Raymond E. Feist - The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy - Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon

Dolgan said softly, ‘’Tis the grandest sight I’ve ever beheld.’

Slowly the light grew in intensity as Rhuagh returned to the image of his youthful power. He pulled himself to his full, impressive height, his crest dancing with silver lights. The dragon threw back his head, a youthful, vigorous motion, and with a shout of joy sent a powerful blast of flame up to the high vaulted ceiling. With a roar like a hundred trumpets he shouted, ‘I thank thee, Macros. It is a princely gift indeed.’

Then the strangely harmonic thrumming changed in tone, becoming more insistent, louder. For a brief instant both Dolgan and Tomas thought a voice could be heard among the pulsing tones, a deep, hollow echo saying, ‘You are welcome, friend.’

Tomas felt wetness on his face, and touched it. Tears of joy from the dragon’s sheer beauty were running down his cheeks. The dragon’s great golden wings unfolded, as if he were about to launch himself in flight. The shimmering light became so bright, Tomas and Dolgan could barely stand to look, though they could not pull their eyes from the spectacle. The sound in the room grew to a pitch so loud, dust fell from the ceiling upon their heads, and they could feel the floor shake. The dragon launched himself upward, wings extended, then vanished in a blinding flash of cold white light. Suddenly the room was as it had been and the sound was gone.

The emptiness in the cavern felt oppressive after the dragon vanished, and Tomas looked at the dwarf. ‘Let’s leave, Dolgan. I have little wish to stay.’

Dolgan looked thoughtful. ‘Aye, Tomas, I also have little desire to stay. Still, there is the matter of the dragon’s gifts.’ He crossed over to the box the dragon had identified and opened it.

Dolgan’s eyes became round as he reached in and pulled out a dwarven hammer. He held it out before himself and looked upon it with reverence. The head was made from a silver metal that shone in the lantern light with bluish highlights. Across the side were carved dwarven symbols. The haft was carved oak, with scrollwork running the length. It was polished, and the deep rich grain showed through the finish. Dolgan said, faintly, ‘’Tis the Hammer of Tholin. Long removed from my people. Its return will cause rejoicing in every dwarven long hall throughout the West. It is the symbol of our last king, lost ages ago.’

Tomas came over to watch and saw something else in the box. He reached past Dolgan and pulled out a large bundle of white cloth. He unrolled it and found that the cloth was a tabard of white, with a golden dragon emblazoned on the front. Inside were a shield with the same device and a golden helm. Most marvelous of all was a golden sword with a white hilt. Its scabbard was fashioned from a smooth white material like ivory, but stronger, like metal. Beneath the bundle lay a coat of golden chain mail, which he removed with an ‘Oh!’ of wonder.

Dolgan watched him and said, ‘Take them, boy. The dragon said it was your gift.’

‘They are much too fine for me, Dolgan. They belong to a prince or a king.’

‘I’m thinking the previous owner has scant use for them, laddie. They were freely given, and you may do what you will, but I think that there is something special to them, or else they wouldn’t have been placed in the box with the hammer. Tholin’s hammer is a weapon of power, forged in the ancient hearths of the Mac Cadman Alair, the oldest mine in these mountains. In it rests magic unsurpassed in the history of the dwarves. It is likely the gilded armor and sword are also such. It may be there is a purpose in their coming to you.’

Tomas thought for a moment, then quickly pulled off his great cloak. His tunic was no gambeson, but the golden mail went over it easily enough, being fashioned for someone of larger stature. He pulled the tabard over it and put the helm upon his head. Picking up the sword and shield, he stood before Dolgan. ‘Do I look foolish?’

The dwarf regarded him closely. ‘They are a bit large, but you’ll grow into them, no doubt.’ He thought he saw something in the way the boy stood and held the sword in one hand and the shield in the other. ‘No, Tomas, you do not look foolish. Perhaps not at ease, but not foolish. They are grand, and you will come to wear them as they were meant to be worn, I think.’

Tomas nodded, picked up his cloak, and turned toward the door, putting up his sword. The armor was surprisingly light, much lighter than what he had worn at Crydee. The boy said, ‘I don’t feel like taking anything else, Dolgan. I suppose that sounds strange.’

Dolgan walked over to him. ‘No, boy, for I also wish nothing of the dragon’s riches.’ With a backward glance at the hall, he added, ‘Though there will be nights to come when I will wonder at the wisdom of that. I may return someday, but I doubt it. Now let us find a way home.’ They set off and soon were in tunnels Dolgan knew well, taking them to the surface.

Dolgan gripped Tomas’s arm in silent warning. The boy knew enough not to speak. He also felt the same alarm he had experienced just before the wraith had attacked the day before. But this time it was almost physically felt. The undead creature was near. Putting down the lantern, Tomas shuttered it. His eyes widened in sudden astonishment, for instead of the expected blackness, he saw faintly the figure of the dwarf moving slowly forward. Without thought he said, ‘Dolgan—’

The dwarf turned, and suddenly a black form loomed up at his back. ‘Behind you!’ shouted Tomas.

Dolgan spun to confront the wraith, instinctively bringing up his shield and Tholin’s hammer. The undead creature struck at the dwarf, and only Dolgan’s battle-trained reflexes and dwarven ability to sense movement in the inky darkness saved him, for he took the contact on his iron-bosked shield. The creature howled in rage at the contact with iron. Then Dolgan lashed out with the legendary weapon of his ancestors, and the creature screamed as the hammer struck its form. Blue-green light sprang about the head of the hammer, and the creature retreated, wailing in agony.

‘Stay behind me,’ shouted Dolgan. ‘If iron irritates it, then Tholin’s hammer pains it. I may be able to drive it off.’

Tomas began to obey the dwarf, then found his right hand crossing to pull the golden sword free of the scabbard on his left hip. Suddenly the ill-fitting armor seemed to settle more comfortably around his shoulders, and the shield balanced upon his arm as if he had carried it for years. Without volition of his own, Tomas moved behind Dolgan, then stepped past, bringing the golden sword to the ready.

The creature seemed to hesitate, then moved toward Tomas. Tomas raised his sword, readying to strike. With a sound of utter terror, the wraith turned and fled. Dolgan glanced at Tomas, and something he saw made him hesitate as Tomas seemed to come to an awareness of himself and put up his sword.

Dolgan returned to the lantern and said, ‘Why did you do that, lad?’

Tomas said, ‘I . . . don’t know.’ Feeling suddenly self-conscious at having disobeyed the dwarf’s instructions, he said, ‘But it worked. The thing left.’

‘Aye, it worked,’ agreed Dolgan, removing the shutter from the lantern. In the light he studied the boy.

Tomas said, ‘I think your ancestor’s hammer was too much for it.’

Dolgan said nothing, but he knew that wasn’t the case. The creature had fled in fear from the sight of Tomas in his armor of white and gold. Then another thought struck the dwarf. ‘Boy, how did you know to warn me the creature was behind me?’

‘I saw it.’

Dolgan turned to look at Tomas with open astonishment. ‘You saw it? How? You had shuttered the lantern.’

‘I don’t know how. I just did.’