Tanis the Shadow Years Read online

  “It is time,” said Fistandantilus, excitement turning his voice painfully dissonant. “Get ready to light the candle, human.”

  Tanis held the mirror in one hand and groped for Brandella’s hand with the other. When he found it, she pulled away. Her hand was cold as death.

  The chant began so low it was almost inaudible. Slowly, the sound grew louder, the words unknown and unknowable.

  The chanting grew still louder. The cabin began to quiver as if the wind outside were trying to pick the little shack off the ground and hurl it off the foothills, down to the valley below. Water and mud dripped between growing cracks in the ceiling. The dead branches crisscrossed over one section of the roof began to break apart and tumble into the room. A moan escaped the terrified weaver, but Tanis dared not comfort her.

  Fistandantilus continued his chant, his own voice howling even louder than the wind.

  Tanis didn’t know what was breaking the cabin apart—the spell or Death trying to hold on to its victim. The forces of magic and nature were clearly at war.…

  DRAGONLANCE® Preludes

  Before the War of the Lance …

  Before they became heroes …

  Darkness and Light

  Paul B. Thompson &

  Tonya C. Cook

  Kendermore

  Mary Kirchoff

  Brothers Majere

  Kevin Stein

  Riverwind the Plainsman

  Paul B. Thompson &

  Tonya C. Cook

  Flint the King

  Mary Kirchoff &

  Douglas Niles

  Tanis, the Shadow Years

  Scott Siegel &

  Barbara Siegel

  TANIS, THE SHADOW YEARS

  DRAGONLANCE® Preludes • Volume VI

  ©1990 TSR, Inc.

  ©2000 Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Hasbro SA, represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.

  DRAGONLANCE, Wizards of the Coast, D&D, their respective logos, and TSR, Inc. are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cover art by: Matt Stawicki

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-6335-5

  640-A1717000-001-EN

  For customer service, contact:

  U.S., Canada, Asia Pacific, & Latin America: Wizards of the Coast LLC, P.O. Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, +1-800-324-6496, www.wizards.com/customerservice

  U.K., Eire, & South Africa: Wizards of the Coast LLC, c/o Hasbro UK Ltd., P.O. Box 43, Newport, NP19 4YD, UK, Tel: +08457 12 55 99, Email: [email protected]

  Europe: Wizards of the Coast p/a Hasbro Belgium NV/SA, Industrialaan 1, 1702 Groot-Bijgaarden, Belgium, Tel: +32.70.233.277, Email: [email protected]

  Visit our websites at www.wizards.com

  www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  For David Luhn—

  In our world, beset by dragons, a poet takes the field. Protected by the gleaming armor of his intellect, and with Henry James as his stalwart ally, he enters the fray with an army of eloquent works and carefully considered thoughts at his command. Whether the battles are won or lost, at night we sit around the telephone campfire listening to his war stories til nearly daybreak. Such is the way of warriors. Such is also the way of friends. Such is not the way to toast marshmallows.

  We will always be a part of each other’s memories … and phone bills.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The authors wish to offer their deeply felt appreciation to Mary Kirchoff for her stalwart support and generous spirit. She is someone who can be counted upon during difficult times. Thanks are also due to Pat McGilligan, who is easy to work with and who has a sharp editorial eye.

  In addition, we are grateful to Ellen Porath for sharing her invaluable knowledge of the DRAGONLANCE® world, and to Bill Larson, who skillfully shepherded our manuscript through to its final form.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books in the Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Part I

  Map

  1: Juggling Choices

  2: Fire in the Night

  3: The Bargain

  4: The Mage’s Plea

  Part II

  5: The Dark Pit

  6: The Rising Tide

  7: Multicolored Hope

  8: At the Barricades

  9: The Sacrifice

  10: The Enchantment

  11: A Cry in the Night

  12: The Confrontation

  13: Brandella

  14: At Last, A Hero

  15: In Search of the Mage

  16: To Keep a Promise

  17: An Apparition

  18: The Final Attack

  19: A Spell Upon You

  20: Fight to the Death

  21: The Challenge of Truth

  22: Rendezvous

  23: Farewell Notes

  24: A Stitch in Time

  25: A Second Chance

  26: Goblins at Dawn

  27: Return to Solace

  28: Help from a Friend

  Part III

  29: Life After Death

  30: A Small Sacrifice

  31: Cave-In!

  32: Drowning

  33: Welcome to Yagorn

  34: Softfire

  35: The Bargain

  36: The Flickering Candle

  Part IV

  37: Brandella in His Eyes

  38: Fathers and Sons

  39: At the Camp of the Sligs

  40: A Fading Memory

  41: A New Thought, An Old Place

  42: The Ruins of Ankatavaka

  43: The Metal Box

  44: To the Death

  45: The Letter

  46: Fistandantilus’s Revenge

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  PART I

  1

  Juggling Choices

  “Another mug of ale for my friend,” cried the homely dwarf.

  Tika, the young barmaid, sighed. It was late. Very late. And the red-haired teen-ager was tired. Even Tanis, who had come back to the Inn of the Last Home after all his friends had gone, looked drained. He sat there alone, save for the exuberant dwarf with the funny nose and drooping ears who had suddenly befriended him.

  Tanis, almond-shaped eyes thoughtful in his tanned face, shook his head at Tika. “No more ale,” he said. “At least not for me.”

  The barmaid planted her feet sturdily before the dwarven stranger and flung the bar rag over one shoulder. The bean-shaped common room in the Solace inn, once the site of hours of storytelling by Tanis and his companions, now stretched emptily behind her to the stonework fireplace. No flames flickered against the stonework to cheer the lonely room, and the dying embers added precious little warmth. All in all, Tanis thought, the atmosphere suited his mood just fine.

  Tika, freckles standing out from her skinny face even in this failing light, challenged the stranger. “And you, sir?” she demanded. “You’re finished for the night, isn’t that so?”

  The dwarf smiled at the barmaid and gave her a wink. “I wouldn’t dream of drinking alone. Perhaps you’ll have one with me?”

 
“Hmphh.” The skinny teen-ager raised her chin and pressed her lips into a thin line.

  “I guess that means no?”

  “Hmphh!” Tika’s eyes flashed.

  “What a vocabulary you have,” the dwarf said, mock-seriously, his ears drooping a notch lower. “Myself, I love words. May I teach you the phrase, ‘I’d be delighted to have a drink with you, Clotnik, you beguiling wretch?’ ” He grinned in a manner obviously intended to be charming.

  She fought it, but just a bit of a smile creased her mouth.

  Clotnik crowed. “I saw that!”

  “Hmphh!” Tika ran off to the kitchen.

  Tanis’s tired eyes sparkled at Clotnik’s playfulness, at Tika’s shyness—which Tanis now saw would ripen into allure when she reached womanhood. Tanis remembered a time when he had been equally innocent. Laurana. Yes, he had felt the heady pleasure of a girl’s meaningful gaze, and had it been possible, he might have answered that look with his heart. More recently there had been Kitiara. He had ended it with the hot-headed swordswoman just hours before, and for his honesty he had received a slap in the face that jarred his teeth loose. But even now he was wondering if he hadn’t been a fool. It was too late to do anything about it; Kit had already left on her journey with Sturm. Tanis knew, with a black certainty, that he would not see Kit—or any of any of his companions—for five long years. And maybe not even then.

  Tanis unknowingly clenched his hands. Whether from long ago or from mere moments past, his memories stabbed him deeply with a painful sense of loss … and the shine in his eyes vanished.

  Clotnik laughed as Tika disappeared into the kitchen, but his expression quickly darkened when Otik, the innkeeper, emerged through those same doors with a tally sheet in his hands.

  “I don’t know how you managed to drink all that ale,” Otik said with a trace of awe in his voice as he placed the tally sheet down on the table in front of Clotnik. “You must make a good living to build up such a bill,” he added pointedly.

  Clotnik squirmed for a moment and then brightened. “You’ve had such a busy night,” he exclaimed, grabbing the innkeeper’s hand and shaking it. “You must have made a small fortune. What is money, then, to such a successful businessman?” He hurried on, not giving Otik a chance to utter as much as a syllable. “Why, you don’t need money. Money would be wasted on you!”

  The rotund innkeeper glanced warily at Tanis. The half-elf merely shrugged.

  “Money you could extract from anyone,” the dwarf rambled on without bothering to draw breath, “but a demonstration of nearly unimaginable juggling skills … well, only Clotnik can give you that. And for this special performance,” he quickly added in a kindly voice as he pulled a large traveling bag from beneath the table, “I won’t ask for any payment at all except the money to cover this bill, plus two more mugs of ale. No, make that three—one for Tanis, one for me, and one for yourself.”

  Otik appeared uncertain, as though he didn’t know what to do first: strangle the bamboozling little dwarf or simply tear out his tongue. After a moment’s thought, the decision was firmly made. He’d strangle him and then tear out his tongue.

  By then, Clotnik had opened his traveling bag and had extracted five intricately detailed, glistening balls, one of gold, one of silver, one of brass, one of iron, and the last one of delicate glass.

  “Shall I juggle for you?” Clotnik asked the mesmerized innkeeper.

  Otik didn’t answer. He just stared at the obviously valuable balls grasped in the juggler’s hands. His eyes protruded slightly in his round face.

  “I think you’ve got his attention,” Tanis said dryly. “In fact, you’ve got mine, as well. Not to mention young Tika’s,” he went on, gesturing toward the kitchen where the barmaid could be spied peeking through the doorway.

  Clotnik looked back at the red-haired barmaid. “I love an audience,” he said with a satisfied smile. “I live for this.” And then he began to juggle. The balls of gold, silver, and glass shimmered in the candlelight as they flew up and down, creating a stark contrast with the heavy iron and brass balls that cut through the air around them.

  “Juggling comes naturally to everyone,” Clotnik said easily as he deftly plucked the glass ball out of the air and then threw it up again, this time from behind his back. “We juggle our friends, keeping one in the air while we squeeze attention from another. We juggle our work with our pleasure, our needs with our shame, and even our love with our hate. Everyone juggles, all of us trying to keep as many balls in the air as possible, trying to grab at each opportunity before it comes crashing down at our feet.”

  Now Clotnik juggled all five balls in a fast, tight circle, the round objects blurring from the speed with which he whipped them through the air.

  “Take Tanis, for instance,” the dwarf continued effortlessly. “Although he says little that is personal—after all, we’ve only just met—he talks of leaving Solace at dawn. Yet he doesn’t sleep. Why? Perhaps he has yet to decide where he will go, come the morning sun. It must be so, because he will not speak of his destination. Ah, what mystery and intrigue! Don’t tell me he is not juggling!”

  The juggler continued. “Where are his friends? Scattered to the four corners of Krynn for five years, he tells me. So Tanis tosses up a ball of loneliness”—and Clotnik used a deft movement to single out the gold ball for a heartbeat before returning the glittering orb to the flashing circle.

  “Meanwhile,” the juggler commented, “Tanis tells me he plans to make his journey alone. Ah, toss up a ball of danger, for no one should travel alone in these troubled times. And even as those two balls travel in their circular arc, Tanis must keep the ball of his birth in the air, as well. Because, of course, his ultimate juggling act is between his elven and human halves.”

  Otik, arrested in the act of wiping his hands on a streaked white apron, drew a sharp breath and gave a troubled glance at Tanis. He didn’t know how the half-elf would react to Clotnik’s indelicate remark.

  The half-elf, betraying no emotion in his voice, carefully said, “Tell me, my friend, what do you juggle besides those balls? Do you juggle your life’s breath somewhere between impertinence and honesty?” His hand shifted casually to the sword at his left side, although like most creatures of elven blood, he never would have taken a life unnecessarily—and certainly not out of annoyance alone. Still, it might not hurt to caution the young dwarf that not everyone would be so forgiving. “I wonder how many times you have misjudged your audience and said the wrong thing to the wrong person.” Tanis moved his hand back to the table top.

  “Many times,” Clotnik cheerfully conceded, his eyes flashing green in the candlelight. “I have often been cut down to size. You know,” he added with a mischievous grin, “I used to be much taller.”

  “Besides free drinks,” asked Tanis, narrowing his eyes, “what is it that you want?”

  “Want?”

  “He hears well, Otik, don’t you think?”

  The innkeeper nodded, his eyes drawn again to the whirling balls that Clotnik now juggled in yet another pattern, this time using his right hand to juggle three in a circle and his left hand to juggle the other two in the traditional up and down method.

  “I’d like to travel with you,” Clotnik said guardedly.

  Tanis laughed shortly. “Even though you don’t know where we’d be going?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t know where you were going,” Clotnik corrected. “I said you didn’t know.”

  Tanis cocked his head to one side and considered the juggler.

  Clotnik began tossing the balls high into the air from behind his back, each ball nearly touching the ceiling of the inn as he juggled all five in a huge ellipse.

  “Your father must be very proud of you!” said Otik suddenly, overcome by the juggler’s performance.

  At those words, Clotnik’s head whipped around to look at the innkeeper. And in that instant, the juggler lost his concentration. He tried to recover, but it was too late. The iron a
nd brass balls thudded to the floor, one just missing Otik’s foot. Clotnik managed to grab the gold and the silver spheres, and then he lunged for the swiftly falling, fragile glass ball. Unfortunately, it had sailed out of his reach. “No!” he cried.

  Tanis, swift and graceful, dove out of his chair and, landing on the floor with arms outstretched, plucked the delicate glass ball out of the air.

  Tika burst into applause from her vantage point at the kitchen door. Otik cheered. And Clotnik let out a sigh of relief that sounded like the whoosh of a metalsmith’s bellows. “I can’t replace that if it breaks,” explained the juggler, wiping the sweat from his slanted forehead with a sleeve.

  “Then why do you risk it?” Tanis replied, examining the intricate blue and green design on the otherwise clear glass ball before handing it back to Clotnik.

  “Why bother juggling at all if there isn’t some risk involved?” Clotnik asked nonchalantly, returning the five balls to his traveling bag. “After all, who would go see a man fight a hatori to the death if the hatori had no teeth?”

  “Good point, but why fight a sand crocodile in the first place?” Tanis retorted.

  Clotnik gave a short laugh. “I’m going to enjoy traveling with you,” he said. “You have a lively mind—not to mention a quick hand.”

  Tanis kept his tone urbane. “It seems you’ve accepted an invitation that I have yet to offer.”

  “You will offer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Clotnik said, leaning over to whisper, “I can take you to a man who knew your father.”

  Tanis felt the color drain from his face. A hand, cold and inexorable as death, clenched his ribcage with killing force. The half-elf sat in stunned silence, his heart thumping wildly.

  His father.

  All his life he had wanted to learn something, anything, about the man who had spawned him. All he knew was that once, during a warring time between humans and elves, a human soldier had had his way with an elven maiden, Tanis’s mother, leaving her broken, battered, and with child. What kind of man would do that? Tanis questioned yet again. What kind of blood did the half-elf have running in his veins? Tanis’s mother had died only months after Tanis’s birth, leaving him to the care of distant elven relatives—and part of neither world, human nor elven. After ninety-seven years of life, Tanis still wondered about that human warrior. But how could this juggling dwarf know anything about the stranger, no doubt long dead, who was his father?