Dragons of Autumn Twilight dc-1

by Margaret Weis

  "I found them wandering around on the road outside of town," Sturm said. "The woman appeared near exhaustion, the man just as bad. I brought them here, told them they could get food and rest for the night. They are proud people and would have refused my help, I think, but they were lost and tired and-"-Sturm lowered his voice-"there are things on the road these days that it is better not to face in the dark."

  "We met some of them, asking about a staff," Tanis said grimly. He described their encounter with Fewmaster Toede.

  Although Sturm smiled at the description of the battle, he shook his head. "A Seeker guard questioned me about a staff outside," he said. "Blue crystal, wasn't it?"

  Caramon nodded and put his hand on his brother's thin arm. "One of the slimy guards stopped us," the warrior said. "They were going to impound Raist's staff, if you'll believe that-for further investigation they said. I rattled my sword at them and they thought better of the notion."

  Raistlin moved his arm from his brother's touch, a scornful smile on his lips.

  "What would have happened if they had taken your staff?" Tanis asked Raistlin.

  The mage looked at him from the shadows of his hood, his golden eyes gleaming. "They would have died horribly," the mage whispered, "and not by my brother's sword!"

  The half-elf felt chilled. The mage's softly spoken words were more frightening than his brothers bravado. "I wonder what is so important about a blue crystal staff that goblins would kill to get it?" Tanis mused.

  "There are rumors of worse to come," Sturm said quietly. His friends moved closer to hear him. "Armies are gathering in the north. Armies of strange creatures-not human. There is talk of war."

  "But what? Who?" Tanis asked. "I've heard the same."

  "And so have I," Caramon added. "In fact, I heard-"

  As the conversation continued, Tasslehoff yawned and turned away. Easily bored, the kender looked around the Inn for some new amusement. His eyes went to the old man still spinning tales for the child by the fire. The old man had a larger audience now-the two barbarians were listening, Tas noted. Then his jaw dropped.

  The woman had thrown her hood back and the firelight shone on her face and hair. The kender stared in admiration. The woman's face was like the face of a marble statue-classic, pure, cold. But it was her hair that captured the kender's attention. Tas had never before seen such hair, especially on the Plainsmen, who were usually dark-haired and dark-skinned. No jeweler spinning molten strands of silver and gold could have created the effect of this woman's silver-gold hair shining in the firelight.

  One other person listened to the old man. This was a man dressed in the rich brown and golden robes of a Seeker. He sat at a small round table, drinking mulled wine. Several mugs stood empty before him and, even as the kender watched, he called sourly for another.

  "That's Hederick," Tika whispered as she passed the companions' table. "The High Theocrat."

  The man called out again, glaring at Tika. She bustled quickly over to help him. He snarled at her, mentioning poor service. She seemed to start to answer sharply, then bit her lip and kept silent. The old man came to an end of his tale. The boy sighed. "Are all your stories of the ancient gods true. Old One?" he aske curiously.

  Tasslehoff saw Hederick frown. The kender hoped he wouldn't bother the old man. Tas touched Tanis's arm to catch his attention, nodding his head toward the Seeker with a look that meant there might be trouble.

  The friends turned. All were immediately overwhelmed by the beauty of the Plainswoman. They stared in silence.

  The old man's voice carried clearly over the drone of the other conversation in the common room. "Indeed, my stories are true, child." The old man looked directly at the woman and her tall escort. "Ask these two. They carry such stories in their hearts."

  "Do you?" The boy turned to the woman eagerly. "Can you tell me a story?"

  The woman shrank back into the shadows, her face filled with alarm as she noticed Tanis and his friends staring at her. The man drew near her protectively, his hand reaching for his weapon. He glowered at the group, especially the heavily armed warrior, Caramon.

  "Nervous bastard," Caramon commented, his hand straying to his own sword.

  "I can understand why," Sturm said. "Guarding such a treasure. He is her bodyguard, by the way. I gathered from their conversation that she's some kind of royal person in their tribe. Though I imagine from the looks they exchanged that their relationship goes a bit deeper than that."

  The woman raised her hand in a gesture of protest. "I'm sorry." The friends had to strain to hear her low voice. "I am not a teller of tales. I have not the art." She spoke the Common tongue, her accent thick.

  The child's eager face filled with disappointment. The old man patted him on the back, then looked directly into the woman's eyes. "You may not be a teller of tales," he said pleasantly, "but you are a singer of songs, aren't you. Chieftain's Daughter. Sing the child your song, Goldmoon. You know the one."

  From out of nowhere, apparently, a lute appeared in the old man's hands. He gave it to the woman who stared at him in fear and astonishment.

  "How… do you know me, sir?" she asked.

  "That is not important." The old man smiled gently. "Sing for us. Chieftain's Daughter."

  The woman took the lute with hands that trembled visibly. Her companion seemed to make a whispered protest, but she did not hear him. Her eyes were held fast by the glittering black eyes of the old man. Slowly, as if in a trance, she began to strum the lute. As the melancholy chords drifted through the common room, conversations ceased. Soon, everyone was watching her, but she did not notice. Goldmoon sang for the old man alone.

  The grasslands are endless,

  And summer sings on,

  And Goldmoon the princess

  Loves a poor man's son.

  Her father the chieftain

  Makes long roads between them,

  The grasslands are endless, and summer sings on.

  The grasslands are waving,

  The sky's rim is gray,

  The chieftain sends Riverwind

  East and away,

  To search for strong magic

  At the lip of the morning,

  The grasslands are waving, the sky's rim is gray.

  O Riverwind, where have you gone?

  O Riverwind, autumn comes on.

  I sit by the river

  And look to the sunrise,

  But the sun rises over the mountains alone.

  The grasslands are fading,

  The summer wind dies,

  He comes back, the darkness

  Of stones in his eyes.

  He carries a blue staff

  As bright as a glacier,

  The grasslands are fading, the summer wind dies.

  The grasslands are fragile,

  As yellow as flame,

  The chieftain makes mockery

  Of Riverwind's claim.

  He orders the people

  To stone the young warrior,

  The grasslands are fragile, as yellow as flame.

  The grassland has faded,

  And autumn is here.

  The girl joins her lover,

  The stones whistle near,

  The staff flares in blue light

  And both of them vanish,

  The grasslands are faded, and autumn is here.

  There was heavy silence in the room as her hand struck the final chord. Taking a deep breath, she handed the lute back to the old man and withdrew into the shadows once more.

  "Thank you, my dear," the old man said, smiling.

  "Now can I have a story?" the little boy asked wistfully.

  "Of course," the old man answered and settled back in his chair. "Once upon a time, the great god, Paladine-"

  "Paladine?" the child interrupted. "I've never heard of a god named Paladine."

  A snorting sound came from the High Theocrat sitting at the nearby table. Tanis looked at Hederick, whose face was flushed and scowling. The
old man appeared not to notice.

  "Paladine is one of the ancient gods, child. No one has worshipped him for a long time."

  "Why did he leave?" the little boy asked.

  "He did not leave us," the old man answered, and his smile grew sad. "Men left him after the dark days of the Cataclysm. They blamed the destruction of the world on the gods, instead of on themselves, as they should have done. Have you ever heard the 'Canticle of the Dragon'?"

  "Oh, yes," the boy said eagerly. "I love stories about dragons, though papa says dragons never existed. I believe in them, though. I hope to see one someday!"

  The old man's face seemed to age and grow sorrowful. He stroked the young boy's hair. "Be careful what you wish, my child," he said softly. Then he fell silent.

  "The story-" the boy prompted.

  "Oh, yes. Well, once upon a time Paladine heard the prayer of a very great knight, Huma-"

  "Huma from the 'Canticle'?"

  "Yes, that's the one. Huma became lost in the forest. He wandered and wandered until he despaired because he thought he would never see his homeland again. He prayed to Paladine for help, and there suddenly appeared before him a white stag."

  "Did Huma shoot it?" the boy asked.

  "He started to, but his heart failed him. He could not shoot an animal so magnificent. The stag bounded away. Then it stopped arid looked back at him, as if waiting. Huma began to follow it. Day and night, he followed the stag until it led him to his homeland. He offered thanks to the god, Paladine-"

  "Blashphemy!" snarled a voice loudly. A chair crashed back.

  Tanis put down his mug of ale, looking up. Everyone at the table stopped drinking to watch the drunken Theocrat.

  "Blasphemy!" Hederick, weaving unsteadily on his feet, pointed at the old man. "Heretic! Corrupting our youth! I'll bring you before the counshel, old man." The Seeker fell back a step, then staggered forward again. He looked around the room with a pompous air. "Call the guardsh!" He made a grandiose gesture. "Have them arresht thish man and thish woman for singing lewd songsh. Obviously a witch! I'll confishcate thish staff!"

  The Seeker lurched across the floor to the barbarian woman, who was staring at him in disgust. He reached clumsily for her staff.

  "No," the woman called Goldmoon spoke coolly. "That is mine. You cannot take it."

  "Witch!" the Seeker sneered. "I am the High Theocrat! I take what I want."

  He started to make another grab for the staff. The woman's tall companion rose to his feet. "The Chieftain's Daughter says you will not take it," the man said harshly. He shoved the Seeker backward.

  The tall man's push was not rough, but it knocked the drunken Theocrat completely off balance. His arms flailing wildly, he tried to catch himself. He lurched forward-too far-tripped over his official robes, and fell head first into the roaring fire.

  There was a whoosh and a flare of light, then a sickening smell of burning flesh. The Theocrat's scream tore through the stunned silence as the crazed man leaped to his feet and started whirling around in a frenzy. He had become a living torch!

  Tanis and the others sat, unable to move, paralyzed with the shock of the incident. Only Tasslehoff had wits enough to run forward, anxious to try and help the man. But the Theocrat was screaming and waving his arms, fanning the flames that were consuming his clothes and his body. There seemed no way that the little kender could help him.

  "Here!" The old man grabbed the barbarian's feather-decorated staff and handed it to the kender. "Knock him down. Then we can smother the fire."

  Tasslehoff took the staff. He swung it, using all his strength, and hit the Theocrat squarely in the chest. The man fell to the ground. There was a gasp from the crowd. Tasslehoff himself stood, opened-mouthed, the staff clutched in his hand, staring down at the amazing sight at his feet. The flames had died instantly. The man's robes were whole, undamaged. His skin was pink and healthy. He sat up, a look of fear and awe on his face. He stared down at his hands and his robes. There was not a mark on his skin. There was not the smallest cinder smoking on his robes.

  "It healed him!" the old man proclaimed loudly. "The staff Look at the staff!"

  Tasslehoff s eyes went to the staff in his hands. It was made of blue crystal and was glowing with a bright blue light!

  The old man began shouting. "Call the guards! Arrest the kender! Arrest the barbarians! Arrest their friends! I saw them come in with this knight." He pointed at Sturm.

  "What?" Tanis leaped up. "Are you crazy, old man?"

  "Call the guards!" The word spread. "Did you see-? The blue crystal staff? We've found it. Now they'll leave us alone. Call the guards!"

  The Theocrat staggered to his feet, his face pale, blotched with red. The barbarian woman and her companion stood up, fear and alarm in their faces.

  "Foul witch!" Hederick's voice shook with rage. "You have cured me with evil! Even as I burn to purify my flesh, you will burn to purify your soul!" With that, the Seeker reached out, and before anyone could stop him, he plunged his hand back into the flames! He gagged with the pain but did not cry out. Then, clutching his charred and blackened hand, he turned and staggered off through the murmuring crowd, a wild look of satisfaction on his pain-twisted face.

  "You've got to get out of here!" Tika came running over to Tanis, her breath coming in gasps. "The whole town's been hunting for that staff! Those hooded men told the Theocrat they'd destroy Solace if they caught someone harboring the staff. The townspeople will turn you over to the guards!"

  "But it's not our staff!" Tanis protested. He glared at the old man and saw him settle back into his chair, a pleased smile on his face. The old man grinned at Tanis and winked.

  "Do you think they'll believe you!" Tika wrung her hands. "Look!"

  Tanis looked around. People were glaring at them balefully. Some took a firm grip on their mugs. Others eased their hands onto the hilts of their swords. Shouts from down below drew his eyes back to his friends.

  "The guards are coming!" exclaimed Tika.

  Tanis rose. "We'll have to go out through the kitchen."

  "Yes!" She nodded. "They won't look back there yet. But hurry. It won't take them long to surround the place."

  Years of being apart had not affected the companions' ability to react as a team to threat of danger. Caramon had pulled on his shining helm, drawn his sword, shouldered his pack, and was helping his brother to his feet. Raistlin, his staff in his hand, was moving around the table. Flint had hold of his,battle-axe and was frowning darkly at the onlookers, who seemed hesitant about rushing to attack such well-armed men. Only Sturm sat, calmly drinking his ale.

  "Sturm!" Tanis said urgently. "Come on! We've got to get out of here!"

  "Run?" The knight appeared astonished. "From this rabble?"

  "Yes." Tanis paused; the knight's code of honor forbade running from danger. He had to convince him. "That man is a religious fanatic, Sturm. He'll probably burn us at the stake! And"-a sudden thought rescued him-"there is a lady to protect."

  "The lady, of course." Sturm stood up at once and walked over to the woman. "Madam, your servant." He bowed; the courtly knight would not be hurried. "It seems we are all in this together. Your staff has placed us in considerable danger-you most of all. We are familiar with the area around here, we grew up here. You, I know, are strangers. We would be honored to accompany you and your gallant friend and guard your lives."

  "Come on!" Tika urged, tugging on Tanis's arm. Caramon and Raistlin were already at the kitchen door.

  "Get the kender," Tanis told her.

  Tasslehoff stood, rooted to the floor, staring at the staff. It was rapidly fading back to its nondescript brown color. Tika grabbed Tas by his topknot and pulled him toward the kitchen. The kender shrieked, dropping the staff. Goldmoon swiftly picked it up, clutching it close to her. Although frightened, her eyes were clear and steady as she looked at Sturm and Tanis; she was apparently thinking rapidly. Her companion said a harsh word in their language. She shook her head. He fro
wned and made a slashing motion with his hand. She snapped a quick reply and he fell silent, his face dark.

  "We will go with you," Goldmoon said to Sturm in the Common tongue. "Thank you for the offer."

  "This way!" Tanis herded them out through the swinging kitchen doors following Tika and Tas. He glanced behind him and saw some of the crowd move forward, but in no great hurry.

  The cook stared at them as they ran through the kitchen. Caramon and Raistlin were already at the exit, which was nothing more than a hole cut in the floor. A rope hung from a sturdy limb above the hole and dropped forty feet to the ground.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Tas, laughing. "Here the ale comes up and the garbage goes down." He swung out onto the rope and shinnied down easily.

  "I'm sorry about this," Tika apologized to Goldmoon, "but it is the only way out of here."

  "I can climb down a rope." Then the woman smiled and added, "Though I admit it has been many years."

  She handed her staff to her companion and grasped the stout rope. She began to descend, moving skillfully hand over hand. When she had reached the bottom, her companion tossed the staff down, swung on the rope, and dropped through the hole.

  "How are you going to get down, Raist?" Caramon asked, his face lined with concern. "I can carry you on my back-"

  Raistlin's eyes flashed with an anger that startled Tanis. "I can get down myself!" the mage hissed. Before anyone could stop him, he stepped to the edge of the hole and leaped out into the air. Everyone gasped and peered down, expecting to see Raistlin splattered all over the ground. Instead, they saw the young mage gently floating down, his robes fluttering around him. The crystal on his staff glowed brightly.

  "He shivers my skin!" Flint growled to Tanis.

  "Hurry!" Tanis shoved the dwarf forward. Flint grabbed hold of the rope. Caramon followed, the big man's weight causing the limb the rope was tied around to creak.

  "I will go last," Sturm said, his sword drawn.

  "Very well." Tanis knew it was useless to argue. He slung the longbow and quiver of arrows over his shoulder, grabbed the rope, and started down. Suddenly his hands slipped. He slid down the rope, unable to stop it tearing the skin off his palms. He landed on the ground and looked, wincing, at his hands. His palms were raw and bleeding. But there was no time to think about them. Glancing up, he watched as Sturm descended.