The spectators began to whisper among themselves. The Knights exchanged doubtful glances. Starmaster Mikelis stared at her in helpless, baffled confusion. The Knight, Gerard, put his head in his hands. Tasslehoff bounced to his feet. “I have the answer,” he offered, but was quickly settled—and muffled—by the bailiff.
“I have something to say,” said Conundrum in his thin and nasaly tones. He slid off his chair, nervously plucking at his beard. Lord Tasgall gave the gnome gracious permission to speak. Solamnics have always felt a certain affinity for the gnomes.
“I just wanted to say that I had never seen any of these people before in my entire life until just a few weeks ago when this kender sabotaged my attempts to map the Hedge Maze and this human female stole my submersible. I have started a legal defense fund. If anyone would care to contribute?”
Conundrum glanced around hopefully. No one did, and so he sat back down. Lord Tasgall appeared considerably taken aback, but he nodded and indicated that the gnome’s testimony was to be recorded.
“The Knight Gerard uth Mondar has already spoken in his own defense,” said Lord Tasgall. “We have heard the testimony of the kender who claims to be Tasslehoff Burrfoot and that of Lady Odila Windlass and the. . . um . . . First Master. We will now withdraw to consider all of the testimony.”
Everyone stood. The Knights withdrew. After they had departed, some people returned to their seats, but most hastened out of the room and into the corridor, where they discussed the matter in excited tones that could be heard clearly by those still inside the chamber.
Goldmoon rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She wanted nothing now but to be in a room by herself away from all this noise and commotion and confusion.
Feeling a touch on her hand, she saw Lady Odila standing before her.
“Why did you want me to ask that about the gods, First Master?” Lady Odila asked.
“Because it needed asking, Daughter,” Goldmoon replied.
“Are you claiming there is a god?” Lady Odila frowned. “You spoke of a one—”
Goldmoon took hold of the woman’s hand, wrapped her fingers around it, pressed it firmly. “I am saying to open your heart, Daughter. Open it to the world.”
Lady Odila smiled wryly. “I opened my heart once, First Master. Someone came in and ransacked the place.”
“So now you lock it with a quick wit and a glib tongue. Gerard uth Mondar is telling the truth, Lady Odila. Oh, they will send messengers to Solace and his homeland to verify his story, but you know as well as I do that this could take weeks. This will be too late. You believe him, don’t you?”
“Corn bread and cornflowers,” Lady Odila said, glancing at the prisoner as he stood patiently, but wearily, in the dock. She looked back at Goldmoon. “Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. Still, as you say, only by asking are we answered. I will do what I can to either prove or disprove his claim.”
The Knights returned. Goldmoon heard them speak their ruling, but their voices were distant, came to her from across a vast river.
“We have determined that we cannot pronounce judgment on the critical issues raised in the case until we have spoken to additional witnesses. Therefore we are sending messengers to the Citadel of Light and to Lord Warren in Solace. In the meantime, we will make inquiries throughout Solanthus to see if someone here knows the defendant’s family and can verify this man’s identity.”
Goldmoon barely heard what was said. She had only a brief time left in this world, she felt. The youthful body could no longer contain the soul that yearned to be free of the burden of flesh and of feeling. She was living moment to moment. Heartbeat to heartbeat. Each beat grew a little weaker than the one before. Yet, there was something she still must do. Somewhere she still must go.
“In the meantime,” Lord Tasgall was saying, concluding the proceedings, “the prisoner Gerard uth Mondar, the kender who goes by the name of Tasslehoff Burrfoot, and the gnome Conundrum are to be held in confinement. This council is adjourned—”
“My lords, I will speak!” Gerard cried, shaking loose the bailiff who was attempting to stop him. “Do what you will with me. Believe my story or not, as you see fit.” He raised his voice to overcome the lord’s repeated commands for him to be silent. “Please, I beg of you! Send aid and succor to the elves of Qualinesti. Do not allow the dragon Beryl to exterminate them with impunity. If you have no care for the elves as fellow beings, then at least you must see that once Beryl has destroyed the elves, she will next turn her attention northward to Solamnia—”
The bailiff summoned assistance. Several guards finally subdued Gerard. Lady Odila watched, said nothing, but glanced again at Goldmoon. She appeared to be asleep, her head slumped forward on her chest, her hands resting in her lap, much as an elderly woman might doze by the fire or in the warm sunshine, oblivious to what is now, dreaming of what will be.
“She is Goldmoon,” Lady Odila murmured.
When order was restored, Lord Tasgall continued speaking. “The First Master is to be given into the care of Starmaster Mike-lis. We ask that she not leave the city of Solanthus until such time as the messengers return.”
“I will be honored if you would be a guest in my home, First Master,”
said Starmaster Mikelis, giving her a gentle shake.
“Thank you,” said Goldmoon, waking suddenly. “But I will not be staying long.”
The Starmaster blinked. “Forgive me, First Master, but you heard what the Knights said—”
Goldmoon had not in fact heard a word the Knights had said. She paid no heed to the living and no heed to the dead who came clustering around her.
“I am very tired,” she told them all and, grasping her staff, she walked out the door.
24
Preparing for the End
Ever since their king had told them of their danger, the people of Qualinesti had been making preparations to stand against the dragon and her armies that were drawing near the elven capital. Beryl focused all her strength and her attention on capturing the elven city that had graced the world for so many years and on making that city her own. Soon humans would be moving into elven homes, chopping down the elves’ beloved forests for lumber, turning hogs loose to forage in elven rose gardens. The refugees were gone now. They had been evacuated through the dwarven tunnels, they had fled through the forests. With the refugees gone, those elves who had volunteered to remain behind to fight the dragon began to concentrate on the city’s defenses. They were under no illusions. They knew that this was a battle they could win only by a miracle. At best, they were fighting a rearguard action. Every few hours they delayed the enemies’ advance meant their families and friends were another few miles closer to safety. They had heard the news that the shield had fallen, and they spoke of the beauty of Silvanesti, of how their cousins would welcome the refugees, take them into their hearts and their houses. They spoke of the healing of the old wounds, of the future reunification of the elven kingdoms.
Their king, Gilthas, encouraged their hopes and their beliefs. Marshal Medan wondered when the young man found time to sleep. Gilthas was everywhere, it seemed. One moment he was underground, working alongside the dwarves and their burrowing worms, the next he was helping to set fire to a bridge across the White-rage River. The next time the Marshal saw the king, Gilthas was again in the underground tunnels, where most of the elves now lived. Down in these tunnels, built by the dwarves, the elves worked day and night forging and mending weapons and armor and braiding rope, miles and miles of thin, strong rope that would be needed to carry out the king’s plan to destroy the dragon. Every bit of cloth that could be spared had been given over to the production of the rope, from baby clothes to bridal gowns to shrouds. The elves took silken sheets from their beds, took woolen blankets from cribs, took tapestries that had hung for centuries in the Tower of the Sun. They tore them up without a second thought.