Temple of the Dragonslayer (3 page)

Nearra and her rescuers reached the town of Tresvka just after noon. The summer sun was high overhead, and all three were hot and sweaty as they entered the town.

No one seemed to pay attention to the threesome walking down the middle of what Nearra assumed was the main thoroughfare. Small tents and market stalls lined the dirt road. Men unloaded carts full of coarsely woven rugs and simple wooden furniture. Women haggled in front of stands overflowing with green produce. Horses and oxen clopped down the street, and more than a few stray dogs and cats ran free.

Maddoc had said that the town lay at the intersection of several trade routes, so its citizens were used to seeing travelers come and go. Most of the people Nearra saw were human, of hardy Solamnic stock: pale skin, hard features, and jet-black hair. Maddoc pointed to others who bore the telltale signs of having come from other lands, either by their features or the way they dressed. There were traders and travelers from Hylo, Ergoth, Kharolis, and more. Among the crowd, Nearra could see a scattering of folk belonging to other races, dwarves and elves predominantly.

“Does anything look familiar?” Davyn asked.

Nearra surveyed the simple wooden buildings and the dusty road. Maddoc had said that Tresvka was the human settlement closest to where she had awakened, and so it made sense that the town could be her home. She tried to imagine herself walking through the doorway of the butcher’s on the corner or fetching water from the well at the end of the road. But nothing felt familiar. She felt a wave of disappointment.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Try to be of good cheer, child,” Maddoc said, and set a
comforting hand on her shoulder. “The fact that you haven’t lost your entire memory is a hopeful sign.”

It was true. As they’d walked through the forest, the wizard had quizzed her on the names of trees, plants, flowers, and animals they saw along the way. She’d been able to name every one. She also knew the name of the country they were in was Solamnia.

Nearra was glad to remember so many things, but none of these details provided so much as a hint to who she was and how she had lost her memory.

“What manner of enchantment erases some memories while leaving others intact?” Nearra asked.

Maddoc smiled. “Magic is capable of almost anything.” The wizard looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “But I sense no magic associated with your condition. It is my belief the malady that has befallen you is natural in origin, the result of some injury or trauma. Perhaps a blow to the head, for instance.”

Nearra reached up and felt around her scalp. “I feel no bumps or cuts, and nothing hurts when I touch it. But something strange did happen when Slean confronted me. I felt a tingling in my hands, and I heard a voice, a woman’s voice.”

Maddoc and Davyn exchanged a look, and then the wizard said, “I am not a healer, and my expertise in medical matters is limited at best. But perhaps the injury is an old one that for some reason has only now affected your memory. As for the tingling and the voice, they were likely tricks of the mind brought on by the stress of facing a dragon. I’d think no more about them.”

Though Maddoc was a wizard, and thus a man of great learning, his words didn’t reassure Nearra. It was bad enough that she had lost her memory. Had she lost her mind as well?

They turned the corner and stopped at a ramshackle building. A weathered wooden sign in the shape of a crescent moon hung above the door.

The wizard sighed. “I am afraid this is where we must part company. I have an urgent appointment with the wizard who resides here.” Maddoc glanced skyward, judging the time by the position of the sun. “I fear that I’m already very late.”

“My apologies, Master Wizard,” Nearra said. “If you hadn’t come to my rescue, perhaps you wouldn’t be late now.”

Maddoc gave her a reassuring smile. “Nonsense, child. The reason I’m late—as I’m sure young Davyn can testify—is that I became excited upon seeing the green dragon fly overhead. The great beasts have only recently returned to Krynn, and like any wizard, I’m fascinated by them and wish to learn all I can.”

It was Davyn’s turn to smile. “At Maddoc’s insistence, we tracked the beast for nearly an hour before it alighted in the clearing where we found you.”

“Then it is your curiosity that I have to thank for saving me, Master Wizard,” Nearra said. “If you hadn’t reached the clearing when you did …” She thought of Slean’s words:
So I’ll take you with me—in my belly
. Despite the day’s warmth, she couldn’t help shuddering at the memory.

Maddoc must have noticed, for he said, “Don’t worry. That’s all in the past now. As long as you stay out of the forest, I doubt you’ll encounter Slean again. Despite being powerful creatures, dragons tend to avoid civilization. At least, so the legends say. Now I’m afraid I really must be going.”

“I understand, Master Wizard.” Nearra fought to keep the worry and disappointment she felt out of her voice. “I appreciate all you and Davyn have done for me.” She turned to Davyn and gave him a grateful smile and then began to walk away.

“Wait a moment, Nearra,” Maddoc said. “Where are you going?”

Nearra stopped and turned back to face the wizard. “You and Davyn have an appointment to keep, and I do not desire to make you any later than you already are.”

Maddoc looked puzzled for a moment, and then he laughed. “Forgive me, child. I failed to explain my relationship with
young Davyn. He is not my personal servant. I hired him to guide me to Tresvka. Now that I have reached my destination, our time together has come to an end. But I do have one more task for him—that is, if you will accept it, Davyn.”

“You have but to name it,” Davyn replied.

Maddoc reached into the folds of his white robe and withdrew a brown leather purse. He handed it to Davyn.

“I cannot delay my appointment for reasons I am not at liberty to discuss.” He smiled apologetically. “But I would not abandon you, Nearra. Davyn, please see to it that she visits a healer. There’s a good one reputed to do business on Bramble Street, I believe. I don’t recall her name offhand, but if you ask around, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble locating her. Use the steel in that purse to pay the healer for her services and keep the rest for yourself. The amount should be more than sufficient.”

Nearra felt relieved that she wasn’t going to be left on her own, but she also felt guilty accepting Maddoc’s money. “I promise to repay my debt to you, Master Wizard. Somehow.”

Maddoc smiled, and a strange, cold look came into his eyes.

“I’m sure you will, child. I’m sure you will.”

N
ow that Nearra was alone with Davyn, she felt suddenly uncomfortable. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the boy, and it wasn’t that he was unpleasant company. But he hadn’t said much during their trip through the forest. Maddoc had done almost all the talking. Now that it was just the two of them, Nearra didn’t know what to say. Evidently, neither did Davyn, for he remained silent and kept his gaze focused straight ahead. Nearra glanced around, trying to think of something to say when she spotted the smooth silver ring on the boy’s hand.

“That’s a beautiful ring.”

He turned to look at her, a startled expression on his face.

“What?”

“Your ring. It’s lovely. The way it catches the sunlight …” She trailed off, feeling foolish. She wished she hadn’t said anything.

Davyn glanced down at his hand as if he’d forgotten he was wearing the silver ring. “This old thing?” He lifted his hand to show her the ring. “It’s not even silver all the way through. Underneath the silver plating is iron. I’m sorry, but there’s no interesting history behind it. No perilous quests to obtain it, no mysterious enchantments upon it. It’s just a plain, ordinary
ring. It’s been in my family for generations.”

“At least you have
something
to remind you of your family.” Nearra looked down at her plain dress. “I wish I had more than these clothes to remind me of where I came from. Do you think my parents are looking for me?”

“How would I know?” Davyn said.

“I can’t even remember what my parents look like or what it feels like to have a family.”

“You’re not missing much. Most of the time, parents are more trouble than they’re worth.”

“But isn’t it nice sometimes to, I don’t know, have someone looking out for you?”

“I—I only count on one person to look out for me, and that’s me.”

“Oh.” Nearra thought for a moment. “Well, now you can count on me, too.” She smiled.

Davyn looked at her in surprise, but before he could say another word, angry shouting erupted from a nearby alley, and a small man wearing a purple cape dashed out into the street.

No, not a man, Nearra realized. A kender.

The kender was on a collision course with Nearra, and as fast as he was moving, Nearra would not be able to get out of his way in time.

Davyn jumped in front of Nearra and shielded her with his own body. He braced himself for impact, but even so, the breath whooshed out of him as the kender crashed into his legs. Fortunately, Davyn was strong and the kender was small enough that the boy wasn’t knocked off his feet.

The kender pulled away from Davyn, and Nearra knew that in the next second, he would once again bolt off running like a rabbit fleeing a hungry fox. She grabbed the kender’s shoulder to stop him.

“What’s wrong, little one?” Nearra asked. “Perhaps we can—” She’d been about to say
help
, but before she could, a huge figure burst out of the alley.

The being, who without doubt was the kender’s pursuer, stood seven feet tall, and its body was covered with short, glossy black hair and rippling muscle. But the most striking feature the being possessed was the head of a horned and extremely angry bull.

It’s a minotaur, Nearra thought, too surprised by the creature’s appearance to realize she’d remembered what it was called.

From the scratches on the minotaur’s sides, it was obvious the creature had experienced difficulty squeezing its bulk through the narrow alleyway. In its thick fingers, the beast gripped a large, double-bladed battle-axe.

“Kender!” the minotaur bellowed in a deep, booming voice. “Where are you?”

Nearra expected the kender to shriek in terror at the minotaur’s approach. But instead he grinned with delight, as if he were merely playing a game of chase. Another fragment of memory drifted back to her then: kender were rarely afraid of anything, even when—or especially when—they should be.

“Over here!” the kender shouted.

The man-bull turned to look in their direction and he scowled. “There you are!” The minotaur came charging toward them, moving swiftly for a creature of its size and mass.

Davyn shoved the kender aside and drew a dagger from a sheath on his belt. Without taking his eyes off the rapidly approaching man-bull, he shouted, “Run, Nearra!”

Although she was afraid, Nearra had no intention of fleeing. She didn’t know what she could do to help Davyn, but she wouldn’t abandon him—not after all he’d done for her in so short a time. And she wasn’t about to leave the poor kender to the less-than-tender mercies of the beast.

But before Nearra could think of a plan, a young woman came running out of the alley, sword in hand, fiery red hair spilling from beneath her metal helmet.

“Turn and face me, minotaur!” she challenged. “Or is it your people’s custom to fight only those who are a quarter of your
size?” Her words were brave, but her voice quavered as she spoke.

“Hey!” the kender said in a wounded tone. “I’m three-and-a-half feet tall! That makes me
half
his size!”

Considering how much muscle the minotaur had, Nearra thought the redheaded warrior’s comparison to be the more accurate one.

The warrior and the minotaur both ignored the kender’s protest. The man-bull’s nostrils flared in what Nearra presumed to be anger, and he gave a loud animalistic snort as he turned around slowly to face the red-haired warrior. She stood her ground, and though she trembled, she didn’t lower her sword.

“I do not wish to battle the kender,” the minotaur said. The man-bull glanced over his shoulder at the kender and snorted in derision. “I would not grant such an honor to one so insignificant.” The minotaur’s arrogant tone clashed with his bestial appearance.