Dragons of Autumn Twilight

by Margaret Weis

  Tanis and Laurana.

  Laurana led them to a sun-dappled grove of aspens in the very center of the city. Here, though surrounded by buildings and streets, they seemed to be in the heart of a forest. Only the murmurings of a nearby brook broke the stillness. Laurana, gesturing toward fruit trees among the aspens, told the companions to pick and eat their fill. Elfmaids brought in baskets of fresh, fragrant bread. The companions washed in the brook, then returned to relax on soft moss beds to revel in the silent peacefulness around them.

  All except Tanis. Refusing food, the half-elf wandered around the grove, absorbed in his own thoughts. Tasslehoff watched him closely, eaten alive by curiosity.

  Laurana was a perfect, charming hostess. She made certain everyone was seated and comfortable, speaking a few words to each of them.

  “Flint Fireforge, isn’t it?” she said. The dwarf flushed with pleasure. “I still have some of the wonderful toys you made me. We have missed you, these many years.”

  So flustered he couldn’t talk, Flint plopped down on the grass and gulped down a huge mug of water.

  “You are Tika?” Laurana asked, stopping by the barmaid.

  “Tika Waylan,” the girl said huskily.

  “Tika, what a pretty name. And what beautiful hair you have,” Laurana said, reaching out to touch the bouncy red curls admiringly.

  “Do you think so?” Tika said, blushing, seeing Caramon’s eyes on her.

  “Of course! It is the color of flame. You must have a spirit to match. I heard how you saved my brother’s life in the Inn, Tika. I am deeply indebted to you.”

  “Thank you,” Tika answered softly. “Your hair is real pretty, too.”

  Laurana smiled and moved on. Tasslehoff noticed, however, that her eyes constantly strayed to Tanis. When the halfelf suddenly threw down an apple and disappeared into the trees, Laurana excused herself hurriedly and followed.

  “Ah, now I’ll find out what’s going on!” Tas said to himself. Glancing around, he slipped after Tanis.

  Tas crept along the winding trail among the trees and suddenly came upon the half-elf standing beside the foaming stream alone, tossing dead leaves into the water. Seeing movement to his left, Tas quickly crouched down into a clump of bushes as Laurana emerged from another trail.

  “Tanthalas Quisif nan-Pah!” she called.

  As Tanis turned at the sound of his elven name, she flung her arms around his neck, kissing him. “Ugh,” she said teasingly, pulling back. “Shave off that horrible beard. It itches! And you don’t look like Tanthalas anymore.”

  Tanis put his hands to her waist and gently pushed her away. “Laurana—” he began.

  “No, don’t be mad about the beard. I’ll learn to like it, if you insist,” Laurana pleaded, pouting. “Kiss me back. No? Then I’ll kiss you until you cannot help yourself.” She kissed him again until finally Tanis broke free of her grip.

  “Stop it, Laurana,” he said harshly, turning away.

  “Why, what’s the matter?” she asked, catching hold of his hand. “You’ve been gone so many years. And now you’re back. Don’t be cold and gloomy. You are my betrothed, remember? It is proper for a girl to kiss her betrothed.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Tanis said. “We were children, then, playing a game, nothing more. It was romantic, a secret to share. You know what would have happened if your father had found out. Gilthanas did find out, didn’t he?”

  “Of course! I told him,” Laurana said, hanging her head, looking up at Tanis through her long eyelashes. “I tell Gilthanas everything, you know that. I didn’t think he’d react like that! I know what he said to you. He told me later. He felt badly.”

  “I’ll bet he did.” Tanis gripped her wrists, holding her hands still. “What he said was true, Laurana! I am a bastard half-breed. Your father would have every right to kill me! How could I bring disgrace down on him, after what he did for my mother and me? That was one reason I left—that and to find out who I am and where I belong.”

  “You are Tanthalas, my beloved, and you belong here!” Laurana cried. She broke free of his grip and caught his hands in her own. “Look! You wear my ring still. I know why you left. It was because you were afraid to love me, but you don’t need to be, not anymore. Everything’s changed. Father has so much to worry about, he won’t mind. Besides, you’re a hero now. Please, let us be married. Isn’t that why you came back?”

  “Laurana,” Tanis spoke gently but firmly—“my returning was an accident—”

  “No!” she cried, pushing him away. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You must have heard Gilthanas’s story. If Porthios had not rescued us, we would have been in Pax Tharkas now!”

  “He made it up! He didn’t want to tell me the truth. You came back because you love me. I won’t listen to anything else.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you, but I see that I must,” Tanis said, exasperated. “Laurana, I’m in love with someone else—a human woman. Her name is Kitiara. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, too. I do—” Tanis faltered.

  Laurana stared at him, all color drained from her face.

  “I do love you, Laurana. But, you see, I can’t marry you, because I love her, too. My heart is divided, just like my blood.” He took off the ring of golden ivy leaves and handed it to her. “I release you from any promises you made to me, Laurana. And I ask you to release me.”

  Laurana took the ring, unable to speak. She looked at Tanis pleadingly, then, seeing only pity in his face, shrieked and flung the ring away from her. It fell at Tas’s feet. He picked it up and slipped it into a pouch.

  “Laurana,” Tanis said sorrowfully, taking her in his arms as she sobbed wildly. “I’m so sorry. I never meant—”

  At this point, Tasslehoff slipped out of the brush and made his way back up the trail.

  “Well,” said the kender to himself, sighing in satisfaction—“now at least I know what’s going on.”

  Tanis awoke suddenly to find Gilthanas standing over him. “Laurana?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  “She is all right,” Gilthanas said quietly. “Her maidens brought her home. She told me what you said. I just want you to know I understand. It was what I feared all along. The human half of you cries to other humans. I tried to tell her, hoping she wouldn’t get hurt. She will listen to me now. Thank you, Tanthalas. I know it cannot have been easy.”

  “It wasn’t,” Tanis said, swallowing. “I’m going to be honest, Gilthanas—I love her, I really do. It’s just that—”

  “Please, say no more. Let us leave it as it is and perhaps, if we cannot be friends, we can at least respect each other.” Gilthanas’s face was drawn and pale in the setting sun. “You and your friends must prepare yourselves. When the silver moon rises, there will be a feast, and then the High Council meeting. Now is the time when decisions must be made.”

  He left. Tanis stared after him a moment, then, sighing, went to wake the others.

  7

  Farewell. The companions’ decision.

  The feast held in Qualinost reminded Goldmoon of her mother’s funeral banquet. Like the feast, the funeral was supposed to be a joyous occasion—after all, Tearsong had become a goddess. But the people found it difficult to accept the death of this beautiful woman. And so the Que-shu mourned her passing with a grief that approached blasphemy.

  Tearsong’s funeral banquet was the most elaborate to be given in the memory of the Que-shu. Her grieving husband had spared no expense. Like the banquet in Qualinost on this night, there was a great deal of food which few could eat. There were half-hearted attempts at conversation when no one wanted to talk. Occasionally someone, overcome with sorrow, was forced to leave the table.

  So vivid was this memory that Goldmoon could eat little; the food was ash in her mouth. Riverwind regarded her with concern. His hand found hers beneath the table and she gripped it hard, smiling as his strength flowed into her body.

  The elven feast was held in the courtyard just
south of the great golden tower. There were no walls about the platform of crystal and marble which sat atop the highest hill in Qualinost, offering an unobstructed view of the glittering city below, the dark forest beyond, and even the deep purple edge of the Tharkadan Mountains far to the south. But the beauty was lost on those in attendance, or made more poignant by the knowledge that soon it would be gone forever. Goldmoon sat at the right hand of the Speaker. He tried to make polite conversation, but eventually his worries and concerns overwhelmed him and he fell silent.

  To the Speaker’s left sat his daughter, Laurana. She made no pretense at eating, just sat with her head bowed, her long hair flowing around her face. When she did look up, it was to gaze at Tanis, her heart in her eyes.

  The half-elf, very much aware of the heart-broken stare as well as of Gilthanas eyeing him coldly, ate his food without appetite, his eyes fixed on his plate. Sturm, next to him, was drawing up in his mind plans for the defense of Qualinesti.

  Flint felt strange and out of place as dwarves always feel among elves. He didn’t like elven food anyway and refused everything. Raistlin nibbled at his food absently, his golden eyes studying Fizban. Tika, feeling awkward and out of place among the graceful elven women, couldn’t eat a morsel. Caramon decided he knew why elves were so slender: the food consisted of fruits and vegetables, cooked in delicate sauces, served with bread and cheeses and a very light, spicy wine. After starving for four days in the cage, the food did nothing to satisfy the big warrior’s hunger.

  The only two in the entire city of Qualinost to enjoy the feast were Tasslehoff and Fizban. The old magician carried on a one-sided argument with an aspen, while Tasslehoff simply enjoyed everything, discovering later—to his surprise—that two golden spoons, a silver knife, and a butter dish made of a seashell had wandered into one of his pouches.

  The red moon was not visible. Solinari, a slim band of silver in the sky, began to wane. As the first stars appeared, the Speaker of the Suns nodded sadly at his son. Gilthanas rose and moved to stand next to his father’s chair.

  Gilthanas began to sing. The elven words flowed into a melody delicate and beautiful. As he sang, Gilthanas held a small crystal lamp in both hands, the candlelight within illuminating his marble features. Tanis, listening to the song, closed his eyes; his head sank into his hands.

  “What is it? What do the words mean?” Sturm asked softly.

  Tanis raised his head. His voice breaking, he whispered:

  The Sun

  The splendid eye

  Of all our heavens

  Dives from the day,

  And leaves

  The dozing sky,

  Spangled with fireflies,

  Deepening in gray.

  The elves about the table stood quietly now, taking up their own lamps as they joined in the song. Their voices blended, weaving a haunting song of infinite sadness.

  Now Sleep,

  Our oldest friend,

  Lulls in the trees

  And calls

  Us in.

  The Leaves

  Give off cold fire,

  They blaze into ash

  At the end of the year.

  And birds

  Coast on the winds,

  And wheel to the North

  When Autumn ends.

  The day grows dark,

  The seasons bare,

  But we

  Await the sun’s

  Green fire upon

  The trees.

  Points of flickering lantern light spread from the courtyard like ripples in a still, calm pond, through the streets, into the forests and beyond. And, with each lamp lit, another voice was raised in song, until the surrounding forest itself seemed to sing with despair.

  The wind

  Dives through the days.

  By season, by moon

  Great kingdoms arise.

  The breath

  Of firefly, of bird,

  Of trees, of mankind

  Fades in a word.

  Now Sleep,

  Our oldest friend,

  Lulls in the trees

  And calls

  Us in.

  The Age,

  The thousand lives

  Of men and their stories

  Go to their graves.

  But We,

  The people long

  In poem and glory

  Fade from the song.

  Gilthanas’s voice died away. With a gentle breath, he blew out the flame of his lamp. One by one, as they had started, the others around the table ended the song and blew out their candles. All through Qualinost, the voices hushed and the flames were extinguished until it seemed that silence and darkness swept over the land. At the very end, only the distant mountains returned the final chords of the song, like the whispering of leaves falling to the ground.

  The Speaker stood.

  “And now,” he said heavily, “it is time for the meeting of the High Council. It will be held in the Hall of the Sky. Tanthalas, if you will lead your companions there.”

  The Hall of the Sky, they discovered, was a huge square, lit by torches. The giant dome of the heavens, glittering with stars, arched above it. But it was dark to the north where lightning played on the horizon. The Speaker motioned to Tanis to bring the companions to stand near him, then the entire population of Qualinost gathered around them. There was no need to call for silence. Even the wind hushed as the Speaker began.

  “Here you see our situation.” He gestured at something on the ground. The companions saw a gigantic map beneath their feet. Tasslehoff, standing in the middle of the Plains of Abanasinia, drew in a deep breath. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anything so wonderful.

  “There’s Solace!” he cried in excitement, pointing.

  “Yes, Kenderkin,” the Speaker replied. “And that is where the dragonarmies mass. In Solace”—he touched the spot on the map with a staff—“and in Haven. Lord Verminaard has made no secret of his plans to invade Qualinesti. He waits only to gather his forces and secure his supply routes. We cannot hope to stand against such a horde.”

  “Surely Qualinost is easily defended,” Sturm spoke up. “There is no direct route overland. We crossed bridges over ravines that no army in existence could get through if the bridges were cut. Why do you not stand up to them?”

  “If it were only an army, we could defend Qualinesti,” the Speaker answered. “But what can we do against dragons?” The Speaker spread his hands helplessly. “Nothing! According to legends, it was only with the Dragonlance that the mighty Huma defeated them. There are none now—at least that we know of—who remember the secret of that great weapon.”

  Fizban started to speak, but Raistlin hushed him.

  “No,” the Speaker continued, “we must abandon this city and these woods. We plan to go west, into the unknown lands there, hoping to find a new home for our people—or perhaps even return to Silvanesti, the most ancient elvenhome. Until a week ago, our plans were advancing well. It will take three days of forced marching for the Dragon Highlord to move his men into attack position, and spies will inform us when the army leaves Solace. We will have time to escape into the west. But then we learned of a third dragonarmy at Pax Tharkas, less than a day’s journey from us. Unless that army is stopped, we are doomed.”

  “And you know a way to stop that army?” Tanis asked.

  “Yes.” The Speaker looked at his youngest son. “As you know, men from Gateway and Solace and surrounding communities are being held prisoner in the fortress of Pax Tharkas, working as slaves for the Dragon Highlord. Verminaard is clever. Lest his slaves revolt, he keeps the women and children of these men hostages, ransom for the men’s behavior. It is our belief that, were these captives freed, the men would turn on their masters and destroy them. It was to have been Gilthanas’s mission to free the hostages and lead the revolt. He would have taken the humans south into the mountains, drawing off this third army in pursuit, allowing us time to escape.”

  “And what of t
he humans then?” Riverwind asked harshly. “It seems to me you throw them to the dragonarmies as a desperate man throws hunks of meat to pursuing wolves.”

  “Lord Verminaard will not keep them alive much longer, we fear. The ore is nearly gone. He is gleaning every last little bit, then the slaves’ usefulness to him will end. There are valleys in the mountains, caves where the humans can live and fend off the dragonarmies. They can easily hold the mountain passes against them, especially now that winter is setting in. Admittedly, some may die, but that is a price that must be paid. If you had the choice, man of the Plains, would you rather die in slavery or die fighting?”

  Riverwind, not answering, stared down at the map darkly.

  “Gilthanas’s mission failed,” Tanis said, “and now you want us to try and lead the revolt?”

  “Yes, Tanthalas,” the Speaker replied. “Gilthanas knows a way into Pax Tharkas—the Sla-Mori. He can lead you into the fortress. You not only have a chance to free your own kind, but you offer the elves a chance to escape”—the Speaker’s voice hardened—“a chance to live that many elves were not given when humans brought the Cataclysm down upon us!”

  Riverwind glanced up, scowling. Even Sturm’s expression darkened. The Speaker drew a deep breath, then sighed. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I do not mean to flog you with whips from the past. We are not uncaring about the humans’ plight. I send my son, Gilthanas, with you willingly, knowing that—if we part—we may never see each other again. I make this sacrifice, so that my people—and yours—may live.”

  “We must have time to consider,” Tanis said, though he knew what his decision must be. The Speaker nodded and elven warriors cleared a path through the crowd, leading the companions to a grove of trees. Here, they left them alone.

  Tanis’s friends stood before him, their solemn faces masks of light and shadow beneath the stars. All this time, he thought, I have fought to keep us together. Now I see that we must separate. We cannot risk taking the Disks into Pax Tharkas, and Goldmoon will not leave them behind.