“The stag entered here,” Sturm said, rising to his feet and pointing into the tall grass.
Tanis saw no tracks. He took a drink of water from his nearly empty waterskin and stared into the forest. As Tasslehoff had said, the wood did not seem sinister. In fact, it looked cool and inviting after the harsh brilliance of the autumn sunshine.
“Maybe there’ll be some game in here,” Caramon said, rocking back on his heels. “Not stags, of course,” he added hastily. “Rabbits, maybe.”
“Shoot nothing. Eat nothing. Drink nothing in Darken Wood,” Raistlin whispered.
Tanis looked at the mage, whose hourglass eyes were dilated. The metallic skin shone a ghastly color in the strong sunlight. Raistlin leaned upon his staff, shivering as if from a chill.
“Children’s stories,” Flint muttered, but the dwarf’s voice lacked conviction. Although Tanis knew Raistlin’s flair for the dramatic, he had never seen the mage affected like this before.
“What do you sense, Raistlin?” he asked quietly.
“There is a great and powerful magic laid on this wood,” whispered Raistlin.
“Evil?” asked Tanis.
“Only to those who bring evil in with them,” the mage stated.
“Then you are the only one who need fear this forest,” Sturm told the mage coldly.
Caramon’s face flushed an ugly red; his hand fumbled for his sword. Sturm’s hand went to his blade. Tanis gripped Sturm’s arm as Raistlin touched his brother. The mage stared at the knight, his golden eyes glimmering.
“We shall see,” Raistlin said, the words nothing more than hissing sounds flicking between his teeth. “We shall see.” Then, leaning heavily upon his staff, Raistlin turned to his brother. “Coming?”
Caramon glared angrily at Sturm, then entered the wood, walking beside his twin. The others moved after them, leaving only Tanis and Flint standing in the long, waving grass.
“I’m getting too old for this, Tanis,” the dwarf said suddenly.
“Nonsense,” the half-elf replied, smiling. “You fought like a-”
“No, I don’t mean the bones or the muscles”-the dwarf looked at his gnarled hands- “though they’re old enough. I mean the spirit. Years ago, before the others were born, you and I would have walked into a magicked wood without giving it a second thought. Now . . .”
“Cheer up,” Tanis said. He tried to sound light, though he was deeply disturbed by the dwarfs unusual somberness. He studied Flint closely for the first time since meeting outside Solace. The dwarf looked old, but then Flint had always looked old. His face, what could be seen through the mass of gray beard and moustaches and overhanging white eyebrows, was brown and wrinkled and cracked like old leather. The dwarf grumbled and complained, but then Flint had always grumbled and complained. The change was in the eyes. The fiery luster was gone.
“Don’t let Raistlin get to you,” Tanis said. “We’ll sit around the fire tonight and laugh at his ghost stories.”
“I suppose so.” Flint sighed. He was silent a moment, then said, “Someday I’ll slow you up, Tanis. I don’t ever want you to think, why do I put up with this grumbling old dwarf?”
“Because I need you, grumbling old dwarf,” Tanis said, putting his hand on the dwarf’s heavy-set shoulder. He motioned into the wood, after the others. “I need you, Flint. They’re all so … so young. You’re like a solid rock that I can set my back against as I wield my sword.”
Flint’s face flushed in pleasure. He tugged at his beard, then cleared his throat gruffly. “Yes, well, you were always sentimental. Come along. We’re wasting time. I want to get through this confounded forest as fast as possible.” Then he muttered, “Just glad it’s daylight.”
10
Darken Wood. The dead walk. Raistlin’s magic.
The only thing Tanis felt on entering the forest was relief at being out of the glare of the autumn sun. The half-elf recalled all the legends he had heard about Darken Wood-stories of ghosts told around the fire at night-and he kept in mind Raistlin’s foreboding. But all Tanis felt was that the forest was so much more alive than any other he had ever entered.
There was no deathly hush as they had experienced earlier. Small animals chattered in the brush. Birds fluttered in the high branches above them. Insects with gaily colored wings flitted past. Leaves rustled and stirred, flowers swayed though no breeze touched them-as if the plants reveled in being alive.