Spirit of the Wind by Chris Pierson

Author:Chris Pierson [Pierson, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0786911743
Publisher: TSR
Published: 1998-09-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“It should be around here somewhere,” Kronn said, poking at a thornbush with the head of his chapak.

Swiftraven glanced at Riverwind, who shook his head and shrugged. “It might help if we knew what you were looking for,” the young warrior observed.

“Oh, I agree,” Kronn agreed sincerely, “but every one of these is different.”

“What are you talking about?” Brightdawn asked. “Every one of what is different?”

Kronn’s mind was elsewhere, however; he squinted up at the sun, then glanced to his left. “I’m sure I’m remembering this right. That’s the lightning-forked tree over there.”—he pointed at a dead ashwood that had a scorched crack down its middle. “It should be right here—so where is the blasted thing?”

“What are we looking for?” Swiftraven asked skeptically. “A secret… bush?”

“It doesn’t have to be a bush,” Kronn answered. “It could be a tree stump, or a mushroom ring, or a rock…

He stopped, bent down beside a flat stone, and lifted it up, muscles straining. When he had it high enough, he peered beneath it, frowned, and let it drop back to the ground with a thud. “Yuck. Nothing but bugs.”

“Is there a key of some sort?” Brightdawn asked, looking around dubiously.

Kronn tugged his cheek braids as his eyes scanned the undergrowth. “No, not a key,” he muttered. “Not a key… aha!” With a snap of his fingers, he trotted over to an old, fallen tree. It was old, its bark covered with fungi and thick, green moss. “This is it, I’m sure of it.” He spat in his hands and gave the log a push. It didn’t budge. “Humpf. It’s stuck. Can someone help me over here?”

Riverwind and Swiftraven exchanged confused glances, then walked over to join Kronn. Brightdawn and little Billee stayed with Catt.

“That thing must have been lying there for a hundred years,” Swiftraven said, shaking his head as he looked at the tree. “Look, it’s sunk halfway into the ground. I don’t think an ogre could lift it—and I know we can’t.”

“We can try,” said Riverwind.

As Swiftraven-looked on incredulously, the old Plainsman and Kronn braced themselves against the tree and shoved. It resisted a moment longer, then moved so suddenly that Riverwind fell to his knees. The log wasn’t embedded in the earth at all; it had been sawn in half, then carefully laid upon the ground to give the illusion that it was nothing but an old, fallen tree.

It wasn’t just a tree, though. It was a door.

“Mishakal’s mercy,” Riverwind gasped. The log swung aside, revealing a dark, yawning hole in the ground.

The others gathered around the opening. It was deep, sloping out of sight beneath the earth. Worn steps, made from packed earth, led down into the gloom.

“The entrance might be a bit cramped,” said Kronn, “but things should open up a bit down below. Here we go.” Smiling with satisfaction, he produced a small, brass lamp from his pouch.

Riverwind frowned as he looked at the lamp. “Isn’t that from the Inn of the Last Home?”

“Is it?” Kronn asked, surprised.

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