“Glad I could oblige,” said the kender hurriedly. “Now that I am lost, I was wondering if you could show me the way out. You see, I have just arrived through magical means”—the kender was quite proud of this and repeated it to make certain the gnome was impressed—“magical means that are quite secret and mysterious, otherwise I’d tell you about them. Anyhow my business is extremely urgent. I’m looking for Goldmoon. I have a feeling she must be here because I thought about her very hard just as the magic happened. My name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot, by the way.”
“Conundrum Solitaire,” replied the gnome, and the two shook hands, after which Tasslehoff completed the ruin of Palin’s handkerchief by using it to wipe the residual ink left on his fingers.
“I can show you the way out!” the gnome added eagerly. “I have drawn this map, you see.”
Proudly, with a flourish of his hand, Conundrum presented the map to Tasslehoff’s view. Drawn on an immense piece of parchment, the map lay on the ground, covering the path between the two hedge rows, overlapping on the edges. The map was bigger than the gnome, who was a smallish, misty-eyed, dimly smiling gnome with a nut-brown complexion and a long wispy beard that had probably once been white but was now stained purple due to the fact that the gnome invariably dragged his beard through the wet ink as he bent on hands and knees over the map.
The map was quite complicated, with Xs and Arrows and Do Not Enters and Turn Left Heres scrawled all over it in Common. Tasslehoff looked down at the map. Looking up, he saw the end of the row in which they were standing. The hedge opened up and he could see the sun shining on several very beautiful crystalline domed structures that caught the sunlight and turned it into rainbows. Two golden dragons formed an immense archway. The grounds were green and filled with flowers. People dressed in white robes strolled around, talking in low voices.
“Oh, that must be the way out!” said Tasslehoff. “Thanks all the same.”
The gnome looked at his map and looked at what was undeniably the exit from the hedge maze.
“Drat,” he said and began to stomp on the map.
“I’m extremely sorry,” said Tas, feeling guilty. “It was a really nice map.”
“Hah!” Conundrum jumped up and down on the map.
“Well, excuse me, but I’ve got to go,” Tasslehoff said, inching toward the exit. “But once I have talked to Goldmoon, I’ll be glad to come back and get lost again, if that will help.”
“Bah!” cried the gnome, kicking the ink jar into the hedge.
The last Tasslehoff saw of Conundrum, he was back at the beginning of the hedge maze, measuring his foot with the tape in preparation to pace off the precise distance between the first turning and the second.
Tas walked a good distance, leaving the hedge maze far behind. He was about to wander into a lovely building made of sparkling crystal when he heard footsteps behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Have you business in the Citadel of Light, kender?” asked a voice, speaking Common.
“The where?” said Tasslehoff. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
Quite accustomed to having the heavy hand of the law fall on his shoulder, he was not surprised to find himself in the custody of a tall young woman of stern expression wearing a helm of silver chain mail and a chain-mail shirt that glittered in the sun. She wore a long tabard marked with the symbol of the sun and carried a sword in a silver scabbard, girded around her waist.
“I’m here to see Goldmoon, ma’am,” Tasslehoff said politely. “My business is urgent. Quite urgent. If you could just show me where—”
“What do you have here, Guardian?” asked another voice. “Trouble?”
Tasslehoff twisted his head to see another woman clad in armor, except that she was wearing the armor of a Solamnic Knight. Two more Solamnic Knights walked on either side of her as she proceeded up the walkway.
“I am not certain, Lady Camilla,” replied the guard, saluting. “This kender has asked to see Goldmoon.”
The two exchanged glances and it seemed to Tas that a shadow crossed the face of the lady Knight. “What does a kender want of the First Master?”
“The who?” Tas wondered.
“Goldmoon, the First Master.”
“I’m an old friend of hers,” Tas said. He held out his hand. “My name is …” He paused. He was growing extremely tired of people staring at him oddly whenever he said his name. He withdrew his hand. “It’s not important. If you’ll just tell me where to find Goldmoon …”
Neither of the women answered, but Tas, watching closely, saw the Solamnic Knight glance in the direction of the largest crystal dome. He guessed at once that this was where he needed to be.
“You both look very busy,” he said, edging away. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. If you’ll excuse me …” He made a dash for it.
“Should I go after him, sir?” he heard the guard ask the Knight.
“No, leave him be,” Lady Camilla replied. “The First Master has a soft spot in her heart for kender.”
“But he might disturb her solitude,” the guard said.
“I would give him thirty steel pieces, if he could,” Lady Camilla replied.
The lady Knight was fifty years old, a handsome woman, hale and hearty, though her black hair was streaked with silver. Stern of countenance, grim and stoic, she did not appear to be the sort of person given to displays of emotion. Yet, Tas heard her say this with a sigh.
Tas reached to the door of the crystal dome and halted, fully expecting someone to come out and tell him he shouldn’t be there. Two white-robed men did emerge, but they only smiled at him and wished him a good afternoon.
“And a good afternoon to you, sirs,” Tas said, bowing. “By the way, I’m lost. What building is this?”
“The Grand Lyceum,” said one.
“Oh,” said Tas, looking wise, although he hadn’t a clue what a lyceum was. “I’m so glad I’ve found it. Thank you.”
Bidding the gentlemen good-bye, the kender entered the Grand Lyceum. After a thorough exploration of the area, an exploration involving opening doors and interrupting classes, asking innumerable questions, and eavesdropping on private conversations, the kender discovered that he was inside the Grand Hall, a popular meeting place for the people who lived and worked and studied in the Citadel of Light.
This being afternoon, the Grand Hall was quiet, with only a few people reading or talking together in small groups. At night, the Grand Hall would be crowded, for it served as the dining hall for the Citadel, and here everyone—teachers and students alike—gathered for their evening meal.
The rooms inside the crystal dome glowed with sunshine. Chairs were numerous and comfortable. Long wooden tables stood at one end of the enormous room. The smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchen that was located on a level below. The reception rooms were at the far end, some of them occupied by students and their masters.
Tasslehoff had no difficulty gathering information about Goldmoon. Every conversation he overheard and half those he interrupted were centered on the First Master. Everyone, it seemed, was very worried about her.
“I cannot believe that the Masters have allowed this to go on this long,” one woman said to a visitor. “Permitting the First Master to remain sealed up in her room like this! She might be in danger. She might be ill.”
“Has no one made any attempt to try to talk to her?”
“Of course, we have tried to talk to her!” The woman shook her head. “We are all of us worried about her. Ever since the night of the storm, she has refused to see or speak to anyone, even those closest to her. Food and water are left for her on a tray during the night. The tray is always found empty in the morning. She leaves us notes on the tray assuring us that she is well, but she begs that we will respect her privacy and not disturb her.”
“I won’t disturb her,” Tasslehoff said to himself. “I’ll tell her very quickly what’s happened, and then I’ll leave.”
“What are we to do?”
the woman continued. “The handwriting on the notes is her own. We are all agreed on that.”
“That proves nothing. She may be a prisoner. She may be writing those notes under duress, especially if she fears she will bring down harm upon others in the Citadel.”
“But with what motive? If she were taken hostage, we would expect a ransom request or that some demand be made in return for her well-being. Nothing has been asked of us. We have not been attacked. The island remains as peaceful as anywhere in this dark time. Ships come and go. Refugees arrive daily. Our lives continue apace.”
“What of the silver dragon?” the second woman asked. “Mirror is one of the guardians of Schallsea Isle and of the Citadel of Light. I would think that the dragon, with his magic, would be able to discover if some evil had taken possession of the First Master.”
“He undoubtedly could, but Mirror has vanished as well,” her friend returned helplessly. “He took flight during the worst of the storm. No one has seen him since.”
“I knew a silver dragon once,” Tas said, barging in on the conversation. “Her name was Silvara. I couldn’t help overhearing you talk about Goldmoon. She’s a very good friend of mine. I’m deeply worried about her. Where did you say her rooms were?”
“At the very top of the Lyceum. Up those stairs,” said one.
“Thank you,” said Tas and turned that direction.
“But no one’s allowed up there,” the woman added sternly.
Tas turned back again. “Oh, sure. I understand. Thanks.”
The two women walked off, continuing their conversation. Tasslehoff loitered in the area, admiring a large statue of a silver dragon that occupied an honored place in the center of the hall. When the women were gone, Tas glanced about. Seeing that one was watching him, he began to climb the stairs.
Goldmoon’s chambers were located at the very top of the Grand Lyceum. A spiral staircase of many hundred steps led upward through the various levels. The climb was long, the stairs built for the tall legs of humans, not the short legs of kender. Tas had begun bounding up the stairs enthusiastically, but after stair number seventy-five, he was forced to sit down and take a brief rest.
“Whew!” he said, panting. “I wish I were a silver dragon. At least then I’d have wings.”
The sun was starting to dip down into the sea, by the time Tasslehoff—after a few more rests—reached the top.
The staircase ended, so Tas presumed he’d arrived at the level where Goldmoon lived. The hallway was peaceful and quiet, or so it seemed at first. A door decorated with sheaves of wheat and vines and fruit and flowers stood at the end of the corridor. As Tas moved closer to the door, he detected the faint sound of someone weeping.
The tender-hearted kender forgot his own trouble. He knocked gently on the door. “Goldmoon,” he called out. “It’s me, Tasslehoff. Is anything wrong? Maybe I can help.”
The sound of weeping ceased immediately, replaced by silence.
“Goldmoon,” Tas began. “I really need to talk to—”
A hand grasped hold of his shoulder. Startled, Tas jumped and banged his head against the door. He looked wildly around.
Palin gazed down at him sternly.
“I thought I might find you here,” he stated.
“I’m not going back,” Tas said, rubbing his head. “Not yet. Not until I talk to Goldmoon.” He looked up at Palin with suspicion. “Why are you here?”
“We were worried about you,” Palin replied.
“I’ll bet,” Tas muttered. Sidling away from Palin, he turned back to the door. “Goldmoon!” He knocked again on the door. “Let me in! It’s me, Tasslehoff!”
“First Master,” Palin added, “I am here with Tas. Something very strange has happened. We would like your wise counsel.”
A moment’s silence, then a voice, muffled from crying, came back, “You must excuse me, Palin, but I am seeing no one at present.”
“Goldmoon,” Palin said, after a moment. “I have very sad news. My father is dead.”
Another moment’s silence, then the voice, strained and hushed. “Caramon dead?”
“He died several weeks ago. His end was peaceful.”
“I came in time to speak at his funeral, Goldmoon,” Tasslehoff added. “It’s too bad you missed my speech. But I could give it again if you—”
A terrible cry burst from behind the door. “Oh, fortunate man! Oh, lucky, lucky man!”
Palin looked grim. “Goldmoon!” he called out. “Please let me in!”
Tasslehoff, very subdued and solemn, put his nose to the doorknob.
“Goldmoon,” he said, speaking through the key hole, “I’m very sorry to hear that you’ve been sick. And I was sorry to hear that Riverwind was dead. But I heard he died being a hero and saving my people from the dragon when there were probably quite a few who said that we kender weren’t worth saving. I want you to know that I’m grateful and that I was proud to call Riverwind my friend.”
“This is a shabby trick you play upon me, Palin,” said the voice angrily from inside. “You have inherited your uncle’s gift of mimickry. Everyone knows that Tasslehoff Burrfoot is dead.”
“No, I’m not,” Tas returned. “And that’s the problem. At least it is for some people.” He gave Palin a stern look. “It’s really me, Goldmoon,” Tas continued. “If you put your eye to the keyhole you can see me.”
He waved his hand.
A lock clicked. Slowly, the door opened. Goldmoon stood framed within. Her room was lit by many candles, their glow cast a halo of light around her. The corridor into which she stepped was dark, except for the light of a single red star. She was cloaked in shadows. Tas could not see her.
“First Master …” Palin stepped forward, his hand outstretched.
Goldmoon turned, allowed the light from her room to touch her face. “Now, you see …” she said softly.
The light of the candles gleamed on hair that was thick and golden and luxuriant, on a face that was soft and smooth, on eyes that, though red with weeping, were blue as the morning sky and shone with the luster of youth. Her body was strong as the days when the Chieftain’s Daughter had first fallen in love with a young warrior named Riverwind. The years Goldmoon had lived in the world numbered ninety, but her body, her hair, her eyes, her voice, her lips and hands were those of the young woman who had carried the blue crystal staff into the Inn of the Last Home.
Beautiful, she stood sorrowfully before them, her head drooping like the bud of a cut rose.
“What miracle is this?” Palin cried, awed.
“No miracle,” said Goldmoon bitterly. “A curse.”
“Are you cursed?” said Tas with interest. “So am I!”
Goldmoon turned to the kender, looked him up and down. “It is you!” she murmured. “I recognized your voice. Why are you here? Where have you been? Why have you come?”
Tasslehoff extended his hand, shook hers politely. “I’d love to tell you all about everything, Goldmoon. All about Caramon’s first funeral and then his second funeral and how I’m cursed. But right now Palin is trying to murder me. I came to see if you would tell him to stop. So if you’ll just speak to him, I’ll be going.”
Tas made a break for it. He had very nearly reached the stairs and was just about to dash down them when Palin’s hand snaked out and snagged him by the collar of his shirt.
Tas wriggled and writhed, trying various kender tricks developed through years of practice at escaping the long arm of irritated sheriffs and irate shopkeepers. He used the old Twist and Bite and the always effective Stomp and Kick, but Palin was proof against them. At last, truly desperate, Tas tried the Lizard. He endeavored to slide his arms out of his shirt sleeves, regretful at having to leave his shirt behind, but, like the lizard who leaves part of his tail in the hand of the would-be captor, he would be free. Unfortunately, the new shirt proved a bit snug, and this didn’t work. Palin was thin, but he was strong and, in addition, he had a strong incentive to hold onto the kender.
>
“What is he talking about?” Goldmoon asked, staring at Tas in bewilderment. She shifted her gaze to Palin. “Are you trying to murder him?”
“Of course not,” Palin said impatiently.
“Are too!” Tas muttered, squirming.
“Listen to me, Tas. I’m truly sorry about what happened back there,” Palin said.
He seemed about to continue, then sighed and lowered his head. He looked old, older than Tas remembered, and he’d seen him only a few moments ago. The lines in his face had deepened, darkened, pulled taut; the skin stretched tight across the bones. He blinked his eyes too frequently and often rubbed them, as if trying to see through a film or mist covering them. Tas—who was set to run—was touched by Palin’s obvious trouble. The kender decided he could at least stay to listen.
“I’m sorry, Tas,” Palin said finally, and his voice was tight as the lines on his face. “I was upset. I was frightened. Jenna was quite angry with me. After you left, she said she didn’t blame you for running. She was right. I should have explained things to you calmly and rationally. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. After what I saw, I panicked.”
He looked down at Tas and sighed deeply. “Tas, I wish there was some other way. You have to understand. I’ll try to explain this as best I can. You were meant to die. And because you haven’t died, it is possible that this is the reason all these terrible things that have happened to the world have happened. To put it another way, if you were dead, the world might be the world you saw the first time you came back to my father’s funeral. Do you understand?”
“No,” said Tas.
Palin regarded the kender with obvious disappoinment. “I’m afraid I can’t explain it any better than that. Perhaps you and Goldmoon and I should discuss it. You don’t need to run away again. I won’t force you to go back.”
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Palin,” Tas returned, “but you can’t force me to do anything. I have the device, and you don’t.”
Dragons of a Fallen Sun Page 43
