Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “It is the big people who will be looking for your help now,” Dalamar said. “We’re sending you with Palin.”

  “Did you hear that, Palin? I’m going with you!” Tas said excitedly.

  “I heard.” Palin sounded less than enthusiastic.

  “Here it is.” Raistlin pulled a book from the shelf, set it down upon the desk.

  He and Dalamar bent eagerly over the volume, flipped impatiently through pages.

  Tasslehoff began to roam about, examining various curious objects that stood around on small tables and adorned the mantelpiece. He picked up what appeared to be nothing more than a solid piece of wood, but, upon closer examination, he found innumerable little drawers cut into it, all cunningly disguised not to look like drawers.

  The box was rapidly descending into one of Tas’s pouches when the kender stopped. He held the box in his hand, gazed at it longingly, ran his fingers over the wood. Sighing, he reached up, carefully put the box back on the mantelpiece.

  “I’m going on an important mission,” he said gravely. “And I don’t want to be weighted down.”

  “Now I know we are nearing the end of the world,” Dalamar muttered.

  “Here is the entry,” Raistlin said. “Yes, you see. I remembered it correctly.”

  Dalamar bent over the book. The two of them read, occasionally whispering strange-sounding words aloud.

  Palin did his best to overhear; the words sounded Elvish, but they must have been ancient Elvish, for he could only understand about one word in twenty. Seeing his uncle absorbed, Palin moved over to stand beside Usha.

  She sat huddled in the chair, staring fearfully at the red glow in the sky.

  Palin put his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She reached up swiftly, caught hold of his hand, held it tightly.

  “I’m afraid for them,” she said, her throat constricting. “That glow … it’s the same one I saw the night I left. Only … now it’s so much brighter. I’m worried, Palin. What your uncle said is right. They—we—have brought doom on everyone!”

  “Don’t worry,” Palin said gently, stroking her shining hair. “The Irda are strong in magic. When I come back—”

  Usha looked up at him. “What do mean, when you come back. Where are you going? I’m going with you!” She was on her feet, her hands clasping Palin’s.

  “That clinches it, then,” Dalamar said, straightening.

  “Yes, I believe it does,” Raistlin murmured. He began to cough, but recovered himself quickly, wiped his lips with his handkerchief.

  A knock sounded on the door. It opened silently. Jenna stood within.

  “Dalamar,” she said quietly, “it is time. I have the spell components and the scrolls you requested.”

  “I must go,” Dalamar said. “We have no time to lose. You will give Palin and the kender their instructions, Shalafi?”

  Raistlin shook his head. “You need not call me that. I am no longer your teacher.”

  Dalamar smiled a dark and twisted smile. His hand went to his breast, unclasped a pin fashioned in the image of a black swan, drew aside the folds of black velvet. Five wounds, the same shape and size as the tips of five fingers, were visible, fresh, bleeding, on the elf’s smooth skin.

  “You will always be my teacher,” Dalamar said. “As you can see, I study the lesson you taught me daily.”

  “And you have profited by it, it seems,” Raistlin remarked coolly. The fingers of his right hand began to tap softly on the desktop.

  “I admired you,” Dalamar said softly. “I still do.” With a quick, jerking motion of his hand, he drew the folds of cloth together, hiding the wounds. “And I will hate you forever.”

  He turned to Palin. “Farewell, Majere. May all the gods of magic shed their blessings on you.”

  “On us all,” Jenna said quietly. “Farewell, Palin Majere. And farewell to you”—she smiled archly—“Usha Majere.”

  Jenna extended her hand to Dalamar. He took it, spoke quick words of magic, and the two vanished.

  Palin did not return their good-byes. His gaze was fixed on Raistlin.

  “Where am I going, Uncle? Where are you sending me?”

  “And me!” Tas said eagerly.

  “And me,” Usha spoke resolutely.

  “No—” Palin began.

  “Yes,” Raistlin cut in smoothly. “The girl goes with you. She must. She is the only one who knows the way.”

  “Home!” Usha understood him at once. She caught her breath. “You’re sending me back home!”

  “I am sending you back to fetch this.” Raistlin rested a thin finger on a picture in the book he and Dalamar had been reading. Palin leaned over to look.

  “The Graygem! But … it’s broken. The gods said so.”

  “It is broken,” Raistlin agreed. “It will be up to you to mend it. First, though, you must steal it from those who guard it.” He glanced meaningfully at Usha.

  “Are you coming with us, Uncle?”

  “In spirit,” Raistlin replied. “I will give what help I can. I am not of this world, Palin,” he added, seeing his nephew’s disappointment. “My power is gone. I can work only through you.”

  Palin was puzzled. “I am proud to think you have such confidence in me, but—why am I being sent, Uncle? There are other mages far more powerful—”

  “All the mages on Krynn are fighting this war, Nephew. Gray Robes and Red, White Robes and Black, master wizard and lowest apprentice. The Conclave judged you most suitable for this particular task. Why? They had their reasons, some of which I approved, some I did not. Suffice it to say, your bond with the Irda girl was one factor, your bond with me another. You have the Staff of Magius and, perhaps the most important, you once were able to control the Graygem.”

  “I didn’t control it so much as trick it,” Palin said ruefully. “And I had help. Dougan Redhammer was there.”

  “You will have help with you this time as well. You do not go alone.” Raistlin glanced at Tasslehoff, who was now seated on the floor, taking inventory of the objects in his pouches.

  Palin followed his uncle’s gaze, drew near Raistlin.

  “Uncle,” Palin murmured, “I will go wherever you say and do exactly as you bid me. Usha will go with me, to find out what happened to her people. But are you sure about sending Tasslehoff? Granted, he is the very best kender who ever lived, but … well … he is a kender—”

  Raistlin placed his hand on Palin’s shoulder.

  “That’s why he is being sent. Kender have one quality that you will need, Nephew. Kender are immune to fear.” Raistlin’s grip tightened; thin fingers dug into Palin’s flesh. “And where you are going, that quality will be inestimable.”

  19

  Rumors. Thunder and flame.

  SETTING SAIL.

  he docks at the Bay of Branchala were crowded with people that hot, gray, smoke-filled morning. A terrible storm raged in the mountains; people in Palanthas could hear the thunder rumble. Fearful rumors ran through the town, leaping from house to house, feeding off their own fuel, burning faster and more furious the farther they traveled.

  An ominous red glow lit the northern sky, turning night into unnatural day. At first, the word went out that there was a great conflagration in the city. Some said the Great Library was burning. Others swore they had heard the Tower of High Sorcery was ablaze. More than a few knew someone who had seen fire pouring out the windows of the Temple of Paladine.

  No one could sleep. Everyone was in a state of nervous excitement. People rushed to the temple, to the library, volunteering to fight the blaze, only to find—once they arrived—that there was no fire. The Palanthians wandered up and down the streets, watching the red glow that was growing ever brighter. They joined in tight, tense, small groups, heard the latest rumor, broke free of one group and raced to another. Bells all through the city rang hysterically, breaking out sporadically here and there as one rumor took predominance over another and someone decided that he should announce it.

&nb
sp; At first, the Knights of Takhisis attempted to impose order on the city. They turned out in force, marched up and down the streets, dispersed the crowds, urged the people to return to their beds. The knights closed the taverns, tried to silence the bells. But toward morning, the bells were replaced by the beating of drums. The knights who had been marching in the streets were next seen marching out of the gates, heading up the road that led from Palanthas to the High Clerist’s Tower.

  It soon occurred to the citizens of Palanthas that the city was free.

  There was great rejoicing. Rumors flew thick and fast now. The elven nation had risen and launched an assault against the dark knights. The dwarven nation had risen and launched an assault. The dwarves and the elves … and so on until someone swore that he’d heard an army of kender was sapping through the walls of the High Clerist’s Tower. The bells rang out yet again, this time for victory. Their peals were soon muffled.

  By midmorning, ships were sailing in haste into the harbor. Their crews reported that they had seen the sea on fire; the red glow in the sky came from a terrible, magical blaze that used water as fuel. Once this spread about, people ran to the docks to hear the sailors’ stories and stare at the flickering red glow—sunset at the wrong time of day, in the wrong sky.

  And then word came that the forests of the Vingaard Mountains were aflame, that the High Clerist’s Tower was being attacked by a force hideous and powerful and unknown, the same force that could burn water as easily as tinder-dry wood. A pall of smoke drifted over the city, rising from the flaming hills. As yet, the forest fires were far away, posed no threat, but if the winds shifted …

  “Where’d you leave your boat?” Palin asked Usha as the three emerged from the gates of the Old Wall, started to walk to the waterfront.

  “In the public harbor. I paid a dwarf to watch it. Oh, Palin,” Usha cried, stopping in dismay. “Look at that mob! How will we ever get through it?”

  Half the population of the city was down at the docks, waiting for each new ship to arrive, muttering to their neighbors, or standing grimly silent, watching the strange sky. A wall of people stood between them and the public harbor. It was a living wall that shifted with every eddy and current of rumor, but remained densely packed, all the same.

  “That? Pooh! That won’t be any problem,” said Tas cheerfully. “Just follow me.”

  He walked up to the nearest group of people, several guildsmen, who fanned themselves, mopped sweating foreheads, spoke together in low, excited tones, pausing to ask everyone who passed, “What news?”

  “Excuse me,” Tasslehoff said loudly. He plucked one of the guildsmen by his long, flowing sleeve. “My friends and I are trying to—”

  “Kender!” the man yelled. Grabbing his money pouch with one hand, a jeweled pendant he wore around his neck with the other, he jumped about three steps backward.

  This man bumped heavily into the backside of another man, who was talking with another group. That man, turning and seeing Tas, clutched his own money pouch and took three hasty steps back. Soon people were shoving and jostling and elbowing each other out of the way.

  “Thank you,” said Tasslehoff politely and moved forward—Palin and Usha hastening fast behind—until he hit the next section of human wall, where his shrill “Excuse me!” started the entire process all over again.

  Thus the three made their way through the mob far more easily and much faster than they had expected. The fact that their passing was accompanied with sharp orders to “Keep clear!” and repeated cries of “Hey! Give that back!” and the occasional scuffle were minor nuisances, not to be considered.

  Most of the people were huddled near the city wall or gathered around the commercial docks, near where the shore boats were ferrying ashore the crew and passengers from the big ships floating at anchor at the harbor’s entrance. Once they reached the water’s edge, the crowd thinned out.

  Warning flags had been hoisted, hung limp above the harbormaster’s office. The sailors had no need of them, however. They could see for themselves that no sane person would put out to sea this troubled morning.

  Usha was not a sailor. She knew nothing of warning flags, would have paid them little heed if she had. She was going home. She would find out the truth—whatever it was, however terrible it was.

  Her fear seemed to enhance her senses, sharpen her sight, for she found her sailboat readily, though it was jammed in among many, many others.

  “There!” She pointed.

  Palin eyed it dubiously. “It seems awfully small.”

  “It will hold the three of us.”

  “I mean … small … to venture into the sea.”

  He gazed out across the water. Not even a breath of wind blew down at the harbor. Waves caused by the movement of ships lapped sluggishly beneath the docks. No sea birds skimmed the water’s surface or fought over the fish heads and tails. No clouds massed in the sky, though the flash of forked lightning, the rumble and boom of thunder from the east, was constant. The strange and ominous red glow spanned the horizon, was reflected in the water.

  Palin shook his head. “There’s no wind. We can’t row all that distance back to your homeland. We’ll have to find some other way.”

  “No, we won’t,” Usha replied, tugging him along. “The boat is magical, remember? It will take me home, Palin. It will take me home,” she repeated softly.

  “Usha,” Palin said, pulling on her hand, slowing her eager progress, “Usha …”

  She saw on his face, heard in the tone of his voice what he was about to say. It was like looking in a mirror, her own fear reflecting back to her.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said. “I have you with me.”

  Holding fast to his hand, she walked out onto the dock, heading for her boat.

  Usha climbed down into the vessel, began to inspect it, to make certain it was still in seaworthy condition. Palin and Tas remained topside, baking in the sun, ready to cast off the ropes when it was time to leave. Several people glanced at them curiously, but no one said anything to them, probably figuring they were making the craft snug to weather the storm, never guessing they were planning to set sail.

  Palin wondered if people would try to stop them, what he would do, how he would handle that situation should it arise.

  They had to take this route, much as he disliked sailing into that fire-red sky. What Usha had said was right. The magical boat would return to its homeland. There was no other way, since no one else knew where the Irda homeland was, not even the members of the Conclave. Dragons might, but they were fighting their own battles.

  “I’m quite a sailor myself,” Tas announced, sitting on the dock, swinging his legs and peering down into the sea, trying to catch sight of some fish. “Flint wasn’t. Flint hated water. He never could really understand why it was around. ‘Reorx gave us ale,’ Flint used to say. ‘You’d think he would’ve stopped there, when he’d got it right.’ I tried to point out that you couldn’t very well sail a boat on ale. Well, you probably could, but the foam would be inconvenient. Flint maintained that boats were accursed inventions anyway. ’Course, this may have been because he almost drowned in one. Did you ever hear the story about how Flint almost drowned? It was one day when your father—”

  “Let’s not talk about drowning,” Palin said. “Or my father.”

  Danger would be coming to the Inn of the Last Home. Caramon had gone back to warn the townspeople of Solace, to make them ready, to do what he could to protect them against whatever horrors they might face.

  “Does my father know what I will be doing?” Palin had questioned his uncle, almost the last words the two had spoken together. “Where I’m going?”

  “He knows,” Raistlin had replied.

  “What did he say?” Palin had asked uneasily.

  Raistlin had almost smiled. “That, when this was over, he and your mother would expect you home to dinner.”

  Palin thought this over, was pleased. His father knew the danger his son would
be facing and, instead of trying to deter him (as Caramon would have done in the old days), he was letting his son know that his parents had faith in him, that they believed in him and knew he would do his best.

  A small hand was tugging at his sleeve. Palin looked down. Tas was standing right beside him.

  “Palin,” Tas said in a whisper. “I’m afraid Usha’s going to be unhappy once she gets to her home, after what we heard the gods say about it.”

  “Yes, Tas,” Palin said quietly. “She will be very unhappy.”

  “Shouldn’t we tell her now? Sort of … prepare her?”

  Palin looked down at Usha, who was working busily, stowing away gear, making room for the extra two people who would be going with her.

  “She knows, Tas,” he said. “She already knows.”

  As it turned out, no one tried to stop them from leaving the harbor. No one even noticed they were setting sail or, if people did, they had problems enough of their own to consider. The wind that people had prayed for all summer, the breezes from the mountains, bringing cooling air to the stifling city, had suddenly now, perversely it seemed, decided to blow. But the wind did not bring relief from the heat. It brought terror. The forest fires were racing down the mountains, the wind blowing them straight toward Palanthas.

  The bells rang out again. People ran to do what they could to try to save their homes and businesses, should the unthinkable happen. The smoke in the air stung the eyes and made breathing difficult. Ashes were starting to drift down on the city. Palin stood in the boat, looked back at the great city of Palanthas, and tried to imagine what it would be like if the fires came. He thought of his uncle, alone in the tower. The apprentices had already gone, traveling to Wayreth to lend their aid in preparing magic. He remembered his last glimpse of his uncle, standing by the Pool of Seeing.

  “Here, I will watch,” Raistlin had said. “From here, I will do what I can to guide you.”

  Palin thought of Astinus, writing, writing. He could imagine Bertrem, panicked, and the other monks, working frantically to save the books, the history of the world.