Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

Raistlin looked at Caramon, who sighed and shook his head.

“This makes things difficult,” said Raistlin.

“What? How? I don’t understand,” Tika said.

This was not the reception she had been expecting.

She had hoped that Caramon would be pleased with her. Well, maybe not pleased, because her news was very bad, the worst news possible, but he could at least be pleased that she and Tas had found out about the attack in time to prevent it.

Caramon only stood there looking troubled and unhappy. Raistlin’s lips were tightly compressed. She couldn’t tell how Sturm looked because he was wearing some sort of odd-looking helm that covered his face. All in all, Tika realized, everyone was acting very strangely.

“What’s the matter with you? We should get started right away. Right now. And why is Sturm wearing that funny looking helm?”

“She’s right, Raist,” said Caramon. “We should go back.”

“What will the refugees do once we have warned them?” Raistlin demanded. “Where can they go that is safe?” He glanced at Sturm. “Thorbardin.”

“Of course, we must go to Thorbardin,” Sturm said, and he sounded impatient. “We have delayed long enough. I’m leaving. If you’re coming with me, humans, then come.” He started to walk out the door. Raistlin hurriedly intervened, stepping in front of him, and laying his hand on the knight’s arm. “We plan to go with you, Your Highness, but there is an emergency we must deal with first. If you will just be patient a moment longer…”

“Your Highness!” Tika stared at Sturm, then she said in a low voice to Caramon, “Did he get hit on the head again?”

“It’s a long story,” said Caramon bleakly.

“Let me put it this way,” said Raistlin dryly. “Sturm is not himself.” He looked back at his brother. “We must go with the knight to Thorbardin. We may never have another chance to find the dwarven kingdom.”

“No, we have to go back to camp,” Tika insisted.

“Riverwind is aware that an attack is possible,” Raistlin said. “He will be ready for it, if it comes.”

“Why can’t we do both?” Caramon asked. “We take Prince Grallen here with us back to camp. Then the prince can lead the refugees to Thorbardin. Problem solved.”

“Prince Grallen? Who’s Prince Grallen?” Tika asked, but no one answered her.

“An excellent idea, but it won’t work,” Raistlin said flatly.

“Sure it will,” said Caramon.

“Try and see,” said Raistlin, shrugging. “Tell Prince Grallen.” Caramon, looking extremely uncomfortable, walked over to where Sturm stood by the door, tapping his foot restlessly on the floor. “Your Highness, we are planning to go to Thorbardin, but first we’re going to make a little side trip. We have some friends who are trapped in a valley to the north—”

Sturm drew back. He glared at Caramon from out of the helm’s eye slits. “North! We do not travel north. Our way lies east across the Dergoth Plains. I would have been grateful to have your company, human, but if you go north, you go alone.”

“I told you so,” said Raistlin.

Caramon sighed deeply.

“What’s wrong with Sturm?” Tika asked, frightened. “Why is he talking like that?”

“The helm’s possessed him,” said Caramon. “He thinks he’s a dwarven prince who lived three hundred years ago. He’s dead set on going to Thorbardin.”

“The helm will not let him do anything else,” said Raistlin. “There is no reasoning with the enchantment.”

“What if we knocked him out, tied him up and dragged him?” Tika asked. Caramon was horrified. “Tika, this is Sturm we’re talking about.”

“Well, apparently it isn’t,” Tika snapped. “It’s Prince Something-or-other.” She didn’t understand any of this, but she was understanding enough to see where this conversation was headed, and she didn’t like it. “Caramon Majere, our friends are in danger! We can’t just abandon them!”

“I know,” he replied unhappily. “I know.”

“I doubt if we could knock him out,” Raistlin observed. “The helm will act to protect him from harm. If we tried to attack him, he would fight us and someone would get hurt. Just because Sturm thinks he is a dwarf prince doesn’t mean he has lost the ability to use his sword.” Tika interposed herself between Raistlin and Caramon. She turned her back on Raistlin, faced Caramon, her arms akimbo, her red curls quivering, her green eyes glittering.

“Thorbardin or no Thorbardin, prince or no prince, someone has to warn Riverwind and the others! You and I should go back, Caramon. Your brother and Sturm can travel to Thorbardin.”

“Yes, Caramon,” said Raistlin in dulcet tones. “Run along with your girlfriend. Leave me to make my way across the accursed Plains of Dergoth in company with a knight who thinks he’s a dwarf. We will both die, of course, and our mission will fail, but you two will undoubtedly enjoy yourselves.”

Tika was so furious she was tempted to turn around and slap Raistlin across his golden-skinned face. She knew that would only make matters worse, however. Digging her nails into her flesh to keep control of herself, she kept facing Caramon, forcing him to look at her, talk to her, think about her and what she was saying.

“Raistlin exaggerates,” Tika told him. “He’s trying to make you feel guilty. He’s a wizard! He has his magic, and like he said, the helm will protect Sturm and Sturm can still use his sword. You have to come with me!”

Caramon was in agony. His face had gone an ugly, blotchy red, mottled with pale white splotches. He looked at his twin and he looked at Tika, then he looked away from both of them.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

Tasslehoff poked his head in the door. “You people are being awfully loud,” he said sternly. “I can hear you yelling clear down at the end of the corridor!”

Tika lapsed into irate silence. Caramon still didn’t say anything and Sturm began to pace, marching back and forth, impatient to be on his way.

“Whatever you decide, my brother,” said Raistlin.

Tika eyed Caramon. “Well?”

Caramon cast an uneasy glance at Tika.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “We’re all tired and hungry. It’s been a long day. Let’s go back into the tunnel, get something to eat, and talk about this in the morning.”

“You’re going with your brother,” said Tika in frozen tones.

“I don’t know,” Caramon said, hedging. “I haven’t decided. I need to think.” Tika cast him a look—a green-eyed baleful look that skewered Caramon like a spear. She stalked angrily out of the room.

“Tika! Wait…” Caramon started after her.

“Where do you think you are going?” Raistlin demanded. “You must help me persuade the prince to stay. He will not be pleased at the delay.”

Caramon watched Tika walking down the corridor, heading back toward the library. She looked angry clear through to her bones.

“Tas, go with her,” Caramon said in low tones, so his brother couldn’t hear. Tas obligingly ran off. Caramon could hear the two talking.

“Tika, what’s wrong?” Tas called out, racing to catch up with her.

“Caramon’s a blithering idiot,” Tika answered, choking on her rage, “and I hate him!”

“Caramon!” Raistlin said sharply. “I need you!”

Sighing deeply, Caramon went back to his twin.

After a great deal of talking and reasoning, Raistlin finally persuaded Prince Grallen to stay overnight in Skullcap. He told the prince he and his brother needed to rest before they could undertake the journey, and at last the Prince grudgingly agreed.

They returned to the library and from there went back into the tunnel. Caramon, fearing draconians might find them, wanted to shut the stone door. Raistlin pointed out that the draconians did not know about the tunnel and they should be safe enough here. Shutting the stone door would make a lot of noise. The only reason the draconians hadn’t heard the clamor the first time was due to the dragon’s roaring. Of course, after this, there was no argument. The door remained open.