Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [48]
But Kit hadn’t come back to him. She had a “new lord.” Maybe that’s why he’d—
“Ho, Tanis!” The kender’s voice floated up to him.
“I’m coming,” he muttered.
The sun was just beginning to dip into the west when the companions reached the edge of the forest. Tanis figured they had at least three or four hours of daylight left. If the stag continued to lead them on smooth, clear trails, they might be able to get through this forest before darkness fell.
Sturm waited for them beneath the aspens, resting comfortably in the leafy, green shade. The companions left the meadow slowly, none of them in any hurry to enter the woods.
“The stag entered here,” Sturm said, rising to his feet and pointing into the tall grass.
Tanis saw no tracks. He took a drink of water from his nearly empty waterskin and stared into the forest. As Tasslehoff had said, the wood did not seem sinister. In fact, it looked cool and inviting after the harsh brilliance of the autumn sunshine.
“Maybe there’ll be some game in here,” Caramon said, rocking back on his heels. “Not stags, of course,” he added hastily. “Rabbits, maybe.”
“Shoot nothing. Eat nothing. Drink nothing in Darken Wood,” Raistlin whispered.
Tanis looked at the mage, whose hourglass eyes were dilated. The metallic skin shone a ghastly color in the strong sunlight. Raistlin leaned upon his staff, shivering as if from a chill.
“Children’s stories,” Flint muttered, but the dwarf’s voice lacked conviction. Although Tanis knew Raistlin’s flair for the dramatic, he had never seen the mage affected like this before.
“What do you sense, Raistlin?” he asked quietly.
“There is a great and powerful magic laid on this wood,” whispered Raistlin.
“Evil?” asked Tanis.
“Only to those who bring evil in with them,” the mage stated.
“Then you are the only one who need fear this forest,” Sturm told the mage coldly.
Caramon’s face flushed an ugly red; his hand fumbled for his sword. Sturm’s hand went to his blade. Tanis gripped Sturm’s arm as Raistlin touched his brother. The mage stared at the knight, his golden eyes glimmering.
“We shall see,” Raistlin said, the words nothing more than hissing sounds flicking between his teeth. “We shall see.” Then, leaning heavily upon his staff, Raistlin turned to his brother. “Coming?”
Caramon glared angrily at Sturm, then entered the wood, walking beside his twin. The others moved after them, leaving only Tanis and Flint standing in the long, waving grass.
“I’m getting too old for this, Tanis,” the dwarf said suddenly.
“Nonsense,” the half-elf replied, smiling. “You fought like a—”
“No, I don’t mean the bones or the muscles”—the dwarf looked at his gnarled hands—“though they’re old enough. I mean the spirit. Years ago, before the others were born, you and I would have walked into a magicked wood without giving it a second thought. Now …”
“Cheer up,” Tanis said. He tried to sound light, though he was deeply disturbed by the dwarf’s unusual somberness. He studied Flint closely for the first time since meeting outside Solace. The dwarf looked old, but then Flint had always looked old. His face, what could be seen through the mass of gray beard and moustaches and overhanging white eyebrows, was brown and wrinkled and cracked like old leather. The dwarf grumbled and complained, but then Flint had always grumbled and complained. The change was in the eyes. The fiery luster was gone.
“Don’t let Raistlin get to you,” Tanis said. “We’ll sit around the fire tonight and laugh at his ghost stories.”
“I suppose so.” Flint sighed. He was silent a moment, then said, “Someday I’ll slow you up, Tanis. I don’t ever want you to think, why do I put up with this grumbling old dwarf?”
“Because I need you, grumbling old dwarf,” Tanis said, putting his hand on