“Oh, aye, mistress! As long as you want. I’ll take real good care of her. Scrub the decks, shall I? Scrape off the barnacles? Mend the sail?”
“Whatever you like, sir.” Usha started walking away, heading for the shore and the large buildings that could be seen lining it.
“When will you be coming back for it?” the dwarf asked, his short legs pumping to keep up with her.
“I don’t know,” Usha said, hoping to sound carefree and careless, not confused. “Just so long as the boat’s here when I do come back.”
“She will be, mistress. And I’ll be right here with her,” said the dwarf. The fingers of one grimy hand could be seen working busily, as if he were doing sums. “Might be a few extra charges …”
Usha shrugged, continued on her way.
“Platinum!” she heard the dwarf say with a covetous sigh. “With a ruby!”
Usha evaded the Palanthas port authority simply because she had no idea who they were or that she was supposed to explain to them who she was and why she was in Palanthas. She walked right past the guards and through the rebuilt portion of the City Wall with such perfect poise and cool aplomb that not one of the admittedly overworked guardsmen took the time to stop her or question her. She looked as if she had a perfect right to be where she was.
Her poise was, in reality, innocence. Her aplomb was an ice coating over her terror and confusion.
She spent the next several hours wandering the hot, dust-ridden, and overcrowded streets of Palanthas. At every turn, she saw something that either amazed, terrified, dazzled, or repulsed her. She had no idea where she was headed, what she was doing, except that somehow she had to find this Lord Dalamar. After she had delivered her letter to him, she supposed she should find someplace to sleep.
The Protector had made some vague references to “lodgings” and a “job,” earning “money.” The Protector could not be more specific. He’d had only limited contact with humans during his long life, and though he’d heard of such concepts as “working for one’s bread,” he had only the vaguest idea what that meant.
Usha had no idea whatsoever.
She stared and gawked, overawed. The ornate buildings—so different from the Irda’s small, single-story dwellings—towered over her, taller than the pine trees. She was lost in a forest of marble. And the number of people! She saw more people in one minute in Palanthas than she’d seen during a lifetime of living among the Irda. And all the people seemed to be in a tearing hurry, bustling and shoving and pushing and walking very fast, red-faced and out-of-breath.
At first, Usha wondered fearfully if the city was afflicted by some sort of dire emergency. Perhaps war. But, on asking a young girl who was drawing water from a well, Usha learned that this was only “market day” and that the city was unusually quiet, for Palanthas—probably due to the severe heat.
It had been hot near the bay; the sun reflecting off the water burned Usha’s fair skin, even in the shade. But at least, on the docks, she had occasionally felt the lingering cool touch of an ocean breeze. Such relief never reached the city proper. Palanthas sweltered. The heat radiated upward from the cobblestone streets, frying those who walked on them as surely as if they’d been set down on a red-hot griddle.
And the streets were cool, compared to the interiors of shops and houses. Shop-owners, who could not leave their businesses, fanned themselves and tried to keep from dozing off. The poor people abandoned their stifling homes, lived and slept in the parks or on top of roofs, hoping to catch the barest hint of a breath of air. The wealthy stayed close within their marble-walled dwellings, drank warm wine (there was no ice, the snows on the mountaintops had almost all melted), and complained languidly of the heat.
The stench of too many sweating bodies, crowded too close together, of garbage and refuse baking in the sun, stole Usha’s breath, set her gagging. She wondered how anyone could live with such a dreadful smell, but the girl she’d spoken with said she didn’t smell anything except Palanthas in the summertime.
Usha traveled all over Palanthas, walked and walked. She passed an enormous building which someone told her was the “Library” and recalled hearing the Protector speak of it in respectful tones as the source of all knowledge about everything in the world.
Thinking this might be a good place to inquire about the whereabouts of Lord Dalamar, Usha stopped a brown-robed young man walking about the grounds of the Library and made her inquiry. The monk opened his eyes very wide, drew back from Usha about six paces, and pointed down a street.
Following his directions, Usha emerged from an alley into the shadow of a hideous-looking tower surrounded by a grove of dark trees. Although she had been sweating moments before, she now shook with sudden chills. Cold, dank darkness seemed to flow from out of the woods. Shivering, she turned and fled and was actually relieved to find herself once again in the baking sunlight. As for Lord Dalamar, Usha could only imagine that the monk had been mistaken. No one could possibly live in such a dreadful place.
She passed a beautiful building that was, by its inscription, a temple to Paladine. She passed parks and the magnificent—yet sterile-looking—homes of the wealthy. (Usha took them to be museums.) She passed shops filled with wondrous objects, everything from sparkling jewels to swords and armor such as the young knights had worn.
And always, hordes of people.
Lost and confused, not sure why she had been sent to this bewildering city, Usha continued to wander the streets. She was dazed by the heat and weariness, and only gradually became conscious, as she walked along, that people were staring at her. Some actually came to a halt and gazed at her in gaping wonderment. Others—generally men who were fashionably dressed—doffed their feathered caps and smiled at her.
Usha naturally assumed they were mocking her appearance and she thought this very cruel. Bedraggled, miserable, feeling sorry for herself, she wondered how the Protector could have sent her to such a hateful place. Gradually, however, she came to realize that these stares and cap-doffings and bowings were admiring.
Having some vague idea that the journey had altered her appearance, Usha halted to study her reflection in the glass of a shop. The glass was wavy and distorted the image of her face, but then so did the water of the small pond she was accustomed to using for a mirror back home. She hadn’t changed. Her hair was still silver, her eyes still their odd color, her features regular but lacking the molded, crafted, exquisite beauty of those of the Irda. She was, as she had always been—in her own eyes—homely.
“What very strange people,” Usha said to herself, after a young man had been so occupied in staring at her that he’d accidentally walked into a tree.
At length, when she’d nearly worn the soles of her leather boots through, Usha noticed that the hot sun was finally setting, the shadows of the buildings were growing longer and a hint cooler. The number of people on the street diminished. Mothers appeared in doorways, shouting for their children to come home. Looking through the windows of several fine houses, Usha saw families gathering together. She was worn, weary, alone. She had no place to spend the night and, she realized, she was ravenously hungry.
The Protector had supplied her with food for her journey, but she’d eaten all that before she had sailed into Palanthas. Fortunately, however, she had accidentally wended her way into the merchandizing section of the city.
The vendors were just closing up their stalls, preparatory to calling it a day. Usha had been wondering what people did for food in this bustling city. Now she had her answer. Apparently, people didn’t serve food on tables here in Palanthas. They handed it out in the streets. Usha thought that rather odd, but then everything in this city was odd.
She drew close to a booth that had a few various pieces of fruit left on it. The fruit was withered and dried, having baked in the heat all day, but it looked wonderful to her. Picking up several apples, Usha bit into one, devoured it, and stuffed the rest into her pouches.
Leaving the fruit vendors, sh
e came to a baker, and added a loaf of bread to her meal. Usha was glancing about, searching for a booth offering wine, when an unholy commotion burst out around her.
“Catch her! Hold her! Thief! Thief!”
About the Authors
Authors of the original DRAGONLANCE® Chronicles and Legends, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman have long wanted to return to Krynn, the world they helped forge, to tell the stories of the second generation of heroes and villains. They hope someday to be able to tell the complete tale of the lives of the Companions’ children, but that is in the future.
Since leaving Krynn, Weis and Hickman have written several best-selling, critically acclaimed series for the Bantam/Spectra line, and their new seven-volume The Deathgate Cycle. On her own, Weis has written the best-selling four-volume galactic fantasy Star of the Guardian series, published by Bantam/Spectra. Their books have been translated into many foreign languages, including German, French, Japanese, Spanish, Italian, and Hebrew.
Both Weis and Hickman are working on various new projects. They are very pleased to be once again, if only for a short time, roaming the roads of Krynn.
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The Second Generation Page 49