Dragons of Autumn Twilight

by Margaret Weis

  Goldmoon smiled wearily. She patted Tanis’s arm, then started out the door, leaning on the staff that once again seemed plain and nondescript. Tanis watched her, then glanced up to see Riverwind staring at him, the barbarian’s dark face an impenetrable mask.

  “Well,” Tanis amended silently, “some of us are no longer strangers.”

  Soon everyone had gone, Tas leading the way. Tanis stood alone for a moment in the wrecked living room, staring at the bodies of the goblins. This was supposed to have been a peaceful homecoming after bitter years of solitary travel. He thought of his comfortable house. He thought of all the things he had planned to do—things he had planned to do together with Kitiara. He thought of long winter nights, with storytelling around the fire at the Inn, then returning home, laughing together beneath the fur blankets, sleeping through the snow-covered mornings.

  Tanis kicked at the smoldering coals, scattering them. Kitiara had not come back. Goblins had invaded his quiet town. He was fleeing into the night to escape a bunch of religious fanatics, with every likelihood he could never return.

  Elves do not notice the passage of time. They live for hundreds of years. For them, the seasons pass like brief rain showers. But Tanis was half human. He sensed change coming, felt the disquieting restlessness men feel before a thunderstorm.

  He sighed and shook his head. Then he went out the shattered door, leaving it swinging crazily on one hinge.

  5

  Farewell to Flint. Arrows fly.

  Message in the stars.

  Tanis swung over the porch and dropped down through the tree limbs to the ground below. The others waited, huddled in the darkness, keeping out of the light cast by street lamps swinging in the branches above them. A chill wind had sprung up, blowing out of the north. Tanis glanced behind him and saw other lights, lights of the search parties. He pulled his hood over his head and hurried forward.

  “Wind’s switched,” he said. “There’ll be rain by morning.” He looked around at the small group, seeing them in the eerie, wildly dancing light of the wind-tossed lamps. Goldmoon’s face was scarred with weariness. Riverwind’s was a stoic mask of strength, but his shoulders sagged. Raistlin, shivering, leaned against a tree, wheezing for breath.

  Tanis hunched his shoulders against the wind. “We’ve got to find shelter,” he said. “Some place to rest.”

  “Tanis—” Tas tugged on the half-elf’s cloak. “We could go by boat. Crystalmir Lake’s only a short way. There’re caves on the other side, and it will cut walking time tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good idea, Tas, but we don’t have a boat.”

  “No problem.” The kender grinned. His small face and sharply pointed ears made him look particularly impish in the eerie light. Tas is enjoying all of this immensely, Tanis realized. He felt like shaking the kender, lecturing him sternly on how much danger they were in. But the half-elf knew it was useless: kender are totally immune to fear.

  “The boat’s a good idea,” Tanis repeated, after a moment’s thought. “You guide. And don’t tell Flint,” he added. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Right!” Tas giggled, then slipped back to the others. “Follow me,” he called out softly, and he started off once more. Flint, grumbling into his beard, stumped after the kender. Goldmoon followed the dwarf. Riverwind cast a quick, penetrating glance around at everyone in the group, then fell into step behind her.

  “I don’t think he trusts us,” Caramon observed.

  “Would you?” Tanis asked, glancing at the big man. Caramon’s dragon helm glinted in the flickering lights; his ringmail armor was visible whenever the wind blew his cape back. A longsword clanked against his thick thighs, a short bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over his shoulder, a dagger protruded from his belt. His shield was battered and dented from many fights. The giant was ready for anything.

  Tanis looked over at Sturm, who proudly wore the coat of arms of a knighthood that had fallen into disgrace three hundred years before. Although Sturm was only four years older than Caramon, the knight’s strict, disciplined life, hardships brought on by poverty, and his melancholy search for his beloved father had aged the knight beyond his years. Only twenty-nine, he looked forty.

  Tanis thought, I don’t think I’d trust us either.

  “What’s the plan?” Sturm asked.

  “We’re going by boat,” Tanis answered.

  “Oh, ho!” Caramon chuckled. “Told Flint yet?”

  “No. Leave that to me.”

  “Where are we getting the boat?” Sturm asked suspiciously.

  “You’ll be happier not knowing,” the half-elf said.

  The knight frowned. His eyes followed the kender, who was far ahead of them, flitting from one shadow to another. “I don’t like this, Tanis. First we’re murderers, now we’re about to become thieves.”

  “I don’t consider myself a murderer.” Caramon snorted. “Goblins don’t count.”

  Tanis saw the knight glare at Caramon. “I don’t like any of this, Sturm,” he said hastily, hoping to avoid an argument. “But it’s a matter of necessity. Look at the Plainsmen—pride’s the only thing keeping them on their feet. Look at Raistlin …” Their eyes went to the mage, who was shuffling through the dry leaves, keeping always in the shadows. He leaned heavily upon his staff. Occasionally, a dry cough racked his frail body.

  Caramon’s face darkened. “Tanis is right,” he said softly. “Raist can’t take much more of this. I must go to him.” Leaving the knight and the half-elf, he hurried forward to catch up with the robed, bent figure of his twin.

  “Let me help you, Raist,” they heard Caramon whisper.

  Raistlin shook his hooded head and flinched away from his brother’s touch. Caramon shrugged and dropped his arm. But the big warrior stayed close to his frail brother, ready to help him if necessary.

  “Why does he put up with that?” Tanis asked softly.

  “Family. Ties of blood.” Sturm sounded wistful. He seemed about to say more, then his eyes went to Tanis’s elven face with its growth of human hair and he fell silent. Tanis saw the look, knew what the knight was thinking. Family, ties of blood—they were things the orphaned half-elf wouldn’t know about.

  “Come on,” Tanis said abruptly. “We’re dropping behind.”

  They soon left the vallenwood trees of Solace and entered the pine forest surrounding Crystalmir Lake. Tanis could faintly hear muffled shouts far behind them. “They’ve found the bodies,” he guessed. Sturm nodded gloomily. Suddenly Tasslehoff seemed to materialize out of the darkness right beneath the half-elf’s nose.

  “The trail runs a little over a mile to the lake,” Tas said. “I’ll meet you where it comes out.” He gestured vaguely, then disappeared before Tanis could say a word. The half-elf looked back at Solace. There seemed to be more lights, and they were moving in this direction. The roads were probably already blocked.

  “Where’s the kender?” Flint grumbled as they plunged through the forest.

  “Tas is meeting us at the lake,” Tanis replied.

  “Lake?” Flint’s eyes grew wide in alarm. “What lake?”

  “There’s only one lake around here, Flint,” Tanis said, trying hard not to smile at Sturm. “Come on. We’d better keep going.” His elvensight showed him the broad red outline of Caramon and the slighter red shape of his brother disappearing into the thick woods ahead.

  “I thought we were just going to lie low in the woods for a while.” Flint shoved his way past Sturm to complain to Tanis.

  “We’re going by boat.” Tanis moved forward.

  “Nope!” Flint growled. “I’m not getting in any boat!”

  “That accident happened ten years ago!” Tanis said, exasperated. “Look, I’ll make Caramon sit still.”

  “Absolutely not!” the dwarf said flatly. “No boats. I took a vow.”

  “Tanis,” Sturm’s voice whispered behind him. “Lights.”

  “Blast!” The half-elf stopped and turned. He had to wait a
moment before catching sight of lights glittering through the trees. The search had spread beyond Solace. He hurried to catch up with Caramon, Raistlin, and the Plainsmen.

  “Lights!” he called out in a piercing whisper. Caramon looked back and swore. Riverwind raised his hand in acknowledgment. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to move faster, Caramon—” Tanis began.

  “We’ll make it,” the big man said, unperturbed. He was supporting his brother now, his arm around Raistlin’s thin body, practically carrying him. Raistlin coughed softly, but he was moving. Sturm caught up with Tanis. As they forced their way through the brush, they could hear Flint, puffing along behind, muttering angrily to himself.

  “He won’t come, Tanis,” Sturm said. “Flint’s been in mortal fear of boats ever since Caramon almost accidentally drowned him that time. You weren’t there. You didn’t see him after we hauled him out.”

  “He’ll come,” Tanis said, breathing hard. “He can’t let us youngsters go off into danger without him.”

  Sturm shook his head, unconvinced.

  Tanis looked back again. He saw no lights, but he knew they were too deep in the forest now to see them. Fewmaster Toede may not have impressed anybody with his brains, but it wouldn’t take much intelligence to figure out that the group might take to the water. Tanis stopped abruptly to keep from bumping into someone. “What is it?” he whispered.

  “We’re here,” Caramon answered. Tanis breathed a sigh of relief as he stared out across the dark expanse of Crystalmir Lake. The wind whipped the water into frothy whitecaps.

  “Where’s Tas?” He kept his voice low.

  “There, I think.” Caramon pointed at a dark object floating close to shore. Tanis could barely make out the warm red outline of the kender sitting in a large boat.

  The stars gleamed with icy brightness in the blue-black sky. The red moon, Lunitari, was rising like a bloody fingernail from the water. Its partner in the night sky, Solinari, had already risen, marking the lake with molten silver.

  “What wonderful targets we’re going to make!” Sturm said irritably.

  Tanis could see Tasslehoff turning this way and that, searching for them. The half-elf reached down, fumbling for a rock in the darkness. Finding one, he lobbed it into the water. It splashed just a few yards ahead of the boat. Tas, reacting to Tanis’s signal, propelled the boat to shore.

  “You’re going to put all of us in one boat!” Flint said in horror. “You’re mad, half-elf!”

  “It’s a big boat,” Tanis said.

  “No! I won’t go. If it were one of the legendary white-winged boats of Tarsis, I still wouldn’t go! I’d rather take my chances with the Theocrat!”

  Tanis ignored the fuming dwarf and motioned to Sturm. “Get everyone loaded up. We’ll be along in a moment.”

  “Don’t take too long,” Sturm warned. “Listen.”

  “I can hear,” Tanis said grimly. “Go on.”

  “What are those sounds?” Goldmoon asked the knight as he came up to her.

  “Goblin search parties,” Sturm answered. “Those whistles keep them in contact when they’re separated. They’re moving into the woods now.”

  Goldmoon nodded in understanding. She spoke a few words to Riverwind in their own language, apparently continuing a conversation Sturm had interrupted. The big Plainsman frowned and gestured back toward the forest with his hand.

  He’s trying to convince her to split with us, Sturm realized. Maybe he’s got enough woodslore to hide from goblin search parties for days, but I doubt it.

  “Riverwind, gue-lando!” Goldmoon said sharply. Sturm saw Riverwind scowl in anger. Without a word, he turned and stalked toward the boat. Goldmoon sighed and looked after him, deep sorrow in her face.

  “Can I do anything to help, lady?” Sturm asked gently.

  “No,” she replied. Then she said sadly, as if to herself, “He rules my heart, but I am his ruler. Once, when we were young, we thought we could forget that. But I have been ‘Chieftain’s Daughter’ too long.”

  “Why doesn’t he trust us?” Sturm asked.

  “He has all the prejudices of our people,” Goldmoon replied. “The Plainsmen do not trust those who are not human.” She glanced back. “Tanis cannot hide his elven blood beneath a beard. Then there are the dwarf, the kender.”

  “And what of you, lady?” Sturm asked. “Why do you trust us? Don’t you have these same prejudices?”

  Goldmoon turned to face him. He could see her eyes, dark and shimmering as the lake behind her. “When I was a girl,” she said in her deep, low voice, “I was a princess of my people. I was a priestess. They worshiped me as a goddess. I believed in it. I adored it. Then something happened—” She fell silent, her eyes filled with memories.

  “What was that?” Sturm prompted softly.

  “I fell in love with a shepherd,” Goldmoon answered, looking at Riverwind. She sighed and walked toward the boat.

  Sturm watched Riverwind wade into the water to drag the boat closer to shore as Raistlin and Caramon reached the water’s edge. Raistlin clutched his robes around him, shivering.

  “I can’t get my feet wet,” he whispered hoarsely. Caramon did not reply. He simply put his huge arms around his brother, lifted him as easily as he would have lifted a child, and set Raistlin in the boat. The mage huddled in the aft part of the boat, not saying a word of thanks.

  “I’ll hold her steady,” Caramon told Riverwind. “You get in.” Riverwind hesitated a moment, then climbed quickly over the side. Caramon helped Goldmoon into the boat. Riverwind caught hold of her and steadied her as the boat rocked gently. The Plainsmen moved to sit in the stern, behind Tasslehoff.

  Caramon turned to Sturm as the knight drew near. “What’s happening back there?”

  “Flint says he’ll burn before he’ll get in a boat—at least then he’ll die warm instead of wet and cold.”

  “I’ll go up and haul him down here,” Caramon said.

  “You’d only make things worse. You were the one that nearly drowned him, remember? Let Tanis handle it—he’s the diplomat.”

  Caramon nodded. Both men stood, waiting in silence. Sturm saw Goldmoon look at Riverwind in mute appeal, but the Plainsman did not heed her glance. Tasslehoff, fidgeting on his seat, started to call out a shrill question, but a stern look from the knight silenced him. Raistlin huddled in his robes, trying to suppress an uncontrollable cough.

  “I’m going up there,” Sturm said finally. “Those whistles are getting closer. We don’t dare take any more time.” But at that moment, he saw Tanis shake hands with the dwarf, and begin to run toward the boat alone. Flint stayed where he was, near the edge of the woods. Sturm shook his head. “I told Tanis the dwarf wouldn’t come.”

  “Stubborn as a dwarf, so the old saying goes,” Caramon grunted. “And that one’s had one hundred and forty-eight years to grow stubborner.” The big man shook his head sadly. “Well, we’ll miss him, that’s for certain. He’s saved my life more than once. Let me go get him. One punch on the jaw and he won’t know whether he’s in a boat or his own bed.”

  Tanis ran up, panting, and heard the last comment. “No, Caramon,” he said. “Flint would never forgive us. Don’t worry about him. He’s going back to the hills. Get in the boat. There are more lights coming this way. We left a trail through the forest a blind gully dwarf could follow.”

  “No sense all of us getting wet,” Caramon said, holding the side of the boat. “You and Sturm get in. I’ll shove off.”

  Sturm was already over the side. Tanis patted Caramon on the back, then climbed in. The warrior pushed the boat out into the lake. He was up to his knees in water when they heard a call from the shore.

  “Hold it!” It was Flint, running down from the trees, a vague moving shape of blackness against the moonlit shoreline. “Hang on! I’m coming!”

  “Stop!” Tanis cried. “Caramon! Wait for Flint!”

  “Look!” Sturm half-rose, pointing. Lights had appeared in the trees, smoking
torches held by goblin guards.

  “Goblins, Flint!” Tanis yelled. “Behind you! Run!” The dwarf, never questioning, put his head down and pumped for the shore, one hand on his helm to keep it from flying off.

  “I’ll cover him,” Tanis said, unslinging his bow. With his elven sight, he was the only one who could see the goblins behind the torches. Fitting an arrow to his bow, Tanis stood as Caramon held the big boat steady. Tanis fired at the outline of the lead goblin. The arrow struck it in the chest and it pitched forward on its face. The other goblins slowed slightly, reaching for their own bows. Tanis fitted another arrow to his bow as Flint reached the shoreline.

  “Wait! I’m coming!” the dwarf gasped and he plunged into the water and sank like a rock.

  “Grab him!” Sturm yelled. “Tas, row back. There he is! See? The bubbles—” Caramon was splashing frantically in the water, hunting for the dwarf. Tas tried to row back, but the weight in the boat was too much for the kender. Tanis fired again, missed his mark, and swore beneath his breath. He reached for another arrow. The goblins were swarming down the hillside.

  “I’ve got him!” Caramon shouted, pulling the dripping, spluttering dwarf out by the collar of his leather tunic. “Quit struggling,” he told Flint, whose arms were flailing out in all directions. But the dwarf was in a complete state of panic. A goblin arrow thunked into Caramon’s chain mail and stuck there like a scrawny feather.

  “That does it!” The warrior grunted in exasperation and, with a great heave of his muscular arms, he pitched the dwarf into the boat as it moved out away from him. Flint caught hold of a seat and held on, his lower half sticking out over the edge. Sturm grabbed him by the belt and dragged him aboard as the boat rocked alarmingly. Tanis nearly lost his balance and was forced to drop his bow and catch hold of the side to keep from being thrown into the water. A goblin arrow stuck into the gunwale, just barely missing Tanis’s hand.

  “Row back to Caramon, Tas!” Tanis yelled.

  “I can’t!” shouted the struggling kender. One swipe of an out-of-control oar nearly knocked Sturm overboard.