Behind him, he heard the others talking in soft voices—all except for Berem. The Everman—watched over closely by Caramon—stood apart, his eyes wide and fearful.
For long moments Tanis watched them, then he sighed. He faced another parting, and this one grieved him so that he wondered if he had the strength to make it. Turning slightly, he saw the last beaming rays of Solinari’s fading light touch Goldmoon’s beautiful silver-gold hair. He saw her face, peaceful and serene—even though she contemplated a journey into darkness and danger. And he knew he had the strength.
With a sigh, he walked away from the window to rejoin his friends.
“Is it time?” Tasslehoff asked eagerly.
Tanis smiled, his hand reaching out fondly to stroke Tas’s ridiculous topknot of hair. In a changing world, kenders remained constant.
“Yes,” Tanis said, “it is time.” His eyes went to Riverwind. “For some of us.”
As the Plainsman met the half-elf’s steady, unwavering gaze, the thoughts in his mind were reflected in his face, as clear to Tanis as clouds flitting across the night sky. First Riverwind was uncomprehending, perhaps he had not even heard Tanis’s words. Then the Plainsman realized what had been said. Now he understood, and his stern, rigid face flushed, the brown eyes flared. Tanis said nothing. He simply shifted his gaze to Goldmoon.
Riverwind looked at his wife, who stood in a pool of silvery moonlight, waiting, her own thoughts far away. There was a sweet smile on her lips. A smile Tanis had seen only recently. Perhaps she was seeing her child playing in the sun.
Tanis looked back at Riverwind. He saw the Plainsman’s inner struggle, and Tanis knew that the Que-shu warrior would offer—no, he would insist—on accompanying them, even though it meant leaving Goldmoon behind.
Walking to him, Tanis put his hands on the tall man’s shoulders, looking into the Plainsman’s dark eyes.
“Your work is done, my friend,” Tanis said. “You have walked winter’s path far enough. Here our roads separate. Ours leads into a bleak desert. Yours wends its way through green and blossoming trees. You have a responsibility to the son or daughter you are bringing into the world.” He put his hand on Goldmoon’s shoulder now, drawing her near, seeing her about to protest.
“The baby will be born in the autumn,” Tanis said softly, “when the vallenwoods are red and golden. Don’t cry, my dear.” He gathered Goldmoon into his arms. “The vallenwoods will grow again. And you will take the young warrior or the young maiden into Solace, and you will tell them a story of two people who loved each other so much they brought hope into a world of dragons.”
He kissed her beautiful hair. Then Tika, weeping softly, took his place, bidding Goldmoon farewell. Tanis turned to Riverwind. The Plainsman’s stern mask was gone; his face showed plainly the marks of his grief. Tanis himself could barely see through his tears.
“Gilthanas will need help, planning the defense of the city.” Tanis cleared his throat. “I wish to the gods this was truly the end of your dark winter, but I’m afraid it must last a little longer.”
“The gods are with us, my friend, my brother,” Riverwind said brokenly, embracing the half-elf. “May they be with you, as well. We will wait here for your return.”
Solinari dipped behind the mountains. The only lights in the night sky were the cold and glittering stars and the hideous gleam of windows in the citadel, watching them with yellow eyes. One by one, the companions bid the Plainsmen goodbye. Then, following Tasslehoff, they silently crossed the wall, entered another door, and crept down another staircase. Tas shoved open the door at the bottom. Moving cautiously, hands on their weapons, the companions stepped out onto the plain.
For a moment, they stood huddled together, staring out across the plain where-even in the deep darkness—it seemed to them they would be visible to thousands of eyes watching from the citadel above.
Standing next to Berem, Tanis could feel the man shivering with fear and he felt glad he had assigned Caramon to watch him. Ever since Tanis had stated they were going to Neraka, the half-elf had seen a frantic, haunted look in the man’s blue eyes—much like the look of a trapped animal. Tanis caught himself pitying the man, then hardened his heart. Too much was at stake. Berem was the key; the answer lay within him and within Neraka. Just how they were going to go about discovering the answer, Tanis hadn’t decided yet, although the beginnings of a plan stirred in his brain.
Far away, the blaring noise of horns split the night air. An orange light flared on the horizon. Draconians, burning a village. Tanis gripped his cloak around him. Though Spring Dawning had come and past, the chill of winter was still in the air.
“Move out,” he said softly.
One by one, he watched them run across the strip of open grassland, racing to reach the shelter of the grove of trees beyond. Here small, fast-flying brass dragons waited to carry them into the mountains.
This might all end tonight, Tanis though nervously, watching Tasslehoff scamper into the darkness like a mouse. If the dragons were discovered, if the watching eyes in the citadel saw them—it would be all over. Berem would fall into the hands of the Queen. Darkness would cover the land.
Tika followed Tas, running lightly and surely. Flint ran close behind, wheezing. The dwarf looked older. The thought that he was unwell crossed Tanis’s mind, but he knew Flint would never agree to stay behind. Now Caramon ran through the darkness, his armor clanking. One hand was fixed firmly on Berem, tugging him along beside him.
My turn, Tanis realized, seeing the others safely sheltered within the grove. This is it. For good or for evil, the story is drawing near its end. Glancing up, he saw Goldmoon and Riverwind watching them from the small window in the tower room.
For good or for evil.
What if it does end in darkness, Tanis wondered for the first time. What will become of the world? What will become of those I’m leaving behind?
Steadily he looked up at these two people who were as dear to him as the family he’d never known. And, as he watched, he saw Goldmoon light a candle. For a brief instant the flame illuminated her face and Riverwind’s. They raised their hands in parting, then extinguished the flame lest unfriendly eyes see it.
Taking a deep breath, Tanis turned and tensed himself to run.
The darkness might conquer, but it could never extinguish hope. And though one candle—or many—might flicker and die, new candles would be lit from the old.
Thus hope’s flame always burns, lighting the darkness until the coming of day.
BOOK 2
1
An old man and a golden dragon.
He was an ancient gold dragon, the oldest of his kind. In his day, he had been a fierce warrior. The scars of his victories were visible on his wrinkled golden skin. His name had once been as shining as his glories, but he had forgotten it long ago. A few of the younger, irreverent gold dragons referred to him affectionately as Pyrite—Fool’s Gold—due to his not infrequent habit of mentally fading out of the present and reliving his past.
Most of his teeth were gone. It had been eons since he had munched up a nice bit of deer meat or torn apart a goblin. He was able to gum a rabbit now and then, but mostly he lived on oatmeal.
When Pyrite lived in the present, he was an intelligent, if irascible, companion. His vision was dimming, though he refused to admit it, and he was as deaf as a doorknob. His mind was quick. His conversation was still sharp as a tooth—so the saying went among dragons. It was just that he rarely discussed the same topic as anyone else in his company.