Dragonlance 16 - Dragons Of A Lost Star (46 page)

34

The Presence

The blue dragon circled over the treetops, searching for a place to land. The cypress trees grew thick, so thick that Razor I talked of flying back to the east, to where grassy fields and low rolling hills provided more suitable sites. Goldmoon would not permit the dragon to turn back, however. She was nearing the end of her journey. Her strength waned with the passing seconds. Each beat of her heart was a little slower, a little weaker. What time she had left to her was precious, she could not waste a moment. Looking down from the dragon’s back, she watched the river of souls flowing beneath her, and it seemed to her that she was not borne forward by the dragon’s strong wings but by that mournful tide.

“There!” she said, pointing.

An outcropping of rock, gleaming chalk-white in the moonlight, thrust up from amid the cypress trees. The shape of the outcropping was strange. Seen from above, it had the look of a hand outstretched, palm upward, as if to receive something.

Razor regarded it intently and, after some thought, opined that he could land safely, although it would be their task to climb down the steep sides of the outcropping.

Goldmoon was not concerned. She had only to wade into the river to be carried to her destination.

Razor landed in the palm of the chalk-white hand, settling down as easily as possible, so as not to jar his passengers. Goldmoon dismounted, her strong youthful body carrying within it the faltering spirit.

She assisted Conundrum to slide down off the dragon’s back. Her assistance was needed, for Razor rolled an eye, glared at the gnome balefully. Conundrum had spent the entire journey discoursing on the inefficiency of dragons for flight, the unreliability of scales and skin, bones and tendon. Steel and steam, said the gnome. Machines. That was the future. Razor flicked a wing, came very near knocking Conundrum off the cliff. The gnome, lost in a happy dream of hydraulics, never noticed.

Goldmoon looked up at Tasslehoff, who remained comfortably seated on the dragon’s back.

“Here you are, Goldmoon,” said Tas, waving his hand. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. Well, come along, dragon. Let’s get going. Can’t waste time. We have cities to burn, maidens to devour, treasure to carry off. Good-bye, Goldmoon! Good-bye, Conund—”

Snapping his teeth, Razor arched his back, shook his mane. Tasslehoff’s farewells were cut off in midsentence as the kender went flying heels over topknot, to land with uncomfortable finality on the rock.

“Bad enough I had to carry the little beast this tar,” Razor snarled. He shifted his gaze to Goldmoon. The dragon’s red eye flickered. “You are not what the Knight Gerard claimed you to be, are you? You are not a dark mystic.”

“No, I am not. But I thank you for bringing me to Night-lund,” said Goldmoon absently. She was not afraid of the dragon’s wrath. She felt a protective hand over her, as strong as the hand of rock that now supported her. No mortal being could harm her.

“I do not want your thanks,” Razor returned. “Your thanks are nothing. I did this for her.” His eyes clouded, his gaze lifted to the bright moon, the starlit heavens. “I hear her voice.” He shifted the red eyes back to fix intently on Goldmoon. “You hear the voice, too, don’t you? It speaks your name. Goldmoon, princess of the Que-shu. You know the voice.”

“I hear the voice,” said Goldmoon, troubled. “But I do not know it. I do not recognize it.”

“I do,” said Razor restlessly. “I am called, and I will heed the call. But not without my master. We stand together, he and I.”

The dragon spread his wings and soared off the rock, leaping straight up in order to clear the towering trees. He flew south, toward Qualinesti.

Tasslehoff picked himself up and collected all his pouches.

“I hope you know where we are, Burrfoot,” said Conundrum in grim and accusing tones.

“No, I don’t,” said Tasslehoff cheerfully. “I don’t recognize any of this.” He added, with a heartfelt sigh of relief, “We’re lost, Goldmoon. Most definitely lost.”

“They know the way,” said Goldmoon, looking down on the upturned faces of the dead.

Palin and Dalamar stood on the lowest floor of the Tower, staring intently into the darkness that lay thick and heavy beneath the cypress trees. Thick and heavy and empty. The roving, restless dead had vanished.

“We could leave now,” Palin suggested.

He stood by the window, hands folded in his robes, for the Tower was chill and dank in the early morning and he was cold. Dalamar had mentioned something about mulled wine and a fire in the library, but although warmth for body and belly sounded good, neither man left to go in search of it.

“We could leave now, while the dead are not here to harass us. We could both leave.”

“Yes,” said Dalamar, standing, his hands in the sleeves of his robes, staring out the window. “We could leave.” He cast a sidelong glance at Palin. “Or rather, you could leave, if you want. Search for the kender.”

“You could leave, too,” Palin returned. “Nothing’s holding you here anymore.” A sudden thought came to him. “Or perhaps since the dead have departed, so has your magic.”

Dalamar smiled a dark smile. “You sound almost hopeful, Majere.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Palin returned, nettled, although something deep inside him muttered that perhaps he had very much meant it like that. Here am I, a middle-aged man, a spellcaster of considerable power and renown. I have not lost my abilities, as I had once feared. The dead have been stealing my magic. Yet, in the presence of Dalamar, I feel young and inferior and inadequate, as when I first came to the Tower to take my Test. Worse, perhaps, for youth by its nature is filled with confidence. I am constantly striving to prove my worth to Dalamar and always falling short of the mark.

And why should I? Palin demanded of himself. What does it matter what this dark elf thinks of me? Dalamar will never trust me, never respect me. Not because of anything I am, but because of what I am not. I am not my uncle. I am not Raistlin.

“I could leave, but I will not,” Dalamar stated, his delicate brows drawing together as he continued to stare into the empty darkness. He shivered and withdrew more snuggly into his robes. “My thumbs prick. My hackles rise. There is a Presence here, Palin. I have felt it all this past night. A breath on the back of my neck. A whisper in my ear. The sound of distant laughter. An Immortal Presence, Majere.”

Palin was uncomfortable. “That girl and her talk of her One God has gotten to you, my friend. That and an overactive imagination and the fact that you don’t eat enough to keep my wife’s canary bird alive.”

Palin wished immediately he had not mentioned his wife, wished he had not thought about Usha. I should leave the Tower now if for no other reason than to return home. Usha will be worried about me. If she had heard of the attack on the Citadel of Light, perhaps she thinks I am dead.

“Let her think me dead,” he said softly. “She will find more peace in the thought that I am dead than she knew when I was alive. If she thinks me dead, she will forgive me for hurting her. Her memories of me will be fond ones. . . .”

“Quit mumbling to yourself, Majere, and look outside. The dead have returned!”

Where before there had been stillness and quiet, the darkness was once again alive—alive with the dead. The restless spirits were back, roaming among the trees, prowling about the Tower, staring at it with eyes that were hungry and burning with desire.

Palin gave a sudden, hoarse cry and sprang to the window.

He hit it with his hands so hard that he very nearly broke the glass.

“What?” Dalamar was alarmed. “What is it?”

“Laurana!” Palin gasped. He stared searchingly out into the shifting river of souls. “Laurana! I saw her! I swear! Look! Out there! No . . . She’s gone. . . .”

Pushing away from the window, he walked resolutely toward the spellbound door.

Dalamar sprang after him, laid a wresting hand on his arm. “Majere, this is madness—”

Palin shook him off. “I’m going out there. I have to find her.”

“No, Palin.” Dalamar stood in front of him, grasped hold of him tightly, fingers digging into the flesh of Palin’s arms. “You don’t want to find her. Believe me, Majere. She won’t be Laurana. She won’t be the Laurana you knew. She’ll be . . . like the others.”

“My father wasn’t!” Palin retorted angrily, struggling to free himself. Who would have thought the emaciated elf could be so strong? “He tried to warn me—”

“He wasn’t, at first,” Dalamar said. “But he is now. He can’t help himself. I know. I’ve used them. They have served me for years.”

He paused, still retaining his grip on Palin, watching him warily.

Palin shook off Dalamar’s grip. “Let go of me. I’m not going anywhere.” Rubbing his arms, he returned to stand staring out the window.

“Are you certain it was Laurana?” Dalamar asked after a moment’s silence.

“I am not certain of anything anymore.” Palin was chilled through, worried, frustrated. “So much for your blasted hackles—”

“—we’ve come to the wrong place,” a high, shrill voice cried plaintively from out of the darkness. “You don’t want to go there, Goldmoon. Trust me. I know my Towers of High Sorcery, and this is not the right one.”

“I seek the wizard, Dalamar!” another voice called. “If he is within, let him please open the doors of the Tower to me.”

“I don’t know how or why,” Palin exclaimed, peering in astonishment through the glass, “but there’s Tasslehoff, and he has brought Goldmoon with him.”

“The other way round, from the sounds of it,” Dalamar remarked, as he removed the magical spell from the door.

Tasslehoff continued to argue, as they stood outside the door of the Tower, that this was the wrong Tower. Goldmoon wanted Dalamar’s Tower, the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, and she could see quite obviously that this was not Palanthas. Therefore, she had the wrong Tower.

“You’re not going to find anyone inside there,” Tasslehoff was beginning to sound desperate. “You won’t find Dalamar or Palin either, for that matter. Not that there’s any reason to think Palin would be here,” he added hastily. “I haven’t seen Palin in the longest time. Not since Beryl attacked the Citadel of Light. He went one way, and I went another. He had the magical Device of Time Journeying with him, except that he lost it. He tossed bits of it at the draconians. The device is lost, destroyed. No sign of it anywhere. So don’t go looking for it, because you won’t find it—”

“Dalamar,” came Goldmoon’s voice. “Please let me in!”

“I keep telling you,” Tasslehoff argued, “Dalamar’s not— Oh, hullo, Dalamar.” The kender tried very hard to sound astonished. “What are you doing here in this strange Tower?” Tasslehoff winked several times and motioned with his head at Goldmoon.

“Welcome, Goldmoon, Healer, Priestess of Mishakal,” said Dalamar in gracious tones, using her old title. “I am honored by your visit.”

Ushering her into his dwelling with elven courtesy, Dalamar whispered a soft aside, “Majere! Don’t let the kender get away!”

Palin seized hold of Tasslehoff, who was hovering on the threshold. Palin was about to haul him bodily inside the Tower, when he was considerably disconcerted to find a gnome planted on the threshold, as well. The gnome had his hands shoved into his pockets and was looking about. Apparently, from his expression, he was not much liking what he saw.

“Eh?” said Palin, staring at the gnome. “Who are you?”

“Short version: Conundrum. I’m with her.” The gnome pointed a grimy finger at Goldmoon. “She stole my submersible. Cost a lot of money, submersibles. And who’s going to pay? That’s what I want to know. Are you going to pay for it? Is that why we’re here?”

Conundrum held up a small fist. “Cold, hard steel. That’s what I want. No wizard stuff. Bat’s eyes.” The gnome sniffed disdainfully. “We’ve got a vault full of them. Once you’ve ruled out ball bearings, what good are they?”

Keeping a firm grip on Tasslehoff’s collar, Palin dragged the kender, kicking and squirming, over the door stoop. Conundrum followed on his own, his small, quick eyes taking in everything and dismissing it all out of hand.

Goldmoon said nothing in response to Dalamar’s greeting. She barely looked at him or at Palin. Her gaze went around the Tower. She stared at the spiraling staircase that went up into darkness. She glanced around at the chamber in which they stood. She looked, and her eyes grew wide. Her face, already pale, went ashen.

“What is this I feel?” she asked, her voice low and filled with dread. “Who is here?”

Dalamar shot Palin a glance that said I told you so. Aloud, he replied, “Palin Majere and I are the only two here, Healer.”

Goldmoon looked at Palin and seemed not to recognize him, for almost immediately her gaze went around him, past him, beyond him.

“No,” she said softly. “There is someone else. I am meeting someone here.”

Dalamar’s dark eyes flashed. He silenced Palin’s startled exclamation with a glance.

“The person you are expecting has not yet arrived. Will you wait in my library, Healer? The room is warm, and there is spiced wine and food.”

“Food?” The gnome perked up, then was immediately cast back into gloom. “Not bat’s brains, is it? Monkey toes? I won’t eat wizard food. Ruins the digestion. Pork rinds and tarbean tea. That’s more like it.”

“It has been nice seeing you again, Palin, and you, too, Dalamar,” Tasslehoff said, wriggling in Palin’s grip, “and I wish I could stay for dinner, because the monkey toes sound delicious, but I have to be running along—”

“I will show you to the library in just a moment, Healer,” Dalamar said, “but first I must settle our other guests. If you will excuse me—”

Goldmoon didn’t appear to hear. She continued to stare around the Tower, searching for something or someone. The sight was unnerving.

Dalamar glided over to Palin, plucked at his sleeve. “Regarding Tas—”

“What regarding me?” Tas asked, eyeing Dalamar suspiciously.

“You recall what Mina said to you, Majere? About the device?”

“Who said?” Tas demanded. “Said what? What device?”

“Yes,” said Palin. “I remember.”

“Take him and the gnome to one of the student rooms in the north wing. The first one in the corridor will do. It is a room that has no fireplace,” Dalamar added with grim emphasis. “Search the kender. When you find the device, for mercy’s sake, keep it safe. Don’t go tossing bits of it around. Oh, and you might want to remain hidden in that wing of the building. Our guest should not find you here.”

“Why be so mysterious?” Palin asked, irritated by Dalamar’s smug tone. “Why not just tell Goldmoon that the person coming to see her is her foster daughter, Mina?”

“You humans,” Dalamar returned disparagingly. “So quick to blurt out everything you know. Elves have learned the power of secrets. We have learned the value of keeping secrets.”

“But what can you hope to gain—”

Dalamar shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe something. Maybe nothing. You tell me that the two of them were once close. Much may come out of the shock of a sudden reunion, the shock of recognition. People say things they never intended in such circumstances, especially humans, who are so swayed by wayward emotions.”

Palin’s expression hardened. “I want to be there. Goldmoon may appear young, but that is only a facade. You speak glibly of the shock to her to see this child that she once dearly loved, but such a shock might be fatal.”

Dalamar was shaking his head. “Too dangerous—”

“You can arrange it,” Palin said firmly. “I know you have ways.”

Dalamar hesitated, then said ungraciously, “Very well. If you insist. But the responsibility is entirely yours. Remember that this Mina saw you though you were hidden behind a wall. If you are discovered, I can do nothing to save you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Palin returned crisply.

“Meet us in the library, then, once you have those two locked up tight.” Dalamar jerked a thumb at the kender and the gnome.

The dark elf turned away, then, pausing, glanced back over his shoulder. “I suppose, by the way, Majere, that the significance of the gnome has occurred to you?”

“The gnome?” Palin was taken aback. “No. What—”

“Recall your uncle’s history,” Dalamar said and his voice was grim.

Returning to Goldmoon, he led her up the winding stairs. He was gracious and charming, as he could be when he wanted. Goldmoon followed where he led, moving as one who walks in sleep, with no conscious awareness of where she was or where she might be going. The youthful, beautiful body walked and took her with it.

“Significance of the gnome,” Palin repeated in disgust. “Gnomes . . . my uncle’s history . . . what does he mean? Always so damn mysterious . . .”

Muttering to himself, Palin hauled the reluctant Tasslehoff up the stairs. Palin paid no attention to the kender’s pleadings and excuses and lies, some of them quite original. His attention was focused on the small and wizened gnome who was trudging up the stairs alongside, complaining the entire way about the pains in his legs and extolling the virtues of gnome-flingers over stairs.

Palin couldn’t find any significance to the gnome whatsoever. Not unless Dalamar intended to install gnome-flingers.

He escorted the two to the room mentioned, pried Tas’s fingers loose when the kender tried to cling to the doorjamb, and shoved him bodily inside. The gnome clumped in after, talking of building code violations and asking about yearly inspections. Casting a wizard-lock spell on the door to keep his reluctant guests inside, Palin turned to confront Tasslehoff.

“Now, about the Device of Time Journeying—”

“I haven’t got it, Palin,” Tas said quickly. “I swear by the beard of my Uncle Trapspringer. You threw all the pieces at the draco-nians. You know you did. They are scattered all over the Hedge Maze—”

“Hah!” the gnome shouted and went to stand in a corner with his head pressed against the wall.

Tas was going on at a desperate pace.”—the pieces of the device were scattered all over the Hedge Maze, along with pieces of the draconians.”

“Tas,” Palin interrupted sternly, mindful of the passing time and wanting to hasten this along. “You have the device. It came back to you. It must come back to you, even if it is in pieces. I thought I had destroyed it, but the device can’t be destroyed, any more than it can be lost.”

“Palin, I—” Tas began, his lip quivering.

Palin steeled himself, expecting more lies. “What is it, Tas?”

“Palin . . . I saw myself!” Tas blurted out.

“Tas, really—”

“I was dead, Palin!” Tas whispered. His normally ruddy face was pale. “I was dead and I. . . I didn’t like it! It was horrid, Palin. I was cold, so very cold. And I was lost, and I was frightened. I’ve never been lost, and I’ve never been frightened. Not like that, anyway.

“Don’t send me back to die, Palin,” Tas begged. “Don’t turn me into a . . . a dead thing! Please, Palin. Promise me you won’t!” Tasslehoff clutched at him. “Promise me!”

Palin had never seen the kender so upset. The sight moved him almost to tears himself. He stood perplexed, wondering what to do, all the time absently smoothing Tasslehoff’s hair in an effort to calm him.