gle in  her arm  slowly faded.  Kitiara reached  for her
 wine  glass.  To  her  surprise,  her hand  was shaking  so much
 that she knocked the goblet off the table,  and it  shattered on
 the red marble floor.
   "Damn!" she said, clenching her fist.

                     Chapter 23

                    Caverns Deep

  The   gnomes  responded   to  Cupelix's   invitation  with
 characteristic  enthusiasm.  The  new  metal  parts  for  the
 Cloudmaster had to cool a while longer  before they  could be
 fitted into place, and the proposed descent into  the caverns
 suited  them  very  well.  They turned  the ship  upside down
 hunting  for  proper  equipment: pens  and paper,  of course;
 rope and tape measures; and transits  for surveying  the lay-
 out  of  the  caverns.  Cutwood brought  out a  large balance
 scale to weigh representative specimens of dragon eggs.
   "Oh, no," Sturm warned. "No one is to touch the eggs, not
 the least little bit."
  "But  why?" asked  ъainspot, who  was wearing  his oilcloth
 slicker full-time now.
  "The  Micones  are under  orders to  kill anyone  who touch-

 es  them,"  Sturm  said.  "Not  even Cupelix  can countermand
 that order." Cutwood reluctantly abandoned his scale.
   Two  hours  before  dawn,  Sturm  and  the  gnomes  presented
 themselves before one  of the  large, round  holes in  the obe-
 lisk floor. Cupelix  was poised  on his  ledge above  them, and
 Kitiara  lingered  in  the  doorway,  watching  the  comic mar-
 shaling  of  the  gnome explorers.  Some of  them, particularly
 Fitter,  were  so  laden  with  gear  that they  could scarcely
 stand.  Sturm's  only  special item  was a  long hank  of rope,
 secured at one shoulder and draped across his chest.
   "I  hope you  don't intend  to climb  down," said  the dragon
 mildly. "The way presents many difficulties."
   "How  else shall  we get  down there?"  asked Stutts.
   "By allowing the Micones to take you."
   Sturm's  eyes  narrowed.  "How  will  they  do that?"
   "It's  very  simple,"  said  Cupelix. He  shut his  mouth and
 lowered  his  head,  as  he  usually  did   when  communicating
 telepathically  with  the  ants.  Hard, armored  heads appeared
 in all the holes, and  before Sturm  could protest  six Micones
 presented themselves to  the exploration  party. "The  ants are
 quite  capable  of carrying  two gnomes  apiece, and  the sixth
 will be Master Brightblade's mount."
   Sturm turned to Kitiara. "Are you certain you won't
 change your mind and go with us?"
   She  shook  her  head.  "I've explored  enough of  this moon,
 thank you."
   The  gnomes  were  already  scrambling  over   their  mounts,
 measuring,  touching,  and  tapping  the  crystalline creatures
 from  mandible  to  stinger.  The  glass-smooth  ants presented
 no  footholds  or  handholds  for  mounting  and  riding. After
 some  discussion  (cut  short by  Sturm's impatient  sigh), the
 gnomes tied lengths  of rope  together into  reasonable halters
 and  bridles. The  Micones stood  stock-still through  all this
 indignity. Even their restless antennae were motionless.
   Flash  bent  down  on   his  hands   and  knees   and  Stutts
 stepped on his back to  reach his  seat on  the Micone.  He was
 still too short to reach the ant's arched thorax. Sighter tried
 to  boost Stutts  up. He  planted both  hands and  one shoulder
 in the seat of Stutts's pants  and shoved  with all  his might.
 Stutts rose up the  curving carapace  of crystal,  up and  up -

 and over. He  slid headfirst  over the  ant's body  and thumped
 down  on  the  other  side.  Fortunately, something  soft broke
 his fall. It was Birdcall.
    Sturm made a stirrup loop  in his  rope and  levered himself
 onto the creature's back. "It's like sitting  on a  statue," he
 said, wiggling to situate himself. "Cold and hard."
    The gnomes emulated Sturm's  rope stirrup,  and with  only a
 few  minor  bruises,  managed  to mount  their ants.  The pairs
 were  Stutts  and  Flash,  Birdcall  and  Sighter,  Cutwood and
 ъainspot,  ъoperig  and  Fitter  (naturally), with  Wingover by
 himself.
 g  "How  do  we  steer  these  things?"  Cutwood  muttered. The
 makeshift halter  ran around  the giant  ant's neck,  but there
 was no way to control an animal that didn't breathe.
    "There's no need for that,"  said the  dragon. "I  have told
 them  to  take you  to the  cavern, wait  there, and  bring you
 back.  They  will not  deviate from  my instructions,  so don't
 try to get around them. Hold on and enjoy the ride."
   "ъeady, colleagues?" asked Stutts, with a wave.
   "ъeady!"  "We're  ready!"  "Let's  go!"  were  the  replies.
 Sturm  wrapped  the  rope  around his  clenched fist  and nod-
 ded. The Micones were set in motion, and they were off.
 v The giant ant below Sturm was  rock steady  on its  six spin-
 dly legs, though its side-to-side motion was a bit odd  to him,
 who  was  used  to  the  up-and-down  gait  of   a  four-footed
 horse. Sturm's feet were only a few inches off the  floor, but,
 the Micone bore him strongly to the nearest hole. He expect-
 ed the ant to enter and descend like  a man  going down  a spi-
 ral stair, but no. The creature entered the hole  headfirst and
 kept  bending,  tipping  Sturm farther  and farther  forward.
 He leaned down until his  chest was  pressed against  the ant's
 domed back and clamped  his arms  and legs  around its  body.
 The   Micone  walked   down  the   hole's  vertical   wall  and
 emerged,  upside  down,  in  the  vaulted  cavern  below,  with
 the astonished Sturm hanging on for all he was worth.
  The   gnomes'   mounts   entered   the   same  way,   and  the
 squeals  of  delight  and  terror  that  followed rang  off the
 milky,  china blue  walls. Huge  stalactites, thirty  and forty
 feet long and ten  feet wide  at their  bases, reached  down to
 the floor. The pale blue formations shone with  a dim  light of

  their  own.  The  walls  and  ceiling  (which Sturm  found him-
  self staring at) were likewise encrusted with a coating  of the
  hard blue-white crystal. It looked  as smooth  as ice,  but the
  ants' barbed feet clung tenaciously to it and never slipped.
    Sturm's  mount  followed  a  well-worn  path  amid  the  cold
  spires.  The  Micone  walked thirty  yards across  the cavern's
  ceiling,  then  abruptly  turned  and  descended  straight down
  the  wall. A  hundred feet  below, the  ant righted  itself and
  moved across  the cavern  floor, which  was littered  with what
  resembled  large  scraps  of  old  parchment  and  red leather.
  This  debris was  kicked up  around the  ants' feet  until they
  halted in a precise straight line, directly below the  holes in
  the  obelisk  floor,  now  high above  their heads.  All around
  them  the  vaulted  cavern glowed  with faint  luminescence. It
  was  like  Solinari  in  wane, but  glowed from  all directions
  and cast no shadows.

 * * * * *

    When   Sturm   and   the   gnomes   had   departed   for  the
  caverns,  Kitiara  waited nervously  by the  bow of  the Cloud-
  master.  The  gnomes'  shrieks  - half  delight, half  terror -
  faded  as  the  ants  carried  them  into  the  hollows  below.
  Cupelix alighted on the  floor beside  the flying  ship. "Well,
  my dear, are you ready?" asked the dragon.
    Kitiara bit  her lip  and rubbed  the palms  of her  hands on
  her sleeves. "Sure," she said. "How do I get up there?"
    "The simplest way is for me to carry you."
    She  eyed  him  uncertainly.  Cupelix's  forelegs  were small
  compared to  his massive  hind legs,  which could  easily crush
  an ox. Noting her hesitation,  the dragon  said, "If  you climb
  upon my back and sit astride my neck,  I'll fly  very carefully
  to the top of the tower." So saying,  he laid  his chin  on the
  cold floor. Kitiara threw one leg over  the beast's  long, sin-
  ewy neck. His scales  were as  cold and  hard as  she'd thought
  they  would  be.  They were  living flesh,  but felt  very much
  like true brass. Cupelix raised his head, and Kitiara felt taut
  muscles  surge  under  the  burnished  scales. She  leaned for-
  ward and grasped the edges of two scales to  secure a  grip, as
  Cupelix spread his wings  and launched  straight into  the air.

   J'
      The obelisk walls were square on its lowest third. Where
   one  particularly  heavy  platform  ringed  the   walls,  they
   slanted  inward,  constricting  the  dragon's  movement. Cupe-
   lix flared his wings and grabbed  hold of  the ledge  with his
   powerful  hind  legs.  He hopped  sideways, sliding  his four-
   toed feet along the sill, which was  deeply worn  by centuries
   of  such  movement.  Kitiara looked  over the  dragon's shoul-
   der  and  down.  The Cloudmaster  looked like  a toy,  and the
   holes  that  had so  recently swallowed  Sturm and  the gnomes
   were mere ink blots on a crimson page.
       Cupelix reached a horizontal pillar that crossed  from the
   north ledge to the east side. He sidled on out onto this until
   he was almost centered in the shaft again. "Hold on!" he
   said, and leaped.
       There was not enough room that high to  allow him  to fly,
   so he kept his wings furled. Cupelix  leaped thirty  yards up,
   to where the obelisk was very cramped indeed.
       Kitiara  opened  her  eyes. The  floor, four  hundred feet
   below,  was  a  vague  pink  square.  Above, the  obelisk came
   to an abrupt end at a  flat stone  ceiling. She  tightened her
   hold  on the  dragon's neck.  A shiver  ran through  the great
   elephantine body.
       "You're tickling me," he said, in a very undragonlike man-
   ner.  A  wickedly  hooked  claw  set  on  the leading  edge of
   Cupelix's right wing nudged against her. It scraped  along the
   spot where Kitiara had held on, scratching the ticklish spot.
       "Are you going to do  any more  jumping?" she  asked, try-
   ing not to let her anxiety show in her voice.
       "Oh, no, from here on it's all climbing."
       By claw and muscular leg, the dragon climbed the
   remaining  few  yards  with  deft  deliberation.   He  stopped
   when  his  horned  head  bumped  the  flat  ceiling separating
   them from  the obelisk's  uppermost section.  Kitiara expected
   him to  utter some  magic word  that would  open the  way, but
   instead  Cupelix  planted  his  angular  head against  a stone
   slab  and  pushed.  His  neck  bowed  under the  pressure, and
   Kitiara  was  pinned  between  the  massive wing  muscles. She
   was about to protest  when a  large section  of the  slab gave
   way grudgingly.  Cupelix shoved  it upward  until it  stood on
   edge.  He  lowered  his  neck,  and Kitiara  dismounted inside

 the  dragon's  inner  sanctum.  Her  feet  slipped on  the marble,
 and  for  a  second  the  distant  floor  below  seemed  ready  to
 rush  to  her.  Kitiara  stepped  farther  away  from  the opening
 and breathed a silent sigh of relief.
   "Arryas  shirak!"  said  the  dragon.  A  globe fully  eight feet
 across,  set  in the  very apex  of the  obelisk roof,  blazed with
 light. The details of Cupelix's lair  leaped out  at her:  heaps of
 old  books  and  scrolls,  candle  stands,  censers,  braziers, and
 other   magical  apparatus   all  wrought   in  heavy   gold;  four
 tapestries covered  the walls,  tapestries so  old that  the lowest
 edges   were  crumbling   to  dust.   One  hanging,   fifteen  feet
 wide  by  fifteen  feet  high,  showed  Huma  the Lancer  astride a
 fire-breathing   dragon,   impaling   a   denizen   of   the   Dark
 Queen's  domain.  The  hero's   armor  was   worked  in   gold  and
 silver thread.
   The second great tapestry was a map of Krynn. It showed
 not only the continent of Ansalon as Kitiara knew it, but
 other land masses to the north and west.
   The  third  hanging  showed   a  conclave   of  the   gods.  They
 were all there, the good, the neutral, and the evil, but  the image
 that  truly  arrested  her  was  that of  the Dark  Queen. Takhisis
 stood  apart  from  the  assembled  gods  of  good  and neutrality,
 regal  and  scornful.  The  weaver  had made  her not  only beauti-
 ful, but also terrible, with scaly legs and a barbed tail. As Kiti-
 ara  moved  past  the  great  figure,  the  expression on  the Dark
 Queen's  face  was  by  turns  cruel,  contemptuous,   bitter,  and
 bewitching.  Kitiara  might  have  stood  there forever  staring at
 her,  had  not  Cupelix  levered  the stone  slab back  into place,
 restoring  it  for  a  floor.  The several  tons of  marble thunked
 down, and broke Kitiara's trance.
   The  last  tapestry  was  the  most  enigmatic.  It was  a depic-
 tion  of  a  balance,  like  the  constellation   Hiddukel,  except
 that this  scale was  unbroken. In  the right  pan of  the scales
 was  an  egg.  On the  left was  the silhouette  of a  man. Cupelix
 clomped across the slab, his nails clicking on the stone.
   "Do you understand the picture?" he asked.
   "I'm  not  sure,"  Kitiara replied.  "What sort  of egg  is that
 supposed to be?"
   "What kind do you think it is?"
   "Well, if it's a dragon egg, then I guess the picture repre-

 sents  the  world  in  balance  between  humans and  dragons -
 as long as the dragons are just eggs."
    Cupelix said, "That's very good. It's  also the  most obvi-
 ous interpretation. There are many others."
    "Who made the hangings?"
    "I  don't  know.  The  gods, perhaps.  They were  here before
 I was." The dragon went to the largest pile  of books  and lay
 back against them, drawing his tail  around in  front. Kitiara
 cast about for a convenient place to sit. She upended  a black
 iron cauldron inlaid with silver runes and sat on that.
    "So here I am," she said. "Why did you  want to  talk with
 me especially?"
     "Because  you  are  different  from  the  others.  The man
 Sturm, I  enjoy debating,  but one  can talk  to him  for five
 minutes  and  know his  entire mind.  He is  very plain-spoken
 and single-minded, isn't he?"
 She shrugged. "He's a good fellow when he doesn't inflict his
 narrow values on others. It's hard to like him sometimes."
   "And love?" asked the dragon slyly.
   "Hardly! Oh, he's not bad looking, well made and all, but
 it'll take a different sort of woman from me to capture
 Sturm Brightblade's heart."

    Cupelix cocked his head to one side. "In what way?"
    "Innocent. Unworldly. Someone who fits his knightly
 version of purity."
    "Ah," said the dragon. "A female untainted by lust""
    Kitiara smiled crookedly. "Well, not completely."
    "Ha!"  Cupelix  gave a  hoot of  laughter, thumping  a six-
 foot stack  of tomes.  Dust puffed  from between  the yellowed
 vellum  pages.  "That's  what  I  like  about  you,  my  dear;
 you're so frank, yet unpredictable. I've not yet been  able to
 read your mind."
    "But you've tried?"
    "Oh,  yes.  It's  important  to  know what  dangerous mortals
 are thinking."
    Kitiara laughed. "Am I dangerous?"
    "Very. As I explained, Master Brightblade  is an  open book
 to me, and  the gnomes'  thoughts fly  about like  mad butter-
 flies, but you - you, my dear Kitiara, bear much watching."
    "The  time  has  come  for  you  to  answer  some questions

 frankly, dragon," she said,  planting her  hands on  her knees.
 "What is it you want from us? From me?"
   "I told you," said Cupelix,  twisting his  neck from  side to
 side. "I want to leave this tower and go to Krynn. I'm  sick of
 being cooped up in here,  with no  one to  talk to  and nothing
 to eat but the leavings the Micones can scrounge for me."
   'You feed us quite well," Kitiara objected.
   "You  do  not  understand  the essential  formula of  magic. A'
 small  amount  of  matter  can  be  changed  by a  large amount
 of energy - that is how it is done. What  you consider  a large
 meal would not be a snack for me."
   'You're  big  and  strong,"  she said.  "Why don't  you claw
 your way out?"
   "And   bring  the   stones  down   upon  my   head?"  Cupelix
 preened  his  purplish  cheeks.   "That  would   hardly  accom-
 plish  my  purpose.  Besides,"  his  eyes  narrowed vertically,
 "there  is  geas,  a magical  prohibition against  my damaging
 the  structure.  I  have  tried many  times, using  many formu-
 lae, to convince the Micones  to demolish  the tower,  but they
 would  not.  There  is  a  higher  power  at  work  here, which
 requires  the  attention  of  a third  force to  overcome. Your
 ingenious little friends are that third  force, my  dear. Their
 fertile little brains can conceive a hundred schemes  for every
 one you or I may devise."
   "And none of them practical."
   "ъeally?  You  surprise  me  again,  dear  mortal  girl. Did
 these same gnomes not get you to Lunitari in the first place?"
 She objected that that had been an accident.
   "Accidents  are  only  unexpected  probabilities,"  said  the
 dragon. "They can be encouraged."
   When  Cupelix  said  that,  Kitiara  looked  over   her  left
 shoulder  and  saw  the  Dark  Queen  glaring   down  haughtily
 from her  tapestry. "What,"  she began  before taking  her eyes
 off the  mesmerizing visage,  "will you  do if  we can  get you
 out of here?"
   "Fly to Krynn and take up  residence there,  of course.  I am
 very keen to sample  the mortal  world with  all its  gaudy and
 vigorous  life."  She  gave a  derisive snort.  "Why do  you do
 that?" asked Cupelix.
    "You think life on Krynn is strange! What do you call the

 creatures who dwell around you?" she said.
   "To  me,  they  are  normal. They  are all  I have  known, you
 see, and  they bore  me. Have  you ever  tried to  talk philoso-
 phy with a  tree-man? One  might as  well talk  to a  stone. Did
 you know that the vegetable life  that grows  on Lunitari  is so
 feeble and transient it has no magical  aura of  its own?  It is
 only  because  of  the  pervasive  force  of  my  egg-bound com-
 patriots that there  is life  here at  all." Cupelix  mustered a
 massive  sigh.  "I  want  to  see oceans  and forests  and moun-
 tains.  I  want  to converse  with wise  mortals of  every race,
 and  so  increase  my  knowledge  beyond  the boundaries  set by
 these ancient books."
       Now she understood. "You want power," said Kitiara.
   Cupelix  clenched his  foreclaw  into a  fist. "If  knowledge is
 power, then the answer is yes. I ache to be free of this perfect
 prison.  When  my  Micone  scouts  discovered  the  gnomes' fly-
 ing ship, for the first time I hoped that I might escape."
   Kitiara  was  silent for  a moment.  Choosing her  words care-
 fully, she said, "Do you fear retribution, should you escape?"
   The  dragon's  head  pulled  back  in  surprise,  "ъetribution
 from whom?"
   "Those who made the obelisk. If a prison stands, then
 there likely is a warden somewhere."
   "The  gods  sleep.  Gilean  the  Gray  Voyager,  Sirrion,  and
 ъeorx have  laid down  the reins  of destiny.  The way  is clear
 for  action.  The  very fact  of your  voyage to  Lunitari bears
 this  out. In  the days  of Huma,  such a  thing would  not have
 been tolerated," Cupelix said.
   The  gods  sleep,  Kitiara  mused.  The   way  is   clear  for
 action!  These  thoughts  stirred  deep within  her. It  must be
 true; a dragon would know.
   "Tell me your thoughts," Cupelix said. "I grow uneasy
 when you are so quiet."
   A daring notion began to form in her head.  "Have you
 considered what you will do once you reach Krynn?" she
 asked. "Your books are old. You could use a guide."
   "Do you hav