensive stance and then sighed. “Anything else you forgot to warn us about?”

The group fell back into line, and Gilthanas trudged ahead, still chuckling to himself. He stopped suddenly, then straightened. “Now that you mention it…”

Directly ahead of them a dark figure rose out of the fog. It stood in their path—solid, glistening black and unmoving.

“This is a guardian,” said the elf, gesturing to the dark form, “we are very near the tomb.”

Groller pushed his way through the assembled adventurers and moved forward to regard the nine-foot-tall, obsidian statue closely. He turned to look back at Ulin, beckoning the young mage forward. The half-ogre repeatedly pointed to his own eyes and then to the guardian.

“It’s a nice likeness of your father,” said Gilthanas. Ulin joined Groller in front of the statue. “Father? Why?” “We see Palin Majere because we have only good intentions in coming here. Because we bring no evil to this place, we see this guardian as a friend, a loved one, and we can pass by it easily.”

” Th is guardian?”

“There are more; carved pillars ring the entire tomb. But enough of likenesses, let’s get to the real thing.”

The group formed a line and began to move past, giving the large statue a wide berth. But it wasn’t wide enough.

The Knights of Takhisis were overcome with fear, and could not pass by the pillar. They scrambled backward, colliding with Fiona and Fury.

The red wolf snapped at their heels, urging them forward. Fiona struggled to get them to cover their eyes but their hands inexorably slid away from their faces. They could not look away, could not stop staring in terrified fascination at the guardian. They could not move. It was as if they had become statues themselves.

In frustration, Groller finally tromped back to where they stood. One at a time, he scooped them up and carried them past the pillar, their bodies rigid, their heads turning to continue staring at the statue as they moved by.

None of them noticed the figure flying overhead, the dragon whose immense form briefly darkened the snow beneath its sparkling white wings. The dragon craned its neck so it could better see the tiny figures below, then it started to circle.

The group assembled in front of the tomb. The small rectangular building sat upon an octagonal base against which snow had drifted. A great deal of the obsidian structure was covered in snow and ice, but sections of its smooth black exterior were visible where small avalanches had slid down its sides.

“There are stairs under here somewhere,” said Gilthanas, gingerly climbing up the snow covered base of the building and toward its shiny, ice-encrusted brass doors. He reached the top of the platform, and a crack spread down the center of the icy doors. They swung open silently.

Gilthanas glanced back to smile at the band of adventurers, and then entered the tomb. Ulin stood transfixed, as did Groller, Fiona, and the Knights of Takhisis behind them. Fury sensed the warmth spilling outward and brushed by them, padding inside. Beyond the threshold he shook himself, snow flying onto the marble floor, and instantly melting into dozens of puddles. The wolf looked over his shoulder, and as if motioning for them to follow him, went deeper inside.

Inside, the walls of the tomb bore torches that burned but produced no smoke, their flickering, yellow glow playing along the black, shiny interior. The room was empty except for benches that lined the walls, an obsidian dais upon which rested an empty sarcophagus, and an altar at the far end of the tomb.

“Those were Huma’s,” said Gilthanas, gesturing to a sword and shield at the foot of the coffin. He was silent and still for a moment, then he quickly walked over to the stone altar. The others quietly joined him.

“The Order of the Sword… Crown … and Rose” said Fiona, pointing at the carvings in the altar’s surface. She quickly pulled her hand back, for fear of coming too close to touching the altar.

Gilthanas crouched on the floor. “Down here,” he said.

Centered below the altar was a large, iron plate. Its surface was flush with the floor, so it could only be lifted by pulling up the iron ring in its center. Gilthanas tugged the plate free, and slid it to the side.

“After you” the elf said to Ulin.

The young mage warily looked down into the black hole. “Something else you forgot to mention?”

Gilthanas laughed, and pointed to the opening. “This is our route to Dragon Mountain. In order to get inside, we have to ride in this windpipe, which leads us underground and then, up into the interior of the mountain.”

The elf gained Groller’s attention, pointed at the half-ogre, and then pointed down the hole. Groller blinked slowly, then repeated the gestures, directing them back at Gilthanas. “Yes, me, too,” said the elf, nodding.

“I’ll be first,” said Fiona, striding forward. She sat down on the smooth floor, slid herself over to the hole, and situated herself so she was perched on its edge, her lean legs dangling into the dark expanse. “I can feel the air moving, like a warm wind pulling me down “

Fury settled by her side, then jumped to his feet as she began to lower herself down into the hole. “There are handholds down here,” came an echoing voice from inside the shaft. “I’ll just climb—”

Her voice disappeared in a sudden gust of wind that made them all rush forward to the edge of the opening. “She’s probably almost inside Dragon Mountain,” said Gilthanas. “It’s that fast”

Fury yapped, his long muzzle directed down the hole. His claws slid against the obsidian floor as he readied himself to jump, then hesitated and backed up a few inches. Groller moved behind the wolf, and stroked Fury’s magnificent red coat of fur. The wolf suddenly sprang forward, silently disappearing into the darkness of the shaft.

One by one the remaining adventurers lowered themselves into the windpipe and were instantly whirled away on great columns and gusts of air to the interior of Dragon Mountain. They emerged in a brightly illuminated chamber, climbed a great curving staircase and discovered the Hall of Lances in the upper gallery.

Many of the lances were ornate, with handles of silver and gold that practically glowed. Some looked so very similar to Rig’s lance that the elf suspected they were made by the same craftsman. Others were made of intricately carved wood while still others were plain—merely functional weapons that stood out among the others because they were so proudly unadorned. Not a speck of dust was on any of them.

“Which one was Huma’s?” Ulin asked.

“I think that could take us a while to find out,” Gilthanas answered. “Unless our friends here have some clue we’re unaware of.” The Qualinesti looked at the Knights of Takhisis. Neither offered a suggestion. “Fine. Then let’s everyone relax. We’ve reached our destination, and I for one would like to be out of the cold for a while. And I’d like to catch some sleep.” He walked several feet down the corridor, yawned for emphasis, and dropped his fur cloak on the floor. “Ah, here’s a good spot.” He quickly settled on it. “I don’t intend to inspect any of these lances until I’ve inspected the inside of my eyelids for a few hours.”

Fiona stood at the entrance of the hall, her eyes searching the rows of weapons fading into the distance. Ulin followed her glance, and swallowed hard. He put his furs on the floor, and arranged them into a makeshift bed. Finding Huma’s among all of these was just about impossible, he thought. But he would do his best in trying. He took a deep breath, and relished the novelty of the warm air spreading over his face and hands. “Warm,” Ulin said to himself. “I do remember what warm feels like.”