Margaret Weis - Dragons of Summer Flame

And then, with a pang of fear, he remembered his staff and the spellbook.

But there they both were, the Staff of Magius lying in the grass, the spellbook nearby. The red leather binding on the spell-book was blackened and charred. Palin touched it gingerly, lifted the cover. No pages remained inside. They had all been consumed, destroyed in the last spell.

Palin sighed, thinking of the great loss. Yet he was certain that Magius would have been pleased to know that his magic had helped defeat Chaos. Palin picked up the staff, was startled and vaguely alarmed to note that the staff had a strange feel about it. The wood, which had always before been warm and inviting to the touch, was cool, rough and uneven. The staff was uncomfortable to hold, felt wrong in his hand. He laid it back down, relieved to let go of it, wondered what was wrong.

He walked over to where Usha was standing, staring down at a pile of scattered pouches. Palin forgot about the staff as he bent over the kender’s most prized possessions.

He sorted through the various objects. He didn’t recognize any of them; not surprising, with a kender’s pack, but he had almost managed to convince himself that these pouches belonged to some other kender, had been abandoned by their owner (probably to enable the kender to flee faster) until he lifted one pouch. A bundle of maps tumbled out.

“These are Tasslehoff’s,” he said, fear cold in his heart. “But where is he? He never would have left them behind.”

“Tas!” Usha called, searching. “Palin, look! Here’s his hoopak. It’s... it’s lying in a pile of... chicken feathers.”

Palin moved aside the chicken feathers. There, beneath the hoopak and the feathers, was a handkerchief with the initials FB, a silver spoon (of elven make and design), and a knife, stained dark with blood.

“He is gone!” Usha sobbed. “He never would have left his spoon behind!”

Palin looked up the road, the road that ran eagerly along until it joined another road, and another road after that, coming together, branching apart, but always traveling onward, going everywhere, only to lead, at the very end, back home.

The road was suddenly a blur.

“There’s only one reason Tas would have left his most prized possessions behind,” Palin said softly. “He’s found something more interesting.”

The gentle rain ceased its fall. The gray day faded to dark night. The strange stars came out, scattered over the sky like a handful of seeing stones tossed on black cloth. The pale and uncaring moon rose, lit their way.

Palin’ looked up at the stars, at the single moon. He shivered, lowered his eyes, and met the golden-eyed gaze of Raistlin.

“Uncle!” Palin was pleased, yet ill at ease.

The staff no longer supported him. It was heavy and burdensome. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

“Have you come to stay with us, now that the war is at an end? The war is over, isn’t it?” he asked anxiously.

“This war is over,” Raistlin added dryly. “There will be others, but they are not my concern. And, no, I have not come to stay. I am tired. I will return to my long sleep. I merely stopped on my way to say good-bye.”

Palin gazed at his uncle in disappointment. “Must you go? There’s still so much I have to learn.”

“That is true. Nephew. That will be true to the day you die, even if you are an old, old man. What’s wrong with the staff? You’re holding it as if it pains you to touch it.”

“There’s something the matter with it,” Palin said, fear growing in him, fear of things guessed at, suspected, but unknown.

“Give it to me,” Raistlin said softly.

Palin handed over the staff with a sudden reluctance.

Raistlin took it, gazed at it admiringly. His thin hand stroked the wood, caressed it. "Shirak," he whispered.

The light of the staff glowed, but then the glow began to dim, darken. The light flickered and died.

Palin gazed in dismay at the staff, then looked up at the single moon. His heart constricted in fear.

“What is happening?” he cried in terror.

“Ah, perhaps I can answer that, young man.”

An old wizard, dressed in mouse-colored robes, with a disreputable, broken-pointed hat, came tottering along the road from the direction of the Inn of the Last Home. The wizard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fine ale,” he was heard to remark, “some of Caramon’s best. This will be an excellent year.” Sighing, he shook his head.

“I’m sure gonna miss that.”

“Greetings, Old One,” Raistlin said, leaning on the staff, smiling.

“What? Eh? Is that some sort of comment on my age?” The wizard glared from beneath bushy brows.

He turned to Palin, caught sight of the kender’s handkerchief, which Palin had tucked into his belt. The wizard’s beard bristled.

“That’s mine!” he shrieked, and made a grab for the handkerchief. Retrieving it, he exhibited the cloth. “There’s my initials. FB. It stands for... Mmmmm. Foos ball. No, doesn’t sound quite right. Flubber. No...”

“Fizban,” said Palin.

“Where?” The old man whipped around. “Drat him, he’s always following me.”

“Fizban!” Usha stared at him in wonder. “I know about you! The Protector told me. You’re really Paladine!”

“Never heard of him!” the old man stated testily. “People are always mistaking the two of us, but I’m much better looking!”

“You’re not dead!” Palin said thankfully. “Chaos said you were dead. That is, he said Paladine was dead.”

Fizban was forced to pause a moment, to consider the matter. “Nope, don’t think so.” He frowned. “You didn’t leave me in a pile of chicken feathers again?”

Palin was comforted, cheered, no longer afraid. “Tell us what has happened, sir. We won, didn’t we? Chaos was defeated?”

Fizban smiled, sighed. The befuddled expression smoothed away, leaving an old man, benign, sad, grieving, yet triumphant.

“Chaos was defeated, my son. He was not destroyed. The Father of All and of Nothing could never be destroyed. You forced him to flee this world. He agreed to do so, but at a high price. He will leave Krynn, but his children must leave as well.”

“You’re... not going, are you?” Usha cried. “You can’t!”

“The others have already gone,” Fizban said quietly. “I came to give you my thanks and”—he sighed again—“have a last glass of ale with my friends.”

“You can’t do this!” Palin said, dazed, disbelieving. “How can you leave us?”

“We make this sacrifice to save the creation we love, my son,” Fizban answered. He shifted his gaze to the bodies of the knights, to the handkerchief he held in his hand. “Just as they sacrificed to save what they loved.”

“I don’t understand!” Palin whispered, anguished. “What about the staff? What about my magic?” He pressed his hand over his heart. “I can’t feel it inside me anymore.”

Raistlin laid his hand on Palin’s shoulder. “I said that one day you would become the greatest mage who ever lived. You fulfilled my prophecy, Nephew. Magius himself was never able to cast that spell. I am proud of you.”

“But the book is destroyed...”

“It doesn’t matter,” Raistlin said, then shrugged. “Does it, Nephew?”

Palin stared, still not understanding. Then the meaning of what his uncle had told him penetrated, struck him to his very soul.

“There is no more magic in the world——”

“Not as you know it. There may be other magic. It is up to you to find it.” Fizban said gently. “Now is begun what will be known on Krynn as the Age of Mortals. It will be the final age, I think. The final, the longest, and, perhaps, the best. Farewell, my son. Farewell, my daughter.”