Margaret Weis - Dragons of Vanished Moon

“I say we do,” said Nuitari coolly. “If you restore Palin to life and offer him the magic, you must do the same for Dalamar. The balance must be maintained.”

“What do you say. Cousin?” Solinari asked Lunitari.

“Will you accept my judgment?” she asked.

Solinari and Nuitari eyed each other, then both nodded.

“This is my decree. Dalamar shall be restored to life and the magic, but he must leave the Tower of High Sorcery he once occupied. He will henceforth be barred from entry there. He must return to the world of the living and be forced to make his way among them. Palin Majere will also be restored to life. We will grant him the magic, if he wants it. Are these terms satisfactory to you both, Cousins?”

“They are to me,” said Nuitari.

“And to me,” said Solinari.

“And are they satisfactory to you, Dalamar?” Lunitari asked.

Dalamar had what he wanted, and that was all he cared about. As for the rest, he would return to the world. Someday, perhaps, he would rule the world.

“They are, Lady,” he said.

“Are these satisfactory to you, Raistlin Majere?” Lunitari asked. Raistlin bowed his hooded head.

“Then both requests are granted. We grant life, and we gift you with the magic,”

“I thank you, lords and lady,” Dalamar said, bowing again. His gaze lingered for a moment on Nuitari, who understood perfectly.

Raistlin knelt beside the body of his nephew. He drew back the white shroud. Palin’s eyes opened. He gazed around in shocked bewilderment, then his gaze fixed on his uncle. Palin’s shock deepened.

“Uncle!” he gasped. Sitting up, he tried to reach out to take his uncle’s hand. His fingers, flesh and bone and blood, slid through Raistlin’s hand that was the ephemeral hand of the dead. Palin stared at his hand, and the realization came to him that he was alive. He looked at his hands, so like the hands of his uncle, with their long, delicate fingers, and he could move those fingers, and they would obey his commands.

“I thank you,” Palin said, lifting his head to see the gods in their radiance around him. “I thank you, Uncle,” He paused, then said, “Once you foretold that I would be the greatest mage ever to live upon Krynn. I do not think that will come to pass.”

“We had much to learn, Nephew,” Raistlin replied. “Much to learn about what was truly important. Farewell. My brother and our friends await.” He smiled. “Tanis, as usual, is impatient to be gone.”

Palin saw before him a river of souls, a river that flowed placidly, slowly among the banks of the living. Sunlight shone upon the river, starlight sparkled in its fathomless depths. The souls of the dead looked ahead of them into a sea whose waves lapped upon the shores of eternity a sea that would carry each on new journeys. Standing on the shore, waiting for his twin, was Caramon Majere.

Raistlin joined his twin. The brothers raised their hands in farewell, then both stepped into the river and rode upon its silvery waters that flow into the endless sea.

Dalamar’s spirit flowed into his body. The magic flowed into his spirit. The blood burned in his veins, the magic burned in his blood, and his joy was deep and profound. Lifting his head, he looked up into the sky.

The one pale moon had vanished. Two moons lit the sky, one with silver fire, the other with red. As he watched in awe and thankfulness, the two converged into a radiant eye. The black moon stared out from the center.

“So they gave you back your life, as well,” said Palin, emerging from the shadows.

“ And the magic,” Dalamar returned.

Palin smiled. “Where will you go?”

“I do not know,” said Dalamar carelessly. “The wide world is open to me. I intend to move out of the Tower of High Sorcery. I was prisoner there long enough. Where do you go?” His lip curled slightly. “Back to your loving wife?”

“If Usha will have me,” said Palin, his tone and look somber. “I have much to make up to her.”

“Do not be too long about it. We must meet soon to discuss the reconvening of the Orders,” said Dalamar briskly. “There is work to be done.”

“And there will be other hands to do it,” said Palin.

Dalamar stared at him, now suddenly aware of the truth. “Solinari offered you the magic. And you refused it!”

“I threw away too much of value because of it,” said Palin. “My marriage. My life. I came to realize it wasn’t worth it.”

You fool! The words were on Dalamar’s lips, but he did not say them aloud, kept them to himself. He had no idea where he was going, and there would be no one to welcome him when he got there.

Dalamar looked up at the three moons. “Perhaps I will come to visit you and Usha sometime,” he said, knowing he never would.

“We would be honored to have you,” Palin replied, knowing he would never see the dark elf again.

“I had best be going,” Dalamar said.

“I should be going, too,” said Palin. “It is a long walk back to Solace.”

“I could speed you through the corridors of magic,” Dalamar offered.

“No, thank you,” said Palin with a wry smile. “I had best get used to walking. Farewell, Dalamar the Dark.”

“Farewell, Palin Majere.”

Dalamar spoke the words of magic, felt them bubble and sparkle on his lips like fine wine, drank deeply of them. In an instant, he was gone.

Palin stood alone, thoughtful, silent. Then he looked up at the moons, which were for him now nothing but moons, one silver and one red.

Smiling, his thoughts turning to home, he matched his feet to the same direction. The Solamnic Knights deployed their forces on Sanction’s battlements, started hasty work repairing the West Gate and shoring up the holes that had been made in Sanction’s walls. Scouts from the ranks of the Knights and those of the elves were sent to search for Mina. Silver dragons flying the skies kept watch for her, but no one found her. Dragons brought word of enemy forces marching toward Sanction, coming from Jelek and from Palanthas. Sooner or later, they would hear word that Sanction had fallen, but how would they react? Would they turn and flee for home, or would they march on to try to retake it? And would Mina, bereft of her god-given power, return to lead them, or would she remain in hiding somewhere, licking her wounds?

None would ever know where the body of Queen Takhisis lay buried—if she had been buried at all. Down through the years, those who walked on the side of darkness would search for the tomb, for the legend sprang up that her unquiet spirit would grant gifts to those who found her final resting place.

The most enduring mystery was what became known as the Miracle of the Temple of Duerghast. People from all parts of Sanction, all parts of Ansalon, all parts of the world, had been snatched abruptly from their lives by the Dark Queen and brought to the arena in the Temple of Duerghast to witness her triumphant entry into the world. Instead, they witnessed an epoch. Those who saw firsthand the death of Queen Takhisis retained the images of what they saw and heard forever, feeling it branded into their souls as the brand burns the flesh. The shock and pain were searing, at first, but eventually the pain faded away, as the body and mind worked to heal themselves.

At first, some missed the pain, for without it, what proof was there that this had all been real? To make it real, to insure that it had been real, some talked of what they had seen, talked volubly. Others kept their thoughts locked away inside and would never speak of the event. As with those on Krynn who had witnessed other epochs—the chaotic travels of the Gray Gem, the fall of Istar, the Cataclysm—they passed their stories of the Miracle from one generation to the next. To future generations living on Krynn, the Fifth Age would begin with the theft of the world at the moment of Chaos’s defeat. But the Fifth Age would only come to be widely called the Age of Mortals on the day when the Judgment of the Book took away the godhood of one god and accepted the sacrifice of the other.