Margaret Weis - Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Riverwind sat by himself. He did not take part in the hushed conversation as the friends went over their plans once again.

The Plainsman stared moodily at the floor. When he felt a light touch on his arm, he didn't even lift his head. Goldmoon, her face pale, knelt beside him. She tried to speak, failed, the cleared her throat.

"We must talk," she said firmly in their language.

"Is that a command?" he asked bitterly.

She swallowed. "Yes," she answered, barely audible.

Riverwind rose to his feet and walked over to stand in front of a garish tapestry. He did not look at Goldmoon or even speak to her. His face was drawn into a stern mask, but underneath, Goldmoon could see the searing pain in his soul. She gently laid her hand on his arm.

"Forgive me," she said softly.

Riverwind regarded her in astonishment. She stood before him, her head bowed, an almost childlike shame on her face.

He reached out to stroke the silver-gold hair of the one he loved more than life itself. He felt Goldmoon tremble at his touch and his heart ached with love. Moving his hand from her head to her neck, he very gently and tenderly drew the beloved head to his chest and then suddenly clasped her in his arms.

"I've never heard you say those words before," he said, smiling to himself, knowing she could not see him.

"I have never said them," she gulped, her cheek pressed against his leather shirt. "Oh, my beloved, I am sorrier than I can say that you came home to Chieftain's Daughter and not Goldmoon. But I've been so afraid."

"No," he whispered, "I am the one who should ask forgiveness." He raised his hand to wipe away her tears. "I didn't realize what you had gone through. All I could think of was myself and the dangers I had faced. I wish you had told me, heart's dearest."

"I wished you had asked," she replied, looking up at him earnestly. "I have been Chieftain's Daughter so long it is the only thing I know how to be. It is my strength. It gives me courage when I am frightened. I don't think I can let go."

"I don't want you to let go." He smiled at her, smoothing wayward strands of hair from her face. "I fell in love with Chieftain's Daughter the first time I saw you. Do you remember? At the games held in your honor."

"You refused to bow to receive my blessing," she said. "You acknowledged my father's leadership but denied that I was a goddess. You said man could not make gods of other men." Her eyes looked back so many, many years. "How tall and proud and handsome you were, talking of ancient gods that did not exist to me then."

"And how furious you were," he recalled, "and how beautiful! Your beauty was a blessing to me in itself. I needed no other. You wanted me thrown out of the games."

Goldmoon smiled sadly. "You thought I was angry because you had shamed me before the people, but that was not so."

"No? What was it then. Chieftain's Daughter?"

Her face flushed a dusky rose, but she lifted her clear blue eyes to him. "I was angry because I knew when I saw you standing there, refusing to kneel before me, that I had lost part of myself and that, until you claimed it, I would never be whole again."

For reply, the Plainsman pressed her to him, kissing her hair gently.

"Riverwind," she said, swallowing, "Chieftain's Daughter is still here. I don't think she can ever leave. But you must know that Goldmoon is underneath and, if this journey ever ends and we come to peace at last, then Goldmoon will be yours forever and we will banish Chieftain's Daughter to the winds."

A thump at the Highbulp's door caused everyone to start nervously as a gully dwarf guard stumbled into the room.

"Map," he said, thrusting a crumpled piece of paper at Tanis.

"Thank you," said the half-elf gravely. "And extend our thanks to the Highbulp."

"His Majesty, the Highbulp," the guard corrected with an anxious glance toward a tapestry-covered wall. Bobbing clumsily, he backed into the Highbulp's quarters.

Tanis spread the map out. Everyone gathered around it, even Flint. After one look however, the dwarf snorted derisively and walked back to his couch.

Tanis laughed ruefully. "We might have expected it. I wonder if the great Phudge remembers where the 'big secret room' is?"

"Of course not." Raistlin sat up, opening his strange, golden eyes and peering at them through half-closed lids. "That is why he has never returned for the treasure. However, there is one among us who knows where the dragon's lair is located." Everyone followed the mage's gaze.

Bupu glared back at them defiantly. "You right. I know," she said, sulking. "I know secret place. I go there, find pretty rocks But don't tell Highbulp!"

"Will you tell us?" Tanis asked. Bupu looked at Raistlin. He nodded.

"I tell," she mumbled. "Give map."

Raistlin, seeing the others engrossed in looking at the map, beckoned to his brother.

"Is the plan still the same?" the mage whispered.

"Yes." Caramon frowned. "And I don't like it. I should go with you."

"Nonsense," Raistlin hissed. "You would only be in my way!"

Then he added more gently, "I will be in no danger, I assure you." He laid his hand on his twin's arm and drew him close.

"Besides"-the mage glanced around-"there is something you must do for me, my brother. Something you must bring me from the dragon's lair."

Raistlin's touch was unusually hot, his eyes burned. Caramon uneasily started to pull back, seeing something in his brother he hadn't seen since the Towers of High Sorcery, but Raistlin's hand clutched at him.

"What is it?" Caramon asked reluctantly.

"A spellbook!" Raistlin whispered.

"So this is why you wanted to come to Xak Tsaroth!" said Caramon. "You knew this spellbook would be here."

"I read about it, years ago. I knew it had been in Xak Tsaroth prior to the Cataclysm, all of the Order knew it, but we assumed it had been destroyed with the city. When I found out Xak Tsaroth had escaped destruction, I realized there might be a chance the book had survived!"

"How do you know it's in the dragon's lair?"

"I don't. I am merely surmising. To magic-users, this book is Xak Tsaroth's greatest treasure. You may be certain that if the dragon found it, she is using it!"

"And you want me to get it for you," Caramon said slowly. "What does it look like?"

"Like my spellbook, of course, except the bone-white parchment is bound in night-blue leather with runes of silver stamped on the front. It will feel deathly cold to the touch."

"What do the runes say?"

"You do not want to know…" Raistlin whispered.

"Whose book was it?" Caramon asked suspiciously.

Raistlin fell silent, his golden eyes abstracted as if he were searching inwardly, trying to remember something forgotten.

"You have never heard of him, my brother," he said finally, in a whisper that forced Caramon to lean closer. "Yet he was one of the greatest of my order. His name was Fistandantilus."

"The way you describe the spellbook-" Caramon hesitated, fearing what Raistlin would reply. He swallowed and started over. "This Fistandantilus-did he wear the Black Robes?" He could not meet his brother's piercing gaze.

"Ask me no more!" Raistlin hissed. "You are as bad as the others! How can any of you understand me!" Seeing his twin's look of pain, the mage sighed. "Trust me, Caramon. It is not a particularly powerful spellbook-one of the mage's early books, in fact. One he had when he was very young, very young indeed," Raistlin murmured, staring far off. Then he blinked and said more briskly, "But it will be valuable to me nonetheless. You must get it! You must-" He started to cough.

"Sure, Raist," Caramon promised, soothing his brother.

"Don't get worked up. I'll find it."

"Good Caramon. Excellent Caramon," Raistlin whispered when he could speak. He sank back into the corner and closed his eyes. "Now let me rest. I must be ready."