Dragons of Autumn Twilight
Page 1
AN UNLIKELY GROUP OF HEROES …
Tanis Half-Elven, leader of the companions. A skilled fighter who detests fighting, he is tormented by love for two women—the tempestuous swordswoman, Kitiara, and the enchanting elfmaiden, Laurana.
Sturm Brightblade, Knight of Solamnia. Once revered in the days before the cataclysm, the knights have since fallen into disgrace. Sturm’s goal—more important to him than life itself—is to restore the honor of the knighthood.
Goldmoon, Chieftain’s Daughter. Bearer of the blue crystal staff, her love for a tribal outcast, Riverwind, leads them both on a dangerous quest in search of the truth.
Riverwind, Grandson of Wanderer. Given the blue crystal staff in a city where death flew on black wings, he barely escaped with his life. And that was only the beginning.…
Raistlin, Caramon’s twin brother, magic-user. Though his health is shattered, Raistlin possesses great powers beyond his young age. But dark mysteries are concealed behind his strange eyes.
Caramon, Raistlin’s twin brother, warrior. A genial giant of a man, Caramon is the exact opposite of his twin. Raistlin is the one person he cares for—and the one person he fears.
Flint Fireforge, dwarf, fighter. Tanis’s oldest friend, the ancient dwarf regards these youngsters as his “children.”
Tasslehoff Burrfoot, kender, “handler.” Kender—the nuisance race of Krynn—are immune to fear. Consequently, trouble just seems to follow them home.
THE EIGHT ARE GIVEN THE POWER TO SAVE THE WORLD. BUT FIRST THEY MUST LEARN TO UNDERSTAND THEMSELVES—AND EACH OTHER.
The Lands of Abanasinia
DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES
Volume one
DRAGONS OF AUTUMN TWILIGHT
©1984 TSR, Inc.
Cover Copyright ©2000 Wizards of the Coast LLC
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. WIZARDS OF THE COAST, DRAGONLANCE, DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.
All Wizards of the Coast characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Cover art by Matt Stawicki
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-65602
eISBN: 978-0-7869-5437-7
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v3.1
Contents
Cover
Map
Title Page
Copyright
Canticle of the Dragon
The Old Man
Book 1 Chapter 1 - Old Friends Meet. A Rude Interruption.
Chapter 2 - Return to the Inn. A shock. The oath is broken.
Chapter 3 - Knight of Solamnia. The old man’s party.
Chapter 4 - The open door. Flight into darkness.
Chapter 5 - Farewell to Flint. Arrows fly. Message in the stars.
Chapter 6 - Night in a cave. Dissension. Tanis decides.
Chapter 7 - The story of the staff. Strange clerics. Eerie feelings.
Chapter 8 - Search for truth. Unexpected answers.
Chapter 9 - Flight! The white stag.
Chapter 10 - Darken Wood. The dead walk. Raistlin’s magic.
Chapter 11 - The Forestmaster. A peaceful interlude.
Chapter 12 - Winged sleep. Smoke in the east. Dark memories.
Chapter 13 - Chill dawn. Vine bridges. Dark water.
Chapter 14 - Prisoners of the draconians.
Chapter 15 - Escape. The well. Death on black wings.
Chapter 16 - A bitter choice. The greatest gift.
Chapter 17 - The Paths of the Dead. Raistlin’s new friends.
Chapter 18 - Fight at the lift. Bupu’s cure for a cough.
Chapter 19 - The broken city. Highbulp Phudge I, the Great.
Chapter 20 - The Highbulp’s map. A spellbook of Fistandantilus.
Chapter 21 - The sacrifice. The twice-dead city.
Chapter 22 - Bupu’s gift. An ominous sight.
Book 2 Chapter 1 - Night of the dragons.
Chapter 2 - The stranger. Captured!
Chapter 3 - The slave caravan. A strange old magician.
Chapter 4 - Rescued! Fizban’s magic.
Chapter 5 - The Speaker of the Suns.
Chapter 6 - Tanis and Laurana.
Chapter 7 - Farewell. The companions’ decision.
Chapter 8 - Doubts. Ambush!: A new friend.
Chapter 9 - Suspicions grow. The Sla-Mori.
Chapter 10 - The Royal Guard. The Chain Room.
Chapter 11 - Lost. The plan. Betrayed!
Chapter 12 - The parable of the gem. Traitor revealed. Tas’s dilemma.
Chapter 13 - Questions. No answers. Fizban’s hat.
Chapter 14 - Matafleur. The magic sword. White feathers.
Chapter 15 - The Dragon Highlord. Matafleur’s children.
The Wedding
Song of Huma
About the Authors
Canticle of the Dragon
Hear the sage as his song descends
like heaven’s rain or tears,
and washes the years, the dust of the many stories
from the High Tale of the Dragonlance.
For in ages deep, past memory and word,
in the first blush of the world
when the three moons rose from the lap of the forest,
dragons, terrible and great,
made war on this world of Krynn.
Yet out of the darkness of dragons,
out of our cries for light
in the blank face of the black moon soaring,
a banked light flared in Solamnia,
a knight of truth and of power,
who called down the gods themselves
and forged the mighty Dragonlance, piercing the soul
of dragonkind, driving the shade of their wings
from the brightening shores of Krynn.
Thus Huma, Knight of Solamnia,
Lightbringer; First Lancer;
followed his light to the foot of the Khalkist Mountains,
to the stone feet of the gods,
to the crouched silence of their temple.
He called down the Lancemakers, he took on
their unspeakable power to crush the unspeakable evil,
to thrust the coiling darkness
back down the tunnel of the dragon’s throat.
Paladine, the Great God of Good,
shone at the side of Huma,
strengthening the lance of his strong right arm,
and Huma, ablaze in a thousand moons,
banished the Queen of Darkness,
banished the swarm of her shrieking hosts
back to the senseless kingdom of death, where their curses
swooped upon nothing and nothing
deep below the brightening land.
Thus ended in thunder the Age of Dreams
and began the Age of Might,
When Istar, kingdom of light and truth, arose in the east,
where minarets of white and gold
/> spired to the sun and to the sun’s glory,
announcing the passing of evil,
and Istar, who mothered and cradled
the long summers of good,
shone like a meteor
in the white skies of the just.
Yet in the fullness of sunlight
the Kingpriest of Istar saw shadows:
At night he saw the trees as things with daggers,
the streams
blackened and thickened under the silent moon.
He searched books for the paths of Huma,
for scrolls, signs, and spells
so that he, too, might summon the gods, might find
their aid in his holy aims,
might purge the world of sin.
Then came the time of dark and death
as the gods turned from the world.
A mountain of fire crashed like a comet through Istar,
the city split like a skull in the flames,
mountains burst from once-fertile valleys,
seas poured into the graves of mountains,
the deserts sighed on abandoned floors of the seas,
the highways of Krynn erupted
and became the paths of the dead.
Thus began the Age of Despair.
The roads were tangled.
The winds and the sandstorms dwelt in the husks of cities.
The plains and mountains became our home.
As the old gods lost their power,
we called to the blank sky
into the cold, dividing gray to the ears of new gods.
The sky is calm, silent, unmoving.
We have yet to hear their answer.
The Old Man
Tika Waylan straightened her back with a sigh, flexing her shoulders to ease her cramped muscles. She tossed the soapy bar rag into the water pail and glanced around the empty room.
It was getting harder to keep up the old inn. There was a lot of love rubbed into the warm finish of the wood, but even love and tallow couldn’t hide the cracks and splits in the well-used tables or prevent a customer from sitting on an occasional splinter. The Inn of the Last Home was not fancy, not like some she’d heard about in Haven. It was comfortable. The living tree in which it was built wrapped its ancient arms around it lovingly, while the walls and fixtures were crafted around the boughs of the tree with such care as to make it impossible to tell where nature’s work left off and man’s began. The bar seemed to ebb and flow like a polished wave around the living wood that supported it. The stained glass in the window panes cast welcoming flashes of vibrant color across the room.
Shadows were dwindling as noon approached. The Inn of the Last Home would soon be open for business. Tika looked around and smiled in satisfaction. The tables were clean and polished. All she had left to do was sweep the floor. She began to shove aside the heavy wooden benches, as Otik emerged from the kitchen, enveloped in fragrant steam.
“Should be another brisk day—for both the weather and business,” he said, squeezing his stout body behind the bar. He began to set out mugs, whistling cheerfully.
“I’d like the business cooler and the weather warmer,” said Tika, tugging at a bench. “I walked my feet off yesterday and got little thanks and less tips! Such a gloomy crowd! Everybody nervous, jumping at every sound. I dropped a mug last night and—I swear—Retark drew his sword!”
“Pah!” Otik snorted. “Retark’s a Solace Seeker Guard. They’re always nervous. You would be too if you had to work for Hederick, that faint—”
“Watch it,” Tika warned.
Otik shrugged. “Unless the High Theocrat can fly now, he won’t be listening to us. I’d hear his boots on the stairs before he could hear me.” But Tika noticed he lowered his voice as he continued. “The residents of Solace won’t put up with much more, mark my words. People disappearing, being dragged off to who knows where. It’s a sad time.” He shook his head. Then he brightened. “But it’s good for business.”
“Until he closes us down,” Tika said gloomily. She grabbed the broom and began sweeping briskly.
“Even theocrats need to fill their bellies and wash the fire and brimstone from their throats.” Otik chuckled. “It must be thirsty work, haranguing people about the New Gods day in and day out—he’s in here every night.”
Tika stopped her sweeping and leaned against the bar.
“Otik,” she said seriously, her voice subdued. “There’s other talk, too—talk of war. Armies massing in the north. And there are these strange, hooded men in town, hanging around with the High Theocrat, asking questions.”
Otik looked at the nineteen-year-old girl fondly, reached out, and patted her cheek. He’d been father to her, ever since her own had vanished so mysteriously. He tweaked her red curls.
“War. Pooh.” He sniffed. “There’s been talk of war ever since the Cataclysm. It’s just talk, girl. Maybe the Theocrat makes it up just to keep people in line.”
“I don’t know,” Tika frowned. “I—”
The door opened.
Both Tika and Otik started in alarm and turned to the door. They had not heard footsteps on the stairs, and that was uncanny! The Inn of the Last Home was built high in the branches of a mighty vallenwood tree, as was every other building in Solace, with the exception of the blacksmith shop. The townspeople had decided to take to the trees during the terror and chaos following the Cataclysm. And thus Solace became a tree town, one of the few truly beautiful wonders left on Krynn. Sturdy wooden bridge-walks connected the houses and businesses perched high above the ground where five hundred people went about their daily lives. The Inn of the Last Home was the largest building in Solace and stood forty feet off the ground. Stairs ran around the ancient vallenwood’s gnarled trunk. As Otik had said, any visitor to the Inn would be heard approaching long before he was seen.
But neither Tika nor Otik had heard the old man.
He stood in the doorway, leaning on a worn oak staff, and peered around the Inn. The tattered hood of his plain, gray robe was drawn over his head, its shadow obscuring the features of his face except for his hawkish, shining eyes.
“Can I help you, Old One?” Tika asked the stranger, exchanging worried glances with Otik. Was this old man a Seeker spy?
“Eh?” The old man blinked. “You open?”
“Well …” Tika hesitated.
“Certainly,” Otik said, smiling broadly. “Come in, Gray-beard. Tika, find our guest a chair. He must be tired after that long climb.”
“Climb?” Scratching his head, the old man glanced around the porch, then looked down to the ground below. “Oh, yes. Climb. A great many stairs …” He hobbled inside, then made a playful swipe at Tika with his staff. “Get along with your work, girl. I’m capable of finding my own chair.”
Tika shrugged, reached for her broom, and began sweeping, keeping her eyes on the old man.
He stood in the center of the Inn, peering around as though confirming the location and position of each table and chair in the room. The common room was large and bean-shaped, wrapping around the trunk of the vallenwood. The tree’s smaller limbs supported the floor and ceiling. He looked with particular interest at the fireplace, which stood about three-quarters of the way back into the room. The only stonework in the Inn, it was obviously crafted by dwarven hands to appear to be part of the tree, winding naturally through the branches above. A bin next to the side of the firepit was stacked high with cordwood and pine logs brought down from the high mountains. No resident of Solace would consider burning the wood of their own great trees. There was a back route out the kitchen; it was a forty-foot drop, but a few of Otik’s customers found this setup very convenient. So did the old man.
He muttered satisfied comments to himself as his eyes went from one area to another. Then, to Tika’s astonishment, he suddenly dropped his staff, hitched up the sleeves of his robes, and began rearranging the furniture!
Tika stopped sweeping and leaned on her broom. “What
are you doing? That table’s always been there!”
A long, narrow table stood in the center of the common room. The old man dragged it across the floor and shoved it up against the trunk of the huge vallenwood, right across from the firepit, then stepped back to admire his work.
“There,” he grunted. “S’posed to be closer to the firepit. Now bring over two more chairs. Need six around here.”
Tika turned to Otik. He seemed about to protest, but, at that moment, there was a flaring light from the kitchen. A scream from the cook indicated that the grease had caught fire again. Otik hurried toward the swinging kitchen doors.
“He’s harmless,” he puffed as he passed Tika. “Let him do what he wants—within reason. Maybe he’s throwing a party.”
Tika sighed and took two chairs over to the old man as requested. She set them where he indicated.
“Now,” the old man said, glancing around sharply. “Bring two more chairs—comfortable ones, mind you—over here. Put them next to the firepit, in this shadowy corner.”
“ ’Tisn’t shadowy,” Tika protested. “It’s sitting in full sunlight!”
“Ah”—the old man’s eyes narrowed—“but it will be shadowy tonight, won’t it? When the fire’s lit …”
“I—I suppose so …” Tika faltered.
“Bring the chairs. That’s a good girl. And I want one, right here.” The old man gestured at a spot in front of the firepit. “For me.”
“Are you giving a party, Old One?” Tika asked as she carried over the most comfortable, well-worn chair in the Inn.
“A party?” The thought seemed to strike the old man as funny. He chuckled. “Yes, girl. It will be a party such as the world of Krynn has not seen since before the Cataclysm! Be ready, Tika Waylan. Be ready!”
He patted her shoulder, tousled her hair, then turned and lowered himself, bones creaking, into the chair.
“A mug of ale,” he ordered.
Tika went to pour the ale. It wasn’t until she had brought the old man his drink and gone back to her sweeping that she stopped, wondering how he knew her name.