Jean Rabe - The Day of the Tempest

“Ulin, Gilthanas, and Groller will be traveling to the Tomb of Huma to find the lance,” Palin began.

“And he with the purest heart should carry it,” Sageth interrupted. “It will scald the soul and body of an evil man—burn the flesh, singe the bone, destroy the—”

“We’re all good people here,” Ulin said.

Palin nodded. “And we all understand the importance of what we’re undertaking. While they search, the ship will continue to Ankatavaka near the Qualinesti lands. From there, Feril, Jasper, and I will…”

Blister waved her hand to get the sorcerer’s attention. “Since Feril’s from Southern Ergoth, why isn’t she going to the tomb?”

The Kagonesti, who was clutching Dhamon’s hand, leaned close to the kender. “My decision, Blister. It is my home. And because of that, I would be distracted, thinking about the land and the dragon, the wolves I left behind. Nothing must interfere with getting the lance. Beside that, I don’t know where the tomb is. Gilthanas does.”

Blister thought about it for a moment. “Good idea,” she said finally.

Palin cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention again. “In the Qualinesti forest, we will search for the scepter—the Fist of E’li. I know those lands well, and Feril knows forests. Hopefully we can find the tower that Sageth has spoken of, even though the land has been altered.”

“An old tower,” Sageth ducked, “older than me and standing straighten”

“Rig, Dhamon, Blister and Sageth will go to Schallsea to meet with Goldmoon and ask for her medallion.” He looked at Dhamon. “Perhaps Goldmoon can do something about the scale.”

The former knight turned to Feril. “I don’t ever want to leave you again.”

“This won’t take long,” she finished. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together.”

Rig rolled his eyes at the pair. “Anyway, that’s only three artifacts ” he said to Palin. “Where do we get the fourth?”

“Yes, must have four,” Sageth said.

“I know where to find Dalamar’s ring,” Palin replied. “Obtaining it will not be difficult”

“Good, the land of the sea elves is too far away,” the mariner said.

“I will reunite us all in the end” the sorcerer concluded. And may we be successful, he thought, before all the free lands of Krynn go away forever.

Palin slipped away from the others briefly that night, journeying hundreds of miles to the Tower of Wayreth.

The Shadow Sorcerer greeted him, telling him of the Peak of Malys—a lofty ridge ringed by volcanoes. Several glowed orange, and lines of vermillion ran down their sides, ribbons of steaming lava that in the scrying bowl looked like bright strands of thread sewn against dark fabric.

The Master of the Tower interrupted their discussion. “I have found nothing in your Uncle Raistlin’s notes about dragon scales embedded in humans, nothing to even hint at how or why it might be done. Perhaps it has never been done before.” He closed a thick tome and replaced it on the shelf. “In any event, I do not like the sound of it. Such a graft is evil magic to be certain and should be removed immediately”

“The knight said that would kill Dhamon.”

“The scale itself might kill him, might be killing him now,” the Master said. There was an edge to his soft voice. “You have a healer with you. Perhaps the dwarf can save your Dhamon Grimwulf after the scale is extracted.”

“Do you want to take that chance?” The Shadow Sorcerer asked. “I would trust the knight’s words, Majere. The scale was on him, and you said when he pried it off, he died quickly. You are wise to wait and have Goldmoon attend to the matter. She is a much more accomplished healer than your dwarf.”

Palin glanced at both of his robed associates. Their features obscured by their hoods, it was impossible to read their expressions or guess what they were thinking. “The scale seems to be doing him no harm at the moment. Perhaps there is time to wait until Goldmoon can look at it.”

The Shadow Sorcerer bowed slightly to Palin. “She is the one who selected him as her champion. Let her deal with him.”

Bundled in furs they'd purchased in the last port, they looked like bears walking on their hind legs. Groller was distinguishable because of his size, but from more than a few feet away it would have been impossible to tell Ulin and Gilthanas apart. Fury plodded through the snow several paces behind them, his whiskers and jaws sheathed in ice crystals, and his nose quivering, taking in the scents of the frigid place.

The Qualinesti’s teeth chattered. “From the deserts of the Northern Wastes to the windswept barrens of Southern Ergoth in less than two months,” he said aloud, knowing Ulin couldn’t hear him through his muffled hood and over the whipping wind. “And it’s noon here, the hottest part of the day. How will I endure the coldest?” He knew that the former homeland of the Kagonesti would be icy because the White had altered the climate, but he hadn’t fathomed that the cold would be so intense. The cold seeped through the seams in his fur garments and stung his skin and eyes. His feet were likewise chilled—despite the leather and fur boots he wore.

The wind keened like a clan of maddened ghosts. The sound unnerved Gilthanas and Ulin. The Qualinesti looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Flint’s Anvil —the carrack’s sails specks of white against a bay dotted with miniature icebergs. Then he turned back toward the frigid heart of Southern Ergoth and continued walking. Despite the snow cover he knew he could still find his way to the tomb.

In most places the snow was packed so hard that a glistening sheet of ice had formed over the top, a thick crust that was relatively easy to walk over—even though the heavy furs they wore were cumbersome and made the going slow. In other places the snow was loose and fluffy, and Gilthanas, who was in the lead, found himself floundering up to his waist, like a man caught in quicksand. Groller helped him up each time, careful not to get caught himself. Then Gilthanas would probe ahead with the dragonlance Rig had reluctantly loaned him, hoping to find the safest places to walk. Midway through the afternoon the sky became completely overcast, making everything look even bleaker and more foreboding.

“One month,” the Qualinesti whispered. “It will take us one month to reach the tomb and find the lance.” He glanced at Ulin. “Maybe just a little longer. Have you been away from your wife this long before?”

Ulin shook his head.

I'm sure it’s hard.”

“I love her, and the children ,” Ulin said. “But love isn’t enough. Something’s missing in my life”

“And you expect to find it in a snowdrift?”

“I need to make a difference in this world, whether with my magic or my wits.”

“There’s too much of your great-uncle and your father hi you.”

The younger Majere would contact Palin if they, when they, Gilthanas corrected himself, attained their goal. Then his father would magically whisk them all out of here. Bringing someone home was a lot easier than sending them someplace he wasn’t sure of. “You could end up in the middle of a glacier,” Gilthanas remembered Palin saving.

Fury seemed to handle the climate much better. He strayed from the trio only occasionally, and that was when he smelled something particularly interesting. Ears laid back against the sides of his head, the wolf would creep forward, sniffing and stalking. Gilthanas, Ulin, and Groller slowed their pace to a crawl at those times, glancing about furtively.

Ulin had the feeling they were being watched, or followed, and he was certain that was why Fury seemed so wary. They could find no signs of tracks, but twice the younger Majere swore he saw a man-shaped thing standing on the drifts behind them. But by the time he got Groller and Gilthanas to look, the creature had vanished. There were no tracks to be found, and Fury could pick up no trace of a presence.