Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “You did indeed,” the Gray Knight returned. He stared at the staff, was obviously tempted to cast the spell again, perhaps realized this would make him look foolish. He contented himself with a rebuke. “A fancy-looking staff like that could get you into trouble, young man. If you insist on playacting a wizard, wait until the Night of the Eye. At least you’ll get a cookie out of it.”

  Palin’s face burned at the insult. He dared say nothing, however; certainly he could not argue. Swallowing his pride, he comforted himself by imagining the expression on the knight’s face if he ever learned that he’d had in his grasp the famed Staff of Magius and let it go.

  “Sign your name.” The Gray Knight shoved the book at Palin.

  Lifting the quill pen, Palin was about to comply, when footsteps, the rustle of robes, and the heady fragrance of some expensive perfume caused him to turn his head.

  A woman—one of the most lovely and exotic women Palin had ever seen—entered the shop. She was dressed in red robes, expensive red robes, made of velvet and silk, trimmed with golden stitchery. She wore the perfume to mask the occasionally unpleasant smells of the spell components she carried in silken bags that hung from a braided leather-and-silver chain belt. She was alluring, powerful, mysterious, and, at her arrival, even the Gray Knight straightened, bowed.

  She paused, regarded Palin curiously. “How do you do, Master Mage? I am Jenna, owner of this shop. I apologize for not being here when you arrived. I was called to the lord’s house. One of the servants broke a valuable vase and they asked me to mend it. A menial task, and one I would ordinarily refuse, but there are so few magic-users left in town these days. What can I do for you?”

  “Mistress Jenna,” Palin said, with marked admiration, “my name is Pal—”

  “Palas! Palas Margoyle!” Jenna swept forward, took him by the hand. “My dear boy, I should have recognized you sooner. But then it’s been so long and you’ve changed. When did we last meet? Almost five years ago. During your Test. And you are here for your scroll-writing session. You’re early, but, never mind. I don’t seem to do much business these days,” she added, with a cool glance at the Gray Knight.

  Jenna clasped Palin’s arm, started to lead him away, to the part of the shop that was curtained off from the rest.

  “He hasn’t signed the book, yet, Mistress,” the Gray Knight said.

  Jenna halted, cast Palin a look of warning that chilled his blood.

  “Oh, yes, we must sign the book,” Jenna said archly, turning around. “How else would the Knights of Takhisis keep track of who comes to visit me and what they buy? Not that many come to buy anything anymore. Soon I shall be destitute and then no one will have to sign the book ever again. Ah! Look! Someone has spilled the marjoram. Palas, help me clean this up.”

  Palin did as he was instructed, cleaning up the minute amount of dried leaves he had scattered.

  Jenna leaned down to help him, whispered as she drew near, “They are searching for you! There is a warrant for your arrest!”

  Palin’s hand jerked, nearly spilling the leaves again. He managed to deposit them back into their jar. Jenna replaced the stopper, returned the jar to the shelf.

  “Go, sign the book, then, Palas. Hurry up. I’ll be in the laboratory. Through these curtains and down the stairs.”

  She walked through the curtains. Palin heard her descend the stairs. Light-headed, from either nervousness or her nearness or perhaps both, he wrote the false name, awkwardly, left an ink blot at the finish. This done, under the distrustful, suspicious gaze of the Gray Knight, Palin walked through the curtains and nearly tumbled headfirst down the stairs, which gaped unexpectedly at his feet.

  He started to shut the curtains behind him.

  “Leave them open,” the Gray Knight instructed him, and moved to take his place at the head of the stairs, where he could see down into the laboratory and still keep an eye on the front door.

  Palin sat next to Jenna, who brought out a tablet made of wax.

  “The advantages of writing down a magical spell on a scroll are obvious,” she began, speaking in a loud, didactic tone. “You don’t have to commit the spell to memory beforehand, and thus are able to use it at will. Writing down certain spells, particularly complex spells, permits you to keep your mind free to memorize others. The main disadvantage is the difficulty of penning the spell, far harder than pronouncing it. For in writing, not only must you pronounce the words as you write, but you must also form the letters perfectly. Any sloppiness, and the spell will not work.

  “Of course, we are not going to truly write spells today. You are not advanced enough in your studies for that. Today we will practice forming the letters. We will be writing them on wax, so you may rub out any mistakes. Thusly.”

  Lifting a stylus, Jenna pressed it into the wax, began tracing letters. Palin, who had learned all this years before and was, in fact, quite adept at preparing scrolls, paid little attention. He was angry at himself. Of course the knights would be searching for him. He had been a fool not to consider this possibility.

  Jenna nudged him with her elbow. She was regarding him sternly, pointing at the tablet.

  “There, copy down what I have written.”

  Palin took the stylus, looked at the letters, looked at them again, and finally understood what was going on. Jenna was not writing magic. He read: Dalamar told me of your coming. I have been trying to find Usha. I believe she is still in Palanthas, but I’m not certain where. There is little I can do. I am constantly watched.

  Seeing that Palin had read her message, she rubbed it out.

  Palin wrote: How will I find her?

  Usha returned: It is too dangerous for you to walk around town. The knights have us locked in a grip of iron. Patrols, checkpoints. All citizens must have the requisite papers. But don’t despair. My agent is hunting for her. He reported that he was close and that he would certainly have word today.

  “It’s awfully quiet down there,” the Gray Knight said, peering at them from the top of the stairs.

  “What do you expect? We are studying,” Jenna returned crisply.

  A tiny bell, hanging from the ceiling by a silken thread, rang three times.

  Jenna did not bother to turn around. “Is that a customer in the shop? Tell them I will be with them momentarily.”

  “I am not your servant, Madam,” said the Gray Knight caustically.

  “Feel free to leave anytime, then,” she replied, rubbing out the writing on the wax. “That may be my agent now,” she said to Palin in an undertone.

  The heavy boots of the knight could be heard, crossing the shop floor. Then, alarmingly, there was a yell and sounds of a scuffle.

  “That’s him,” Jenna said, and, rising to her feet, she hastily ascended the stairs.

  Palin was right behind her, bumped into her when she stopped at the top.

  She whispered, “Pretend you don’t know him. Say nothing. Leave the talking to me.”

  Palin, mystified, nodded. Jenna stepped into the shop.

  “What is this?” she demanded.

  “A kender,” said the Gray Knight grimly.

  “I can see that for myself,” Jenna returned.

  Palin stared, remembered—just in time—that he wasn’t supposed to know this person.

  Squirming in the hands of the knight was Tasslehoff Burrfoot.

  6

  Jenna’s agent. The goose and gander.

  Awfully fine ginger beer.

  uch, that hurts! How would you like it if someone nearly squeezed your arm off? I tell you that Mistress Jenna wants to see me. I’m her agent. Oops! Oh, my. I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean to bite you. Your hand just sort of got in the way of my teeth. Does it hurt too badly? I—Ooh! Ooh! Stop it! You’re pulling out my hair! Help! Help!”

  “For Gilean’s sake, let him go,” Jenna said.

  The knight had hold of Tas by his topknot.

  “You do not want a kender in your shop, Madam,” the knight intoned.
<
br />   “It is my shop—at least for the moment,” Jenna snapped. “Until you drive me out of business and you knights take over. For now, this is my business, and I will run it as I choose. Let the kender go!”

  The knight did so with obvious displeasure. “Very well, Madam, but you must be responsible for the consequences.”

  “If I were you, I would go upstairs to my apartment and wash out that wound,” Jenna advised. “Or perhaps you should have one of your clerics treat it. You never know, the kender might be rabid.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” the knight returned coldly. “Remember this, Madam—your shop remains open by the sufferance of the Knights of Takhisis. We could shut you down this minute if we chose, and there’s not a single person who would stop us. Indeed, quite a few of your neighbors would probably thank us. So don’t try my patience.”

  Jenna tossed her head scornfully, but did not reply. The Gray Knight trudged upstairs, wringing his injured hand. Tasslehoff winced, rubbed his head.

  “Are my eyes slanted now, like Dalamar’s? It feels like they are. He pulled so hard, he took my eyelids up with my scalp. He is not a nice man,” Tasslehoff pronounced and then, leaning close to Jenna, the kender lowered his voice. “I told a lie. I did really mean to bite him.”

  “He deserved it,” Jenna said with a smile. “But be more careful next time. My protection stretches only so far. I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail again. Did you find the necklace I am seeking?” she asked loudly, loud enough to be heard upstairs.

  Tas shifted his gaze to Palin, winked at him several times, and said, equally loudly, “Yes, Mistress Jenna. I found it! I know right where it is!”

  “You didn’t touch it, did you?” Jenna sounded anxious. “Or let the owner know that it is in any way valuable?”

  “The owner never saw me. The necklace didn’t either,” Tas added confidentially.

  Jenna frowned at this statement, shook her head. She turned to Palin. “Master Mage, we seem to be getting nowhere with our lesson today. It is time for afternoon meditation. Would you do me a favor and see if you could acquire this necklace for me? It is magic, but the owner doesn’t know this, has no idea of its true worth.”

  Palin had, by this time, figured out that the necklace must be Usha. At the thought of seeing her again, his heart beat rapidly and a pleasant, tingling sensation warmed his blood. All notions of danger disappeared, or at least got shoved well to the background.

  “I would be honored, Mistress Jenna, to obtain this necklace for you,” he said, struggling to sound indifferent, though he was near shouting in excitement. “Where is it?”

  “The kender will show you. Leave now, before I close up shop.”

  She rolled her eyes upstairs. Palin took the hint.

  He bowed silently.

  Jenna held out her hand. “Good luck,” she said softly.

  Palin, taking her hand, brought it respectfully to his lips. “Thank you, Mistress,” he whispered. He hesitated, then said quietly, “I saw the way that knight looked at you. You’re in danger here yourself.…”

  Jenna shrugged, smiled. “I am the only mage left in the city. The Conclave deems my work here important. But don’t worry, Palin Majere, I can take care of myself. Walk in Lunitari’s light.”

  “Solinari shed his grace on you, Mistress,” Palin replied.

  “Thank you, Tas,” Jenna said. She removed several valuable objects that had happened to fall off the shelves and into Tas’s pouch, and escorted him and Palin out the door.

  “I didn’t really find a necklace,” Tas said the moment they reached the street.

  “I know,” Palin said hurriedly. “But don’t say any more about it until we’re far away from here.” He proceeded down the street rapidly, looking behind every so often to make certain they were not being followed.

  “Mum’s the word.” Tas trotted along at Palin’s side. “How’s Caramon and Tika? Did the dragons burn down the inn like they did in the last war? Where’s Raistlin?”

  “Hush,” Palin said, glancing about in alarm. “Don’t mention—”

  “I had a whole lot of questions to ask Raistlin, all about being dead and everything,” Tas continued, not listening, “but Dalamar magicked me out of the tower so fast I never got to ask one. Raistlin was always very good at answering questions. Well, most always. Sometimes he wasn’t, but then he’d usually just discovered he’d lost the thing I was asking questions about, but since I most always found it for him, he didn’t need to be rude. Where did you say Raistlin went?”

  “I didn’t!” Palin said grimly. Two dark knights, walking down the street, were looking at them strangely. “Don’t mention that name! Where are we going?”

  “Oh, nowhere in particular,” Tas said evasively. “Just a little inn I found. The ginger beer is excellent.”

  “What?” Palin pulled Tas up short. “We don’t have time to stop and drink ginger beer!”

  The two knights had slowed their pace, were taking a great deal of interest in their conversation.

  “That’s mine, you little thief!” Palin grabbed hold of the first pouch he saw hanging partway out of Tas’s pocket. He discovered, to his amazement that the pouch really was his. It was one the Gray Knight had confiscated.

  “You must have dropped—” Tas began.

  The two knights laughed, shook their heads, and kept walking.

  Palin dragged the kender off into an alley. “We don’t have time to go to an inn! I’m supposed to find Usha and take her to meet Raistlin at the Great Library tonight!”

  “We will,” Tas replied. “Only we shouldn’t go until after dark. The Thieves’ Guild’s very particular about such things. I know a nice inn, not too far—”

  “Thieves’ Guild!” Palin gasped. “Are you telling me that Usha’s a … a thief?”

  “Sad, isn’t it,” Tasslehoff said, commiserating. “I was shocked to hear that myself. Stealing from people is a very wicked crime, so my mother always used to tell me, and you’d never catch me—”

  “Are you sure?” Palin asked nervously. “Maybe you’ve made a mistake.”

  “I’ll tell you how I found out, shall I? We could go to this very nice inn—”

  Two more knights walked past the alley, paused to peer down it.

  Realizing that he looked more suspicious standing in an alley talking to a kender than he would out in the open, Palin reluctantly agreed to go to the inn. The two continued through the streets of Palanthas.

  “Let’s see.” Tas thought back. “The first night I came to Palanthas, that would be the night that Raist … I mean You Know Who … let us out of the laboratory and Dalamar was so incredibly astonished and not very pleased to see us until he and You Know Who had that little confidential talk. You remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.” Palin attempted to curb his impatience. “Tell me about Usha.”

  “That’s right. Turn here, down this side street. Well, the first night I spent in jail, due to a misunderstanding with a tinker over a very fine little teapot that whistled, and I was just looking to see what they put inside to make it whistle like that, when—”

  Palin frowned.

  “—and I spent the night in jail,” Tas finished with a rush. He sighed. “The Palanthas jail isn’t what it used to be. The Knights of Takhisis are in charge now, which I thought at first might be interesting, especially if they tortured people by hanging them upside down by their heels and poking at them with red-hot rods. But they’re not. Torturing anyone, I mean. The knights are very stern and strict and were always making us line up and keep quiet and sit down and keep quiet and not move and keep quiet. And, there weren’t hardly any kender. But I’ll tell you about that later. Here’s the inn. It’s sort of shabby-looking on the outside, and it doesn’t get much better on the inside, but the ginger beer is quite good.”

  The Goose and Gander Tavern stood on a corner where two side streets met to form one point of a triangle. The tavern had been built on the triangle�
�s tip, and was, consequently, shaped like a slice of pie. Being located near a blacksmith’s shop, the tavern had acquired a layer of soot from the smithy’s fire. The brick walls, covered with withered ivy, were black with grime. An attempt had been made to wash the mullioned windows, which resulted in nothing more than smearing the dirt. The goose and gander painted on the tavern’s sign (with their necks intertwined) had once had white feathers, but now looked as if they had just emerged from a coal bin.

  “Tas, really, I’m not thirsty,” Palin said.

  Two rough-looking customers had just emerged from the tavern, wiping their bearded faces with the backs of their hands, and eyed both mage and kender with dark scowls and grim expressions.

  “Oh, yes, you are,” Tas said and, before Palin could stop him, he had clashed in through the tavern’s door.

  With an exasperated sigh, Palin went in after him.

  “No kender!” The innkeeper—an exceptionally thin man with a pale, sallow face—was glaring at Tas.

  “We’re just leaving,” Palin said, reaching out his hand to grab Tas.

  Instead, Tas caught hold of the sleeve of Palin’s robe. “The ginger beer here is awfully nice! I know!”

  The few people in the tavern were turning to stare.

  Seeing that Tas wouldn’t be budged, thinking it would be best to humor him, Palin pulled out a money pouch. “Give us a table. I’ll be responsible for the kender.”

  The innkeeper’s gaze went from the full money pouch to Palin’s white robes, which were made of fine-spun lamb’s wool. The innkeeper glowered, shrugged.

  “Pay up front and sit in the back,” the innkeeper growled. “An extra steel piece for the nuisance.”

  “This table,” Tas said, trotting through the tavern and selecting a table near the kitchen.

  It was the worst table in the place, but it was fine with Palin, who wanted to be able to talk without anyone overhearing. The clatter of plates, the shouts of the cook, the clanging of pans, and the whoosh of the bellows pumping the fire effectively covered all conversation, to the point where Palin found it difficult to hear himself.