Read Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
saddle. The blood pounded in his temples, his breastplate
jabbed into his stomach and constricted his breathing, leather
cords cut into his flesh, and he had lost all feeling in his feet. He
did not know his captors, he'd been unable to see them in the
darkness, and now, blindfolded, he could see nothing at all.
They had very nearly killed him. He had the kender to thank for
keeping him alive.
Yes, things were going as planned.
They traveled for a considerable distance. The journey
seemed endless to Gerard, who began to think after awhile that
they had been riding for decades, long enough to have circum-
navigated Krynn itself at least six times. He had no idea how the
kender was faring, but judging by the occasional indignant
squeaks emanating from somewhere behind him Gerard assumed
that Tasslehoff was relatively intact. Gerard must have dozed,
either that or he'd passed out, for he woke suddenly when the
horse came to a halt.
The human was speaking, the human whom Gerard took to
be the leader. He was speaking in Elvish, a language Gerard did
not understand. But it seemed that they had reached their desti-
nation for the elves were cutting loose the bindings holding him
on the saddle. One of ~e elves grabbed him by the back of the
breastplate, pulled him off the horse's back and dumped him on
the ground.
"Get up, swine!" the elf said harshly in Common. "We are not
going to carry you." The elf removed the Knight's blindfold.
"Into that cave over there. March."
They had traveled through the night. The sky was pink with
the coming of dawn. Gerard saw no cave, only thick and impen-
etrable forest, until one of the elves picked up what appeared to
be a stand of young trees and moved it. A dark cavern in the side
of a rock wall came into view. The elf placed the screen of trees to
one side.
Staggering to his feet, Gerard limped forward. The sky was
growing brighter, now fiery orange and sea-blue. He looked
about for his companion, saw the kender's feet sticking out of a
sack that was a bulky shape on the pony's back. The human
leader stood near the cave entrance, keeping watch. He was
cloaked and hooded, but Gerard caught a glimpse of dark robes
beneath the cloak, robes such as a magic-user might wear. The
Knight was becoming more and more certain that his plan had
worked. Now he just had to hope that the elves would not kill
him before he had a chance to explain himself.
The cave was set in a small hill in a heavily forested area.
Gerard had the impression that they were not in some isolated
patch of wilderness but close to a community. He could hear on
the distant breeze the sound of the bell flowers elves liked to
plant around the windows of their dwellings, flowers whose
blossoms rang musically when the wind's breath touched them.
He could also smell the scent of fresh-baked bread. Glancing in
the direction of the rising sun, he confirmed that they had trav-
eled due west during the night. If he was not actually in the city
of Qualinost, he must be very close by.
The human entered the cavern. Two of the elves followed, one
of them carrying the squirming kender trussed up in his sack, the
other walking behind Gerard, prodding him in the back with a
sword. The other elves whQ had accompanied them did not enter
the cave but vanished into the woods, taking the pony and the
Knight's horse with them. Gerard hesitated a moment before
stepping into the cave. The elf shoved him in the back and he
stumbled forward.
A dark, narrow passage opened up into a smallish chamber lit
by a flame floating on a bowl of sweet-smelling oil. The elf carrying
the kender dropped the sack to the floor, where the kender began to
squeak and squeal and wriggle inside the sack. The elf gave the sack
a nudge with his foot, told the kender to be silent; they would let
him out in good time, and then only if he behaved himself. The elf
guarding Gerard prodded him again in the back.
"On your knees, swine," said the elf.
Gerard. sank to his knees and lifted his head. Now he had a
good view of the human's face, for he could look up into it. The
man in the cloak looked down grimly at Gerard.
"Palin Majere," said Gerard with a sigh of relief. "I have come
a long way in search of you."
Palin brought the torch close. "Gerard uth Mondar. I thought
that was you. But since when did you become a Knight of
Neraka? You had best explain and quickly." He frowned. "As you
know, I have no love for that accursed Knighthood."
"Yes, sir." Gerard glanced uncertainly at the elves. "Do they
speak the human language, sir?"
"And Dwarvish and Common," Palin answered. "I can order
them to kill you in any number of languages. I say again, explain
yourself. You have one minute."
"Very well, sir," Gerard replied. "I wear this armor of neces-
sity, not by choice. I bear important news for you and, finding out
from your sister Laura that you were in Qualinesti, I disguised
myself as one of the enemy so that I could safely reach you."
"What news?" Palin asked. He had not removed the dark
hood, but spoke from its shadowy depths. Gerard could not see
his face. His voice was deep and stem and cold.
Gerard thought of what people in Solace were saying about
Palin Majere these days. He was changed since the Academy had
been destroyed. He had changed and not for the better. He had
veered off the sunlit road to walk a dark path, a path his uncle
Raistlin had walked before him.
"Sir," said Gerard, "your honored father is dead."
Palin said nothing. His expression did not alter.
"He did not suffer," the Knight hastened to assure Palin.
"Death took your father swiftly. He walked out the door of the
Inn, looked into the sunset, spoke your mother's name, pressed
his hand over his heart, and fell. I was with him when he died. He
was at peace, in no pain. We held his funeral the next day. He was
laid to rest at your mother's side."
"Did he say anything?" Palin asked at last.
"He made a request of me, which I will tell you about in due
time."
Palin regarded Gerard in silence for long moments. Then he
said, "And how is everything else in Solace?"
"Sir?" Gerard was astonished, appalled.
The kender in the sack gave a wail, but no one paid any at-
tention.
"Did you not hear-?" Gerard began.
"My father is dead. I heard," Palin replied. He threw back his
cowl, regarded Gerard with an unwavering gaze. "He was an old
man. He missed my mother. Death is a part of life. Some might
say"-his voice hardened-,'the best part."
Gerard stared. He had last seen Palin Majere a few months ago,
when he had attended the funeral of his mother, Tika. Palin had not
remained in Solace long. He had left almost immediately on yet an-
other search for ancient magical artifacts. With the Academy de-
stroyed, Solace held nothing for Palin anymore. And with rumors
running rife that wizards all over the world were losing their mag-
ical powers, people guessed that Palin was no different. It seemed,
so they whispered, that life held nothing more for him. His mar-
riage was not the happiest. He had grown careless, reckless of his
safety, especially if the slightest chance offered of obtaining a mag-
ical artifact from the Fourth Age. For these artifacts had not lost
their power and such power could be leeched by a skilled wizard.
Gerard had thought Palin looked unwell at the funeral. This
trip had done nothing to improve the mage's health. If anything,
he was more gaunt, more pallid, his manner more restive, his
gaze furtive, distrustful.
Gerard knew a great deal about Palin. Caramon had been
fond of talking about his only surviving son, and he had been a
topic of conversation at almost every breakfast.
Palin Majere, the youngest son of Caramon and Tika, had
been a promising young mage when the gods left Krynn, taking
magic with them. Although he grieved the loss of the godly
magic, Palin had not given up, as did so many wizards of his gen-
eration. He had brought together mages from allover Ansalon in
an effort to learn to use the magic he believed remained in the
world, wild magic that was of the world itself. Such magic had
been part of the world before the coming of the gods, and, so he
had supposed, would remain in the world even after the depar-
ture of the gods. His efforts had been successful. He had estab-
lished the Academy of Sorcery in Solace, a center of learning for
magic. The Academy had grown and prospered. He had used his
skills to fight the great dragons and was renowed throughout
Abanasinia as a hero.
Then the tapestry of his life had begun to unravel.
Extraordinarily sensitive to the wild magic, he had been
among the first, two years ago, to notice that its powers were
starting to weaken. At first, Palin thought this might be nothing
more than a symptom of advancing age. He was past fifty, after
all. But then his students began to report similar problems. Even
the young were finding spell-casting more difficult. Obviously
age was not a factor.
The spells would work, but they required more and more
effort on the part of the magic-user to cast them. Palin compared
it once to putting a jar over a lighted candle. The flame will bum
only so long as there is air trapped within the jar. When the air is
gone, the flame will falter, flicker, and die.
Was magic finite, as some were saying? Could it dry up like a
pond in the desert? Palin didn't think so. The magic was there. He
could feel it, see it. But it was as if the desert pond was being
drunk dry by a vast multitude.
Who or what was draining the magic? Palin suspected the
great dragons. He was forced to change his mind when the great
green dragon Beryl grew more threatening, became more ag-
gressive, sent her armies to seize more territory. Qualinesti spies
reported that this was happening because the dragon was feel-
ing her own magical powers on the decrease. Beryl had long
sought to find the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. The mag-
ical forest had kept the Tower hidden from her and from the
Knights of the Thorn who had been searching for it. Her need
for the Tower and its magic became more urgent. Angry and
uneasy, she began to extend her reach over as much of
Abanasinia as was possible without drawing down on herself
the wrath of her cousin Malys.
The Knights of the Thorn, the magic-wielding arm of the
Knights of Neraka, were also feeling their magical powers on the
wane. They blamed Palin and his mages of the Academy of Sor-
cery. In a daring raid on the Academy, they kidnapped Palin,
while Beryl's dragon minions destroyed it.
After months of "questioning," the Gray Robes had released
Palin. Caramon had not wanted to go into details about the tor-
ment his son had endured, and Gerard had not pressed him. The
residents of Solace discussed the matter at length, however. In
their opinion, the enemy had not only twisted Palin's Majere's
fingers, they had twisted his soul as well.
Palin's face was haggard, hollow-cheeked, with dark
splotches beneath the eyes as if he slept little. He had few wrin-
kles; the skin was pulled taut, stretched over the fine bones. The
deep lines around his mouth, which had marked the track of
smiles, were beginning to fade away from disuse. His auburn hair
had gone completely gray. The fingers of his hands, once supple
and slender, were now twisted, cruelly deformed.
"Cut his bindings," Palin ordered the elves. "He is a Solamnic
Knight, as he claims."
The two elves were dubipus, but they did as they were told,
though they continued to keep a close watch on him. Gerard rose
to his feet, flexed his arms, and stretched his aching muscles.
"So you came all this way, disguised, risking your life to bring
me this news," said Palin. "I must confess that I fail to see the!
need for the kender. Unless the story I heard is true, that this
kender really did steal a powerful magical artifact. Let us have a
look at him."
Palin knelt down beside the sack where the kender wriggled.
He stretched out his hand, started to try to untie the knots, but his
deformed fingers could not manage. Gerard looked at the
wizard's fingers, looked quickly away, not wanting to seem to
pity him.
"Does the sight distress you?" Palin asked with a sneer. Stand-
ing up, he covered his hands with the sleeves of his robes.
take care not to trouble you."
"It does distress me, sir," Gerard said quietly. "It distresses me
to see any good man suffer as you have suffered."
"Suffered, yes! I was a prisoner of the Thorn Knights for three
months. Three months! And not a day passed when they did not
torment me in some way. Do you know why? Do you know what
they wanted? They wanted to know why their magical power