Dragons of Autumn Twilight dc-1

by Margaret Weis

  "Do as she says," the mage hissed. "Carry him to her."

  Tanis's face contorted with fury at the sight of Raistlin's expressionless face, uncaring eyes.

  "Take him to her," Raistlin said coldly. "It is not for us to choose death for this man. That is for the gods."

  16

  A bitter choice. The greatest gift

  Tanis stared at Raistlin. Not the quiver of an eyelid betrayed his feelings-if the mage had any feelings. Their eyes met and, as always, Tanis felt that the mage saw more than was visible to him. Suddenly Tanis hated Raistlin, hated him with a passion that shocked the half-elf, hated him for not feeling this pain, hated him and envied him at the same time.

  "We must do something!" Sturm said harshly. "He's not dead and the dragon may return!"

  "Very well," Tanis said, his voice catching in his throat. Wrap him in a blanket… But give me a moment alone with Goldmoon."

  The half-elf walked slowly across the courtyard. His footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night as he climbed marble steps to a wide porch where Goldmoon stood in front of the shining golden doors. Glancing behind him, Tanis could see his friends wrapping blankets from their packs around tree limbs to make a battlefield stretcher. The man's body was nothing more than a dark, shapeless mass in the moonlight.

  "Bring him to me, Tanis," Goldmoon repeated as the half-elf came up to her. He took hold of her hand.

  "Goldmoon," Tanis said, "Riverwind is horribly injured. He is dying. There is nothing you can do-not even the staff-"

  "Hush, Tanis," Goldmoon said gently.

  The half-elf fell silent, seeing her clearly for the first time. In astonishment, he realized that the Plainswoman was tranquil, calm, uplifted. Her face in the moonlight was the face of the sailor who has fought the stormy seas in his fragile boat and drifted at last into peaceful waters.

  "Come inside the temple, my friend," Goldmoon said, her beautiful eyes looking intently into Tanis'. "Come inside and bring Riverwind to me."

  Goldmoon had not heard the approach of the dragon, had not seen its attack on Riverwind. When they entered the broken courtyard of Xak Tsaroth, Goldmoon had felt a strange and powerful force drawing her into the temple. She walked across the rubble and up the stairs, oblivious to everything but the golden doors shimmering in the silver-red moonlight. She approached them and stood before them for a moment. Then she became aware of the commotion behind her and heard Riverwind calling her name. "Goldmoon…" She paused, unwilling to leave Riverwind and her friends, knowing a terrible evil was rising from the well.

  "Come inside, child," a gentle voice called to her.

  Goldmoon lifted her head and stared at the doors. Tears came to her eyes. The voice was her mother's. Tearsong, priestess of Que-shu, had died long ago, when Goldmoon was very young.

  "Tearsong?" Goldmoon choked. "Mother-"

  "The years have been many and sad for you, my daughter"-her mother's voice was not heard so much as felt in her heart-"and I fear your burden will not soon ease. Indeed, if you continue on you will leave this darkness only to enter a deeper darkness. Truth will light your way, my daughter, though you may find its light shines dimly in the vast and terrible night ahead. Still, without the truth, all will perish and be lost. Come here inside the temple with me, daughter. You will find what you seek."

  "But my friends, Riverwind." Goldmoon looked back at the well and saw Riverwind stumble on the shaking cobblestones. "They cannot fight this evil. They will die without me. The staff could help! I cannot leave!" She started to turn back as the darkness fell.

  "I can't see them!.. Riverwind!.. Mother, help me," she cried in agony.

  But there was no answer. This isn't fair! Goldmoon screamed silently, clenching her fists. We never wanted this! We only wanted to love each other, and now-now we may lose that! We have sacrificed so much and none of it has made any difference. I am thirty years old, mother! Thirty and childless. They have taken my youth, they have taken my people. And I have nothing to show in return. Nothing — except this! She shook the staff. And now I am being asked once again to give still more.

  Her anger calmed. Riverwind-had he been angry all those long years he searched for answers? All he had found was this staff, and it brought only more questions. No, he hadn't been angry, she thought. His faith is strong. I am the weak one. Riverwind was willing to die for his faith. It seems I must be willing to live-even if it means living without him.

  Goldmoon leaned her head against the golden doors, their metal surface cool to her skin. Reluctantly, she made her bitter decision. I will go forward, mother-though if Riverwind dies, my heart dies too. I ask only one thing; If he dies, let him know, somehow, that I will continue his search.

  Leaning upon her staff, the Chieftain of the Que-shu pushed open the golden doors and entered the temple. The doors shut behind her at the precise moment the black dragon burst from the well.

  Goldmoon stepped inside soft, enfolding darkness. She could see nothing at first, but a memory of being held very close in her mother's warm embrace played through her mind. A pale light began to shine around her. Goldmoon saw she was under a vast dome that rose high above an intricately inlaid tile floor. Beneath the dome, in the center of the room, stood a marble statue of singular grace and beauty. The light in the room emanated from this statue. Goldmoon, entranced, moved toward it. The statue was of a woman in flowing robes. Her marble face bore an expression of radiant hope, tempered with sadness. A strange amulet hung around her neck.

  "This is Mishakal, goddess of healing, whom I serve," said her mother's voice. "Listen to her words, my daughter."

  Goldmoon stood directly in front of the statue, marveling at its beauty. But it seemed unfinished, incomplete. Part of the statue was missing, Goldmoon realized. The marble woman's hands were curved, as if they had been holding a long slender pole, but the hands were empty. Without conscious thought, with only the need to complete such beauty, Goldmoon slid her staff into the marble hands.

  It began to gleam with a soft blue light. Goldmoon, startled, backed away. The staff's light grew into a blinding radiance. Goldmoon shielded her eyes and fell to her knees. A great and loving power filled her heart. She bitterly regretted her anger.

  "Do not be ashamed of your questioning, beloved disciple. It was your questioning that led you to us, and it is your anger that will sustain you through the many trials ahead. You come seeking the truth and you shall receive it.

  "The gods have not turned away from man-it is man who turned away from the true gods. Krynn is about to face its greatest trial. Men will need the truth more than ever. You, my disciple, must return the truth and power of the true gods to man. It is time to restore the balance of the universe. Evil now has tipped the scales. For, as the gods of good have returned to man, so have the gods of evil-constantly striving for men's souls. The Queen of Darkness has returned, seeking that which will allow her to walk freely in this land once more. Dragons, once banished to the nether regions, walk the land."

  Dragons, thought Goldmoon dreamily. She found it difficult to concentrate and grasp the words that flooded her mind. It would not be until later that she would fully comprehend the message. Then she would remember the words forever.

  "To gain the power to defeat them, you will need the truth of the gods-this is the greatest gift of which you were told. Below this temple, in the ruins haunted by the glories of ages past, rest the Disks of Mishakal; circular disks made of gleaming platinum. Find the Disks and you can call upon my power, for I am Mishakal, goddess of healing.

  "Your way will not be easy. The gods of evil know and fear the great power of the truth. The ancient and powerful black dragon, Khisanth, known to men as Onyx, guards the Disks. Her lair is in the ruined city of Xak Tsaroth below us. Danger lies ahead of you if you choose to try and recover the Disks. Therefore I bless this staff. Present it boldly, never wavering, and you shall prevail."

  The voice faded. It was then Goldmoon heard Riverwind's death cry.


  Tanis entered the temple and felt as if he had walked backward into memory. The sun was shining through the trees in Qualinost. He and Laurana and her brother, Gilthanas, were lying on the riverbank, laughing and sharing dreams after some childish game. Happy childhood days had been few for Tanis- the half-elf learned early that he was different from the others. But that day had been a day of golden sunshine and warm friendship. The remembered peace washed over him, easing his grief and horror.

  He turned to Goldmoon, standing silently beside him. "What is this place?"

  "That is a story whose telling must wait," Goldmoon answered. With a light hand on Tanis's arm, she drew him across the shimmering tile floor until they both stood before the shining marble statue of Mishakal. The blue crystal staff cast a brilliant glow throughout the chamber.

  But even as Tanis's lips parted in wonder, a shadow darkened the room. He and Goldmoon turned toward the door. Caramon and Sturm entered, bearing the body of Riverwind between them on the makeshift litter. Flint and Tasslehoff — the dwarf looking old and weary, the kender unusually subdued- stood on either side of the litter, an odd sort of honor guard. The somber procession moved slowly inside. Behind them came Raistlin, his hood pulled over his head, his hands folded in his robes-the spectre of death itself.

  They moved across the marble floor, intent on the burden they bore, and came to a halt before Tanis and Goldmoon. Tanis, looking down at the body at Goldmoon's feet, shut his eyes. Blood had soaked through the thick blanket, spreading in great dark splotches across the fabric.

  "Remove the blanket," Goldmoon commanded. Caramon looked at Tanis pleadingly.

  "Goldmoon-" Tanis began gently.

  Suddenly, before anyone could stop him, Raistlin bent down and tore the blood-stained blanket from the body.

  Goldmoon gave a strangled gasp at the sight of Riverwind's tortured body, turning so pale that Tanis reached out a steadying hand, fearing she might faint. But Goldmoon was the daughter of a strong, proud people. She swallowed, drew a deep, shuddering breath. Then she turned and walked up to the marble statue. She lifted the blue crystal staff carefully from the goddess's hands, then she returned to kneel beside Riverwind's body.

  "Kan-tokah," she said softly. "My beloved." Reaching out a shaking hand, she touched the dying Plainsman's forehead. The sightless face moved toward her as if he heard. One of the blackened hands twitched feebly, as if he would touch her. Then he gave a great shudder and lay perfectly still. Tears streamed unheeded down Goldmoon's cheeks as she lay the staff across Riverwind's body. Soft blue light filled the chamber. Everyone the light touched felt rested and refreshed. The pain and exhaustion from the day's toil left their bodies. The horror of the dragon's attack lifted from their minds, as the sun burns through fog. Then the light of the staff dimmed and faded. Night settled over the temple, lit once more only by the light emanating from the marble statue.

  Tanis blinked, trying once more to reaccustom his eyes to the dark. Then he heard a deep voice.

  "Kan-tokah neh sirakan."

  He heard Goldmoon cry out in joy. Tanis looked down at what should have been Riverwind's corpse. Instead, he saw the Plainsman sit up, holding out his arms for Goldmoon. She clung to him, laughing and crying at the same time.

  "And so," Goldmoon told them, coming to the end of her story, "we must find a way down into the ruined city that lies somewhere below the temple, and we must remove the Disks from the dragon's lair."

  They were eating a frugal dinner, sitting on the floor in the main chamber of the temple. A quick inspection of the building revealed that it was empty, although Caramon told of finding draconian tracks on the staircase, as well as the tracks of some other creature the warrior couldn't identify.

  It was not a large building. Two worship rooms were located on opposite sides of the hallway that led to the main chamber where the statue stood. Two circular rooms branched off the main chamber to the north and south. They were decorated with frescoes that were now covered with fungus and faded beyond recognition. Two sets of golden double doors led to the east. Caramon reported finding a staircase there that led down into the wrecked city below. The faint sound of surf could be heard, reminding them that they were perched on top of a great cliff, overlooking Newsea.

  The companions sat, each preoccupied with his own thoughts, trying to assimilate the news Goldmoon had given them. Tasslehoff, however, continued to poke around the rooms, peering into dark corners. Finding little of interest, the kender grew bored and returned to the group, holding an old helmet in his hand. It was too big for him; kenderfolk never wore helmets anyway, considering them bothersome and restrictive. He tossed it to the dwarf.

  "What's this?" Flint asked suspiciously, holding it up to the light cast by Raistlin's staff. It was a helm of ancient design, well crafted by a skilled metalsmith. Undoubtedly a dwarf, Flint decided, rubbing his hands over it lovingly. A long tail of animal hair decorated the top. Flint tossed the draconian helm he had been wearing to the floor. Then he put the new-found helm on his head. It fit perfectly. Smiling, he took it off, once more admiring the workmanship, Tas watched him with amusement.

  'That's horsehair," he said, pointing to the tassel.

  "No, it's not!" the dwarf protested, frowning. He sniffed at it, wrinkling his nose. Failing to sneeze, he glanced at Tanis in triumph. "It's hair from the mane of a griffon."

  Caramon guffawed. "Griffon!" He snorted. "There's about as many griffons on Krynn as there are-"

  "Dragons," interjected Raistlin smoothly.

  The conversation died abruptly.

  Sturm cleared his throat. "We'd better get some sleep," he said. "I'll take first watch."

  "No one need keep watch this night," Goldmoon said softly.

  She sat close to Riverwind. The tall Plainsman had not spoken much since his brush with death. He had stared for a long time at the statue of Mishakal, recognizing the woman in blue light who had given him the staff, but he refused to answer any questions or discuss it.

  "We are safe here," Goldmoon affirmed, glancing at the statue.

  Caramon raised his eyebrows. Sturm frowned and stroked his moustaches. Both men were too polite to question Goldmoon's faith, but Tanis knew that neither warrior would feel safe if watches weren't set. Yet there weren't many hours left until dawn and they all needed rest. Raistlin was already asleep, wrapped in his robes in a dark corner of the chamber.

  "I think Goldmoon is right," Tasslehoff said. "Let's trust these old gods, since it seems we have found them."

  "The elves never lost them; neither did the dwarves," Flint protested, scowling. "I don't understand any of this! Reorx is one of the ancient gods, presumably. We have worshipped him since before the Cataclysm."

  "Worship?" Tanis asked. "Or cry to him in despair because your people were shut out of the Kingdom under the Mountain. No, don't get mad-" Tanis, seeing the dwarf's face flush an ugly red, held up his hand. "The elves are no better. We cried to the gods when our homeland was laid waste. We know of the gods and we honor their memories-as one would honor the dead. The elven clerics vanished long ago, as did the dwarven clerics. I remember Mishakal the Healer. I remember hearing the stories of her when I was young. I remember hearing stories of dragons, too. Children's tales, Raistlin would say. It seems our childhood has come back to haunt us-or save us, I don't know which. I have seen two miracles tonight, one of evil and one of good. I must believe in both, if I am to trust the evidence of my senses. Yet…" The half-elf sighed. "I say we take turns on watch tonight. I am sorry, lady. I wish my faith were as strong as yours."

  Sturm took first watch. The rest wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay on the tile floor. The knight walked through the moonlit temple, checking the quiet rooms, more from force of habit than because he felt any threat. He could hear the wind blow chill and fierce outside, sweeping out from the north. But inside it was strangely warm and comfortable-too comfortable.

  Sitting at the base of the statue, Sturm felt a sweet peacefulnes
s creep over him. Startled, he sat bolt upright and realized, chagrined, that he had nearly fallen asleep on watch. That was inexcusable! Berating himself severely, the knight determined that he would walk his watch-the full two hours-as punishment. He started to rise, then stopped. He heard singing, a woman's voice. Sturm stared around wildly, his hand on his sword. Then his hand slipped from the hilt. He recognized the voice and the song. It was his mother's voice. Once more Sturm was with her. They were fleeing Solamnia, traveling alone except for one trusted retainer-and he would be dead before they reached Solace. The song was one of those wordless lullabies that were older than dragons. Sturm's mother held her child close, and tried to keep her fear from him by singing this gentle, soothing song. Sturm's eyes closed. Sleep blessed him, blessed all of the companions.

  The light from Raistlin's staff glowed brightly, keeping away the darkness.

  17

  The Paths of the Dead. Raistlin’s new friends

  The sound of metal crashing against the tile floor jolted Tanis out of a deep sleep. He sat up, alarmed, his hand fumbling for his sword.

  "Sorry" Caramon said, grinning shamefacedly. "I dropped my breastplate."

  Tanis drew a deep breath that turned into a yawn, stretched, and lay back down on his blanket. The sight of Caramon putting on his armor-with Tasslehoff's help-reminded the half-elf of what they faced today. He saw Sturm buckling his armor on as well, while Riverwind polished the sword he had picked up. Tanis firmly put the thought of what might happen to them today out of his mind.

  That was not an easy task, especially for the elven part of Tanis-elves revere life and, although they believe that death is simply a movement into a higher plane of existence, death of any creature is seen to diminish life on this plane. Tanis forced the human side of him to take possession of his soul today. He would have to kill, and perhaps he would have to accept the death of one or more of these people he loved. He remembered how he had felt yesterday, when he thought he might lose Riverwind. The half-elf frowned and sat up suddenly, feeling as if he had awakened from a bad dream.