'Yes.' Goldmoon sighed. 'She is. She's never been with a man before. She told me, while we were in the grove putting on her armor. She's frightened, Caramon. She's heard a lot of stories. Don't rush her. She desperately wants approval from you, and she might do anything to win it. But don't let her use that as a reason to do something she'll regret later. If you truly love her, time will prove it and enhance the moment's sweetness.'
'I guess you know that, huh?' Caramon said, looking at Goldmoon.
'Yes,' she said softly her eyes going to Riverwind. 'We have waited long, and sometimes the pain is unbearable. But the laws of my people are strict. I don't suppose it would matter now,' she spoke in a whisper, more to herself than Caramon, 'since we are the only two left. But, in a way, that makes it even more important. When our vows are spoken, we will lie together as man and wife. Not until then.'
'I understand. Thanks for telling me about Tika,' Caramon said. He patted Goldmoon awkwardly on the shoulder and returned to his post.
The night passed quietly, with no sign of their pursuer. When the watches changed, Tanis discussed Eben's story with Gilthanas and received an unsatisfactory answer. Yes, what the man said was true. Gilthanas had been gone when the draconians attacked. He had been trying to convince the druids to help. He'd returned when he heard the sounds of battle and that's when he'd been struck on the head. He told Tanis all this in a low, bitter voice.
The companions woke when morning's pale light crept through the door. After a quick breakfast, they gathered their things and walked down the corridor into the Sla-Mori.
Arriving at the crossroads, they examined both directions-left and right. Riverwind knelt to study the tracks, then rose, his expression puzzled.
'They are human,' he said, 'but they are not human. There are animal tracks as well-probably rats. The dwarf was right. I see no sign of draconians or goblins. What is odd, however, is that the animal tracks end right here where the paths cross. They do not go into the right-hand corridor. The other strange tracks do not go to the left.'
'Well, which way do we go?' Tanis asked.
'I say we don't go either way!' Eben stated. 'The entrance is still open. Let's turn back.'
'Turning back is no longer an option,' Tanis said coldly. 'I would give you leave to go yourself, only-'
'Only you don't trust me,' Eben finished. 'I don't blame you, Tanis Half-Elven. All right, I said I'd help and I meant it. Which way-left or right?'
'The evil comes from the right,' Raistlin whispered.
'Gilthanas?' Tanis asked. 'Do you have any idea where we are?'
'No, Tanthalas,' the elf answered. 'Legend says that there were many entrances from Sla-Mori into Pax Tharkas-all secret. Only the elven priests were allowed down here, to honor the dead. One way is as good as another.'
'Or as bad,' whispered Tasslehoff to Tika. She gulped and crept over to stand near Caramon.
'We'll go left,' Tanis said, 'since Raistlin feels uneasy about the right.'
Walking by the light of the mage's staff, the companions followed the dusty, rock-strewn tunnel for several hundred feet, then reached an ancient stone wall rent by a huge hole through which only darkness was visible. Raistlin's small light showed faintly the distant walls of a great hall.
The warriors entered first, flanking the mage who held his staff high. The gigantic hall must once have been splendid, but now it had fallen into such decay that its faded splendor seemed pathetic and horrible. Two rows of seven columns ran the length of the hall, though some lay shattered on the floor. Part of the far wall was caved in, evidence of the destructive force of the Cataclysm. At the very back of the room stood two double bronze doors.
As Raistlin advanced, the others spread out, swords drawn. Suddenly Caramon, in the front of the hall, gave a strangled cry. The mage hurried to shine his light where Caramon pointed with a trembling hand.
Before them was a massive throne, ornately carved of granite. Two huge marble statues flanked the throne, their sightless eyes staring forward into the darkness. The throne they guarded was not empty. Upon it sat the skeletal remains of what had once been a male-of what race, none could say, death being the great equalizer. The figure was dressed in regal robes that, even though faded and decayed, still gave evidence of their richness. A cloak covered the gaunt shoulders. A crown gleamed on the fleshless skull. The bone hands, fingers lying gracefully in death, rested on a sheathed sword.
Gilthanas fell to his knees. 'Kith-Kanan,' he said in a whisper. 'We stand in the Hall of the Ancients, his burial tomb. None have seen this sight since the elven clerics vanished in the Cataclysm.'
Tanis stared at the throne until, slowly, overcome by feelings he did not understand, the half-elf sank to his knees. 'Fealan thalos, Im murquanethi. Sai Kith-Kananoth Mwtari Larion' he murmured in tribute to the greatest of the elven kings.
'What a beautiful sword,' Tasslehoff said, his shrill voice breaking the reverent silence. Tanis glared at him sternly. 'I'm not going to take it!' the kender protested, looking wounded. 'I just mentioned it, as an item of interest.'
Tanis rose to his feet. 'Don't touch it,' he said sternly to the kender, then went to explore other parts of the room.
As Tas walked closer to examine the sword, Raistlin went with him. The mage began to murmur, 'Tsaran korilath ith hakon' and moved his thin hand swiftly above the sword in a prescribed pattern. The sword began to give off a faint red glow. Raistlin smiled and said softly, 'It is enchanted.'
Tas gasped. 'Good enchantment? Or bad?'
'I have no way of knowing' the mage whispered. 'But since it has lain undisturbed for so long, I certainly would not venture to touch it!'
He turned away, leaving Tas to wonder if he dared disobey Tanis and risk being turned into something icky.
While the kender was wrestling with temptation, the others searched the walls for secret entrances. Flint helped by giving them learned and lengthy descriptions of dwarven-built hidden doorways. Gilthanas walked to the far end from Kith-Kanan's throne, where the two huge bronze double doors stood. One, bearing a relief map of Pax Tharkas, was slightly ajar. Calling for light, he and Raistlin studied the map.
Caramon gave the skeletal figure of the long dead king a final backward glance and joined Sturm and Flint in searching the walls for secret doors. Finally Flint called, 'Tasslehoff, you worthless kender, this is your speciality. At least you're always bragging about how you found the door that had been lost for one hundred years which led to the great jewel of the something-or-other.'
'It was in a place like this, too,' Tas said, his interest in the sword forgotten. Skipping over to help, he came to a sudden stop.
'What's that?' he asked, cocking his head.
'What's what?' Flint said absently, slapping the walls.
'A scraping sound,' the kender said, puzzled. 'It's coming from those doors.'
Tanis looked up, having learned, long ago, to respect Tasslehoff's hearing. He walked toward the doors where Gilthanas and Raistlin were intent upon the map. Suddenly Raistlin took a step backwards. Foul-smelling air wafted into the room through the open door. Now everyone could hear the scraping sound and a soft, squishing noise.
'Shut the door!' Raistlin whispered urgently.
'Caramon!' Tanis cried. 'Sturm!' The two were already running for the door, along with Eben. All of them leaned against it, but they were flung backwards as the bronze doors flew open, banging against the walls with a hollow booming sound. A monster slithered into the hall.
'Help us, Mishakal!' Goldmoon breathed the goddess's name as she sank back against the wall. The thing entered the room swiftly despite its great bulk. The scraping sound they had heard was caused by its gigantic, bloated body sliding along the floor.
'A slug!' Tas said, running up to examine it with interest. 'But look at the size of that thing! How do you suppose it got so big? I wonder what it eats-'
'Us, you ninny!' Flint shouted, grabbing the kender and flinging him to the ground just as the huge slug spat out a stream of saliva. Its eyes, perched atop slender, rotating stalks on top of its head, were not of much use, nor
