Dragonlance Tales II, Vol. 2 – The Cataclysm

burned through Gylar’s body. The brutal injustice galled

him.

“I’m going to take you to the top, kid. It’s not going to

end like this, not without a fight. No, not without an answer.

By my dead brother, I swear you’ll get to ask your

question.”

He turned over and tried to go to sleep, but it wasn’t

until morning that exhaustion closed those eyes that were

very tired of looking at the world.

*****

The morning broke, warm and sunny. A few clouds

drifted through the sky, but gave no threat of any type of

storm. Snow gathered on tree limbs, slipped heavily from

leaves, as the warmth of the day melted it. Pine needles

shrugged off sheets of snow and rustled as they adjusted to

their newfound freedom from winter’s blanket.

Marakion stood at the cave’s entrance. Nature was

adapting to the freak warmth of the winter’s day. The snow

on the ground was glazed with a sheen of wet sparkles.

Everything was adapting – everything except Gylar.

The sickness moved fast once the fever started. Gylar

had slept late into the morning without knowing it, and

Marakion had not come to a decision about waking him

yet. As he stood there, though, he could hear the boy

coming to.

He scuffed a groove into the wet snow. Casting a scathing

glance heavenward, he turned and made his way back into

the small cave.

Marakion stopped a half-dozen paces from the boy. Gylar

knew what was happening to him. Maybe he’d realized

it in the middle of the night – the fear was on his face – but

the fear was held at bay by determination.

Gylar looked up. The boy tried to manage a smile, but

failed. Tears stood in his eyes. Marakion wanted to say

something, some word of comfort, but he knew if he tried

to talk, it would come out choked.

“I have it, Marakion.”

I know, Marakion spoke in a voice with no sound.

Clearing his throat, he said again, “I know.”

“I’m going to die.” The boy’s eyes were wide. They

blinked once, twice.

Marakion nodded and lowered his gaze, his boots again

scuffing a trench in the dirt floor. “Yeah,” he said.

A different kind of fear entered Gylar’s voice.

“Marakion, you have to leave me, now. You have to go.”

His teeth chattered. Closing his mouth, he tried again. “You

might have it already, but. . . but maybe not. You have to

go.”

Marakion knelt beside Gylar. The man smiled. “You

want to try to make me, kid?”

Gylar was puzzled. “No . . .” His brows furrowed in

confusion. “Make you? No, but, Marakion, if you don’t

leave – ”

“I’m staying.”

“But, sir, I told you what happened to – ”

Marakion shrugged. “Do you want to make it to the top

of this mountain?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m staying.”

Gylar started to protest, but Marakion cut him off with

a motion of his hand. “You’ve got heart, I’ll give you that,

but you aren’t going to make the summit without me.” He

smiled expansively. “Even if you try.”

Gylar nodded, wanned by the smile. Marakion

suddenly reached out, held the small boy close.

“I’m afraid, Marakion,” Gylar whispered, his shaking

hands clinging tenaciously.

“I know” The man patted the small back. “I know.”

“But it’s all right.” Gylar sniffed and let go. Running a

sleeve across his nose, he smiled with effort and looked up

at Marakion. “I just want to make it to the top, before . . .

well, before . . .” He gulped. “I just want to make it there,

that’s all.”

“Yeah.” Marakion took a deep breath. “You will, I

promise.” Standing, he extended his hand. “Let’s go, kid.”

Gylar grabbed it, and they began again.

The cave they’d spent the night in was near a natural

groove – almost like a trail – worn in the side of the

mountain. Once the groove ended, the terrain became

exceedingly precarious. More than once, Gylar slipped, and

only Marakion’s quick reflexes and strength saved the boy.

About three hours after midday, Gylar stumbled and

had a hard time getting to his feet again.

“I’m sorry, Marakion,” he said, shivering as he tried to

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