“Oh,” Lord Amothus looked blank and extremely disappointed. “Tanis Half-Elven?”
“Yes, my lord,” Charles replied.
“Not for me?” Amothus ventured, seeing the rescuing division vanish over the horizon.
“No, my lord.”
Amothus sighed. “Very well. Thank you, Charles. Tanis, I suppose you had better—”
But Tanis was already halfway across the room.
“What is it? Not from Laurana—”
“This way, please, my lord,” Charles said, ushering Tanis out the door. At a glance from Charles, the half-elf remembered just in time to turn and bow to Lords Amothus and Gunthar. The knight smiled and waved his hand. Lord Amothus could not refrain from casting Tanis an envious glance, then sank back down to listen to a list of equipment necessary for the boiling of oil. Charles carefully and slowly shut the doors behind him.
“What is it?” Tanis asked, following the servant down the hall. “Didn’t the messenger say anything else?”
“Yes, my lord.” Charles’s face softened into an expression of gentle sorrow. “I was not to reveal this unless it became absolutely necessary to free you from your engagement. Revered Son, Elistan, is dying. He is not expected to live through the night.”
The Temple lawns were peaceful and serene in the fading light of day. The sun was setting, not with fiery splendor, but with a soft, pearlized radiance, filling the sky with a rainbow of gentle color like that of an inverted sea shell. Tanis, expecting to find crowds of people standing about, waiting for news, while white-robed clerics ran here and there in confusion, was startled to see that all was calm and orderly. People rested on the lawn as usual, white-robed clerics strolled beside the flower beds, talking together in low voices or, if alone, appearing lost in silent meditation. Perhaps the messenger was wrong or misinformed, Tanis thought. But then, as he hurried across the velvety green grass, he passed a young cleric. She looked up at him, and he saw her eyes were red and swollen with weeping. But she smiled at him, nonetheless, wiping away traces of her grief as she went on her way.
And then Tanis remembered that neither Lord Amothus, ruler of Palanthas, nor Lord Gunthar, head of the Knights of Solamnia, had been informed. The half-elf smiled sadly in sudden understanding. Elistan was dying as he had lived with quiet dignity.
A young acolyte met Tanis at the Temple door.
“Enter and welcome, Tanis Half-Elven,” the young man said softly. “You are expected. Come this way.”
Cool shadows washed over Tanis. Inside the Temple, the signs of grieving were clear. An elven harpist played sweet music, clerics stood together, arms around each other, sharing solace in their hour of trial. Tanis’s own eyes filled with tears.
“We are grateful that you returned in time,” the acolyte continued, leading Tanis deeper into the inner confines of the quiet Temple. “We feared you might not. We left word where we could, but only with those we knew we could count upon to keep the secret of our great sorrow. It is Elistan’s s wish that he be allowed to die quietly and peacefully.”
The half-elf nodded brusquely, glad his beard hid his tears. Not that he was ashamed of them. Elves revere life above all things, holding it to be the most sacred of the gifts from the gods. Elves do not hide their feelings, as do humans. But Tanis feared the sight of his grief might upset Elistan. He knew the good man’s one regret in dying lay in the knowledge that his death would bring such bitter sorrow to those left behind.
Tanis and his guide passed through an inner chamber where stood Garad and other Revered Sons and Daughters, heads bowed, speaking words of comfort to each other. Beyond them, a door was shut. Everyone’s glance strayed to that door, and Tanis had no doubt who lay beyond it. Looking up on hearing Tanis enter, Garad himself crossed the room to greet the half-elf.
“We are so glad you could come,” the older elf said cordially. He was Silvanesti, Tanis recognized, and must have been one of the first of the elven converts to the religion that they had, long ago, forgotten. “We feared you might not return in time.”
“This must have been sudden,” Tanis murmured, uncomfortably aware that his sword—which he had forgotten to take off—was clanking, sounding loud and harsh in such peaceful, sorrowful surroundings. He clapped his hand over it.
“Yes, he was taken gravely ill the night you left,” Garad sighed. “I do not know what was said in that room, but the shock was great. He has been in terrible pain. Nothing we could do would help him. Finally, Dalamar, the wizard’s apprentice”—Garad could not help but frown—“came to the Temple. He brought with him a potion that would, he said, ease pain. How he came to know of what was transpiring, I cannot guess. Strange things happen in that place.” He glanced out the window to where the Tower stood, a dark shadow, defiantly denying the sun’s bright light.
“You let him in?” Tanis asked, startled.
“I would have refused,” Garad said grimly. “But Elistan gave orders that he should be allowed entry. And, I must admit, his potion worked. The pain left our master, and he will be granted the right to die in peace.”
“And Dalamar?”
“He is within. He has neither moved nor spoken since he came, but sits silently in a corner. Yet, his presence seems to comfort Elistan, and so we permit him to stay.”
I’d like to see you try to make him leave, Tanis thought privately, but said nothing. The door opened. People looked up fearfully, but it was only the acolyte who had knocked softly and who was conferring with someone on the other side. Turning, he beckoned to Tanis.
The half-elf entered the small, plainly furnished room, trying to move softly, as did the clerics with their whispering robes and padded slippers. But his sword rattled, his boots clomped, the buckles of his leather armor jingled. He sounded, to his ears, like an army of dwarves. His face burning, he tried to remedy matters by walking on tiptoe. Elistan, turning his head feebly upon the pillow, looked over at the half-elf and began to laugh.
“One would think, my friend, that you were coming to rob me,” Elistan remarked, lifting a wasted hand and holding it out to Tanis.
The half-elf tried to smile. He heard the door shut softly behind him and he was aware of a shadowy figure darkening one corner of the room. But he ignored all this. Kneeling beside the bed of the man he had helped rescue from the mines of Pax Tharkas, the man whose gentle influence had played such an important role in his life and in Laurana’s, Tanis took the dying man’s hand and held it firmly.
“Would that I were able to fight this enemy for you, Elistan,” Tanis said, looking at the shrunken white hand clasped in his own strong, tanned one.
“Not an enemy, Tanis, not an enemy. An old friend is coming for me.” He withdrew his hand gently from Tanis’s grasp, then patted the half-elf’s arm. “No, you don’t understand. But you will, someday, I promise. And now, I did not call you here to burden you with saying good-bye. I have a commission to give to you, my friend.” He motioned. The young acolyte came forward, bearing a wooden box, and gave it into Elistan’s s hands. Then, he retired, returning to stand silently beside the door.
The dark figure in the corner did not move.
Lifting the lid of the box, Elistan removed a folded piece of pure white parchment. Taking Tanis’s hand, he placed the parchment in the half-elf’s palm, then closed his fingers over it.
“Give this to Crysania,” he said softly. “If she survives, she is to be the next head of the church.”
Seeing the dubious, disapproving expression come onto Tanis’s face, Elistan smiled. “My friend, you have walked in darkness—none know that better than I. We came near losing you, Tanis. But you endured the night and faced the daylight, strengthened by the knowledge that you had gained. This is what I hope for Crysania. She is strong in her faith, but, as you yourself noted, she lacks warmth, compassion, humanity. She had to see with her own eyes the lessons that the fall of the Kingpriest taught us. She had to be hurt, Tanis, and hurt deeply, before she would be able to react with compassion to the hurt of others. Above all, Tanis, she had to love.”