Margaret Weis - Dragons of Autumn Twilight

So involved was Tas with his plans that he was not paying any attention to Fizban. The old magician was moving purposefully around the room, studying each painting as if searching for one in particular.

"Ah, here it is," Fizban murmured, then turned and whispered, "Tasslehoff!"

The kender lifted his head and saw the painting suddenly begin to glow with a soft light. "Look at that!" Tasslehoff said, entranced. "Why, its a painting of dragons-red dragons like Ember-attacking Pax Tharkas and…"

The kender's voice died. Men-Knights of Solamnia-mounted on other dragons were fighting back! The dragons the Knights rode were beautiful dragons-gold and silver dragons-and the men carried bright weapons that gleamed with a shining radiance. Suddenly Tasslehoff understood!

There were good dragons in the world-if they could be found-who would help fight the evil dragons, and there was-

"The Dragonlance!" he murmured.

The old magician nodded to himself. "Yes, little one," he whispered. "You understand. You see the answer. And you will remember. But not now. Not now." Reaching out, he ruffled the kender's hair with his gnarled hand.

"Dragons. What was I saying?" Tas couldn't remember. And what was he doing here anyhow, staring at a painting so covered with dust he couldn't make it out. The kender shook his head. Fizban must be rubbing off on him. "Oh, yes. The dragon's lair. If my calculations are correct, it's over here." He walked away.

The old magician shuffled along behind, smiling.

The companions' journey to the mines proved uneventful. They saw only a few draconian guards, and they appeared half-asleep with boredom. No one paid any attention to the women going by. They passed the glowing forge, continually fed by a scrambling mass of exhausted gully dwarves.

Hurrying past that dismal sight quickly, the companions entered the mines where draconian guards locked the men in huge cave rooms at night, then returned to keep an eye on the gully dwarves. Guard duty over the men was a waste of time, anyway, Verminaard figured-the humans weren't going anyplace.

And, for a while, it looked to Tanis as if this might prove horribly true. The men weren't going anyplace. They stared at Goldmoon, unconvinced, as she spoke. After all, she was a barbarian-her accent was strange, her dress even stranger. She told what seemed a children's tale of a dragon dying in a blue flame she herself survived. And all she had to show for it was a collection of shining platinum disks.

Hederick, the Solace Theocrat, was loud in his denunciation of the Que-shu woman as a witch and a charlatan and a blasphemer. He reminded them of the scene in the Inn, exhibiting his scarred hand as evidence. Not that the men paid a great deal of attention to Hederick. The Seeker gods, after all, had not kept the dragons from Solace.

Many of them, in fact, were interested in the prospect of escape. Nearly all bore some mark of ill-treatment-whip lashes, bruised faces. They were poorly fed, forced to live in conditions of filth and squalor, and everyone knew that when the iron beneath the hills was gone, their usefulness to Lord Verminaard would end. But the Highseekers-still the governing body, even in prison-opposed such a reckless plan.

Arguments started. The men shouted back and forth. Tanis hastily posted Caramon, Flint, Eben, Sturm, and Gilthanas at the doors, fearing the guards would hear the disturbance and return. The half-elf hadn't expected this-the arguing might last for days! Goldmoon sat despondently before the men, looking as though she might cry. She had been so imbued with her newfound convictions, and so eager to bring her knowledge to the world, that she was cast into despair when her beliefs were doubted.

"These humans are fools!" Laurana said softly, coming up to stand beside Tanis.

"No," replied Tanis, sighing. "If they were fools, it would be easier. We promise them nothing tangible and ask them to risk the only thing they have left-their lives. And for what? To flee into the hills, fighting a running battle all the way. At least here they are alive-for the time being."

"But how can life be worth anything, living like this?" Laurana asked.

"That's a very good question, young woman," said a feeble voice. They turned to see Maritta kneeling beside a man lying on a crude cot in a corner of the cell. Wasted with illness and deprivation, his age was indeterminable. He struggled to sit up, stretching out a thin, pale hand to Tanis and Laurana. His breath rattled in his chest. Maritta tried to hush him, but he stared at her irritably. "I know I'm dying, woman! It doesn't mean I have to be bored to death first. Bring that barbarian woman over to me."

Tanis looked at Maritta questioningly. She rose and came over, drawing him to one side. "He is Elistan," she said as if Tanis should know the name. When Tanis didn't respond, she clarified. "Elistan-one of the Highseekers from Haven. He was much loved and respected by the people, the only one who spoke out against this Lord Verminaard. But no one listened-not wanting to hear, of course."

"You speak of him in the past tense," Tanis said. "He isn't dead yet."

"No, but it won't be long." Maritta wiped away a tear. "I've seen the wasting sickness before. My own father died of it. There's something inside of him, eating him alive. These last few days he has been half-mad with the pain, but that's gone now. The end is very near."

"Maybe not." Tanis smiled. "Goldmoon is a cleric. She can heal him."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Maritta said skeptically. "I wouldn't want to chance it. We shouldn't excite Elistan with false hope. Let him die in peace."

"Goldmoon," Tanis said as the Chieftain's Daughter came near. "This man wants to meet you." Ignoring Maritta, the half-elf led Goldmoon over to Elistan. Goldmoon's face, hard and cold with disappointment and frustration, softened as she saw the man's pitiful condition.

Elistan looked up at her. "Young woman," he said sternly, though his voice was weak, "you claim to bring word from ancient gods. If it truly was we humans who turned from them, not the gods who turned from us as we've always thought, then why have they waited so long to make their presence known?"

Goldmoon knelt down beside the dying man in silence, thinking how to phrase her answer. Finally she said, "Imagine you are walking through a wood, carrying your most precious possession-a rare and beautiful gem. Suddenly you are attacked by a vicious beast. You drop the gem and run away. When you realize the gem is lost, you are afraid to go back into the woods and search for it. Then someone comes along with another gem. Deep in your heart, you know it is not as valuable as the one you lost, but you are still too frightened to go back to look for the other. Now, does this mean the gem has left the forest, or is it still lying there, shining brightly beneath the leaves, waiting for you to return?"

Elistan closed his eyes, sighing, his face filled with anguish. "Of course, the gem waits for our return. What fools we have been! I wish I had time to learn of your gods," he said, reaching out his hand.

Goldmoon caught her breath, her face drained until she was nearly as pale as the dying man on the cot. "You will be given time," she said softly, taking his hand in hers.

Tanis, absorbed in the drama before him, started in alarm when he felt a touch on his arm. He turned around, his hand on his sword, to find Sturm and Caramon standing behind him.

"What is it?" he asked swiftly. "The guards?"

"Not yet," Sturm said harshly. "But we can expect them any minute. Both Eben and Gilthanas are gone."

Night deepened over Pax Tharkas.

Back in his lair, the red dragon, Pyros, had no room to pace, a habit he had fallen into in his human form. He barely had room to spread his wings in this chamber, though it was the largest in the fortress and had even been expanded to accommodate him. But the ground-floor chamber was so narrow, all the dragon could do was turn his great body around.