That was all. No signature. He knew only that Fourthday was today and, having received the missive only two days ago, he had been forced to travel day and night to reach Palanthas on time. The note’s language was elven, the handwriting was elven, also. Not unusual. Elistan had many elven clerics, but why hadn’t he signed it? If, indeed, it came from Elistan. Yet, who else could so casually issue such an invitation to the Temple of Paladine?
Shrugging to himself—remembering that he had asked himself these same questions more than once and had never come to a satisfactory conclusion—Tanis tucked the letter back inside his pouch. His gaze went, unwillingly, to the Tower of High Sorcery.
“I’ll wager it has something to do with you, old friend,” he murmured to himself, frowning and thinking, once again, of the strange disappearance of the cleric, Lady Crysania.
The carriage rolled to a halt “pin., jolting Tanis from his dark thoughts. He looked out the window, catching a glimpse of the Temple, but forcing himself to sit patiently in his seat until the footman came to open the door for him. He smiled to himself. He could almost see Laurana, sitting across from him, glaring at him, daring him to make a move for the door handle. It had taken her many months to break Tanis of his old impetuous habit of flinging open the door, knocking the footman to one side, and proceeding on his way without a thought for the driver, the carriage, the horses, anything.
It had now become a private joke between them. Tanis loved watching Laurana’s eyes narrow in mock alarm as his hand strayed teasingly near the door handle. But that only reminded him how much he missed her. Where was that damn footman anyway? By the gods, he was alone, he’d do it his way for a change The door flew open. The footman fumbled with the step that folded down from the floor. “Oh, forget that,” Tanis snapped impatiently, hopping to the ground. Ignoring the footman’s faint look of outraged sensibility, Tanis drew in a deep breath, glad to have escaped—finally—from the stuffy confines of the carriage.
He gazed around, letting the wonderful feeling of peace and well-being that radiated from the Temple of Paladine seep into his soul. No forest guarded this holy place. Vast, open lawns of green grass as soft and smooth as velvet invited the traveler to walk upon it, sit upon it, rest upon it. Gardens of bright-colored flowers delighted the eye, their perfume filling the air with sweetness. Here and there, groves of carefully pruned shade trees offered a haven from glaring sunlight. Fountains poured forth pure cool water. White robed clerics walked in the gardens, their heads bent together in solemn discussion.
Rising from the frame of the gardens and the shady groves and the carpet of grass, the Temple of Paladine glowed softly in the morning sunlight. Made of white marble, it was a plain, unadorned structure that added to the impression of peace and tranquillity that prevailed all around it. There were gates, but no guards. All were invited to enter, and many did so. It was a haven for the sorrowful, the weary, the unhappy. As Tanis started to make his way across the well-kept lawn, he saw many people sitting or lying upon the grass, a look of peace upon faces that, from the marks of care and weariness, had not often known such comfort.
Tanis had taken only a few steps when he remembered with another sigh—the carriage. Stopping, he turned. “Wait for me,” he was about to say when a figure emerged from the shadows of a grove of aspens that stood at the very edge of the Temple property.
“Tanis Half-Elven?” inquired the figure.
As the figure walked into the light, Tanis started. It was dressed in black robes. Numerous pouches and other spellcasting devices hung from its belt, runes of silver were embroidered upon the sleeves and the hood of its black cloak. Raistlin! Tanis thought instantly, having had the archmage in his mind only moments before.
But no. Tanis breathed easier. This magic-user was taller than Raistlin by at least a head and shoulders. His body was straight and well-formed, even muscular, his step youthful and vigorous. Besides, now that Tanis was paying attention, he realized that the voice was firm and deep—not like Raistlin’s soft, unsettling whisper. And, if it were not too odd, Tanis would have sworn he had heard the man speak with an elven accent.
“I am Tanis Half-Elven,” he said, somewhat belatedly. Though he could not see the figure’s face, hidden as it was by the shadows of its black hood, he had the impression the man smiled. “I thought I recognized you. You have often been described to me. You may dismiss your carriage. It will not be needed. You will be spending many days, possibly even weeks, here in Palanthas.”
The man was speaking elven! Silvanesti Elven! Tanis was, for a moment, so startled that he could only stare. The driver of the carriage cleared his throat at that moment. It had been a long, hard journey and there were fine inns in Palanthas with ale that was legendary all over Ansalon... But Tanis wasn’t going to dismiss his equipage on the word of a black-robed mage. He opened his mouth to question him further when the magic-user withdrew his hands from the sleeves of his robes, where he’d kept them folded, and made a swift, negating motion with one, even as he made a motion of invitation with the other.
“Please,” he said in elven again, “won’t you walk with me? For I am bound for the same place you go. Elistan expects us.”
Us! Tanis’s mind fumbled about in confusion. Since when did Elistan invite black-robed magic-users to the Temple of Paladine? And since when did black-robed magic-users voluntarily set foot upon these sacred grounds!
Well, the only way to find out, obviously, was to accompany this strange person and save his questions until they were alone. Somewhat confusedly, therefore, Tanis gave his instructions to the coachman. The black-robed figure stood in silence beside him, watching the carriage depart. Then Tanis turned to him.
“You have the advantage of me, sir,” the half-elf said in halting Silvanesti, a language that was purer elven than the Qualinesti he’d been raised to speak.
The figure bowed, then cast aside his hood so that the morning light fell upon his face. “I am Dalamar,” he said, returning his hands to the sleeves of his robe. Few there were upon Krynn who would shake hands with a black-robed mage.
“A dark elf!” Tanis said in astonishment, speaking before he thought. He flushed. “I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “It’s just that I’ve never met—”
“One of my kind?” Dalamar finished smoothly, a faint smile upon his cold, handsome, expressionless elven features. “No, I don’t suppose you would have. We who are ‘cast from the light,’ as they say, do not often venture onto the sunlit planes of existence.” His smile grew warmer, suddenly, and Tanis saw a wistful look in the dark elf’s eyes as their gaze went to the grove of aspens where he had been standing. “Sometimes, though, even we grow homesick.”
Tanis’s gaze, too, went to the aspens—of all trees most beloved of the elves. He smiled, too, feeling much more at ease. Tanis had walked his own dark roads, and had come very near tumbling into several yawning chasms. He could understand.
“The hour for my appointment draws near,” he said. “And, from what you said, I gather that you are somehow involved in this. Perhaps we should continue—”
“Certainly.” Dalamar seemed to recollect himself. He followed Tanis onto the green lawn without hesitation. Tanis, turning, was considerably startled, therefore, to see a swift spasm of pain contort the elf’s delicate features and to see him flinch, visibly.
“What is it?” Tanis stopped. “Are you unwell? Can I help—”
Dalamar forced his pain-filled features into a twisted smile. “No, Half-Elven,” he said. “There is nothing you can do to help. Nor am I unwell. Much worse would you look, if you stepped into the Shoikan Grove that guards my dwelling place.”
Tanis nodded in understanding, then, almost unwillingly, glanced into the distance at the dark, grim Tower that loomed over Palanthas. As he looked at it, a strange impression came over him. He looked back at the plain white Temple, then over again at the Tower. Seeing them together, it was as if he were seeing each for the first time. Both looked more complete, finished, whole, than they had when viewed separately and apart. This was only a fleeting impression and one he did not even think about until later. Now, he could only think of one thing—