Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

“I don’t understand.” Caramon shook his head. “Did the dragon orb do this to him? If so, perhaps it could be broken or—”

“Nothing did this to him” Fizban said, regarding Caramon sternly. “Your brother chose this fate himself.”

“I don’t believe it! How? Who is this Fistan-whatever? I want answers—”

“The answers you seek are not mine to give,” Fizban said. His voice was mild still, but there was a hint of steel in his tone that brought Caramon up short. “Beware of those answers, young man,” Fizban added softly. “Beware still more of your questions!” Caramon was silent for long moments, staring into the sky after the green dragon, though it had long since disappeared.

“What will become of him now?” he asked finally.

“I do not know,” Fizban answered. “He makes his own fate, as do you. But I do know this, Caramon. You must let him go.” The old man’s eyes went to Tika, who had come to stand beside them. “Raistlin was right when he said your paths had split. Go forward into your new life in peace.”

Tika smiled up at Caramon and nestled close. He hugged her, kissing her red curls. But even as he returned her smile and tousled her hair, his gaze strayed to the night sky, where—above Neraka—the dragons still fought their flaming battles for control of the crumbling empire.

“So this is the end,” Tanis said. “Good has triumphed.”

“Good? Triumph?” Fizban repeated, turning to stare at the half-elf shrewdly. “Not so, Half-Elven. The balance is restored. The evil dragons will not be banished. They remain here, as do the good dragons. Once again the pendulum swings freely.”

“All this suffering, just for that?” Laurana asked, coming to stand beside Tanis. “Why shouldn’t good win, drive the darkness away forever?”

“Haven’t you learned anything, young lady?” Fizban scolded, shaking a bony finger at her. “There was a time when good held sway. Do you know when that was? Right before the Cataclysm!”

“Yes"—he continued, seeing their astonishment—"the Kingpriest of Istar was a good man. Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t, because both of you have seen what goodness like that can do. You’ve seen it in the elves, the ancient embodiment of good! It breeds intolerance, rigidity, a belief that because I am right, those who don’t believe as I do are wrong.

“We gods saw the danger this complacency was bringing upon the world. We saw that much good was being destroyed, simply because it wasn’t understood. And we saw the Queen of Darkness, lying in wait, biding her time, for this could not last, of course. The overweighted scales must tip and fall, and then she would return. Darkness would descend upon the world very fast.

“And so—the Cataclysm. We grieved for the innocent. We grieved for the guilty. But the world had to be prepared, or the darkness that fell might never have been lifted.” Fizban saw Tasslehoff yawn. “But enough lectures. I’ve got to go. Things to do. Busy night ahead.” Turning away abruptly, he tottered toward the snoring golden dragon.

“Wait!” Tanis said suddenly. “Fizban—er—Paladine, were you ever in the Inn of the Last Home, in Solace?”

“An inn? In Solace?” The old man paused, stroking his beard. “An inn... there are so many. But I seem to recall spicy potatoes... That’s it!” The old man peered around at Tanis, his eyes glinting. “I used to tell stories there, to the children. Quite an exciting place, that inn. I remember one night—a beautiful young woman came in. A barbarian she was, with golden hair. Sang a song about a blue crystal staff that touched off a riot.”

“That was you, shouting for the guards!” Tanis exclaimed. “You got us into this!”

“I set the stage, lad,” Fizban said cunningly. “I didn’t give you a script. The dialogue has been all yours.” Glancing at Laurana, then back to Tanis, he shook his head. “Must say I could have improved it a bit here and there, but then—never mind.” Turning away once more, he began yelling at the dragon. “Wakeup, you lazy, flea-bitten beast!”

“Flea-bitten!” Pyrite’s eyes flared open. “Why, you decrepit old mage! You couldn’t turn water into ice in the dead of winter!”

“Oh, can’t I?” Fizban shouted in a towering rage, poking at the dragon with his staff. “Well, I’ll show you.” Fishing out a battered spellbook, he began flipping pages. “Fireball... Fireball ... I know it’s in here somewhere.”

Absentmindedly, still muttering, the old mage climbed up onto the dragon’s back.

“Are you quite ready?” the ancient dragon asked in icy tones, then—without waiting for an answer—spread his creaking wings. Flapping them painfully to ease the stiffness, he prepared to take off.

“Wait! My hat!” Fizban cried wildly.

Too late. Wings beating furiously, the dragon rose unsteadily into the air. After wobbling, hanging precariously over the edge of the cliff, Pyrite caught the night breeze and soared into the night sky.

“Stop! You crazed—”

“Fizban!” Tas cried.

“My hat!” wailed the mage.

“Fizban!” Tas shouted again. “It’s—”

But the two had flown out of hearing. Soon they were nothing more than dwindling sparks of gold, the dragon’s scales glittering in Solinari’s light.

“It’s on your head,” the kender murmured with a sigh.

The companions watched in silence, then turned away.

“Give me a hand with this, will you, Caramon?” Tanis asked. Unbuckling the dragonarmor, he sent it spinning, piece by piece, over the edge of the ridge. “What about yours?”

“I think I’ll keep mine a while longer. We’ve still a long journey ahead of us, and the way will be difficult and dangerous.” Caramon waved a hand toward the flaming city. “Raistlin was right. The dragonmen won’t stop their evil just because their Queen is gone.” “Where will you go?” Tanis asked, breathing deeply. The night air was soft and warm, fragrant with the promise of new growth. Thankful to be rid of the hated armor, he sat down wearily beneath a grove of trees that stood upon the ridge overlooking the Temple. Laurana came to sit near him, but not beside him. Her knees were drawn up beneath her chin, her eyes thoughtful as she gazed out over the plains.

“Tika and I have been talking about that,” Caramon said, the two of them sitting down beside Tanis. He and Tika glanced at each other, neither seeming willing to speak. After a moment, Caramon cleared his throat. “We’re going back to Solace, Tanis. And I-I guess this means we’ll be splitting up since"—he paused, unable to continue.

“We know you’ll be returning to Kalaman,” Tika added softly, with a glance at Laurana. “We talked of going with you. After all, there’s that big citadel floating around still, plus all these renegade dragonmen. And we’d like to see Riverwind and Goldmoon and Gilthanas again. But—”

“I want to go home, Tanis,” Caramon said heavily. “I know it’s not going to be easy going back, seeing Solace burned, destroyed,” he added, forestalling Tanis’s objections, “but I’ve, thought about Alhana and the elves, what they have to go back to in Silvanesti. I’m thankful my home isn’t like that—a twisted nightmare. They’ll need me in Solace, Tanis, to help rebuild.

They’ll need my strength. I-I’m used to... being needed....” Tika laid her cheek on his arm, he gently tousled her hair.

Tanis nodded in understanding. He would like to see Solace again, but it wasn’t home. Not any more. Not without Flint and Sturm and... and others. “What about you, Tas?” Tanis asked the kender with a smile as he came trudging up to the group, lugging a waterskin he had filled at a nearby creek. “Will you come back to Kalaman with us?”