“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.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sleep, Love; Forever Sleep
Over a week had passed since Mina had received her orders to march on Silvanesti. During that time, Silvanoshei had been crowned king of the Silvanesti kingdom that slumbered beneath its protective shield, unaware of doom marching nearer.
Galdar had spent three days racing to Khur to deliver Mina’s orders to General Dogah. He had spent another three days traveling south from Khur, eager to meet up with Mina and her troops, following the route she’d shown him on her map. Finding them was easy. He could see signs of their passing all along the way-wheel ruts, footprints, abandoned equipment. If he could find the army this easily, so could the ogres.
Galdar marched with bowed head, slogging through the mud, rain running into his eyes, dripping from his muzzle. The rain had been falling for two days straight now, ever since Galdar’s return, with no letup in sight. Not a soft drizzly summer shower, either, but a lancing, wind-driven rain that chilled the spirit and cast a gloom over the soul.
The men were wet through, cold, and miserable. The trail was slick with mud that was either so slippery no man could stand on it or was so sticky that it nearly sucked the men’s boots off their feet. The heavily laden supply wagons were mired in the mud at least thrice daily, requiring the men to put poles beneath the wheels and heave them out. Galdar’s strength was called upon during these mishaps. The minotaur’s back and shoulders ached with the strain, for he often had to lift the wagon to free the wheel.