"Hey," roared Flint, stabbing at a piece of sizzling meat on Caramon's plate with his fork, "you gonna eat that?"
Caramon promptly and silently-without missing a bite- emptied a flagon of ale over the dwarf's head.
Tanis and Sturm sat side by side, talking quietly. Tanis's eyes strayed to Laurana occasionally. She sat at a different table talking animatedly with Elistan. Tanis, thinking how lovely she looked tonight, realized how changed she was from the willful, lovesick girl who had followed him from Qualinesti. He told himself he liked the change in her. But he caught himself wondering just what she and Elistan found so interesting.
Sturm touched his arm. Tanis started. He had lost track of the conversation. Flushing, he began to apologize when he saw the look on Sturm's face.
"What is it?" Tanis said in alarm, half-rising.
"Hush, don't move!" Sturm ordered. "Just look-over there-sitting off to himself."
Tanis looked where Sturm gestured, puzzled, then he saw the man-sitting alone, hunched over his food, eating it absently as if he didn't really taste it. Whenever anyone approached, the man shrank back, eyeing him nervously until he passed. Suddenly, perhaps sensing Tanis's eyes on him, he raised his head and stared directly at them. The half-elf gasped and dropped his fork.
"But that's impossible!" he said in a strangled voice. "We saw him die! With Eben! No one could have survived-"
"Then I was right," Sturm said grimly. "You recognize him, too. I thought I was going mad. Let's go talk to him."
But when they looked again, he was gone. Swiftly, they searched the crowd, but it was impossible to find him now.
As the silver moon and the red rose in the sky, the married couples formed a ring around the bride and groom and began singing wedding songs. Unmarried couples danced in pairs outside the circle while the children leaped and shouted and reveled in staying up past their bedtime. Bonfires burned brightly, voices and music filled the night air, the silver moon and the red rose to light the sky. Goldmoon and Riverwind stood, their arms around each other, their eyes shining brighter than the moons or the blazing fire.
Tanis lingered on the outskirts, watching his friends. Laurana and Gilthanas performed an ancient elvish dance of grace and beauty, singing together a hymn of joy. Sturm and Elistan fell into conversation about their plans to travel south in search of the legendary seaport city of Tarsis the Beautiful, where they hoped to find ships to carry the people from this wartorn land. Tika, tired of watching Caramon eat, teased Flint until the dwarf finally agreed to dance with her, blushing bright red beneath his beard.
Where was Raistlin? Tanis wondered. The half-elf recalled seeing him at the banquet. The mage ate little and drank his herbal mixture. He had seemed unusually pale and quiet. Tanis decided to go in search of him. The company of the dark-souled, cynical mage seemed more suited to him tonight than
music and laughter.
Tanis wandered into the moonlit darkness, knowing somehow he was headed in the right direction. He found Raistlin sitting on the stump of an old tree whose lightning-shattered, blackened remains lay scattered over the ground. The half-elf sat down next to the silent mage.
A small shadow settled among the trees behind the half-elf. Finally, Tas would hear what these two discussed!
Raistlin's strange eyes stared into the southlands, barely visible between a gap in the tall mountains. The wind still blew from the south, but it was beginning to veer again. The temperature was falling. Tanis felt Raistlin's frail body shiver. Looking at him in the moonlight, Tanis was startled to see the mage's resemblance to his half-sister, Kitiara. It was a fleeting impression and gone almost as soon as it came, but it brought the woman to Tanis's mind, adding to his feelings of unrest and disquiet. He restlessly tossed a piece of bark back and forth, from hand to hand.
"What do you see to the south?" Tanis asked abruptly.
Raistlin glanced at him. "What do I ever see with these eyes of mine, Half-Elf?" the mage whispered bitterly. "I see death, death and destruction. I see war." He gestured up above. "The constellations have not returned. The Queen of Darkness is not defeated."
"We may not have won the war," Tanis began, "but surely we have won a major battle-"
Raistlin coughed and shook his head sadly.
"Do you see no hope?"
"Hope is the denial of reality. It is the carrot dangled before the draft horse to keep him plodding along in a vain attempt to reach it."
"Are you saying we should just give up?" Tanis asked, irritably tossing the bark away.
"I'm saying we should remove the carrot and walk forward with our eyes open," Raistlin answered. Coughing, he drew his robes more closely around him. "How will you fight the dragons, Tanis? For there will be more! More than you can imagine! And where now is Huma? Where now is the Dragonlance? No, Half-Elf. Do not talk to me of hope."
Tanis did not answer, nor did the mage speak again. Both sat silently, one continuing to stare south, the other glancing up into the great voids in the glittering, starlit sky.
Tasslehoff sank back into the soft grass beneath the pine trees. "No hope!" the kender repeated bleakly, sorry he had followed the half-elf. "I don't believe it," he said, but his eyes went to Tanis, staring at the stars. Tanis believes it, the kender realized, and the thought filled him with dread.
Ever since the death of the old magician, an unnoticed change had come over the kender. Tasslehoff began to consider that this adventure was in earnest, that it had a purpose for which people gave their lives. He wondered why he was involved and thought perhaps he had given the answer to Fizban-the small things he was meant to do were important, somehow, in the big scheme of things.
But until now it had never occurred to the kender that all this might be for nothing, that it might not make any difference, that they might suffer and lose people they loved like Fizban, and the dragons would still win in the end.
"Still," the kender said softly, "we have to keep trying and hoping. That's what's important-the trying and the hoping. Maybe that's most important of all."
Something floated gently down from the sky, brushing past the kender's nose. Tas reached out and caught it in his hand.
It was a small, white chicken feather.
The "Song of Huma" was the last-and many consider the greatest-work of the elven bard, Quivalen Soth. Only fragments of the work remained following the Cataclysm. It is said that those who study it diligently willl find hints to the future o the turning world.
SONG OF HUMA