[Meetings 06] - The Companions Read online

  Outside Solace, the crushed gravel road that led to the southeast cleaved into two smaller pebble roads, one leading deeper into the mountainous south and the other curving to the east. Following Morath's instructions, Tanis, Flint, and Raistlin took the eastern fork. After a half-dozen miles, the path spidered off in numerous directions, giving a traveler the choice of several well-trodden dirt paths. Without the Master Mage's counsel, they never would have chosen the least of these, a northeasterly trail of dirt and mud that led, after a few miles, to a seeming dead end, a thick canopy of low-growing plants surrounding a grove of immense, broad-leafed trees with low-slung branches and huge trunks.

  For half an hour, they slashed their way through the smothering undergrowth, then maneuvered past a cluster of formidable trees with outstretched branches. On the other side of the barrier, as the Master Mage had foretold, the faint traces of the old trail resumed.

  Sometimes stooping, at other times crawling over or under obstacles of boulders and fallen trees, the trio spent an hour laboring on the wending, debris-ridden trail.

  Raistlin kept a dogged pace. His determination to reach the Oracle impressed Tanis, who had banished Kitiara from his thoughts and was occupied with the task at hand. Flint took every opportunity to gripe and grumble.

  "This mage of yours better know what he's talking about!" Flint complained at one point, mopping his brow with a handkerchief that was by now mottled with dirt and sweat.

  Raistlin fixed him with a stare. "If you have any doubts, then turn back," rasped Caramon's twin, who was every bit as road-weary as the dwarf and furthermore less accustomed to such exertion. His face was pale and shiny. "Although I thought someone with your forest skills would find this outing a lark."

  Flint scowled furiously but held his tongue, turning his back on Raistlin and continuing to clear the trail. Tanis would also have liked some assurances, but he saw the glint of anger in Raistlin's eyes and chose to say nothing.

  Finally the elusive trail appeared to end in a small grassy clearing. At one end of the clearing stood a mammoth fir tree with a trunk that seemed welded to other trees and huge rocks wedged up behind it. At the base of the great fir was a black, hollow maw. This was obviously the place, for out of the cavity spewed tendrils of mist, accompanied by a strange brackish smell.

  Both Flint and Tanis hesitated, but Raistlin moved ahead of them, peering cautiously. With his staff, he beckoned the dwarf and half-elf forward. The young mage led the three of them up to the mouth of the forbidding cave.

  "Hallo!" cried Raistlin boldly, leaning into the darkness, his voice harsh and loud in the forest calm. "Three friends have come to call! We have greetings from Morath, the Master Mage!"

  The only reply was silence. As Raistlin spoke, cold, white fingers of mist curled around his feet and spiraled upward, encircling his legs and his body, not quite touching the young mage, but oscillating and pulsating as if responding to the warmth of his blood.

  With widening eyes, Tanis observed the eerie mists and glanced over at Flint, who nodded grimly. A few paces behind Raistlin, the two of them pulled weapons. Over his shoulder, the young mage cast a stern glance. Reluctantly the dwarf and half-elf sheathed their fighting tools.

  After several long moments, Raistlin shook his head with irritation and came to a decision. Without a word of warning to his companions, he lowered his staff, ducked his head, and plunged into the black cavity. Almost instantaneously the mist broke up and was sucked inside the cave with him. Flint and Tanis had to hurry to catch up.

  Just inside the opening, the three collided. Raistlin had paused beyond the entrance to allow time for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. At first, none of them could see very much through the murky darkness. The bone-white mist swirled about them, undulating and changing shape. Even using his elven night vision, Tanis could see little. The mist, while seemingly insubstantial, created a barrier impenetrable to sight. It did not hinder hearing, however. After a moment of utter silence, Tanis and the others picked up the sound of voices, wailing indistinguishably from farther ahead in the darkness.

  Nor were their senses of smell blocked. "It smells worse than a dead troll in here," Tanis whispered to Flint, who clutched a rag to his nose and mouth in an attempt to ward off the stench.

  "Silence!" hissed Raistlin.

  Reaching upward with his staff, Raistlin touched the ceiling and informed the others that they were in a low tunnel. He edged forward, feeling his way with his right hand, his companions following. Bunched together, the trio stumbled forward for several minutes until they rounded a narrow bend. Then a spot of dim illumination directly ahead of them made their progress easier.

  The light gradually grew brighter until they emerged into a living quarters of some type, round rather than rectangular, walled on all sides except for the tunnel entrance.

  The room was free of weird voices and dark augury. Looking up, Tanis saw sunlight filtering down. The dirt floor was dry, hard-packed, and swept tidily. A chair, a cot, and a large rope trunk gave evidence of habitation.

  At the far end of the room, a huge caldron steamed and bubbled. The mist retreated, hovering over the caldron. There was no sign of owner or occupant. The overpowering, putrid smell still hung in the air.

  Relaxing somewhat, Tanis reached out to touch the walls, which intrigued him. Streaked with muted colors, they appeared to be neither wood nor stone. Nevertheless, they felt hard to Tanis's touch.

  "Some sort of petrified wood," muttered Flint admiringly, stroking his gray-flecked beard. He nudged Tanis with his elbow, hooking his eyes toward Raistlin.

  Both watched with some bewilderment as the young mage, oblivious to his companions, edged forward and dropped to a squatting position in front of the cot, seeming to speak in a low voice to the very ground at his feet.

  "We do not come as enemies . . ." Raistlin was murmuring, his gaze cast downward. Tanis and Flint could barely pick up his words. ". . . and if we did, surely you could easily defeat us, Chen'tal Pyrnee."

  Peering closer, Tanis saw a white shrew cowering under the cot, its whiskers twitching furiously. Flint spied the tiny creature at the same time. The shrew, which had red pinprick eyes as hard as darts, was scurrying back and forth, squeaking and squealing.

  "You do not need to be afraid of us," Raistlin added hastily, still crouching close to the floor. "We are here to show our respect and to beg a favor. I know that we have intruded upon your abode, but hear us out. If you choose, you may banish us, or even destroy us. My teacher, Morath of Poolbottom, tells me that you can do either, for you have truly extraordinary powers."

  A boom split the air, followed by a sizzling and crackling noise. The shrew vanished. Materializing next to the heavy caldron, as if emerging from a jagged opening in the air that immediately closed behind it, stood an ancient ogress . . . the Oracle. She stirred the pot, one venomous purple eye appraising Raistlin. The other seemed to be sewn shut, oozing pus.

  Watching warily, Tanis took a step backward. Flint fingered his axe handle nervously. Raistlin straightened to a standing position.

  "I would just as soon have your bones for soup!" cackled the ogress. "Don't think I can't; I need but lift a finger!" Her voice was hoarse and shrill. She stirred vigorously, cocking her head in Raistlin's direction. "How is that old fool Morath, anyway? I never hear from him unless it's for a favor. Who are you to flaunt his name?"

  Chen'tal Pyrnee was an incredibly ugly ogress. It would have been impossible to guess her age or weight. Swaddled in loose clothing and numerous scarves of various, mismatched, faded colors, she was as bulky as a bear. Her presence seemed to fill the cave, casting an ominous shadow over the three companions.

  Her face was mottled with warts and bumps. Her nose and chin sprouted long, curling hairs. Her mouth showed missing and blackened teeth. Stringy, corn-colored hair fell beneath a plaited cap. The hideous effect was topped off by the hooded eye, which looked to be the result of accident or disease. The nauseous odor emanate
d more from her than from the contents of the mist-shrouded caldron.

  "I was his pupil," said Raistlin, facing the ogress and bowing slightly. "Morath trusts me, and that is why he told me how and where to find you. There wasn't time or means for me to send any message in advance. We are on a mission of some urgency."

  The ugly ogress lifted a dipper of whatever foul liquid she had been stirring and tasted it, frowning. As she did so, her one good eye squinted disdainfully at Raistlin. Tanis marveled at the young mage's composure. Caramon's twin brother met the hostile gaze of the Oracle without flinching and without any apparent distaste.

  "That mage is a blabbermouth, if you ask me," Chen'tal Pyrnee muttered. "He's always sending young know-it-alls to connive and bargain for my spells. They line up by threes and fours outside my door, begging my assistance. I take pity on a few of them and help 'em out, just to be nice on account of Morath. But most I turn into warthogs or grass snakes. If they can't change themselves back, why they ain't worthy of being mages in the first place!"

  "The master told me that he hasn't sent anyone to you for several years," replied Raistlin blandly. His eyes met her rheumy, solitary gaze.

  "Ha!" Chen'tal Pyrnee made chewing motions with her lips. She glared at Raistlin. "Mebbe so, mebbe so. I lose track of the years. But does that give you any excuse to contradict me? You young, pious, snotty know-it-alls are all alike. Who are the other two? I can't imagine the Master Mage is taking in dwarves and elves these days." With a long, wrinkled finger, she contemptuously indicated Tanis and Flint.

  Flint was of a mind to conk the ugly Oracle on the head with the butt of his axe, but Tanis held him by his tunic. Tanis glanced quickly at Raistlin, who, with a small frown, indicated they were to treat the ogress with respect. Tanis lowered his head humbly, managing to elbow Flint into joining him in the gesture.

  Raistlin had made it clear how important this cave-dwelling ogress was to their quest to rescue Tas, Sturm, and Caramon. He had also made it clear how dangerous Chen'tal Pyrnee could be if crossed.

  "They are my friends," Raistlin said.

  The ogress's gaze flickered back to the young mage. "Friends, pah! It is easy to know an enemy," Chen'tal Pyrnee said cryptically, "but not as easy as it is to mistake a friend. An enemy can prove himself by a single deed. A friend must prove himself over and over again."

  "I quite agree," Raistlin said, nodding.

  Watching the young mage suspiciously, Chen'tal Pyrnee scooped another dipperful from the caldron and then unexpectedly threw the liquid against the wall of the cave so close to Raistlin that he had to step aside quickly to avoid being splashed. The liquid scorched the rocklike wood and drizzled down the wall, burning away an outer layer to reveal brilliant patterns of copper and turquoise. For a brief instant, the room was flooded with light and color. Then it flickered and faded.

  Tanis had all he could do to restrain Flint. Raistlin, his face taut, said nothing. The young mage knew the ogress was trying to intimidate him. In truth, he was impressed and more than a little afraid. Morath had warned him that Chen'tal Pyrnee could be volatile.

  The Oracle kept stirring her brew, gauging Raistlin's reaction. The mists pulsed above the steaming caldron. The wall sizzled. The ogress's solitary eye roamed the cave, surveying the companions.

  Finally she spoke. "I could perform tricks like that all day," boasted Chen'tal Pyrnee, breaking the tension. In spite of herself, she was satisfied by the respectful demeanor of these three unlikely companions. Suddenly she stopped her incessant stirring. "But," the ugly ogress added, giving Raistlin a placating wink with her purplish eye, "you are in a hurry and have business to conduct. What brings you here to see old Chen'tal? It had better be important, or at least interesting. I don't entertain dull visitors. Not for long, anyway." She gave a dissonant cackle.

  Raistlin took a step forward, digging into his pack and offering a thick wedge of speckled cheese wrapped in rough white paper. "We brought you a gift," he said politely.

  Reaching out, Chen'tal Pyrnee grabbed the offering and swiftly unwrapped it. Her lone eye gleamed with obvious pleasure as she held the thick wedge of cheese in her gnarled palm. All Flint could think of as he watched her was how hungry he was all of a sudden and what a waste of fine cheese this was. The dwarf hoped that the ogress couldn’t hear his stomach rumbling.

  Chen'tal Pyrnee plucked at the cheese and stuffed a chunk into her mouth, grotesquely dribbling bits of it as she chewed ferociously. "Mmmm . . . tasty," the Oracle said grudgingly. She held her hand up high and let the rest of the cheese plop into the steaming caldron.

  Flint gulped with disappointment. Reading his thoughts, Tanis could barely repress a smile.

  "Morath remembered how much you like the cheese from town," Raistlin continued smoothly. "And this"—the young mage held out a pouch tied with a ribbon, obviously stuffed with coins—"is what I brought as payment for the favor we ask of you."

  "Which is?" asked Chen'tal Pyrnee with curiosity, taking the pouch and hefting it in her hand. It jingled, obviously heavy. She didn't need to empty and count the pouch to know that it was sufficient payment for the services she was usually asked to perform.

  "From the Master Mage, I have learned that you possess the key to a portal that could transport us to Ogrebond at the edge of the Blood Sea. Our friends, including my brother, have been taken captive in that part of the world and are held in dire jeopardy. We do not have enough time to journey there by land or sea and are desperate for swifter means of travel. We come to you, trusting that you will appreciate the urgency of our quest."

  The ugly ogress made a reproachful face and wagged a finger at Raistlin. "Morath shouldn't be telling folks that I have knowledge of a portal. He should know better."

  She lowered her voice conspiratorially and leaned closer to Raistlin, so that their faces were an arm's length apart. Her mouth twisted, as if she were attempting a rare smile. Her breath smelled worse than any horse's. The purple eye bulged in its socket. "Portals exist through the benevolence of the Hulderfolk. They are not to be used for purposes of mere expediency. The Hulderfolk set certain conditions. The magic involved is of the highest potency."

  "But do the Hulderfolk truly exist?" interjected Tanis from behind Raistlin. "Are they not simply legend?"

  The purple eye swiveled to scrutinize Tanis, who had spoken without thinking. The half-elf braced for some type of abuse from the Oracle, but Chen'tal Pyrnee seemed amused rather than angry at his outburst. "Oh, I should think the Hulderfolk do exist," the ogress cackled. "There's no real proof, of course, as there is no real proof of many things. People say the Hulderfolk are invisible during the day and shy at night. Yet I believe they are always with us, watching and waiting. You must live according to what you believe." She shrugged. "I, for one, believe in the Hulderfolk."

  Here she endeavored another rare smile. Two smiles in one day, probably a record, thought Flint to himself.

  The ugly ogress turned back to Raistlin, hefting the money pouch once again. Her smile vanished. With a flick of her hand, she tossed the pouch back in his direction. It landed at his feet.

  "A cartload of coins would not be enough for me to tempt the Hulderfolk," she said flatly. "I would be risking my very existence."

  She leaned toward Raistlin again, speaking softly with her stinking breath. "Magic would raise the stakes. Now, I'm not saying I know the whereabouts of a portal, and I'm not saying I don't. If I did, it would take a magic artifact to grant your request. No amount of coinage would make the slightest difference. If you had a magic bauble to trade, we might have something to talk about. Being a noteworthy pupil of Morath's and all, you might happen to have such a bauble. If so, you'd be well advised to barter with it."

  With a smirk, the unpleasant hag resumed stirring the hot, bubbling caldron. She cackled and muttered to herself, her purple eye remaining fixed on Raistlin.

  The young mage stood with a wan, defeated expression. He started to say something, then thought bett
er of it. The silence in the room grew oppressive.

  "Raistlin!" whispered Tanis, beckoning him to his side. The mage turned to confer with his friend. Flint, who was weary of the ogress, sidled up next to them, listening.

  "What about the message bottle from Tasslehoff?" asked Tanis, "That's a magical artifact, isn't it?"

  "You've got it with you, don't you?" put in Flint.

  "Yes," said Raistlin tersely.

  "We have no further use for it," added Tanis. "She might want it."

  "You don't understand," said Raistlin stubbornly.

  "I can hear practically every word you are saying!" crowed the ogress. Chen'tal Pyrnee cupped one hand to her ear, bent her head toward them, and cackled. "Practically every word," she muttered to herself grumpily, stirring the caldron.

  The three companions moved away from her and huddled closer together. Raistlin lowered his voice. "The bottle means nothing to me," the young mage whispered, "but to give it to Chen'tal Pyrnee goes against my teaching. This ogress traffics with whomever will pay her price. In the past, she has allied herself with evil. She may do so again. No magical artifact, however innocent, should fall into her hands."

  "But she already has at least one artifact—the magical key or whatever it is that unlocks the portal," puzzled Flint. "Therefore, wouldn't it be acceptable to give her ours in exchange? That way, she's not really gaining any power."

  "That's true," admitted Raistlin hesitantly.

  "After all," added Tanis, "it may be a question of Caramon's life."

  "Sturm's, too," chimed in Flint, "not to mention Tasslehoff."

  Raistlin frowned. "I suppose you're right," he said. The mage turned back to Chen'tal Pyrnee, who had been observing the huddle and trying to eavesdrop. Her purplish orb gleamed with interest.