Read Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
gnome. "Because I think I'm losing all the feeling in my left foot.
"Hold still!" Conundrum ordered. "Don't move. I've almost
got it. Drat this wind," he added irritably. "I wish it would stop.
It keeps blowing away my map."
Tasslehoff endeavored to do as he was ordered, although not
moving was extremely difficult. He stood on the path in the
middle of the hedge maze, balanced precariously on his left foot.
He held his right leg hoisted in a most uncomfortable position in
the air, his foot attached to a branch of the hedge maze by the en
of the thread of the unraveled right stocking. The stocking was
considerably reduced in size, its cream-colored thread trailing
along the path through the hedge maze.
The gnome's plan to use the socks had proved a brilliant suc-
cess, though Conundrum sighed inwardly over the fact that the
means by which he was going to finally succeed in mapping the
hedge maze lacked the buttons, the gears, the pulleys, the spindles
and the wheels, which are such a comfort to the scientific mind.
To have to describe the wondrous mechanism by which he
had achieved his Life Quest as "two socks, wool" was a terrible
blow. He had spent the night trying to think of some way to add
steam power, with the result that he developed plans for snow-
shoes that not only went extremely fast but kept the feet warm as
well. But that did nothing to advance his Life Quest.
At length Conundrum was forced to proceed with the simple
plan he'd originally developed. He could always, he reflected,
embellish the proceedings during the final report. They began
early in the morning, up before the dawn. Conundrum posted
Tasslehoff at the entry of the hedge maze, tied one end of the
kender's sock to a branch, and marched Tasslehoff forward. The
sock unraveled nicely, leaving a cream-colored track behind.
Whenever Tasslehoff took a wrong turn and came to a dead end,
he reversed direction, rolling up the thread, and proceeded down
the path until he came to the right turn in the path, which was
leading them deeper into the middle of the hedge maze.
Whenever they struck a correct turning, Conundrum would
fall flat on his belly and mark the route on his map. By this means,
he advanced farther than he'd ever been able to go. So long as
Tasslehoff's supply of hosiery held out, the gnome felt certain
that he would have the entire hedge maze well and truly mapped
by day's end.
As for Tasslehoff, he was not feeling quite as cheery and
pleased as one might expect for someone who was on the verge
of wondrous scientific breakthrough. Every time he put his hand
in a pocket he felt the prickly jewels and the cold, hard surface of
the Device of Time Journeying. He more than half suspected the
device of deliberately making a nuisance of itself by turning up in
places and pockets where he knew for a fact it had not been ten
minutes earlier. No matter where he put his hands, the Device
was jabbing him or poking him.
Every time the device jabbed him or poked him, it was like
Fizban's bony finger jabbing him or poking him, reminding him
of his promise to come right back.
Of course, kender have traditionally considered promises to
be about as binding as a silken strand of gossamer-good for
holding butterflies, but not much more. Normally anyone relying
on a kender's promise would be considered loony, unstable, in-
competent and just plain daft, all of which descriptions fit Fizban
to a tee. Tasslehoff would not have worried at all about breaking
a promise he had really never intended to keep in the first place
and that he had assumed Fizban knew he never meant to keep,
but for what Palin had said about his-Tasslehoff's-funeral.
That funeral speech seemed to indicate that Fizban expected
Tasslehoff to keep his promise. Fizban expected it because Tas
was not an ordinary kender. He was a brave kender, a courageous
kender, and-that dreadful word-an honorable kender.
Tasslehoff looked honor up and he looked it down. He
looked it inside out and sideways, and there were just no two
ways about it. Honorable people kept promises. Even promises
that were terrible promises, promises that meant one had to go
back in time to be stepped on by a giant and squashed flat and
killed dead.
"Right! That's got it!" said the gnome briskly. "You can put
your foot down. Now, just hop along around that comer. To your
right. No, left. No, right. . ."
Tasslehoff hopped, feeling the sock unravel from around his
leg. Rounding the comer, he came upon a staircase. A spiral stair-
case. A spiral staircase made all of silver. A silver spiral staircase
in the middle of the hedge maze.
"We've done it!" The gnome shouted ecstatically.
"We have?" asked Tasslehoff, staring at the stair. "What have
we done?"
"We've reached the very center of the hedge maze!" The
gnome was capering about, flinging ink to the four winds.
"How beautiful!" said Tasslehoff and walked toward the
silver stair.
"Stop! You're unraveling too fast!" the gnome cried. "We still,
have to map the exit."
At that moment, Tasslehoff's sock gave out. He barely no-
ticed, he was so interested in the staircase. The stair seemed to
rise up out of nothing. The stair had no supports, but hung sus-
pended in the air, shining and fluid as quicksilver. The stair
turned round and round upon itself, leading ever upward. Arriv-
ing at the bottom, he looked up to see the top.
He looked up and up and all he saw was sky, blue sky that
seemed to go on and on like a bright and lovely summer's day,
which is so bright and so lovely that you never want the day to
end. You want it to go on and on forever. Yet you know, the sky
seemed to say, that night must come, or else there will be no day
tomorrow. And the night has its own blessing, its own beauty.
Tasslehoff began to climb the silver stair.
A few steps below, Conundrum was also starting to climb.
"Strange construction," he remarked. "No pylons, no struts, no
rivets, no balusters, no hand railings-safety hazard. Someone
should be reported." The gnome paused about twenty steps up to
look around. "My what a view. I can see the harbor-"
The gnome let out a shriek that might have been mistaken for
the Mt. Nevermind noon whistle, which generally goes off at
about three in the morning.
"My ship!"
Conundrum dropped his maps, he spilled his ink. He dashed
down the stair, his wispy hair flying in the wind, tripped over
Tasslehoff's stocking, which was tied to the end of the hedge,
picked himself up and ran toward the harbor with a speed that
the makers of the steam-powered, piston-driven snowshoes
might have tried hard to emulate.
"Stop thief!" the gnome bellowed. "That's my ship!"
Tasslehoff glanced down to see what all the excitement was
about, saw it was the gnome, and thought nothing more about it.
Gnomes were always excitable.
Tasslehoff sat down on the stairs, put his small pointed chin in
his hand and thought about promises.
Palin tried to catch up with Goldmoon, but a cramp in his leg
had brought him up, gasping in pain. He massaged the leg and
then, when he could walk, he limped down the stairs to find the
hall in an uproar. Goldmoon had come running through like a
madwoman. She had run out before any could stop her. The mas-
ters and healers had been taken by such surprise that only belat-
edly had some thought to chase after her. By that time, she had
vanished. The entire Citadel was being turned upside down,
searching for her.
Palin kept to himself what Goldmoon had said to him. The
others were already speaking of her in tense whispers. Her wild
talk about the dead feeding off him would only convince them-
as it had convinced him-that the poor woman had been driven
insane by her amazing transformation. He could still see her look
of horror, still feel the powerful blow that had sent him falling
back against the wall. He offered to search for her, but Lady
Camilla told him curtly that both her Knights and the citadel
guards had been sent to locate the First Master and that they were
quite capable of handling the situation.
Not knowing what else to do, he returned to his rooms, telling
Lady Camilla to be certain to notify him upon the First Master's
return.
"In the meantime," he said to himself, sighing, "the best I can
do is to leave Schallsea. I've made a mess of things. Tas won't come
near me, and I can't blame him. I am only adding to Goldmoon's
burdens. Perhaps I am the one responsible for her madness!"
His guest room in the Citadel was a spacious one, located on
the second floor. He had a small bedroom, a study, and a parlor.
One wall of the parlor was crystal, facing west, providing a mag-
nificent view of sea and sky. Restless, exhausted, but too tense to
sleep, he wandered into the parlor and stood gazing out across
the sea. The water was like green glass, mirroring the sky. Except
for a gray-green line on the horizon, he could not tell where one
left off and the other began. The sight was strangely disquieting.
Leaving the parlor, Palin entered his study and sat down at
his desk, thinking he would write a letter to Jenna. He picked up
the pen, but the words scrambled in his head, made no sense. He
rubbed his burning eyes. He had not been able to sleep all night.
Every time he drifted off, he thought he heard a voice calling to
him and he woke with a start to find that no one was there.
His head sank down, pillowed on his arms. He closed his eyes.
The smooth crystal sea stole over him, the water warm and dark.
"Palin!" a voice cried, a hollow, whispering voice. "Palin!
Wake up!"
"Just a moment more, father," Palin said, lost in a dream that
he was a child again. "I'll be down-" (
Caramon stood over him. Big of body, big of heart as wh~
Palin had last seen him, except that he was wavering and insub-
stantial as the smoke from dying embers. His father was not
alone. He was surrounded by ghosts, who reached out grasping
hands to Palin.
"Father!" Palin cried. His head jerked up. He stared in amaze-
ment. He could say nothing more, only stare, gaping, at the phan-
tasmic shapes that had gathered around him and seemed to be
trying to seize hold of him.
"Get back!" Caramon shouted in that dreadful whisper. He
glared around, and the ghosts shrank back, but they did not go
far. They stared at Palin with hungry eyes.
"Father," Palin said--or tried to say. His throat was so dry that
the words seemed to shred his flesh. "Father, what-"
"I've been searching for you!" Caramon said desperately.
"Listen to me! Raistlin's not here! I can't find him! Something's
wrong. . . .
More ghosts appeared in the study. The ghosts surged past
Caramon, over him and around him. They could not rest, could
not remain long in one place. They seized Caramon and tried to
carry him away, like a panicked mob that bears its members to
destruction.
Exerting all his effort, Caramon broke free of the raging cur-
rent and flung himself at Palin.
"Palin!" he shouted, a shout that made no sound,"Don't kill
Tas! He's the-"
Caramon vanished suddenly. The ephemeral forms swirled a
moment and then separated into ragged wisps, as if a hand had
brushed through smoke. The wisps were wafted away on a soul-
chilling wind.
"Father? I don't understand! Father!"
The sound of his own voice woke Palin. He sat upright with a
start, gasping, as if he'd been splashed with cold water. He stared
about wildly. "Father!"
The room was empty. Sunlight streamed in through the open
window. The air was hot and fetid.
"A dream," Palin said, dazedly.
But a very real dream. Remembering the dead clustering
around him, Palin felt horror thrilling through him, raising the hair
on his arms and his neck. He still seemed to feel the clutching hands
of the dead, plucking at his clothes, whispering and pleading. He
brushed at his face, as if he'd run into a spider's web in the dark.
Just as Goldmoon had said. . . .
"Nonsense," he said to himself out loud, needing to hear a
living voice after those terrible whispers. "She put the thought
into my mind, that is all. No wonder I'm having nightmares.
Tonight, I will take a sleeping potion."
Someone rattled the doorknob, trying to open the door, only
to find that it was locked. Palin's heart was in his throat.
Then came the sound of metal-a lockpick-clicking and
snicking in the door lock.
Not ghosts. Just a kender.
Palin, sighing, stood up and walked to the door, opened it.
"Good morning, Tas," said Palin.
"Oh, hullo," said Tasslehof£. The kender was bent double, a
lockpick in his hand, peering intently at the place where the lock
had been before the door swung open. Tas straightened, tucked