Dragons of the Fallen Sun

Chapter Six The Funeral of Caramon Majere

At the rising of the sun—a splendid dawn of gold and purple with a heart of deep, vibrant red—the people of Solace gathered outside the Inn of the Last Home in silent vigil, offering their love and their respect for the brave, good and gentle man who lay inside.

There was little talk. The people stood in silence presaging the great silence that will fall eventually upon us all. Mothers quieted fretful children, who stared at the Inn, ablaze with lights, not understanding what had happened, only sensing that it was something great and awful, a sensation that impressed itself upon their unformed minds, one they would remember to the end of their own days.

“I’m truly sorry, Laura,” Tas said to her in the quiet hour before dawn.

Laura stood beside the booth where Caramon was accustomed to have his breakfast. She stood there doing nothing, staring at nothing, her face pale and drawn.

“Caramon was my very best friend in all the world,” Tas told her.

“Thank you.” She smiled, though her smile trembled. Her eyes were red from weeping.

“Tasslehoff,” the kender reminded her, thinking she had forgotten his name.

“Yes.” Laura appeared uneasy. “Er . . . Tasslehoff.”

“I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot. The original,” the kender added, recalling his thirty-seven namesakes-thirty-nine counting the dogs. “Caramon recognized me. He gave me a hug and said he was glad to see me.”

Laura regarded him uncertainly. “You certainly do look like Tasslehoff. But then I was just a little girl the last time I remember seeing him, and all kender look alike anyway, and it just doesn’t make sense! Tasslehoff Burrfoot’s been dead these thirty years!”

Tas would have explained-all about the Device of Time Journeying and Fizban having set the device wrong the first time so that Tas had arrived at Caramon’s first funeral too late to give his speech, but there was a lump of sadness caught in the kender’s gullet, a lump so very big that it prevented the words from coming out.

Laura’s gaze went to the stairs of the Inn. Her eyes filled again with tears. She put her head in her hands.

“There, there,” Tas said, patting her shoulder. “Palin will be here soon. He knows who I am, and he’ll be able to explain everything.”

“Palin won’t be here,” Laura sobbed. “I can’t get word to him. It’s too dangerous! His own father dead and him not able to come to the burial. His wife and my dear sister trapped in Haven, since the dragon’s closed the roads. Only me here to say good-bye to father. It’s too hard! Too hard to bear!”

“Why, of course, Palin will be here,” Tas stated, wondering what dragon had closed the roads and why. He meant to ask, but with all the other thoughts in his mind, this one couldn’t battle its way to the front. “There’s that young wizard staying here in the Inn. Room Seventeen. His name is . . . well, I forget his name, but you’ll send him to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, where Palin is Head of the Order of White Robes.”

“What tower in Wayreth?” Laura said. She had stopped crying and was looking puzzled. “The tower’s gone, disappeared, just like the tower in Palanthas. Palin was head of the Academy of Sorcery, but he doesn’t even have that, anymore. The dragon Beryl destroyed the academy a year ago, almost to this date. And there is no Room Seventeen. Not since the Inn was rebuilt the second time.”

Tas, busy with remembering, wasn’t listening. “Palin will come right away and he’ll bring Dalamar, too, and Jenna. Palin will send the messengers to Lady Crysania in the Temple of Paladine and to Goldmoon and Riverwind in Que-shu and Laurana and Gilthas and Silvanoshei in Silvanesti. They’ll all be here soon so we...we...”

Tas’s voice trailed off.

Laura was staring at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted two heads. Tas knew because he’d felt that same expression on his own face when he’d been in the presence of a troll who had done that very thing. Slowly, keeping her eyes on Tas, Laura edged away from him.

“You sit right down here,” she said, and her voice was very soft and very gentle. “Sit right here, and I’ll . . . I’ll bring you a big plate of—”

“Spiced potatoes?” Tas asked brightly. If anything could get rid of the lump in his throat, it was Otik’s spiced potatoes.

“Yes, a big, heaping dish of spiced potatoes. We haven’t lit the cook fires yet this morning, and Cook was so upset I gave her the day off, so it may take me awhile. You sit down and promise you won’t go anywhere, ” Laura said, backing away from the table.

She slid a chair in between her and Tas.

“Oh, I won’t go anywhere at all,” Tas promised, plopping himself down. “I have to speak at the funeral, you know.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Laura pressed her lips tightly together with the result that she wasn’t able to say anything for a few moments.

Drawing in a deep breath, she added, “You have to speak at the funeral. Stay here, that’s a good kender.”

“Good” and “kender” being two words that were rarely, if ever, linked, Tasslehoff spent the time sitting at the table, thinking about what a good kender might be and wondering if he was one himself. He assumed he probably was, since he was a hero and all that. Having settled this question to his satisfaction, he took out his notes and went over his speech, humming a little tune to keep himself company and to help the sadness work its way down his windpipe.

He heard Laura talking to a young man, perhaps the wizard in Room Seventeen, but Tas didn’t really pay much attention to what she was saying, since it seemed to involve a poor person who was afflicted, a person who had gone crazy and might be dangerous. At any other time, Tas would have been interested to see a dangerous, afflicted, crazy person, but he had his speech to worry about, and since that was the reason he’d made this trip in the first place-or rather, in the second place—he concentrated on that.

He was still concentrating on it, along with a plate of potatoes and a mug of ale, when he became aware that a tall person was standing over him wearing a grim expression.

“Oh, hullo,” Tas said, looking up smiling to see that the tall person was actually his extremely good friend, the Knight who’d arrested him yesterday. Since the Knight was an extremely good friend, it was a pity Tas couldn’t recall his name. “Please, sit down. Would you like some potatoes? Maybe some eggs?”

The Knight refused all offers of anything to eat or drink. He took a seat opposite Tas, regarded the kender with a stem expression.

“I understand that you have been causing trouble,” the Knight said in a cold and nasty flat tone of voice.

It just so happened that at that moment Tasslehoff was rather proud of himself for not causing any trouble. He’d been sitting quietly at the table, thinking sad thoughts of Caramon’s being gone and happy thoughts of the wonderful time they’d spent together. He hadn’t once looked to see if there might be something interesting in the wood box. He had foregone his usual inspection of the silver chest, and he had only acquired one strange purse, and while he didn’t exactly remember how he had come by that, he had to assume that someone had dropped it. He’d be sure to return it after the funeral.

Tas was therefore justifiably resentful of the Knight’s implication. He fixed the Knight with a stem eye-dueling stem eyes, as it were. “I’m sure you don’t mean to be ugly,” Tas said. “You’re upset. I understand.”

The young Knight’s face took on a very peculiar color, going extremely red, almost purple. He tried to say something, but he was so angry that when he opened his mouth, only sputters came out.

“I see the problem,” Tas said, correcting himself. “No wonder you didn’t understand me. I didn’t mean ‘ugly’ as in ‘ugly.’ I was referring to your disposition, not your face, which is, however, a remarkably ugly one. I don’t know when I’ve seen one uglier. Still, I know you can’t mend your face, and perhaps you can’t mend your disposition either, being a Solamnic Knight and all, but you have made a mistake. I have not been causing trouble. I have been sitting at this table eating potatoes-they’re really quite good, are you sure you won’t have some? Well, if you won’t, I’ll just finish up these last few. Where was I? Oh, yes. I’ve been sitting here eating and working on my speech. For the funeral.”

When the Knight was finally able to speak without sputters, his tone was even colder and nastier, if such a thing were possible. “Mistress Laura sent word through one of the customers that you were scaring her with your outlandish and irrational statements. My superiors sent me to bring you back to jail. They would also like to know,” he added, his tone grim, “how you managed to get out of jail this morning.”

“I’ll be very happy to come back to the jail with you. It was a very nice jail,” Tas answered politely. “I’ve never seen one that was kender-proof before. I’ll go back with you right after the funeral. I missed the funeral once, you see. I can’t miss it again. Oops! No, I forgot.” Tas sighed. “I can’t go back to the jail with you.” He really wished he could remember the Knight’s name.

He didn’t like to ask. It wasn’t polite. “I have to return to my own time right away. I promised Fizban I wouldn’t go gallivanting. Perhaps I could visit your jail another time.”

“Maybe you should let him stay, Sir Gerard,” Laura said, coming up to stand beside them, twisting her apron in her hands.

“He seems very determined, and I wouldn’t want him to cause any trouble. Besides”—her tears started to flow—“maybe he’s telling the truth! After all, Father thought he was Tasslehoff.”

Gerard! Tas was vastly relieved. Gerard was the knight’s name.

“He did?” Gerard was skeptical. “He said so?”

“Yes,” Laura said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “The kender walked into the Inn. Daddy was sitting here in his usual place. The kender walked right up to him and said, ‘Hullo, Caramon! I’ve come to speak at your funeral. I’m a little bit early, so I thought you might like to hear what I’m going to say,’ and Daddy looked at him in surprise. At first I don’t think he believed him, but then he looked at him closer and cried out, ‘Tas!’ And he gave him a big hug.”

“He did.” Tas felt a snuffle coming on. “He hugged me, and he said he was glad to see me and where had I been all this time? I said that it was a very long story and time was the one thing he didn’t have a lot of so I should really let him hear the speech first.” Giving way to the snuffle, Tas mopped his dribbling nose with his sleeve.

“Perhaps we could let him stay for the funeral,” Laura urged.

“I think it would have pleased Daddy. If you could. . . well. . . just keep an eye on him.”

Gerard was clearly dubious. He even ventured to argue with her, but Laura had made up her mind, and she was very much like her mother. When her mind was made up, an army of dragons would not move her. , Laura opened the doors to the Inn to let in the sunshine, to let in life and to let in the living who came to pay their respects to the dead. Caramon Majere lay in a simple wooden casket in front of the great fireplace of the Inn he loved. No fire burned, only ashes filled the grate. The people of Solace filed past, each pausing to offer something to the dead—a silent farewell, a quiet blessing, a favorite toy, fresh-picked flowers.

The mourners noted that his expression was peaceful, even cheerful, more cheerful than they had seen him since his beloved Tika died. “Somewhere, they’re together,” people said and smiled through their tears.

Laura stood near the door, accepting condolences. She was dressed in the clothes she wore for work—a snowy white blouse, a clean fresh apron, a pretty skirt of royal blue with white petticoats.

People wondered that she wasn’t draped head to toe in black.

“Father would not have wanted me to,” was her simple reply.

People said it was sad that Laura was the only member of the family to be present to lay their father to rest. Dezra, her sister, had been in Haven purchasing hops for the Inn’s famous ale, only to be trapped there when the dragon Beryl attacked the city.

Dezra had managed to smuggle word to her sister that she was safe and well, but she dared not try to return; the roads were not safe for travelers.

As for Caramon’s son, Palin, he was gone from Solace on yet another of his mysterious journeys. If Laura knew where he was, she didn’t say. His wife, Usha, a portrait painter of some renown, had traveled to Haven as company for Dezra. Since Usha had painted the portraits of families of some of the commanders of the Knights of Neraka, she was involved in negotiations to try to win a guarantee of safe passage for herself and for Dezra. Usha’s children, Ulin and Linsha, were off on adventures of their own.

Linsha, a Solamnic Knight, had not been heard from in many months. Ulin had gone away after hearing a report of some magical artifact and was believed to be in Palanthas.

Tas sat in a booth, under guard, the Knight Gerard at his side.

Watching the people file in, the kender shook his head.

“But I tell you this isn’t the way Caramon’s funeral’s supposed to be,” Tasslehoff repeated insistently.

“Shut your mouth, you little fiend,” Gerard ordered in a low, harsh tone. “This is hard enough on Laura and her father’s friends without you making matters worse with your foolish chatter.” To emphasize his words, he gripped the kender’s shoulder hard, gave him a good shake.

“You’re hurting me,” Tas protested.

“Good,” Gerard growled. “Now just keep quiet, and do as you’re told.”

Tas kept quiet, a remarkable feat for him, but one that was easier at this moment than any of his friends might have had reason to expect. His unaccustomed silence was due to the lump of sadness that was still stuck in his throat and that he could not seem to swallow. The sadness was all mixed up with the confusion that was muddling his mind and making it hard to think.

Caramon’s funeral was not going at all the way it was meant to go. Tas knew this quite well because he’d been to Caramon’s funeral once already and remembered how it went. This wasn’t it.

Consequently, Tas wasn’t enjoying himself nearly as much as he’d expected.

Things were wrong. All wrong. Utterly wrong. Completely and irretrievably wrong. None of the dignitaries were here who were supposed to be here. Palin hadn’t arrived, and Tas began to think that perhaps Laura was right and he wasn’t going to arrive.

Lady Crysania did not come. Goldmoon and Riverwind were missing. Dalamar did not suddenly appear, materializing out of the shadows and giving everyone a good scare. Tas discovered that he couldn’t give his speech. The lump was too big and wouldn’t let him. Just one more thing that was wrong.

The crowds were large—the entire population of Solace and surrounding communities came to pay their final respects and to extol the memory of the beloved man. But the crowds were not as large as they had been at Caramon’s first funeral.

Caramon was buried near the Inn he loved, next to the graves of his wife and sons. The vallenwood sapling Caramon had planted in honor of Tika was young and thriving. The vallenwoods he had planted for his fallen sons were full-grown trees, standing tall and proud as the guard provided by the Knights of Solamnia, who accorded Caramon the honor rarely performed for a man who was not a Knight: escorting his coffin to the burial site.

Laura planted the vallenwood in her father’s memory, planted the tree in the very heart of Solace, near the tree she had planted for her mother. The couple had been the heart of Solace for many years, and everyone felt it was fitting.

The sapling stood uneasily in the fresh-turned earth, looking lost and forlorn. The people said what was in their hearts, paid their tribute. The Knights sheathed their swords with solemn faces, and the funeral was over. Everyone went home to dinner.

The Inn was closed for the first time since the red dragon had picked it up and hurled it out of its tree during the War of the Lance. Laura’s friends offered to spend the first lonely nights with her, but she refused, saying that she wanted to have her cry in private. She sent home Cook, who was in such a state that when she finally did come back to work, she did not need to use any salt in the food for the tears she dripped into it. As for the gully dwarf, he had not moved from the corner into which he’d collapsed the moment he heard of Caramon’s death. He lay in a huddled heap wailing and howling dismally until, to everyone’s relief, he cried himself to sleep.

“Good-bye, Laura,” said Tas, reaching out his hand. He and Gerard were the last to leave; the kender having refused to budge until everyone was gone and he was quite certain that nothing was going to happen the way it was intended to happen.

“The funeral was very nice. Not as nice as the other funeral, but then I guess you couldn’t help that. I really do not understand what is going on. Perhaps that’s why Caramon told Sir Gerard to take me to see Dalamar, which I would, except that I think Fizban might consider that to be gallivanting. But, anyway, good-bye and thank you.”

Laura looked down at the kender, who was no longer jaunty and cheerful but looking very forlorn and bereft and downcast.

Suddenly, Laura knelt beside him and enfolded him in her arms.

“I do believe you’re Tasslehoff.” she said to him softly, fiercely. “Thank you for coming.” She hugged the breath from his small body and then turned and ran through the door leading to the family’s private quarters. “Lock up, will you, Sir Gerard?” she called out over her shoulder and shut and locked the door behind her.

The Inn was quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves of the vallenwood tree and the creaking of the branches. The rustling had a weepy sound to it, and it seemed that the branches were lamenting. Tas had never seen the Inn empty before. Looking around, he remembered the night they had all met here after their five-year separation. He could see Flint’s face and hear his gruff complaining, he could see Caramon standing protectively near his twin brother, he could see Raistlin’s sharp eyes keeping watch over everything. He could almost hear Goldmoon’s song again.

“Everyone’s vanished,” Tas said ..to himself softly, and felt another snuffle coming on.

“Let’s go,” said Gerard.

Hand on the kender’s shoulder, the Knight steered Tas toward the door, where he brought the kender to a halt to remove several articles of a valuable nature, which had happened to tumble into his pouches. Gerard left them on the bar for their owners to reclaim. This done, he took down the key that hung from a hook on the wall near the door, and locked the door.

He hung the key on a hook outside the Inn, placed there in case anyone needed a room after hours, and then marched the kender down the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Tas asked. “What’s that bundle you’re carrying? Can I look inside? Are you going to take me to see Dalamar? I haven’t seen him in a long time. Did you ever hear the story of how I met Dalamar? Caramon and I were—”

“Just shut up, will you?” Gerard said in a nasty, snapping sort of way. “Your chatter is giving me a headache. As to where we’re going, we’re returning to the garrison. And speaking of the bundle I’m carrying, if you touch it I’ll run you through with my sword.”

The Knight would say nothing more than that, although Tas asked and asked and tried to guess and then asked if he’d guessed right and if not, could Gerard give him a clue. Was what was in the bundle bigger than a breadbox? Was it a cat? Was it a cat in a breadbox? All to no avail. The Knight said nothing. His grip on the kender was firm.

The two of them arrived at the Solamnic garrison. The guards on duty greeted the Knight distantly. Sir Gerard did not return their greetings but said that he needed to see the Lord of Shields.

The guards, who were members of the Lord of Shield’s own personal retinue, replied that his lordship had just returned from the funeral and left orders not to be disturbed. They wanted to know the nature of Gerard’s request.

“The matter is personal,” the knight said. “Tell his lordship that I seek a ruling on the Measure. My need is urgent.”

A guardsman departed. He returned a moment later to say, grudgingly, that Sir Gerard was to go in.

Gerard started to enter with Tasslehoff in tow.

“Not so fast, sir,” the guard said, blocking their way with his halberd. “The Lord of Shields said nothing about a kender.”

“The kender is in my custody,” said Gerard, “as ordered by the lord himself. I have not been given leave to release him from my care. I would, however, be willing to leave him here with you if you will guarantee that he does no harm during the time I am with His Lordship-which may be several hours, my dilemma is complex-and that he will be here when I return.”

The Knight hesitated.

“He will be pleased to tell you his story of how he first met the wizard Dalamar,” Gerard added dryly.

“Take him,” said the Knight.

Tas and his escort entered the garrison, passing through the gate that stood in the center of a tall fence made of wooden poles, each planed to a sharp point at the top. Inside the garrison were stables for the horses, a small training field with a target set up for archery practice, and several buildings. The garrison was not a large one. Having been established to house those who guarded the Tomb of the Heroes, it had been expanded to accommodate the Knights who would make what would probably be a last-stand defence of Solace if the dragon Beryl attacked.

Gerard had been thinking with some elation that his days of guarding a tomb might be drawing to a close, that battle with the dragon was imminent, though he and all the Knights were under orders not mention this to anyone. The Knights had no proof that Beryl was preparing to sweep down on Solace and they did not want to provoke her into attacking. But the Solamnic commanders were quietly making plans.

Inside the stockade, a long, low building provided sleeping quarters for the Knights and the soldiers under their command.

In addition, there were several outbuildings used for storage and an administrative building, where the head of the garrison had his own lodgings. These doubled as his office.

His lordship’s aide-de-camp met Gerard and ushered him inside. “His lordship will be with you shortly, Sir Gerard,” said the aide.

“Gerard!” called out a woman’s voice. “How good to see you! I thought I heard your name.”

Lady Warren was a handsome woman of about sixty years with white hair and a complexion the color of warm tea. Throughout their forty years of marriage, she had accompanied her husband on all his journeys. As gruff and bluff as any soldier, she presently wore an apron covered with flour. She kissed Gerard on his cheek-he stood stiffly at attention, his helm beneath his arm-and glanced askance at the kender.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “Midge!” she called to the back of the house in a voice that might have rung across the battlefield, “lock up my jewels!”

“Tasslehoff Burrfoot, ma’am,” said Tas, offering his hand.

“Who isn’t these days?” Lady Warren returned and promptly thrust her flour-covered hands that sparkled with several interesting looking rings beneath her apron. “And how are your dear father and mother, Gerard?”

“Quite well, I thank you, ma’am,” said Gerard.

“You naughty boy.” Lady Warren scolded, shaking her finger at him. “You know nothing about their health at all. You haven’t written to your dear mother in two months. She writes to my husband to complain and asks him, most pathetically, if you are well and keeping your feet dry. For shame. To worry your good mother so! His lordship has promised that you shall write to her this very day. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t sit you down and have you compose the letter while you are in there with him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Gerard.

“Now I must go finish the baking. Midge and I are taking one hundred loaves of bread to Laura to help keep the Inn going, poor thing. Ah, it’s a sad day for Solace.” Lady Warren wiped her face with her hand, leaving a smear of flour behind.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Gerard.

“You may go in now,” said the aide and opened a door leading from the main lodging to the lord’s personal quarters.

Lady Warren took her leave, asking to be remembered to Gerard’s dear mother. Gerard promised, his voice expressionless, that he would do so. Bowing, he left to follow the aide.

A large man of middle years with the black skin common to the people of Southern Ergoth greeted the young man warmly, a greeting the young Knight returned with equal and unusual warmth.

“I’m glad you stopped by, Gerard!” said Lord Warren. “Come and sit down. So this is the kender, is it?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Gerard led Tas to a chair, plunked him down, and took out a length of rope. Acting so swiftly that Tas did not have time to protest, the Knight tied the kender’s wrists to the chair’s arms. He then brought out a gag and wrapped i.around Tas’s mouth.

“Is that necessary?” Lord Warren asked mildly.

“If we want to have any semblance of a rational conversation, it is, sir,” Gerard replied, drawing up a chair. He placed the mysterious bundle on the floor at his feet. “Otherwise you would hear stories about how this was the second time Caramon Majere had died. The kender would tell you how this funeral differed from Caramon Majere’s first funeral. You would hear a recitation of who attended the first time and who wasn’t at this one.”

“Indeed.” Lord Warren’s face took on a softened, pitying look.

“He must be one of the afflicted ones. Poor thing.”

“What’s an afflicted one?” Tas asked, except that due to the gag the words came out all gruff and grumbly, sounding as if he were speaking dwarven with a touch of gnome thrown in for good measure. Consequently no one understood him, and no one bothered to answer.

Gerard and Lord Warren began to discuss the funeral. Lord Warren spoke in such warm tones about Caramon that the lump of sadness returned to Tas’s throat with the result that he didn’t need the gag at all.

“And now, Gerard, what can I do for you?” Lord Warren asked, when the subject of the funeral was exhausted. He regarded the young Knight intently. “My aide said you had a question about the Measure.”

“Yes, my lord. I require a ruling.”

“You, Gerard?” Lord Warren raised a graying eyebrow. “Since when do you give a damn about the dictates of the Measure?”

Gerard flushed, looked uncomfortable.

Lord Warren smiled at the Knight’s discomfiture. “I’ve heard you express yourself quite clearly regarding what you consider to be the ‘old-fashioned, hidebound’ way of doing things—”

Gerard shifted in his chair. “Sir, I may have, on occasion, expressed my doubts about certain precepts of the Measure—”

Lord Warren’s eyebrow twitched even higher.

Gerard considered that it was time to change the subject. “My lord, an incident occurred yesterday. There were several civilians present. There will be questions asked.”

Lord Warren looked grave. “Will this require a Knight’s Council?”

“No, my lord. I hold you in the highest esteem, and I will respect your decision concerning this matter. A task has been given me, and I need to know whether or not I should pursue it or if I may, in honor, refuse.”

“Who gave you this task? Another Knight?” Lord Warren appeared uneasy. He knew of the rancor that existed between Gerard and the rest of the Knights in the garrison. He had long feared that some quarrel would break out perhaps resulting in some foolish challenge on the field of honor.

“No, sir,” Gerard answered evenly. “The task was given to me by a dying man.”

“Ah!” said Lord Warren. “Caramon Majere.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“ A last request?”

“Not so much a request, my lord,” said Gerard. “An assignment. I would almost say an order, but Majere was not of the Knighthood.”

“Not by birth, perhaps,” said Lord Warren gently, “but in spirit there was no better Knight living.”

“Yes, my lord.” Gerard was silent a moment, and Tas saw, for the first time, that the young man was truly grieved at Caramon’s death.

“The last wishes of the dying are sacred to the Measure, which states such wishes must be fulfilled if it be mortally possible. The Measure makes no distinction if the dying person be of the Knighthood, if it be male or female, human, elf, dwarf, gnome, or kender. You are honor bound to take this task, Gerard.”

“If it be mortally possible,” Gerard countered.

“Yes,” said Lord Warren. “So reads the Measure. Son, I see you are deeply troubled by this. If you break no confidence, tell me the nature of Caramon’s last wish.”

“I break no confidence, sir. I must tell you in any case, for if I am to undertake it I will need your permission to be absent from my post. Caramon Majere asked me to take this kender I have here with me, a kender who claims to be Tasslehoff Burrfoot, dead these thirty years, to Dalamar.”

“The wizard Dalamar?” Lord Warren was incredulous.

“Yes, my lord. This is what happened. As he lay dying, Caramon spoke of being reunited with his dead wife. Then he appeared to be searching for someone in the crowd of people gathered around him. He said, ‘But where’s Raistlin?’”

“That would be his twin brother,” Lord Warren interrupted.

“Yes, sir. Caramon added, ‘He said he would wait for me’—meaning Raistlin had agreed to wait for him before leaving this world for the next, or so Laura told me. Caramon often said that since they were twins, one could not enter into the blessed realm without the other.”

“I would not think that Raistlin Majere would be permitted to enter a ‘blessed realm’ at all,” Lord Warren said dryly.

“True, sir.” Gerard gave a wry smile. “If there is even a blessed realm, which I doubt, then. . .”

He paused, coughed in embarrassement. Lord Warren was frowning and looking very stern. Gerard apparently decided to skip the philosophical discussion and continue with his story.

“Caramon added something to effect that ‘Raistlin should be here. With Tika. I don’t understand. This is not right. Tas . . . What Tas said. . . A different future. . . Dalamar will know. . . . Take Tasslehoff to Dalamar.’ He was very upset and it seemed to me that he would not die in peace unless I promised to do as he asked. So I promised.”

“The wizard Raistlin has been dead over fifty years!” Lord Warren exclaimed.

“Yes, sir. The so-called hero Burrfoot has been dead over thirty years, so this cannot possibly be him. And the wizard Dalamar has disappeared. No one has seen or heard of him since the Tower of High Sorcery vanished. It is rumored that he has been declared legally dead by the members of the Last Conclave.”

“The rumors are true. I had it as fact from Palin Majere. But we have no proof of that and we have a man’s dying wish to consider. I am not certain how to rule.”

Gerard was silent. Tas would have spoken up but for the gag and the realization that nothing he said could or would or should make a difference. To be quite truthful, Tasslehoff himself didn’t know what to do. He had been given strict orders by Fizban to go to the funeral and to hurry right back. “Don’t go gallivanting!” had been the old wizard’s exact words, and he’d looked very fierce when he’d said them. Tas sat in the chair, chewing reflectively on the gag and pondering the exact meaning of the word,

“ gallivanting.”

“I have something to show you, my lord,” Gerard said. “With your permission. . .”

Lifting the bundle, Gerard placed it on Lord Warren’s desk and began to untie the string at the top.

In the interim, Tas managed to wriggle his hands free of their bonds. He could remove the gag now, and he could go off to explore this truly interesting room, which had several very fine swords hanging on the wall a shield, and a whole case of maps.

Tas looked longingly at the maps, and his feet very nearly carried him that direction, but he was extremely curious to see what was in the Knight’s bundle.

Gerard was taking a long time to open it; he seemed to be having difficulty with the knots.

Tas would have offered to help but thus far every time he had offered to be of help, Gerard had not seemed to appreciate it much.

Tas occupied himself by watching the grains of sand fall from the top of an hourglass into the bottom and trying to count them as they fell. This proved a challenge, for the sand grains fell quite rapidly and just when he had them sorted out, one after the other, two or three would fall all in a heap and ruin his calculations.

Tas was somewhere between five thousand seven hundred and thirty-six and five thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight when the sands ran out. Gerard was still fumbling with the knots.

Lord Warren reached over and turned the glass. Tas began to count again. “One, two, three-four-five . . .”

“Finally!” Gerard muttered and released the ties of the bundle.

Tas left off counting sand grains and sat up as straight as he possibly could in order to get a good view.

Gerard pressed the folds of the sack down around the object, taking care—Tas saw—not to touch the object itself. Jewels flashed and sparkled in the rays of the setting sun. Tas was so excited that he jumped out of his chair and tore the gag from his mouth.

“Hey!” he cried, reaching for the object. “That’s just like mine! Where did you get it? Say!” he said, taking a good, close look.

“That is mine!”

Gerard closed his hand over the kender’s hand that was just inches away from the bejeweled object. Lord Warren stared at the object, openmouthed.

“I found this in the kender’s pouch, sir,” said Gerard. “Last night, when we searched him before locking him up in our prison. A prison that, I might add, is not as kender-proof as we thought. I’m not certain-I am no mage, my lord—but the device appears to be to be magical. Quite magical.”

“It is magical,” Tasslehoff said proudly. “That’s the way I came here. It used to belong to Caramon, but he was always worried for fear someone would steal it and misuse it-I can’t imagine who would do such a thing, myself. I offered to take care of it for him, but Caramon said, no, he thought it should go somewhere where it would be truly safe, and Dalamar said he’d take it, so Caramon gave it to him and he . .. .” Tas quit talking because he didn’t have an audience.

Lord Warren had withdrawn his hands from the desk. The object was about the size of an egg, encrusted with jewels that sparkled and glowed. Close examination revealed it to be made up of a myriad small parts that looked as if they could be manipulated, moved about. Lord Warren eyed it warily. Gerard kept fast hold of the kender.

The sun sank down toward the horizon and now shone brightly through the window. The office was cool and shadowed.

The object glittered and gleamed, its own small sun.

“I have never seen the like of it,” said Lord Warren, awed.

“Nor have I, sir,” said Gerard. “But Laura has.”

Lord Warren looked up, startled.

“She said that her father had an object like this. He kept it locked in a secret place in a room in the Inn that is dedicated to the memory of his twin brother Raistlin. She remembers well the day, some months prior to the Chaos War, when he removed the object from its secret hiding place and gave it to . . .” Gerard paused.

“Dalamar?” said Lord Warren, astounded. He stared at the device again. “Did her father say what it did? What magic it possessed ?”

“He said that the object had been given to him by Par-Salian and that he had traveled back in time by means of its magic.”

“He did, too,” Tasslehoff offered. “I went with him. That’s how I knew how the device worked. You see, it occurred to me that I might not outlive Caramon—”

Lord Warren said a single word, said it with emphasis and sincerity. Tas was impressed. Knights didn’t usually say words like that.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Lord Warren had shifted his gaze. He began staring at Tas as if he’d sprouted two heads.

Obviously he’s never seen a troll. These people should really get out more, Tas thought.

“Do you think this is the real Tasslehoff Burrfoot?”

“Caramon Majere believed it was, my lord.”

Lord Warren looked back at the strange device. “It is obviously an ancient artifact. No wizard has the ability to make magical objects like this these days. Even I can feel its power, and I’m certainly no mage, for which I thank fate.” He looked back at Tas.

“No, I don’t believe it’s possible. This kender stole it, and he has devised this outlandish tale to conceal his crime.

“We must return the artifact to the wizards, of course, though not, I would say, to the wizard Dalamar.” Lord Warren frowned.

“ At the very least the device should be kept out of the hands of the kender. Where is Palin Majere? It seems to me that he is the one to consult.” .

“But you can’t stop the device from coming back to my hands,” Tas pointed out. “It’s meant to always come back to me, and it will, sooner or later. Par-Salian—the great Par-Salian, I met him once, you know. He was very respectful to kender. Very.” Tas fixed Gerard with a stern eye, hoping the Knight would take the hint. “Anyhow, Par-Salian told Caramon that the device was magically designed to always return to the person who used it. That’s a safety precaution, so that you don’t end up stranded back in time with no way of going back home. It’s come in quite handy, since I have a tendency to lose things. I once lost a woolly mammoth. The way it happened was—”

“I agree, my lord,” Gerard said loudly. “Be silent, kender. Speak when you are spoken to.” .

“Excuse me,” said Tas, beginning to be bored. “But if you’re not going to listen to me, may I go look at your maps? I’m very fond of maps.”

Lord Warren waved his hand. Tas wandered off and was soon absorbed in reading the maps, which were really lovely, but which, the more he looked at them, he found very puzzling.

Gerard dropped his voice so low that Tas had a difficult time hearing him. “Unfortunately, my lord, Palin Majere is on a secret mission to the elven kingdom of Qualinesti, to consult with the elven sorcerers. Such meetings have been banned by the dragon Beryl, and if his whereabouts became known to her, she would exact terrible retribution.”

“Yet, it seems to me that he must know of this immediately!”

Lord Warren argued.

“He must also know of his father’s death. If you will grant me leave, my lord, I will undertake to escort the kender and this device to Qualinesti, there to put both of them in the hands of Palin Majere and also to impart the sad news about his father. I will relate to Palin his father’s dying request and ask him to judge whether or not it may undertaken. I have little doubt but that he will absolve me of it.”

Lord Warren’s troubled expression eased. “You are right. We should put the matter into the hands of the son. If he declares his father’s last request impossible to fulfill, you may, with honor, decline it. I wish you didn’t have to go to Qualinesti, however. Wouldn’t it be more prudent to wait until the wizard returns?”

“There is no telling when that will be, my lord. Especially now that Beryl has closed the roads. I believe this matter to be of the utmost urgency. Also”—Gerard lowered his voice—“we would have difficulty keeping the kender here indefinitely.”

“Fizban told me to come right back to my own time,” Tas informed them. “I’m not to go gallivanting. But I would like to see Palin and ask him why the funeral was all wrong. Do you think that could be considered’ gallivanting’?”

“Qualinesti lies deep in Beryl’s territory,” Lord Warren was saying. “The land is ruled by the Knights of Neraka, who would be only too pleased to lay their hands on one of our order. And if the Knights of Neraka don’t seize you and execute you as a spy, the elves will. An army of our Knights could not enter that realm and survive.”

“I do not ask for an army, my lord. I do not ask for any escort,”

Gerard said firmly. “I would prefer to travel on my own. Much prefer it,” he added with emphasis. “I ask you for leave from my duties for a time, my lord.”

“Granted, certainly.” Lord Warren shook his head. “Though I don’t know what your father will say.”

“He will say that he is proud of his son, for you will tell him that I am undertaking a mission of the utmost importance, that I do it to fulfill the last request of a dying man.”

“You are putting yourself in danger,” said Lord Warren. “He would not like that at all. And as for your mother—” He frowned ominously.

Gerard stood straight and tall. “I have been ten years a Knight, my lord, and all I have to show for it is the dust of a tomb on my boots. I have earned this, my lord.”

Lord Warren rose to his feet. “Here is my ruling. The Measure holds the final wishes of the dying to be sacred. We are bound in honor to fulfill them if it be mortally possible. You will go to Qualinesti and consult with the sorcerer Palin. I have found him to be a man of good judgment and common sense—for a mage, that is. One must not expect too much. Still, I believe that you can rely on him to help you determine what is right. Or, at the very least, to take the kender and this stolen magical artifact off our hands.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Gerard looked extremely happy.

Of course he’s happy, Tasslehoff thought. He gets to travel to a land ruled by a dragon who’s closed all the roads, and maybe he’ll be captured by Dark Knights who’ll think he’s a spy, and if that doesn’t work out he gets to go to the elven kingdom and see Palin and Laurana and Gilthas.

The pleasant tingle so well known to kender, a tingle to which they are seriously addicted, began in the vicinity of Tasslehoff’s spine. The tingle burned its way right down to his feet, which started to itch, shot through his arms into his fingers, which started to wriggle, and up into his head. He could feel his hair beginning to curl from the excitement.

The tingle wound up in Tasslehoff’s ears and, due to the rushing of the blood in his head, he noticed that Fizban’s admonition to return soon was starting to get lost amidst thoughts of Dark Knights and spies and, most important of all, The Road.

Besides, Tas realized suddenly, Sir Gerard is counting on me to go with him! I can’t let a Knight down. And then there’s Caramon. I can’t let him down either, even if he did hit his head one too many times on the stairs on the way down.

“I’ll go with you, Sir Gerard,” Tas announced magnanimously. “I’ve thought it over quite seriously, and it doesn’t seem to me to be gallivanting. It seems to me to be a quest. And I’m sure Fizban won’t mind if I went on a little quest.”

“I will think of something to tell your father to placate him,”

Lord Warren was saying. “Is there any thing I can provide you for this mission? How will you travel? You know that according to the Measure you may not disguise your true identity.”

“I will travel as a Knight, my lord,” Gerard replied with a slight quirk of his eyebrow. “I give you my word on that.”

Lord Warren eyed him speculatively. “You’re up to something. No, don’t tell me. The less I know about this the better.” He glanced down at the device, glittering on the table, and heaved a sigh. “Magic and kender. It seems to me to be a fatal combination. My blessing go with you.”

Gerard wrapped the device carefully in the bundle. Lord Warren left his desk to accompany Gerard to the door of the office, collecting Tasslehoff on the way. Gerard removed several of the smaller maps that had just happened to find their way down the front of the kender’s shirt.

“I was taking them to be fixed,” said Tas, looking at Lord Warren accusingly. “You really hire very poor mapmakers. They’ve made several serious mistakes. The Dark Knights aren’t in Palanthas any more. We drove them out two years after the Chaos War. And why’s that funny little circle like a bubble drawn around Silvanesti?”

The Knights were deep in a private discussion of their own, a discussion that had something to do with Gerard’s mission, and they paid no attention. Tas pulled out another map that he had managed somehow to stuff itself down his trousers and that was at the moment pinching a sensitive portion of his anatomy. He transferred the map from his pants to his pouch and, while doing so, his knuckles brushed across something hard and sharp and egg-shaped.

The Device of Time Journeying. The device that would take him back to his own time. The device had come back to him, as it was bound to do. It was once more in his possession. Fizban’s stem command seemed to ring loudly in his ears.

Tas looked at the device, thought about Fizban, and considered the promise he’d made to the old wizard. There was obviously only one thing to be done.

Taking firm hold of the device, careful not to accidentally activate it, Tasslehoff crept up behind Gerard, who was engrossed in his conversation with Lord Warren, and by dint of working loose a comer of the bundle, working nimbly and quietly as only a kender can work, Tasslehoff slipped the device back inside.

“ And stay there!” he told it firmly.