Dragons of a Fallen Sun

by Margaret Weis

  The sapling stood uneasily in the fresh-turned earth, looking lost and forlorn. The people said what was in their hearts, paid their tribute. The Knights sheathed their swords with solemn faces, and the funeral was over. Everyone went home to dinner.

  The Inn was closed for the first time since the red dragon had picked it up and hurled it out of its tree during the War of the Lance. Laura’s friends offered to spend the first lonely nights with her, but she refused, saying that she wanted to have her cry in private. She sent home Cook, who was in such a state that when she finally did come back to work, she did not need to use any salt in the food for the tears she dripped into it. As for the gully dwarf, he had not moved from the corner into which he’d collapsed the moment he heard of Caramon’s death. He lay in a huddled heap wailing and howling dismally until, to everyone’s relief, he cried himself to sleep.

  “Good-bye, Laura,” said Tas, reaching out his hand. He and Gerard were the last to leave; the kender having refused to budge until everyone was gone and he was quite certain that nothing was going to happen the way it was intended to happen. “The funeral was very nice. Not as nice as the other funeral, but then I guess you couldn’t help that. I really do not understand what is going on. Perhaps that’s why Caramon told Sir Gerard to take me to see Dalamar, which I would, except that I think Fizban might consider that to be gallivanting. But, anyway, good-bye and thank you.”

  Laura looked down at the kender, who was no longer jaunty and cheerful but looking very forlorn and bereft and downcast. Suddenly, Laura knelt beside him and enfolded him in her arms.

  “I do believe you’re Tasslehoff!” she said to him softly, fiercely. “Thank you for coming.” She hugged the breath from his small body and then turned and ran through the door leading to the family’s private quarters. “Lock up, will you, Sir Gerard?” she called out over her shoulder and shut and locked the door behind her.

  The Inn was quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves of the vallenwood tree and the creaking of the branches. The rustling had a weepy sound to it, and it seemed that the branches were lamenting. Tas had never seen the Inn empty before. Looking around, he remembered the night they had all met here after their five-year separation. He could see Flint’s face and hear his gruff complaining, he could see Caramon standing protectively near his twin brother, he could see Raistlin’s sharp eyes keeping watch over everything. He could almost hear Goldmoon’s song again.

  The staff flares in blue light

  And both of them vanish;

  The grasslands are faded, and autumn is here.

  “Everyone’s vanished,” Tas said to himself softly, and felt another snuffle coming on.

  “Let’s go,” said Gerard.

  Hand on the kender’s shoulder, the Knight steered Tas toward the door, where he brought the kender to a halt to remove several articles of a valuable nature, which had happened to tumble into his pouches. Gerard left them on the bar for their owners to reclaim. This done, he took down the key that hung from a hook on the wall near the door, and locked the door. He hung the key on a hook outside the Inn, placed there in case anyone needed a room after hours, and then marched the kender down the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Tas asked. “What’s that bundle you’re carrying? Can I look inside? Are you going to take me to see Dalamar? I haven’t seen him in a long time. Did you ever hear the story of how I met Dalamar? Caramon and I were—”

  “Just shut up, will you?” Gerard said in a nasty, snapping sort of way. “Your chatter is giving me a headache. As to where we’re going, we’re returning to the garrison. And speaking of the bundle I’m carrying, if you touch it I’ll run you through with my sword.”

  The Knight would say nothing more than that, although Tas asked and asked and tried to guess and then asked if he’d guessed right and if not, could Gerard give him a clue. Was what was in the bundle bigger than a breadbox? Was it a cat? Was it a cat in a breadbox? All to no avail. The Knight said nothing. His grip on the kender was firm.

  The two of them arrived at the Solamnic garrison. The guards on duty greeted the Knight distantly. Sir Gerard did not return their greetings but said that he needed to see the Lord of Shields. The guards, who were members of the Lord of Shield’s own personal retinue, replied that his lordship had just returned from the funeral and left orders not to be disturbed. They wanted to know the nature of Gerard’s request.

  “The matter is personal,” the knight said. “Tell his lordship that I seek a ruling on the Measure. My need is urgent.”

  A guardsman departed. He returned a moment later to say, grudgingly, that Sir Gerard was to go in.

  Gerard started to enter with Tasslehoff in tow.

  “Not so fast, sir,” the guard said, blocking their way with his halberd. “The Lord of Shields said nothing about a kender.”

  “The kender is in my custody,” said Gerard, “as ordered by the lord himself. I have not been given leave to release him from my care. I would, however, be willing to leave him here with you if you will guarantee that he does no harm during the time I am with His Lordship—which may be several hours, my dilemma is complex—and that he will be here when I return.”

  The Knight hesitated.

  “He will be pleased to tell you his story of how he first met the wizard Dalamar,” Gerard added dryly.

  “Take him,” said the Knight.

  Tas and his escort entered the garrison, passing through the gate that stood in the center of a tall fence made of wooden poles, each planed to a sharp point at the top. Inside the garrison were stables for the horses, a small training field with a target set up for archery practice, and several buildings. The garrison was not a large one. Having been established to house those who guarded the Tomb of the Heroes, it had been expanded to accommodate the Knights who would make what would probably be a last-stand defence of Solace if the dragon Beryl attacked.

  Gerard had been thinking with some elation that his days of guarding a tomb might be drawing to a close, that battle with the dragon was imminent, though he and all the Knights were under orders not mention this to anyone. The Knights had no proof that Beryl was preparing to sweep down on Solace and they did not want to provoke her into attacking. But the Solamnic commanders were quietly making plans.

  Inside the stockade, a long, low building provided sleeping quarters for the Knights and the soldiers under their command. In addition, there were several outbuildings used for storage and an administrative building, where the head of the garrison had his own lodgings. These doubled as his office.

  His lordship’s aide-de-camp met Gerard and ushered him inside. “His lordship will be with you shortly, Sir Gerard,” said the aide.

  “Gerard!” called out a woman’s voice. “How good to see you! I thought I heard your name.”

  Lady Warren was a handsome woman of about sixty years with white hair and a complexion the color of warm tea. Throughout their forty years of marriage, she had accompanied her husband on all his journeys. As gruff and bluff as any soldier, she presently wore an apron covered with flour. She kissed Gerard on his cheek—he stood stiffly at attention, his helm beneath his arm—and glanced askance at the kender.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “Midge!” she called to the back of the house in a voice that might have rung across the battlefield, “lock up my jewels!”

  “Tasslehoff Burrfoot, ma’am,” said Tas, offering his hand.

  “Who isn’t these days?” Lady Warren returned and promptly thrust her flour-covered hands that sparkled with several interesting looking rings beneath her apron. “And how are your dear father and mother, Gerard?”

  “Quite well, I thank you, ma’am,” said Gerard.

  “You naughty boy.” Lady Warren scolded, shaking her finger at him. “You know nothing about their health at all. You haven’t written to your dear mother in two months. She writes to my husband to complain and asks him, most pathetically, if you are well and keeping your feet dry. For sh
ame. To worry your good mother so! His lordship has promised that you shall write to her this very day. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t sit you down and have you compose the letter while you are in there with him.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Gerard.

  “Now I must go finish the baking. Midge and I are taking one hundred loaves of bread to Laura to help keep the Inn going, poor thing. Ah, it’s a sad day for Solace.” Lady Warren wiped her face with her hand, leaving a smear of flour behind.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Gerard.

  “You may go in now,” said the aide and opened a door leading from the main lodging to the lord’s personal quarters.

  Lady Warren took her leave, asking to be remembered to Gerard’s dear mother. Gerard promised, his voice expressionless, that he would do so. Bowing, he left to follow the aide.

  A large man of middle years with the black skin common to the people of Southern Ergoth greeted the young man warmly, a greeting the young Knight returned with equal and unusual warmth.

  “I’m glad you stopped by, Gerard!” said Lord Warren. “Come and sit down. So this is the kender, is it?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Gerard led Tas to a chair, plunked him down, and took out a length of rope. Acting so swiftly that Tas did not have time to protest, the Knight tied the kender’s wrists to the chair’s arms. He then brought out a gag and wrapped it around Tas’s mouth.

  “Is that necessary?” Lord Warren asked mildly.

  “If we want to have any semblance of a rational conversation, it is, sir,” Gerard replied, drawing up a chair. He placed the mysterious bundle on the floor at his feet. “Otherwise you would hear stories about how this was the second time Caramon Majere had died. The kender would tell you how this funeral differed from Caramon Majere’s first funeral. You would hear a recitation of who attended the first time and who wasn’t at this one.”

  “Indeed.” Lord Warren’s face took on a softened, pitying look. “He must be one of the afflicted ones. Poor thing.”

  “What’s an afflicted one?” Tas asked, except that due to the gag the words came out all gruff and grumbly, sounding as if he were speaking dwarven with a touch of gnome thrown in for good measure. Consequently no one understood him, and no one bothered to answer.

  Gerard and Lord Warren began to discuss the funeral. Lord Warren spoke in such warm tones about Caramon that the lump of sadness returned to Tas’s throat with the result that he didn’t need the gag at all.

  “And now, Gerard, what can I do for you?” Lord Warren asked, when the subject of the funeral was exhausted. He regarded the young Knight intently. “My aide said you had a question about the Measure.”

  “Yes, my lord. I require a ruling.”

  “You, Gerard?” Lord Warren raised a graying eyebrow. “Since when do you give a damn about the dictates of the Measure?”

  Gerard flushed, looked uncomfortable.

  Lord Warren smiled at the Knight’s discomfiture. “I’ve heard you express yourself quite clearly regarding what you consider to be the ‘old-fashioned, hidebound’ way of doing things—”

  Gerard shifted in his chair. “Sir, I may have, on occasion, expressed my doubts about certain precepts of the Measure—”

  Lord Warren’s eyebrow twitched even higher.

  Gerard considered that it was time to change the subject. “My lord, an incident occurred yesterday. There were several civilians present. There will be questions asked.”

  Lord Warren looked grave. “Will this require a Knight’s Council?”

  “No, my lord. I hold you in the highest esteem, and I will respect your decision concerning this matter. A task has been given me, and I need to know whether or not I should pursue it or if I may, in honor, refuse.”

  “Who gave you this task? Another Knight?” Lord Warren appeared uneasy. He knew of the rancor that existed between Gerard and the rest of the Knights in the garrison. He had long feared that some quarrel would break out, perhaps resulting in some foolish challenge on the field of honor.

  “No, sir,” Gerard answered evenly. “The task was given to me by a dying man.”

  “Ah!” said Lord Warren. “Caramon Majere.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “A last request?”

  “Not so much a request, my lord,” said Gerard. “An assignment. I would almost say an order, but Majere was not of the Knighthood.”

  “Not by birth, perhaps,” said Lord Warren gently, “but in spirit there was no better Knight living.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Gerard was silent a moment, and Tas saw, for the first time, that the young man was truly grieved at Caramon’s death.

  “The last wishes of the dying are sacred to the Measure, which states such wishes must be fulfilled if it be mortally possible. The Measure makes no distinction if the dying person be of the Knighthood, if it be male or female, human, elf, dwarf, gnome, or kender. You are honor bound to take this task, Gerard.”

  “If it be mortally possible,” Gerard countered.

  “Yes,” said Lord Warren. “So reads the Measure. Son, I see you are deeply troubled by this. If you break no confidence, tell me the nature of Caramon’s last wish.”

  “I break no confidence, sir. I must tell you in any case, for if I am to undertake it I will need your permission to be absent from my post. Caramon Majere asked me to take this kender I have here with me, a kender who claims to be Tasslehoff Burrfoot, dead these thirty years, to Dalamar.”

  “The wizard Dalamar?” Lord Warren was incredulous.

  “Yes, my lord. This is what happened. As he lay dying, Caramon spoke of being reunited with his dead wife. Then he appeared to be searching for someone in the crowd of people gathered around him. He said, ‘But where’s Raistlin?’ ”

  “That would be his twin brother,” Lord Warren interrupted.

  “Yes, sir. Caramon added, ‘He said he would wait for me’—meaning Raistlin had agreed to wait for him before leaving this world for the next, or so Laura told me. Caramon often said that since they were twins, one could not enter into the blessed realm without the other.”

  “I would not think that Raistlin Majere would be permitted to enter a ‘blessed realm’ at all,” Lord Warren said dryly.

  “True, sir.” Gerard gave a wry smile. “If there is even a blessed realm, which I doubt, then …”

  He paused, coughed in embarrassement. Lord Warren was frowning and looking very stern. Gerard apparently decided to skip the philosophical discussion and continue with his story.

  “Caramon added something to effect that ‘Raistlin should be here. With Tika. I don’t understand. This is not right. Tas … What Tas said … A different future … Dalamar will know.… Take Tasslehoff to Dalamar.’ He was very upset, and it seemed to me that he would not die in peace unless I promised to do as he asked. So I promised.”

  “The wizard Raistlin has been dead over fifty years!” Lord Warren exclaimed.

  “Yes, sir. The so-called hero Burrfoot has been dead over thirty years, so this cannot possibly be him. And the wizard Dalamar has disappeared. No one has seen or heard of him since the Tower of High Sorcery vanished. It is rumored that he has been declared legally dead by the members of the Last Conclave.”

  “The rumors are true. I had it as fact from Palin Majere. But we have no proof of that, and we have a man’s dying wish to consider. I am not certain how to rule.”

  Gerard was silent. Tas would have spoken up but for the gag and the realization that nothing he said could or would or should make a difference. To be quite truthful, Tasslehoff himself didn’t know what to do. He had been given strict orders by Fizban to go to the funeral and to hurry right back. “Don’t go gallivanting!” had been the old wizard’s exact words, and he’d looked very fierce when he’d said them. Tas sat in the chair, chewing reflectively on the gag and pondering the exact meaning of the word, “gallivanting.”

  “I have something to show you, my lord,” Gerard said. “With
your permission …”

  Lifting the bundle, Gerard placed it on Lord Warren’s desk and began to untie the string at the top.

  In the interim, Tas managed to wriggle his hands free of their bonds. He could remove the gag now, and he could go off to explore this truly interesting room, which had several very fine swords hanging on the wall, a shield, and a whole case of maps. Tas looked longingly at the maps, and his feet very nearly carried him that direction, but he was extremely curious to see what was in the Knight’s bundle.

  Gerard was taking a long time to open it; he seemed to be having difficulty with the knots.

  Tas would have offered to help but thus far every time he had offered to be of help, Gerard had not seemed to appreciate it much. Tas occupied himself by watching the grains of sand fall from the top of an hourglass into the bottom and trying to count them as they fell. This proved a challenge, for the sand grains fell quite rapidly and just when he had them sorted out, one after the other, two or three would fall all in a heap and ruin his calculations.

  Tas was somewhere between five thousand seven hundred and thirty-six and five thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight when the sands ran out. Gerard was still fumbling with the knots. Lord Warren reached over and turned the glass. Tas began to count again. “One, two, threefourfive …”

  “Finally!” Gerard muttered and released the ties of the bundle.

  Tas left off counting sand grains and sat up as straight as he possibly could in order to get a good view.

  Gerard pressed the folds of the sack down around the object, taking care—Tas saw—not to touch the object itself. Jewels flashed and sparkled in the rays of the setting sun. Tas was so excited that he jumped out of his chair and tore the gag from his mouth.