The Gates of Thorbardin

Chapter 26

"Cats!"

With a visible shudder, Wingover drew his sword, gripped his shield, and eased past the weakened dwarf. He had seen the great black cats of Waykeep only once. But once was enough. On stiff legs he started toward the bend, certain that at any moment a bounding, snarling pack of the giant creatures would appear there, coming for him. And it would be up to him to defend the others. Glenshadow's magic would not work in Spellbinder's presence. Chane Feldstone was hardly strong enough to stand off cats.

Still, Jilian might make an accounting of herself with that sword she carried. After seeing the remains of her ogre, the man was willing to believe almost anything.

Small feet scuffed just behind Wingover, and Chestal Thicketsway's voice said cheerfully, "What are you doing?"

"Stay back," the man snapped. "There are cats ahead."

"Cats? Kitty cats or the Irda's cats?"

"Just stay back, out of the way," "Wingover shot a quick glance back, felt something brush past his legs, and turned to shout, "Come back here!"

"I'll just take a quick look," the kender said, scampering ahead. "If they're like the Irda's cats, I've seen a lot of those."

"Ye gods," the man swore and quickened his pace, willing the rest to stay where they were. Ahead of Wingover, the curious kender disappeared around the bend. Wingover ran, then stopped. Just past the bend, the trail widened, then widened again, and became a deep, sheltered cove in the mountainside. Clear, cold water flowed from a tiny spring and pooled before overflowing its rock tank and disappearing again into crevices in the mountain. Conifers grew in abundance, and rich, chillbleached grass was everywhere. Beside the pool were several bundles, all securely wrapped in sacking, and the kender knelt beside the nearest one, untying its straps. He glanced up, grinned, and pointed. "Look." High on a rock ridge beyond the cove, several of the big, dark cats were climbing, going away.

Some of them turned to look back, feral eyes seeming to glow in the pale light, But they only hesitated, then went on. Within seconds, they were gone.

"Food!" the kender chirped. "Look at this. Biscuits! And honey, and oats, and cabbage… wow!" With one pack open, he went on to the next one.

Wingover heard the thump of a staff and turned. Glenshadow stood a few paces back, cold eyes peering from the shadows of his bison cloak. 'The

Irda," he said. "She has provided for us. She said that would be done."

"But those cats — "

"Are hers. In a way, I suppose they are her."

"Where is she, then, this Irda?"

The wizard gazed at him for a moment, then shrugged and turned away.

"She is an Irda. I suppose she is wherever she chooses to be."

"Irda," Wingover breathed. "Irdas are ogres, from what I've heard."

Glenshadow shook his head. "No. The Irda is what ogres may once have been. They are not the same."

"You'd know that if you'd seen her," the kender said.

"Look at this! Raisins. How about that? And cider."

The others had appeared, Jilian helping Chane and leading Wingover's horse. At the cove, they all stopped and stared. Jilian nodded. "This is more like it. Let's get a fire going, and I'll make tea. And soup. Don't you think some soup would taste good, Chane? Here, you sit down over here.

Eat a biscuit while I'm cooking."

"There is danger ahead of us, then," the wizard noted ominously. 'The

Irda knows."

"How does she know any such thing?" Wingover spun toward Glenshadow, tired and angry, confused and feeling as though everyone but himself had a hand in this situation. "Does she use magic?"

"Only a little… of the kind I use, when I can use it at all,"

Glenshadow said. "The kind you so despise, though it is a part' of your world and not always to your disadvantage. The Irda is a shapechanger.

That much is magic, though natural to her kind. And she is a singer. Some have said the Irda carry magic in their voices, though I think now it is simply that they have… such voices." He paused and considered the point for a moment. "Perhaps they have another magic that is outside the magic of Krynn. I believe they do, but who can say for certain. If they do, then it is used entirely for their own purposes and not for or against any other being. It is the nature of the Irda."

"You haven't answered my question," Wingover snorted. "How could such a creature — as you say — know that there is danger ahead for us?"

"She listens." Glenshadow shrugged. "The world has many voices, and eyes everywhere. The world itself knows what passes upon it. It speaks of it to itself, and the Irda listens. How else could she do what she does… observe the purposes of the gods' things, the ones that the gods themselves no longer observe? Who else could inform the Irda, except the world itself'" Wingover shook his head, wondering if the mage was in fact deranged. What he said almost made sense… sometimes, but not in any way that Wingover could see. He turned away and went to start unpacking his horse. "Don't do that," Chane Feldstone shouted, getting to his feet. 'We have to go on."

"We aren't going anywhere for a while," Wingover told him. "We are going to rest here until we're fit to travel."

"But I see the path now," the dwarf said, his face going pale again. "I see where Grallen went, and I have to go there. Spellbinder -

Jilian Firestoke was at Chane's side then, bracing him with strong little hands. "The man is right, Chane," she said gently. "You must rest.

Then we can go on. Please, sit down."

A sheen of sweat had erupted on Chane's forehead, and his eyes seemed glazed. Still, he tried to struggle free.

"Can't you see the path? Can't any of you see it? It goes down this mountain and out onto the plain, then it doubles back… just out there.

It turns back and stops. See? Why can't any of you see?" The dwarf slumped and let himself be eased down to a sitting position.

"Jilian?" Chane murmured. "Jilian, I think your father was right. I don't deserve you. But he was wrong, too. He was wrong in… deciding he could decide. It is for you to decide, Jilian…"

Chane's voice trailed off, and quickly he was asleep. Jilian covered him gently with a wrap from her own pack, and when she looked up her eyes were moist. "He's so tired," she said.

Wingover knelt beside the dwarf and touched a palm to the sweating forehead. Then he stood, nodding. "It was the goblin dart. It has sickened him. He needs rest." To Jilian he added, "Chane will be all right. If the wound were going to kill him, it would have before now."

Leaving Jilian hovering over the sleeping dwarf, Wingover walked to where the wizard stood, looking eastward. The mage raised his hand and pointed. Far out in the distance, where the slopes ended and a flatter land began, there was movement. Wingover and Glenshadow were too far away to be sure, but they suspected who was there. The Commander of Goblins was ahead of them, and with her was her army.

"They know we're here," Wingover growled. "But if they didn't follow us, how did they find us"?" Maybe they don't know exactly where we are," the bison-robed wizard offered, lowering his hand. "But they know which way we were going. And they know why."

"The mage?" Wingover muttered. "The one who died, but didn't?"

Glenshadow only nodded.

A flash of white in the distance flickered above the gorge where the path bent around the mountain slope. It wasn't bright, but the flash was enough to catch Wingover's eyes. He turned. "It's that gnome," he growled, pointing. 'Where has he been, anyway?" The soarwagon neared the mountainside, skimmed away, and did a wide turn. As the gnomish contraption came about for another approach, Jilian Firestoke waved and

Chestal Thicketsway ran to the ledge to watch. "Tell him to come in and lower his line," the kender said. "Tell him we have raisins. And cider."

The flying thing approached carefully this time, finally hovering on updrafts just above the cove. The gnome in the wicker seat leaned out and waved. "Hello!" he called. "Do you remember me? I'm Bobbin."

"I remember you!" Wingover shouted. "What news do you have?"

"About what?… Ah, yes! You're the one who's looking for cats. Well, I saw some, up the mountain from where you are. But they're going the other way." Wingover scowled. "We know about the cats! Anything else?"

"Well, I saw a dragon. A big, red one. He weighs nearly three tons and had flown five hundred miles." The gnome frowned. "He wasn't very friendly."

"A dragon?" The kender danced about in his excitement. "A real dragon?

Where?" Wingover shook his head in disgust. There was no telling what the gnome had actually seen… if anything.