Margaret Weis - Dragons of Vanished Moon

“And what about you, sir?” Gerard asked Mirror. “Will you go back to the Citadel of Light?” Gerard, Odila, and Mirror stood outside the West Gate of Sanction, watching the sunrise on the day after the battle. The sunrise was glorious, with bands of vibrant reds and oranges darkening to purple and deeper into black as day touched the departing night. The silver dragon faced the sun as if he could see it—and perhaps, in his soul, he could. He turned his blind head toward the sound of Gerard’s voice.

“The Citadel will have no more need of my protection. Mishakal will make the temple her own. As for me, my guide and I have decided to join forces.”

Gerard stared blankly at Odila, who nodded.

“I am leaving the Knighthood,” she said. “Lord Tasgall has accepted my resignation. It is best this way, Gerard. The Knights would not have felt comfortable having me among their ranks.”

“What will you do?” Gerard asked. They had been through so much, he had not expected to part with her so soon.

“Queen Takhisis may be gone,” Odila said somberly, “but darkness remains. The minotaurs have seized Silvanesti. They will not be content with that land and may threaten others. Mirror and I have decided to join forces.” She patted the silver dragon’s neck. “A dragon who is blind and a human who was once blind—quite a team, don’t you think?”

Gerard smiled. “If you’re headed for Silvanesti, we may run into each other. I’m going to try to establish an alliance between the Knighthood and the elves.”

“Do you truly believe the Knights’ Council will agree to help the elves recover their land?” Odila asked skeptically.

“I don’t know,” Gerard said, shrugging, “but I’m damn sure going to make them think about it. First, though, I have a duty to perform. There’s a broken lock on a tomb in Solace. I promised to go fix it.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Too much was left to say to be said now. Mirror fanned his wings, clearly eager to be gone. Odila took the hint.

“Goodbye, Cornbread,” she said, grinning. “Good riddance,” said Gerard, grinning back. Odila leaned close, kissed him on the cheek. “If you ever again take a bath naked in a creek, be sure and let me know.” She mounted the silver dragon. He dipped his sightless head in salute, spread his wings, and lifted gracefully into the air. Odila waved.

Gerard waved back. He watched them as they dwindled in size, remained watching until long after they had vanished from his sight.

Another goodbye was said that day. A farewell that would last for all eternity. In the arena, Paladine knelt over the body of Silvanoshei. Paladine closed the staring eyes. He cleansed the blood from the young elf’s face, composed the limbs. Paladine was tired. He was not accustomed to this mortal body, to its pains and aches and needs, to the range and intensity of emotions: of pity and sorrow, anger and fear. Looking into the face of the dead elven king, Paladine saw youth and promise, all lost, all wasted. He paused in his labor, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and wondered how, with such sorrow and heaviness in his heart, he could go on. He wondered how he could go on alone.

Feeling a gentle touch upon his shoulder, he looked to see a goddess, beautiful, radiant. She smiled down upon him, but there was sadness in her smile and the rainbows of unshed tears in her eyes.

“I will carry the young man’s body to his mother,” Mishakal offered.

“She was not witness to his death, was she?” Paladine asked.

“She was spared that much, at least. We freed all those who had been brought here forcibly by Takhisis to view her triumph. Alhana did not see her son die.”

“Tell her,” said Paladine quietly, “that he died a hero.”

“ I will do that, my beloved.”

A kiss as soft as a white feather brushed the elf’s lips.

“You are not alone,” Mishakal said to him. “I will be with you always, my husband, my own.” He wanted very much for this to be so, willed that it should be so. But there was a gulf between them, and he saw that gulf grow wider with every passing moment. She stood upon the shore, and he floundered among the waves, and every wave washed him farther and farther away.

“What has become of the souls of the dead?” he asked.

“They are free,” she said and her voice was distant. He could barely hear her. “Free to continue their journey.”

“Someday, I will join them, my love.”

“On that day, I will be waiting,” she promised.

The body of Silvanoshei vanished, born away on a cloud of silvery light.

Paladine stood for a long time alone, stood in the darkness. Then he made his solitary way out of the arena, walked alone into the world.

The children of the gods, Nuitari, Lunitari, Solinari, entered the former Temple of the Heart. The body of the wizard Dalamar sat upon a bench, staring at nothing.

The gods of magic took their places before the dark and abandoned altar.

“Let the wizard, Raistlin Majere, come forth.”

Raistlin emerged from the darkness and ruins of the temple. The hem of his black velvet robe scattered the amber shards that still lay upon the floor of this temple, for no one could be found who dared touch the accursed remnants of the sarcophagus that had imprisoned the body of Goldmoon. He trod upon them, crushed the amber beneath his feet.

In his arms, Raistlin held a body, shrouded in white.

“Your spirit is freed,” said Solinari sternly. “Your twin brother awaits you. You promised to leave the world. You must keep that promise.”

“I have no intention of remaining here,” Raistlin returned. “My brother awaits, as do my former companions.”

“They have forgiven you?”

“Or I have forgiven them,” Raistlin returned smoothly. “The matter is between friends and none of your concern.” He looked down at the body he held in his arms. “But this is.” Raistlin laid the body of his nephew at the feet of the gods. Then, drawing back his hood, he faced the three siblings.

“I ask one last boon of you, of all of you,” said Raistlin. “Restore Palin to life. Restore him to his family.”

“And why should we do this?” Lunitari demanded.

“His steps strayed onto the path that I once walked,” said Raistlin. “He saw his mistake at the end, but he could not live to redeem it. If you give him back his life, he will be able to retrace his wandering footsteps and find the way home.”

“As you could not,” said Lunitari gently.

“As I could not,” said Raistlin.

“Brothers?” Lunitari turned to Solinari and Nuitari. “What do you say to this?”

“I say that there is another matter to be decided, as well,” said Nuitari. “Let the wizard Dalamar come forth.”

The elf’s body sat unmoving on the bench. The spirit of the wizard stood behind the body. Wary, tense, Dalamar approached the gods.

“You betrayed us,” said Nuitari, accusing.

“You sided with Takhisis,” said Lunitari, “and we nearly lost the one chance we had to return to the world.”

“You betrayed our worshiper Palin,” said Solinari sternly. “By her command, you murdered him.”

Dalamar looked from one shining god to the next and when he spoke, his soul’s voice was soft and bitter. “How could you possibly understand? How would you know what it feels like to lose everything?”

“Perhaps,” said Lunitari, “we understand better than you think.” Dalamar kept silent, made no response.

“What is to be done with him?” Lunitari asked. “Is he to be given back his life?”

“Unless you give me back the magic,” Dalamar interposed, “don’t bother.”

“I say we do not,” said Solinari. “He used the dead to work his black arts. He does not deserve our mercy.”