Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [52]
Tasslehoff bowed respectfully. “I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” he said. “My friends”—he waved his small hand at the group—“call me Tas. Who are you?”
“It matters little,” the sepulchral voice intoned. “Know only that we are warriors from a time long forgotten.”
“Is it true that you broke a pledge and that’s how you come to be here?” Tas asked with interest.
“It is. We pledged to guard this land. Then came the smoldering mountain from the heavens. The land was ripped apart. Evil things crept out from the bowels of the earth and we dropped our swords and fled in terror until bitter death overtook us. We have been called to fulfill our oath, as evil once more stalks the land. And here will we remain until evil is driven back and balance is restored again.”
Suddenly Raistlin gave a shriek and flung back his head, his eyes rolling upward until the watching companions could see only the whites. His voice became a thousand voices crying out at once. This startled even the kender, who stepped back a pace and looked around uneasily for Tanis.
The spectre raised his hand in a commanding gesture, and the tumult ceased as though swallowed by the darkness. “My men demand to know the reason you enter Darken Wood. If it is for evil, you will find that you have brought evil upon yourselves, for you will not live to see the moons rise.”
“No, not evil. Certainly not,” Tasslehoff said hurriedly. “It’s kind of a long story, you see, but we’re obviously not going anywhere in a big hurry and you’re obviously not either, so I’ll tell it to you.
“To begin with, we were in the Inn of the Last Home in Solace. You probably don’t know it. I’m not sure how long it’s been there, but it wasn’t around during the Cataclysm and it sounds like you were. Well, there we were, listening to the old man talking of Huma and he—the old man, not Huma—told Goldmoon to sing her song and she said what song and then she sang and a Seeker decided to be a music critic and Riverwind, that’s the tall man over there—shoved the Seeker into the fire. It was an accident—he didn’t mean to. But the Seeker went up like a torch! You should have seen it! Anyway, the old man handed me the staff and said hit him and I did and the staff turned to blue crystal and the flames died and—”
“Blue crystal!” The spectre’s voice echoed hollowly from Raistlin’s throat as he began to walk toward them. Tanis and Sturm both jumped forward, grabbing Tas and dragging him out of the way. But the spectre seemed intent only on examining the group. His flickering eyes focused on Goldmoon. Raising a pale hand, he motioned her forward.
“No!” Riverwind tried to prevent her from leaving his side, but she pushed away gently and walked over to stand before the spectre, the staff in her hand. The ghostly army encircled them.
Suddenly the spectre drew his sword from its pallid sheath. He held it high overhead and white light tinged with blue flame flickered from the blade.
“Look at the staff!” Goldmoon gasped.
The staff glowed pale blue, as if answering the sword.
The ghostly king turned to Raistlin and reached his pale hand toward the entranced mage. Caramon gave a hoarse bellow and broke free of Tanis’s grip. Drawing his sword, he lunged at the undead warrior. The blade pierced the flickering body, but it was Caramon who screamed in pain and dropped, writhing, to the ground. Tanis and Sturm knelt beside him. Raistlin stared ahead, his expression unchanged, unmoving.
“Caramon, where—” Tanis held him, trying frantically to see where the big man was injured.
“My hand!” Caramon rocked back and forth, sobbing, his left hand—his sword hand—thrust tightly under his right arm.
“What’s the matter?” Tanis asked. Then, seeing the warrior’s sword on the ground, he knew: Caramon’s sword was rimed with frost.
Tanis looked up in