"Yes," he rumbled. "And you're nearly frozen. There is an inn here I've heard about. Go there and get warm."
She smiled a sad, bitter grimace and watched as he flew out of sight. She knew he did not like to fly in this miserable weather, and she appreciated his willingness to go more than she could say. Fortunately the wind had slowed and the snow had dwindled to a light fall, which would make flying easier for him, and without a rider, he could fly higher above the mountain slopes.
She found a path that led down the hillside toward Solace and carefully made her way to the valley. Not far away, the vallenwoods, splendid in their winter browns and grays, reared their tall crowns through the dusk. Lamplight gleamed through the silent snowfall from the houses high in the trees, and from the largest building in Solace, the Inn of the Last Home, owned by Caramon and Tika Majere.
Sara stumbled to a stop. Memories bitter and sweet flooded into her mind of the time so many years ago when she fled to that inn late in the night and begged for help from a man she knew only by reputation. She had stunned Caramon Majere with her news of a nephew young Steel, yet despite his reluctance and his shock, he had come with her and given his best to help a total stranger. For that and for the days after Steel's departure, when Caramon and Tika took care of her, she was deeply grateful.
But some strange reluctance held her back from the inn. She didn't want to go there just yet. As cold and wet and shivery as she was, she wanted to go first to the tomb to spend a few minutes alone with her son.
Sometimes she wondered if he had ever forgiven her for kidnapping him that night. Sara knew she could not bear it if he had hated her all those years before his death. Although it was too late to ask for his forgiveness, she could offer her own love at his tomb and perhaps let him know that nothing had ever changed her devotion.
She looked around to get her bearings and spotted a wide field close to the vallenwoods. Through the glimmering snow, her eyes were drawn to the pale shape of a building unlike any other in Solace. It had not been there nine years ago.
Automatically her legs moved forward off the path and toward the field. The snow wasn't deep enough to make the going difficult, and she soon came to another path leading directly to the building. Pale and numb, she came at last to the Tomb of the Last Heroes.
22
The tomb had been built three years ago, after the Second Cataclysm, to honor both the Knights of Solamnia and the Knights of Takhisis who died fighting Chaos in the battle of the Rift. People from all over Ansalon had gathered together to pay their respects and erect a tomb of stone worthy of the knights' sacrifice. Built of polished white marble and black obsidian brought from Thordardin by dwarven artisans, the monument was simple, elegant, and ageless.
Around the tomb grew a row of trees lovingly brought by the elves of Qualinesti and Silvanesti. Although they were only saplings, the trees were tall and strong and full of health. Sara could imagine them a few summers from now in full leaf, giving their shade to the pilgrims who visited the tomb.
This night there was no one else about. The tomb lay silent in its snowy shroud, alone in the darkness except for Sara.
Well, not totally alone. Away to her right, she saw the ghostly glimmer of lights shining through several small tents. A party of kender had camped in the field close by to visit the memorial of their hero, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. But even the inquisitive, irrepressible kender had retreated to their shelters in the cold, wintry night. Sara had the tomb to herself.
The path she had found followed an oblique angle down from the hills to the north and ended on the low steps at the front of the tomb. Exhausted beyond measure, Sara sank down on the steps, too tired to care about the icy chill that seeped up from the stone. Bleary-eyed, she looked around the entrance to the tomb.
Two brass lamps hung on either side of the double doors and burned perpetually through the night. Their clear light illuminated the images carved on both doors by the Knights of Solamnia. The gold door bore the rose of Solamnia; the silver carried a death lily. On blocks of stone around the doors were engraved the names of the knights who lay within and the knights whose bodies had never been found. One name was chiseled alone above the door with the image of a kender's hoopak, It was to honor Tasslehoff Burrfoot, a kender of boundless courage and wondrous adventure, whose small body was never recovered from the rift.
Sara let her breath out in a slow sigh. Wearily she rested her arms on her knees. She lifted her eyes to the names chiseled into the walls and began to read them until she found the one closest to her heart: Steel Brightblade.
Oh, my dearest child, did Takhisis honor your soul when you died? Did she grant you anything for the supreme sacrifice you made? Or had she already abandoned you?
Sara's head drooped to her arms. Her eyes closed, and a tear slid down her cheek.
How long she stayed that way, Sara never knew for sure. The silence of the tomb gathered close around her in a deep, boundless peace. She felt it as a comfort and let the soundless company of the dead lull her into tranquility. Her worry and grief fell behind, her confusion vanished. For this moment, there was only the contemplative stillness of her own heart. Listen, the silence told her.
Something clicked beside her.
Sara lifted her head, curious to see what had disturbed the profound quiet, and saw that the silver door of the tomb had opened a crack. Surprised, she climbed stiffly to her feet. She had heard the tomb was sealed to protect the bodies of the knights within. Yet the door stood open.
She laid her hand on the silver edge and gently eased it toward her. The darkness within was complete. She saw nothing beyond the lintel but blackness. Strangely, she felt no fear. She knew without a doubt there was nothing inside that meant any harm to her.
Removing one of the lamps from the wall, she stepped to the open doorway. Perhaps she wasn't supposed to go in there, but at that moment, Sara didn't care. She wanted to see her son.
She lifted the lamp above her head and stepped beneath the lintel. The small brass lamp made a golden ball of light from her hand to the stone floor and gleamed like a tiny star in darkness that had not seen light for three years.
Three paces within the door, Sara reached the first of a long row of low stone biers. The body of a knight lay on the bier. His sword lay by his side, and a shield bearing the rose of the Knights of Solamnia rested on his chest. His face beneath the visor of his helm looked as if it had been carved from marble.
Beyond him, on the second bier, lay a Knight of Takhisis, his skull helm leering up at Sara in the faint light. She nodded once to him and moved on. A second row of biers sat to her right, and Sara realized there was no order among the dead men. The knights of the light and the dark rested together as they had fallen.
Soundlessly Sara walked deeper into the tomb. Points of light reflected from swords, shields, breastplates, and helms played across the dark ceiling. She was surprised to see there was little dust and no smell beyond the odors of old leather and cold stone. The bodies seemed to be remarkably preserved in the cold, dry air.
The reason for their preservation appeared a moment later in the gloom. Two stately pedestals stood to her left and right between the rows of biers. If Sara could have seen the entire interior, she guessed she would see a complete circle of these pedestals, each bearing a polished orb of bloodstone. Many years ago she had seen such stones, spelled with magic and set in a tomb to preserve a body. These stones, carved by the loving hands of the dwarves, were large and polished to a sheen that set their flecks of red gleaming like drops of blood.