“Sanction has long been besieged,” Galdar said, disbelieving. “Ever since the foul Solamnics made a pact with that bastard who rules the city, Hogan Bight. We cannot dislodge them, and they do not have the strength to drive us back. The battle is at a stalemate. We attack the walls every day and they defend. Civilians are killed. Parts of the city catch fire. Eventually they’ll grow weary of this and surrender. The siege has lasted for well over a year now. I don’t see that a single day will make any difference. Stay here and rest.”
“You do not see because your eyes are not yet fully open,” Mina said. “Bring me some water to wash my hands and some cloth to wipe them clean of blood. Have no fear. I will be able to ride and to fight.”
“Why not heal yourself, Mina?” Galdar suggested, testing her, hoping to see another miracle. “Heal yourself as you healed me.”
Her amber eyes caught the light of the coming dawn, just starting to brighten the sky. She looked into the dawn and the thought came to his mind that she was already seeing tomorrow’s sunset.
“Many hundreds will die in terrible agony,” she said in a soft voice. “The pain I bear, I bear in tribute to them. I give it as gift to my god. Rouse the others, Galdar. It is time.”
Galdar expected more than half the soldiers to depart, as they had threatened to do in the night. He found on his return to camp that the men were already up and stirring. They were in excellent spirits, confident, excited, speaking of the bold deeds they would do this day. Deeds that they said had come to them in dreams more real than waking.
Mina appeared among them, carrying her shield and her morning star in hands that still bled. Galdar watched her with concern. She was weary from her exercise and from the previous day’s hard ride. Standing upon the road, isolated, alone, she seemed suddenly mortal, fragile. Her head drooped, her shoulders sagged. Her hands must burn and sting, her muscles ache. She sighed deeply and looked heavenward, as if questioning whether or not she truly had the strength to carry on.
At sight of her, the Knights lifted their swords, clashed them against their shields in salute.
“Mina! Mina!” they chanted and their chants bounded back from the mountains with the stirring sound of a clarion’s call.
Mina lifted her head. The salute was wine to her flagging spirits. Her lips parted, she drank it in. Weariness fell from her like cast-off rags. Her armor shone red in the lurid light of the rising sun.
“Ride hard. We ride this day to glory,” she told them, and the Knights cheered wildly.
Foxfire came at her command. She mounted and grasped the reins firmly in her bleeding, blistered hands. It was then that Galdar, taking his place alongside her, running at her stirrup, noted that she wore around her neck a silver medallion upon a silver chain. He looked at it closely, to see what the medallion might have engraved upon its surface.
The medallion was blank. Plain silver, without mark. Strange. Why should anyone wear a blank medallion? He had no chance to ask her, for at that instant Mina struck her spurs to her horse’s flank.
Foxfire galloped down the road.
Mina’s Knights rode behind her.
6
The Funeral of Caramon Majere
t the rising of the sun—a splendid dawn of gold and purple with a heart of deep, vibrant red—the people of Solace gathered outside the Inn of the Last Home in silent vigil, offering their love and their respect for the brave, good and gentle man who lay inside.
There was little talk. The people stood in silence presaging the great silence that will fall eventually upon us all. Mothers quieted fretful children, who stared at the Inn, ablaze with lights, not understanding what had happened, only sensing that it was something great and awful, a sensation that impressed itself upon their unformed minds, one they would remember to the end of their own days.
“I’m truly sorry, Laura,” Tas said to her in the quiet hour before dawn.
Laura stood beside the booth where Caramon was accustomed to have his breakfast. She stood there doing nothing, staring at nothing, her face pale and drawn.
“Caramon was my very best friend in all the world,” Tas told her.
“Thank you.” She smiled, though her smile trembled. Her eyes were red from weeping.
“Tasslehoff,” the kender reminded her, thinking she had forgotten his name.
“Yes.” Laura appeared uneasy. “Er … Tasslehoff.”
“I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot. The original,” the kender added, recalling his thirty-seven namesakes—thirty-nine counting the dogs. “Caramon recognized me. He gave me a hug and said he was glad to see me.”
Laura regarded him uncertainly. “You certainly do look like Tasslehoff. But then I was just a little girl the last time I remember seeing him, and all kender look alike anyway, and it just doesn’t make sense! Tasslehoff Burrfoot’s been dead these thirty years!”
Tas would have explained—all about the Device of Time Journeying and Fizban having set the device wrong the first time so that Tas had arrived at Caramon’s first funeral too late to give his speech, but there was a lump of sadness caught in the kender’s gullet, a lump so very big that it prevented the words from coming out.
Laura’s gaze went to the stairs of the Inn. Her eyes filled again with tears. She put her head in her hands.
“There, there,” Tas said, patting her shoulder. “Palin will be here soon. He knows who I am, and he’ll be able to explain everything.”
“Palin won’t be here,” Laura sobbed. “I can’t get word to him. It’s too dangerous! His own father dead and him not able to come to the burial. His wife and my dear sister trapped in Haven, since the dragon’s closed the roads. Only me here to say good-bye to father. It’s too hard! Too hard to bear!”
“Why, of course, Palin will be here,” Tas stated, wondering what dragon had closed the roads and why. He meant to ask, but with all the other thoughts in his mind, this one couldn’t battle its way to the front. “There’s that young wizard staying here in the Inn. Room Seventeen. His name is … well, I forget his name, but you’ll send him to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, where Palin is Head of the Order of White Robes.”
“What tower in Wayreth?” Laura said. She had stopped crying and was looking puzzled. “The tower’s gone, disappeared, just like the tower in Palanthas. Palin was head of the Academy of Sorcery, but he doesn’t even have that, anymore. The dragon Beryl destroyed the academy a year ago, almost to this date. And there is no Room Seventeen. Not since the Inn was rebuilt the second time.”
Tas, busy with remembering, wasn’t listening. “Palin will come right away and he’ll bring Dalamar, too, and Jenna. Palin will send the messengers to Lady Crysania in the Temple of Paladine and to Goldmoon and Riverwind in Queshu and Laurana and Gilthas and Silvanoshei in Silvanesti. They’ll all be here soon so we … we …”
Tas’s voice trailed off.
Laura was staring at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads. Tas knew because he’d felt that same expression on his own face when he’d been in the presence of a troll who had done that very thing. Slowly, keeping her eyes on Tas, Laura edged away from him.
“You sit right down here,” she said, and her voice was very soft and very gentle. “Sit right here, and I’ll … I’ll bring you a big plate of—”
“Spiced potatoes?” Tas asked brightly. If anything could get rid of the lump in his throat, it was Otik’s spiced potatoes.
“Yes, a big, heaping dish of spiced potatoes. We haven’t lit the cook fires yet this morning, and Cook was so upset I gave her the day off, so it may take me awhile. You sit down and promise you won’t go anywhere,” Laura said, backing away from the table. She slid a chair in between her and Tas.
“Oh, I won’t go anywhere at all,” Tas promised, plopping himself down. “I have to speak at the funeral, you know.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Laura pressed her lips tightly together with the result that she wasn’t able to say anything for a few moments. Drawing in a deep breath, she
added, “You have to speak at the funeral. Stay here, that’s a good kender.”
“Good” and “kender” being two words that were rarely, if ever, linked, Tasslehoff spent the time sitting at the table, thinking about what a good kender might be and wondering if he was one himself. He assumed he probably was, since he was a hero and all that. Having settled this question to his satisfaction, he took out his notes and went over his speech, humming a little tune to keep himself company and to help the sadness work its way down his windpipe.
He heard Laura talking to a young man, perhaps the wizard in Room Seventeen, but Tas didn’t really pay much attention to what she was saying, since it seemed to involve a poor person who was afflicted, a person who had gone crazy and might be dangerous. At any other time, Tas would have been interested to see a dangerous, afflicted, crazy person, but he had his speech to worry about, and since that was the reason he’d made this trip in the first place—or rather, in the second place—he concentrated on that.
He was still concentrating on it, along with a plate of potatoes and a mug of ale, when he became aware that a tall person was standing over him wearing a grim expression.
“Oh, hullo,” Tas said, looking up smiling to see that the tall person was actually his extremely good friend, the Knight who’d arrested him yesterday. Since the Knight was an extremely good friend, it was a pity Tas couldn’t recall his name. “Please, sit down. Would you like some potatoes? Maybe some eggs?”
The Knight refused all offers of anything to eat or drink. He took a seat opposite Tas, regarded the kender with a stern expression.
“I understand that you have been causing trouble,” the Knight said in a cold and nasty flat tone of voice.
It just so happened that at that moment Tasslehoff was rather proud of himself for not causing any trouble. He’d been sitting quietly at the table, thinking sad thoughts of Caramon’s being gone and happy thoughts of the wonderful time they’d spent together. He hadn’t once looked to see if there might be something interesting in the wood box. He had foregone his usual inspection of the silver chest, and he had only acquired one strange purse, and while he didn’t exactly remember how he had come by that, he had to assume that someone had dropped it. He’d be sure to return it after the funeral.
Tas was therefore justifiably resentful of the Knight’s implication. He fixed the Knight with a stern eye—dueling stern eyes, as it were. “I’m sure you don’t mean to be ugly,” Tas said. “You’re upset. I understand.”
The young Knight’s face took on a very peculiar color, going extremely red, almost purple. He tried to say something, but he was so angry that when he opened his mouth, only sputters came out.
“I see the problem,” Tas said, correcting himself. “No wonder you didn’t understand me. I didn’t mean ‘ugly’ as in ‘ugly.’ I was referring to your disposition, not your face, which is, however, a remarkably ugly one. I don’t know when I’ve seen one uglier. Still, I know you can’t mend your face, and perhaps you can’t mend your disposition either, being a Solamnic Knight and all, but you have made a mistake. I have not been causing trouble. I have been sitting at this table eating potatoes—they’re really quite good, are you sure you won’t have some? Well, if you won’t, I’ll just finish up these last few. Where was I? Oh, yes. I’ve been sitting here eating and working on my speech. For the funeral.”
When the Knight was finally able to speak without sputters, his tone was even colder and nastier, if such a thing were possible. “Mistress Laura sent word through one of the customers that you were scaring her with your outlandish and irrational statements. My superiors sent me to bring you back to jail. They would also like to know,” he added, his tone grim, “how you managed to get out of jail this morning.”
“I’ll be very happy to come back to the jail with you. It was a very nice jail,” Tas answered politely. “I’ve never seen one that was kender-proof before. I’ll go back with you right after the funeral. I missed the funeral once, you see. I can’t miss it again. Oops! No, I forgot.” Tas sighed. “I can’t go back to the jail with you.” He really wished he could remember the Knight’s name. He didn’t like to ask. It wasn’t polite. “I have to return to my own time right away. I promised Fizban I wouldn’t go gallivanting. Perhaps I could visit your jail another time.”
“Maybe you should let him stay, Sir Gerard,” Laura said, coming up to stand beside them, twisting her apron in her hands. “He seems very determined, and I wouldn’t want him to cause any trouble. Besides”—her tears started to flow—“maybe he’s telling the truth! After all, Father thought he was Tasslehoff.”
Gerard! Tas was vastly relieved. Gerard was the knight’s name.
“He did?” Gerard was skeptical. “He said so?”
“Yes,” Laura said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “The kender walked into the Inn. Daddy was sitting here in his usual place. The kender walked right up to him and said, ‘Hullo, Caramon! I’ve come to speak at your funeral. I’m a little bit early, so I thought you might like to hear what I’m going to say,’ and Daddy looked at him in surprise. At first I don’t think he believed him, but then he looked at him closer and cried out, ‘Tas!’ And he gave him a big hug.”
“He did.” Tas felt a snuffle coming on. “He hugged me, and he said he was glad to see me and where had I been all this time? I said that it was a very long story and time was the one thing he didn’t have a lot of so I should really let him hear the speech first.” Giving way to the snuffle, Tas mopped his dribbling nose with his sleeve.
“Perhaps we could let him stay for the funeral,” Laura urged. “I think it would have pleased Daddy. If you could … well … just keep an eye on him.”
Gerard was clearly dubious. He even ventured to argue with her, but Laura had made up her mind, and she was very much like her mother. When her mind was made up, an army of dragons would not move her.
Laura opened the doors to the Inn to let in the sunshine, to let in life and to let in the living who came to pay their respects to the dead. Caramon Majere lay in a simple wooden casket in front of the great fireplace of the Inn he loved. No fire burned, only ashes filled the grate. The people of Solace filed past, each pausing to offer something to the dead—a silent farewell, a quiet blessing, a favorite toy, fresh-picked flowers.
The mourners noted that his expression was peaceful, even cheerful, more cheerful than they had seen him since his beloved Tika died. “Somewhere, they’re together,” people said and smiled through their tears.
Laura stood near the door, accepting condolences. She was dressed in the clothes she wore for work—a snowy white blouse, a clean fresh apron, a pretty skirt of royal blue with white petticoats. People wondered that she wasn’t draped head to toe in black.
“Father would not have wanted me to,” was her simple reply.
People said it was sad that Laura was the only member of the family to be present to lay their father to rest. Dezra, her sister, had been in Haven purchasing hops for the Inn’s famous ale, only to be trapped there when the dragon Beryl attacked the city. Dezra had managed to smuggle word to her sister that she was safe and well, but she dared not try to return; the roads were not safe for travelers.
As for Caramon’s son, Palin, he was gone from Solace on yet another of his mysterious journeys. If Laura knew where he was, she didn’t say. His wife, Usha, a portrait painter of some renown, had traveled to Haven as company for Dezra. Since Usha had painted the portraits of families of some of the commanders of the Knights of Neraka, she was involved in negotiations to try to win a guarantee of safe passage for herself and for Dezra. Usha’s children, Ulin and Linsha, were off on adventures of their own. Linsha, a Solamnic Knight, had not been heard from in many months. Ulin had gone away after hearing a report of some magical artifact and was believed to be in Palanthas.
Tas sat in a booth, under guard, the Knight Gerard at his side. Watching the people file in, the kender shook his head.
“But I tell you this isn’t the
way Caramon’s funeral’s supposed to be,” Tasslehoff repeated insistently.
“Shut your mouth, you little fiend,” Gerard ordered in a low, harsh tone. “This is hard enough on Laura and her father’s friends without you making matters worse with your foolish chatter.” To emphasize his words, he gripped the kender’s shoulder hard, gave him a good shake.
“You’re hurting me,” Tas protested.
“Good,” Gerard growled. “Now just keep quiet, and do as you’re told.”
Tas kept quiet, a remarkable feat for him, but one that was easier at this moment than any of his friends might have had reason to expect. His unaccustomed silence was due to the lump of sadness that was still stuck in his throat and that he could not seem to swallow. The sadness was all mixed up with the confusion that was muddling his mind and making it hard to think.
Caramon’s funeral was not going at all the way it was meant to go. Tas knew this quite well because he’d been to Caramon’s funeral once already and remembered how it went. This wasn’t it. Consequently, Tas wasn’t enjoying himself nearly as much as he’d expected.
Things were wrong. All wrong. Utterly wrong. Completely and irretrievably wrong. None of the dignitaries were here who were supposed to be here. Palin hadn’t arrived, and Tas began to think that perhaps Laura was right and he wasn’t going to arrive. Lady Crysania did not come. Goldmoon and Riverwind were missing. Dalamar did not suddenly appear, materializing out of the shadows and giving everyone a good scare. Tas discovered that he couldn’t give his speech. The lump was too big and wouldn’t let him. Just one more thing that was wrong.
The crowds were large—the entire population of Solace and surrounding communities came to pay their final respects and to extol the memory of the beloved man. But the crowds were not as large as they had been at Caramon’s first funeral.
Caramon was buried near the Inn he loved, next to the graves of his wife and sons. The vallenwood sapling Caramon had planted in honor of Tika was young and thriving. The vallenwoods he had planted for his fallen sons were full-grown trees, standing tall and proud as the guard provided by the Knights of Solamnia, who accorded Caramon the honor rarely performed for a man who was not a Knight: escorting his coffin to the burial site. Laura planted the vallenwood in her father’s memory, planted the tree in the very heart of Solace, near the tree she had planted for her mother. The couple had been the heart of Solace for many years, and everyone felt it was fitting.
Dragons of a Fallen Sun Page 12
