Caramon caught his breath as he finally made out the woman’s features. She had been truly beautiful, once. On the right side she still was, her strong face framed by long, golden hair shot with strands of silver. The left side, however, was a horror. From forehead to chin, and on down her neck, her skin was red and puckered-a large, glistening scar. Her left eye was seared shut, her left ear a gnarled stub. The golden hair had been scorched away on that side, laying bare her burn-ravaged scalp.
Behind him, Borlos swore softly and hurried back to join the other card players. Caramon took no notice; for a time, he could do little but stare.
“Moonsong?” he breathed.
The right side of her mouth curled into a smile. “Caramon.” She nodded at Ulin. “Your grandson?”
“What?” he asked, stunned. “Oh. Yes.” He continued to look at her, not believing what he saw. “Moonsong… what happened?”
“In good time,” she replied. “We will tell you.”
Caramon’s brow lowered. “We?”
A second woman stepped into the Inn, leaning on a plain staff. She was older, but her face still retained the beauty that once had been Moonsong’s. Caramon recognized her immediately, a sharp ache in his heart.
“Goldmoon,” he said.
The older woman regarded him kindly. “My friend,” she said. “It is good to see you.”
For a moment, Caramon couldn’t think of anything to say. “Why-why are you here?” he asked lamely.
“We come bearing news you should hear,” Goldmoon replied. “My husband is dead-and Brightdawn, Swiftraven, and thousands of brave kender with him.”
Folk who came to the tavern at the Inn of the Last Home that night found it dark and locked. Handpainted signs were posted at the front door and at the bottom of the long flight of stairs that wound around the vallenwood tree.
Closed tonight in memory of Riverwind of Que-Shu.
Guests, please use the back door to go to your rooms.
We will reopen tomorrow.
— Tika and Caramon Majere
Inside, the taproom was almost empty Clemen, Borlos and Osler had gone home shortly after Tika and her daughters returned. Little Ulin had started to cry when he woke and saw Moonsong’s scarred face, and Laura and Dezra had offered to take him home. The girls stayed at Palin and Usha’s house that night, knowing their parents would want to be alone.
A few lonely candles glowed in the tavern, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Caramon and Tika sat at a table by the darkened fireplace, across from Goldmoon and Moonsong. The old Plainswoman sat quietly, her eyes shining in the flickering light, as her daughter told of Riverwind’s last quest and the fall of Kendermore. As she spoke, Caramon bowed his head sorrowfully. Tears crawled down Tika’s cheeks.
“When the house collapsed on top of me, Stagheart pulled me from the rubble. We escaped into the tunnels,” Moonsong said. She paused, taking a sip from a glass of wine Caramon had poured for her. “The fire left me as you see me now. I would surely have died, but the kender saw to my wounds and carried me away through the forest. I remember nothing of that journey, save the kender’s cries when they saw Malystryx on the wing. They were terrified. But she turned back when she was nearly upon us, and I knew Father had succeeded.
“The next thing I remember, I awoke in Balifor, in the kender camp. We had made it safely out of the Kenderwood. Stagheart was with me-he had stayed at my bedside for days, waiting for me to wake. Later, Catt came to visit me. I didn’t understand her pity when she looked at me… not until I asked her to bring me a mirror, and I saw what I had become…
Moonsong’s voice broke, the right side of her face creasing with bitterness. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Goldmoon rested a gentle hand on her arm. For a time, the Inn was silent, then Moonsong shook her head, angry with herself, and lowered her anguished gaze back to Caramon and Tika.
“Stagheart didn’t look at me that way, though,” she said softly. “Looking in his eyes, I could almost believe I was whole again-at least in my body. Nothing can make me forget the hole inside me where Brightdawn used to be.
“We stayed in the camp for two weeks. I must have been visited by a dozen healers. They treated me with poultices and salves, herbal draughts and vapors. Slowly I recovered, but I knew it would still be some time before I was well enough to walk.
“Then one day I heard shouting outside my tent. At first, I thought the dragon had returned-we were not far from the Kenderwood, and I feared she would fall upon us and burn us for spite. But I soon realized the kender were crying out not in fear or panic, but with joy. I asked Stagheart to go find out what was happening. I thought, maybe, that somehow Father had survived, and had finally caught up with us.
“It wasn’t Father, though; it was Kronn, and he was alone. He came to visit me in my tent and told me what had happened at Blood Watch. We had won, and Father and Brightdawn had bought our victory with their lives.
“The kender threw a party that night. They danced and sang until dawn. I didn’t feel like celebrating, though. Then, in the morning, I had visitors: Kronn, Catt, and Giffel. They thanked us for what we had done-not just Stagheart and I, but Brightdawn and Swiftraven. Then they gave me this.”
Moonsong reached into her pack, which rested under the table. After a moment, she pulled a smooth, white object from it and set it on the table. It was a small bust, carved from bleached wood in Riverwind’s likeness. It captured the old Plainsman’s stem face and kind eyes perfectly. Caramon felt a rush of hot tears as he looked upon the sculpture.
“Kronn crafted this from one of the Kenderwood’s dead trees,” Moonsong stated, her voice thick with tears. “Mother and I would like to take it to the Last Heroes’ Tomb.”
“Of course,” Caramon said. “We can do it tonight when we’re done here. I’ll take you there.”
Moonsong tried to smile, then lapsed into silence, staring at the bust. It stared back at her, proud and serious.
After a while, Tika cleared her throat. “What happened after that?” she asked. “What became of the kender?”
The young Plainswoman blinked, startled out of her reverie, then nodded and went on. “They did what kender do,” she said. “After Kronn returned, they didn’t stay put much longer. Before another week passed, most of them packed and set out on the road. Most, but not all-Kronn stayed behind, with a thousand of the kender who had fought at Kendermore. Catt pleaded with him to come along, but he refused. ‘The ogres took many of our people as slaves,’ he said. ‘We’re going to try to free them. And then there’s Malys-she’s beaten for now, but she won’t be stopped. Someone needs to keep an eye on her, though, and make sure she doesn’t make too much of a nuisance of herself. And maybe, one day, someone will defeat her for good. When that happens, I want to be here.’
“So we left him there and set out on the road. The morning we left, Catt and Giffel were married. They led the Kender Flight north, and Stagheart and I went with them. I still wasn’t well enough to walk, so they carried me along with the other wounded.”
Moonsong paused, sighing. “It wasn’t an easy journey. You can imagine what people’s reactions were, when they saw thousands of kender headed for their villages. We were driven out, even attacked. We went on up the coast, but everywhere it was the same.
“Along the way, of course, our numbers dwindled.
“Then, when we were traveling through a mountain pass just beyond the Great Moors, we heard what sounded like an army coming the other way. The kender were afraid, thinking someone had sent soldiers to stop us from going on. Giffel went to scout ahead so he could sound an alarm in case of trouble.
“It wasn’t trouble at all, though; in fact, it was just the opposite. One of the messengers Father had sent out before the Flight began-a young kender named Blister Nimblefingers-had made it to the Knights of Solamnia. The Knights had sent a brigade to escort the Flight to Coastlund, where there were ships waiting to ferry them across the straits to Hylo, the kender homeland in Northern Ergoth.