Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

She had been born and raised on the Plains of Dust, a flat and featureless land stretching endlessly for miles with nothing between her and the glorious sky. This world of mountains and valleys was new to Goldmoon and she had not grown used to it. Riverwind had been up and down the line, encouraging the others, when one of the Plainsmen came running for him.

“It is Goldmoon,” the man said. “You had better come.”

The Plainsman found his wife with her back pressed against the side of the cliff, her face deathly pale, trembling in terror. He approached her, and the hand that seized hold of him and gripped him like death was freezing cold.

She was at the head of the line. He had not forgotten her terror of high places, and he had tried to persuade to walk at the end, but she would have none of it. She was cured of that, she said, and she had walked forward confidently. She might have made it, for the distance was not far, but she committed the fatal error of looking down. She could see herself plunging through the air, landing on the rock-strewn ground, bones breaking, skull crushed, blood spattering the stones and pooling beneath her broken body.

“I am sorry, but I cannot do this, husband,” she said in a low voice. When he urged her gently forward, she went stiff. “Give me a few moments.”

“Goldmoon,” he said softly, looking back down the trail, where the line of refugees stood waiting. “Others are watching you, looking to you for courage.”

She stared at him pleadingly. “I want to go. I know I must go, but I can’t move!” She glanced over the edge at the sheer side of the cliff face, the rocks, trees, and the valley that seemed so far, far below her feet, and she shuddered and shut her eyes again.

“Don’t look down,” he counseled. “Look up. Look ahead. See that V-shape cut up there. That is the pass through the mountain. We have only to cross that and we are on the other side!” Goldmoon looked, shook her head and pressed her back against the wall.

“Have you prayed to the gods for courage?” Riverwind asked his wife. Goldmoon gave him a tremulous smile. “The courage of Mishakal is in my heart, husband, but it has yet to make its way to my feet.”

He loved her very much at that moment, and he kissed her cheek. She flung her arms around him, clasping him so tightly that she nearly cut off his breathing. He led her back off the trail onto solid ground and wondered what he was going to do.

There would be others like his wife who would find this trail difficult, if not impossible, to walk. He had to think how to help them.

He told the people to stop to rest while he considered this problem. As he was pondering, one of the advance scouts came hastening back down the trail. He motioned to Riverwind.

“We have found something strange,” the Plainsman reported. “Up ahead, at the opening to the pass, the dwarf’s pick-axe lies on the ground.”

“Perhaps it grew too heavy for him to carry,” he suggested.

The scout smiled and shook his head. “I have no great love for dwarves as you know, Chieftain, but I never yet met the dwarf who could not carry the weight of this mountain on his back, if he were so minded. It is not likely that he would leave behind a pick-axe.”

“Unless there was some good cause,” Riverwind said thoughtfully. “There is nothing else? Nothing to suggest he and Tanis were attacked or met with some other terrible fate?”

“If there had been fighting, we would see signs of a battle, but there is no blood on the stones, no gouges in the dirt, and no packs or other pieces of equipment left behind. To my mind, the pickaxe was left deliberately, as some sort of sign, but what it means, none of us can say.”

“Leave it where it is,” said Riverwind. “Let no man touch it. I’ll come look at it. Perhaps I can read this puzzle.”

The Plainsman nodded and returned to his fellows. The scout, whose name was Eagle Talon, walked the trail with the sure-footed ease of a mountain lion. Riverwind watched him go and eyed the trail ahead. It widened in some places, enough for two or even three people to walk abreast. He could post men like Eagle Talon, who had no problem with the heights, at each of those places, prepared to offer a strong arm and reassuring hand to those who made their way along the path.

Riverwind explained his plan, and called for volunteers, choosing men who were stout, sturdy, and had no fear of the dizzying heights, posting them at various points along the trail. He went to Goldmoon, told her what she should do, and indicated the first man, who stood on a ledge only a few feet away, his hand outstretched.

“You just have to cross a short distance on your own,” he said to her. “Don’t look down. Keep your back to the wall and look only at Nighthawk.”

Goldmoon gave a tremulous nod. She had to do this. Her husband was counting on her. She whispered the name of the goddess, then, shivering, she edged her way along the trail, moving her feet an inch at a time. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mouth was dry as stone. She made it and clasped Nighthawk’s hand with convulsive strength. He helped her sidle past him, holding onto her firmly and speaking to her encouragingly. The next man was farther away, but she looked back at Riverwind and smiled a triumphant, though shaky smile and crept on. Riverwind was proud of her. His plan seemed to be working, but it was slow going, so very slow. Some of the people would have no difficulty, of course. Maritta, coming after Goldmoon, traveled the trail with confidence, waving away Nighthawk’s helping hand. Others, like Goldmoon, hung on for dear life. Some could not stand but were forced to crawl along on their hands and knees.

At this rate, it would take all day or longer for the people to reach the pass. Leaving Elistan in charge, Riverwind went on ahead to see for himself the pick-axe the dwarf had unaccountably left behind.

Riverwind agreed with Eagle Talon. The axe had been left here deliberately. He wondered why. Not to mark the trail, which was obvious at this point. He noticed the striped rock, different from the others around it, and he saw how the point of the axe rested on the rock. Not just on the rock, he realized, squatting down to look at it more closely. The point was actually wedged in gently beneath the rock.

He stood up, arms folded across his chest, looking intently all around, up and down the mountainside. His scouts had traversed the cut and returned to say that it did indeed cross the mountain. They had found Tanis’s markers on the other side.

What, then, did this sign mean? That it was important, he had no doubt.

At least, he thought, watching the slow progress of the refugees up the trail, I have time to figure it out.

He was not to have as much time as he thought.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun began to sink, blanketing the trail in shadow, Riverwind called a halt to the ascent. He was pleased with the progress they had made. Only about a hundred more people had yet to make the treacherous walk up the trail to the pass. They had not lost a single person, though there had been heart-stopping moments as feet slipped and hands lost their grip. Or when a boy froze on the trail, unable to move, and one of the men had to edge his way down to rescue him.

Those who had crossed were now preparing to spend the night in the pass, relieved that this part of the trip was over and speaking hopefully that the worst was behind them. Riverwind’s scouts reported that they had found what appeared to be an ancient dwarven road. The going would be easier from now on.

Riverwind calculated that they would be through the pass by midmorning. Some of those who had not yet dared the trail would require more time, for among them were several who had not found the courage to even make the attempt. They had taken some comfort in the fact that their fellows had managed to cross without incident and told Riverwind they thought they could do so themselves after a night’s rest. Everyone was in good spirits, preparing to make camp for the night. Laurana and Elistan had both offered to remain with this group and Riverwind left them, confident that the people were in good hands.