Dragons of Autumn Twilight

by Margaret Weis

  “Riverwind and I didn’t bring any provisions,” Goldmoon said. “We really didn’t expect to make this trip.”

  Tanis was about to ask her more about her song and the staff, but the others started waking up as they smelled food. Caramon yawned, stretched, and stood up. Walking over to peer into the cook-pot, he groaned. “Oatmeal? Is that all?”

  “There’ll be less for dinner.” Tasslehoff grinned. “Tighten your belt. You’re gaining weight anyhow.”

  The big man sighed dismally.

  The sparse breakfast was cheerless in the cold dawn. Sturm, refusing all offers of food, went outside to keep watch. Tanis could see the knight, sitting on a rock, staring gloomily at the dark clouds that trailed wispy fingers along the still water of the lake. Caramon ate his share of the food quickly, gulped down his brother’s portion, and then appropriated Sturm’s when the knight walked out. Then the big man sat, watching wistfully while the rest finished.

  “You gonna eat that?” he asked, pointing to Flint’s share of bread. The dwarf scowled. Tasslehoff, seeing the warrior’s eyes roam over to his plate, crammed his bread into his mouth, nearly choking himself in the process. At least it kept him quiet, Tanis thought, glad for the respite from the kender’s shrill voice. Tas had been teasing Flint unmercifully all morning, calling him “Seamaster” and “Shipmate,” asking him the price of fish, and how much he would charge to ferry them back across the lake. Flint finally threw a rock at him, and Tanis sent Tas down to the lake to scrub out the pans.

  The half-elf walked to the back of the cave.

  “How are you this morning, Raistlin?” he asked. “We’re going to have to be moving out soon.”

  “I am much better,” the mage replied in his soft, whispering voice. He was drinking some herbal concoction of his own making. Tanis could see small, feathery green leaves floating in steaming water. It gave off a bitter, acrid odor and Raistlin grimaced as he swallowed it.

  Tasslehoff came bounding back into the cave, pots and tin plates clattering loudly. Tanis gritted his teeth at the noise, started to reprimand the kender, then changed his mind. It wouldn’t do any good.

  Flint, seeing the tension on Tanis’s face, grabbed the pots from the kender and began packing them away. “Be serious,” the dwarf hissed at Tasslehoff. “Or I’ll take you by the topknot and tie you to a tree as a warning to all kender—”

  Tas reached out and plucked something from the dwarf’s beard. “Look!” the kender held it up gleefully. “Seaweed!” Flint, roaring, made a grab for the kender, but Tas skipped out of his way agilely.

  There was a rustling sound as Sturm shoved aside the brush covering the doorway. His face was dark and brooding.

  “Stop this!” Sturm said, glowering at Flint and Tas, his moustaches quivering. His dour gaze turned on Tanis. “I could hear these two clear down by the lake. They’ll have every goblin in Krynn on us. We’ve got to get out of here. Well, which way are we headed?”

  An uneasy silence fell. Everyone stopped what he was doing and looked at Tanis, with the exception of Raistlin. The mage was wiping his cup out with a white cloth, cleaning it fastidiously. He continued working, eyes downcast, as though totally uninterested.

  Tanis sighed and scratched his beard. “The Theocrat in Solace is corrupt. We know that now. He is using the goblin scum to take control. If he had the staff, he would use it for his own profit. We’ve searched for a sign of the true gods for years. It seems we may have found one. I am not about to hand it over to that Solace fraud. Tika said she believed the Highseekers in Haven were still interested in the truth. They may be able to tell us about the staff, where it came from, what its powers are. Tas, give me the map.”

  The kender, spilling the contents of several pouches onto the floor, finally produced the parchment requested.

  “We are here, on the west bank of Crystalmir,” Tanis continued. “North and south of us are branches of the Kharolis Mountains which form the boundaries of Solace Vale. There are no known passes through either range except through Gateway Pass south of Solace—”

  “Almost certainly held by the goblins,” muttered Sturm. “There are passes to the northeast—”

  “That’s across the lake!” Flint said in horror.

  “Yes”—Tanis kept a straight face—“across the lake. But those lead to the Plains, and I don’t believe you want to go that direction.” He glanced at Goldmoon and Riverwind. “The west road goes through the Sentinel Peaks and Shadow Canyon to Haven. That seems to me the obvious direction to take.”

  Sturm frowned. “And if the Highseekers there are as bad as the one in Solace?”

  “Then we continue south to Qualinesti.”

  “Qualinesti?” Riverwind scowled. “The Elven Lands? No! Humans are forbidden to enter. Besides, the way is hidden—”

  A rasping, hissing sound cut into the discussion. Everyone turned to face Raistlin as he spoke. “There is a way.” His voice was soft and mocking; his golden eyes glittered in the cold light of dawn. “The paths of Darken Wood. They lead right to Qualinesti.”

  “Darken Wood?” Caramon repeated in alarm. “No, Tanis!”

  The warrior shook his head. “I’ll fight the living any day of the week—but not the dead!”

  “The dead?” Tasslehoff asked eagerly. “Tell me, Caramon—”

  “Shut up, Tas!” Sturm snapped. “Darken Wood is madness. None who enter have ever returned. You would have us take this prize there, mage?”

  “Hold!” Tanis spoke sharply. Everyone fell silent. Even Sturm quieted. The knight looked at Tanis’s calm, thoughtful face, the almond-shaped eyes that held the wisdom of his many years of wandering. The knight had often tried to resolve within himself why he accepted Tanis’s leadership. He was nothing more than a bastard half-elf, after all. He did not come of noble blood. He wore no armor, carried no shield with a proud emblem. Yet Sturm followed him, and loved him and respected him as he respected no other living man.

  Life was a dark shroud to the Solamnic knight. He could not pretend to ever know or understand it except through the code of the knights he lived by. “Est Sularus oth Mithas”—“My honor is life.” The code defined honor and was more complete and detailed and strict than any known on Krynn. The code had held true for seven hundred years, but Sturm’s secret fear was that, someday, in the final battle, the code would have no answers. He knew that if that day came, Tanis would be at his side, holding the crumbling world together. For while Sturm followed the code, Tanis lived it.

  Tanis’s voice brought the knight’s thoughts back to the present. “I remind all of you that this staff is not our ‘prize.’ The staff rightfully belongs to Goldmoon—if it belongs to anyone. We have no more right to it than the Theocrat in Solace.” Tanis turned to Goldmoon. “What is your will, lady?”

  Goldmoon stared from Tanis to Sturm, then she looked at Riverwind. “You know my mind,” he said coldly. “But—you are Chieftain’s Daughter.” He rose to his feet. Ignoring her pleading gaze, he stalked outside.

  “What did he mean?” Tanis asked.

  “He wants us to leave you, take the staff to Haven,” Goldmoon answered, her voice low. “He says you are adding to our danger. We would be safer on our own.”

  “Adding to your danger!” Flint exploded. “Why we wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t have nearly drowned—again!—if it hadn’t been for—for—” The dwarf began to sputter in his rage.

  Tanis held up his hand. “Enough.” He scratched his beard. “You will be safer with us. Will you accept our help?”

  “I will,” Goldmoon answered gravely, “for a short distance at least.”

  “Good,” Tanis said. “Tas, you know your way through Solace Vale. You are our guide. And remember, we’re not on a picnic!”

  “Yes, Tanis,” the kender said, subdued. He gathered his many pouches, hung them around his waist and over his shoulders. Passing Goldmoon, he knelt swiftly and patted her hand, then he was out the cave entrance. The rest hastily gathered their g
ear together and followed.

  “It’s going to rain again,” Flint grumbled, glancing up at the lowering clouds. “I should have stayed in Solace.” Muttering, he walked off, adjusting his battle-axe on his back. Tanis, waiting for Goldmoon and Riverwind, smiled and shook his head. At least some things never changed, dwarves among them.

  Riverwind took their packs from Goldmoon and slung them over his shoulder. “I have made certain the boat is well-hidden and secure,” he told Tanis. The stoic mask was in place again this morning. “In case we need it.”

  “A good idea,” Tanis said. “Thank—”

  “If you will go ahead.” Riverwind motioned. “I will come behind and cover our tracks.”

  Tanis started to speak, to thank the Plainsman. But Riverwind had already turned his back and was beginning his work. Walking up the path, the half-elf shook his head. Behind him, he could hear Goldmoon speaking softly in her own language. Riverwind replied—one, harsh word. Tanis heard Goldmoon sigh, then all other words were lost in the sound of crackling brush as Riverwind obliterated all traces of their passing.

  7

  The story of the staff.

  Strange clerics. Eerie feelings.

  The thick woods of Solace Vale were a green mass of vibrant life. Beneath the dense roof of the vallenwoods flourished thistlebrush and greenwall. The ground was crisscrossed with the bothersome tangleshoot vines. These had to be trod on with great care or they would suddenly snake around an ankle, trapping the helpless victim until he was devoured by one of the many predatory animals lurking in the Vale, thus providing tangleshoot with what it needed to live—blood.

  It took over an hour of hacking and chopping through the brush to get to the Haven Road. All of them were scratched, torn, and tired, and the long stretch of smooth-packed dirt that carried travelers to Haven or beyond was a welcome sight. It wasn’t until they stopped just in sight of the road and rested that they realized there were no sounds. A hush had fallen over the land, as if every creature were holding its breath, waiting. Now that they had reached the road, no one was particularly eager to step out of the shelter of the brush.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” Caramon asked, peering through a hedge.

  “Safe or not, it’s the way we have to go,” Tanis snapped, “unless you can fly or unless you want to go back into the forest. It took us an hour to travel a few hundred yards. We ought to reach the crossroads next week at that pace.”

  The big man flushed, chagrined. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m sorry.” Tanis sighed. He too looked down the road. The vallenwoods formed a dark corridor in the gray light. “I don’t like it any better than you do.”

  “Do we separate or stay together?” Sturm interrupted what he considered idle chatter with cold practicality.

  “We stay together,” Tanis replied. Then, after a moment, he added, “Still, someone ought to scout—”

  “I will, Tanis,” Tas volunteered, popping up out of the brush beneath Tanis’s elbow. “No one would ever suspect a kender traveling alone.”

  Tanis frowned. Tas was right—no one would suspect him. Kender were all afflicted with wanderlust, traveling throughout Krynn in search of adventure. But Tas had the disconcerting habit of forgetting his mission and wandering off if something more interesting caught his attention.

  “Very well,” Tanis said finally. “But, remember, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, keep your eyes open and your wits about you. No roaming off the road and above all”—Tanis fixed the kender’s eye with his own sternly—“keep your hands out of other people’s belongings.”

  “Unless they’re bakers,” Caramon added.

  Tas giggled, pushed his way through the final few feet of brush, and started off down the road, his hoopak staff digging holes in the mud, his pouches jouncing up and down as he walked. They heard his voice lift in a kender trailsong.

  Your one true love’s a sailing ship

  That anchors at our pier.

  We lift her sails, we man her decks,

  We scrub the portholes clear;

  And yes, our lighthouse shines for her,

  And yes, our shores are warm;

  We steer her into harbor,

  Any port in a storm.

  The sailors stand upon the docks,

  The sailors stand in line,

  As thirsty as a dwarf for gold

  Or centaurs for cheap wine.

  For all the sailors love her,

  And flock to where she’s moored,

  Each man hoping that he might

  Go down, all hands on board.

  Tanis, grinning, allowed a few minutes to pass after hearing the last verse of Tas’s song before starting out. Finally they stepped out on the road with as much fear as a troupe of unskilled actors facing a hostile audience. It felt as if every eye on Krynn was on them.

  The deep shade under the flame-colored leaves made it impossible to see anything in the woods even a few feet from the road. Sturm walked ahead of the group, alone, in bitter silence. Tanis knew that though the knight held his head proudly, he was slogging through his own darkness. Caramon and Raistlin followed. Tanis kept his eyes on the mage, concerned about his ability to keep up.

  Raistlin had experienced some difficulty in getting through the brush, but he was moving along well now. He leaned on his staff with one hand, holding open a book with the other. Tanis at first wondered what the mage was studying, then realized it was his spellbook. It is the curse of the magi that they must constantly study and recommit their spells to memory every day. The words of magic flame in the mind, then flicker and die when the spell is cast. Each spell burns up some of the magician’s physical and mental energy until he is totally exhausted and must rest before he can use his magic again.

  Flint stumped along on the other side of Caramon. The two began to argue softly about the ten-year-old boating accident.

  “Trying to catch a fish with your bare hands—” Flint grumbled his disgust.

  Tanis came last, walking next to the Plainsmen. He turned his attention to Goldmoon. Seeing her clearly in the flecked gray light beneath the trees, he noticed lines around her eyes that made her appear older than her twenty-nine years.

  “Our lives have not been easy,” Goldmoon confided to him as they walked. “Riverwind and I have loved each other many years, but it is the law of my people that a warrior who wants to marry his chieftain’s daughter must perform some great feat to prove himself worthy. It was worse with us. Riverwind’s family was cast out of our tribe years ago for refusing to worship our ancestors. His grandfather believed in ancient gods who had existed before the Cataclysm, though he could find little evidence of them left on Krynn.

  “My father was determined I should not marry so far beneath my station. He sent Riverwind on an impossible quest, to find some object with holy properties that would prove the existence of these ancient gods. Of course, my father didn’t believe such an object existed. He hoped Riverwind would meet his death, or that I would come to love another.” She looked up at the tall warrior walking beside her and smiled. But his face was hard, his eyes staring far away. Her smile faded. Sighing, she continued her story, speaking softly, more to herself than Tanis.

  “Riverwind was gone long years. And my life was empty. I sometimes thought my heart would die. Then, just a week ago, he returned. He was half-dead, out of his mind with a raging fever. He stumbled into camp and fell at my feet, his skin burning to the touch. In his hand, he clutched this staff. We had to pry his fingers loose. Even unconscious, he would not release it.

  “He raved in his fever about a dark place, a broken city where death had black wings. Then, when he was nearly wild with fear and terror and the servants had to tie his arms to the bed, he remembered a woman, a woman dressed in blue light. She came to him in the dark place, he said, and healed him and gave him the staff. When he remembered her, he grew calmer and his fever broke.

  “Two days ago—” She paused, had it really been only two days? It se
emed a lifetime! Sighing, she continued. “He presented the staff to my father, telling him it had been given to him by a goddess, though he did not know her name. My father looked at this staff”—Goldmoon held it up—“and commanded it to do something, anything. Nothing happened. He threw it back to Riverwind, proclaiming him a fraud, and ordered the people to stone him to death as punishment for his blasphemy!”

  Goldmoon’s face grew pale as she spoke, Riverwind’s face dark and shadowed.

  “The tribe bound Riverwind and dragged him to the Grieving Wall,” she said, barely speaking above a whisper. “They started hurling rocks. He looked at me with so much love and he shouted that not even death would separate us. I couldn’t bear the thought of living my life alone, without him. I ran to him. The rocks struck us—” Goldmoon put her hand to her forehead, wincing in remembered pain, and Tanis’s attention was drawn to a fresh, jagged scar on her tanned skin. “There was a blinding flash of light. When Riverwind and I could see again, we were standing on the road outside of Solace. The staff glowed blue, then dimmed and faded until it is as you see it now. It was then we determined to go to Haven and ask the wise men at the temple about the staff.”

  “Riverwind,” Tanis asked, troubled, “what do you remember of this broken city? Where was it?”

  Riverwind didn’t answer. He glanced at Tanis out of the corner of his dark eyes, and it was obvious his thoughts had been far away. Then he stared off into the shadowy trees.

  “Tanis Half-Elven,” he finally said. “That is your name?”

  “Among humans, that is what I am called,” Tanis answered. “My elvish name is long and difficult for humans to pronounce.”

  Riverwind frowned. “Why is it,” he asked, “that you are called half-elf and not half-man?”

  The question struck Tanis like a blow across the face. He could almost envision himself sprawling in the dirt and had to force himself to stop and swallow an angry retort. He knew Riverwind was asking this question for a reason. It had not been meant as an insult. This was a test, Tanis realized. He chose his words carefully.