Tika almost laughed, but it came out a sob instead. Caramon’s tools—the hammer with the wiggly head that flew off every time it hit a nail, the saw with so many teeth missing it looked like a grinning gully dwarf, the plane that wouldn’t smooth butter. But they were precious to Tika. She’d left them right where he’d left them.
Thud, thud, thud.
Creeping out into the living area of her small house, Tika’s hand was on the door handle when she stopped.
“Weapon,” she muttered. Looking around hastily, she grabbed the first thing she saw—her heavy iron skillet. Holding it firmly by the handle, Tika opened the front door slowly and quietly and sneaked outside.
The sun’s rays were just lighting the tops of the mountains, outlining their snow-capped peaks in gold against the clear, cloudless blue sky. The grass sparked with dew like tiny jewels, the morning air was sweet and crisp and pure. The new bright green leaves of the vallenwoods rustled and laughed as the sun touched them, waking them. So fresh and clear and glittering was this morning that it might well have been the very first morning of the very first day, with the gods looking down upon their work and smiling.
But Tika was not thinking about gods or mornings or the dew that was cold upon her bare feet. Clutching the skillet in one hand, keeping it hidden behind her back, she stealthily climbed the rungs of the ladder leading up into the unfinished house perched among the strong branches of the vallenwood. Near the top she stopped, peeping over the edge.
Ah, ha! There was someone up here! She could just barely make out a figure crouched in a shadowy corner. Hauling herself up over the edge, still making no sound, Tika padded softly across the wooden floor, her fingers getting a firm grip on the skillet.
But as she crossed the floor, creeping up on the intruder, she thought she heard a muffled giggle.
She hesitated, then continued on resolutely. Just my imagination, she told herself, moving closer to the cloaked figure. She could see him clearly now. It was a man, a human, and by the looks of the brawny arms and the muscular shoulders, it was one of the biggest men Tika had ever seen! He was down on his hands and knees, his broad back was turned toward her, she saw him raise his hand.
He was holding Caramon’s hammer!
How dare he touch Caramon’s things! Well, big man or no—they’re all the same size once they’re laid out on the floor.
Tika raised the skillet—
“Caramon! Look out!” cried a shrill voice.
The big man rose to his feet and turned around.
The skillet fell to the floor with a ringing clatter. So did a hammer and a handful of nails.
With a thankful sob, Tika clasped her husband in her arms.
“Isn’t this wonderful, Tika? I bet you were surprised, weren’t you! Were you surprised, Tika? And say—would you really have wanged Caramon over the head if I hadn’t stopped you? That might have been kind of interesting to watch, though I don’t think it would have done Caramon much good. Hey, do you remember when you hit that draconian over the head with the skillet—the one that was getting ready to rough up Gilthanas? Tika?… Caramon?”
Tas looked at his two friends. They weren’t saying a word. They weren’t hearing a word. They just stood there, holding each other. The kender felt a suspicious moisture creep into his eyes.
“Well,” he said with a gulp and a smile, “I’ll just go down and wait for you in the living room.”
Slithering down the ladder, Tas entered the small, neat house that stood below the sheltering vallenwood. Once inside, he took out a handkerchief, blew his nose, then began to cheerfully investigate the furnishings.
“From the looks of things,” he said to himself, admiring a brand-new cookie jar so much that he absent-mindedly stuffed it into a pouch (cookies included), all the while being firmly convinced that he’d set it back on the shelf, “Tika and Caramon are going to be up there quite a while, maybe even the rest of the morning. Perhaps this would be a good time to sort all my stuff.”
Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, the kender blissfully upended his pouches, spilling their contents out onto the rug. As he absent-mindedly munched on a few cookies, Tas’s proud gaze went first to a whole sheaf of new maps Tanis had given him. Unrolling them, one after another, his small finger traced a route to all the wonderful places he’d visited in his many adventures.
“It was nice traveling,” he said after a while, “but it’s certainly nicer coming home. I’ll just stay here with Tika and Caramon. We’ll be a family. Caramon said I could have a room in the new house and—Why, what’s that?” He looked closely at the map. “Merilon? I never heard of a city named Merilon. I wonder what it’s like.…
“No!” Tas retorted. “You are through adventuring, Burrfoot. You’ve got quite enough stories to tell Flint as it is. You’re going to settle down and become a respectable member of society. Maybe even become High Sheriff.”
Rolling up the map (fond dreams in his head of running for High Sheriff), he placed it back in its case (not without a wistful glance). Then, turning his back upon it, he began to look through his treasures.
“A white chicken feather, an emerald, a dead rat—yick, where did I get that? A ring carved to look like ivy leaves, a tiny golden dragon—that’s funny, I certainly don’t remember putting that in my pouch. A piece of broken blue crystal, a dragon’s tooth, white rose petals, some kid’s old worn-out, plush rabbit, and—oh, look. Here’s Gnimsh’s plans for the mechanical lift and—what’s this? A book! Sleight-of-Hand Techniques to Amaze and Delight! Now isn’t that interesting? I’m sure this will really come in handy and, oh, no”—Tas frowned irritably—“there’s that silver bracelet of Tanis’s again. I wonder how he manages to hang onto anything without me around, constantly picking up after him? He’s extremely careless. I’m surprised Laurana puts up with it.”
He peered into the pouch. “That’s all, I guess.” He sighed. “Well, it certainly has been interesting. Mostly—it was truly wonderful. I met several dragons. I flew in a citadel. I turned myself into a mouse. I broke a dragon orb. Paladine and I became close, personal friends.
“There were some sad times,” he said to himself softly. “But they aren’t even sad to me now. They just give me a little funny ache, right here.” He pressed his hand on his heart. “I’m going to miss adventuring very much. But there’s no one to adventure with anymore. They’ve all settled down, their lives are bright and pleasant.” His small hand explored the smooth bottom of one final pouch. “It’s time for me to settle down, too, like I said, and I think High Sheriff would be a most fascinating job and—
“Wait.… what’s that? In the very bottom.…” He pulled out a small object, almost lost, tucked into a corner of the pouch. Holding it in his hand, staring at it in wonder, Tas drew in a deep, quivering breath.
“How did Caramon lose this? He was so very careful of it. But then, he’s had a lot on his mind lately. I’ll just go give it back to him. He’s probably fearfully worried over misplacing it. After all, what would Par-Salian say.…”
Studying the plain, nondescript pendant in his palm, Tas never noticed that his other hand—apparently acting of its own accord since he had quit adventuring—skittered around behind him and closed over the map case.
“What was the name of that place? Merilon?”
It must have been the hand that spoke. Certainly not Tas, who had given up adventuring.
The map case went into a pouch, along with all of Tas’s other treasures; the hand scooping them up hastily and stowing them away.
The hand also gathered up all of Tas’s pouches, slinging them over his shoulders, hanging them from his belt, stuffing one into the pocket of his brand-new bright red leggings.
The hand busily began to change the plain, nondescript pendant into a sceptre that was really quite beautiful—all covered with jewels—and looked very magical.
“Once you’re finished,” Tas told his hand severely, “we’ll take it right upstairs and give it to
Caramon—”
“Where’s Tas?” Tika murmured from the warmth and comfort of Caramon’s strong arms.
Caramon, resting his cheek against her head, kissed her red curls and held her tighter. “I don’t know. Went down to the house, I think.”
“You realize,” said Tika, snuggling closer, “that we won’t have a spoon left.”
Caramon smiled. Putting his hand on her chin, he raised her head and kissed her lips.…
An hour later, the two were walking around the floor of the unfinished house, Caramon pointing out the improvements and changes he planned to make. “The baby’s room will go here,” he said, “next to our bedroom, and this will be the room for the older kids. No, I guess two rooms, one for the boys and one for the girls.” He pretended to ignore Tika’s blush. “And the kitchen and Tas’s room and the guest room—Tanis and Laurana are coming to visit—and.…” Caramon’s voice died.
He had come to the one room in the house he had actually finished—the room with the wizard’s mark carved on a plaque which hung above the door.
Tika looked at him, her laughing face suddenly grown pale and serious.
Reaching up, Caramon slowly took down the plaque. He looked at it silently for long moments, then, with a smile, he handed it to Tika.
“Keep this for me, will you, my dear?” he asked softly and gently.
She looked up at him in wonder, her trembling fingers going over the smooth edges of the plaque, tracing out the arcane symbol inscribed upon it.
“Will you tell me what happened, Caramon?” she asked.
“Someday,” he said, gathering her into his arms, holding her close. “Someday,” he repeated. Then, kissing the red curls, he stood, looking out over the town, watching it waken and come to life.
Through the sheltering leaves of the vallenwood, he could see the gabled roof of the Inn. He could hear voices now, sleepy voices, laughing, scolding. He could smell the smoke of cooking fires as it rose into the air, filling the green valley with a soft haze.
He held his wife in his arms, feeling her love surround him, seeing his love for her shining before him always, shining pure and white like the light from Solinari … or the light shining from the crystal atop a magical staff.…
Caramon sighed, deeply, contentedly. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he murmured.
“I’m home.”
Wedding Song
(A reprise)
But you and I, through burning plains,
through darkness of the earth,
affirm the world, its people,
the heavens that gave them birth,
the breath that passes between us,
this new home where we stand,
and all those things made larger by
the vows between woman and man.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We would like to acknowledge the original members of the DRAGONLANCE story design team: Tracy Hickman, Harold Johnson, Jeff Grubb, Michael Williams, Gali Sanchez, Gary Spiegle, and Carl Smith.
We want to thank those who came to join us in Krynn: Doug Niles, Laura Hickman, Michael Dobson, Bruce Nesmith, Bruce Heard, Michael Breault, and Roger E. Moore.
We would like to thank our editor, Jean Blashfield Black, who has been with us through all our trials and triumphs.
And, finally, we want to express our deep thanks to all of those who have offered encouragement and support: David “Zeb” Cook, Larry Elmore, Keith Parkinson, Clyde Caldwell, Jeff Easley, Ruth Hoyer, Carolyn Vanderbilt, Patrick L. Price, Bill Larson, Steve Sullivan, Denis Beauvais, Valerie Valusek, Dezra and Terry Phillips, Janet and Gary Pack, our families, and, last but not least—all of you who have written to us.
AFTERWORD
And so, our travels in Krynn have come to an end.
We know that this will disappoint many of you, who have been hoping that our adventures in this wonderful land would last forever. But, as Tasslehoff’s mother might say, “There comes a time when you have to toss out the cat, lock up the door, put the key under the mat, and start off down the road.”
Of course, the key will always remain under the doormat (provided no other kender move into town), and we are not discounting the possibility that someday we might journey down this road in search of that key. But we have Tas’s magical time-traveling device in our pouches now (fortunately for Krynn!), and there are more worlds we are eager to explore before we return to this one.
We had no idea, when the DRAGONLANCE® project was started, that it would be as successful as it has been. There are many reasons for this, but the main one, I think, is that we had a truly great team working on the project. From the writers to the artists to the game designers to the editors—everyone on the DRAGONLANCE team cared about their work and went above and beyond the call of duty to make certain it succeeded. Tracy says that—somewhere—Krynn really exists and that all of us have been there. We know this is true, because it is so hard saying good-bye.
Speaking of saying good-bye, we first realized the depth of feeling readers had for our characters and our world we had created when we received the outpouring of letters regarding the death of Sturm.
“I know Sturm doesn’t mean anything to you!” one distraught reader wrote. “After all, he’s just a figment of your imagination.”
Of course, he was much more than that to us. Spending so much time with our characters, they become very real to us, too. We triumph with them, grieve with them, and mourn them. We did not “kill” Sturm arbitrarily. The noble Knight of Solamnia was intended to be a tragic hero from the first inception of the project. Death is a part of life, it is a part we all face and must learn to deal with—even our happy-go-lucky kender.
Sturm’s death is foreshadowed in the first book by the Forestmaster, who looks directly at the knight when she says, “We do not mourn the loss of those who die fulfilling their destinies.”
Sturm’s brave sacrifice forces the knights to reexamine their values and eventually provides the means to unite them. Sturm died as he lived—courageously, with honor, serving others. His memory lives for those who loved him, just as the light of the Starjewel beams in the darkness. Many times, when his friends are troubled or facing a dangerous situation, the memory of the knight returns to them, giving them strength and courage.
We knew that Flint’s death would have a sad impact on Tasslehoff and, indeed, we wept more for Tas when Flint died than we did for the old dwarf, who had led a rich, full life. But something in Tas changed forever (and for the better) when he lost his gruff but tender-hearted friend. This, too, was a necessary change (though Tanis would add here that some things never change—kender among them!). But we knew that Tas would have to face a rough road in the second trilogy. We knew he would need strength and, most of all, compassion to come through it.
We always hoped we would have a chance to tell Caramon’s and Raistlin’s story, even when we were still working on the first trilogy. When writing the short story, “Test of the Twins,” we had the vague outlines in mind of what would eventually become the second trilogy. LEGENDS grew in scope and depth even as we worked on CHRONICLES, and therefore it was quite simple to just keep traveling down the road with those of our characters who still needed us.
It was important to us to show in LEGENDS a quest that was not so much involved with saving a world as it was (as Par-Salian says) with saving a soul. Everyone believed that it was Raistlin’s soul we referred to, but, of course, it was his twin’s. The archmage had already doomed himself. The only thing that saves him at the end is his brother’s love and that small spark of caring in his own heart that even the darkness within him cannot completely extinguish.
But now this road has brought us, as all roads must eventually, to a parting. We authors are traveling down one path, our characters another. We feel confident we can leave them now. They don’t need us anymore. Caramon has found the inner resources he needs to cope with life. He and Tika will have many sons and daughters, and we would be surprised if at least o
ne doesn’t become a mage.
Undoubtedly Caramon’s children will join with Tanis’s one son (a quiet, introspective youth) and with Riverwind’s and Goldmoon’s golden-haired twins in some adventure or other. They might possibly try to discover whatever became of Gilthanas and Silvara. They might journey to the united elven kingdom, brought together at last by Alhana and Porthios, who do—after all—come to develop a deep and enduring love for each other. They may meet up with Bupu’s children (she married the Highbulp when he wasn’t looking) or they might even travel for a while with “Grandpa” Tasslehoff.
Astinus will chronicle these adventures, of course, even if we do not. And you who are role-playing the DRAGONLANCE games will undoubtedly come to know more about the further adventures than we will. At any rate, you will continue, we hope, to have a marvelous time in that fabled land. But we must be on our way.
We shake hands with Tas (who is snuffling again) and bid him goodbye (checking our pouches first, of course, and relieving Tas of the many personal possessions we have unaccountably “dropped”). Then we watch as the kender goes skipping down the road, his topknot bobbing, and we imagine that we can see him—in the distance—meet up with an old, befuddled wizard, who is wandering about looking for his lost hat—which is on his head.
And then they vanish from our sight. With a sigh, we turn and walk down the new road that beckons us onward.
About the Authors
Margaret Weis
Margaret Weis began her collaboration with Tracy Hickman on the DRAGONLANCE® series more than sixteen years ago, and a decade and a half later she is the author of numerous DRAGONLANCE novels, the four-volume galactic fantasy Star of the Guardian, and co-author with Don Perrin of The Doom Brigade, Draconian Measures, Knights of the Black Earth, Robot Blues, Hung Out, and Brothers in Arms. She lives in southern Wisconsin.
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