Dragons of the Fallen Sun

Chapter Twenty-Three The Hedge Maze

The gnome was lost in the hedge maze.

This was nothing unusual. The gnome was frequently lost in the hedge maze. In fact, whenever anyone in the Citadel of Light wanted the gnome (which wasn’t often) and asked where he was, the response was invariably, “Lost in the hedge maze.”

The gnome did not wander the hedge maze aimlessly. Far from it. He entered the hedge maze daily with a set purpose, a mission, and that was to make a map of the maze. The gnome, who belonged to the Guild of Puzzles​Riddles​Enigmas​Rebus​Logogriphs​Monograms​Anagrams​Acrostics​Crosswords​Mazes​Labyrinths​Paradoxes​Scrabble​Feminine​Logic​and​Politicians, otherwise known as P3 for short, knew of a certainty that if he could map the hedge maze, he would find in that map the key to the Great Mysteries of Life, among these being: Why Is It That When You Wash Two Socks You Only End Up With One? Is There Life After Death? and Where Did The Other Sock Go? The gnome was convinced that if you found the answer to the second question you would also find the answer to the third.

In vain the mystics of the Citadel attempted to explain to him that the hedge maze was magical. Those who entered it with minds troubled or sad found their cares eased, their burdens lifted. Those who entered it seeking solitude and peace were not disturbed, no matter how many other people walked the fragrant hedgerows at the same moment. Those who entered seeking a solution to a problem found that their thoughts grew centered, their minds cleared of clutter. Those who entered on their mystical journey to climb the Silver Stair that stood in the center of the maze found that they did not journey through a maze of shrubbery, but through the maze of their hearts.

Those who entered the hedge maze with the firm resolve to map out the hedge maze, to try to define it in terms of X number of rows and left and right turnings and longitudes and latitudes and degrees of angles and radiuses and circumferences discovered that here mathematics need not apply. The hedge maze shifted beneath the compass, skittered out from underneath the ruler, defied all calculation.

The gnome, whose name (the short version) was Conundrum, refused to listen. He entered the hedge maze every day, convinced that this would be the day he solved the mystery. This would be the day he would achieve his Life Quest and produce the definitive map of the hedge maze, a map he would then copy and sell to tour groups.

With one quill pen stuck behind his ear and another through the bosom of his robe, rather as if he’d been stabbed, the gnome would enter the hedge maze in the morning and work feverishly all during the hours of sunlight. He would measure and count his steps, note down the elevation of the hedge at Point A, indicate where Point A converged with Point B, and cover himself in ink and perspiration. He would emerge at the end of the day glowing with pride, with bits of the hedge stuck in his hair and beard, and produce for the edification of any poor unfortunate he could coerce into viewing his project an ink-spattered and sweat-stained map of the hedge maze.

He would then spend the night copying the map so that it was perfect, absolutely perfect, not a twig missing. Next morning he would take the map into the hedge maze and become immediately and hopelessly lost. He would manage to find his way out about noontime, which just gave him daylight enough to redraw his map—and so forth and so on daily for about a year now.

On this day Conundrum had worked his way through the hedge maze to about the halfway point. He was down on his knees, tape in hand, measuring the angle between a zig and a zag when he noted a foot blocking his way. The foot was encased in a boot that was attached to a leg that was attached—on looking up—to a kender.

“Excuse me,” said the kender politely, “but I’m lost and I was wondering—”

“Lost! Lost!” Conundrum scrambled to his feet, overturning his ink jar, which left a large purple stain on the grassy path. Sobbing, the gnome flung his arms around the kender. “How gratifying! I’m so glad! So glad! You can’t know!”

“There, there,” said the kender, patting the gnome on the back. “I’m certain that whatever it is, it will be all right. Have you a hankie? Here, borrow mine. Actually, it’s Palin’s, but I don’t suppose he’d care.”

“Thank you,” said the gnome, blowing his nose.

Generally gnomes talk extremely fast and mash all their words together, one on top of the other, in the belief that if you don’t reach the end of a sentence quickly you might never reach it all. Conundrum had lived among humans long enough to have learned to slow his speech pattern. He now talked very slowly and haltingly, which led other gnomes he encountered to consider him quite stupid.

“I’m sorry I fell apart like that.” The gnome sniffed. “It’s just, I’ve been working so long, and no one has been kind enough to get lost before. . .” He started to weep again.

“Glad I could oblige,” said the kender hurriedly. “Now that I am lost, I was wondering if you could show me the way out. You see, I have just arrived through magical means”—the kender was quite proud of this and repeated it to make certain the gnome was impressed—“magical means that are quite secret and mysterious, otherwise I’d tell you about them. Anyhow my business is extremely urgent. I’m looking for Goldmoon. I have a feeling she must be here because I thought about her very hard just as the magic happened. My name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot, by the way.”

“Conundrum Solitaire,” replied the gnome, and the two shook hands, after which Tasslehoff completed the ruin of Palin’s handkerchief by using it to wipe the residual ink left on his fingers.

“I can show you the way out!” the gnome added eagerly. “I have drawn this map, you see.”

Proudly, with a flourish of his hand, Conundrum presented the map to Tasslehoff’s view. Drawn on an immense piece of parchment, the map lay on the ground, covering the path between the two hedge rows, overlapping on the edges. The map was bigger than the gnome, who was a smallish, misty-eyed, dimly smiling gnome with a nut-brown complexion and a long wispy beard that had probably once been white but was now stained purple due to the fact that the gnome invariably dragged his beard through the wet ink as he bent on hands and knees over the map.

The map was quite complicated, with Xs and Arrows and Do Not Enter’s and Turn Left Here’s scrawled all over it in Common. Tasslehoff looked down at the map. Looking up, he saw the end of the row in which they were standing. The hedge opened up and he could see the sun shining on several very beautiful crystalline domed structures that caught the sunlight and turned it into rainbows. Two golden dragons formed an immense archway. The grounds were green and filled with flowers. People dressed in white robes strolled around, talking in low voices.

“Oh, that must be the way out!” said Tasslehoff. “Thanks all the same.”

The gnome looked at his map and looked at what was undeniably the exit from the hedge maze.

“Drat,” he said and began to stomp on the map.

“I’m extremely sorry,” said Tas, feeling guilty. “It was a really nice map.”

“Hah!” Conundrum jumped up and down on the map.

“Well, excuse me, but I’ve got to go,” Tasslehoff said, inching toward the exit. “But once I have talked to Goldmoon, I’ll be glad to come back and get lost again, if that will help.”

“Bah!” cried the gnome, kicking the ink jar into the hedge.

The last Tasslehoff saw of Conundrum, he was back at the beginning of the hedge maze, measuring his foot with the tape in preparation to pace off the precise distance between the first turning and the second.

Tas walked a good distance, leaving the hedge maze far behind. He was about to wander into a lovely building made of sparkling crystal when he heard footsteps behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Have you business in the Citadel of Light, kender?” asked a voice, speaking Common.

“The where?” said Tasslehoff. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

Quite accustomed to having the heavy hand of the law fall on his shoulder, he was not surprised to find himself in the custody of a tall young woman of stern expression wearing a helm of silver chain mail and a chain-mail shirt that glittered in the sun.

She wore a long tabard marked with the symbol of the sun and carried a sword in a silver scabbard, girded around her waist.

“I’m here to see Goldmoon, ma’am,” Tasslehoff said politely.

“My business is urgent. Quite urgent. If you could just show me where—”

“What do you have here, Guardian?” asked another voice.

“Trouble?”

Tasslehoff twisted his head to see another woman clad in armor, except that she was wearing the armor of a Solamnic Knight. Two more Solamnic Knights walked on either side of her as she proceeded up the walkway.

“I am not certain, Lady Camilla,” replied the guard, saluting.

“This kender has asked to see Goldmoon.”

The two exchanged glances and it seemed to Tas that a shadow crossed the face of the lady Knight. “What does a kender want of the First Master?”

“The who?” Tas wondered.

“Goldmoon, the First Master.”

“I’m an old friend of hers,” Tas said. He held out his hand.

“My name is . . .” He paused. He was growing extremely tired of people staring at him oddly whenever he said his name. He withdrew his hand. “It’s not important. If you’ll just tell me where to find Goldmoon . . .”

Neither of the women answered, but Tas, watching closely, saw the Solamnic Knight glance in the direction of the largest crystal dome. He guessed at once that this was where he needed to be.

“You both look very busy,” he said, edging away. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. If you’ll excuse me. . .” He made a dash for it.

“Should I go after him, sir?” he heard the guard ask the Knight.

“No, leave him be,” Lady Camilla replied. “The First Master has a soft spot in her heart for kender.”

“But he might disturb her solitude,” the guard said.

“I would give him thirty steel pieces, if he could,” Lady Camilla replied.

The lady Knight was fifty years old, a handsome woman, hale and hearty, though her black hair was streaked with silver. Stem of countenance, grim and stoic, she did not appear to be the sort of person given to displays of emotion. Yet Tas heard her say this with a sigh.

Tas reached to the door of the crystal dome and halted, fully expecting someone to come out and tell him he shouldn’t be there. Two white-robed men did emerge, but they only smiled at him and wished him a good afternoon.

“And a good afternoon to you, sirs,” Tas said, bowing. “By the way, I’m lost. What building is this?”

“The Grand Lyceum,” said one.

“Oh,” said Tas, looking wise, although he hadn’t a clue what a lyceum was. “I’m so glad I’ve found it. Thank you.”

Bidding the gentlemen good-bye, the kender entered the Grand Lyceum. After a thorough exploration of the area, the exploration involving opening doors and interrupting classes, asking innumerable questions, and eavesdropping on private conversations, the kender discovered that he was inside the Grand Hall, a popular meeting place for the people who lived and worked and studied in the Citadel of Light.

This being afternoon, the Grand Hall was quiet with only a few people reading or talking together in small groups. At night the Grand Hall would be crowded, for it served as the dining hall for the Citadel, and here everyone—teachers and students alike—gathered for their evening meal.

The rooms inside the crystal dome glowed with sunshine.

Chairs were numerous and comfortable. Long wooden tables stood at one end of the enormous room. The smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchen that was located on a level below.

The reception rooms were at the far end, some of them occupied by students and their masters.

Tasslehoff had no difficulty gathering information about Goldmoon. Every conversation he overheard and half those he interrupted were centered on the First Master. Everyone, it seemed, was very worried about her.

“I cannot believe that the Masters have allowed this to go on this long,” one woman said to a visitor. “Permitting the First Master to remain sealed up in her room like this! She might be in danger. She might be ill.”

“Has no one made any attempt to try to talk to her?”

“Of course, we have tried to talk to her!” The woman shook her head. “We are all of us worried about her. Ever since the night of the storm, she has refused to see or speak to anyone, even those closest to her. Food and water are left for her on a tray during the night. The tray is always found empty in the morning. She leaves us notes on the tray assuring us that she is well, but she begs that we will respect her privacy and not disturb her.”

“I won’t disturb her,” Tasslehoff said to himself. “I’ll tell her very quickly what’s happened, and then I’ll leave.”

“What are we to do?” the woman continued. “The handwriting on the notes is her own. We are all agreed on that.”

“That proves nothing. She may be a prisoner. She may be writing those notes under duress, especially if she fears she will bring down harm upon others in the Citadel.”

“But with what motive? If she were taken hostage, we would expect a ransom request or that some demand be made in return for her well-being. Nothing has been asked of us. We have not been attacked. The island remains as peaceful as anywhere in this dark time. Ships come and go. Refugees arrive daily. Our lives continue apace.”

“What of the silver dragon?” the second woman asked. “Mirror is one of the guardians of Schallsea Isle and of the Citadel of Light. I would think that the dragon, with his magic, would be able to discover if some evil had taken possession of the First Master.”

“He undoubtedly could, but Mirror has vanished as well,” her friend returned helplessly. “He took flight during the worst of the storm. No one has seen him since.”

“I knew a silver dragon once,” Tas said, barging in on the conversation. “Her name was Silvara. I couldn’t help overhearing you talk about Goldmoon. She’s a very good friend of mine. I’m deeply worried about her. Where did you say her rooms were?”

“At the very top of the Lyceum. Up those stairs,” said one.

“Thank you,” said Tas and turned that direction.

“But no one’s allowed up there,” the woman added sternly.

Tas turned back again. “Oh, sure. I understand. Thanks.”

The two women walked off, continuing their conversation.

Tasslehoff loitered in the area, admiring a large statue of a silver dragon that occupied an honored place in the center of the hall.

When the women were gone, Tas glanced about. Seeing that one was watching him, he began to climb the stairs.

Goldmoon’s chambers were located at the very top of the Grand Lyceum. A spiral staircase of many hundred steps led upward through the various levels. The climb was long, the stairs built for the tall legs of humans, not the short legs of kender. Tas had begun bounding up the stairs enthusiastically, but after stair number seventy-five, he was forced to sit down and take a brief rest.

“Whew!” he said, panting. “I wish I were a silver dragon. At least then I’d have wings.”

The sun was starting to dip down into the sea, by the time Tasslehoff—after a few more rests—reached the top.

The staircase ended, so Tas presumed he’d arrived at the level where Goldmoon lived. The hallway was peaceful and quiet, or so it seemed at first. A door decorated with sheaves of what and vines and fruit and flowers stood at the end of the corridor. As Tas moved closer to the door, he detected the faint sound of someone weeping.

The tender-hearted kender forgot his own trouble. He knocked gently on the door. “Goldmoon,” he called out. “It’s me, Tasslehoff. Is anything wrong? Maybe I can help.”

The sound of weeping ceased immediately, replaced by silence.

“Goldmoon,” Tas began. “I really need to talk to—”

A hand grasped hold of his shoulder. Startled, Tas jumped and banged his head against the door. He looked wildly around.

Palin gazed down at him sternly.

“I thought I might find you here,” he stated.

“I’m not going back,” Tas said, rubbing his head. “Not yet. Not until I talk to Goldmoon.” He looked up at Palin with suspicion. “Why are you here?”

“We were worried about you,” Palin replied.

“I’ll bet” Tas muttered. Sidling away from Palin, he turned back to the door. “Goldmoon!” He knocked again on the door.

“Let me in! It’s me, Tasslehoff!”

“First Master,” Palin added, “I am here with Tas. Something very strange has happened. We would like your wise counsel.”

A moment’s silence, then a voice, muffled from crying, came back, “You must excuse me, Palin, but I am seeing no one at present.”

“Goldmoon,” Palin said, after a moment. “I have very sad news. My father is dead.”

Another moment’s silence, then the voice, strained and hushed. “Caramon dead?”

“He died several weeks ago. His end was peaceful.”

“I came in time to speak at his funeral Goldmoon,” Tasslehoff added. “It’s too bad you missed my speech. But I could give it again if you—”

A terrible cry burst from behind the door. “Oh, fortunate man! Oh,lucky, lucky man!”

Palin looked grim. “Goldmoon!” he called out. “Please let me in!”

Tasslehoff, very subdued and solemn, put his nose to the doorknob.

“Goldmoon,” he said, speaking through the key hole, “I’m very sorry to hear that you’ve been sick. And I was sorry to hear that Riverwind was dead. But I heard he died being a hero and saving my people from the dragon when there were probably quite a few who said that we kender weren’t worth saving. I want you to know that I’m grateful and that I was proud to call Riverwind my friend.”

“This is a shabby trick you play upon me, Palin,” said the voice angrily from inside. “You have inherited your uncle’s gift of rnimickry. Everyone knows that Tasslehoff Burrfoot is dead.”

“No, I’m not” Tas returned. “And that’s the problem. At least it is for some people.” He gave Palin a stern look. “It’s really me, Goldmoon,” Tas continued. “If you put your eye to the keyhole you can see me.”

He waved his hand.

A lock clicked. Slowly, the door opened. Goldmoon stood framed within. Her room was lit by many candles, their glow cast a halo of light around her. The corridor into which she stepped was dark, except for the light of a single red star. She was cloaked in shadows. Tas could not see her.

“First Master. . .” Palin stepped forward, his hand outstretched.

Goldmoon turned, allowed the light from her room to touch her face. “Now, you see. . .” she said softly.

The light of the candles gleamed on hair that was thick and golden and luxuriant, on a face that was soft and smooth, on eyes that, though red with weeping, were blue as the morning sky and shone with the luster of youth. Her body was strong as the days when the Chieftain’s Daughter had first fallen in love with a young warrior named Riverwind. The years Goldmoon had lived in the world numbered ninety, but her body, her hair, her eyes, her voice, her lips and hands were those of the young woman who had carried the blue crystal staff into the Inn of the Last Home.

Beautiful, she stood sorrowfully before them, her head drooping like the bud of a cut rose.

“What miracle is this?” Palin cried, awed.

“No miracle,” said Goldmoon bitterly. “A curse.”

“Are you cursed?” said Tas with interest. “So am I!”

Goldmoon turned to the kender, looked him up and down. “It is you!” she murmured. “I recognized your voice. Why are you here? Where have you been? Why have you come?”

Tasslehoff extended his hand, shook hers politely. “I’d love to tell you all about everything, Goldmoon. All about Caramon’s first funeral and then his second funeral and how I’m cursed. But right now Palin is trying to murder me. I came to see if you would tell him to stop. So if you’ll just speak to him, I’ll be going.”

Tas made a break for it. He had very nearly reached the stairs and was just about to dash down them when Palin’s hand snaked out and snagged him by the collar of his shirt.

Tas wriggled and writhed, trying various kender tricks developed through years of practice at escaping the long arm of irritated sheriffs and irate shopkeepers. He used the old Twist and Bite and the always effective Stomp and Kick, but Palin was proof against them. At last, truly desperate, Tas tried the Lizard. He endeavored to slide his arms out of his shirt sleeves, regretful at having to leave his shirt behind, but, like the lizard who leaves part of his tail in the hand of the would-be captor, he would be free. Unfortunately, the new shirt proved a bit snug, and this didn’t work. Palin was thin, but he was strong and, in addition, he had a strong incentive to hold onto the kender.

“What is he talking about?” Goldmoon asked, staring at Tas in bewilderment. She shifted her gaze to Palin. “Are you trying to murder him?”

“Of course not,” Palin said impatiently.

“ Are too!” Tas muttered, squirming.

“Listen to me, Tas. I’m truly sorry about what happened back there,” Palin said.

He seemed about to continue, then sighed and lowered his head. He looked old, older than Tas remembered, and he’d seen him only a few moments ago. The lines m his face had deepened, darkened, pulled taut; the skin stretched tight across the bones.

He blinked his eyes too frequently and often rubbed them, as if trying to see through a film or mist covering them. Tas—who was set to run—was touched by Palin’s obvious trouble. The kender decided he could at least stay to listen.

“I’m sorry, Tas,” Palin said finally, and his voice was tight as the lines on his face. “I was upset. I was frightened. Jenna was quite angry with me. After you left, she said she didn’t blame you for running. She was right. I should have explained things to you calmly and rationally. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. After what I saw, I panicked.”

He looked down at Tas and sighed deeply. “Tas, I wish there was some other way. You have to understand. I’ll try to explain this as best I can. You were meant to die. And because you haven’t died, it is possible that this is the reason all these terrible things that have happened to the world have happened. To put it another way, if you were dead, the world might be the world you saw the first time you came back to my father’s funeral. Do you understand?”

“No,” said Tas.

Palin regarded the kender with obvious disappoinment. “I’m afraid I can’t explain it any better than that. Perhaps you and Goldmoon and I should discuss it. You don’t need to run away again. I won’t force you to go back.”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Palin,” Tas returned, “but you can’t force me to do anything. I have the device, and you don’t.”

Palin regarded the kender with deepening gravity, then suddenly and unexpectedly he smiled. The smile was not quite a whole smile, more a quarter-smile, for it lifted the comers of his thin lips and didn’t come anywhere near his unhappy eyes, but it was a start.

“That is true, Tas,” he said. “You do have the device. You know yourself what is right. You know that you made a promise to Fizban and that he trusted you to keep that promise.”

Palin paused, then said quietly. “Were you aware, Tas, that Caramon spoke at your funeral?”

“He did?” Tas was astonished. “I didn’t even know I had a funeral! I just figured there probably wouldn’t be much of me left, except a bit of goo between the giant’s toes. What did Caramon say? Was there a big turnout? Did Jenna bring cheese puffs?”

“There was an immense turnout,” Palin said. “People came from allover Ansalon to pay their respects to a heroic kender. As for my father, he called you ‘a kender among kender.’ He said that you exemplifed all that was best in the kender race: you were noble, self-sacrificing, brave, and, above all, honorable.”

“Maybe Caramon was wrong about me,” Tas said uneasily, glancing at Palin out of the comer of his eyes.

“Maybe he was,” Palin said.

Tas didn’t like the way Palin was looking at him, as (if he were shriveling into something icky, like a squished cocktoach. He didn’t know what to do or say—an unusual feeling for him. He couldn’t recall ever having had this feeling before, and he hoped he never would again. The silence grew stretched, until Tas was afraid that if one of them let loose, the silence would snap back and smack someone in the face. He was therefore quite thankful when a commotion sounded on the stairs, distracting Palin and easing the tense silence.

“First Master!” Lady Camilla called. “We thought we heard your voice. Someone said they saw a kender come up here—”

Reaching the head of the stairs, she caught sight of Goldmoon.

“First Master!” The Knight stopped dead in her tracks and stared. The Citadel guards bunched up behind her, staring and gaping.

This was Tas’s opportunity to head for freedom again. No one would try to stop him. No one was paying the least attention to him. He could slip past them all and run away. Almost certainly the gnome Conundrum had some sort of sailing vessel. Gnomes always had sailing vessels. Sometimes they had flying vessels, as well, and sometimes they had vessels that both flew and sailed, although this generally resulted in an explosion.

Yes, thought Tas, eyeing the stairs and the people standing there with their mouths open. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go. Right now. I’m running. Any moment now. My feet will start to run.

But his feet had other ideas, apparently, because they stayed pretty much firmly attached to the floor.

Perhaps his feet were thinking the same thing as his head. His head was thinking about what Caramon had said. Those words were almost the very same words he’d heard people say about Sturm Brightblade, about Tanis Half-Elven. And they’d said those words about him! Tasslehoff Burrfoot! He felt a warm glow in the vicinity of his heart, and, at the same time, he felt another kind of glow around his stomach. A much more uncomfortable glow, a sort of gurgling glow, as if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him. He wondered if it could be the oatmeal.

“Excuse me, Goldmoon,” Tas said, interrupting the gaping and staring and general stupidity that was taking place around him. “Do you think I could go inside your room and lie down? I’m not feeling very well.”

Goldmoon drew herself up. Her face was pale, cold. Her voice was bitter. “I’ll knew it would be like this. I knew you would look upon me as some sort of sideshow at a fair.”

“Forgive me, First Master,”Lady Camilla said, her own face crimson with shame. She lowered her gaze. “I beg your pardon. It’s just. . . this miracle. . .”

“It is not a miracle!” Goldmoon said in sharp tones. She lifted her head and something of her regal presence, her noble spirit, flashed from her. “I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused, Lady Camilla. I know that I have brought pain to many. Please carry word to all in the Citadel that they need worry for me no longer. I am well. I will come among them presently, but first I want to speak to my friends in private.”

“Of course, I will be happy to do whatever you ask, First Master,” Lady Camilla said, and though she tried her best not to stare, she could not help but gaze with astonishment at the amazing change that had come over Goldmoon.

Palin coughed meaningfully.

Lady Camilla blinked. “I am sorry, First Master. It’s just—”

She shook her head, helpless to put her confused thoughts into words. Turning away, yet with one more backward glance, as if to reassure herself that what she saw was real, she hastened down the spiral stairs. The Citadel guards, after a moment’s hesitation, turned to run down after the Knight. Tas could hear their voices loudly exclaiming over the “miracle.”

“They will all be like that” Goldmoon said in anguish, returning thoughtfully to her chambers. “They will all stare at me and exclaim and wonder.” She shut the door swiftly behind them, leaned against it.

“You can hardly blame them, First Master,” said Palin.

“Yes. I know. That’s one reason I kept myself locked inside this room. I had hoped that when the change first happened it would be . . . temporary.” Goldmoon gestured. “Please sit down. We have much to discuss, it seems.”

Her chambers were plainly furnished, contained a bed made of a simple wood frame, a writing desk, handwoven rugs upon the floor, and a large number of soft cushions scattered about. A lute stood in one comer. The only other article of furniture—a tall standing mirror—lay toppled on the floor. The broken glass had been swept into a neat pile.

“What happened to you, First Master?” Palin asked. “Was this transformation magical in nature?”

“I don’t know! I wish I could find an explanation!” she said helplessly. “The transformation occurred the night of the thunderstorm.”

“The storm,” Palin murmured and glanced at Tas. “Many strange things happened during that storm, seemingly. The kender arrived the night of the storm.”

“The rain drummed on the roof,” Goldmoon continued, as if she hadn’t heard. “The wind howled and beat against the crystal as if it would smash it in. A brilliant lightning flash lit up the entire room more brightly than the brightest sunshine. It was so bright that it blinded me. For a time, I could see nothing at all. The blindness passed in a moment. I saw my reflection in the mirror.”

“I . . . I thought a stranger was in the room. I turned, but there was no one there. It was then, when I turned back, that I recognized myself. Not as I had been, not gray and wrinkled and old, but young. Young as on my wedding day. . .”

She closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“The crash they heard below,” Palin said. “You broke the mirror.”

“Yes!” Goldmoon cried, her fists clenched. “I was so close to reaching him, Palin! So near! Riverwind and I would have been together soon. He has waited so patiently. He knew that I had important tasks to perform, but my work is done now and I could hear him calling to me to join him. We would be together forever. I was going to walk again with my beloved at last and . . . and now... this!”

“You truly have no idea how this happened?” Palin hesitated, frowning. “Perhaps a secret wish of your heart. . . some potion. . . or magical artifact. . .”

“In other words, did I ask for this?” Goldmoon returned, her voice cool. “No, I did not. I was content. My work is finished. Others have the strength and heart and will to carry on. I want only to rest in my husband’s arms again, Palin. I want to walk with him into the next stage of being. Riverwind and I used to speak of that next step on our great journey. I was given a glimpse of it during the time I was with Mishakal, the time she gave me the staff. The beauty of that far distant place. . . I can’t describe it.

“I am tired. So very tired. I look young, but I don’t feel young, Palin. This body is like a costume for the masquerade, the face a mask. Except that I can’t take it off! I’ve tried and I can’t!”

Goldmoon put her hands to her cheeks, pressed on them. Her face was scarred and now Tas, shocked, knew the cause. In her desperation, she had endeavored to claw away the smooth, supple flesh.

“Inside I am still old, Palin,” Goldmoon said, her voice hollow and ragged. “I have lived my allotted life span. My husband has traveled on before me, my friends are gone. I am alone. Oh, I know.” She raised her hand to forestall his objections. “I know that I have friends here. But they are not of my time. They. . . don’t sing the same songs.”

She turned to Tasslehoff with a smile that was sweet but so sad that the kender’s eyes filled with tears.

“Is this my fault, Goldmoon?” Tas asked mournfully. “I didn’t mean to make you unhappy! I didn’t!”

“No, kenderken.” Goldmoon soothed him with her gentle touch. “You have brought me cheer. And a puzzle.” She turned to Palin. “How does he come to be here? Has he been roaming the world these thirty years when we thought him dead?”

“The kender came the night of the storm by using a magical device, Goldmoon,” Palin said in a low voice. “The Device of Time Journeying. A device that once belonged to my father. Do you remember hearing the story of how Caramon traveled back in time with Lady Crysania—”

“Yes, I remember,” Goldmoon said, flushing. “I must say that I found your father’s story very difficult to believe. If it hadn’t been for Lady Crysania’s account—”

“There is no need to apologize,” Palin said. “I admit that I myself found the story difficult to credit. I was able to speak to Dalamar about it years ago, before the Chaos War. And I talked to Tanis Half-Elven. Both confirmed my father’s tale. In addition, I read Par-Salian’s notes, which spoke of how the decision to send my father back into time came to be made. And I have a friend, Mistress Jenna, who was present in the Tower of High Sorcery when my father handed over the device to Dalamar for safekeeping. She had seen the device before and she recognized it. Above all, I have my account to serve as witness. Tasslehoff has with him the magical device my father used to transport himself through time. I know because I used it myself.”

Goldmoon’s eyes widened. She drew in a breath, soft as a sigh.

“Are you saying that the kender has come to us from the past? That he has traveled through time? That you traveled through time?”

“Tasslehoff,” Palin said, “tell Goldmoon what you told me about Caramon’s funeral. The first one. Be brief and concise as possible.”

Since neither the word “brief” nor the word” concise” are in the kender vocabulary, Tasslehoff’s story was considerably involved and extended, taking many little detours and side trips, and once losing himself completely in a morass of words from which he had to be patiently extricated. Goldmoon was a most attentive listener, however, seating herself next to him on the floor amongst the cushions and never saying a word.

When Tas spoke of how she and Riverwind had attended Caramon’s first funeral together; her husband gray and stooped, the proud chieftain of the united tribes of the Plains, accompanied by his son and daughters, grandchildren and great-grand-children, Goldmoon’s tears flowed again. She wept silently, however, and never took her rapt gaze from the kender.

Tasslehoff came to a halt, mainly because his voice gave out.

He was given a restorative glass of water and lay back down on the cushions.

“Well, what do you think of his tale, First Master?” Palin asked.

“A time in which Riverwind did not die,” Goldmoon murmured. “ A time in which we grow old together. Is it possible?”

“I used the device,” Palin said. “I went back into the past, hoping to find the moment in time when we traded one future for the other. I had hoped to find such a moment, thinking that I might be able to effect a change.”

“That would be very dangerous,” Goldmoon said, her tone sharp-edged.

“Yes, well, it doesn’t matter if it was or it wasn’t,” Palin returned, “because I did not find such a moment in our past.”

“That is just as well,” Goldmoon began.

Palin interrupted her. “First Master,” he said, “I found no past at all.”

“What do you mean? No past?”

“I went back in time,” Palin said. “I saw the end of the Chaos War. I witnessed the departure of the gods. When I looked beyond that, when I tried to see the beginning of the Chaos War, when I tried to see events that had come before that, I saw nothing but a vast and empty darkness, like looking down into an enormous well.”

“What does this mean?” Goldmoon asked.

“I don’t know, First Master.” Palin looked at Tasslehoff. “What I do know is this: Many years ago, Tasslehoff Burrfoot died. At least, he was supposed to die. As you see, here he sits, very much alive.”

“That is why you wanted to send him back to die,” Goldmoon murmured, looking sorrowfully at Tas.

“Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps that wouldn’t make any difference. I am the first to admit that I do not understand time journeying,” Palin said ruefully. “Only one of our order does, and that is Dalamar. But none know if he is dead or alive or how to find him if he is alive.”

“Dalamar!” Goldmoon’s expression darkened. “When I heard of his disappearance and that of the Tower of High Sorcery, I remember thinking how wonderful it was that some good had come out of the evil of these times. I know others liked and trusted him—Tanis, for example, and your father. But every time I saw him, I saw that he walked in shadow, and more than that, that he liked the shadow. He wrapped it around him, hiding his deeds. I believe Tanis and Caramon were deceived by him and I, for one, hope he has left this world. Bad as things are, they are better than if he were here. I trust,” she added sharply, “that you will have nothing to do with him, should he happen to reappear.”

“There seems little likelihood Dalamar will enter into this at all,” Palin returned impatiently. “If he is not dead, he is where we are not likely to ever find him. Now that I have spoken to you, First Master, what I find most singular is that all these strange events happened the night of the storm.”

“There was a voice in that storm,” Goldmoon said, shivering.

“It filled me with terror, though I could not understand what it said.” She looked again at Tas. “The question is, what do we do now?”

“That is up to Tas,” Palin replied. “The fate of the world in the hands of a kender.” He looked very grim.

Tas rose, with dignity, to his feet. “I’ll give the matter serious thought,” he announced. “The decision isn’t easy. I have lots of things to consider. But before I go away to think and to help Conundrum map the hedge maze, which I promised I would do before I left, I want to say one thing. If you people had left the fate of the world in the hands of kender all along, you probably wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Leaving that shot to rankle in Palin’s bosom, Tasslehoff Burrfoot left the room.