The Companions Read online

  From the Journal of Tanis Half-Elven, Aboard the Castor:

  Day and night the weather worsens, and our peril increases. After a brief respite, the storm returned in full fury. Huge waves crashed into the ship, and violent rain soaked us to the skin. We were deluged by water. We had to shout into each other’s ears in order to be heard over the deafening thunder. Though Captain Nugetre remained at the helm, I couldn’t imagine his efforts had any effect. The Castor seemed lifted and flung like a cork in the surf. We lurched drunkenly from the attack of the Blood Sea.

  The seething chaos did not let up. In the late afternoon, Captain Nugetre, his red-rimmed eyes burning, announced that we had crossed over into the Tightening Ring. Now, he said, it was mandatory that we break the grip of the current and somehow lead the Castor east and north, back to the Outer Reach.

  Otherwise we would be sucked into the Maelstrom.…

  The DRAGONLANCE® Saga

  Chronicles Trilogy

  Dragons of Autumn Twilight

  Dragons of Winter Night

  Dragons of Spring Dawning

  Tales Trilogy

  The Magic of Krynn

  Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

  Love and War

  Heroes Trilogy

  The Legend of Huma

  Stormblade

  Weasel’s Luck

  Preludes Trilogy

  Darkness and Light

  Kendermore

  Brothers Majere

  Meetings Sextet Kindred Spirits

  Wanderlust

  Dark Heart

  The Oath and the Measure

  Steel and Stone

  The Companions

  Legends Trilogy

  Time of the Twins

  War of the Twins

  Test of the Twins

  Tales II Trilogy

  The Reign of Istar

  The Cataclysm

  The War of the Lance

  Heroes II Trilogy

  Kaz, the Minotaur

  The Gates of Thorbardin

  Galen Beknighted

  Preludes II Trilogy

  Riverwind, the Plainsman

  Flint, the King

  Tanis, the Shadow Years

  Elven Nations Trilogy

  Firstborn

  The Kinslayer Wars

  The Qualinesti

  The Art of the DRAGONLANCE Saga

  The Atlas of the DRAGONLANCE World

  THE COMPANIONS

  DRAGONLANCE® Meetings Sextet • Volume Six

  ©1992 TSR, Inc.

  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 other trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

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

  Cover art by: Clyde Caldwell

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-6328-7

  640-A1585000-001-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

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  Visit our websites at www.wizards.com

  www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  For my three sons,

  Clancy, Bowie, and Sky

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to the original DRAGONLANCE® saga novelists, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. I am privileged to walk in their footsteps in the world of Krynn. Game adventures written by Harold Johnson and Douglas Niles were particularly crucial to my understanding of minotaurs and kyrie. Book Department head Mary Kirchoff gave me a chance with Dark Heart, then another chance with The Companions. Editor Bill Larson caught mistakes and polished my prose. Last but not least, I am grateful to TSR story editor Patrick McGilligan, who wouldn’t accept any less than my best effort.

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Map

  Chapter 1: The Vanishing

  Chapter 2: Message in a Bottle

  Chapter 3: Uncle Nellthis

  Chapter 4: Across the Blood Sea

  Chapter 5: The Oracle and the Portal

  Chapter 6: Captive and Adrift

  Chapter 7: Escape from Ogrebond

  Chapter 8: The Broken Man

  Chapter 9: Tanis Keeps a Log

  Chapter 10: The Evil Kender

  Chapter 11: The Ancient Kyrie

  Chapter 12: The Pit of Doom

  Chapter 13: The Isle of Karthay

  Chapter 14: The Nightmaster

  Chapter 15: The Attack

  Chapter 16: The Spell of Sargonnas

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER 1

  THE VANISHING

  ———

  TASSLEHOFF BURRFOOT WAS ALONE. HAVING FOR THE MOMENT REACHED the limit of exploration afforded by a midsize ship like the Venora, the kender had retreated to the cabin he shared with Sturm Brightblade and Caramon Majere. He couldn’t help but notice that this somehow pleased the captain, whose shouted oaths and threats had followed him belowdecks. And after Tas had tried so hard to be helpful with the mainsail rigging!

  In the cabin, really no more than a narrow room with three bunk beds virtually stacked on top of one another, Tas sat cross-legged on the floor. Topknot bobbing, he poked through his pack and the innumerable pouches he always carried, examining their contents as if he had never laid eyes on them before. His convenient memory assured him they were all “found” objects, although in most cases, he had quite forgotten how or where they were found.

  Spread around him lay all manner of things—a tiny porcelain figurine of a unicorn, a brilliantly-hued feather, sparkling stones and pieces of jewelry, gnarled twine, rolled and beribboned parchment, a wooden flute, yellowed maps, favorite buttons, a ranger’s tarnished badge, a scrap of hide with stringy, gray hair that Tas recognized and treasured, for it was, he swore, a souvenir of his fabled encounter with a great and rare woolly mammoth.…

  One shriveled item particularly drew his attention. Picking it up, Tas examined it in the imperfect light cast by an oil lamp sitting on a rough-hewn shelf screwed into the wall under the cabin’s lone porthole. Outside, Tas could glimpse the blue waters of the Schallsea Straits as they rose and fell rhythmically in the late afternoon.

  “Huh … I don’t remember that!” Tas said ruminatively, peering at the wrinkled possession. “Looks like an ogre’s ear to me, although I don’t recall cutting one off—an ogre’s ear, that is. Maybe Flint gave it to me, although I don’t remember him cutting off an ogre’s ear, either. I do remember him cutting off an ogre’s foot once, but that’s different.” He squinted at the thing, trying to decide. “No, definitely an ear.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, put the object down, and continued
sifting through his cherished possessions. His search had started with a definite purpose that was now in obvious peril of being forgotten as this or that glittering bauble diverted the kender’s attention. Finally, with a delighted grin, Tas recalled his purpose and reached for an ordinary-looking green glass bottle, small and round, with a long neck.

  “Aha!” Tas exclaimed with satisfaction. After a momentary inspection, he placed the bottle on a shelf next to the lamp. In the lamplight, it took on a somewhat more unusual appearance, glistening with iridescent highlights. A quill pen and piece of rough parchment already rested on the shelf, which was low enough and wide enough to double as a desk.

  Priding himself on being exceptionally well organized, Tasslehoff proceeded to scoop up his trove of treasures, distributing them among his series of pouches and his rucksack, promising himself that one of these days he would sit down and take a careful inventory of all his precious belongings.

  On the deck above, back near the stern, Caramon Majere sat cross-legged amid a small group of rough-and-tumble sailors. Wherever he went, Caramon made friends easily. He, Sturm, and Tas had booked passage several days ago on the sloop. Although the Venora was only two days out to sea on its voyage from Eastport to Abanasinia, Caramon was already on a first name basis with everyone on board, from Captain Murloch—Caramon called him Jhani Murloch—on down. The scruffy group on deck was sharing raucous camaraderie and a jug of mead under the late afternoon sky.

  Dusk approached, but the setting sun filled the sky with a bright, orange-red light. No clouds marred the vista. A light wind kept the sloop moving gently. None of the sailors gathered had the impending obligation of night watch. They seemed to flock around Caramon, drawn to his vitality and good humor. They egged the well-muscled young man on as he boasted about his numerous female conquests.

  “Caergoth offers the finest females of any port on Krynn,” asserted a burly, whiskered sailor at one point.

  “They’re portly, all right,” countered one of his cohorts, a squinty-eyed seaman. He drew a round of derisive laughter. “I likes ’em lean and lively myself, and for that, you can’t beat Flotsam.”

  “I’ll never forget Ravinia,” rhapsodized Caramon, already wistful with drink. The sailors seemed riveted by his words. “Do you know the barmaid in Eastport?” One of the men grunted recognition. “She was stingy with her kisses,” Caramon complained, then paused for effect. “But I was generous with mine!”

  A roar of laughter greeted his remark. Caramon tossed back his head and joined in, laughing so hard that tears ran from the corners of his eyes. The jug of mead was passed to him, and he took a long swig before passing it on. The spirits circled the half-dozen others with surprising speed before ending up back in Caramon’s hands.

  Pleased with the impression he was making, Caramon brushed his golden brown hair from his eyes and took another deep, long draft. He hadn’t noticed that for some time now he was the only one drinking from the jug.

  Up on the foredeck, the ribald laughter made only the dimmest impression on Sturm Brightblade. Hands clasped, leaning over the ship’s side railing, the young man whose ambition it was to become a Solamnic Knight was lost in a mood, staring down into the darkening water. No light was reflected in his limpid brown eyes.

  For long minutes, Sturm barely moved. He could have been mistaken for a statue. The least sociable of the three companions aboard the Venora, Sturm kept his thoughts to himself in a manner that could be—and had been, on more than one occasion—construed as arrogant. But this twilight evening, standing in lonely profile, Sturm seemed less arrogant than a man apart, aloof not only from strangers but also from his friends.

  The voyage had set him to brooding. Sturm’s life had once taken a dramatic turn on a ship. As an infant, he, his mother, and her retinue had fled the family’s ancient castle in Solamnia, leaving his father behind to deal with the angry populace that had risen against the knighthood.

  Although he had been too young at the time to remember the tale himself, Sturm felt the experience keenly imprinted on his consciousness because his mother had often recounted the story. The image of his father banishing them from their home, though it was for their own safety, was burned into his soul. At an early age, Sturm had learned about the painful price of honor. Few in the world held the Solamnic order in high esteem these days, but Sturm was committed to living up to his father’s noble ideals and to following the Oath and the Measure.

  As if reflecting his dark thoughts, a canopy of clouds towered on the horizon. A sharp, cool wind came up, rousing Sturm from his contemplation. He noticed the cloud mass immediately but with no particular interest, thinking idly, as a child might, that it appeared to have a shape like some great, flying creature with outspread wings and groping talons. The cloud seemed to roil the waters before it. As he continued to gaze in its direction, Sturm became aware that the cloud mass was building ominously. It was approaching rapidly and would be upon the ship in mere minutes.

  Sturm stirred himself, stepped back from the railing, and glanced toward the rear deck, which still echoed with the boisterous laughter of the crew. He ought to find Captain Murloch and make sure the ship was ready for a blow. Then he ought to check on Caramon and Tas.

  Back belowdecks, Tas had been very, very busy, carefully phrasing his magic letter to Raistlin Majere, Caramon’s twin brother. Wouldn’t Raistlin be thrilled! Tas had been eagerly anticipating this occasion for a long time—well, at least since the night they had boarded the Venora, when the contents of one of his pouches had shifted and the magic message bottle had poked him in the side, reminding him of its existence.

  That’s when he remembered the magic bottle he had obtained some years ago in exchange for beads and perfume from a shop dealer in Sanction. Or maybe it had been from a cousin in Kendermore. It was so-o-o long ago.

  At any rate, Tas had been assured that the bottle could be tossed into the widest ocean and would carry a message to anyone, anywhere on the entire continent of Ansalon. That was just the sort of mind-boggling feat that figured prominently in the stories Uncle Trapspringer used to tell him, and this was the perfect opportunity to use the magical device. Raistlin, practically a mage himself—he hadn’t taken the Test yet, but he would someday soon—would be sure to enjoy such a special method of communication. Who knows? The young mage might even pass on a good word about Tas’s creativity and general reliability to that grouchy old dwarf, Flint Fireforge.

  But you had to be extremely judicious about what you wrote—or said—to Raistlin, Tas thought as he sat with the quill pen poised over his piece of wrinkled parchment. Raistlin had a tendency to be ill-humored, even downright dour at times. A message in a magic bottle might be the very thing to coax a smile to his lips, providing it was a well-scribed message.

  For many minutes, Tas pondered the blank paper before him, his brow furrowed, his topknot uncommonly still. Finally Tas had begun writing:

  Dear Raistlin,

  Isn’t this amazing? I’m writing to you on board the good ship Venora … at least it’s been a good ship so far (about two nights and two days). Caramon is upstairs …

  Tas crossed that out.

  Caramon is up on deck, having a good time with his new friends, the sailors, and Sturm is probably wandering around up there, too, thinking serious thoughts. You know Sturm. Well, I guess you know Caramon, too. Hi, Tanis!

  The point of this letter is to tell you what happened after we arrived in Southern Ergoth. We made the two-day journey down the coast without any incident. Our little errand was successful. Asa was correct as to the whereabouts of the minotaur herbalist who sold the crushed jalopwort needed for the rare spell you are researching. I never had any doubts, since, like all kender, Asa is an expert with maps, and besides, he’s my good friend of many years standing and certainly knows his herbal business. Don’t worry. I have the crushed jalopwort safely tucked away in one of my pouches.

  At this, Tas jumped up and patted one of the pouches on the
bunk just to be sure, then slung the sack across his back, his eyes darting around vigilantly. Tas neither saw nor heard anything peculiar. No sound reached his ears other than the peaceful creaking of the ship and the padding of his own movements. Reassured, he sat back down at the makeshift desk under the porthole and resumed his magical missive.

  You may already have guessed that this bottle is a magical one. I acquired it by shrewd and honest means during my period of wanderlust (I think), and when I noticed it a couple of days ago, I thought I would compose a letter to you and Tanis and Flint. Hi, Flint! Bet you thought I’d forgotten you!

  If all goes well, this letter will be plucked out of the sea by some deserving fisherman who will cannily discern its significance and bring it to you in Solace for ample reward. The bottle will actually speak its message—my voice—to whoever uncorks it. Can you imagine that? Well, I guess you can by now.

  Anyway, we’re returning to Abanasinia by aforementioned ship and should be back in Solace within a week or two, depending on how often we stop to rest and have some fun. And you know how often Caramon likes to stop and rest and have some fun, so this letter will probably beat us back!

  Here Tas paused and scratched his chin. That was a good beginning. He chewed the end of the quill pen before dipping it back into the inkwell.

  Anyway, the mission was a success. Caramon especially enjoyed the town nearby, called Hyssop—Asa was right about that, too—and he seemed to make a lot of new friends there, especially female friends. Sturm kept Caramon company some of the time. Other times he explored the docks and the port of Hyssop, which is a much smaller place than Eastport but clean and friendly. They don’t get many visitors from afar. I think Sturm enjoyed the novelty of the town, but it’s hard to say with Sturm.

  I did my best to keep an eye on both of them and also did some exploring of my own. Hyssop is filled with one-of-a-kind shops, but many of the storekeepers seemed to have never met a kender before. They became so overexcited whenever I stopped into one of their shops that Sturm finally suggested—insisted really—that I stick with him and stay away from the market district.