The Cataclysm Read online

  Matya clucked her tongue, helped him sit back up against the wagon wheel. "I don't think you're going anywhere, except to a monastery in Garnet — or the grave, if you try that again" She poured a cup of water from a goatskin and handed it to him. The knight nodded in thanks and drank it down.

  "You do not understand, Matya," Trevarre said, an intent look on his weathered face. "I must journey to Tambor. I have received a plea for help. I cannot refuse it."

  Matya scowled. "Why ever not?"

  Trevarre sighed, stroking his scraggly moustache. "I do not know if I can make you understand this, but I will try. I am a Knight of the Sword, Matya." He rested his hand against his steel breastplate, decorated with the symbol of the sword. "This means I cannot live my life as other men do. Instead, I must live by another, higher standard — by the Oath and the Measure. It is written in the Measure that there is honor in aiding those who cry out in need. And, by the Oath, I swore that my honor is my life. I will fulfill my quest, Matya." A faint light glimmered in his pale eyes. "Or die trying."

  "And what reward will you get for performing this 'honorable' task?" Matya asked with a scowl.

  "My honor is reward enough."

  Matya sniffed. "This 'Oath and Measure' hardly sounds practical. It's rather difficult to eat one's honor when one gets hungry." She paused a moment. Her real interest was in the doll, but she couldn't think of how to ask about it without rousing the knight's suspicion. Maybe, if she could keep him talking about himself, he'd tell her what she wanted to know. "And how is it you came to hear this plea for help, Knight? How do you know it's not simply a trick to lure you into a den of robbers?"

  "I know." The crooked smile touched Trevarre's lips once again. "By this, I know." He slipped the porcelain doll from the leather pouch.

  Matya was thrilled. She had not thought to get another glimpse so easily. Seeing it closely now, Matya realized the doll was even more beautiful than she had thought. She clasped her hands behind her back so she would not be tempted to reach out and touch its smooth surface.

  "Passing fair, would you not say?" Trevarre said softly. Matya could only nod. "It is a most remarkable thing. I came upon it some days ago, by the banks of a stream that flows from the mountains. It lay in a small boat woven of rushes, caught in a snag by the shore." He slipped the figurine back into its pouch. "By it, I learned of a maiden who lives in a village called Tambor. She is in dire need. The code of the Measure is most clear on this. I must go to her."

  Matya raised an eyebrow. It was a peculiar tale. She guessed Trevarre had stolen the doll and simply was making up the story. After all, he looked more like a thief than a knight, despite his armor. If so, stolen goods were fair game. Ask any trader.

  "How is it you learned of this maiden?" she asked, hoping to trip him in his lie. "Was there a message in the boat?"

  "No," the knight replied, "not as you mean, at least. You see, the doll is magical. Each night, when Solinari rises, the doll speaks with the maiden's voice. That is how I heard her call for help."

  Matya laughed aloud, slapping her knee. "A wondrous tale indeed, Trevarre, but I believe you have taken up the wrong vocation. You should be a storyteller, not a knight."

  Trevarre's expression became grave, serious. "You must know, Matya, that on his life a Knight of Solamnia cannot speak falsehood. I can understand why you do not trust in magic. We knights do not think much of sorcerous powers either. But wait until Solinari is on the rise. Perhaps you will change your mind."

  Matya studied the knight attentively. His was not exactly a trustworthy face, despite his pretty voice. Still, there was something about the intentness of his pale eyes.

  "Perhaps I won't," she said.

  It was nearly midnight. The knight had slipped into a doze, less fitfully this time, and Matya rummaged through a wooden box in the back of her wagon. The light of a single candle illuminated scrolls and parchments. Finally, she found what she was searching for — a bundle of yellowed sheets of vellum.

  Matya untied the bundle's silken ribbon and unrolled the sheets, spreading them out on the lid of the box. They were maps, rendered in fading ink. A kender had given them to Matya some years ago in exchange for a silver knife. It had proved to be one of the few unprofitable trades Matya had ever made. She soon had learned that the maps contained many mistakes. They showed land where there were seas, mountains where there were deserts, and populous cities in which no one lived. She should have known better than to trust a kender. They were little tricksters, all of them. Still, poor as the maps were, they were the only maps she had, and she was curious about something.

  She shuffled through the maps until she found one that had SOLAMNIA written on the top. The mountains were missing, and the map showed Caergoth to be an inland city, while Matya knew very well that it stood on the coast. Some features had been added to the map in a bold, scrawling hand, and Matya suspected these were the kender's own additions. Among other things, the kender's scrawls showed the highways leading to Garnet and Caergoth, and the crossroads as well.

  "Now where is it?" Matya muttered, running a finger over the yellowed, cracking vellum. "It has to be here." Then she found what she sought. Written in small, faded letters was the word TAMBOR. By the markings on the map, the village of Tambor was no more than ten miles north and east of the crossroads. "But that would put it in the foothills of the mountains, though this map shows southern Solamnia to be nothing but plains," she added in disgust.

  The kender had written something beside the spot marked TAMBOR. She had to squint to make out the scrawling words. They read, DEESTROYD IN KATAKLISM. Matya mumbled an oath under her breath.

  If this was true, then the village the knight sought had been destroyed more than fifty years ago. So much for his plea for help! A liar, as she'd suspected. She didn't know why that hurt her.

  Trevarre called out. Matya hastily put away the maps. She found the knight still sitting by the wagon wheel. The porcelain doll stood on the ground before him.

  "It is almost time," he said, nodding toward the west. A pearly glow had touched the distant horizon. Solinari, the largest of Krynn's three moons, soon would rise.

  Matya sat on a fallen log near the knight, eyes on the doll. While she did not believe Trevarre's story, she was curious to see what he would do when the doll failed to speak.

  "Wait," Trevarre said softly. "Just wait."

  Matya sighed, resting her chin on a hand, and waited. This was rapidly growing tedious. Finally, a thin, silvery sliver of Solinari lifted above the far-off horizon.

  The doll began to sing.

  Matya stared at the porcelain statuette in shock. The maiden's lips moved. A sweet, wordless song drifted upon the night air. There was no doubt but that the song came from the doll.

  Matya shot a look at Trevarre. The knight's pale eyes were triumphant. The song continued, a sad melody that tugged at Matya's heart. Finally the sweet music ended, and the doll spoke.

  "Please, come to me, whoever finds me," it said, its voice cool and lilting but filled with sorrow as well. "I beg you. Come to the village of Tambor. I need help desperately. Please"

  Solinari lifted full above the horizon, and the doll fell silent. Matya's eyes glimmered as she stared at it calculatingly.

  "An enchanted doll!" she said to herself. "Why, it is worth a king's ransom."

  "Do you believe my tale now?" Trevarre asked, a slight smile beneath his mousy moustache.

  Matya nodded. "I believe you." She was glad to believe in him, too, but she didn't tell him that.

  "I have something to ask of you," the knight said. "It appears my legs are set on betraying me. I cannot journey to Tambor on foot, but your wagon could carry me. Take me there, Matya. Take me to Tambor, please."

  "And what would I gain for my trouble?" Matya asked coolly.

  Trevarre reached inside the collar of his woolen cloak and undid the clasp. He held it out to her. "Will this do?" The clasp was fashioned of finely wrought silver, inlaid wit
h pearl and lapis lazuli. Matya appraised it with a practiced eye. The jewel obviously was quite valuable. By any measure, the trade would be a good one, but it was not enough.

  "Give me the doll as well," Matya said crisply, "then I will take you to Tambor."

  Trevarre gazed at her for a long moment, but Matya did not so much as blink. Finally he laughed. "You drive a hard bargain, I see. It appears I have little choice but to accept. Very well, I will give you the doll — but only after we reach Tambor."

  "Agreed," Matya said, her eyes flashing. She took the jeweled clasp from his outstretched hand and spirited it away to a pocket in her dress. 1 will keep this as assurance." She knew that Trevarre likely would be distressed when he found Tambor in ruins and his quest proved a folly. However, if he was a man of honor, he would keep his word. The doll would be Matya's. I'll take you to Tambor, Knight."

  She spat in her hand and held it out. Trevarre looked at her in puzzlement for a moment, then nodded solemnly and did the same. They shook hands firmly. The bargain had been struck.

  Matya and the knight set out with the dawn, traveling east down the road to Garnet. The mountains loomed high before them, like great gray giants. Their summits were already dusted with a coating of snow, bespeaking the winter that soon would blanket the rest of Solamnia.

  Matya studied the kender's map as Rabbit plodded on, pulling the wagon along the jouncing road. The map was terribly faded and crumbled a bit each time she touched it, but Matya could make out the line of a faint road leading south from the place marked Tambor. If the kender had drawn in the highway to Garnet at all accurately, they ought to reach the road to Tambor sometime around midmorning.

  "'Two giants point the way,'" Trevarre said. Matya looked questioningly at the knight, who was propped up on the bench beside her. "That was the sign the doll spoke of that would guide me to the village," he explained. "I imagine it means two mountains, or some such thing."

  "You were going to try to find the village with directions like that?" Matya asked.

  Trevarre only shrugged.

  "Humph!" Matya snorted. "If this maiden of yours was going to all this trouble to get rescued, she might have given you dearer instructions."

  Before Trevarre could reply, one of the wheels hit a deep rut, and he winced as the wagon lurched roughly. He was in better shape today than he'd been the night before, but his face was still pale, and the roughness of the wagon's ride obviously was causing him pain. He did not complain, however.

  Midmorning passed and noon approached, and still Matya saw no sign of a road leading north from the highway. Finally she pulled on the reins, and Rabbit came to a halt. "It's time for a rest," she said.

  She fastened a feedbag over Rabbit's muzzle, then found food for herself and Trevarre. A jumble of massive, oddly shaped granite boulders, warmed by the sun, lay next to the road. The two sat on these as they ate a meal of cheese, bread, and dried fruit. When they had finished, Matya checked Trevarre's bandages. "Your hands are gentle, though your tongue is sharp," said the knight, smiling at her. Matya blushed, but ignored him and nodded in satisfaction. The knight's wounds had closed, and none of them showed signs of festering.

  "We had best be on our way," she said, eyeing the sun, which now shone directly overhead. She helped Trevarre stand, offered him her shoulder to lean on. He smelled of oiled steel and leather, not an unpleasant scent, she thought, as the two started making their way back to the wagon. Suddenly Matya froze.

  "What is it?" Trevarre asked, looking quickly about in alarm. "Goblins?"

  "No," Matya whispered. "No, it's a face."

  She pointed to the boulder Trevarre had been sitting on. They had not noticed it earlier, because the shadows had obscured it, but with the sun directly overhead, Matya now saw it as plain as day. The boulder was carved in the face of a man.

  The carving was weathered and cracked — it must have been ancient — but Matya still could make out the proud, kingly features, the aquiline nose, and deep, moss-filled eyes. Looking around, she saw that other overgrown boulders were parts of a man — one shaped like a hand, another like a shoulder, still another like a boot.

  "It is a statue," Trevarre said in amazement, "a gigantic statue. It must have fallen over years ago, by the looks of it, probably in the Cataclysm."

  "Wait, there are two of them," Matya said, pointing to another broken boulder, which was carved in the form of a regal-looking woman.

  "The two giants," Trevarre said. "It seems the maiden's directions were not so inadequate after all."

  The road beyond the ruined statues was all but hidden by a tangle of willows and brambles. Matya doubted that anyone had come this way in a long time. The way was passable but overgrown and rutted. Trevarre winced each time the wagon's wheel hit a bump, but he said nothing.

  "He has courage, if not sense," Matya told herself. She glanced at him, and for a brief moment her hard expression softened. She found herself wondering just how. old Trevarre was. He was not a young man, she suspected, despite his foolhardiness.

  The narrow road wound across the rolling foothills, over grassy knolls and through groves of aspen and fir. In places the trail was so faint Matya could hardly see it, and several times it ended abruptly, only to be found continuing a hundred paces to the left or right. It was almost as if the land itself had shifted beneath the road, breaking it into pieces.

  As the hills slipped away to either side, Matya began to feel a growing sense of unease. The land around them was strangely silent. There are no birds here, she realized with a start, here where the meadows should have been filled with birds.

  It was late in the afternoon, and the amber sunlight had grown heavy and dull, when the wagon crested a low ridge. Below lay a small, grassy dell, and in its center stood -

  "Tambor," Trevarre said triumphantly.

  Matya shook her head in astonishment. She had expected to see a pile of ruins in the dell, the burned-out husks of a few cottages perhaps, and some crumbling stone walls. Instead she saw a prosperous village. More than a score of well-tended cottages lined a main street, busy with people, horses, chickens, and dogs. Smoke rose from a low stone building — probably a smithy — and a mill's waterwheel turned slowly in a small stream.

  "You have kept your end of the bargain, Matya," Trevarre said solemnly. "Now it is my turn." He handed her the leather pouch that contained the doll. Matya gripped the purse with numb hands.

  The kender had been wrong, she told herself, that was all. Tambor had NOT been destroyed in the Cataclysm. Matya didn't know why she was surprised. Still, there was something about this that did not seem entirely right.

  "What is such a prosperous village doing at the end of such an overgrown road?" she asked herself, but she had no answer. Not that it mattered. She had the doll now. That was all she cared about.

  "I can walk the rest of the way," Trevarre said, starting to climb down from the wagon, but Matya stayed him with a hand on his arm.

  "I know it's hard, but try not to be a fool, Knight. I'll take you into the village. I'll need to stay here anyway. It's growing late. I'll set out again in the morning."

  Matya guided the wagon to the banks of the stream. A small stone bridge arched over the clear, flowing water. A young woman stood on the far side of the stream. She was clad in a gown of flowing white, and her hair was as dark as jet. She was beautiful, as beautiful as the porcelain doll.

  "My knight, you have come to me!" the woman cried out. Her voice was the doll's sweet voice. Matya thought this odd, disconcerting, but it didn't bother Trevarre. His pale eyes shining, he slipped from the wagon and limped across the stone bridge, ignoring the pain of his injury. He knelt before the young woman and kissed her fine-boned hand.

  Matya scowled. He never kissed my hand, she thought sourly.