Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [107]
Silvara drew closer. They followed her, curious, fearful.
Then the silence of the night was broken by bubbling sounds like water boiling in a giant kettle. The fog grew denser, the air was warm and stifling.
“Hot springs!” said Theros in sudden understanding. “Of course, that explains the constant fog. And this dark shape—”
“The bridge which leads across them,” Silvara replied, shining the torchlight upon what they could see was a glistening stone bridge spanning the water boiling in the streams below them, filling the night air with its warm, billowing fog.
“We’re supposed to cross that!” Flint exclaimed, staring at the black, boiling water in horror. “We’re supposed to cross—”
“It is called the Bridge of Passage,” said Silvara.
The dwarf’s only answer was a strangled gulp.
The Bridge of Passage was a long, smooth arch of pure white marble. Along its sides—carved in vivid relief—long columns of knights walked symbolically across the bubbling streams. The span was so high that they could not see the top through the swirling mists. And it was old, so old that Flint, reverently touching the worn rock with his hand, could not recognize the craftsmanship. It was not dwarven, not elven, not human. Who had done such marvelous work?
Then he noticed there were no hand-rails, nothing but the marble span itself, slick and glistening with the mist rising constantly from the bubbling springs beneath.
“We cannot cross that,” said Laurana, her voice trembling. “And now we are trapped—”
“We can cross,” Silvara said. “For we have been summoned.”
“Summoned?” Laurana repeated in exasperation. “By what? Where?”
“Wait,” commanded Silvara.
They waited. There was nothing left for them to do. Each stood staring around in the torchlight, but they saw only the mist rising from the streams, heard only the gurgling water.
“It is the time of Solinari,” Silvara said suddenly, and—swinging her arm—she hurled her torch into the water.
Darkness swallowed them. Involuntarily, they crept closer together. Silvara seemed to have vanished with the light. Gilthanas called for her, but she did not answer.
Then the mist turned to shimmering silver. They could see once more, and now they could see Silvara, a dark, shadowy outline against the silvery mist. She stood at the foot of the bridge, staring up into the sky. Slowly she raised her hands, and slowly the mists parted. Looking up, the companions saw the mists separate like long, graceful fingers to reveal the silver moon, full and brilliant in the starry sky.
Silvara spoke strange words, and the moonlight poured down upon her, bathing her in its light. The moon’s light shone upon the bubbling waters, making them come alive, dancing with silver. It shone upon the marble bridge, giving life to the knights who spent eternity crossing the stream.
But it was not these beautiful sights that caused the companions to clasp each other with shaking hands or to hold each other closely. The moon’s light on the water did not cause Flint to repeat the name of Reorx in the most reverent prayer he ever uttered, or cause Laurana to lean her head against her brother’s shoulder, her eyes dimmed with sudden tears, or cause Gilthanas to hold her tightly, overwhelmed by a feeling of fear and awe and reverence.
Soaring high above them, so tall its head might have torn a moon from the sky, was the figure of a dragon, carved out of a mountain of rock, shining silver in the moonlight.
“Where are we?” Laurana asked in a hushed voice. “What is this place?”
“When you cross the Bridge of Passage, you will stand before the Monument of the Silver Dragon,” answered Silvara softly. “It guards the Tomb of Huma, Knight of Solamnia.”
8
The Tomb of Huma.
In Solinari’s light, the Bridge of Passage across the bubbling streams of Foghaven Vale gleamed like bright pearls threaded on a silver chain.