Dragons of Autumn Twilight

by Margaret Weis

  The flames had died instantly. The man’s robes were whole, undamaged. His skin was pink and healthy. He sat up, a look of fear and awe on his face. He stared down at his hands and his robes. There was not a mark on his skin. There was not the smallest cinder smoking on his robes.

  “It healed him!” the old man proclaimed loudly. “The staff! Look at the staff!”

  Tasslehoff’s eyes went to the staff in his hands. It was made of blue crystal and was glowing with a bright blue light!

  The old man began shouting. “Call the guards! Arrest the kender! Arrest the barbarians! Arrest their friends! I saw them come in with this knight.” He pointed at Sturm.

  “What?” Tanis leaped up. “Are you crazy, old man?”

  “Call the guards!” The word spread. “Did you see—? The blue crystal staff? We’ve found it. Now they’ll leave us alone. Call the guards!”

  The Theocrat staggered to his feet, his face pale, blotched with red. The barbarian woman and her companion stood up, fear and alarm in their faces.

  “Foul witch!” Hederick’s voice shook with rage. “You have cured me with evil! Even as I burn to purify my flesh, you will burn to purify your soul!” With that, the Seeker reached out, and before anyone could stop him, he plunged his hand back into the flames! He gagged with the pain but did not cry out. Then, clutching his charred and blackened hand, he turned and staggered off through the murmuring crowd, a wild look of satisfaction on his pain-twisted face.

  “You’ve got to get out of here!” Tika came running over to Tanis, her breath coming in gasps. “The whole town’s been hunting for that staff! Those hooded men told the Theocrat they’d destroy Solace if they caught someone harboring the staff. The townspeople will turn you over to the guards!”

  “But it’s not our staff!” Tanis protested. He glared at the old man and saw him settle back into his chair, a pleased smile on his face. The old man grinned at Tanis and winked.

  “Do you think they’ll believe you!” Tika wrung her hands. “Look!”

  Tanis looked around. People were glaring at them bale-fully. Some took a firm grip on their mugs. Others eased their hands onto the hilts of their swords. Shouts from down below drew his eyes back to his friends.

  “The guards are coming!” exclaimed Tika.

  Tanis rose. “We’ll have to go out through the kitchen.”

  “Yes!” She nodded. “They won’t look back there yet. But hurry. It won’t take them long to surround the place.”

  Years of being apart had not affected the companions’ ability to react as a team to threat of danger. Caramon had pulled on his shining helm, drawn his sword, shouldered his pack, and was helping his brother to his feet. Raistlin, his staff in his hand, was moving around the table. Flint had hold of his battle-axe and was frowning darkly at the onlookers, who seemed hesitant about rushing to attack such well-armed men. Only Sturm sat, calmly drinking his ale.

  “Sturm!” Tanis said urgently. “Come on! We’ve got to get out of here!”

  “Run?” The knight appeared astonished. “From this rabble?”

  “Yes.” Tanis paused; the knight’s code of honor forbade running from danger. He had to convince him. “That man is a religious fanatic, Sturm. He’ll probably burn us at the stake! And”—a sudden thought rescued him—“there is a lady to protect.”

  “The lady, of course.” Sturm stood up at once and walked over to the woman. “Madam, your servant.” He bowed; the courtly knight would not be hurried. “It seems we are all in this together. Your staff has placed us in considerable danger—you most of all. We are familiar with the area around here: we grew up here. You, I know, are strangers. We would be honored to accompany you and your gallant friend and guard your lives.”

  “Come on!” Tika urged, tugging on Tanis’s arm. Caramon and Raistlin were already at the kitchen door.

  “Get the kender,” Tanis told her.

  Tasslehoff stood, rooted to the floor, staring at the staff. It was rapidly fading back to its nondescript brown color. Tika grabbed Tas by his topknot and pulled him toward the kitchen. The kender shrieked, dropping the staff.

  Goldmoon swiftly picked it up, clutching it close to her. Although frightened, her eyes were clear and steady as she looked at Sturm and Tanis; she was apparently thinking rapidly. Her companion said a harsh word in their language. She shook her head. He frowned and made a slashing motion with his hand. She snapped a quick reply and he fell silent, his face dark.

  “We will go with you,” Goldmoon said to Sturm in the Common tongue. “Thank you for the offer.”

  “This way!” Tanis herded them out through the swinging kitchen doors, following Tika and Tas. He glanced behind him and saw some of the crowd move forward, but in no great hurry.

  The cook stared at them as they ran through the kitchen. Caramon and Raistlin were already at the exit, which was nothing more than a hole cut in the floor. A rope hung from a sturdy limb above the hole and dropped forty feet to the ground.

  “Ah!” exclaimed Tas, laughing. “Here the ale comes up and the garbage goes down.” He swung out onto the rope and shinnied down easily.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Tika apologized to Goldmoon, “but it is the only way out of here.”

  “I can climb down a rope.” Then the woman smiled and added, “Though I admit it has been many years.”

  She handed her staff to her companion and grasped the stout rope. She began to descend, moving skillfully hand over hand. When she reached the bottom, her companion tossed the staff down, swung on the rope, and dropped through the hole.

  “How are you going to get down, Raist?” Caramon asked, his face lined with concern. “I can carry you on my back—”

  Raistlin’s eyes flashed with an anger that startled Tanis. “I can get down myself!” the mage hissed. Before anyone could stop him, he stepped to the edge of the hole and leaped out into the air. Everyone gasped and peered down, expecting to see Raistlin splattered all over the ground. Instead, they saw the young mage gently floating down, his robes fluttering around him. The crystal on his staff glowed brightly.

  “He shivers my skin!” Flint growled to Tanis.

  “Hurry!” Tanis shoved the dwarf forward. Flint grabbed hold of the rope. Caramon followed, the big man’s weight causing the limb the rope was tied around to creak.

  “I will go last,” Sturm said, his sword drawn.

  “Very well.” Tanis knew it was useless to argue. He slung the longbow and quiver of arrows over his shoulder, grabbed the rope, and started down. Suddenly his hands slipped. He slid down the rope, unable to stop it tearing the skin off his palms. He landed on the ground and looked, wincing, at his hands. His palms were raw and bleeding. But there was no time to think about them. Glancing up, he watched as Sturm descended.

  Tika’s face appeared in the opening. “Go to my house!” she mouthed, pointing through the trees. Then she was gone.

  “I know the way,” Tasslehoff said, his eyes glowing with excitement. “Follow me.”

  They hurried off after the kender, hearing the sounds of the guards climbing the stairway into the Inn. Tanis, unused to walking on the ground in Solace, was soon lost. Above him he could see the bridge-walks, the street lamps gleaming among the tree leaves. He was completely disoriented, but Tas kept pushing forward confidently, weaving in and out among the huge trunks of the vallenwood trees. The sounds of the commotion at the Inn faded.

  “We’ll hide at Tika’s for the night,” Tanis whispered to Sturm as they plunged through the underbrush. “Just in case someone recognized us and decides to search our homes. Everyone will have forgotten about this by morning. We’ll take the Plainsmen to my house and let them rest a few days. Then we can send the barbarians on to Haven where the Council of High Seekers can talk with them. I think I might even go along—I’m curious about this staff.”

  Sturm nodded. Then he looked at Tanis and smiled his rare, melancholy smile. “Welcome home,” the knight said.

  “Same to you.
” The half-elf grinned.

  They both came to a sudden halt, bumping into Caramon in the dark.

  “We’re here, I think,” Caramon said.

  In the light of the street lamps that hung in the tree limbs, they could see Tasslehoff climbing tree branches like a gully dwarf. The rest followed more slowly, Caramon assisting his brother. Tanis, gritting his teeth from the pain in his hands, climbed up slowly through the rapidly thinning autumn foliage. Tas pulled himself up over the porch railing with the skill of a burglar. The kender slipped over to the door and peered up and down the bridge-walk. Seeing no one on it, he motioned to the others. Then he studied the lock and smiled to himself in satisfaction. The kender slid something out of one of his pouches. Within seconds, the door of Tika’s house swung open.

  “Come in,” he said, playing host.

  They crowded inside the little house, the tall barbarian being forced to duck his head to avoid hitting the ceiling. Tas pulled the curtains shut. Sturm found a chair for the lady, and the tall barbarian went to stand behind her. Raistlin stirred up the fire.

  “Keep watch,” Tanis said. Caramon nodded. The warrior had already posted himself at a window, staring out into the darkness. The light from a street lamp gleamed through the curtains into the room, casting dark shadows on the walls. For long moments no one spoke, each staring at the others.

  Tanis sat down. His eyes turned to the woman. “The blue crystal staff,” he said quietly. “It healed that man. How?”

  “I do not know.” She faltered. “I—I haven’t had it very long.”

  Tanis looked down at his hands. They were bleeding from where the rope had peeled off his skin. He held them out to her. Slowly, her face pale, the woman touched him with the staff. It began to glow blue. Tanis felt a slight shock tingle through his body. Even as he watched, the blood on his palms vanished, the skin became smooth and unscarred, the pain eased and soon left him completely.

  “True healing!” he said in awe.

  4

  The open door.

  Flight into darkness.

  Raistlin sat down on the hearth, rubbing his thin hands in the warmth of the small fire. His golden eyes seemed brighter than the flames as he stared intently at the blue crystal staff resting across the woman’s lap.

  “What do you think?” asked Tanis.

  “If she’s a charlatan, she’s a good one,” Raistlin commented thoughtfully.

  “Worm! You dare to call the Chieftain’s Daughter charlatan!” The tall barbarian stepped toward Raistlin, his dark brows contracted in a vicious scowl. Caramon made a low, rumbling sound in his throat and moved from the window to stand behind his brother.

  “Riverwind …” The woman laid her hand on the man’s arm as he drew near her chair. “Please. He meant no harm. It is right that they do not trust us. They do not know us.”

  “And we do not know them,” the man growled.

  “If I might examine it?” Raistlin said.

  Goldmoon nodded and held out the staff. The mage stretched out his long, bony arm, his thin hands grasping for it eagerly. As Raistlin touched the staff, however, there was a bright flash of blue light and a crackling sound. The mage jerked his hand back, crying out in pain and shock. Caramon jumped forward, but his brother stopped him.

  “No, Caramon,” Raistlin whispered hoarsely, wringing his injured hand. “The lady had nothing to do with that.”

  The woman, indeed, was staring at the staff in amazement.

  “What is it then?” Tanis asked in exasperation. “A staff that heals and injures at the same time?”

  “It merely knows its own.” Raistlin licked his lips, his eyes glittering. “Watch. Caramon, take the staff.”

  “Not me!” The warrior drew back as if from a snake.

  “Take the staff!” Raistlin demanded.

  Reluctantly, Caramon stretched out a trembling hand. His arm twitched as his fingers came closer and closer. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth in anticipation of pain, he touched the staff. Nothing happened.

  Caramon opened his eyes wide, startled. He gripped the staff, lifted it in his huge hand, and grinned.

  “See there.” Raistlin gestured like an illusionist showing off a trick to the crowd. “Only those of simple goodness, pure in heart”—his sarcasm was biting—“may touch the staff. It is truly a sacred staff of healing, blessed by some god. It is not magic. No magic objects that I have ever heard about have healing powers.”

  “Hush!” ordered Tasslehoff, who had taken Caramon’s place by the window. “The Theocrat’s guards!” he warned softly.

  No one spoke. Now they could all hear goblin footsteps flapping on the bridge-walks that ran among the branches of the vallenwood trees.

  “They’re conducting a house-to-house search!” Tanis whispered incredulously, listening to fists banging on a neighboring door.

  “The Seekers demand right of entry!” croaked a voice. There was a pause, then the same voice said, “No one home, do we kick the door in?”

  “Naw,” said another voice. “We’d better just report to the Theocrat, let him kick the door down. Now if it was unlocked, that’d be different, we’re allowed to enter then.”

  Tanis looked at the door opposite him. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He could have sworn they had shut and bolted the door … now it stood slightly open!

  “The door!” he whispered. “Caramon—”

  But the warrior had already moved over to stand behind the door, his back to the wall, his giant hands flexing.

  The footsteps flapped to a stop outside. “The Seekers demand right of entry.” The goblins began to bang on the door, then stopped in surprise as it swung open.

  “This place is empty,” said one. “Let’s move on.”

  “You got no imagination, Grum,” said the other. “Here’s our chance to pick up a few pieces of silver.”

  A goblin head appeared around the open door. Its eyes focused on Raistlin, sitting calmly, his staff on his shoulder. The goblin grunted in alarm, then began to laugh.

  “Oh, ho! Look what we’ve found! A staff!” The goblin’s eyes gleamed. It took a step toward Raistlin, its partner crowding close behind. “Hand me that staff!”

  “Certainly,” the mage whispered. He held his own staff forth. “Shirak,” he said. The crystal ball flared into light. The goblins shrieked and shut their eyes, fumbling for their swords. At that moment, Caramon jumped from behind the door, grabbed the goblins around their necks, and swept their heads together with a sickening thud. The goblin bodies crumpled into a stinking heap.

  “Dead?” asked Tanis as Caramon bent over them, examining them by the light of Raistlin’s staff.

  “I’m afraid so.” The big man sighed. “I hit them too hard.”

  “Well, that’s torn it,” Tanis said grimly. “We’ve murdered two more of the Theocrat’s guards. He’ll have the town up in arms. Now we can’t just lie low for a few days—we’ve got to get out of here! And you two”—he turned to the barbarians—“had better come with us.”

  “Wherever we’re going,” muttered Flint irritably.

  “Where were you headed?” Tanis asked Riverwind.

  “We were traveling to Haven,” the barbarian answered reluctantly.

  “There are wise men there,” Goldmoon said. “We hoped they could tell us about this staff. You see, the song I sang—it was true: the staff saved our lives—”

  “You’ll have to tell us later,” Tanis interrupted. “When these guards don’t report back, every goblin in Solace will be swarming up the trees. Raistlin, put out that light.”

  The mage spoke another word, “Dumak.” The crystal glimmered, then the light died.

  “What’ll we do with the bodies?” Caramon asked, nudging a dead goblin with his booted foot. “And what about Tika? Won’t she get into trouble?”

  “Leave the bodies.” Tanis’s mind was working quickly. “And hack up the door. Sturm, knock over a few tables. We’ll make it look as if we
broke in here and got into a fight with these fellows. That way, Tika shouldn’t be in too much trouble. She’s a smart girl—she’ll manage.”

  “We’ll need food,” Tasslehoff stated. He ran into the kitchen and began rummaging through the shelves, stuffing loaves of bread and anything else that looked edible into his pouches. He tossed Flint a full skin of wine. Sturm overturned a few chairs. Caramon arranged the bodies to make it look as if they had died in a ferocious battle. The Plainsmen stood in front of the dying fire, looking at Tanis uncertainly.

  “Well?” said Sturm. “Now what? Where are we going?”

  Tanis hesitated, running over the options in his mind. The Plainsmen had come from the east and—if their story was true and their tribe had been trying to kill them—they wouldn’t want to go back that way. The group could travel south, into the elven kingdom, but Tanis felt a strange reluctance to go back to his homelands. He knew, too, that the elves would not be pleased to see these strangers enter their hidden city.

  “We will travel north,” he said finally. “We will escort these two until we come to the crossroads, then we can decide what to do from there. They can go on southwest to Haven, if they wish. I plan to travel farther north and see if the rumors about armies gathering are true.”

  “And perhaps run into Kitiara,” Raistlin whispered slyly.

  Tanis flushed. “Is that plan all right?” he asked, looking around.

  “Though not the eldest among us, Tanis, you are the wisest,” Sturm said. “We follow you—as always.”

  Caramon nodded. Raistlin was already heading for the door. Flint shouldered the wine skin, grumbling.

  Tanis felt a gentle hand touch his arm. He turned and looked down into the clear blue eyes of the beautiful barbarian.

  “We are grateful,” Goldmoon said slowly, as if unused to expressing appreciation. “You risk your lives for us, and we are strangers.”

  Tanis smiled and clasped her hand. “I am Tanis. The brothers are Caramon and Raistlin. The knight is Sturm Brightblade. Flint Fireforge carries the wine and Tasslehoff Burrfoot is our clever locksmith. You are Goldmoon and he is Riverwind. There—we are strangers no longer.”