Margaret Weis - Dragons of Summer Flame

Tas stood up and, as he did, he realized suddenly that he was the tallest, the biggest person around. (Left standing.) (Aside from the giant.) A feeling of pride swelled the kender’s heart, burst the clutch of the chill hand that had been squeezing the life out of it.

Tasslehoff flung his pouches aside. Drawing his knife—the knife that Caramon had once dubbed Rabbitslayer—the kender ran toward his fallen friends, using the speed and agility that is born to the kender race and is one reason they have managed to survive in a world of angry minotaur, infuriated shopkeepers, and enraged sheriffs.

Tasslehoff flung his small body in front of Usha. With a kender cry of defiance, “Take that!” he plunged the knife called Rabbitslayer into Chaos’s big toe.

The magical knife pierced the leather of the giant’s boot, struck flesh.

Blood spurted. The god jerked his injured foot up, prepared to stomp on the insignificant, infuriating creature who had injured him.

Chaos smashed his foot into the ground.

Clouds of dust rose. Tasslehoff disappeared.

“Tas!” Usha cried out in grief and anger. She started to try to rescue her friend, when she heard Dougan give a tremendous shout.

“You’ve done it, Lass! Look down! Look at the Graygem!”

Usha, dazed, looked.

A single drop of blood glistened in the center of one half of the Graygem.

“Close the two halves, Lass!” Dougan was on his feet, jumping up and down. “Close them! Quickly!”

Chaos shrieked and thundered around her. His flames scorched her. His winds tried to flatten her. She was going to die, but it didn’t matter. Palin was dead. The cheerful kender was dead. The dark and stern knight was dead. Prot was dead. All were dead, and nothing more remained. Hope was dead.

Usha brought her two hands together, brought the two halves of the Graygem together with the blood of Chaos trapped between, then...

Silence.

Silence and darkness.

Usha could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, not even ground beneath her. The only solid object she could sense was the Graygem, its cold, sharp, faceted edges.

The jewel began to glow with a soft gray light.

Usha dropped it, but the gem did not fall.

The Graygem rose from her grasp, rose higher and higher into the darkness and then, suddenly, the gem exploded.

Millions of shards of sparkling crystal burst outward, expanding, pitting the darkness with pinpricks of light.

They were stars. New stars, strange stars.

A moon rose, a single moon, a pale moon. Its face was benign, yet uncaring.

By the moon’s light, Usha could see.

Chaos was gone. Dougan was gone. All around Usha were the bodies of the dead. She searched among the dead until she found Palin.

Putting her arms around him, Usha lay down beside him. She rested her head on his breast, shut her eyes, shut out the sight of the strange stars, the cold moon, and sought to find Palin in the darkness.

A drop of cool water fell on his forehead. It was raining, a gentle rain, cool and soft. Palin lay in the wet grass, his eyes closed, thinking that it would be a dreary, gray, and gloomy day for a ride, that his older brother would complain bitterly about the rain, prophesying that it would rust his armor and ruin his sword; that his other brother would laugh and shake the drops from his hair and comment on them all smelling of wet horse.

And I will remind them that we need the rain, that we should be thankful the drought is broken...

The drought.

The sun.

The burning, blazing sun.

My brothers are dead.

The sun will not set.

Memory returned, horrifying and pain-filled. The liquid falling on him was not rain, but blood. The clouds were the shadow of the giant, towering over him. Palin opened his eyes fearfully, stared up into the leaves of a vallenwood tree, leaves that were dripping wet with rain, leaves that were just starting to change color, transforming into the warm reds and golds of autumn.

Palin sat up, gazed around in vast confusion. He was lying in a field that must be near his homeland, for the vallenwood grows in only one place on Ansalon, and that is Solace. Yet, what was he doing here? Only moments before, he had been dying in the Abyss.

In the distance he saw the Inn of the Last Home, his home, standing safe and sound. A thin curl of smoke rose from the home fire, drifting—sweet-smelling—up through the falling rain.

He heard a whimper near him, looked down.

Usha lay at his side, curled up like a child, one arm flung protectively over her head. She was dreaming, and her dreams were terrible.

Gently, he touched her shoulder. She stirred and called his name. “Palin! Where are you?”

“Usha, it’s me. I’m here,” he said softly.

She opened her eyes, saw him. She reached out her arms, clasped him, held him close.

“I thought you were dead. I was alone, all alone, and the stars were all different, and you were dead...”

“I’m fine,” Palin said, and was astonished to know that he was fine, when the last thing he remembered was agonizing pain.

He smoothed back the beautiful silver hair, gazed into the golden eyes that were red-rimmed with tears.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I... wasn’t hurt. The giant... Tas... Oh, dear gods!” Usha thrust away Palin’s hands, staggered to her feet. “Tas! The giant!”

She turned, caught her breath in a sob.

Palin looked past her, and now he saw the dead.

The bodies of the Knights of Solamnia lay next to the bodies of the dark Knights of Takhisis. Of all those who had ridden forth into the Abyss to do battle with Chaos and his dread legions, not one had survived. The warriors lay in state, each man with his hands clasped over his chest, each face smooth and peaceful, all trace of blood, fear, and pain washed away by the gentle rain that fell on them all alike.

Peering through the rain, Palin saw movement, saw something stir. He’d been mistaken. One of the knights still lived. Palin hastened swiftly past the rows of dead. Drawing nearer, he recognized Steel.

The knight’s face was covered with blood. He was on his knees, so weak he could barely hold himself upright. He placed the cold hand of a young Solamnic Knight over his chest. Then, his strength failing him, Steel fell into the wet, brown grass.

Palin bent down beside him. A glance took in the scorched, shattered, bloodstained armor, the pallid face, the labored breathing.

“Steel,” Palin called softly. “Cousin.”

Steel opened his eyes, which were shadowed and dimming. “Majere... “ He smiled briefly, fleetingly. “You fought well.”

Palin took hold of the dark knight’s hand. The flesh was chill. “Is there anything I can do for you? To give you ease?”

Steel’s head turned, his gaze shifted. “My sword.”

Palin found it, lying near the fallen knight. He lifted the weapon, placed the hilt in Steel’s hand.

Steel shut his eyes. “Lay me with the others.”

“I will, Cousin,” said Palin, through his tears, “I will.”

Steel’s fingers closed over the sword’s hilt. He tried, once more, to lift it. "Est Sularus ... “ His last breath whispered the Solamnic words, My honor. His last sigh carried with it the conclusion, "oth Mithas,” is my life.

“Palin.” Usha stood at his side.

Palin raised his head, wiped away the rain and the tears. “What? Have you found Tas?”

“Come see,” Usha said softly.

He rose to his feet. His robes were soaked with rain, but the air was warm for the beginning of autumn. He walked past the bodies of the knights, wondered, now that he thought of it, what had become of the dragons.