Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (5 page)

T
anis spread out the kender’s map.

They had arrived at the foot of the range of barren and treeless hills which, according to the map, must overlook the city of Tarsis.

“We don’t dare climb those in daylight,” Sturm said, drawing his scarf down from his mouth. “We’d be visible to everything within a hundred miles.”

“No,” Tanis agreed. “We’ll make camp here at the base. I’ll climb, though, to get a look at the city.”

“I don’t like this, not one bit!” Sturm muttered gloomily. “Something’s wrong. Do you want me to go with you?”

Tanis, seeing the weariness in the knight’s face, shook his head. “You get the others organized.” Dressed in a winter traveling cloak of white, he prepared to climb the snow-covered, rock-strewn hills. Ready to start, he felt a cold hand on his
arm. He turned and looked into the eyes of the mage.

“I will come with you,” Raistlin whispered.

Tanis stared at him in astonishment, then glanced up at the hills. The climb would not be an easy one, and he knew the mage’s dislike of extreme physical exertion. Raistlin saw his glance and understood.

“My brother will help me,” he said, beckoning to Caramon, who appeared startled but stood up immediately and came over to stand beside his brother. “I would look upon the city of Tarsis the Beautiful.”

Tanis regarded him uneasily, but Raistlin’s face was as impassive and cold as the metal it resembled.

“Very well,” the half-elf said, studying Raistlin. “But you’ll show up on the face of that mountain like a blood stain. Cover yourself with a white robe.” The half-elf’s sardonic smile was an almost perfect imitation of Raistlin’s own. “Borrow one from Elistan.”

Tanis, standing on the top of the hill overlooking the legendary seaport city of Tarsis the Beautiful, began to swear softly. Wispy clouds of steam floated from his lips with the hot words. Drawing the hood of his heavy cloak over his head, he stared down into the city in bitter disappointment.

Caramon nudged his twin. “Raist,” he said. “What’s the matter? I don’t understand.”

Raistlin coughed. “Your brains are in your sword-arm, my brother,” the mage whispered caustically. “Look upon Tarsis, legendary seaport city. What do you see?”

“Well …” Caramon squinted. “It’s one of the biggest cities I’ve seen. And there are ships—just like we heard—”

“ ‘The white-winged ships of Tarsis the Beautiful,’ ” Raistlin quoted bitterly. “You look upon the ships, my brother. Do you notice anything peculiar about them?”

“They’re not in very good shape. The sails are ragged and—” Caramon blinked. Then he gasped. “There’s no water!”

“Most observant.”

“But the kender’s map—”

“Dated before the Cataclysm,” Tanis interrupted. “Damn it, I should have known! I should have considered this possibility! Tarsis the Beautiful—legendary seaport, now landlocked!”

“And has been for three hundred years, undoubtedly,” Raistlin whispered.

“When the fiery mountain fell from the sky, it created seas—as we saw in Xak Tsaroth—but it also destroyed them. What do we do with the refugees now, Half-Elf?”

“I don’t know,” Tanis snapped irritably. He stared down at the city, then turned away. “It’s no good standing around here. The sea isn’t going to come back just for our benefit.” He turned away and walked slowly down the cliff.

“What
will
we do?” Caramon asked his brother. “We can’t go back to Southgate. I know something or someone was dogging our footsteps.” He glanced around worriedly. “I feel eyes watching—even now.”

Raistlin put his hand through his brother’s arm. For a rare instant, the two looked remarkably alike. Light and darkness were not more different than the twins.

“You are wise to trust your feelings, my brother,” Raistlin said softly. “Great danger and great evil surround us. I have felt it growing on me since the people arrived in Southgate. I tried to warn them—” He broke off in a fit of coughing.

“How do you know?” Caramon asked.

Raistlin shook his head, unable to answer for long moments. Then, when the spasm had passed, he drew a shuddering breath and glanced at his brother irritably. “Haven’t you learned yet?” he said bitterly. “I
know!
Put it at that. I paid for my knowledge in the Towers of High Sorcery. I paid for it with my body and very nearly my reason. I paid for it with—” Raistlin stopped, looking at his twin.

Caramon was pale and silent as always whenever the Testing was mentioned. He started to say something, choked, then cleared his throat. “It’s just that I don’t understand—”

Raistlin sighed and shook his head, withdrawing his arm from his brother’s. Then, leaning on his staff, he began to walk down the hill. “Nor will you,” he murmured. “Ever.”

Three hundred years ago, Tarsis the Beautiful was Lordcity of the lands of Abanasinia. From here set sail the white-winged ships for all the known lands of Krynn. Here they returned, bearing all manner of objects, precious and curious, hideous and delicate. The Tarsian marketplace was a thing of wonder. Sailors swaggered the streets, their golden earrings
flashing as brightly as their knives. The ships brought exotic peoples from distant lands to sell their wares. Some dressed in gaily colored, flowing silks, bedizened with jewels. They sold spices and teas, oranges and pearls, and bright-colored birds in cages. Others, dressed in crude skins, sold luxuriant furs from strange animals as grotesque as those who hunted them.

Of course, there were buyers at the Tarsian market as well; almost as strange and exotic and dangerous as the sellers. Wizards dressed in robes of white, red, or black strode the bazaars, searching for rare spell components to make their magic. Distrusted even then, they walked through the crowds, isolated and alone. Few spoke even to those wearing the white robes, and no one ever cheated them.

Clerics, too, sought ingredients for their healing potions. For there were clerics in Krynn before the Cataclysm. Some worshiped the gods of good, some the gods of neutrality, some the gods of evil. All had great power. Their prayers, for good or for evil, were answered.

And always, walking among all the strange and exotic peoples gathered in the bazaar of Tarsis the Beautiful, were the Knights of Solamnia: keeping order, guarding the land, living their disciplined lives in strict observance of the Code and the Measure. The Knights were followers of Paladine, and were noted for their pious obedience to the gods.

The walled city of Tarsis had its own army and—so it was said—had never fallen to an invading force. The city was ruled, under the watchful eyes of the Knights—by a Lord-family and had the good fortune to fall to the care of a family possessing sense, sensitivity, and justice. Tarsis became a center of learning; sages from lands all around came here to share their wisdom. Schools and a great library were established, temples were built to the gods. Young men and women eager for knowledge came to Tarsis to study.

The early dragon wars had not affected Tarsis. The huge walled city, its formidable army, its fleets of white-winged ships, and its vigilant Knights of Solamnia daunted even the Queen of Darkness. Before she could consolidate her power and strike the Lordcity, Huma drove her dragons from the skies. Thus Tarsis prospered and became, during the Age of Might, one of the wealthiest and proudest cities of Krynn.

And, as with so many other cities in Krynn, with its pride
grew its conceit. Tarsis began seeking more and more from the gods: wealth, power, glory. The people worshiped the Kingpriest of Istar who, seeing suffering in the land, demanded of the gods in his arrogance what they had granted Huma in humility. Even the Knights of Solamnia—bound by the strict laws of the Measure, encased in a religion that had become all ritual with little depth—fell under the sway of the mighty Kingpriest.

Then came the Cataclysm—a night of terror, when it rained fire. The ground heaved and cracked as the gods in their righteous anger hurled a mountain of rock down upon Krynn, punishing the Kingpriest of Istar and the people for their pride.

The people turned to the Knights of Solamnia. “You who are righteous, help us!” they cried. “Placate the gods!”

But the Knights could do nothing. The fire fell from the heavens, the land split asunder. The seawaters fled, the ships foundered and toppled, the wall of the city crumbled.

When the night of horror ended, Tarsis was landlocked. The white-winged ships lay upon the sand like wounded birds. Dazed and bleeding, the survivors tried to rebuild their city, expecting any moment to see the Knights of Solamnia come marching from their great fortresses in the north, marching from Palanthas, Solanthus, Vingaard Keep, Thelgaard, marching south to Tarsis to help them and protect them once more.

But the Knights did not come. They had their own troubles and could not leave Solamnia. Even if they had been able to march, a new sea split the lands of Abanasinia. The dwarves in their mountain kingdom of Thorbardin shut their gates, refusing admittance to anyone, and so the mountain passes were blocked. The elves withdrew into Qualinesti, nursing their wounds, blaming humans for the catastrophe. Soon, Tarsis lost all contact with the world to the north.

And so, following the Cataclysm, when it became apparent that the city had been abandoned by the Knights, came the Day of Banishment. The lord of the city was placed in an awkward position. He did not truly believe in the corruption of the Knights, but he knew the people needed something or someone to blame. If he sided with the Knights, he would lose control of the city, and so he was forced to close his eyes to
angry mobs that attacked the few Knights remaining in Tarsis. They were driven from the city—or murdered.

After a time, order was restored in Tarsis. The lord and his family established a new army. But much was changed. The people believed the ancient gods they had worshiped for so long had turned away from them. They found new gods to worship, even though these new gods rarely answered prayers. All clerical powers that had been present in the land before the Cataclysm were lost. Clerics with false promises and false hopes proliferated. Charlatan healers walked the land, selling their phony cure-alls.

After a time, many of the people drifted away from Tarsis. No longer did sailors walk the marketplace; elves, dwarves, and other races came no more. The people remaining in Tarsis liked it this way. They began to fear and mistrust the outside world. Strangers were not encouraged.

But Tarsis had been a trade center for so long that those people in the outlying countryside who could still reach Tarsis continued to do so. The outer hub of the city was rebuilt. The inner part—the temples, the schools, the great library—was left in ruins. The bazaar was reopened, only now it was a market for farmers and a forum for false clerics preaching new religions. Peace settled over the town like a blanket. Former days of glory were as a dream and might not have even been believed, but for the evidence in the center of town.

Now, of course, Tarsis heard rumors of war, but these were generally discounted, although the lord did send his army out to guard the plains to the south. If anyone asked why, he said it was a field exercise, nothing more. These rumors, after all, had come out of the north, and all knew the Knights of Solamnia were trying desperately to reestablish their power. It was amazing what lengths the traitorous Knights would go to—even spreading stories of the return of dragons!

This was Tarsis the Beautiful, the city the companions entered that morning, just a short time after sunrise.

T
he few sleepy guards upon the city walls that morning woke up at the sight of the sword-bearing, travel-worn group seeking entry. They did not deny them. They did not even question them—much. A red-bearded, soft-spoken half-elf, the like of which had not been seen in Tarsis in decades, said they had traveled far and sought shelter. His companions stood quietly behind him, making no threatening gestures. Yawning, the guards directed them to the Red Dragon Inn.

This might have ended the matter. Tarsis, after all, was beginning to see more and more strange characters as rumors of war spread. But the cloak of one of the humans blew aside as he stepped through the gate, and a guard caught a flash of bright armor in the morning sun. The guard saw the hated and reviled symbol of the Knights of Solamnia on the antique
breastplate. Scowling, the guard melted into the shadows, slinking after the group as it walked through the streets of the waking town.

The guard watched them enter the Red Dragon. He waited outside in the cold until he was sure they must be in their rooms. Then, slipping inside, he spoke a few words to the innkeeper. The guard peeped inside the common room and, seeing the group seated and apparently settled for some time, ran off to make his report.

“This is what comes of trusting a kender’s map!” said the dwarf irritably, shoving away his empty plate and wiping his hand across his mouth. “Takes us to a seaport city with no sea!”

“It’s not my fault,” Tas protested. “I told Tanis when I gave him the map that it dated before the Cataclysm. ‘Tas,’ Tanis said before we left, ‘do you have a map that shows us how to get to Tarsis?’ I said I did and I gave him this one. It shows Thorbardin, the dwarven Kingdom under the Mountain, and Southgate, and here it shows Tarsis, and everything else was right where the map said it was supposed to be. I can’t help it if something happened to the ocean! I—”