Dragons of the Fallen Sun

Chapter Sixteen Tasslehoff’s Tale

The Queen Mother’s house was built on the side of a cliff overlooking Qualinesti. Like all elven structures, the house blended with nature, seemed a part of the landscape, as, indeed, much of it was. The elven builders had constructed the house so as to utilize the cliff-face in the design. Seen from a distance, the house appeared to be a grove of trees growing on a broad ledge that jutted out from the cliff. Only when one drew closer, did one see the path leading up to the house and then one could tell that the trees were in reality walls, their branches the roof and that cliff was also used for many of the walls of the house.

The north wall of the atrium was made of the rocky slope of the cliff face. Flowers and small trees blossomed, birds sang in the trees. A stream of water ran down the cliff, splashing into many small pools along the way. As each pool varied in depth, the sound of the falling water differed from pool to pool, producing a wondrous harmony of musical sound.

Tasslehoff was quite enchanted with the fact that there was a real waterfall inside the house and he climbed upon the rocks, slipping perilously on the slippery surface. He loudly exclaimed over the wonder of every bird’s nest, uprooted a rare plant while trying to pick its flower and was forcibly removed by Kalindas when the kender insisted on trying to climb clear up to the ceiling.

This was Tasslehoff. The more Palin watched, the more he remembered and the more he became convinced that this kender was the kender he had known well over thirty years ago. He noted that Laurana watched Tas, as well. She watched him with a bewilderment tinged with wonder. Palin supposed it was perfectly plausible that Tasslehoff could have been wandering the world for thirty-eight years and had finally taken it into his head to drop by for a chat with Caramon.

Palin discarded the notion. Another kender might have done so, but not Tasslehoff. He was a unique kender, as Caramon liked to say. Or perhaps, not so unique as all that. Perhaps if they had taken time to come to know another kender, they might have discovered that they were all loyal and compassionate friends. But if Tas had not been roaming the world for almost forty years, than where had he been?

Palin listened attentively to the Knight’s story of Tas’s appearance in the tomb the night of the., storm (most remarkable, Palin made a mental note of this occurrence), Caramon’s recognition, his subsequent death and his last words to Sir Gerard.

“Your father was upset that he could not find his brother Raistlin. He said that Raistlin had promised to wait for him. And then came your father’s dying request, sir,” said Gerard in conclusion. “He asked me to take Tasslehoff to Dalamar. I would have to assume that to be the wizard, Dalamar, of infamous repute?”

“I suppose so,” said Palin evasively, determined to betray nothing of his thoughts.

“According to the Measure, sir, I am honor bound to fulfill a request made by the dying. But since the wizard Dalamar has disappeared and no one has heard from him in many years, I’m not quite certain what to do.”

“Nor am I,” Palin said.

His father’s final words intrigued Palin. He was well aware of his father’s firmly held belief that Raistlin would not depart this mortal plane until his twin had joined him.

“We’re twins, Raist and I,” Caramon would say. “ And because we’re twins, one of us can’t leave this world and move on to the next without the other. The gods granted Raist peace in sleep, but then they woke him up during the Chaos War and it was then that he told me he would wait for me.”

Raistlin had indeed returned from the dead during the Chaos War. He had gone to the Inn of the Last Home and had spent some time with Caramon. During that time, Raistlin had, according to Caramon, sought his brother’s forgiveness. Palin had never questioned his father’s faith in his faithless brother, though he had privately thought that Caramon was indulging a wishful thinking.

Still Palin did not feel he had the right to try to dissuade Caramon of his belief. After all, none could say for certain what happened to the souls of those who died.

“The kender maintains that he traveled forward in time and that he came here with the help of the magical device.” Gerard shook his head, smiled. “At least it’s the most original excuse I’ve heard from one of the little thieves.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Tas said loudly. He had attempted to interrupt Gerard at several key points in the story, until finally the knight had threatened to gag him again if he wasn’t quiet. “I didn’t steal the device. Fizban gave it to me. And I did travel forward in time. Twice. The first time I was late and the second time I . . . don’t know what happened.”

“Let me see the magical artifact, Sir Gerard,” Palin said. “Perhaps that will help us arrive at an answer.”

“I’ll show you!” Tas offered eagerly. He fumbled about in his pockets, looked down his shirtfront, felt all about his pant legs. “I know it’s here somewhere. . .”

Palin looked accusingly at the knight. “If this artifact is as valuable as you describe, sir, why did you allow it to remain in the kender’s possession? If it is still in his possession—”

“I didn’t, sir,” Gerard said defensively. “I’ve taken it away from him I don’t know how many times. The artifact keeps going back to him. He says that’s how it works.”

Palin’s heartbeat quickened. His blood warmed. His hands, that seemed always cold and numb, tingled with life. Laurana had risen involuntarily to her feet.

“Palin! You don’t suppose. . .” she began.

“I found it!” Tas announced in triumph. He dragged the artifact out of his boot. “Would you like to hold it, Palin? It won’t hurt you or anything.”

The artifact had been small enough to fit inside the kender’s small boot. Yet as Tas held it out, the kender had to hold the device with both hands. Yet Palin had not seen it change shape or enlarge. It was as if it was always the shape and size it was meant to be, no matter what the circumstances. If anything changed, it was the viewer’s perception of the artifact, not the artifact itself.

Jewels of antiquity—rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds—Sparkled and glittered in the sunlight, catching the sunbeams and transforming them into smears of rainbow light splashed on the walls and the floor and shining up from the kender’s cupped hands.

Palin started to reach out his own crippled hands to hold the device, then he hesitated. He was suddenly afraid. He did not fear that the artifact might do him some harm. He knew perfectly well it wouldn’t. He had seen the artifact when he was a boy. His father had shown it off proudly to his children. In addition, Palin recognized the device from his studies when he was a youth. He had seen drawings of it in the books in the Tower of High Sorcery.

This was the Device of Time Journeying, one of the greatest and most powerful of all the artifacts ever created by the masters of the Towers. It would not harm him, yet it would do him terrible, irrevocable damage.

Palin knew from experience the pleasure he would feel when he touched the artifact: he would sense the old magic, the pure magic, the loved magic, the magic that came to him untainted, freely given, a gift of faith, a blessing from the gods. He would sense the magic, but only faintly, as one senses the smell of rose leaves, pressed between the pages of a book, their sweet fragrance only a memory. And because it was only a memory, after the pleasure would come the pain—the aching, searing pain of loss.

But he could not help himself. He said to himself, “Perhaps this time I will be able to hold onto it. Perhaps this time with this artifact, the magic will come back to me.”

Palin touched the artifact with trembling, twisted fingers.

Glory. . . brilliance. . . surrender. . .

Palin cried out, his broken fingers clenched over the artifact.

The jewels cut into the flesh of his hand.

Truth. . . beauty. . . art. . . life. . .

Tears burned his eyelids, slid down his cheeks.

Death. . . loss. . . emptiness. . .

Palin sobbed harshly, bitterly for what was lost. He wept for his father’s death, wept for the three moons that had vanished from the sky, wept for his broken hands, wept for his own betrayal of all that he had believed in, wept for his own inconstancy, his own desperate need to try to find the ecstasy again.

“He is ill. Should we do something?” Gerard asked uneasily.

“No, Sir Knight. Leave him be,” Laurana admonished gently.

“There is nothing we can do for him. There is nothing we should do formm. This is necessary to him. Though he suffers now, he will be better for this release.”

“I’m sorry, Palin,” Tasslehoff cried remorsefully. “I didn’t think it would hurt you. Honestly, I didn’t! It never hurt me.”

“Of course it would not hurt you, wretched kender!” Palin returned, the pain a living thing inside him, twisting and coiling around his heart so that it fluttered in his chest like a frantic bird caught by the snake. “To you it is nothing but a pretty toy! To me it is an opiate that brings blissful, wondrous dreams.” His voice cracked. “Until the effect wears off. The dreams end and I must wake again to drudgery and despair, wake to the bitter, mundane reality.”

He clenched his hand over the device, quenched the light of its jewels. “Once,” he said, his voice tight, “I might have crafted a marvelous and powerful artifact such as this. Once I might have been what you claim I was—Head of the Order of White Robes. Once I might have had the future my uncle foresaw for me. Once I might have been a wizard, gifted, puissant, powerful. I look at this device and that is what I see. But I look into a mirror and I see something far different.”

He opened his hand. He could not see the device for his bitter tears. He could see only the light of its magic, glinting and winking, mocking. “My magic dwindles, my powers grow weaker I, every day. Without the magic, there is one hope left for us—to hope that death is better than this dismal life!”

“Palin, you must not speak like that!” Laurana said sternly.

“So we thought in the dark days before the War of the Lance. I remember Raistlin saying something to the effect that hope was the carrot dangled before the nose of the cart horse to fool him into plodding forward. Yet we did plod forward and, in the end, we were rewarded.”

“We were,” said Tas. “I ate the carrot.”

“We were rewarded all right,” Palin said, sneering. “With this wretched world in which we find ourselves!”

The artifact was painful to his touch—indeed, he had clutched so tightly that the sharp-edged jewels had cut him. But still he held it fast, caressing it covetously. The pain was so much preferable to the feeling of numbness.

Gerard cleared his throat, looked embarrassed.

“I take it, sir, that I was right,” he said diffidently. “This is a powerful artifact of the Fourth Age?”

“It is,” Palin answered.

They waited for him to say more, but he refused to indulge them. He wanted them to leave. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to sort out his thoughts that were running hither and yon like rats in a cave when someone lights a torch. Scuttling down dark holes, crawling into crevices and some staring with glittering, fascinated eyes at the blazing fire. He had to endure them, their foolishness, their inane questions. He had to hear the rest of Tasslehoff’s tale.

“Tell me what happened, Tas,” Palin said. “None of your woolly mammoth stories. This is very important.”

“I understand,” Tas said, impressed. “I’ll tell the truth. I promise. It all started one day when I was attending the funeral of an extremely good kender friend I’d met the day before. She’d had an unfortunate encounter with a bugbear. What happened was. . . er . . .”—Tas caught sight of Palin’s brows constricting—“never mind, as the gnomes say. I’ll tell you that story later. Anyhow during her funeral, it occurred to me that very few kender ever live long enough to be what you might call old. I’ve already lived a lot longer than most kender I know and I suddenly realized that Caramon was likely to live a lot longer than I was. The one thing I really, really wanted to do before I was dead was to tell everyone what a good friend Caramon had been to me. It seemed to me that the best time to do this would be at his funeral. But if Caramon outlived me, then me going to his funeral would be something of a problem.

“Anyway, I was talking to Fizban one day and I explained this and he said that he thought what I wanted to do was a fine and noble thing and he could fix it up. I could speak at Caramon’s funeral by traveling to the time when the funeral was taking place. And he gave me this device and told me how it worked and gave me strict instructions to just jump ahead, talk at the funeral, and come straight back. ‘No gallivanting,’ he said. By the way,” Tas asked anxiously, “you don’t think he’d consider this trip ‘gallivanting,’ do you? Because I’m finding that I really am enjoying seeing all my friends again. It’s much more fun than being stepped on by a giant.”

“Go on with the story, Tas,” Palin said tersely. “We’ll discuss that later.”

“Yes, right. So I used the device and I jumped forward in time, but, well, you know that Fizban gets things a bit muddled now and then. He’s always forgetting his name or where his hat is when it’s right on his head or forgetting how to cast a fireball spell and so I guess he just miscalculated. Because when I jumped forward in time the first time, Caramon’s funeral was over. I’d missed it. I arrived just in time for refreshments. And while I did have a nice visit visiting with everyone and the cream cheese puffs Jenna made were truly scrumptious, I wasn’t able to do what I’d meant to do all along. Remembering that I’d promised Fizban no gallivanting, I went back.

“And, to be honest”—Tas hung his head and shuffled his foot—“after that, I forgot all about speaking at Caramon’s funeral. I had a really good reason. The Chaos war came and we were fighting shadow wights and I met Dougan and Usha, your wife, you know, Palin. It was all immensely interesting and exciting. And now the world is about to come to an end and there’s this horrible giant about to smash me flat and it was at that precise moment that I remembered that I hadn’t spoken at Caramon’s funeral. So I activated the device really quickly and came here to say what a good friend Caramon was before the giant steps on me.” .

Gerard was shaking his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“Excuse me,” said Tas, stem in his turn. “It’s not polite to interrupt. So anyway I came here and ended up in the Tomb and Gerard found me and took me to see Caramon. And I was able to tell him what I was going to say about him at the funeral, which he enjoyed immensely, only nothing was like I remembered it the first time. I told that to Caramon, too, and he seemed really worried, but he dropped dead before he had time to do anything about it. And then he couldn’t find Raistlin when he knew that Raistlin would never go on to the next life without his twin. Which is why I think he said I was to talk to Dalamar.” Tas drew in a deep breath, having expended most of his air on his tale.

“And that’s why I’m here.”

“Do you believe this, my lady?” Gerard demanded.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Laurana said softly. She glanced at Palin, but he carefully avoided her gaze, pretended to be absorbed in examining the device, almost as if he expected to find the answers engraved upon the shining metal.

“Tas,” he said mildly, not wanting to reveal the direction of his thoughts,” tell me everything you remember about the first time you came to my father’s funeral.”

Tasslehoff did so, talking about how Dalamar attended and Lady Crysania and Riverwind and Goldmoon, how the Solamnic Knights sent a representative who traveled all the way from the High Clerist’s Tower and Gilthas came from the elven kingdom of Qualinesti and Silvanoshei from his kingdom of Silvanesti and Porthios and Alhana came and she was as beautiful as ever. “And you were there, Laurana, and you were so happy because you said you’d lived to see your dearest dream come true, the elven kingdoms united in peace and brotherhood.”

“It’s just a story he’s made Up,” Gerard said impatiently. “One of those tales of ‘what might have been.”

“What might have been,” Palin said, watching the sunlight sparkle on the jewels. “My father had a story of what might have been. ” He looked at Tas. “You and my father traveled forward in time together once, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Tas said quickly. “We overshot our mark. You see, we were trying to go back to our own time which was 356 but due to a miscalculation we ended up in 358. Not the 358 which was 358, but a really horrible 358 where we found Tika’s tomb and poor Bupu dead in the dust and Caramon’s corpse, a 358 which thank goodness never happened because Caramon and I went back in time to make sure that Raistlin didn’t become a god.”

“Caramon once told me that story,” Gerard said. “I thought—well, he was getting on in years and he did like to tell tales, so I never really took him seriously.”

“My father believed that it happened,” Palin said and that was all he said.

“Do you believe it, Palin?” Laurana asked insistently. “More important, do you believe that Tas’s story is true. That he really did travel through time? Is that what you are thinking?”

“What I am thinking is that I need to know much more about this device,” he replied. “Which is, of course, why my father urged that the device be taken to Dalamar. He is the only person in this world who was actually present during the time my father worked the magic of the device.”

“I was there!” Tas reminded them. “And now I’m here.”

“Yes,” said Palin with a cool, appraising glance. “So you are.”

In his mind, an idea was forming. It was only a spark, a tiny flash of flame in a vast and empty darkness. Yet it had been enough to send the rats scurrying.

“You cannot ask Dalamar,” Laurana said practically. “No one’s seen him since his return from the Chaos war.”

“No, Laurana, you are wrong,” Palin said. “One person saw him before his mysterious disappearance—his lover, Jenna. She always claimed that she had no idea where he went, but I never believed her. And she would be the one person who might know something about this artifact.”

“Where does this Jenna live?” Gerard asked. “Your father gave me the task of taking the kender and the device to Dalamar. I may not be able to do that, but I could at least escort you, sir, and the kender—”

Palin was shaking his head. “That will not be possible, Sir Knight. Mistress Jenna lives in Palanthas, a city under the control of the Dark Knights.”

“So is Qualinesti, sir,” Gerard pointed out, with a slight smile.

“Slipping unnoticed across the heavily wooded borders of Qualinesti is one thing,” Palin observed. “Entering the walled and heavily guarded city of Palanthas is quite another. Besides the journey would take far too long. It would be easier to meet Jenna half way. Perhaps in Solace.”

“But can Jenna leave Palanthas?” Laurana asked. “I thought the Dark Knights had restricted travel out of the city as well as into it.”

“Such restrictions may apply to ordinary people,” Palin said drily. “Not to Mistress Jenna. She made it her business to get on well with the knights when they took over the city. Very well, if you take my meaning. Youth is lost to her, but she is still an attractive woman. She is also the wealthiest woman in Solamnia and one of the most powerful mages. No, Laurana, Jenna will have no difficulty traveling to Solace. “He rose to his feet. He needed to be alone, to think.

“But aren’t her powers abating like yours, Palin?” Laurana asked.

He pressed his lips together in displeasure. He did not like speaking of his loss, as another might not like speaking of a cancerous growth. “Jenna has certain artifacts which continue to work for her, as I have some which continue to work for me. It is not much,” he added caustically, “but we make do.”

“Perhaps this is the best plan,” Laurana agreed. “But how will you return to Solace? The roads are closed—”

Palin bit his lip, bit back bitter words. Would they never quit yammering at him?

“Not to one of the Dark Knights,” Gerard was saying. “I’ll offer myself as escort, sir. I came here with a kender prisoner. I will leave with a human one.”

“Yes, yes, a good plan, Sir Knight,” Palin said impatiently.

“You work out the details. “He started to walk off, eager to escape to the silence of his room, but he thought of one more important question. Pausing, he turned to ask it. “Does anyone else know of the discovery of this artifact?”

“Probably half of Solace by now, sir,” Gerard answered dourly. “The kender was not very secretive.”

“Then we must not waste time,” Palin said tersely. “I will contact Jenna.”

“How will you do that?” Laurana asked him.

“I have my ways,” he said, adding, with a curl of his lip, “Not much, but I make do.”

He left the room, left abruptly, without looking back. He had no need. He could feel her hurt and her sorrow accompany him like a gentle spirit. He was momentarily ashamed, half-turned to go back to apologize. He was her guest, after all. She was putting her very life in danger to host him. He hesitated, and then he kept walking.

No, he thought grimly. Laurana can’t understand. Usha doesn’t understand. That brash and arrogant knight doesn’t understand. They can’t any of them understand. They don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve suffered. They don’t know my loss.

Once, he cried in silent anguish, once I touched the minds of gods!

He paused, listening in the stillness, to see if he could by chance hear a faint voice answering his grieving cry.

He heard, as he always heard, only the empty echo.

They think I’ve been freed from prison. They think my torment is ended.

They are wrong.

My confinement endures day after dreary day. The torture goes on indefintely. Gray walls surround me. I squat in my own filth. The bones of my spirit are cracked and splintered. My hunger is so great that I devour myself. My thirst so great that I drink my own waste. This is what I’ve become.

Reaching the sanctuary of his room, he shut the door and then dragged a chair across to lean against it. No elf would dream of disturbing the privacy of one who has shut himself away, but Palin didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust any of them.

He sat down at a writing desk, but he did not write to Jenna.

He placed his hand on a small silver earring he wore in his ear lobe. He spoke the words to the spell, words that perhaps didn’t matter anymore, for there was no one to hear them. Sometimes artifacts worked without the ritual words, sometimes they only worked with the words, sometimes they didn’t work at all under any circumstances. That was happening more and more often these days.

He repeated the words and added “Jenna” to them.

A hungry wizard had sold her the six silver earrings. He was evasive about where he had found them, mumbled something to the effect that they had been left to him by a dead uncle.

Jenna had told Palin, “Certainly, the dead once owned these earrings. But they were not willed to him. He stole them.”

She did not pursue the matter. Many once respectable wizards—including Palin himself—had turned to grave robbery in their desperate search for magic. The wizard had described what the earrings did, said he would not have sold them but that dire necessity drove him to it. She had paid him a handsome sum and, instead of placing the earrings in her shop, she had given one to Palin and one to Ulin, his son. She had not told Palin who wore the others. ..

He had not asked. Once there had been a time when the mages of the Conclave had trusted each other. In these dark days, with the magic dwindling, each now looked sidelong at the others wondering, “Does he have more than I do? Has he found something I have not? Has the power been given to him and not to me?”

Palin heard no response. Sighing, he repeated the words and rubbed the metal with his finger. When he was first given the earrings, the spell had worked immediately. Now it would take him three or four tries and there was always the nagging fear that this might be the time it would fail altogether.

“Jenna!” he whispered urgently.

Something wispy and delicate brushed across his face, like the touch of a fly’s wings. Annoyed, he waved it away hurriedly, his concentration broken. He looked for the insect, to shoo it off, but couldn’t find it. He was settling down to try the magic once again, when Jenna’s thoughts answered his.

“Palin. . .”

He focused his thoughts, keeping the message short, in case the magic failed midway. “Urgent need. Meet me in Solace. Immediately.”

“I will come at once.” Jenna said nothing more did not waste time or the her own magic with questions. She trusted him. He would not send for her unless he had good reason.

Palin looked down at the device that he cherished in his broken hands.

Is this the key to my cell? he asked himself. Or nothing but another lash of the whip?

“He is very changed,” said Gerard, after Palin had left the atrium. “I would not have recognized him. And the way he spoke of his father. . .” He shook his head.

“Wherever Caramon is, I am certain he understands,” Laurana said. “Palin is changed, yes, but then who would not be changed after such a terrible experience. I don’t think any of us will ever know what torment he endured at the hands of the Gray Robes. Speaking of them, how do you plan to travel to Solace?” she asked, skillfully turning the subject away from Palin to more practical considerations.

“I have my horse, the black one. I thought that perhaps Palin could ride the smaller horse I brought for the kender.”

“And then I could ride the black horse with you!” Tas announced, pleased. “Although I’m not sure Little Gray will really like Palin, but perhaps if I talk to her—”

“You are not going,” Gerard said flatly.

“Not going!” Tas repeated, stunned. “But you need me!”

Gerard ignored this statement, which, of all statements ever made in the course of history, could be ranked as most likely to be ignored. “The journey will take many days, but that can’t be helped. It seems the only course—”

“I have another suggestion,” Laurana said. “Griffons could fly you to Solace. They brought Palin here and they will carry him back and you along with them. My falcon Brightwing will take a message to them. The griffons could be here the day after tomorrow. You and Palin will be in Solace by that evening.”

Gerard had a brief, vivid. image of flying on griffon back or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he had a brief vivid image of falling off a griffon’s back and smashing headfirst into the ground. He flushed and fumbled for an answer that didn’t make him out to be a craven coward.

“I couldn’t possibly impose. . . We should leave at once. . .”

“Nonsense. The rest will do you good,” Laurana replied, smiling as if she understood the real reason behind his reluctance.

“This will save you over a week’s time and, as Palin said, we must move swiftly before Beryl discovers such a valuable magical device is in her lands. Tomorrow night, after dark, Kalindas will guide you to the meeting place.”

“I’ve never ridden a griffon,” Tas said, hinting. “At least, not that I can remember. Uncle Trapspringer did once. He said. . .”

“No,” Gerard cut in firmly. “Absolutely not. You will stay with the Queen Mother, if she’ll have you. This is already dangerous enough without—” His words died away.

The magical device was once again in the kender’s possesision. Tasslehoff was, even now, stuffing the device down the front of his shirt.

Far from Qualinesti, but not so far that she couldn’t keep an eye watching and an ear listening, the great green dragon Beryl lay in her tangled, overgrown, vine-ridden bower and chafed at the wrongs which had been done to her. Wrongs which itched and stung her like a parasitic infestation and, like a parasite, she could scratch here and scratch there, but the itch seemed to move so that she was never quite rid of it.

At the heart of all her trouble was a great red dragon, a monstrous wyrm that Beryl feared more than anything else in this world, though she would have allowed her green wings to be pulled off and her enormous green tail to be tied up in knots before she admitted it. This fear was the main reason Beryl had agreed to the pact three years ago. She had seen in her mind her own skull adorning Malys’s totem. Besides the fact that she wanted to keep her skull, Beryl had resolved that she would never give her bloated red cousin that satisfaction.

The pact of peace between the dragons had seemed a good idea at the time. It ended the bloody dragon purge, during which the dragons had fought and killed not only mortals, but each other, as well. The dragons who had emerged alive and powerful divided up parts of Ansalon, each claiming a portion to rule and leaving some previously disputed lands, such as Abanasinia, untouched.

The peace had lasted about a year before it started to crumble.

When Beryl felt her magical powers start to seep away, she blamed the elves, she blamed the humans, but in her heart she knew full well where the real blame lay. Malys was stealing her magic. No wonder her red cousin had no more need to kill her own kind! She had found some way to drain the other dragons of their power. Beryl’s magic had been a major defense against her stronger cousin. Without that magic, the green dragon would be as helpless as a gully dwarf.

Night fell while Beryl was musing. Darkness wrapped around her bower like another, larger vine. She fell asleep, lulled by the lullabye of her scheming and plotting. She was dreaming that she had found at last the legendary Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth.

She wrapped her huge body around the tower and felt the magic flow into her, warm and sweet as the blood of a gold dragon. . . .

“Exalted One!” A hissing voice woke her from her pleasant dream.

Beryl blinked and snorted, sending fumes of poisonous gas roiling among the leaves. “Yes, what is it?” she demanded, focusing her eyes on the source of the hiss. She could see quite well in the darkness, had no need of light.

“A messenger from Qualinost,” said her draconian servant. “He claims his news is urgent, else I would not have disturbed you.”

“Send him in.”

The draconian bowed and departed. Another draconian appeared in his place. A Baaz named Groul, he was one of Beryl’s favorites, a trusted messenger who traveled between her lair and Qualinesti. Draconians were created during the War of the Lance when black robed wizards and evil clerics loyal to Takhisis stole the eggs of good dragons and gave them hideous life in the form of these winged lizard-men. Like all his kind, the Baaz walked upright on two powerful legs, but he could run on all fours, using his wings to increase his movement over the ground. His body was covered with scales that had a dull metallic sheen. He wore little in the way of clothing, which would have hampered his movements. He was a messenger and so he was armed only lightly, with a short sword that he wore strapped to his back, in between his wings.

Beryl wakened more fully. Normally a laconic creature, who rarely evinced any type of emotion, Groul appeared quite pleased with himself this night. His lizard eyes glittered with excitement, his fangs were prominent in a wide grin. The tip of his flickered in his mouth.

Beryl shifted and rolled her huge body, wallowing deeper in the muck to increase her comfort, gathering her vines around her like a writhing blanket.

“News from Qualinost?” Beryl asked casually. She did not want to seem too eager.

“Yes, Exalted One,” said Groul, moving forward to stand near one of the gigantic claws of her front foot. “Most interesting news involving the Queen Mother, Laurana.”

“Indeed? Is that fool knight Medan still enamored of her?”

“Of course.” Groul dismissed this as old news. “According to our spy, he shields and protects her. But that is not such a bad thing, Mistress. The Queen Mother believes herself to be invulnerable and thus we are able to discover what the elves are plotting.”

“True,” Beryl agreed. “So long as Medan remembers where his true loyalities lie, I permit his little flirtation. He has served me well thus far and he is easily removed. What else? There is something else, I believe. . .”

Beryl rested her head on the ground, to put herself level with the draconian, gazed intently at him. His excitement was catching. She could feel it quiver through her. Her tail twitched, her claws dug deep into the oozing mud.

Groul drew closer still. “I reported to you several days ago that the human mage, Palin Majere, was hiding out in the Queen Mother’s house. We wondered at the reason for this visit. You suspected he was there searching for magical artifacts.”

“Yes,” Beryl said. “Go on.”

“I am pleased to report, Exalted One, that he found one.”

“Indeed?” Beryl’s eyes gleamed, casting an eerie green light over the draconian. “And what is the artifact he found? What does it do?”

“ According to our elven spy, the artifact may have something to do with traveling through time. The artifact is in the possession of a kender, who claims that he came from another time, a time prior to the Chaos War.”

Beryl snorted, filling her lair with noxious fumes. The draconian choked and coughed.

“Those vermin will say anything. If this is all—”

“No, no, Exalted One,” Groul hastened to add when he could speak. “The elven spy reports that Palin Majere was tremendously excited over this find. So excited that he has made arrangements to leave Qualinost with the artifact immediately, in order to study it.”

“Is that so?” Beryl relaxed, settled herself more comfortably.

“He was excited by it. The artifact must be powerful, then. He has a nose for these things, as I said to the Gray Robes when they would have slain him. ‘Let him go,’ I told them. ‘He will lead us to magic as a pig to truffles.’ How may we acquire this?”

“The day after this day, Exalted One, the mage and the kender will depart Qualinesti. They will be met by a griffon who will fly them from there to Solace. That would be the best time to capture them.”

“Return to Qualinost. Inform Medan—”

“Pardon me, Exalted One. I am not permitted into the marshal’s presence. He finds me and my kind distasteful.”

“He is becoming more like an elf every day,” Beryl growled.

“Some morning he will wake with pointed ears.”

“I can send my spy to report to him. That is the way I usually operate. Thus my spy keeps me informed of what is going on in Medan’s household as well.”

“Very well. Here are my orders. Have your spy tell Marshal Medan that I want this mage captured and delivered alive. He is to be brought to me, mind you. Not those worthless Gray Robes.”

“Yes, Exalted One.” Groul started to leave, then turned back.

“Do you trust the marshal with a matter of this importance?”

“Certainly not” Beryl said disdainfully. “But I will make my own arrangements. Now go!”

Marshal Medan was taking his breakfast in his garden, where he liked to watch the sun rise. He had placed his table and chair on a rock ledge beside a pond so covered with water lilies that he could barely see the water. A nearby snowfall bush filled the air with tiny white blossoms. Having finished his meal, he read the morning dispatches, which had just arrived, and wrote out his orders for the day. Every so often he paused in his work to toss bread crumbs to the fish who were so accustomed to his routine that every morning at this time they came to the surface in anticipation of his arrival.

“Sir.” Medan’s aide approached, irritably brushing the falling blossoms from his black tunic. “An elf to see you, sir. From the household of the Queen Mother.”

“Our traitor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring him to me at once.”

The aide sneezed, gave a sullen response and departed.

Medan drew his knife from the sheath he wore on a belt around his waist placed the knife on the table, and sipped at his wine. He would not ordinarily have taken such precautions.

There had been one assassination attempt against him long ago, when he had first arrived to take charge of Qualinesti. Nothing had come of it. The perpetrators had been caught and hanged, drawn and quartered; the pieces of their bodies fed to the carrion birds.

Recently, however, the rebel groups were becoming bolder, more desperate. He was concerned about one in particular, a female warrior whose personal beauty, courage in battle and daring exploits were making her a heroine to the subjugated elves. They called her “Lioness,” for her mane of shining hair. She and her band of rebels attacked supply trains, harried patrols, ambushed messengers and generally made Medan’s formerly quiet and peaceful life among the Qualinesti elves increasingly difficult.

Someone was feeding the rebels information on troop movements, the timing of patrols, the locations of baggage trains. Medan had clamped down tightly on security, removing all elves (except his gardener) from his staff and urging Prefect Palthainon and the other elven officials who were known to collaborate with the knights to watch what they said and where they said it. But security was difficult in a land where a squirrel sitting eating nuts on your windowsill might be taking a look at your maps, noting down the disposition of your forces.

Medan’s aide returned, still sneezing, with the elf following along behind, bearing a slip of a branch in his hand.

Medan dismissed his aide with a recommendation that he drink some catnip tea to help his cold. The Marshal sipped his morning wine slowly, enjoying it. He loved the flavor of elven wine, could taste the flowers and the honey from which it was made.

“Marshal Medan, my mistress sends this lilac cutting to you for your garden. She says that your gardener will know how to plant it.”

“Put it here,” said Medan, indicating the table. He did not look at the elf, but continued to toss crumbs to the fish. “If that is all, you have leave to go.”

The elf coughed, cleared his throat.

“Something more?” Medan asked casually.

The elf cast a furtive glance all around the garden.

“Speak. We are alone,” Medan said.

“Sir, I have been ordered to relay information to you. I told you previously that the mage, Palin Majere, was visiting my mistress.”

Medan nodded. “Yes, you were assigned to keep watch on him and report to me what he does. I must assume from the fact that you are here that he has done something.”

“Palin Majere has recently come into possession of an extremely valuable artifact, a magical artifact from the Fourth Age. He is going to transport that artifact out of Qualinost. His plan is to take it to Solace.”

“ And you reported the discovery of this artifact to Groul who reported it to the dragon,” said Medan with an inward sigh. More trouble. “And, of course, Beryl wants it.”

“Majere will be traveling by griffon. He is to meet the griffin tomorrow morning at dawn in a clearing located about twenty miles north of Qualinost. He travels in company with a kender and a Solamnic Knight—”

“A Solamnic Knight?” Medan was amazed, more interested in the knight than in the magic-user. “How did a Solamnic Knight manage to enter Qualinesti without being discovered?”

“He disguised himself as one of your knights, my lord. He pretended that the kender was his prisoner, that he had stolen a magical artifact and that he was taking the prisoner to the Gray Robes. Word reached Majere of the artifact and he waylaid the knight and the kender, as the Knight had planned, and brought them to the home of the queen mother.”

“Intelligent, courageous, resourceful.” Medan threw crumbs to the fish. “I look forward to meeting this paragon.”

“Yes, my lord. As I said, the Knight will be with Majere in the forest, along with the kender. I can provide you with a map—”

“I am certain you can,” said Medan. He made a dismissive gesture. “Give the details to my aide. And remove your treacherous carcass from my garden. You poison the air.”

“Excuse me, sir,” the elf said boldly. “But there is the matter of payment. According to Groul, the dragon was extremely pleased with the information. That makes it worth a considerable amount. More than usual. Shall we say, double what I usually receive?”

Medan cast the elf a contemptuous glance, then reached for quill and paper.

“Give this to my aide. He will see that you are paid.” Medan wrote slowly and deliberately, taking his time. He hated this business, considered the use of spies sordid and demeaning. “What are you doing with all this money we have paid you to betray your mistress, Elf?” He would not dignify the wretch with a name. “Do you plan to enter the Senate? Perhaps take over from Prefect Palthainon, that other monument to treachery.”

The elf hovered near, his eyes on the paper and the figures the Marshal was writing, his hand waiting to pluck it away. “It is easy for you to talk, Human,” the elf said bitterly. “You were not born a servant as I was, given no chance to better myself. ‘You should be honored with your lot in life,’ they tell me. ‘After all, your father was a servant to the House Royal. Your grandfather was a servant in that household as was his grandfather before him. House Servitor is the house to which you are born. If you try to leave or raise yourself, you will bring about the downfall of elven society!’ Hah!

“Let my brother demean himself. Let him bow and scrape and grovel to the mistress. Let him fetch and carry for her. Let him wait to die with her on the day the dragon attacks and destroys them all. I mean to do something better with my life. As soon as I have saved money enough, I will leave this place and make my own way in the world.”

Medan signed the note, dripped melted wax beneath his signature, and pressed his seal ring into the wax. “Here, take this. I am pleased to be able to contribute to your departure.”

The elf snatched the note, read the amount, smiled and, bowing, departed in haste.

Medan tossed the remainder of the bread into the pond and rose to his feet. His enjoyment of the day had been ruined by that contemptible creature, who, out of greed, was now informing on the woman he served, a woman who trusted him.

At least, Medan thought, I will capture this Palin Majere outside of Qualinost. There will be no need to bring Laurana into it. Had I been forced to apprehend Majere in the queen mother’s house, I would have had to arrest the queen mother for harboring a fugitive.

He could imagine the uproar over such an arrest. The queen mother was immensely popular; her people having apparently forgiven her for marrying a half-human and for having a brother who was in exile, termed a “dark elf,” one who is cast from the light. The Senate would be in a clamor. The population, already in an excited state, would be incensed. There was even the remote possibility that news of his mother’s arrest would cause her worthless son to grow a backbone. Much better this way. Medan had been waiting for just such an opportunity. He would turn Majere and his artifact over to Beryl and be done with it.

The marshal left the garden to put his lilac slip into water, so that it would not dry out.