Anthology: Kender, gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

19. Indeed, the text of Armavir's poetry was twice the length of the prose account that makes up the greater part of the

CHRONICLES as they currently stand. It was the elves — the elves and the humans — who saw fit to disregard much of the compelling verse (never, alas, to be printed, for water damage from last month's flood has destroyed the ONE remaining copy of the poetry in its original splendor. Here lies one whose name was writ underwater!) countably, the Heroes grew distant as the War turned in their favor,20 and even at this late time, though I have sent appropriate letters and pleas to several of the original Companions, I "have yet to hear their answer" (as Armavir concludes in the "Canticle of the Dragon").

How easily they forget, these Heroes, but in their theft of the poetry to ornament their edited and self-serving story (the water is rising even higher in the chamber: my brother's old water wings, scarcely damaged by the fall, should hold me up until I have finished writing), in their theft of the poetry they have stolen the clues to their own discovery, their own embarrassment, as a famous fragment shows, as I shall show in other publications — given time, given an audience,21 given a purchase of dry ground in this rapidly drowning tunnel. As for now, my readers: here is the "Song of the Ten Heroes" with accompanying notes — the first true chronicle of the Dragonlance.

20. Oh, they have claimed several reasons for these slights. Claimed that Armavir was overly fond of wine (which is Caramon Majere on his high horse [or on the wagon] I am certain!) and overly fond of young girls, who kept getting younger and younger, larger and larger, as the War continued (this clearly an accusation made by Tanis, who made an incredible fuss over some harmless keyhole observations [see commentary on lines 46–50, "Song of the Ten Heroes," in Section III of this essay. I wish that only once, someone would ask him who ghosted his "Dear Kitiara" letter, but he's elf enough — just barely — to get by without questioning]).

III. The "Song of The Ten Heroes"

Amarvir, "Crysania's Song"

For the dedicated reader, I would suggest the following procedure as the most effective way to understand the argument that follows: Go out immediately and buy three more copies of this book. Read the poem from the copy you have at hand, my comments (which follow the poem) from the second copy, and reserve the other two copies on a high shelf in case the waters rise in your living quarters or study, for there are mages aplenty left in Krynn (even if old Sandglass-Eyes has gone Reorx knows where), and the rising tides across the planet may not be the work of the moons. Here then, the poem22 and commentary:

From the north came danger, as we knew it would: 1

In the vanguard of winter, a dragon's dance

Unraveled the land, until out of the forest,

Out of the plains they came, from the mothering earth,

The sky unreckoned before them. 5

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

22. First appeared as "Song of the Nine Heroes": CHRONICLES, II, pp. 5

One from a garden of stone arising, 10

From dwarf-halls, from weather and wisdom,

Where the heart and the mind ride unquestioned

In the untapped vein of the hand.

In his fathering arms, the spirit gathered.

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

One from a haven of breezes descending,

Light in the handling air, 20

To the waving meadows, the kender's country,

Where the grain out of smallness arises itself

To grow green and golden and green again.

The next from the plains, the long land's keeping,

Nurtured in distance, horizons of nothing.

Bearing a staff she came, and a burden 30

Of mercy and light converged in her hand:

Bearing the wounds of the world, she came.

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

The next from the plains, in the moon's shadow,

Through custom, through ritual, trailing the moon

Where her phases, her wax and her wane, controlled

The tide of his blood, and his warrior's hand 40

Ascended through hierarchies of space into light.

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

One with absences, known by departures,

The dark swordswoman at the heart of fire:

Her glories the space between words,

The cradlesong recollected in age,

Recalled at the edge of awakening and thought. 50

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

One in the heart of honor, formed by the sword, 55

By the centuries' flight of the kingfisher over the land,

By Solamnia ruined and risen, rising again

Where the heart ascends into duty.

As it dances, the sword is forever an heirloom.

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

The next in a simple light a brother to darkness,

Letting the sword hand try all subtleties, 65

Even the intricate webs of the heart. His thoughts

Are pools disrupted in changing wind -

He cannot see their bottom.

The next the leader, half-elven, betrayed

As the twining blood pulls asunder the land,

The forests, the worlds of elves and men. 75

Called into bravery, but fearing for love,

And fearing that, called into both, he does nothing.

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

The last from the darkness, breathing the night

Where the abstract stars hide a nest of words,

Where the body endures the wound of numbers,

Surrendered to knowledge, until, unable to bless, 85

His blessing falls on the low, the benighted.

UNDER THE AUTUMN TWILIGHT:

Joined by the others they were in the telling:

A graceless girl, graced beyond graces;

A princess of seeds and saplings, called to the forest;

An ancient weaver of accidents;