Palin regarded the kender with deepening gravity, then suddenly and unexpectedly he smiled. The smile was not quite a whole smile, more a quarter-smile, for it lifted the corners of his thin lips and didn’t come anywhere near his unhappy eyes, but it was a start.
“That is true, Tas,” he said. “You do have the device. You know yourself what is right. You know that you made a promise to Fizban and that he trusted you to keep that promise.”
Palin paused, then said quietly. “Were you aware, Tas, that Caramon spoke at your funeral?”
“He did?” Tas was astonished. “I didn’t even know I had a funeral! I just figured there probably wouldn’t be much of me left, except a bit of goo between the giant’s toes. What did Caramon say? Was there a big turnout? Did Jenna bring cheese puffs?”
“There was an immense turnout,” Palin said. “People came from all over Ansalon to pay their respects to a heroic kender. As for my father, he called you ‘a kender among kender.’ He said that you exemplifed all that was best in the kender race: you were noble, self-sacrificing, brave, and, above all, honorable.”
“Maybe Caramon was wrong about me,” Tas said uneasily, glancing at Palin out of the corner of his eyes.
“Maybe he was,” Palin said.
Tas didn’t like the way Palin was looking at him, as if he were shriveling into something icky, like a squished cockroach. He didn’t know what to do or say—an unusual feeling for him. He couldn’t recall ever having had this feeling before, and he hoped he never would again. The silence grew stretched, until Tas was afraid that if one of them let loose, the silence would snap back and smack someone in the face. He was therefore quite thankful when a commotion sounded on the stairs, distracting Palin and easing the tense silence.
“First Master!” Lady Camilla called. “We thought we heard your voice. Someone said they saw a kender come up here—”
Reaching the head of the stairs, she caught sight of Goldmoon.
“First Master!” The Knight stopped dead in her tracks and stared. The Citadel guards bunched up behind her, staring and gaping.
This was Tas’s opportunity to head for freedom again. No one would try to stop him. No one was paying the least attention to him. He could slip past them all and run away. Almost certainly the gnome Conundrum had some sort of sailing vessel. Gnomes always had sailing vessels. Sometimes they had flying vessels, as well, and sometimes they had vessels that both flew and sailed, although this generally resulted in an explosion.
Yes, thought Tas, eyeing the stairs and the people standing there with their mouths open. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go. Right now. I’m running. Any moment now. My feet will start to run.
But his feet had other ideas, apparently, because they stayed pretty much firmly attached to the floor.
Perhaps his feet were thinking the same thing as his head. His head was thinking about what Caramon had said. Those words were almost the very same words he’d heard people say about Sturm Brightblade, about Tanis Half-Elven. And they’d said those words about him! Tasslehoff Burrfoot! He felt a warm glow in the vicinity of his heart, and, at the same time, he felt another kind of glow around his stomach. A much more uncomfortable glow, a sort of gurgling glow, as if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him. He wondered if it could be the oatmeal.
“Excuse me, Goldmoon,” Tas said, interrupting the gaping and staring and general stupidity that was taking place around him. “Do you think I could go inside your room and lie down? I’m not feeling very well.”
Goldmoon drew herself up. Her face was pale, cold. Her voice was bitter. “I knew it would be like this. I knew you would look upon me as some sort of sideshow at a fair.”
“Forgive me, First Master,” Lady Camilla said, her own face crimson with shame. She lowered her gaze. “I beg your pardon. It’s just … this miracle …”
“It is not a miracle!” Goldmoon said in sharp tones. She lifted her head and something of her regal presence, her noble spirit, flashed from her. “I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused, Lady Camilla. I know that I have brought pain to many. Please carry word to all in the Citadel that they need worry for me no longer. I am well. I will come among them presently, but first I want to speak to my friends in private.”
“Of course, I will be happy to do whatever you ask, First Master,” Lady Camilla said, and though she tried her best not to stare, she could not help but gaze with astonishment at the amazing change that had come over Goldmoon.
Palin coughed meaningfully.
Lady Camilla blinked. “I am sorry, First Master. It’s just—”
She shook her head, helpless to put her confused thoughts into words. Turning away, yet with one more backward glance, as if to reassure herself that what she saw was real, she hastened down the spiral stairs. The Citadel guards, after a moment’s hesitation, turned to run down after the Knight. Tas could hear their voices loudly exclaiming over the “miracle.”
“They will all be like that,” Goldmoon said in anguish, returning thoughtfully to her chambers. “They will all stare at me and exclaim and wonder.” She shut the door swiftly behind them, leaned against it.
“You can hardly blame them, First Master,” said Palin.
“Yes. I know. That’s one reason I kept myself locked inside this room. I had hoped that when the change first happened it would be … temporary.” Goldmoon gestured. “Please sit down. We have much to discuss, it seems.”
Her chambers were plainly furnished, contained a bed made of a simple wood frame, a writing desk, handwoven rugs upon the floor, and a large number of soft cushions scattered about. A lute stood in one corner. The only other article of furniture—a tall standing mirror—lay toppled on the floor. The broken glass had been swept into a neat pile.
“What happened to you, First Master?” Palin asked. “Was this transformation magical in nature?”
“I don’t know! I wish I could find an explanation!” she said helplessly. “The transformation occurred the night of the thunderstorm.”
“The storm,” Palin murmured and glanced at Tas. “Many strange things happened during that storm, seemingly. The kender arrived the night of the storm.”
“The rain drummed on the roof,” Goldmoon continued, as if she hadn’t heard. “The wind howled and beat against the crystal as if it would smash it in. A brilliant lightning flash lit up the entire room more brightly than the brightest sunshine. It was so bright that it blinded me. For a time, I could see nothing at all. The blindness passed in a moment. I saw my reflection in the mirror.
“I … I thought a stranger was in the room. I turned, but there was no one there. It was then, when I turned back, that I recognized myself. Not as I had been, not gray and wrinkled and old, but young. Young as on my wedding day …”
She closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“The crash they heard below,” Palin said. “You broke the mirror.”
“Yes!” Goldmoon cried, her fists clenched. “I was so close to reaching him, Palin! So near! Riverwind and I would have been together soon. He has waited so patiently. He knew that I had important tasks to perform, but my work is done now and I could hear him calling to me to join him. We would be together forever. I was going to walk again with my beloved at last and … and now … this!”
“You truly have no idea how this happened?” Palin hesitated, frowning. “Perhaps a secret wish of your heart … some potion … or magical artifact …”
“In other words, did I ask for this?” Goldmoon returned, her voice cool. “No, I did not. I was content. My work is finished. Others have the strength and heart and will to carry on. I want only to rest in my husband’s arms again, Palin. I want to walk with him into the next stage of being. Riverwind and I used to speak of that next step on our great journey. I was given a glimpse of it during the time I was with Mishakal, the time she gave me the staff. The beauty of that far distant place … I can’t describe it.
“I am tired. So very tired. I look young,
but I don’t feel young, Palin. This body is like a costume for the masquerade, the face a mask. Except that I can’t take it off! I’ve tried and I can’t!”
Goldmoon put her hands to her cheeks, pressed on them. Her face was scarred and now Tas, shocked, knew the cause. In her desperation, she had endeavored to claw away the smooth, supple flesh.
“Inside I am still old, Palin,” Goldmoon said, her voice hollow and ragged. “I have lived my allotted life span. My husband has traveled on before me, my friends are gone. I am alone. Oh, I know.” She raised her hand to forestall his objections. “I know that I have friends here. But they are not of my time. They … don’t sing the same songs.”
She turned to Tasslehoff with a smile that was sweet but so sad that the kender’s eyes filled with tears.
“Is this my fault, Goldmoon?” Tas asked mournfully. “I didn’t mean to make you unhappy! I didn’t!”
“No, kenderken.” Goldmoon soothed him with her gentle touch. “You have brought me cheer. And a puzzle.” She turned to Palin. “How does he come to be here? Has he been roaming the world these thirty years when we thought him dead?”
“The kender came the night of the storm by using a magical device, Goldmoon,” Palin said in a low voice. “The Device of Time Journeying. A device that once belonged to my father. Do you remember hearing the story of how Caramon traveled back in time with Lady Crysania—”
“Yes, I remember,” Goldmoon said, flushing. “I must say that I found your father’s story very difficult to believe. If it hadn’t been for Lady Crysania’s account—”
“There is no need to apologize,” Palin said. “I admit that I myself found the story difficult to credit. I was able to speak to Dalamar about it years ago, before the Chaos War. And I talked to Tanis Half-Elven. Both confirmed my father’s tale. In addition, I read Par-Salian’s notes, which spoke of how the decision to send my father back into time came to be made. And I have a friend, Mistress Jenna, who was present in the Tower of High Sorcery when my father handed over the device to Dalamar for safekeeping. She had seen the device before and she recognized it. Above all, I have my account to serve as witness. Tasslehoff has with him the magical device my father used to transport himself through time. I know because I used it myself.”
Goldmoon’s eyes widened. She drew in a breath, soft as a sigh.
“Are you saying that the kender has come to us from the past? That he has traveled through time? That you traveled through time?”
“Tasslehoff,” Palin said, “tell Goldmoon what you told me about Caramon’s funeral. The first one. Be brief and concise as possible.”
Since neither the word “brief” nor the word “concise” are in the kender vocabulary, Tasslehoff’s story was considerably involved and extended, taking many little detours and side trips, and once losing himself completely in a morass of words from which he had to be patiently extricated. Goldmoon was a most attentive listener, however, seating herself next to him on the floor amongst the cushions and never saying a word.
When Tas spoke of how she and Riverwind had attended Caramon’s first funeral together; her husband gray and stooped, the proud chieftain of the united tribes of the Plains, accompanied by his son and daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, Goldmoon’s tears flowed again. She wept silently, however, and never took her rapt gaze from the kender.
Tasslehoff came to a halt, mainly because his voice gave out. He was given a restorative glass of water and lay back down on the cushions.
“Well, what do you think of his tale, First Master?” Palin asked.
“A time in which Riverwind did not die,” Goldmoon murmured. “A time in which we grow old together. Is it possible?”
“I used the device,” Palin said. “I went back into the past, hoping to find the moment in time when we traded one future for the other. I had hoped to find such a moment, thinking that I might be able to effect a change.”
“That would be very dangerous,” Goldmoon said, her tone sharp-edged.
“Yes, well, it doesn’t matter if it was or it wasn’t,” Palin returned, “because I did not find such a moment in our past.”
“That is just as well,” Goldmoon began.
Palin interrupted her. “First Master,” he said, “I found no past at all.”
“What do you mean? No past?”
“I went back in time,” Palin said. “I saw the end of the Chaos War. I witnessed the departure of the gods. When I looked beyond that, when I tried to see the beginning of the Chaos War, when I tried to see events that had come before that, I saw nothing but a vast and empty darkness, like looking down into an enormous well.”
“What does this mean?” Goldmoon asked.
“I don’t know, First Master.” Palin looked at Tasslehoff. “What I do know is this: Many years ago, Tasslehoff Burrfoot died. At least, he was supposed to die. As you see, here he sits, very much alive.”
“That is why you wanted to send him back to die,” Goldmoon murmured, looking sorrowfully at Tas.
“Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps that wouldn’t make any difference. I am the first to admit that I do not understand time journeying,” Palin said ruefully. “Only one of our order does, and that is Dalamar. But none know if he is dead or alive or how to find him if he is alive.”
“Dalamar!” Goldmoon’s expression darkened. “When I heard of his disappearance and that of the Tower of High Sorcery, I remember thinking how wonderful it was that some good had come out of the evil of these times. I know others liked and trusted him—Tanis, for example, and your father. But every time I saw him, I saw that he walked in shadow, and more than that, that he liked the shadow. He wrapped it around him, hiding his deeds. I believe Tanis and Caramon were deceived by him and I, for one, hope he has left this world. Bad as things are, they are better than if he were here. I trust,” she added sharply, “that you will have nothing to do with him, should he happen to reappear.”
“There seems little likelihood Dalamar will enter into this at all,” Palin returned impatiently. “If he is not dead, he is where we are not likely to ever find him. Now that I have spoken to you, First Master, what I find most singular is that all these strange events happened the night of the storm.”
“There was a voice in that storm,” Goldmoon said, shivering. “It filled me with terror, though I could not understand what it said.” She looked again at Tas. “The question is, what do we do now?”
“That is up to Tas,” Palin replied. “The fate of the world in the hands of a kender.” He looked very grim.
Tas rose, with dignity, to his feet. “I’ll give the matter serious thought,” he announced. “The decision isn’t easy. I have lots of things to consider. But before I go away to think and to help Conundrum map the hedge maze, which I promised I would do before I left, I want to say one thing. If you people had left the fate of the world in the hands of kender all along, you probably wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Leaving that shot to rankle in Palin’s bosom, Tasslehoff Burrfoot left the room.
24
Sleep, Love; Forever Sleep
ver a week had passed since Mina had received her orders to march on Silvanesti. During that time, Silvanoshei had been crowned king of the Silvanesti kingdom that slumbered beneath its protective shield, unaware of doom marching nearer.
Galdar had spent three days racing to Khur to deliver Mina’s orders to General Dogah. He had spent another three days traveling south from Khur, eager to meet up with Mina and her troops, following the route she’d shown him on her map. Finding them was easy. He could see signs of their passing all along the way—wheel ruts, footprints, abandoned equipment. If he could find the army this easily, so could the ogres.
Galdar marched with bowed head, slogging through the mud, rain running into his eyes, dripping from his muzzle. The rain had been falling for two days straight now, ever since Galdar’s return, with no letup in sight. Not a soft drizzly summer shower, either, but a lancing, wind-driven rain that ch
illed the spirit and cast a gloom over the soul.
The men were wet through, cold, and miserable. The trail was slick with mud that was either so slippery no man could stand on it or was so sticky that it nearly sucked the men’s boots off their feet. The heavily laden supply wagons were mired in the mud at least thrice daily, requiring the men to put poles beneath the wheels and heave them out. Galdar’s strength was called upon during these mishaps. The minotaur’s back and shoulders ached with the strain, for he often had to lift the wagon to free the wheel.
The soldiers began to actively hate the rain, to view it as the enemy, never mind ogres. The rain beating on the soldiers’ helms sounded like someone constantly drumming on a tin pot, or so one grumbled. Captain Samuval and his archers worried that the feathers with which the arrows were fletched were so wet and bedraggled that the arrows would not fly accurately.
Mina required the men to be up and marching with the dawn, always supposing there was a dawn, which there hadn’t been for the last few days. They marched until the twilight grew so gloomy that the officers feared the wagon masters would drive off the road in the darkness. The wood was too wet for even the most experienced fire-builder to have any success. Their food tasted of mud. They slept in the mud, with mud for a pillow and rain for a blanket. The next morning they were up and marching again. Marching to glory with Mina. So all firmly believed. So all knew.
According to the mystics, the soldiers would have no chance to penetrate the magical shield. They would be caught between the anvil of the shield to their front and the hammer of the ogres to their back. They would perish ignominiously. The soldiers scoffed at the mystics. Mina could raise the shield, Mina could batter it down with a touch of her hand. They believed in her, and so they followed her. Not a man deserted during that long and arduous march.
They did complain—complained bitterly—about the mud and the rain and the poor food and the lack of sleep. Their grumblings grew louder. Mina could not help but hear them.
“What I want to know is this,” one man said loudly, his voice sounding above the squelching of boots in the mud. “If the God we follow wants us to win, then why doesn’t the Nameless One send us sunshine and a dry road?”
Dragons of a Fallen Sun Page 44