“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.