The Day Of The Tempest

by Jean Rabe

  “You’re one of the most powerful people on Krynn,” the youth continued. Behind him, the former prisoners began murmuring excitedly, pointing at Palin. The sorcerer blushed. “Palin Majere, he fought in the Chaos War,” a thickset woman tittered. “He slew Chaos.”

  “That’s not true,” Palin cut in. “I only —”

  “Your father’s Caramon, one of the Heroes of the Lance,” her companion said.

  “And don’t forget his mother, Tika!” the thickset woman added. “She was something in her day! Still is, I bet!”

  “Palin studied at the side of Raistlin, the greatest sorcerer of Krynn!” another cut in. “They’re related, Palin and Raistlin. Cousins or something.”

  “My uncle, actually.”

  “No, Palin’s the greatest sorcerer, not Raistlin. My father said there’d be no magic at all if it wasn’t for him. There’d be no Krynn if he hadn’t fought in the Abyss.”

  “A real hero!” a young girl beamed. “Oh, please let me come with you!”

  Palin took a step back toward the ship. Usha followed him, her twinkling eyes telling him she was amused by his embarrassment. “You definitely should get out of the Tower of Wayreth more often, husband. Look how you’re appreciated.”

  “Appreciated?”

  “I’ve got to tell all my friends I was rescued by Palin Majere!” The thickset woman tried to press closer to the sorcerer.

  “Listen, I’m flattered, but we’re in a hurry.”

  “But not too much of a hurry, I pray,” the red-maned young man cut in. He had startling golden eyes, and a smattering of freckles crossed the bridge of his nose. “There are more knights around, in a clearing not far outside the city”

  “Yes,” a thin woman said, as she inched her way past the thickset woman and stepped forward to join the youth. “They’ve a camp a few miles out. That’s where they held us for a while, I guess until the schooner came into port. They told us they were going to take us north, to some stronghold.”

  “And they said they were waiting for more prisoners that would be arriving any minute,” the youth added. “What if those prisoners are there now? Do you think you could help them? Like you helped us?”

  Palin let out a deep breath. He wanted desperately to search for the artifacts from the Age of Dreams. It was a “race,” Sageth had said, and Palin agreed. Yet he couldn’t say no to these people. “How far?”

  A cheer went up from the crowd on the dock.

  “Not more than a few miles,” the thin woman said. “I can take you there. I know the way.”

  “Great!” Rig had been silent up to this point. He wrapped his fingers around the pommel of his cutlass. “A few knights will present no challenge. We’ll have your friends free within the hour. I can handle it myself.”

  “You’ve got a death wish, Rig Mer-Krel. Don’t deny it,” said Feril. “I watched you on the deck of the schooner – you took on three knights at once, and more were coming. I should’ve realized it when you wanted to tackle Khellendros’s stronghold in the desert There were only four of us, but you didn’t care. That’s how Shaon’s death has affected you.” She took a deep breath and continued her tirade. “You don’t like living without her, so you’re doing your best to join her!”

  Rig stared slack-jawed at the elf. “That’s not true. I —”

  “Isn’t it? You were never this reckless before. Daring, yes, but not so blasted foolhardy.” She spun around and glared at Palin. “These other prisoners” – she tilted her head toward the thin woman and the red-haired youth —” I’m going to help them.”

  “I’ll join you,” Rig cut in.

  “No!” Feril practically spat out the word. “You’ll stay here and help the rest of our refugees. Then you’U figure the best course to take us to Southern Ergoth and get us more supplies. Palin, Gilthanas, you can come with me,” she continued, “Ulin, you too. I think we can manage a handful of knights. We’ve got magic on our side, not just swords. Maybe we won’t have to kill them all.”

  She turned, and threaded her way through the crowd on the dock, hesitating only long enough to make sure the red-haired youth and the woman were following her.

  Ulin was quick on her heels. Palin paused to kiss Usha and whisper something to her.

  Gilthanas approached the manner. “I don’t solely rely on magic,” the elf said. “If you’ve got a blade I could borrow?”

  The mariner unsheathed his cutlass. “Here, I have plenty of others.”

  “Are you men coming?” Feril was halfway down the dock with Ulin and their two guides. “Rig, be sure to get a map of the eastern coast of Southern Ergoth while we’re gone.”

  “Yes, Captain Feril,” Rig whispered when he was certain the Kagonesti and her entourage were out of earshot. He smiled as he watched her cut through the crowd and head into the city. “I’ll follow your orders, ma’am.”

  Rig returned to the deck of Flint’s Anvil and drew his lips into a straight line when he saw Jasper, Blister, and Sageth staring at him. His dark skin hid his embarrassment. “Well, what are you people ogling me for? We’ve got work to do. Jasper, you’ll have to...” The mariner’s words were lost on the dwarf, who turned and headed below deck. “Blister?”

  The kender shrugged. “Sorry Rig, I’ve got to help Jasper with whatever he’s doing,” she said as she bounded away.

  “I’ve got nothing better to do at the moment,” Usha offered, as she walked up the plank. “I’ll take charge of getting the rest of our refugees settled in town – after I’m more properly dressed.” Her eyes twinkled. “Get on that map right away, and begin to plot a course. Palin and the others won’t be gone that long.”

  “Yes, Captain Usha,” the mariner softly muttered as he ambled away. “I never minded an occasional order from Shaon.”

  On a ship filled with people, Rig felt suddenly alone.

  Chapter 12

  THE KENDER’S DISCOVERY

  Blister heard voices in Jasper’s cabin. The dwarf and a woman talking. Goldmoon? There was something familiar about the woman’s voice. But it wasn’t Usha, who was up on deck seeing off the rest of the refugees – except for Sageth, who had agreed to stay with them. And it definitely wasn’t Feril, who’d left the ship several minutes ago. It wasn’t any of the crew because with Shaon gone there were no other female sailors.

  The dwarf’s door was open a crack, or rather not latched, and to the kender it was an invitation to confirm her suspicions. She nudged it wide and slipped inside.

  “Goldmoon” she said, pleased that her guess was correct.

  “How did you get here?”

  Jasper turned, sighed, and rolled his eyes but Blister didn’t see his exasperated expression. She was too busy staring at the woman in the center of the small room. The kender shuffled forward, past the dwarf, and gazed up at the beautiful human face.

  Goldmoon floated several inches above the floor. She wore a pale rose cloak draped over her slender shoulders, and her tunic and leggings were the color of sand. The hem of the cloak swirled outward around her sandaled feet, reminding the kender of the glow that spread from the sun setting on ocean waves. Her long blonde hair fluttered about her neck and shoulders as if there were a strong breeze teasing it, but the air was completely still inside the cabin. The kender tentatively reached a gloved hand forward and her fingers passed right through Goldmoon’s knee.

  “Oh, you’re not here, not really. Just a magical picture,” Blister said.

  The first time the kender had seen Goldmoon, the healer looked well into middle-age, with several streaks of gray hair. That had been hundreds of miles from here and several months ago at the Citadel of Light on the island of Schallsea. Goldmoon looked a little younger today, and a touch more lively. She had fewer wrinkles, but her eyes were sadder.

  “Remember me?” The kender smiled cheerily and waved a gloved hand.

  “Blister,” Goldmoon said warmly. “Of course I remember you. It is good to see you again.”

  The ken
der beamed, deepening the wrinkles about her eyes. Jasper grumbled something behind her, then coughed, as if clearing his throat.

  “I was looking in on Jasper,” Goldmoon explained.

  The kender pursed her lips. “Well, the door was open a little bit.” The kender kept her eyes on Goldmoon.

  “It wasn’t open,” said Jasper.

  “Well, it wasn’t locked. I must have accidentally bumped it open when I was walking by. You know how the ship rocks all the time, even in port, and makes you lose your balance. And since I accidentally opened it, I figured I might as well come inside – just in case Jasper needed to talk to me about something.”

  Goldmoon cast an amused glance at the dwarf, who was scowling. “Jasper has been telling me about the fight with the Knights of Takhisis this morning.”

  “Did he tell you what a hero I was in the desert? That I helped rescue prisoners? There were elephants and everything.”

  She nodded.

  “Did he tell you about the old magic we need?”

  “I was just getting to that,” Jasper said.

  “Palin wants us to get magic from the Age of Sleep.”

  “The Age of Dreams,” the dwarf corrected.

  “That’s what I meant to say” Blister continued. “Well, Sageth, one of the people I heroically helped rescue from the desert, told us where some of the powerful old stuff can be found. He was kind of cryptic about it, but Palin figured it out. Anyway, we’re going to Southern Ergoth where it’s really cold and snowy. We’re not going now, but as soon as the others get back from rescuing more people, that’s when we’ll go, Feril and Palin and Ulin and Gilthanas.” She paused. “You might not know Ulin and Gilthanas. Feril used to live there – in Southern Ergoth. But she left because of the White and all the snow and cold. It was a good thing she left, because we wouldn’t have met her otherwise. And —”

  “Huma’s lance,” the dwarf said simply.

  “I was getting to that,” the kender huffed. “That’s what we have to find hi Southern Ergoth. And then we’re going to the Qualinesti forest to look for something there.”

  “Provided we’re still alive,” Jasper muttered under his breath.

  “But that’s only two, and we need three or four according to what Sageth said. Old magical artifacts, and one of them is around your neck,” the kender concluded.

  Jasper smiled weakly at her lack of tact. “Your medallion of faith,” he said. “It’s from the Age of Dreams. And Palin and Sageth think that destroying the old artifacts —”

  “Enough magic will be released to bring powerful magic back to Krynn,” Blister added.

  “And then we’ll have an easier time stopping the overlords.” The dwarf was determined to have the last word.

  Goldmoon raised an insubstantial hand and ran her fingers across the disk’s surface. It was silver, and hung from a thin silver chain that sparkled like a string of miniature stars. The kender looked at it closely. Engraved on the disk’s surface was a design – the outline of two closed eyes joined, or perhaps two eggs touching at their narrowest ends. It was the symbol of Mishakal, the Healing Hand, the departed goddess whom some called the Light Bringer and whom Goldmoon still worshiped.

  ‘You might need to use it” Jasper said.

  “Yes, but yours is the greater purpose.” Goldmoon’s voice was soft, but intense. “I believe the gods are merely away, watching us from some distant place where Chaos does not see them. I believe they are giving men and women the opportunity to fail or succeed on their own, to find the strength in themselves to overcome whatever obstacles are placed before them.”

  The kender listened with rapt attention. “But the dragon overlords —”

  “Are one of those obstacles. There are smaller obstacles, too.” Goldmoon’s radiant blue eyes bore into the kender ‘s. “Things each of us must overcome.”

  Blister’s glance fell to her gloved hands. “Some things just can’t be overcome.”

  “Take off your gloves, Blister.”

  Goldmoon’s voice compelled the kender to tug off her soft tan gloves, revealing her crippled hands. Her fingers were bent and scarred, covered with blisters and sores, and she turned her back to Jasper so he couldn’t see them.

  “I don’t like the way they look,” the kender explained. “So I keep them covered. And it hurts when I move them.”

  “The pain isn’t in your hands, Blister. The pain is in your heart and spirit. That is also an obstacle to be overcome. Look at me and move your fingers. Think about me, Blister, not your hands.”

  The kender gritted her teeth and complied, flexing first the fingers of her left hand, then her right. She stared at Goldmoon’s eyes and moved her ringers again, making fists, releasing them, then clenching them tighter. At first she felt a familiar dull ache, but when she prepared herself for the throbbing sensation that would follow, it didn’t come. The ache faded. She balled her fists again. There was no pain now. She looked at Goldmoon, astonished.

  The healer seemed different, younger, more full of life. There were no wrinkles, no gray hairs. Her shoulders were straight, her eyes impossibly clear.

  “I don’t understand,” the kender said, as she continued to move her hands. She couldn’t find anything else to say, unaccustomed to being at a loss for words.

  “You were punishing yourself for a past deed – the thieving expedition in which you fell victim to a magical trap. Your hands were scarred, will forever be scarred, but the physical pain fled you years ago. Have more faith in yourself, Blister. Your faith colors what you feel.”

  Faith also colors what you see, the kender said to herself as she continued to stare at the now-vibrant Goldmoon. Before, the kender saw her as middle-aged, and that must have meant her faith was waning. Now she saw the healer differently, signaling a regeneration in the kender’s faith and convictions. Blister’s eyes grew wide.

  “We’ll locate Huma’s lance, and whatever it is we’re supposed to find in the forest. And some ring – Dalamar’s. I just know we can do it.”

  Goldmoon smiled softly. “And when you visit with me at Schallsea, Blister, I will give you my medallion. Until we meet there...” Her image faltered. The magical breeze picked up, and blew Goldmoon away.

  “Wow,” the kender said, “I gotta tell Usha and Rig. Jasper, you’ll have to tell Groller. I haven’t figured out those hand signals yet, but I can now.” Blister spun on the balls of her feet, sidestepped Jasper, and hurried from his cabin.

  Her gloves lay on the floor, forgotten and no longer needed.

  *

  Goldmoon walked down the twisting staircase in the Citadel of Light, pausing at a window that overlooked the bright blue waters of the bay.

  “I must teach my pupils,” she said aloud to herself. “They’re an attentive bunch and show promise, but I myself am not feeling so attentive today.” The healer twirled a strand of silver-blonde hair around her finger. “What’s that you say? I’m always attentive? No, dear Riverwind. Today my mind is on Palin and his friends. I truly believe that the fate of Krynn is on their shoulders, and I’m not so certain their shoulders can bear such weight. Why do I have doubts?” Goldmoon’s eyes fixed on the waves washing gently against the shore.

  “I told you my meditations led me to believe Dhamon Grimwulf was the one, the man who could lead them to some measure of victory. My meditations reveal nothing of Palin’s chances now that Dhamon is gone.” She cocked her head to the side, listening intently. “I worry too much? I never worried so much when you were by my side. But Krynn’s future was never so grim when you were alive, dear River-wind. And the dragons were never so large.”

  Chapter 13

  BEGINNINGS

  Dhamon Grimwulf toyed with the aging Solamnic Knight by rushing in and retreating, slashing high at the Solamnic’s chest then jabbing at his legs. Dhamon was wearing the older man down. In the process he was ferreting out the Solamnic Knight’s weaknesses and learning to predict his swings.

  After several m
inutes, Dhamon realized that the Solamnic favored his right leg; his left foot edged slightly forward before he swung, his shoulders dropped before he thrust, and the man always glanced toward the spot where he intended his sword to strike. It was a mere practice session to the young Knight of Takhisis, who’d come upon the Solamnic on the trail between Kyre and Solanthus. And it was achingly easy.

  Dhamon feinted to the right and swept his long sword in a broad arc to the left. The Solamnic barely dropped his shield in time to parry the blow. The young knight could have swung faster, darted in and employed wide strokes to lure the Solamnic into using his shield to cover his chest so that his belly was exposed. It would have been more honorable to finish him quickly, the young knight thought, and he did believe in honor. One deep thrust into his heart or lungs would do it, only one sharp, brief moment of pain. He usually made quick work of his enemies.

  But the Solamnic Knight was alone, and Dhamon was bored; those two factors changed matters. Drawing out the fight was a way to get some exercise, he rationalized, and he wasn’t being entirely unchivalrous. There was a fairness to this duel.

  Dhamon’s opponent was armed and armored. He hadn’t ambushed the Solamnic – though he saw him coming down the trail and easily could have lain in wait. He didn’t kick or throw dirt into the air to temporarily blind the older knight, as some other fighters did to gain the upper hand. And he used only one weapon against his foe in order to match the Solamnic’s solitary blade. There was an equality to this duel.

  The Solamnic’s moves were polished but slow and becoming increasingly more labored and predictable. Dhamon effortlessly parried each stroke. He watched the beads of sweat run down the older man’s face, smiled as his opponent’s chest heaved with the exertion.

  The young knight almost backed away at one point, for as the duel wore on he felt an uncommon pang of guilt. The aging knight was terribly outmatched – an old, tired mouse fighting a very hungry young cat. But Solamnic Knights were enemies of Knights of Takhisis, and therefore the Solamnic was Dhamon’s enemy.