Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [167]
“We are here,” he whispered. Reaching into his tunic, he removed a small gem that began to glow a soft, muted yellow. Running his hand over the rock wall, the elf found what he was searching for, a small niche in the granite. He placed the gem in the niche and began reciting ancient words and tracing unseen symbols in the night air.
“Very impressive,” whispered Fizban. “I didn’t know he was one of us,” he said to Raistlin.
“A dabbler, nothing more,” the mage replied. Leaning wearily on his staff, he watched Gilthanas intently, however.
Suddenly and silently, a huge block of stone separated from the cliff face and began moving slowly to one side. The companions backed up as a blast of chill, dank air flowed from the gaping hole in the rock.
“What’s in there?” Caramon asked suspiciously.
“I do not know what is in there now,” Gilthanas replied. “I have never entered. I know of this place only through the lore of my people.”
“All right,” Caramon growled. “What used to be in there?”
Gilthanas paused, then said. “This was the burial chamber of Kith-Kanan.”
“More spooks,” Flint grumbled, peering into the darkness. “Send the mage in first, so he can warn them we’re coming.”
“Throw the dwarf in,” Raistlin returned. “They are accustomed to living in dark, dank caves.”
“You speak of the mountain dwarves!” Flint said, his beard bristling. “It has been long years since the hill dwarves lived below ground in the kingdom of Thorbardin.”
“Only because you were cast out!” Raistlin hissed.
“Stop it, both of you!” Tanis said in exasperation. “Raistlin, what do you sense about this place?”
“Evil. Great evil,” the mage replied.
“But I sense great goodness, too,” Fizban spoke unexpectedly. “The elves are not truly forgotten within, though evil things have come to rule in their stead.”
“This is crazy!” Eben shouted. The noise echoed uncannily among the rocks and the others whirled, startled, staring at him in alarm. “I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his voice. “But I can’t believe you people are going in there! It doesn’t take a magician to tell there’s evil inside that hole. I can feel it! Go back around to the front,” he urged. “Sure, there’ll be one or two guards, but that’s nothing compared to whatever lurks in that darkness beyond!”
“He’s got a point, Tanis,” Caramon said. “You can’t fight the dead. We learned that in Darken Wood.”
“This is the only way!” Gilthanas said angrily. “If you are such cowards—”
“There’s a difference between caution and cowardice, Gilthanas,” Tanis said, his voice steady and calm. The half-elf thought a moment. “We might be able to take on the guards at the front gate, but not before they could alert others. I say we enter and at least explore this way. Flint, you lead. Raistlin, we’ll need your light.”
“Shirak,” spoke the mage softly, and the crystal on his staff began to glow. He and Flint plunged into the cave, followed closely by the rest. The tunnel they entered was obviously ancient, but whether it was natural or artifact was impossible to tell.
“What about our pursuer?” Sturm asked in a low voice. “Do we leave the entrance open?”
“A trap,” Tanis agreed softly. “Leave it open just a crack, Gilthanas, enough so that whoever’s tracking us knows we came in here and can follow, but not enough so that it looks like a trap.”
Gilthanas drew forth the gem, placed it in a niche on the inner side of the entrance, and spoke a few words. The stone began to slide silently back into place. At the last moment, when it was about seven or eight inches from closing, Gilthanas swiftly removed the gemstone. The stone shuddered to a halt, and the knight, the elf, and the half-elf joined the companions in the entrance to the Sla-Mori.
“There is a great deal of dust,” Raistlin reported, coughing—“but no tracks, at least in this part of the cave.”
“About one hundred and twenty feet farther on, there’s a crossroads,” Flint added. “We found footprints there, but we could not make out what they were. They don’t look like draconians or hobgoblins and they don’t come