“They buried someone alive in there!” a girl screamed.
The crowd surged forward.
“Keep back!” Gerard shouted, drawing his sword. “This is holy ground! Any who desecrates it will be arrested! Randolph, go and get reinforcements! We need to clear this area.”
“I suppose it could be a ghost,” his fellow Knight speculated, his eyes glowing with awe. “A ghost of one of the fallen Heroes come back to warn us of dire peril.”
Gerard snorted. “You’ve been listening to too many bards’ tales! It’s nothing more than one of these filthy little vermin who’s got himself inside there and can’t get out. I have the key to the fence, but I have no idea how to open the tomb.”
The banging on the door was growing louder.
The Knight cast Gerard a disgusted glance. “I will go fetch the provost. He’ll know what to do.”
Randolph pelted off, holding his sword to his side to keep it from clanking against his armor.
“Get away! Move aside!” Gerard ordered in firm tones.
He drew out the key and, putting his back against the gate, keeping his face to the crowd, he fumbled around behind his back until he managed to fit the key into the lock. Hearing it click, he opened the gate, much to the delight of the crowd, several of whom endeavored to push through. Gerard walloped the boldest with the flat of his sword, drove them back a few moments, time enough for him to hastily dodge inside the fence gate and slam it shut behind him.
The crowd of humans and kender pressed in around the fence. Children poked their heads through the bars, promptly got their heads stuck, and began to wail. Some climbed the bars in a futile attempt to crawl over, while others thrust their hands and arms and legs inside for no logical reason that Gerard could see, which only went to prove what he’d long suspected—that his fellow mortals were ninnies.
The Knight made certain the gate was locked and secure and then walked over to the tomb, intending to post himself at the entrance until the Provost came with some means of breaking the seal.
He was climbing the marble and obsidian stairs when he heard the voice say cheerfully, “Oh, never mind. I’ve got it!”
A loud snick, as of a lock being tripped, and the doors to the tomb began to slowly creak open.
The crowd gasped in thrilled horror and crowded nearer the fence, each trying to get the best view possible of the Knight being ripped apart by hordes of skeletal warriors.
A figure emerged from the tomb. It was dusty, dirty, its hair windswept, its clothes in disarray and singed, its pouches rather mangled and worse for wear. But it wasn’t a skeleton. It wasn’t a blood-sucking vampire or an emaciated ghoul.
It was a kender.
The crowd groaned in disappointment.
The kender peered out into the bright sunlight and blinked, half-blinded. “Hullo,” he said. “I’m—” The kender paused to sneeze. “Sorry. It’s extremely dusty in there. Someone should really do something about that. Do you have a handkerchief? I seem to have mislaid mine. Well, it actually belonged to Tanis, but I don’t suppose he’ll be wanting it back now that he’s dead. Where am I?”
“Under arrest,” said Gerard. Laying firm hands upon the kender, the Knight hauled him down the stairs.
Understandably disappointed that they weren’t going to witness a battle between the Knight and the undead, the crowd returned to their picnics and playing goblin ball.
“I recognize this place,” said the kender, staring about instead of watching where he was going and consequently tripping himself. “I’m in Solace. Good! That’s where I meant to come. My name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot, and I’m here to speak at the funeral of Caramon Majere, so if you could just take me to the Inn quickly, I really do have to get back. You see, there’s this giant foot about to come down—blam! right on top of me, and that’s something I don’t want to miss, and now then—”
Gerard put the key into the gate lock, turned it, and opened the gate. He gave the kender a shove that sent him sprawling. “The only place you’re going is off to jail. You’ve done enough mischief already.”
The kender picked himself up cheerfully, not at all angry or disconcerted. “Awfully nice of you to find me a place to spend the night. Not that I’ll be here that long. I’ve come to speak …” He paused. “Did I mention that I was Tasslehoff Burrfoot?”
Gerard grunted, not interested. He took firm hold of the kender and stood waiting with him until someone came to take the little bastard off his hands.
“The Tasslehoff,” said the kender.
Gerard cast a weary glance out over the crowd and shouted, “Everyone named Tasslehoff Burrfoot raise his hand!”
Thirty-seven hands shot up in the air, and two dogs barked.
“Oh, my!” said the kender, clearly taken aback.
“You can see why I’m not impressed,” said Gerard and searched hopefully for some sign that relief was on the way.
“I don’t suppose it would matter if I told you that I was the original Tasslehoff … No, I guess not.” The kender sighed and stood fidgeting in the hot sun. His hand, strictly out of boredom, found its way into Gerard’s money pouch, but Gerard was prepared for that and gave the kender a swift and nasty crack across the knuckles.
The kender sucked his bruised hand. “What’s all this?” He looked around at the people larking and frolicking upon the lawn. “What are these people doing here? Why aren’t they attending Caramon’s funeral? It’s the biggest event Solace has ever seen!”
“Probably because Caramon Majere is not dead yet,” said Gerard caustically. “Where is that good-for-nothing provost?”
“Not dead?” The kender stared. “Are you sure?”
“I had breakfast with him myself this very morning,” Gerard replied.
“Oh, no!” The kender gave a heartbroken wail and slapped himself on the forehead. “I’ve gone and goofed it up again! And I don’t suppose that now I’ve got time to try it a third time. What with the giant foot and all.” He began to rummage about in his pouch. “Still, I guess I had better try. Now, where did I put that device—”
Gerard glowered around as he tightened his grip on the collar of the kender’s dusty jacket. The thirty-seven kender named Tasslehoff had all come over to meet number thirty-eight.
“The rest of you, clear out!” Gerard waved his hand as if he were shooing chickens.
Naturally, the kender ignored him. Though extremely disappointed that Tasslehoff hadn’t turned out to be a shambling zombie, the kender were interested to hear where he’d been, what he’d seen and what he had in his pouches.
“Want some Midyear Day’s cake?” asked a pretty female kender.
“Why, thank you. This is quite good. I—” The kender’s eyes opened wide. He tried to say something, couldn’t speak for the cake in his mouth, and ended up half choking himself. His fellow kender obligingly pounded him on the back. He bolted the cake, coughed, and gasped out, “What day is this?”
“Midyear’s Day!” cried everyone.
“Then I haven’t missed it!” the kender shouted triumphantly. “In fact, this is better than I could have hoped! I’ll get to tell Caramon what I’m going to say at his funeral tomorrow! He’ll probably find it extremely interesting.”
The kender looked up into the sky. Spotting the position of the sun, which was about half-way down, heading for the horizon, he said, “Oh, dear. I don’t have all that much time. If you’ll just excuse me, I had best be running.”
And run he did, leaving Gerard standing flat-footed on the grassy lawn, a kender jacket in his hand.
Gerard spent one baffled moment wondering how the imp had managed to wriggle out of his jacket, yet still retain all his pouches, which were jouncing and bouncing as he ran, spilling their contents to the delight of the thirty-seven Tasslehoffs. Concluding that this was a phenomenon that, much like the departure of the gods, he would never understand, Gerard was about to run after the errant kender, when he remembered that he could not leave his post
unguarded.
At this juncture, the provost came into sight, accompanied by an entire detail of Solamnic Knights solemnly arrayed in their best armor to welcome back the returning Heroes, for this is what they had understood they were going to be meeting.
“Just a kender, sir,” Gerard explained. “Somehow he managed to get himself locked inside the tomb. He let himself out. He got away from me, but I think I know where he’s headed.”
The provost, a stout man who loved his ale, turned very red in the face. The Knights looked extremely foolish—the kender were now dancing around them in a circle—and all looked very black at Gerard, whom they clearly blamed for the entire incident.
“Let them,” Gerard muttered, and dashed off after his prisoner.
The kender had a good head start. He was quick and nimble and accustomed to fleeing pursuit. Gerard was strong and a swift runner, but he was encumbered by his heavy, ceremonial armor, which clanked and rattled and jabbed him uncomfortably in several tender areas. He would likely have never even caught sight of the felon had not the kender stopped at several junctures to look around in amazement, demanding loudly to know, “Where did this come from?” staring at a newly built garrison, and, a little farther on, “What are all these doing here?” This in reference to the refugee housing. And “Who put that there?” This to a large sign posted by the town fathers proclaiming that Solace was a town in good standing and had paid its tribute to the dragon and was therefore a safe place to visit.
The kender seemed extremely disconcerted by the sign. He stood before it, eyeing it severely. “That can’t stay there,” he said loudly. “It will block the path of the funeral procession.”
Gerard thought he had him at this point, but the kender gave a bound and a leap and dashed off again. Gerard was forced to halt to catch his breath. Running in the heavy armor in the heat caused his head to swim and sent little shooting stars bursting across his vision. He was close to the Inn, however, and he had the grim satisfaction of seeing the kender dash up the stairs and through the front door.
“Good,” Gerard thought grimly. “I have him.”
Removing his helm, he tossed it to the ground, and leaned back against the signpost until his breathing returned to normal, while he watched the stairs to make certain the kender didn’t depart. Acting completely against regulations, Gerard divested himself of the pieces of armor that were chafing him the worst, wrapped them in his cloak, and stashed the bundle in a dark corner of the Inn’s woodshed. He then walked over to the community water barrel and plunged the gourd deep into the water. The barrel stood in a shady spot beneath one of the vallenwoods. The water was cool and sweet. Gerard kept one eye on the door of the Inn and, lifting the dipper, dumped the water over his head.
The water trickled down his neck and breast, wonderfully refreshing. He took a long drink, slicked back his hair, wiped his face, picked up his helm and, tucking it beneath his arm, made the long ascent up the stairs to the Inn. He could hear the kender’s voice quite clearly. Judging by his formal tones and unnaturally deep voice, the kender appeared to be making a speech.
“ ‘Caramon Majere was a very great hero. He fought dragons and undead and goblins and hobgoblins and ogres and draconians and lots of others I can’t remember. He traveled back in time with this very device—right here, this very device—’ ” The kender resumed normal speech for a moment to say, “Then I show the crowd the device, Caramon. I’d show you that part, but I can’t quite seem to find it right now. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone touch it. Now, where was I?”
A pause and the sound of paper rustling.
Gerard continued climbing the stairs. He had never truly noticed just how many stairs there were before. His legs, already aching and stiff from running, burned, his breath came short. He wished he’d taken off all his armor. He was chagrined to see how far he’d let himself go. His formerly strong athlete’s body was soft as a maiden’s. He stopped on the landing to rest and heard the kender launch back into his speech.
“ ‘Caramon Majere traveled back in time. He saved Lady Crysania from the Abyss.’ She’ll be here, Caramon. She’ll fly here on the back of a silver dragon. Goldmoon will be here, too, and Riverwind will come and their beautiful daughters and Silvanoshei, the king of the United Elven Nations, will be here, along with Gilthas, the new ambassador to the United Human Nations, and, of course, Laurana. Even Dalamar will be here! Think of that, Caramon! The Head of the Conclave coming to your funeral. He’ll be standing right over there next to Palin, who’s head of the White Robes, but then I guess you already know that, him being your son and all. At least, I think that’s where they were standing. The last time I was here for your funeral I came after it was all over and everyone was going home. I heard about it later from Palin, who said that they were sorry. If they’d known I was coming they would have waited. I felt a bit insulted, but Palin said that they all thought I was dead, which I am, of course, only not at the moment. And because I missed your funeral the first time, that’s why I had to try to hit it again.”
Gerard groaned. Not only did he have to deal with a kender, he had to deal with a mad kender. Probably one of those who claimed to be “afflicted.” He felt badly for Caramon, hoped the old man wasn’t too upset by this incident. Caramon would probably be understanding. For reasons passing Gerard’s comprehension, Caramon seemed to have a soft spot for the little nuisances.
“So anyway my speech goes on,” the kender said. “ ‘Caramon Majere did all these things and more. He was a great hero and a great warrior, but do you know what he did best?’ ” The kender’s voice softened. “ ‘He was a great friend. He was my friend, my very best friend in all of the world. I came back—or rather I came forward—to say this because I think it’s important, and Fizban thought it was important, too, which is why he let me come. It seems to me that being a great friend is more important than being a great hero or a great warrior. Being a good friend is the most important thing there is. Just think, if everyone in the world were great friends, then we wouldn’t be such terrible enemies. Some of you here are enemies now—’ I look at Dalamar at this point, Caramon. I look at him very sternly, for he’s done some things that haven’t been at all nice. And then I go on and say, ‘But you people are here today because you were friends with this one man and he was your friend, just like he was mine. And so maybe when we lay Caramon Majere to rest, we will each leave his grave with friendlier feelings toward everyone. And maybe that will be the beginning of peace.’ And then I bow and that’s the end. What do you think?”
Gerard arrived in the doorway in time to see the kender jump down off a table, from which vantage point he’d been delivering his speech, and run over to stand in front of Caramon. Laura was wiping her eyes on the corners of her apron. Her gully dwarf helper blubbered shamelessly in a corner, while the Inn’s patrons were applauding wildly and banging their mugs on the table, shouting, “Hear, hear!”
Caramon Majere sat in one of the high-backed booths. He was smiling, a smile touched by the last golden rays of the sun, rays that seem to have slipped into the Inn on purpose just to say goodnight.
“I’m sorry this had to happen, sir,” said Gerard, walking inside. “I didn’t realize he would trouble you. I’ll take him away now.”
Caramon reached out his hand and stroked the kender’s topknot, the hair of which was standing straight up, like the fur of a startled cat.
“He’s not bothering me. I’m glad to see him again. That part about friendship was wonderful, Tas. Truly wonderful. Thank you.”
Caramon frowned, shook his head. “But I don’t understand the rest of what you said, Tas. All about the United Elven Nations and Riverwind coming to the Inn when he’s been dead these many years. Something’s peculiar here. I’ll have to think about it.” Caramon stood up from the booth and headed toward the door. “I’ll just be taking my evening walk, now, Laura.”
“Your dinner will be waiting when you come back, Father,” she said. Smoothing he
r apron, she shook the gully dwarf, ordered him to pull himself together and get back to work.
“Don’t think about it too long, Caramon,” Tas called out. “Because of … well, you know.”
He looked up at Gerard, who had laid a firm hand on the kender’s shoulder, getting a good grip on flesh and bone this time.
“It’s because he’s going to be dead pretty soon,” Tas said in a loud whisper. “I didn’t like to mention that. It would have been rude, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re going to spend the next year in prison,” said Gerard sternly.
Caramon Majere stood at the top of the stairs. “Yes, Tika, dear. I’m coming,” he said. Putting his hand over his heart, he pitched forward, headfirst.
The kender tore himself free of Gerard, flung himself to the floor, and burst into tears.
Gerard moved swiftly, but he was too late to halt Caramon’s fall. The big man tumbled and rolled down the stairs of his beloved Inn. Laura screamed. The patrons cried out in shock and alarm. People in the street, seeing Caramon falling, began to run toward the Inn.
Gerard dashed down the stairs as fast as ever he could and was the first to reach Caramon. He feared to find the big man in terrible pain, for he must have broken every bone in his body. Caramon did not appear to be suffering however. He had already left mortal cares and pain behind, his spirit lingering only long enough to say good-bye. Laura threw herself beside him on the ground. Taking hold of his hand, she held it pressed to her lips.
“Don’t cry, my dear,” he said softly, smiling. “Your mother’s here with me. She’ll take good care of me. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Laura sobbed. “Don’t leave me yet!”
Caramon’s eyes glanced around at the townspeople who had gathered. He smiled and gave a little nod. He continued to search through the crowd and he frowned.
“But where’s Raistlin?” he asked.
Laura looked startled, but said, brokenly, “Father, your brother’s been dead a long, long time—”
Dragons of a Fallen Sun Page 8