7

An unexpected journey.

And now my task is finished,’ Laurana said. ‘I am free to leave’

‘Yes,’ Elistan said slowly; ‘and I know why you leave’— Laurana flushed and lowered her eyes—’but where will you go?’

‘Silvanesti,’ she replied. ‘The last place I saw him..’

‘Only in a dream—’

‘No, that was more than a dream,’ Laurana replied, shuddering. ‘It was real. He was there. He is alive and I must find him.’

‘Surely, my dear, you should stay here, then,’ Elistan suggested. ‘You say that in the dream he had found a dragon orb. If he has it, he will come to Sancrist .’

Laurana did not answer. Unhappy and irresolute, she stared out the window of Lord Gunthar’s castle where she, Elistan, Flint, and Tasslehoff were staying as his guests.

She should have been with the elves. Before they left Whitestone Glade, her father had asked her to come back with them to Southern Ergoth . But Laurana refused. Although she did not say it, she knew she would never live among her people again.

Her father had not pressed her, and—in his eyes—she saw that he heard her unspoken words. Elves aged by years, not by days, as did humans. For her father, it seemed as if time had accelerated and he was changing even as she watched. She felt as though she were seeing him through Raistlin’s hourglass eyes, and the thought was terrifying. Yet the news she brought him only increased his bitter unhappiness.

Gilthanas had not returned. Nor could Laurana tell her father where his beloved son had gone, for the journey he and Silvara made was dark and fraught with peril. Laurana bold her father only that Gilthanas was not dead.

‘You know where he is?’ the Speaker asked after a pause.

‘I do,’ Laurana answered, ‘or rather—I know where he goes.’

‘And you cannot speak of this, even to me—his father?’

Laurana shook her head steadfastly. ‘No, Speaker, I cannot. Forgive me, but we agreed when the decision was made to undertake this desperate action that those of us who knew would tell no one. No one,’ she repeated.

‘So you do not trust me—’

Laurana sighed. Her eyes went to the shattered Whitestone. ‘Father,’ she said, ‘you nearly went to war . . . with the only people who can help save us . . . .

Her father had not replied, but—in his cool farewell arid in the way he leaned upon the arm of his elder .child—he made it clear to Laurana that he now had only one child.

Theros went with the elves. Following his dramatic presentation of the dragonlance, the Council of Whitestone had voted unanimously to make more of these weapons. and unite all races in the fight against the dragonarmies.

‘At present,’ Theros announced, ‘we have only those few lances I was able to forge by myself within a month’s time, and I bring several ancient lances the Silver Dragons hid at the time the dragons were banished from the world. But we’ll need more—many more. I need men to help me!’

The elves agreed to provide men to help make the dragonlances, but whether or not they would help fight—

‘That remains a matter we must discuss,’ the Speaker said.

‘Don’t discuss it too long,’ Flint Fireforge snapped, ‘or you might find yourself discussing it with a Dragon Highlord.’

‘The elves keep their own counsel and ask for no advice from dwarves,’ the Speaker replied coldly. ‘Besides, we do not even, know if these lances work! The legend said they were to be forged by one of the Silver Arm, that is certain. But it also says that the Hammer of Kharas was needed in the forging. Where is the Hammer now?’ he asked Theros.

‘The Hammer could not be brought here in time, even if it could be kept from the dragonarmies. The Hammer of Kharis was required in days of old, because man’s skill was not sufficient by itself to produce the lances. Mine is,’ he added proudly ‘You saw what the lance did to that rock.’

‘We shall see what it does to dragons,’ the Speaker said, the Second Council of Whitestone drew to a close. Gunthar proposed at the last that the lances Theros had brought with him be sent to the knights in Palanthas.

These thoughts passed through Laurana’s mind as she stared out across the bleak winter landscape. It would’ve snowing in the valley soon, Lord Gunthar said.

I cannot stay here, Laurana thought, pressing her face against the chill glass. I shall go mad.

‘I’ve studied Gunthar’s maps,’ she murmured, almost speaking to herself, ‘and I’ve seen the location of the dragonarmies. Tanis will never reach Sancrist, And if he does have the orb, he may not know the danger it poses. I must warn him.’

‘My dear, you’re not talking sensibly,’ Elistan said mildly. ‘If Tanis cannot reach Sancrist safely, how will you reach him? Think logically, Laurana—’

‘I don’t want to think logically!’ Laurana cried, stomping her foot and glaring angrily at the cleric, ‘I’m sick of being sensible! I’m tired of this whole war. I’ve done my part – more than my part. I just want to find Tanis!’

Seeing Elistan’s sympathetic face, Laurana sighed. ‘I’m sorry, my dear friend. I know what you say is true,’ she said, ashamed. ‘But I can’t stay here and do nothing!’

Though Laurana didn’t mention it, she had another concern. That human woman, that Kitiara. Where was she? Were they together as she had seen in the dream? Laurana realized now, suddenly, that the remembered image of Kitiara standing with Tanis’s arm around her was more disturbing than the image she had see of her own death.

At that moment, Lord Gunthar suddenly entered the room.

‘Ohl’ he said, startled, seeing Elistan and Laurana. ‘I’m sorry, I hope I am not disturbing—’

‘Please, no, come in,’ Laurana said quickly.

‘Thank you,’ Gunthar said, stepping inside and carefully shutting the door—first glancing down the hallway to make certain no one was near. He joined them at the window. ‘Actually I needed to talk to you both, anyway. I sent Wills looking for you. This is best, however. No one knows we’re speaking.’

More intrigue, Laurana thought wearily. Throughout their journey to Gunthar’s castle, she had heard about nothing but the political infighting that was destroying the Knighthood.

Shocked and outraged at Gunthar’s story of Sturm’s trial, Laurana had gone before a Council of Knights to speak in Sturm’s defense. Although the appearance of a woman at a Council was unheard of, the knights were impressed by this vibrant, beautiful young woman’s eloquent speech on Sturm’s behalf. The fact that Laurana was a member of the royal elven household, and that she had brought the dragonlances, also spoke highly in her favor.

Even Derek’s faction—those that remained—were hardpressed to fault her. But the knights had been unable to reach a decision. The man appointed to stand in Lord Alfred’s place was strongly in Derek’s kept—as the phrase went—and Lord Michael had vacillated to such a degree that Gunthar had been forced to throw the matter to an open vote. The knights demanded a period of reflection and the meeting was adjourned. They had reconvened this afternoon. Apparently, Gunthar had just came from this meeting.

Laurana knew, from the look on Gunthar’s face, that things had gone favorably. But if so, why the maneuvering?

‘Sturm’s been pardoned?’ she asked.

Gunthar grinned and rubbed his hands together. ‘Not pardoned, my dear. That would have implied his guilt. No. He has been completely vindicated! I pushed for that. Pardon would not have suited us at all. His knighthood is granted. He has his command officially bestowed upon him. And Derek is in serious trouble!’

‘I am happy, for Sturm’s sake,’ Laurana said coolly, exchanging worried looks with Elistan. Although she liked what she had seen of Lord Gunthar, she had been brought up in a royal household and knew Sturm was being made a game piece.

Gunthar caught the edge of ice in her voice, and his face became grave. ‘Lady Laurana,’ he said, speaking more somberly, ‘I know what you are thinking—that I am dangling Sturm from puppet strings. Let us be brutally frank lady. The Knights are divided, split into two factions—Derek’s and my own. And we both know what happens to a tree split in two: both sides wither and die. This battle between us must end, or will have tragic consequences. Now, lady and Elistan, for have come to trust and rely on your judgment, I leave this in your hands. You have met me and you have met Lord Derek Crownguard, Who would you choose to head the Knights?’ —

‘You, of course, Lord Gunthar,’ Elistan said sincerely.

Laurana nodded her head. ‘I agree. This feud is ruinous the Knightood. I saw that myself, in the Council meeting. And—from what I’ve heard of the reports coming from Palanthas—it is hurting our cause there as well. My first concern must be for my friend, however.’

‘I quite understand, and I am glad to hear you say so,’ Gunthar said approvingly, ‘because it makes the very great favor I am about to ask of you easier.’ Gunthar took Laurana’s arm. ‘I want you to go to Palanthas.’

‘What? Why? I don’t understand!’

‘Of course not. Let me explain. Please sit down. You, too, Elistan. I’ll pour some wine—`

I think not,’ Laurana said, sitting near the window.

‘Very well’ Gunthar’s face became grave. He laid his hand over Laurana’s. ‘We know politics, you and I, lady. So I am going to arrange all my game pieces before you. Ostensibly you will be traveling to Palanthas to teach the knights to use the dragonlances. It is a legitimate reason. Without Theros, you and the dwarf are the only ones who understand their usage. And—let’s face it—the dwarf is too short to handle one.’

Gunthar cleared his throat. ‘You will take the lances to Palanthas. But more importantly, you will carry with you a Writ of Vindication from the Council fully restoring Sturm’s honor. That will strike the death’s blow to Derek’s ambition. The moment Sturm puts on his armor, all will know I have the Council’s full support. I shouldn’t wonder if Derek won’t go on trial when he returns’

‘But why me?’ Laurana asked bluntly. ‘I can teach anyone— Lord Michael, for example—to use a dragonlance. He can take them to Palanthas. He can carry the Writ to Sturm—’

‘Lady—’ Lord Gunthar gripped her hand hard, drawing near and speaking barely above a whisper— ‘you still do not understand! I cannot trust Lord Michael! I cannot—I dare not trust any one of the knights with this! Derek has been knocked from his horse—so to speak—but he hasn’t lost the tourney yet. I need someone I can trust implicitly! Someone who knows Derek for what he is, who has Sturm’s best interests at heart!’

‘I do have Sturm’s interests at heart,’ Laurana said coldly. ‘I put them above the interests of the Knighthood.’

‘Ah, but remember, Lady Laurana,’ Gunthar said, rising to his feet and bowing as he kissed her hand, ‘Sturm’s only interest is the Knighthood. What would happen to him, do you think, if the Knighthood should fall? What will happen to him if Derek seizes control?’

In the end of course Laurana agreed to go to Palanthas, as Gunthar had known she must. As the time of her departure drew nearer, she began to dream almost nightly of Tanis arriving on the island just hours after she left. More than once she was on the verge of refusing to go, but then site thought of facing Tanis, of having to tell him she had refused to go to Sturm to warn him of this peril. This kept her from changing her mind. This—and her regard for Storm.

It was during the lonely nights, when her heart and her arms ached for Tanis, and she had visions of him holding that human woman with the dark, curly hair, flashing brown eyes, and the charming, crooked smile, that her soul was in turmoil.

Her friends could give her little comfort. One of them, Elistan, left when a messenger arrived from the elves, requesting the cleric’s presence, and asking that an emissary from the knights accompany him. There was little time for farewells. Within a day of the arrival of the elven messenger, Elistan and Lord Alfred’s son—a solemn, serious young man named Douglas—began their journey back to Southern Ergoth. Laurana had never felt so alone as she bid her mentor goodbye.

Tasslehoff faced a sad parting as well.

In the midst of the excitement over the dragonlance, everyone forgot poor Gnosh and his Life Quest, which lay in a thousand sparkling pieces on the grass. Everyone but Fizban, The old magician rose from where he lay cowering on the ground before the shattered Whitestone and went to the stricken gnome, who was staring woefully at the shattered dragon orb.

‘There, there, my boy,’ said Fizban, ‘this isn’t the end of everything’

‘It isn’t?’ asked Gnosh, so miserable he finished a sentence,

‘No, of course not I You’ve got to look at this from the proper perspective. Why, now you’ve got a chance to study a dragon orb from the inside out!’

Gnosh’s eyes brightened. ‘You’re right,’ he said after a short pause, ‘and, in fact, I bet I could glue—’

‘Yes, yes,’ Fizban said hurriedly, but Gnosh lunged forward, his speech growing faster and faster.

‘We could tag the pieces,don’tyousee,andthendrawadiagram ofwhereeachpiece waslyingontheground,which—’

‘Quite, quite,’ Fizban muttered.

‘Step aside, step aside,’ Gnosh said importantly, shooing people away from the orb. ‘Mind where you walk, Lord Gunthar and, yes, we’re going to study it from the inside out now, and I should have a report in a matter of weeks—’

Gnosh and Fizban cordoned off the area and set to work. For the next two days, Fizban stood on the broken Whitestone making diagrams, supposedly marking the exact location of each piece before it was picked up. (One of Fizban’s diagrams accidentally ended up in the kender’s pouch, Tas, discovered later that it was actually a game known as ‘x’s and zeroes’ which the mage had been playing against himself and apparently—lost.)

Gnosh, meanwhile, crawled happily around on the grass, sticking bits of parchment adorned with numbers on pieces of glass smaller than the bits of parchment. He and Fizban finally collected the 2,687 pieces of dragon orb in a basket and transported them back to Mount Nevermind.

Tasslehoff had been offered the choice of staying with Fizban or going to Palanthas with Laurana and Flint. The choice was simple. The kender knew two such innocents as the elfmaid and the dwarf could not survive without him. But it was hard leaving his old friend. Two days before the ship sailed, he paid a final visit to the gnomes and to Fizban.

After an exhilarating ride in the catapult, he found Gnosh in the Examination Roam. The pieces of the broken dragon orb tagged and numbered—were spread out across two tables.

‘Absolutelyfascinaking,,’ Gnosh spoke so fast he stuttered, ‘because wehaveandyzedtheglass, curiousmaterial, unlikenothingwe’ve everseen, greatestdiscovery, thiscentury—’

‘So your Life Quest is over?’ Tas interrupted. ‘Your father’s soul—’

‘Restingcomfortably!’ Gnosh beamed, then returned to, his work.’Andsogladyaueauldstopbyandifyou’reeverinthe neighborhoodcomebyandseeusagain—’

‘I will,’ Tas said, smiling.

Tas found Fizban two levels down. (A fascinating journey— he simply yelled out the name—of his level, then leaped into the void. Nets flapped and fluttered, bells went off, gongs sounded and whistles blew. Tas was finally caught one level above the ground, just as the area was being inundated with sponges.)

Fizban was in Weapons Development, surrounded by gnomes, all gazing at him with unabashed admiration.

‘Ah, my boy!’ he said, peering vaguely at Tasslehoff. ‘You’re just in time to see the testing of our new weapon. Revolutionize warfare. Make the dragonlance obsolete.’’

‘Really ?’ Tas asked in excitement.

‘A fact!’ Fizban confirmed. ‘Now, you stand over here—’ He motioned to a gnome who leaped to do his bidding, running to stand in the middle of the cluttered room.

Fizban picked up what looked, to the kender’s confused mind, like a crossbow that had been attacked by an enraged fisherman. It was a crossbow all right. But instead of an arrow, a huge net dangled from a hook on the end. Fizban, grumbling and muttering, ordered the gnomes to stand behind him and give him room.

‘Now, you are the enemy,’ Fizban told the gnome in the center of the room. The gnome immediately assumed a fierce, warlike expression. The other gnomes nodded appreciatively.

Fizban aimed, then let fly. The net sailed out into the air, got snagged on the hook at the end of crossbow, and snapped back like a collapsing sail to engulf the magician.

‘Confounded hook!’ Fizban muttered.

Between the gnomes and Tas, they got him disentangled.

‘I guess this is good-bye,’ Tas said, slowly extending his small hand.

‘It is?’ Fizban looked amazed. ‘Am I going somewhere? No one told me! I’m not packed -’

‘I’m going somewhere,’ Tas said patiently, ‘with Laurana. We’re taking the lances and—oh, I don’t think I’m supposed to be telling anyone,’ he added, embarrassed.

‘Don’t worry. Mum’s the word.’ Fizban said in a hoarse whisper that carried clearly through the crowded room. ‘You’ll love Palanthas. Beautiful city. Give Sturm my regards. and Tasslehoff’—the old magician looked at him shrewdly— ‘‘you did the right thing, my boy!’

‘I did?’ Tas said hopefully. ‘I’m glad.’ He hesitated. ‘I wondered . . . about what you said—the dark path. Did I—?’

Fizban’s face grew grave as he gripped Tas firmly on the shoulder. ‘I’m afraid so. But you have the courage to walk it.’

‘I hope so,’ Tas said with a small sigh. ‘Well, good-bye. I’ll be back. Just as soon as the war’s over.’

‘Oh, I probably won’t be here,’ Fizban said, shaking his head so violently his hat slid off. ‘Soon as the new weapon’s perfected, I’ll be leaving for—’ he paused. ‘Where was that I was supposed to go? I can’t seem to recall. But don’t worry. We’ll meet again. At least you’re not leaving me buried under a pile of chicken feathers!’ he muttered, searching for his hat.

Tas picked it up and handed it to him.

‘Good-bye,’ the kender said, a choke in his voice.

‘Good-bye, Good-bye!’ Fizban waved cheerfully. Then— giving the gnomes a hunted glance—he pulled Tas over to him. ‘Uh, I seem to have forgotten something. What was my name again?’

Someone else said good-bye to the old magician, too, although not under quite the same circumstances.

Elistan was pacing the shore of Sancrist, waiting for the boat that would take him back to Southern Ergoth. The young man, Douglas, walked along beside him. The two were deep in conversation, Elistan explaining the ways of the ancient gods to a rapt and attentive listener.

Suddenly Elistan looked up to see the old, befuddled magician he had seen at the Council meeting. Elistan had tried for days to meet the old mage, but Fizban always avoided him. Thus it was with astonishment Elistan saw the old man come walking toward them now along the shoreline. His head was bowed, he was muttering to himself. For a moment, Elistan thought he would pass by without noticing them, when suddenly the old mage raised his head.

‘Oh, I say! Haven’t we met?’ he asked, blinking.

For a moment Elistan could not speak. The cleric’s face turned deathly white beneath its weathered tan. He was finally able to answer the old mage, his voice was husky. ‘Indeed we have, sir. I did not realize it before mow. And though we were but lately introduced, I feel that I have known you a long, long time.’

‘Indeed?’ The old man scowled suspiciously. ‘You’re not making some sort of comment on my age, are you?’

‘No, certainly not!’ Elistan smiled.

The old man’s face cleared,

‘Well, have a pleasant journey. And a safe one. Farewell.’

Leaning on a bent and battered staff, the old man toddled on past them. Suddenly he stopped and turned around. ‘Oh, by the way, the name’s Fizban.’

‘I’ll remember,’ Elistan said gravely, bowing, ‘Fizban.’

Pleased, the old magician nodded and continued on his way along the shoreline while Elistan, suddenly thoughtful and quiet, resumed his walk with a sigh.