“I had never seen one of the great dragons before,” he said qurietly. “I did not think it would be that bad.”
He sat quite still for several more moments, then, with a set jaw and pale face, he rode forward.
Tasslehoff followed along behind because he couldn’t do anything else except follow along behind, what with the Knight holding onto the pony’s reins.
“Was that the same dragon who killed all the kender?” Tasslehoff asked in a small voice.
“No,” Gerard replied. “That was an even bigger dragon. A red dragon named Malys.”
“Oh,” said Tas. “Oh, my.”
An even bigger dragon. He couldn’t imagine it, and he very nearly said that he would like to see an even bigger dragon when it came to him quite forcibly that, in all honesty, he wouldn’t.
“What is the matter with me?” Tasslehoff wailed in dismay. “I must be coming down with something. I’m not curious! I don’t want to see a red dragon that might be bigger than Palanthas. This is just not like me.”
Which led to an astounding thought, a thought so astounding Tas almost tumbled off the pony.
“Maybe I’m not me!”
Tasslehoff considered this. After all, no one else believed he was him except Caramon, and he was pretty old and almost dead at the time so perhaps he didn’t count. Laura had said that she thought Tasslehoff was Tasslehoff but she was probably only being polite, so he couldn’t count on that either. Sir Gerard had said that he couldn’t possibly be Tasslehoff Burrfoot and Lord Warren had said the same thing, and they were Solamnic Knights, which meant that they were smart and most likely knew what they were talking about.
“That would explain everything,” said Tasslehoff to himself, growing cheerier the more he thought about it. “That would explain why nothing that happened to me the first time I went to Caramon’s funeral happened the second time, because it wasn’t me it was happening to. It was someone else entirely. But if that’s the case,” he added, becoming rather muddled, “if I’m not me, I wonder who I am?”
He pondered on this for a good half-mile.
“One thing is certain,” he said. “I can’t keep calling myself Tasslehoff Burrfoot. If I meet the real one, he would be highly annoyed that I’d taken his name. Just the way I felt when I found out that there were thirty-seven other Tasslehoff Burrfoots in Solace—thirty-nine counting the dogs. I suppose I’ll have to give him back the Device of Time Journeying, too. I wonder how I came to have it? Ah, of course. He must have dropped it.”
Tas kicked his pony in the flanks. The pony perked up and trotted forward until Tas had caught up with the knight.
“Excuse me, Sir Gerard,” Tas said.
The Knight glanced at him and frowned. “What?” he asked coldly.
“I just wanted to tell you that I made a mistake,” Tas said meekly. “I’m not the person I said was.”
“Ah, now there’s a surprise!” Gerard grunted. “You mean you’re not Tasslehoff Burrfoot, who’s been dead for over thirty years?”
“I thought I was,” Tas said wistfully. He found the notion more difficult to give up than he’d imagined. “But I can’t be. You see, Tasslehoff Burrfoot was a hero. He wasn’t afraid of anything; And I don’t think he would have felt all strange the way I felt when that dragon flew over us. But I know what’s wrong with me.”
He waited for the Knight to ask politely but the Knight didn’t.
Tas volunteered the information.
“I have magnesia,” he said solemnly.
This time Gerard said, “What?” only he didn’t say it very politely.
Tas put his hand to his forehead, to see if he could feel it.
“Magnesia. I’m not sure how a person gets magnesia. I think it has something to do with milk. But I remember that Raistlin said he knew someone with it once and that person couldn’t remember who he was or why he was or where he’d left his spectacles or anything. So I must have magnesia, because that’s my situation entirely.”
This solved, Tasslehoff—or rather, the kender who used to think he was Tasslehoff—felt extremely proud to know he had come down with something so important.
“Of course,” he added with a sigh, “a lot of people like you who expect me to be Tasslehoff are going to be in for a sad disappointment when they find out I’m not. But they’ll just have to come to grips with it.”
“I’ll try to bear up,” Gerard said dryly. “Now why don’t you think really hard and see if you can ‘remember’ the truth about who you are.”
“I wouldn’t mind remembering the truth,” Tas said. “I have the feeling that the truth doesn’t want to remember me.”
The two rode on in silence through a silent world until at last, to Tasslehoff’s relief, he heard a sound, the sound of water, angry water of a river that foamed and seethed as if it resented being held prisoner within its rocky banks. Humans named the river the White-rage River. It marked the northern border of the elven land of Qualinesti.
Gerard slowed his horse. Rounding a bend in the road, they came within sight of the river, a broad expanse of white foaming water falling over and around glistening black rocks.
They had arrived at the end of the day. The forest was shadowed with the coming of darkness. The river held the light still, the water shining in the afterglow, and by that light they could see in the distance a narrow bridge spanning the river. The bridge was guarded by a lowered gate and guards wearing the same black armor as Gerard.
“Those are Dark Knights,” said Tasslehoff in astonishment.
“Keep your voice down!” Gerard ordered sternly. Dismounting, he removed the gag from his belt and approached the kender.
“Remember, the only way we’re going to be able to see your alleged friend Palin Majere is if they let us past.”
“But why are there Dark Knights here in Qualinesti?” Tas asked, talking quickly before Gerard had time to put the gag in place.
“The dragon Beryl rules the realm. These Knights are her overseers. They enforce her laws, collect the taxes and the tribute the elves pay to stay alive.”
“Oh, no,” said Tas, shaking his head. “There must be some mistake. The Dark Knights were driven out by the combined forces of Porthios and Gilthas in the year—ulp!”
Gerard stuffed the gag in the kender’s mouth, fastened it securely in a knot at the back of his head. “Keep saying things like that and I won’t have to gag you. Everyone will just think you’re crazy.”
“If you’d tell me what has happened,” Tas said, pulling the gag from his mouth and peering around at Gerard, “then I wouldn’t have to ask questions.”
Gerard, exasperated, put the gag back in place. “Very well,” he said crossly. “The Knights of Neraka took Qualinesti during the Chaos War and they have never relinquished their hold on it,” he said as he tied the knot. “They were prepared to go to war against the dragon, when she demanded that they cede the land to her. Beryl was clever enough to realize that she didn’t need to fight. The Knights could be of use to her. She formed an alliance with them. The elves pay tribute, the Knights collect it and turn over a percentage—a large percentage—to the dragon. The Knights keep the rest. They prosper. The dragon prospers. It’s the elves who are out of luck.”
“I guess that must have happened when I had magnesia,” Tas said, tugging one comer of the gag loose.
Gerard fastened the knot even tighter and added, irritably,
“The word is ‘amnesia,’ damn it. And just keep quiet!”
He remounted his horse, and the two rode toward the gate.
The guards were alert and had probably been on the watch for them, warned of their coming by the dragon, for they did not appear surprised to see the two emerge from the shadows.