Anthology - Love and War

Edited by MARGARET WEIS AND TRACY HICKMAN

featuring "Raistlin's Daughter" by Margaret

Weis and Dezra Despain

in association with TSR, Inc.

Fitting it is that the many years of creative work on the DRAGONLANCER saga should come to a provisory culmination with this collection of short stories, the most pleasing and powerful yet. Some of the writers represented in this volume are veterans of TALES 1 and 2, and certain of them will continue to write about the world of Krynn in an exciting series of DRAGONLANCE novels in the immediate future.

"A Good Knights Tale" by Harold Bakst suitably begins this volume that has love and war as its theme. Told by a Knight of Solamnia, it is a tale that involves both love and war — the warring of passions of a selfish father's heart.

Love is painted in a more tender aspect in "A Painter's Vision," by Barbara Siegel and Scott Siegel, but then what can you expect when a dragon gets himself involved?

The story of love as sacrifice is recounted, along with the tale of the undead who haunt Darken Wood, in another of Nick O'Donohoe's revisionist interpretations of a portion of DRAGONS OF AUTUMN TWILIGHT.

"Hide and Go Seek" by Nancy Berberick is the story of the love friends bear each other as Tasslehoff risks his life to save that of a kidnapped child.

"By the Measure" recounts the courage of a Knight of Solamnia fighting impossible odds. Written by Richard A. Knaak, this is the haunting story of a young knight's courage and devotion to his Order.

The adventures of a very young Sturm are recorded in "The Exiles" by Paul Thompson and Tonya Carter. The boy learns his first lessons in courage, facing an evil cleric of the Dark Queen.

A lighter moment is presented in "Heart of Goldmoon" by Laura Hickman and Kate Novak. A tale of romance and adventure, it tells of the first meeting of Riverwind and Goldmoon and how the Que-shu princess came to learn of the existence of the true gods.

Continuing in the romantic vein, "Raistlin's Daughter" written by myself and Dezra Despain, relays a strange legend currently circulating in Krynn. It will end, for the time being, the DRAGONLANCER saga with — what else — a question mark.

"Silver and Steel" is the legend of Huma's final battle with the Dark Queen. There are many such legends about the valor of Huma, but this one, written by Kevin Randle, is a gritty, moving account of war that will not soon be forgotten.

It is fitting that the book end with "From the Yearning for War and War's End," Michael Williams's poignant reminder for us all that war — though sometimes sadly necessary — is a destroyer of both love and of life.

Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

A Good Knight's Tale

Harold Bakst

In those chaotic years just after the Cataclysm, when the frightened citizens of Xak Tsaroth were fleeing their beloved but decimated city, there was among them a certain half-elf by the name of Aril Witherwind, who, while others sought only refuge, took to roaming the countryside, carrying upon his bent back a huge, black tome.

Even without his peculiar burden, which he held by a leather strap thrown across one shoulder, Aril Witherwind was, as far as half-elves went, a strange one. Though he was properly tall and willowy, and he had the fair hair, pale skin, and blue eyes typical of his kind, he seemed not at all interested in his appearance and had, indeed, a slovenliness about him: His shoes were often unbuckled, his shirt hung out of his pants, and his hair was usually in a tangle. He often went days without shaving so that fine, blond hairs covered his jaw like down. In addition to everything else, he wore thick, metal-rimmed eyeglasses.

All this, though, had a simple enough explanation:

Aril Witherwind was, by his own definition, an academic. More particularly, he was one of the many itinerant folklorists who appeared on Krynn just after the Cataclysm.

"The Cataclysm threatens to extinguish our rich past," he would explain in his gentle but enthusiastic voice to whoever gave him a moment of time. "And if peace should ever again come to Krynn, we will want to know something of our traditions before everything was destroyed."

"But this is not the time to do it!" often came the curt response from some fleeing traveler, sometimes with everything he owned in a wagon or in a dogcart or even upon his own back, his family often in tow.

"Ah, but this is exactly the time to do it," returned Aril Witherwind automatically, "before too much is forgotten by the current sweep of events."

"Well, good luck to you, then!" would as likely be the answer as the party hurried off to some hopefully safer comer of Krynn.

Undaunted, Aril Witherwind criss-crossed the countryside, traversing shadowy valleys, sun-lit fields, and sombre forests. He stopped at the occasional surviving inn, passed through refugee encampments, and even marched along with armies, all the time asking whomever he met if he or she knew a story that he could put into his big black book.

In time, it became clear to Aril that he usually had the best luck with the older folks — indeed, the older the better. These grayhairs were not only the most likely to remember a story or two, but they were the ones most likely to be interested in relating it. Perhaps it was because they welcomed the opportunity to slow down and reminisce awhile. Or perhaps it was because they had not much of a future to give to Krynn, only their pasts.

In any case, Aril Witherwind soon learned to seek them out almost exclusively, and his book slowly began to fill with stories from before the Cataclysm, when Krynn had been in what he considered its Golden Age.

He gave each story an appropriate title, and then he gave due credit to the source by adding: "… as told by Henrik Hellendale, a dwarven baker" or "… as told by Verial Stargazer, an elven shepherd" or "… as told by Frick Ashfell, a human woodchopper" and so forth.

People often asked Aril what his favorite story was, but, with the professional objectivity proper to an academic, he'd say only, "I like them all."

But, really, if you could read his mind, there was a favorite, and that was one "… as told by Barryn Warrex, a Solamnic Knight."

It had been on a particularly lovely spring day — a day, indeed, when all of nature seemed happy and unconcerned with the political upheaval miles away — when Aril, while traversing the length of a grassy and flower-dotted valley, espied a knight, kneeling at the base of the valley wall. The knight, as luck would have it, was an old one.

"Perfect," murmured Aril to himself as he strode toward the grand man, stopping several paces away.

At first, the old knight didn't seem to realize he had an audience. He simply continued his kneeling, his head bowed in either deep meditation or perhaps even in respectful prayer to the recently deposed gods of Krynn. Behind him was a low, rocky overhang, almost a cave really, which was apparently serving as his humble, if temporary, shelter — The Order of the Solamnic Knights, you see, had been destroyed in the Cataclysm and fallen into disrepute, its few remaining members scattered by the four winds.

It seemed to Aril Witherwind that such events must have taken a truly terrible toll on this fellow, maybe making him look even older than he was, for he had a drawn, haggard face; his hair, though thick, was totally white; and his hands, clenched before him, were gnarly, almost arthritic.

Still, Aril could see much in the man that boasted of the old grandeur of his order. He was dressed in his full plate armor, a great sword hanging at his side, his visorless helmet and shield resting nearby on a flat rock. And though he was kneeling, he did seem to be quite tall — that is, long of limb. But what impressed Aril Witherwind the most was his truly copious moustache, a long white one that drooped with a poignant flourish so that its tips nearly brushed the ground as he knelt there.