Obviously he could not understand why she was not running through the streets displaying the wondrous gift she had been granted. None of them understood. They mistook her patience for humility, and they honored her for that, but they resented her for it as well. She had been given this great gift, a gift every one of them would have been glad to receive. The least she could do was enjoy it.
The Knights’ Council convened with the ritual formalities the Solamnics love. Such formalities grace every important epoch in a Solamnic’s life, from birth to death, and no function is considered to have truly happened without innumerable solemn pronouncements and readings and quotations from the Measure.
Goldmoon sank back against the wall, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. The trial of some Knight began, but Goldmoon was not consciously aware of it. The droning voices were an undercurrent to her dreams, and in her dreams she was back in Tarsis. The city was being attacked by an immense flight of dragons. She cowered in terror as the shadows of their many-colored wings turned bright day into darkest night. Tasslehoff was calling her name. He was telling her something, something important. . . .
“Tas!” she cried, sitting bolt upright. “Tas, fetch Tanis! I must speak to him—”
She blinked and looked around her in confusion.
“Goldmoon, First Master,” Mikelis was saying softly, as he chafed her hands soothingly. “You were dreaming.”
“Yes,” she murmured, “I was dreaming. . . .”
She tried to recall the dream, for she had discovered something important, and she had been going to tell Tanis. But of course, Tanis was not there. None of them were there. She was alone, and she could not remember what it was she had been dreaming about.
Everyone in the hall was staring at her. Her outburst had interrupted the proceedings. Starmaster Mikelis made a sign that all was well. The Lord Knights turned their attention to the case at hand, calling forth the prisoner Knight to take his place before them.
Goldmoon’s gaze roamed aimlessly about the room, watching the restless dead rove among the living. The voices of the Lord Knights droned, and she paid no attention to them until they called upon Tasslehoff to give testimony. He stood in the dock, a shabby and diminutive figure among the tall, splendidly accoutered guards.
Never daunted or intimidated by any show of either ceremony or force, the kender gave the Lord Knights an account of his arrival in Solace and told what had happened to him after that.
Goldmoon had heard this story before in the Citadel of Light. She recalled Tasslehoff talking about a Solamnic Knight who had accompanied him to Qualinesti in search of Palin. Listening to the kender, Goldmoon realized that the Knight on trial was the very Knight who had discovered the kender in the Tomb of the Last Heroes, the Knight who had been present at Caramon’s death, who had stayed behind to fight the Dark Knights so that Palin could escape Qualinesti. The Knight who had forged the first link in a long chain of events.
She looked with interest now at the Knight. He had entered the room with an air of grim and injured dignity, but now that the kender began to defend him, he stood in a state of dejection. He slumped in the dock, his hands dangling before him, his head bowed, as if his fate had already been determined and he were being led to the block. Tasslehoff, needless to say, was enjoying himself.
“You state, kender, that you have attended a Knights’ Council prior to this one,” said Lord Ulrich, Knight of the Sword, who was apparently endeavoring to impress upon the kender the gravity of the situation.
“Oh, yes,” Tas answered. “Sturm Brightblade’s.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Lord Ulrich in bemused tones.
“Sturm Brightblade,” said Tas, raising his voice. “You’ve heard of Sturm? One of the Heroes of the Lance. Like myself.” Tasslehoff placed his hand modestly on his chest. Seeing the Knights regarding him with blank stares, he determined it was time to elaborate. “While I wasn’t at the High Clerist’s Tower when Sir Derek tried to have Sturm thrown out of the Knighthood for cowardice, I heard all about it from my friend Flint Fireforge when I came later, after I broke the dragon orb at the Council of Whitestone. The elves and the Knights were arguing about who should have the dragon orb—”
Lord Tasgall, Knight of the Rose, and head of the council, interrupted.
“We are familiar with the story, kender. You could not possibly have been there, so dispense with your lies. Now, please tell us again how it was that you came to be in the tomb—”
“Oh, but he was there, my lords,” said Goldmoon, rising to her feet. “If you know your history as you claim, then you know that Tasslehoff Burrfoot was at the Council of Whitestone and that he did break the dragon orb.”
“I am aware that the heroic kender Tasslehoff Burrfoot did these things, Master,” said Lord Tasgall, speaking to her in respectful, gentle tones.
“Perhaps your confusion arises from the fact that this kender calls himself Tasslehoff Burrfoot, undoubtedly in honor of the heroic kender who bore the original name.”
“I am not confused,” Goldmoon stated sharply. “The so-called miracle that transformed my body did not affect my mind. I knew the kender you refer to. I knew him then, and I know him now. Haven’t you been listening to his story?” she demanded impatiently.
The Knights stared at her. Gerard lifted his head, a flush of hope reddening his face.
“Are you saying that you affirm his story, First Master?” Lord Nigel, Knight of the Crown, asked, frowning.
“I do,” said Goldmoon. “Palin Majere and Tasslehoff Burrfoot traveled to the Citadel of Light to meet me there. I recognized Tasslehoff. He is not an easy person to forget. Palin told me that Tasslehoff was in possession of a magical artifact that permitted him to travel through time. Tasslehoff came to the Tomb of the Last Heroes the night of the terrible storm. It was a night for miracles,” she added with a touch of bitter irony.
“This kender”—Lord Tasgall glanced at Tas uncertainly— “claims that the Knight here on trial escorted him to Qualinesti, where they met Palin Majere at the home of Laurana, wife of the late Lord Tanis Half-Elven.”
“Tasslehoff told me the same story, my lords. I have no reason to doubt it. If you mistrust his story or if you question my word, I suggest that there is an easy way to prove it. Contact Lord Warren in Solace and ask him.”
“Of course, we do not question your word, First Master,” the Lord Knight said, looking embarrassed.
“But you should, my lords,” Lady Odila said. Rising to her feet, she faced Goldmoon. “How do we know you are what you claim to be? Your word alone. Why should we believe you?”
“You shouldn’t,” said Goldmoon. “You should question, Daughter. You should always question. Only by asking are we answered.”
“My lords!” Starmaster Mikelis was shocked. “The First Master and I are old friends. I can testify that she is indeed Goldmoon, First Master of the Citadel of Light.”
“Tell me what you are thinking, Daughter,” Goldmoon said, ignoring the Starmaster. Her gaze fixed upon Lady Odila as if they were the only two in the room. “Speak your heart. Ask your question.”
“Very well, I will do so.” Lady Odila turned to face the Knights’
Council. “My lords, the First Master Goldmoon is more than ninety years old! This woman is young, beautiful, strong. How is it possible, in the absence of the gods, that such miracles happen?”
“Yes, that is the question,” Goldmoon said and sank back down in her chair.
“Do you have an answer, First Master?” asked Lord Tasgall.
Goldmoon looked at him steadily. “No, my lord, I do not. Except to say that, in the absence of the gods, what has happened to me is not possible.”