Margaret Weis - Dragons of Summer Flame

The Protector tapped the letter, anxious to change the subject of their conversation.

“The, missive is not for you, but when you have lost sight of our island, you may open this and read it. The one to whom you are to deliver it may have questions which only you can answer.”

Usha regarded the letter with a puzzled expression. “Then who is it for, Prot?”

The Protector was silent a moment, wrestling with himself. Shaking his head to rid himself of doubt, he answered.

“There is a powerful wizard who dwells in Palanthas. His name is Dalamar. After you have read this letter, take it to him. It is right that he should know what we plan. In case...” He stopped himself, but Usha was quick to catch on.

“In case anything goes wrong! Oh, Prot!” She clung to him, now that the moment of parting was at hand. “I’m afraid!”

You will be, Child, all your life. That is the curse of being human. He leaned over, kissed her on the forehead.

“Your mother’s blessing—and your father’s—will go with you.”

He climbed out of the boat. Pushing the boat off the shore, he sent it skimming over the waves.

“Protector!” Usha cried, reaching out her hand as if to seize him.

But the water, or the magic, or both, carried the boat swiftly away. The lapping of the waves on the shore drowned her words.

The Protector stood on the sandy beach as long as the boat was in sight. Even after the tiny white speck had disappeared over the horizon, he stood there still.

Only when the tide had risen, washed away all trace of Usha’s footprints on the sand, did the Protector turn around and leave.

Usha, alone on the boat, watched the slender form of the Protector grow smaller and smaller, watched the shore of her homeland dwindle to nothing more than a black line across the horizon. When the Protector and the shoreline were out of sight, Usha gave the tiller a shove, to turn the boat around, sail it back.

The rudder would not respond. The wind blew strong and steadily. Irda magic kept the boat sailing toward Palanthas.

Usha cast herself down in the bottom of the boat and indulged in her grief, cried until she nearly made herself sick.

The tears did nothing to ease the pain in her heart. Instead, they gave her the hiccups, caused her eyes to itch and burn, her nose to run. Fumbling for a handkerchief, she found the letter the Protector had given her. She opened it without much enthusiasm—expecting it to be another justification for getting rid of her—and began to read.

My Usha. You lie asleep as I write this. I look on you—resting peacefully, your arm flung over your head, your hair mussed, the stains of tears on your cheeks—and I am reminded of the child who brought joy and warmth to my life. I miss you already, and you are not even gone!

I know you are hurt and angry at being sent away, alone, like this. Please believe me, my darling child, that I would have never done so had I not been convinced that this departure was in your best interests.

The question you raised in the meeting, concerning the Graygem and its control over us, is a question many of us have been asking. We are not certain that breaking the Graygem is the best course of action. We accede to the wisdom of the Decider because, quite frankly, we do not feel that we have any other choice.

The Decider has decreed that no hint of what we are planning should be given to the outside world. In that, I think he is wrong. For too long we have kept ourselves aloof from the world. This has resulted—more than once—in tragedy. My own sister...

At this point, whatever had been written had been blotted over. Prot had never mentioned he had a sister. Where was she? What had happened to her? Usha attempted to decipher the handwriting underneath the blot, but failed. Sighing, she read on. The next part was addressed to Lord Dalamar, master of the Tower of High Sorcery, Palanthas.

Usha skimmed through polite introductions and a description of how the Irda had managed to steal the Graygem—a story she’d heard countless times and which she now found boring. She skipped down to the interesting part.

The Graygem rests upon the altar which we have built specially to hold it. At a single glance, the stone seems unpretentious in appearance. Closer examination makes the Graygem more interesting. Its size appears to vary with the beholder. The Decider insists it is as large as a full-grown cat, while I see the stone as the size of a hen’s egg.

It is impossible to determine the number of facets. We have all of us counted them and none of us has reached the same conclusion. The numbers do not vary by ones or twos, but are radically different, as if each of us had been counting the facets on a different stone.

We know the gem is chaotic in nature. We know further that the god Reorx has made many efforts to recapture the Graygem, but that these have always failed. The Graygem is beyond his power to keep. Why, then, are we permitted to keep it?

The Decider’s answer to this question is that the god Reorx is a weak god, easily distracted and undisciplined. That may be true, but I wonder why the other gods have never made any attempt to control the gem. Could it be because they, too, are weak against it? Yet, if the gods are all-powerful, how can this be possible? Unless the Graygem itself possesses a magical power far stronger than that of the gods.

If that is so, the Graygem is immensely more powerful than we are. And this means that the Graygem is not under our control. It is tricking us, using us—to what end or purpose, I do not know. But I fear it.

That is why I have included a copy of the history of the creation of the world and of the Graygem, as we Irda know it. You will find, my lord Dalamar, that it differs considerably from other recorded histories, and that is one reason why I deem it essential that this information reach the Conclave of Wizards. Perhaps some clues in regard to the Graygem may be gleaned from this account.

“Irda history!” Usha sighed and almost rolled the letter back up. “I’ve heard this enough times! I know it by heart!”

She had learned to read and write the Irda language and also the language known as Common, which the Irda never spoke among themselves, but which was deemed useful for her to know. Though she’d been good at her lessons, Usha had not particularly enjoyed learning. Unlike the studious Irda, she preferred doing things to reading about doing things.

But she had nothing to do now except whimper and whine and feel sorry for herself. Leaning over the bulwarks, she dipped her handkerchief into the seawater, bathed her hot face and forehead, and felt better. And so, to keep her mind off her sorrow, she continued reading—bored, at first—but gradually becoming enthralled. She could hear Prot’s voice in the words and was, once again, seated at the small table, listening to his account of the creation of the world.

According to our ancestors, [*] It will be noted by Krynnish scholars that the legend of creation related by the Protector differs in some respects from the legends of creation related by other races. This is natural, considering that each race considers itself central in the universe. The dwarves, for example, refuse to admit that they were created by the confusion caused by Graygem. They maintain that they are Reorx’s creation. Many elves believe that they are the one true race and that other races are mere ink blots on Gilean’s Great Book. The Irda are, however, the race in possession of the longest unbroken history of Krynn and therefore we consider that their account probably comes closest to the actual events. the three gods as we now know them, Paladine, Takhisis, and Gilean, dwelt together on the immortal plane. These three were siblings, having been born of Chaos, Father of All and of Nothing. Paladine was the eldest son, conscientious, responsible. Gilean was the middle child, studious and contemplative. Takhisis was the only daughter, the youngest child and, some say, the favorite. She was restless, ambitious, and bored.