“Stagheart and I remained with the Flight until we reached Estwilde,” Moonsong concluded. “By then, my wounds had healed enough for me to walk, so we left the kender and headed south through the hills, then across the New Sea. We returned to Que-Shu in the springtime, bearing word of what had happened.”
“But I already knew,” Goldmoon said softly.
Caramon and Tika looked at her, surprised. “How?” Tika asked.
The old Plainswoman reached into the neck of her pale blue tunic and pulled out a small, silver-steel medallion shaped in the form of two teardrops, joined end to end. “I gave this to Riverwind the day he left our village for Kendermore,” she said. “On the day after Mark Year-the day he died-a sudden impulse drew me to the Temple of Mishakal. I went inside and found this upon the altar.”
Caramon and Tika stared at the Forever Charm in mute wonder. A silence settled over the tavern. After a while, the old Plainswoman tucked the medallion back beneath her tunic.
“We would have come to Solace sooner,” she said apologetically, “but there was much to do. Among my people, the time of mourning for a chieftain lasts a full month. There were feasts, ritual hunts, funeral games to oversee. And there was also the wedding of my daughter and Stagheart of Que-Teh.”
“Wedding?” Caramon blurted, astonished.
Moonsong nodded. “We were married on the first day of summer.”
“Where’s your husband, then?” Tika asked.
“He remains in Que-Shu, leading the tribes while Mother is away,” Moonsong answered. “He is also war leader now. Wanderer has left Que-Shu. When he learned that Father and Brightdawn were dead, he took Cloudhawk, his boy, and rode out of our village. I do not think they will return soon.”
“And so I have lost two children, and my husband as well,” Goldmoon said quietly. For the first time since she had entered the Inn, a glimmer of sadness disturbed the serenity of her eyes. “But the strange thing is, that is not the heaviest burden to bear. What causes me the most grief is that Riverwind told no one he was dying until the end was near.”
Something inside Caramon gave way. He broke down, sobbing raggedly and covering his face with his shaking hands. “Oh, gods,” he groaned, his voice raw with pain. He cried quietly for a moment, then looked at the old Plainswoman with sore, red eyes. “Goldmoon,” he murmured. “He told us just before he left.”
She turned very pale, staring at him. Unable to meet her stricken gaze any longer, Caramon rose suddenly and walked out of the tavern, into the depths of the Inn.
Tika’s face was damp with tears. She reached across the table and took the old Plainswoman’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Do not be,” Goldmoon answered. “If I were to blame someone, it would be Riverwind, not you-but I cannot do that either. In my heart, I know why he didn’t tell me. He was protecting me, as he had tried to do all his life.”
Soon after, Caramon returned. He moved slowly, wearily, as he crossed to the table where his wife and the Plainswomen were. He did not sit; instead, he held something out to Goldmoon. It was a small, silver scrolltube.
“Riverwind gave this to me before he left Solace,” Caramon said softly. “He wanted me to give it to you after… after he was gone.”
Goldmoon looked at the scroll tube, then took it from his hand. “Thank you, my friend,” she said.
Grimacing, Caramon turned and brushed Tika’s shoulder. She touched Goldmoon’s arm, then stood and walked with her husband out of the room. A moment later Moonsong rose and followed them, leaving her mother alone in the tavern.
Goldmoon held the tube silently, watching the candlelight gleam brightly on its surface. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened it and pulled out the scroll within. She unrolled the parchment gently, her hands trembling. The writing upon it was spare, precise.
Kan-tokah, it read. Forgive me. I will wait for you.
She stared at the words long into the night.