Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

The more he thought about it, the sorrier Caramon was he’d decided to come. At length, he ordered Sara to turn back, to return him to his inn, but she either couldn’t hear him—for the rush of the wind in their ears—or was pointedly ignoring him. He might jump out of the saddle, but—from this height—that was out of the question.

It did occur to Caramon that he was armed and that he might overpower Sara. But, after giving this some serious thought, he realized that even if he did manage to overpower Sara, he would never be able to control her blue dragon, which was giving him suspicious looks as it was. And by the time Caramon had reached this conclusion, they had landed on a hilltop overlooking Tanis’s castle.

Caramon dismounted from the dragon. It was not yet dawn, but sunrise wasn’t far off. Sara calmed the dragon, left it orders to stay put—or so Caramon assumed, since he couldn’t understand what she was saying—then she began walking toward the palatial dwelling. Realizing Caramon wasn’t following, she turned to him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m not sure,” Caramon said, considering.

Sara looked frightened, as if she might start to cry again.

Caramon sighed. “Yes,” he said gloomily. “I’m coming.”

“Caramon Majere! Of all the lame-brained—Excuse us a moment, will you, mistress?” Tanis said politely to Sara.

Grabbing hold of Caramon’s arm, the half-elf dragged the big man to the far side of the large, firelit room.

“This could be a trap,” Tanis whispered. “Did you ever consider that?”

“Yes,” Caramon said.

“And?” Tanis demanded.

“I don’t think it is,” Caramon responded, after a moment’s thought.

Tanis sighed. “You obviously haven’t—”

“I mean,” Caramon continued, “why would these dark paladins set a trap for me, a middle-aged innkeeper? That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“No, but—” Tanis looked embarrassed. “Maybe the trap wasn’t meant for you...”

“I know,” Caramon said, nodding wisely. “You’re far more important. But it was Tika who suggested I talk to you, not Sara. And,” he added gravely, after another moment’s profound thought, “I don’t believe Tika’s setting a trap for you, Tanis.”

“Well, of course, she isn’t,” Tanis snapped. “It’s just... All right, so maybe if s not a trap. Maybe I... I don’t want...” He shook his head and started over.

“I remember that terrible day Kitiara died. She had tried to kill Dalamar, remember? He stopped her....”

Tanis paused and swallowed. “She died in my arms. And then the death knight came to claim her. I could hear her voice, pleading with me to save her from that dread fate. 'Even now, in death, she’s reaching out to you ...' Dalamar told me then. She’s still doing it, Caramon.”

“No, she’s not, Tanis. This is her son ...”

“If you believe that woman, Sara.”

Caramon was troubled. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know what to believe. But, you’re right. We have to find out the truth, and do what we can to help this young man, no matter whose son he is. Besides, it will give me a chance to see what Ariakan is up to. We’ve heard reports of these dark paladins before now, but we had no way of knowing if they were true or merely rumors. It appears”—he glanced grimly at Sara, a chilling figure in her blue helm and black-trimmed cloak—“that they are true.

“But now,” Tanis added with a wry smile and a shake of his head, “I have to face the truly difficult task. I have to go tell this to my wife.”

Tanis spent an hour alone with Laurana. Caramon, pacing the entry hall of the half-elf’s mansion, could well imagine the nature of the conversation.

Tanis’s elven wife, Laurana, knew all about the relationship between Kitiara and her husband. Laurana had been understanding, especially since the affair was over and finished long ago. But what about now—when there was the possibility of a child? A very good possibility, as far as Caramon was concerned. He simply could not bring himself to believe the father was really Sturm.

“Yet, why would Kit lie?” he asked himself.

The answer was beyond Caramon. But then he’d never been able to explain why his older half-sister had done half the things she’d done.

Tanis came out of the room, his arm around his wife. Laurana was smiling, and Caramon breathed easier. She even paused to say a few whispered words to Sara, who sat, slumped, weary and exhausted, in a corner near the fireplace. Caramon noted then how young Laurana looked, in comparison to her husband—the tragedy of elven-human relationships. Though Tanis had elven blood in his veins, the human blood was growing gray, as the saying went. When the two had wed, over twenty years ago, they had looked to be of equal age. Now they could have been father and daughter.

“But they knew this when they married,” Caramon said to himself. “They’re making the most out of the time they have together. And that’s what counts.”

Tanis was ready to travel almost immediately. As official ambassador and liaison between the Solamnic Knights and the elven nations, he spent much of his time on the road, as did his wife. He had donned a suit of leather armor—favored by elves—and a green cloak. Seeing him thus, Caramon was reminded poignantly of their old adventuring days.

Perhaps Laurana was thinking the same, for she ruffled the beard that only a half-human elf could grow, and made some teasing comment in Elvish that caused Tanis to smile. He bid his wife farewell. She kissed him gently, and he held her fondly. Then he bid farewell to his son—a frail and weak youth, doted on by both parents, who watched him with anxious, loving eyes. The young man was elven through and through, with no trace of his father visible. His complexion was the sickly white of one who rarely steps outside. Not surprising that Tanis and Laurana keep him locked in a cage like a baby bird, Caramon thought, considering the number of times they’ve nearly lost him. If he was all elf, he’d be content to spend his time with his nose in a book. But he’s human, too. Look at those eyes, Tanis. Look at him when he watches you ride off to adventure, to see wondrous sights he’s only read about.

“Someday, Tanis,” Caramon said softly, “you’re going to come home and find the cage empty.”

They trudged up the hill, to where the blue dragon was dozing, its wings folded at its sides.

“What are you muttering about?” Tanis asked Caramon grumpily.

The half-elf was regarding the blue dragon with a grim face, keeping a close watch on it. The dragon was apparently not pleased at the smell of elf. It woke up instantly, its nostrils flared. Tossing its head in disgust, the beast snaked out its head and showed its fangs.

Sara Dunstan was a skilled dragon rider, however. With a sharp word of reprimand, she brought her mount swiftly, if sulkily, under control. Caramon climbed into the saddle first, then reached down from his rear seat in the two-person dragon saddle to haul up his friend with an easy swing of a massive arm.

“I was thinking to myself that your boy looks well,” Caramon lied.

Tanis squirmed to get into a halfway comfortable position, practically an impossibility. He would be forced to cling to the back of Caramon’s seat—either that or sit in the big man’s lap.

“Thanks,” said Tanis, brightening, his proud gaze going to his son, who stood on the lawn, gazing at them with wide, almond-shaped eyes. “We think he’s getting better. If we just knew what was wrong with him! . . . Not even Revered Daughter Crysania can tell us.”

“Maybe he just needs to spend some time in the fresh air. You should let him come visit us,” Caramon suggested. “My boys would take him out riding, hunting ...”