A portion of the clearing shimmered. As the dragons and Gilthanas and Ulin watched, shapes formed, transparent at first, but then growing brighter, appearing solid. There were eight figures—Palin, Rig, Fiona, Groller, Fury, Feril, Blister, and Jasper.
The elder Majere dropped to his knees. The spell he had cast to cloak their presence and make false images of themselves had sapped the last of his energy. He was exhausted, and his sides heaved mightily as he tried to suck air into his lungs. He had not cast that type of illusion since the gods of magic had withdrawn from the world,
Gilthanas, Silvara, Ulin, and Sunrise had provided a much needed distraction and had made it easier to fool the Blue. Now the dragons kept their necks craned toward the thinning clouds, wanting to make sure Khellendros would not be returning.
“We still have a chance,” Rig said, as he shouldered the Fist of E’li and helped Palin to his feet At least he had one artifact, and Palin knew where Dalamar’s ring rested. There was Age of Dreams magic with the Dimernesti beneath the sea. And there was Dhamon’s glaive, which the mariner intended to claim after he slew the treacherous ex-knight.
“Goldmoon is dead. We’re wounded. What chance do we have?” Jasper asked.
“A chance,” Rig said quietly. “And it’s a chance we have to take,” He stared at the scepter in his hands. “If we give up now, all of Krynn loses.”
It was a place of swirling gray mists—insubstantial, yet solid enough to stand upon. Goldmoon stood there, the tendrils swirling about her legs, and wrapping tight as if to hold her there, to keep her from falling or floating away.
She was dressed in leather breeches and a fringed leather tunic that hung to her thighs. The clothes looked new and fit her perfectly. Her long, gold and silver hair was braided, as she had worn it in her younger years, with beads and feathers stuck here and there as adornments.
Though there was no sun or moon, there was a hazy light, provided by the gray mists. Her hair shone in the light, and her eyes sparkled as her lips crept upward into a smile.
Goldmoon looked as she did then, on that first day they met, her eyes wide open and fixed on the man’s handsome form.
Riverwind stood before her, with tanned skin, jet black hair, and eyes that were piercing and filled with a quiet mirth. He was just as she had remembered him being at their first meeting that seemed like yesterday, though it was long ago. He reached out a hand and touched her smooth race. .
“Husband,” she said simply.
“I have been waiting for you,” Riverwind replied.
About the Author
Jean Rabe lives in a sky-blue house wedged between a cornfield and a dairy farm in rural Wisconsin. When she isn’t charting the course of the new heroes of Ansalon, she likes to spend time with her numerous pets, tend her strawberry garden, and play war games with her husband. She worked for TSR, Inc. for many years as the coordinator of the ROLE PLAYING GAME ASSOCIATION™ Network. Prior to that, she was a newspaper reporter and news bureau chief.
Jean’s previous novels include The Dawning of a New Age, Red Magic, Secret of the Djinn, and Night of the Tiger. She also co-authored Maquesta Kar-Thon in the DRAGONLANCE” Warriors series.
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