The Gates of Thorbardin

Chapter 7

For miles, the black path would and curved through dense forest. Then, past one final, long curve, it broke out of the forest and extended arrow-straight across a mounded plain where little vegetation grew only mosses and spindly, scattered shrubs. The light of the moons Lunitari and

Solinari — the first nearly overhead, the second just above the crags of

Westwall bathed the scene in eerie red and white highlights beneath a spangled sky. "More ruins," Chestal Thicketsway declared, pointing about.

"There might have been a city here once. Maybe the Cataclysm — " "Much older than that," Glenshadow the Wanderer said. "Oh, far older than that.

Ages old. The legends say it was a city in the Age of Dreams."

"Legends say?" Chane Feldstone growled. 'You're a wizard. Don't you know?"

"Not without a powerful spell for time-seeing," the winter voice rasped.

"And I'll cast no spells in this place. Strange things happen to magic here."

Near them, somewhere close, something seemed to agree… something that lamented the fact.

"It's said there was a city in this valley," the wizard continued. "And in the city was a king, who captured and held in bond the source of all magic. The king's name was Gargath."

"How could he capture the source of magic?" Chess asked, excitedly. "Do you suppose it is still here?"

"No. Only the place where it was once held, and the device that held it.

A god-wrought thing called Spellbinder. It still has power, though. Power enough to confuse and bind even the highest orders of spell."

"Misery," something voiceless seemed to say.

"Is that what's wrong with my spell?" Chess asked, looking around. "He's bound?"

The wizard nodded. "Most likely."

"He certainly doesn't seem to be very happy about it," the kender noted.

"He?" the dwarf grumped, "What do spells know? They aren't people." He looked up at the wizard. "How much farther do we have to go?"

"Not far," Glenshadow said. "Are you tired so soon?"

"Of course I'm not tired! But I have things to do and I don't see how all this is — "

"It is," Glenshadow assured him. 'You want to find the helm, as you dreamed. This is how you must begin."

The dwarf scowled. 'What does this have to do with you, though I It's my dream. What makes it important to you?"

"It might be important to a great many people," the wizard sighed. "In ominous times, significances take on new meanings. I have my own reasons for helping you fulfill your destiny, Chane Feldstone… if you can fulfill it."

"If it's important to you, then why don't you just go and find the helm, and let me get back to Thorbardin? I'm not fond of having no roof over my head."

"Of course you aren't. You're a mountain dwarf. But it's your dream,

Chane Feldstone. Not mine."

"Corrosion," the dwarf muttered. "It's like trying to get a sensible answer from that kender. What do you mean 'ominous times?' "

"There have been omens. Some have interpreted them, and some believe them. Some think that devastation is about to fall on these lands. Some say it has already begun. Invasion. War. The worst of imaginings."

Chane stopped, staring up at the man. "When?"

"Soon," the wizard said. "Some say within five years. Some say within the year."

"But… why?"

"I think there will be further omens," Glenshadow said softly, his voice as chill as a winter's night. "Then, perhaps, we will know."

Ahead of them, the path approached what might have been a huge, open gate in a great wall, except that whatever gate might once have been there was long since gone. All that remained was a ragged cleft in a long, high structure of broken stone which ran off to left and right into moon-shadowed distance. An ancient wall, sundered here and there to rubble. Near the wall, just off the dark path, was a separate mound of rubble that looked familiar. It was like the mound they had found back in the forest — a clutter of what might once have been various things all connected together, with stumps and odd shapes protruding from it.

"Another gnome machine?" Chess wondered. "What do you suppose it was for."

"Old," the wizard nodded.

"Very old," something unseen seemed to agree.

"A siege engine," Glenshadow said. "They kept building them until they got through the wall."

"Who did?"

"Gnomes. Who else?"

"What did they want?"

"What Gargath had. The source of all magic."

"I never heard of a gnome using magic," the kender pointed out.

The wizard frowned and seemed to shudder. "We had better go on," he said.

Beyond the wall the path pitched steeply downward and entered a forest so dense that the light of the moons was only a patchwork through interwoven branches.

"I'd just as soon make camp here," Chane said, then went silent as the singing voice came again, this time much nearer. Someone just ahead was singing in a language none of them knew. The singer's tonal range was tremendous, the voice so utterly lovely that it caught their breaths and tugged at their hearts.

A siren? Chane thought and realized it didn't matter. The voice held him in thrall, and he couldn't have turned away if he had wanted to.

Beyond the trees ahead was a glow of firelight, and the voice seemed to be coming from there. They hurried on. The slope lessened to level ground, and the trees ended abruptly at a circular clearing. The black gravel of the path ended at a clean-swept expanse of black flagstone paving — a circular band of ebony stone nearly one hundred yards across. Thick, short pillars of red granite stood like sentinels around the circle at brief intervals, and within the circle of black was a circle of white, then another of black. The concentric pavings narrowed toward the center, where stood a tall, cone-shaped monolith with a small, dim object at its apex.

The firelight came from wood fires set in wide sconces at the four points of the compass, on the inside faces of the surrounding short pillars. The travelers stood where they had stopped, peering around, trying to see detail in the erratic light. In the semi-darkness around the circle, shadows moved. "Cats," the dwarf noted. "Dozens of them. They must live here."

The kender peered into the gloom, then straightened and pointed. "Wow!

Look at that one!" Chane looked. A breeze flared one of the flames, and his eyes widened. Beyond the paved clearing, cats were everywhere. And among them was one, huge even by comparison with the others. Half again the size of the rest, it stood staring directly at the dwarf, great golden eyes thoughtful in a massive indigo head capped by a flowing, snow-white mane.

The wizard seemed to pay no attention. He gazed instead at the monolith, his eyes ranging upward toward its top. The crystal device on his staff no longer looked like a crystal. Its luster was gone, and it was a dull, opaque gray in color. "The temple of Gargath," he muttered. "Where the graygem was entrapped."

"What?" Chane glanced around.

"This is where it happened," Glenshadow said, as though talking to himself. "Up there… is the Spellbinder."

"Woe," something voiceless mourned.

The impatient kender had scampered away, out toward the edge of the paving for a better look at the huge, white-maned cat. When it noticed him, he backpedaled, reversed his course, and went to have a closer look at the obelisk. He disappeared beyond it.

"There's somebody here," Chane decided. "Somebody keeps these fires, and somebody made that song." He looked toward the hut beyond the obelisk.

"Maybe…" Then he turned again, alerted by movement close by. A creature like nothing he had ever seen had stepped onto the pavement. She was far taller than Chane, taller even than the wizard.

Her skin was the color of midnight and caught the light in patterns of indigo and ebony that flowed sensuously over a face and form beautiful almost beyond beauty. Her hair was silver-white, long and flowing, and the single garment she wore — a brief tunic caught at one shoulder and falling to her sleek thighs — seemed to be woven of spider silk.

Chane stared, open-mouthed, stunned by her beauty as he was stunned by her song. Never had he heard such a voice — the power of thunder and the gentleness of summer clouds resonated in perfect balance as she seemed to sing to each of them separately, yet all at once. Never had he heard such a voice, and never had he seen a creature so hauntingly lovely, or radiating such intense, patient power. The dwarf had the feeling that she could crush him with a touch if she chose… or could touch as softly as a butterfly landing on a petal.

Behind and above Chane, the wizard whispered, "Irda."

Almost without changing, her song became speech. "Welcome again, man of magic," she crooned, "to the place where magic fails. Is this the one? The

Derkindescendant? Holder of the destiny?" Great eyes in an ebony face turned to Chane, perusing him with a gaze very like the gaze of the great cat moments before.

The dwarf's heart thumped as he realized they were the same eyes.

"Shapechanger," he breathed.

"Of course she is a shapechanger," the wizard said. "I told you, she is the Irda. She can take many forms."

"Welcome, small warrior," the Irda crooned. "The moons have promised that you would come, following the path of your — "

Another voice, far less enchanting, shattered the spell: "Come look at the back of this thing!" Chestal Thicketsway called. "There's something like a stairway, and…hello? Who is this?" The kender scampered toward them, then stopped and blinked as the Irda turned to regard him. "Wow!" he finished lamely.

"This one is no Hylar kin," the Irda chuckled.

Chess blinked again and gave the tall, stunning creature a slow gaze from top to toe and back. His lips pursed in a low whistle. "Wow," he said again. Then, "Chestal Thicketsway's the name. I'm a kender, from Hylo.

What on Krynn are you?"

"Inquisitive," the Irda murmured. "I am Irda, little one."

"I wondered what you'd look like," Chess nodded. "My great-uncle,

Tauntry Rimrunner, used to talk about the Irda. I must say, you don't look anything like an ogre."

Chane whirled on the kender, offended and astounded. "What a thing to say!" But a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Ogres and the Irda," Glenshadow whispered, leaning close, "a long time ago, they were the same people… before ogres became ogrelike and ugly.

They aren't at all the same any more."

"The cats are gone," Chess noted suddenly, turning to look all around the clearing.

'They won't bother you again," the Irda said. "They have seen you with me, and I've assured them. They've gone now to patrol the valley. Waykeep likes its privacy."

"Those cats are a pretty effective way of discouraging visitors," Chane noted.

"Come to my home," the Irda beckoned, turning away. "There is sweetnog for refreshment, and we can talk in comfort." She headed for the hut among the trees, and they followed.

Chane paused for a moment as he passed the monolith, and looked up toward its top. A strange feeling gripped him, an intuition that raised the hackles on his neck and sent a shiver down his spine. Just for an instant, he felt as if something atop the monolith had spoken to him… something that awaited him, that called out to him. He felt as if he had been here before, though he knew he had not. And the feeling of the place was like the feeling of his dreams.

"Is this the place?" he muttered, to himself. "Is this where I find the helm?"

A large, gentle hand rested on his shoulder, and he jumped, then looked up at the Irda, standing beside him. 'What you seek is not here, Chane

Feldstone," she crooned. "But here is where you will begin your search."

Again she led the dwarf away, and he noticed that her movements — the sense of great strength in her easy, graceful stride; the lithe, sensuous ripple of smooth muscle beneath shining ebon skin — reminded him of the flowing grace of the great cats that were her companions.

"In ancient times, in the Age of Dreams, this was a place of men," the

Irda told them. "And magic was unknown on Krynn. So say the oldest legends. Then, from the realm of gods, came the graystone gem, and with it magic… and chaos. Some say the god Reorx gave to King Gargath the means to trap and hold the graystone. Whether or not that is so, Garath did capture it with a device of two crystals — one to find and hold it, the other to counter its magic."

"That's what the wizard said," Chestal Thicketsway interrupted, sipping from a goblet of warm, sweetnog the 'Irda had provided. "Only he said there was one crystal — "

"Hush," Glenshadow snapped. "Just listen."

"Gargath held it for a time," the Irda continued. "Then it was lost when the city was besieged by gnomes, with great siege engines."

"So that is what those junkheaps are," the kender commented.

This time it was Chane who hushed him. The dwarf reached across the table, grasped the kender's tunic, and lifted him off his stool. "Just shut up and listen!" he demanded.

The Irda continued undaunted. "One legend has it that when the graystone was freed, its magic caused some of the gnomes to become dwarves and kender, thus originating the two races."

"Rubbish," Chess snapped. "No kender's akin to dwarves, and we sure didn't come from gnomes."

"Rust and corruption! Chane chimed. "Dwarves were here first. Everybody knows that."

"Will the two of you shut up!" Glenshadow rasped, his voice the stuff of blizzards. "Just… shut up!"

"But I've been slandered," Chess said.

The wizard's eyes glinted like ice. He pointed his staff at the kender and muttered, "Thranthalus eghom dit — " and suddenly went silent. Though

Glenshadow's lips continued to move, no sound came out.

'That was a mistake," the Irda said, sympathetically. "The anti-magic in this place is very strong."

"Very strong," something unseen echoed.

The kender stared at the wizard. "What's the matter with him?"

Chane leaned close, seeing the stricken look in the man's eyes. "I think he tried to cast a spell," he suggested. "It must have backfired. He's hushed himself."

The kender cocked his head. "I wonder how long he'll be like this."

"I don't know." Chane shrugged. "It's his spell. Speaking of which, I wish you'd find a way to hush yours."

"My what?"

"Your spell. The one that's following you around. It's spooky to hear something complaining all the time when there's nothing there."

"Be wary of that spell," the Irda said. "Its power is so great that it must happen, eventually."

"You've met my spell?" The kender grinned. "Actually, I guess it isn't mine, but it has become attached to me."

"I know of it," the Irda nodded. "It has been in this valley, waiting to happen, for two hundred years. Ever since dwarves fought near here in the

Dwarfgate Wars."

"111 bet that's where all those frozen dwarves came from," Chess noted.

"This was where Fistandantilus first interceded," the Irda told them.

Chane shuddered. "Fistandantilus? The archmage? He was here?"

"Here first, then at the final battle, two ranges west of here, on the

Plains of Dergoth," the Irda told the dwarf.

"That's where Grallen's army was wiped out," Chane noted. "I've heard that story all my life."

"Both armies were wiped out by the fourth and greatest of the elemental spells Fistandantilus cast," the Irda said. "The first three spells were cast in the preliminary battle, here in the Valley of Waykeep. Elemental spells. The first was fire, the second ice…"

"Burned forests under ice," the kender breathed. "I saw that. What was the third one?"

"No one knows," the Irda shrugged. "It became entrapped in the anti-magic of this place, and hasn't happened yet."

"Woe and misery," something voiceless said.

"You mean him?" Chess looked around, needlessly. "I mean, it?"

"Your unexploded spell," she said calmly.

"Wow," was all that Chess could say.

Chane tapped the tabletop with his goblet, growing impatient. 'What does all this have to do with me and my dreams?"

The Irda studied him, her eyes luminous. "I told you that there were two crystals in Gargath's device. Only one remains up there now. It is called

Spellbinder. Its presence is the reason that magic often fails in this valley.

The other crystal, Pathfinder, was found by Prince Grallen of the Hylar

— "

"Grallen? But he died in the Dwarfgate War."

"Grallen, son of Duncan, King — the last king — of Thorbardin. The wizard knows of your dreams, Chane Feldstone. What is the thing that you have dreamed of finding?"

"An old helm," the dwarf said. "A battle helmet, with horns and a crown-spire."

"And a crystal at its brow?"

"Well, yes. A sort of green gem."

"That green gem is Pathfinder, Chane. The helm is Grallen's, and your dreams have been more than dreams. Grallen learned something about

Thorbardin on his way from here to his last battle, at Zhamen — what is now called Skullcap Peak. He learned that there is a lost entrance to

Thorbardin, and had he lived he would have found it and sealed it. But he died. At present, armies are amassing in the north… their forward units already invest key areas in many of the nearer lands."

The Irda paused and a shadow crossed her face. "There will be war. The ogres know, and what they know I also know. Very soon, Thorbardin will be surrounded by devastation. That is why you have dreamed, Chane Feldstone.

Your dreams are Grallen's spirit, calling to you, trying to tell you what must be done. You are to find Grallen's helm and take up Grallen's quest.

You are to seal Thorbardin's lost gate."

The kender smiled, his bright eyes gleaming with excitement. "Wow," he breathed. "I'm really glad I came along."

Chane simply stared at the Irda, at a loss for words. Finally he asked the only question he could think to ask: "Why me?"

Glenshadow tried to speak, rubbed his throat and tried again. "You…" the wizard croaked. He coughed, scowled, and tried to clear his throat. In a hoarse voice just above a whisper he said, "Because you are Grallen's kin, Chane Feldstone. You are the last of the line of Duncan, King of

Thorbardin."