Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (42 page)

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