Raistlin remembered his answer. “But who chose us? And for what purpose?”
He looked at Fizban, and he had his answer. At least that was part of the answer.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot, irrepressible, irresponsible, irritating. If Berem was the Everman, Tas was the Everchild. The child had grown up. Like Mari. More’s the pity.
As Raistlin watched, Tanis angrily ordered the rest of the group to search for Berem. They wearily retraced their steps, backtracking along the trail to see if they could find where Berem had left it. It was Flint who discovered Berem’s footprints in the mud and gave chase, leaving the others behind.
“Flint! Wait up!” Tanis yelled.
Raistlin lifted his head, startled. The shout had not come from the orb. It had come from the other side of the rock wall! Raistlin looked in the direction of Tanis’s voice and saw a narrow, tunnel-like opening in the wall, an opening he could have sworn had not been there earlier.
He had no time for wonder and no more need for the dragon orb, apparently. Kitiara had been right. His friends had been searching for Godshome, and it seemed they had found it.
Raistlin returned the orb to its pouch. Picking up the staff, he hurriedly whispered the words to a spell, hoping as he did so that magic worked in that sacred place.
“Cermin shirak dari mayat, kulit mas ente bentuk.”
Raistlin had cast a spell to make himself invisible. He looked into the stream. He could not see his own reflection, and if he could not see himself, his friends would not be able to see him. The magic had worked.
The one possible exception might be Fizban. Taking no chances, Raistlin glided between the pillars of stone and concealed himself behind them just as a man crawled through the opening in the rocks.
It was the man with the old face and young eyes, the man who had been onboard the ship in Flotsam, the man who had steered them into the whirlpool. As Berem rose to his feet, an emerald, embedded in his chest, flashed green in the morning sun.
Berem Everman. The Green Gemstone Man. Jasla’s brother. The man who could set Queen Takhisis free or keep her forever imprisoned in the Abyss.
Berem looked fearfully behind him. He wore a hunted expression, a fox fleeing the hounds. He ran across the stone floor of the vale. Flint and the others would not be far behind, but for the moment, Berem and Raistlin were alone in Godshome.
A few magical words and Raistlin could spellbind Berem, make him a prisoner. He could use the dragon orb to transport them back to Neraka. He could present Takhisis with a gift of inestimable value. She would be grateful. She would give him whatever his heart desired. He might even be able to bargain for Laurana’s freedom. But he would always have to sleep with one eye open …
Raistlin watched Berem run past him. The Everman had sighted what appeared to be another opening in a far wall. And here came Flint, running after him. The dwarf’s face was flushed with excitement and exertion. Berem had a lengthy head start. It seemed unlikely that Flint would win the race.
Hearing a shout behind him, Raistlin turned to see Tasslehoff crawling through the narrow tunnel. The kender emerged into the vale and was exclaiming loudly over the stone pillars and the stone floor and other wonders. Raistlin heard the voices of his friends on the other side of the tunnel. He could not make out what they were saying.
“Tanis, hurry!” Tas called.
“There’s no other way?” Caramon’s voice echoed dismally through the narrow hole.
Tasslehoff searched the vale, trying to find Flint, but the pillars stood between the dwarf and the kender, blocking his view. Running back to the opening, Tas bent down and peered inside.
He yelled something into the tunnel, and someone yelled back. By the sounds of it, they had tried to crawl through it. Caramon, it seemed, was stuck.
Flint was actually gaining on Berem. The morning sunlight sent shadows crawling over the rock walls, and Berem had seemingly lost sight of the opening. He was running back and forth, like a rabbit trapped at a fence line, searching for the way out. Then he found it and made a dive for it.
Berem was about to crawl through the hole. Raistlin was pondering what he should do, wondering if he should try to stop Berem, when suddenly Flint gave a terrible cry. The dwarf grabbed at his chest and, moaning in pain, sagged to his knees.
“His heart. I knew it,” Raistlin said. “I warned him.”
He started instinctively to go the dwarf’s aid, then brought himself up short. He was no longer a part of their lives. They were no longer a part of his. Raistlin watched and waited. There was nothing he could do anyway.
Berem heard Flint cry out and turned fearfully around. Seeing the old dwarf drop to the ground, Berem hesitated. He looked at the opening in the wall, and he looked at Flint and then came running to help. Berem knelt beside the dwarf, whose face was ashen.
“What is wrong? What can I do?” Berem asked.
“It’s nothing,” Flint gasped for air. His hand pressed against his chest. “An upset stomach, that’s all. Something I ate. Just … help me stand. I can’t seem to catch my breath. If I walk around a little …”
Berem assisted the old dwarf to his feet.
From the opposite side of the vale, Tasslehoff had finally found them. But, of course, the kender got it wrong. He thought Berem was attacking Flint.
“It’s Berem!” the kender shouted frantically. “And he’s doing something to Flint! Hurry, Tanis!”
Flint took a step and staggered. His eyes rolled up in his head. His legs buckled. Berem caught the dwarf in his arms and laid him down gently on the rocks, then hovered over him, uncertain what to do.
Hearing the sounds of feet pounding toward him, Berem stood up. He seemed relieved. Help was coming.
“What have you done?” Tanis raved. “You’ve killed him!”
He drew his sword and plunged the blade into Berem’s body.
Berem shuddered and cried out. He sagged forward, his body impaled on the sword, falling onto Tanis, his weight nearly carrying them both to the ground. Blood washed over Tanis’s hands. He yanked his blade free and turned, ready to fight Caramon, who was trying to pull him away. Berem was moaning on the ground, blood pouring from the fatal wound. Tika was sobbing.
Flint had seen none of it. He was leaving the world, starting on his soul’s next long journey. Tasslehoff took hold of the dwarf’s hand and urged him to get up.
“Leave me be, you doorknob,” Flint grumbled weakly. “Can’t you see I’m dying?”
Tasslehoff gave a grief-stricken wail and fell to his knees. “You’re not dying, Flint! Don’t say that.”
“I should know if I’m dying or not!” Flint said irately, glowering.
“You thought you were dying before, and you were just seasick,” Tas said, wiping his nose. “Maybe you’re … you’re …” He glanced around at the stone floor of the vale. “Maybe you’re ground-sick …”
“Ground-sick!” Flint snorted. Then, seeing the kender’s misery, the dwarf’s expression softened. “There, there, lad. Don’t waste time blubbering like a gully dwarf. Run and fetch Tanis for me.”
Tasslehoff gave a snuffle and did as he was told.
Berem’s eyelids fluttered. He gave another moan and sat up. He put his hand to his chest. The emerald, soaked with blood, sparkled in the sunlight.
Hope lives. No matter the mistakes we make, no matter our blunders and misunderstandings, no matter the grief and sorrow and loss, no matter how deep the darkness, hope lives.
Raistlin left his place by the pillars and came, unseen, to stand over Flint, who lay with his eyes closed. For a moment, the dwarf was alone. Some distance away, Caramon was trying to restore Tanis to sanity. Tasslehoff was tugging on Fizban’s sleeve, trying to make him understand. Fizban understood all too well.
Raistlin knelt beside the dwarf. Flint’s face was ashen and contorted with pain. His hands clenched. Sweat covered his brow.