Bathed in the soft, red glow, he seemed to radiate a power that no gully dwarf had ever had, or even imagined. He shifted and gazed up at her with a look she had never seen on an Aghar face-a bright-eyed, shrewd, almost compassionate expression that had real intelligence behind it. Abruptly, then, his eyes closed as though in sleep and the strange, reddish glow pulsed and danced around him.
His eyes remained closed, and the voice that came from him was not like the voice of any gully dwarf. “You might do well to give thought to that idea, Verden Leafglow,” it said.
She stared at the little creature, startled. “What did you say?”
“You heard me very well,” he, or something within him, said. “You do want to escape your fate, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. But how?”
“Nothing is ever hopeless, Verden Leafglow, so long as one is alive, even one who lives for a second time. The curse of a god is absolute, but even a geas might be … revised.”
Chapter 7
It was incredible. Verden felt suddenly dizzy, as though powers far greater than her own had entered her mind. Was this some more of Takhisis’s cruelty? Did the dark goddess have further tricks to play upon her even more cruel than the one that she had played?
Yet she sensed no evil here. The “feel” of the strangeness that spoke to her was neither good nor evil, as she understood these qualities. Instead it was almost indifferent, except for a factor that was lacking in both absolute good and absolute evil. It cared! It cared for them, the little creatures to whom she was bound and it cared for her as well.
The sheer, sensed power of the emanation left her dazed. What kind of power, on this or any world, could it be except one of the gods? The dark goddess had disowned her. So who, then? Her eyes traveled upward, to the designs on the far wall-ancient designs surrounding nine metallic shields-nine counting the one under the glowing Grand Notioner’s feet. Nine shields, of nine metals, representing the nine gods. She closed her eyes in confusion, then looked again at the glowing being before her.
“Revised?” she hissed. “A curse? Revised? By
“Of course not,” the red glow said, amused. “The Aghar are as helpless to change a god’s will as any mortal thing. But you above all, you with your skills at subterfuge and deceit, should know that even what cannot be changed can be viewed from many perspectives.” The glow raised the Grand Notioner’s arm to point at the inscripted wall with his mop handle. “A thrown spear, seen by its target, is only a dot, until it strikes. But seen from aside, it is a fleeting shaft that passes by and has no effect upon the viewer.”
“This is no spear I bear within me,” Verden pointed out. “It is a god’s curse.”
“The principle is the same,” the voice said through Gandy’s lips. “Like a spear, a curse is harmful only to the one standing where it strikes.”
On Verden’s snout, the Highbulp’s snores became a snort and he rolled over, not waking up. “What does all that have to do with this wart on my nose?” Verden demanded. Glaring at the sleeping Glitch made her a bit cross- eyed.
“The dark way has failed on Krynn.” The glowing gully dwarf stood as though in a trance, and the strange voice from his lips sounded distant. “But chaos left chaos in its wake. Much remains to be resolved, and many weights must be shifted before a balance is restored. Small weights as well as big ones.”
There was a pause, then the voice continued, more distant now as though its speaker had turned away. “From the least of the least,” it said, “a hero shall arise, the first of his kind, at just such time as he is needed.” For a moment there was silence again. Then the odd voice went on. “You have a role to play here, Verden Leafglow, and you will play it. But
“What does that mean?”
“To avoid the spear’s thrust, the target must choose to step aside. No one else except the target can make that choice.”
The eerie voice faded, and the reddish glow dimmed and was gone. Old Gandy sagged, leaning on his mop handle, and wavered on the “stew bowl’s” edge as though he might fall.
“What choice?” Verden demanded.
The Grand Notioner’s eyes popped open. He blinked and steadied himself. “What
“What you were saying! What does it mean?”
“Oh.” Gandy looked confused. “ ’bout Highbulp need wife? Mean he oughtta get married. Wife might keep him busy. Keep him outta ever’body’s hair.”
He shrugged, turned and his foot slipped off the iron rim. He sat down hard on the edge of the bowl and it flipped up and turned over, covering him. There were panicked taps from inside, and Verden Leafglow shook her head, accidentally dislodging the snoring Highbulp. Glitch bounced on the stone beneath the dragon’s head, let out a yelp, then rolled over and went back to sleep. Verden extended a talon to raise the bowl so that Gandy could crawl out.
The Grand Notioner muttered something unintelligible, dusted himself off and hobbled away. Verden glanced at the upside-down bowl, then stared at it. Her eyes went again to the sculpted wall across the chamber. The plaques on the murder holes were of various metals, each ornately decorated in the ancient Ergothian style in which a pattern could be seen in many ways, apparently all different, but all signifying the same concept.
The shields still in place on the wall depicted six of the nine deities the human monks of Tare had called the “Fundament Triad.” The gods. Solinari was there, flanked by Majere and Paladine. Then Sargonnas, then three open holes, then Lunitari and Gilean. The two inverted shields, hanging below their openings, by their places in the circle she took to be Nuitari and Takhisis. They hung on their hinges, blank ovals with upside-down faces unseen, turned toward the wall. Those, and one hole with no shield.
Again she looked at the “stew bowl” beside her, and recognized it. It was the missing plaque-an oval shield of iron, with an intricate symbol worked into the metal. The symbol of the missing god.
“Reorx,” she whispered, and the iron oval rang softly as though echoing the name.
Glitch the Most awakened abruptly, sat up and yawned mightily. “Time for Highbulp’s breakfast, dragon,” he said, glancing up at her. “You got stew?”
“Shut up!” Verden snapped. “Listen!”
He listened, then shook his head. “Don’ hear a thing,” he said.
But Verden heard something. In her mind now, and near at hand, was another voice, the taunting rasp of Flame Searclaw.
Somewhere within Xak Tsaroth, somewhere not very far away, there was a roar of sound like a hundred dwarven forges, their bellows going full or like flames from a blast furnace whipping through stone corridors.
The Highbulp shrieked, bumped his head on Verden’s chin and scrambled up her face, heading for shelter beyond her. He shrieked again and clung to her rising crest as she flexed massive sinews and stood, spreading her wings.
All of the frustration, the pent-up anger and humiliation within her rose to a crescendo in savage joy as green eyes glittered and slitted. She hissed a battle cry. She had been powerless, powerless to deal with the dim beings around her. But nothing in the curse upon her made her powerless against Flame Searclaw.
An intense joy like waves of wondrous heat flooded over her, and she picked up the Reorx shield and pressed
