The kender seemed extremely disconcerted by the sign. He stood before it, eyeing it severely. “That can’t stay there,” he said loudly. “It will block the path of the funeral procession.”
Gerard thought he had him at this point, but the kender gave a bound and a leap and dashed off again. Gerard was forced to halt to catch his breath. Running in the heavy armor in the heat caused his head to swim and sent little shooting stars bursting across his vision. He was close to the Inn, however, and he had the grim satisfaction of seeing the kender dash up the stairs and through the front door.
“Good,” Gerard thought grimly. “I have him.”
Removing his helm, he tossed it to the ground, and leaned back against the signpost until his breathing returned to normal, while he watched the stairs to make certain the kender didn’t depart. Acting completely against regulations, Gerard divested himself of the pieces of armor that were chafing him the worst, wrapped them in his cloak, and stashed the bundle in a dark corner of the Inn’s woodshed. He then walked over to the community water barrel and plunged the gourd deep into the water.
The barrel stood in a shady spot beneath one of the vallenwoods. The water was cool and sweet. Gerard kept one eye on the door of the Inn and, lifting the dipper, dumped the water over his head.
The water trickled down his neck and breast, wonderfully refreshing. He took a long drink, slicked back his hair, wiped his face, picked up his helm and, tucking it beneath his arm, made the long ascent up the stairs to the Inn. He could hear the kender’s voice quite clearly. Judging by his formal tones and unnaturally deep voice, the kender appeared to be making a speech.
“Caramon Majere was a very great hero. He fought dragons and undead and goblins and hobgoblins and ogres and draconians and lots of others I can’t remember. He traveled back in time with this very device—right here, this very device—” The kender resumed normal speech for a moment to say, “Then I show the crowd the device, Caramon. I’d show you that part, but I can’t quite seem to find it right now. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone touch it. Now, where was I?”
A pause and the sound of paper rustling.
Gerard continued climbing the stairs. He had never truly noticed just how many stairs there were before. His legs, already aching and stiff from running, burned, his breath came short. He wished he’d taken off all his armor. He was chagrined to see how far he’d let himself go. His formerly strong athlete’s body was soft as a maiden’s. He stopped on the landing to rest and heard the kender launch back into his speech.
“Caramon Majere traveled back in time. He saved Lady Crysania from the Abyss. She’ll be here, Caramon. She’ll fly here on the back of a silver dragon. Goldmoon will be here, too, and Riverwind will come and their beautiful daughters and Silvanoshei, the king of the United Elven Nations, will be here, along with Gilthas, the new ambassador to the United Human Nations, and, of course, Laurana. Even Dalamar will be here! Think of that, Caramon! The Head of the Conclave coming to your funeral. He’ll be standing right over there next to Palin, who’s head of the White Robes, but then I guess you already know that, him being your son and all. At least, I think that’s where they were standing. The last time I was here for your funeral I came after it was all over and everyone was going home. I heard about it later from Palin, who said that they were sorry. If they’d known I was coming they would have waited. I felt a bit insulted, but Palin said that they all thought I was dead, which I am, of course, only not at the moment. And because I missed your funeral the first time, that’s why I had to try to hit it again.”
Gerard groaned. Not only did he have to deal with a kender, he had to deal with a mad kender. Probably one of those who claimed to be “afflicted.” He felt badly for Caramon, hoped the old man wasn’t too upset by this incident. Caramon would probably be understanding. For reasons passing Gerard’s comprehension, Caramon seemed to have a soft spot for the little nuisances.
“So anyway my speech goes on,” the kender said. “ ‘Caramon Majere did all these things and more. He was a great hero and a great warrior, but do you know what he did best?’ ” The kender’s voice softened. “ ‘He was a great friend. He was my friend, my very best friend in all of the world. I came back—or rather I came forward—to say this because I think it’s important, and Fizban thought it was important, too, which is why he let me come. It seems to me that being a great friend is more important than being a great hero or a great warrior. Being a good friend is the most important thing there is. Just think, if everyone in the world were great friends, then we wouldn’t be such terrible enemies. Some of you here are enemies now-’ I look at Dalamar at this point, Caramon. I look at him very sternly, for he’s done some things that haven’t been at all nice. And then I go on and say, ‘But you people are here today because you were friends with this one man and he was your friend, just like he was mine. And so maybe when we lay Caramon Majere to rest, we will each leave his grave with friendlier feelings toward everyone. And maybe that will be the beginning of peace.’ And then I bow and that’s the end. What do you think?”
Gerard arrived in the doorway in time to see the kender jump down off a table, from which vantage point he’d been delivering his speech, and run over to stand in front of Caramon. Laura was wiping her eyes on the comers of her apron. Her gully dwarf helper blubbered shamelessly in a comer, while the Inn’s patrons were applauding wildly and banging their mugs on the table, shouting “Hear, hear!”
Caramon Majere sat in one of the high-backed booths. He was smiling, a smile touched by the last golden rays of the sun, rays that seem to have slipped into the Inn on purpose just to say goodnight.
“I’m sorry this had to happen, sir,” said Gerard, walking inside. “I didn’t realize he would trouble you. I’ll take him away now.”
Caramon reached out his hand and stroked the kender’s topknot, the hair of which was standing straight up, like the fur of a startled cat.
“He’s not bothering me. I’m glad to see him again. That part about friendship was wonderful, Tas. Truly wonderful. Thank you.”
Caramon frowned, shook his head. “But I don’t understand the rest of what you said, Tas. All about the United Elven Nations and Riverwind coming to the Inn when he’s been dead these many years. Something’s peculiar here. I’ll have to think about it.” Caramon stood up from the booth and headed toward the door. “I’ll just be taking my evening walk, now, Laura.”
“Your dinner will be waiting when you come back, Father,” she said. Smoothing her apron, she shook the gully dwarf, ordered him to pull himself together and get back to work.
“Don’t think about it too long, Caramon,” Tas called out. “Because of . . . well, you know.”
He looked up at Gerard, who had laid a firm hand on the kender’s shoulder, getting a good grip on flesh and bone this time.
“It’s because he’s going to be dead pretty soon,” Tas said in a loud whisper. “I didn’t like to mention that. It would have been rude, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re going to spend the next year in prison,” said Gerard sternly.
Caramon Majere stood at the top of the stairs. “Yes, Tika, dear. I’m coming,” he said. Putting his hand over his heart, he pitched forward, headfirst.
The kender tore himself free of Gerard, flung himself to the floor, and burst into tears.
Gerard moved swiftly, but he was too late to halt Caramon’s fall. The big man tumbled and rolled down the stairs of his beloved Inn. Laura screamed. The patrons cried out in shock and alarm. People in the street, seeing Caramon falling, began to run toward the Inn.