The mourners noted that his expression was peaceful, even cheerful, more cheerful than they had seen him since his beloved Tika died. “Somewhere, they’re together,” people said and smiled through their tears.
Laura stood near the door, accepting condolences. She was dressed in the clothes she wore for work—a snowy white blouse, a clean fresh apron, a pretty skirt of royal blue with white petticoats.
People wondered that she wasn’t draped head to toe in black.
“Father would not have wanted me to,” was her simple reply.
People said it was sad that Laura was the only member of the family to be present to lay their father to rest. Dezra, her sister, had been in Haven purchasing hops for the Inn’s famous ale, only to be trapped there when the dragon Beryl attacked the city.
Dezra had managed to smuggle word to her sister that she was safe and well, but she dared not try to return; the roads were not safe for travelers.
As for Caramon’s son, Palin, he was gone from Solace on yet another of his mysterious journeys. If Laura knew where he was, she didn’t say. His wife, Usha, a portrait painter of some renown, had traveled to Haven as company for Dezra. Since Usha had painted the portraits of families of some of the commanders of the Knights of Neraka, she was involved in negotiations to try to win a guarantee of safe passage for herself and for Dezra. Usha’s children, Ulin and Linsha, were off on adventures of their own.
Linsha, a Solamnic Knight, had not been heard from in many months. Ulin had gone away after hearing a report of some magical artifact and was believed to be in Palanthas.
Tas sat in a booth, under guard, the Knight Gerard at his side.
Watching the people file in, the kender shook his head.
“But I tell you this isn’t the way Caramon’s funeral’s supposed to be,” Tasslehoff repeated insistently.
“Shut your mouth, you little fiend,” Gerard ordered in a low, harsh tone. “This is hard enough on Laura and her father’s friends without you making matters worse with your foolish chatter.” To emphasize his words, he gripped the kender’s shoulder hard, gave him a good shake.
“You’re hurting me,” Tas protested.
“Good,” Gerard growled. “Now just keep quiet, and do as you’re told.”
Tas kept quiet, a remarkable feat for him, but one that was easier at this moment than any of his friends might have had reason to expect. His unaccustomed silence was due to the lump of sadness that was still stuck in his throat and that he could not seem to swallow. The sadness was all mixed up with the confusion that was muddling his mind and making it hard to think.
Caramon’s funeral was not going at all the way it was meant to go. Tas knew this quite well because he’d been to Caramon’s funeral once already and remembered how it went. This wasn’t it.
Consequently, Tas wasn’t enjoying himself nearly as much as he’d expected.
Things were wrong. All wrong. Utterly wrong. Completely and irretrievably wrong. None of the dignitaries were here who were supposed to be here. Palin hadn’t arrived, and Tas began to think that perhaps Laura was right and he wasn’t going to arrive.
Lady Crysania did not come. Goldmoon and Riverwind were missing. Dalamar did not suddenly appear, materializing out of the shadows and giving everyone a good scare. Tas discovered that he couldn’t give his speech. The lump was too big and wouldn’t let him. Just one more thing that was wrong.
The crowds were large—the entire population of Solace and surrounding communities came to pay their final respects and to extol the memory of the beloved man. But the crowds were not as large as they had been at Caramon’s first funeral.
Caramon was buried near the Inn he loved, next to the graves of his wife and sons. The vallenwood sapling Caramon had planted in honor of Tika was young and thriving. The vallenwoods he had planted for his fallen sons were full-grown trees, standing tall and proud as the guard provided by the Knights of Solamnia, who accorded Caramon the honor rarely performed for a man who was not a Knight: escorting his coffin to the burial site.
Laura planted the vallenwood in her father’s memory, planted the tree in the very heart of Solace, near the tree she had planted for her mother. The couple had been the heart of Solace for many years, and everyone felt it was fitting.
The sapling stood uneasily in the fresh-turned earth, looking lost and forlorn. The people said what was in their hearts, paid their tribute. The Knights sheathed their swords with solemn faces, and the funeral was over. Everyone went home to dinner.
The Inn was closed for the first time since the red dragon had picked it up and hurled it out of its tree during the War of the Lance. Laura’s friends offered to spend the first lonely nights with her, but she refused, saying that she wanted to have her cry in private. She sent home Cook, who was in such a state that when she finally did come back to work, she did not need to use any salt in the food for the tears she dripped into it. As for the gully dwarf, he had not moved from the corner into which he’d collapsed the moment he heard of Caramon’s death. He lay in a huddled heap wailing and howling dismally until, to everyone’s relief, he cried himself to sleep.
“Good-bye, Laura,” said Tas, reaching out his hand. He and Gerard were the last to leave; the kender having refused to budge until everyone was gone and he was quite certain that nothing was going to happen the way it was intended to happen.
“The funeral was very nice. Not as nice as the other funeral, but then I guess you couldn’t help that. I really do not understand what is going on. Perhaps that’s why Caramon told Sir Gerard to take me to see Dalamar, which I would, except that I think Fizban might consider that to be gallivanting. But, anyway, good-bye and thank you.”
Laura looked down at the kender, who was no longer jaunty and cheerful but looking very forlorn and bereft and downcast.
Suddenly, Laura knelt beside him and enfolded him in her arms.
“I do believe you’re Tasslehoff.” she said to him softly, fiercely. “Thank you for coming.” She hugged the breath from his small body and then turned and ran through the door leading to the family’s private quarters. “Lock up, will you, Sir Gerard?” she called out over her shoulder and shut and locked the door behind her.
The Inn was quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the rustling of the leaves of the vallenwood tree and the creaking of the branches. The rustling had a weepy sound to it, and it seemed that the branches were lamenting. Tas had never seen the Inn empty before. Looking around, he remembered the night they had all met here after their five-year separation. He could see Flint’s face and hear his gruff complaining, he could see Caramon standing protectively near his twin brother, he could see Raistlin’s sharp eyes keeping watch over everything. He could almost hear Goldmoon’s song again.
“Everyone’s vanished,” Tas said ..to himself softly, and felt another snuffle coming on.
“Let’s go,” said Gerard.
Hand on the kender’s shoulder, the Knight steered Tas toward the door, where he brought the kender to a halt to remove several articles of a valuable nature, which had happened to tumble into his pouches. Gerard left them on the bar for their owners to reclaim. This done, he took down the key that hung from a hook on the wall near the door, and locked the door.
He hung the key on a hook outside the Inn, placed there in case anyone needed a room after hours, and then marched the kender down the stairs.