Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “You bring back the dead,” Tanis said, regarding the knight with incredulity, “at the risk of your own life?”

  Steel shrugged. “What is life without honor?”

  “Est Sularus oth Mithas,” Tanis murmured. “ ‘My honor is my life.’ You are your father all over again.”

  Steel’s face darkened. His hand clenched over the hilt of his sword. “I am a Knight of Takhisis,” he said coldly. “I honor my father’s memory, but that is all it is—a memory. I live only to serve my queen.”

  Tanis’s gaze went pointedly to the knight’s neck. The sword was not the only gift the dead father had given his son. By some magical means beyond Tanis’s understanding, the starjewel Sturm Brightblade had worn around his neck had been transferred to his son. The jewel was an object of good, of elven make, a token of affection. No person whose heart was shadowed by darkness could even touch it, much less wear it. Yet Tanis had seen it shining on Steel Brightblade’s breast.

  Did he wear it now, concealed beneath the hideous armor with its symbols of death and destruction? Or had he forsworn it, ripped it off, sacrificed it on the Dark Queen’s bloodstained altar?

  Tanis could not see the jewel. Steel returned the half-elf’s gaze coolly, not the least self-conscious. If he wore the jewel, he was disciplined enough to hide any indication of it.

  A dangerous man, thought Tanis. If all Takhisis’s paladins are like this, we are indeed in trouble.

  “Is Kalaman under attack?” Tanis asked, looking at Steel.

  “It will be,” the knight replied. “And North Keep by now. I am not betraying any secrets. Lord Ariakan wants the Solamnics to hear how they were routed.”

  Tanis regarded Steel in grim silence, then turned back to Palin, who appeared to be on the verge of collapse. “We’ll discuss this all later. First, we need to take you home. I will help you break the news of your brothers’ deaths to your parents. Remember, Palin, your parents were both soldiers. This will grieve them, certainly, but—”

  “There’s more, Tanis,” Palin said.

  Tanis had already guessed as much. “You’re being held for ransom.”

  “Yes. And if the ransom is not paid, my life is forfeit.”

  “And how much is this ransom? No matter,” Tanis added hurriedly. “However much it is, we’ll come up with the money. I’ll be glad to contribute. So will—”

  “It’s not money they want, Tanis,” Palin interrupted, somewhat impatiently. “I am a magic-user, after all.”

  “An apprentice,” Tanis said, affecting a carelessness he did not feel. He had a terrible foreboding that he knew what was corning, hoped to stave it off. He slapped Palin on the shoulder. “Don’t give yourself airs, young man.”

  Tanis looked at Steel. “As I said, this young mage is an apprentice. He only recently passed the Test. The wizards might exchange a few paltry arcane items for him, but nothing of value. You knights would be far better off settling for money …”

  “Palin Majere may be only an apprentice mage. But his uncle, Raistlin Majere, was not,” Steel returned dryly. “He has given his nephew one valuable gift.” The knight gestured to the Staff of Magius. “I have no doubt but that he would provide more if he knew the young man’s life was in danger.”

  “Has the whole world gone mad?” Tanis demanded. “Raistlin Majere is dead! He’s been dead for twenty years or more. He didn’t give Palin the staff. Dalamar the Dark gave Palin the staff …”

  Steel gazed at him with those impassive, dark eyes.

  “I’m wasting my breath! What is the ransom?” Tanis asked.

  “They want the Portal opened,” Palin answered quietly. “The Gray Knights want to find the way into the Abyss.”

  “When the Portal is open,” Steel said, “our queen will enter the world. And we will place this world at her feet!”

  11

  The ransom.

  Raistlin’s room. Palin’s plan.

  teel stood just inside the door to the Inn of the Last Home. He stood aloof, cold, proud, not moving, showing no emotion as Tanis broke, as gently as he could, the news to Tika and Caramon that their two eldest sons were dead.

  “I knew it!” was Tika’s first response. She clasped her hands over her heart. “Blessed Paladine, I knew it. I felt it here. Oh, dear gods, why? Why?” She clenched her hands, rocked back and forth in her chair.

  Palin put his arms around his mother. “I’m sorry,” he said brokenly. “I’m so sorry.…”

  Caramon sat stunned. “My boys,” he whispered. “My boys.” And then, with a great sob, he reached out, drew Palin close. “At least you are safe …”

  Tanis stood apart, waiting for the first transports of grief to subside, waiting to impart even more bad news to the bereft parents. Palin was not safe, was in far more danger than they could ever imagine.

  At length, Palin wiped away his tears, looked at Tanis.

  “You tell them,” he said softly.

  “Tell us? Tell us what?” Caramon demanded, his head bowed, tense, quivering.

  “Palin is a prisoner of the dark knights,” Tanis said. “They are demanding ransom.”

  “Well, of course we’ll pay it, whatever it is,” Caramon responded. “We’ll sell all we own if we have to—”

  “It’s not money they want, Caramon,” Tanis said, searching for some easy way to say this and finding none. “They want the wizards to open the Portal to the Abyss. They want to use Palin to set free the Dark Queen.”

  Caramon lifted his grief-ravaged face, stared from Tanis to Palin to Steel. “But … this is a farce! A mockery! The wizards will never open the Portal! It’s a death sentence! You won’t take him! You won’t!”

  Before any in the room could stop him, Caramon sprang from his chair and flung himself at Steel. The big man’s weight and momentum sent them both crashing against the wall.

  “Caramon, stop!” Tanis and Palin struggled to drag Caramon off the dark knight. Caramon was trying to get his hands around Steel’s throat. “This won’t help!”

  Steel drew no weapon. Reaching up, he seized Caramon’s arms, managed to break the big man’s hold. He shoved Caramon back into the arms of his son and his friend. Steel stood, breathing hard, wary and watchful.

  “I make allowances now for your grief,” he said coldly. “I won’t another time.”

  “Caramon! Dearest husband!” Tika clung to him, soothed him. “We’ll deal with this. Tanis is here. He’ll help us. He won’t let them take Palin back. You won’t, will you, Tanis?”

  Her eyes were frightened, pleading. Tanis wished with all his heart he could tell her what she wanted so desperately to hear. As it was, he could only shake his head.

  Tika sank back down in her chair, her hands wrapped up in her apron, clenching the cloth tightly. No tears came to Tika. Not now. Not yet. Her wound was too deep. She couldn’t yet feel it, only a chill numbness. And so she sat and stared at the floor and waited for the pain.

  “Father,” Palin said in low tones. “If I could talk to you …”

  “Take me back, damn you!” Caramon demanded, breaking free of Tika’s loving grip. “My life in exchange for my son’s. You can hold me prisoner until you hear the wizards’ answer.”

  “You speak as a father should, sir,” Steel replied, “but you must know such a request is impossible. Our wizards know the worth of the nephew of Raistlin Majere. They deem it likely that the archmage himself might take some interest in the young man’s welfare.”

  “My brother!” Caramon was bewildered. “My brother is dead! What can he do?”

  “Father!” Palin whispered urgently, tugging on his father’s sleeve. “Please! We need to talk!”

  Caramon paid no attention.

  Steel smiled sardonically, shrugged.

  “Let us hope that he can do something, sir.” Steel’s smile tightened. “Or else you lose a third son.”

  Tika gasped, moaned, stuffed her clenched fist into her mouth. Tanis was at her side, but Dezra, coming down the sta
irs, elbowed him away. She put her arms around Tika, whispered soothing words.

  “Come. Come with me, dear. Come upstairs and rest.”

  Tika looked around at her friend as if she didn’t know her. Then she closed her eyes, laid her head on Dezra’s breast, and began to sob.

  Her own eyes shimmering with tears, Dezra looked over at Tanis. “You might tell that elf lord that his lady’s time is almost due. She is in good health and good spirits. I think all will be well with her and with the babe.”

  “Porthios is waiting outside,” Tanis said. Merciful gods, he’d forgotten all about this other crisis. “I’ll let him know.”

  “He should be here, nearby,” Dezra said angrily. “What’s he doing, running off like that?”

  “It was best he left, Dezra. I had trouble enough persuading him to go as it was. We almost had a war break out right here.”

  Steel, at the mention of the elf, put his hand on his sword’s hilt. His lip curled.

  “War!” Dezra said bitterly. “A new life coming into a world of sorrow. Maybe it would be better if the baby were born dead!”

  “Don’t say that, Dezra!” Tika cried suddenly. “Each new child born is hope for a better world. I have to believe that. My boys’ lives meant something!”

  “Yes, dear. They did. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Come upstairs,” Dezra said, weeping. “I … I can use your help with Lady Alhana. If you’re up to it.”

  “A new life,” Tika murmured. “One leaves. One enters. Yes, I can help. I can help …”

  “Father,” said Palin, when his mother was out of the room. “We need to talk. Now.”

  Startled by the unaccustomed firmness in his son’s tone, Caramon looked around.

  Palin’s face was deathly pale and drawn. Gray smudges shadowed his eyes.

  “I … I’m sorry, Son,” Caramon mumbled, rumpling his hair. “I … don’t quite know what I’m doing. You should lie down, though. Go and rest …”

  “I will, Father,” Palin said patiently. He took hold of his father’s arm. “Come with me. Come and talk. It’s all right if we speak alone?”

  Steel, to whom this was addressed, granted permission with a brief nod. “You have given me your word of honor that you will not try to escape, Sir Mage.”

  “And I will keep it,” Palin said with dignity. “Father, please.”

  “Go with him, Caramon,” Tanis urged. “Your other two sons are with Paladine. It is Palin who needs you now.”

  “I don’t understand this, Tanis.” Caramon’s face twisted in grief and puzzlement. “Raistlin’s dead! What more do they want from him? I don’t understand.”

  Tanis had his doubts about that. Was Raistlin truly dead? Or had the gray-robed wizards of Takhisis discovered differently? Tanis guessed that Palin knew more than he was letting on.

  “I need to talk to Dalamar,” Tanis muttered when Palin and Caramon had left the room. “I need to talk to the Lord Knight. We are in trouble. Real trouble.”

  But right now, the only person he had to talk to was Porthios.

  And that to tell him that his child would soon be born.

  One leaves the world. One enters.

  Hope?

  At the moment, Tanis couldn’t see it.

  Years ago, Caramon had built for Tika the finest house in Solace. The house was large enough to accommodate a growing family and for many years echoed with the laughter and rough-housing of the Majeres’ three boys. Later, two daughters came into the world—for the express purpose of teasing their elder brothers, or so Palin often maintained.

  By that time, Caramon and Tika were full owners and proprietors of the Inn of the Last Home. The boys were soon grown to manhood and off on adventures of their own. The house was some distance from the inn. The walk there and back, at all hours of the day and night (Tika often woke up with the firm conviction that the inn had caught fire and was constantly sending Caramon over to check on it) was time-consuming and wearing. Eventually—though both of them loved the house—Tika and Caramon decided that it would be easier to sell their dwelling place and take up residence in the inn itself.

  One room in the old house had been denoted Raistlin’s Room. In the early days, after his twin brother had turned to the Black Robes and moved into the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, Caramon had maintained the room in the fond but deluded hope that one day Raistlin would see the error of his ways and return.

  Following Raistlin’s death, Caramon had planned to make the room “just another room,” but his hopes and dreams had centered on it so completely that they were like ghosts, refused to be dislodged. Raistlin’s Room continued as such until the day the house was sold. When the Majeres moved into the inn, no thought was given to creating another “Raistlin’s Room” until one day Caramon was startled to overhear his two little girls referring to one of the rooms—a small storage room in the back—as Raistlin’s Room.

  Tika put this down to the fact that the girls were attempting to make their new and unfamiliar home as much like the home they’d left as possible. Caramon agreed, but both fell into the habit of terming the room Raistlin’s. A traveling mage, staying at the inn, happened to overhear them and begged to be allowed to see the room in which the famous mage had undoubtedly spent much of his time.

  Caramon did his best to dissuade the wizard of his mistaken notion—this part of the inn had not even existed during Raistlin’s lifetime. But the Red Robe was adamant and, because he was a regular and valued customer (he paid in steel, not in lizard’s teeth), Caramon permitted the guest to visit the storage room.

  The wizard found the room charming, though a bit cluttered with brooms and the wood box. He asked if he could leave a magical ring—as a “token of his esteem.” Caramon couldn’t very well refuse. The wizard placed the ring on top of an empty ale barrel and left.

  Afraid to touch the arcane object (Caramon had seen enough magic to know that he might end up a lizard himself), he left it where it was. A month later, two white-robed mages arrived, coming specifically to visit the “shrine.” Apparently, the first wizard, after leaving the inn, had run into a phenomenal streak of good luck. This being rather unusual for the Red Robe, he immediately attributed it to Raistlin’s goodwill. The wizard had spread the tale, and these two were here to add their small “tokens.”

  The ale barrel acquired a scroll and a potion. The wizards stayed two nights, spending money and talking of Raistlin with Caramon, who was always pleased to reminisce. A month following that, a Black Robe arrived. She came and left without speaking to anyone, except to inquire the location of “the room.” She didn’t stay the night, but she did order the best wine in the house and paid for it in steel.

  Soon, mages from all over Ansalon were visiting the inn. Some left arcane objects as gifts, others left their spell components to be “enhanced,” returning to pick them up later. Those who did this swore that the objects increased in magic.

  Tika scoffed at the notion that the room had any special “powers.” She attributed the notion to the general weirdness of mages. Caramon agreed, until one day—rummaging through some of Otik’s old papers—the big man came across a crude diagram of the old inn, prior to its destruction by dragons during the War of the Lance. Looking at it, reliving bittersweet memories, Caramon was amazed (and considerably taken aback) to discover that “Raistlin’s Room” was situated directly over the place near the fire where his brother had been accustomed to sitting.

  Following this discovery, (which gave even Tika “the shivers” or so she said), Caramon emptied out the storage room, removed the brooms and the wood box (though he left the ale barrel, which now had innumerable mysterious-looking items resting on it).

  He began keeping careful record of all the arcane objects. He never sold any of those bequeathed as “gifts,” but he often gave them away to mages who had fallen on hard times or to young mages about to take the grueling and sometimes lethal Test in the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. He had the feeling that such
gifts would be particularly blessed, for—despite his many faults—Raistlin had always felt a special kinship for the weak and downtrodden and would go out of his way to aid them.

  It was to this room, to Raistlin’s Room, that Palin now took his father.

  The small room had changed considerably over the years. The ale barrel was still there, but specially carved wooden chests had been added to hold the many magical rings, brooches, weapons, and spell pouches. A rack placed against one wall contained all the various scrolls, tied neatly with white, red, or black ribbons. Spellbooks lined one wall; the more gruesome arcane objects were hidden in a shadowed corner. A small window let in sunlight and—what was more important to the mages—the light of the red and silver moons and the unseen light of the black moon. A bowl of freshly cut flowers rested on a table beneath the window. A comfortable chair had been placed inside the room for the convenience of those who came to meditate or study. No kender were ever allowed anywhere near this room.

  Caramon entered, without truly knowing where he was or caring, and sat in the room’s only chair. Despite his wound and his weariness, Palin was stronger than his father at this moment. For Palin, the terrible debilitating grief was starting to recede. Perhaps it was the calming influence of this room—which he’d always loved. Or perhaps it was the voice inside his head—the voice he knew so well, though he had never heard it in life—that was responsible. Somewhere, somehow, Raistlin lived.

  “It is my duty to find him, if I have to enter the Abyss itself.”

  “What?” Caramon jerked his head up, regarded his son with darkening brow. “What did you say?”

  Palin hadn’t realized he’d been speaking out loud. He hadn’t meant to broach the subject so abruptly, but—since he’d blurted it out and since obviously his father knew what he was thinking—Palin decided it was best to carry on.

  “I wanted you to know this, Father. I have formed a plan and intend to act on it. I … don’t expect you to approve it.” Palin paused, swallowed, then went steadily on. “But you should be aware of what I’m doing, in case anything goes wrong. I’m not going to the Tower of Wayreth—”