“It’s just a story he’s made Up,” Gerard said impatiently. “One of those tales of ‘what might have been.”
“What might have been,” Palin said, watching the sunlight sparkle on the jewels. “My father had a story of what might have been. ” He looked at Tas. “You and my father traveled forward in time together once, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Tas said quickly. “We overshot our mark. You see, we were trying to go back to our own time which was 356 but due to a miscalculation we ended up in 358. Not the 358 which was 358, but a really horrible 358 where we found Tika’s tomb and poor Bupu dead in the dust and Caramon’s corpse, a 358 which thank goodness never happened because Caramon and I went back in time to make sure that Raistlin didn’t become a god.”
“Caramon once told me that story,” Gerard said. “I thought—well, he was getting on in years and he did like to tell tales, so I never really took him seriously.”
“My father believed that it happened,” Palin said and that was all he said.
“Do you believe it, Palin?” Laurana asked insistently. “More important, do you believe that Tas’s story is true. That he really did travel through time? Is that what you are thinking?”
“What I am thinking is that I need to know much more about this device,” he replied. “Which is, of course, why my father urged that the device be taken to Dalamar. He is the only person in this world who was actually present during the time my father worked the magic of the device.”
“I was there!” Tas reminded them. “And now I’m here.”
“Yes,” said Palin with a cool, appraising glance. “So you are.”
In his mind, an idea was forming. It was only a spark, a tiny flash of flame in a vast and empty darkness. Yet it had been enough to send the rats scurrying.
“You cannot ask Dalamar,” Laurana said practically. “No one’s seen him since his return from the Chaos war.”
“No, Laurana, you are wrong,” Palin said. “One person saw him before his mysterious disappearance—his lover, Jenna. She always claimed that she had no idea where he went, but I never believed her. And she would be the one person who might know something about this artifact.”
“Where does this Jenna live?” Gerard asked. “Your father gave me the task of taking the kender and the device to Dalamar. I may not be able to do that, but I could at least escort you, sir, and the kender—”
Palin was shaking his head. “That will not be possible, Sir Knight. Mistress Jenna lives in Palanthas, a city under the control of the Dark Knights.”
“So is Qualinesti, sir,” Gerard pointed out, with a slight smile.
“Slipping unnoticed across the heavily wooded borders of Qualinesti is one thing,” Palin observed. “Entering the walled and heavily guarded city of Palanthas is quite another. Besides the journey would take far too long. It would be easier to meet Jenna half way. Perhaps in Solace.”
“But can Jenna leave Palanthas?” Laurana asked. “I thought the Dark Knights had restricted travel out of the city as well as into it.”
“Such restrictions may apply to ordinary people,” Palin said drily. “Not to Mistress Jenna. She made it her business to get on well with the knights when they took over the city. Very well, if you take my meaning. Youth is lost to her, but she is still an attractive woman. She is also the wealthiest woman in Solamnia and one of the most powerful mages. No, Laurana, Jenna will have no difficulty traveling to Solace. “He rose to his feet. He needed to be alone, to think.
“But aren’t her powers abating like yours, Palin?” Laurana asked.
He pressed his lips together in displeasure. He did not like speaking of his loss, as another might not like speaking of a cancerous growth. “Jenna has certain artifacts which continue to work for her, as I have some which continue to work for me. It is not much,” he added caustically, “but we make do.”
“Perhaps this is the best plan,” Laurana agreed. “But how will you return to Solace? The roads are closed—”
Palin bit his lip, bit back bitter words. Would they never quit yammering at him?
“Not to one of the Dark Knights,” Gerard was saying. “I’ll offer myself as escort, sir. I came here with a kender prisoner. I will leave with a human one.”
“Yes, yes, a good plan, Sir Knight,” Palin said impatiently.
“You work out the details. “He started to walk off, eager to escape to the silence of his room, but he thought of one more important question. Pausing, he turned to ask it. “Does anyone else know of the discovery of this artifact?”
“Probably half of Solace by now, sir,” Gerard answered dourly. “The kender was not very secretive.”
“Then we must not waste time,” Palin said tersely. “I will contact Jenna.”
“How will you do that?” Laurana asked him.
“I have my ways,” he said, adding, with a curl of his lip, “Not much, but I make do.”
He left the room, left abruptly, without looking back. He had no need. He could feel her hurt and her sorrow accompany him like a gentle spirit. He was momentarily ashamed, half-turned to go back to apologize. He was her guest, after all. She was putting her very life in danger to host him. He hesitated, and then he kept walking.
No, he thought grimly. Laurana can’t understand. Usha doesn’t understand. That brash and arrogant knight doesn’t understand. They can’t any of them understand. They don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve suffered. They don’t know my loss.
Once, he cried in silent anguish, once I touched the minds of gods!
He paused, listening in the stillness, to see if he could by chance hear a faint voice answering his grieving cry.
He heard, as he always heard, only the empty echo.
They think I’ve been freed from prison. They think my torment is ended.
They are wrong.
My confinement endures day after dreary day. The torture goes on indefintely. Gray walls surround me. I squat in my own filth. The bones of my spirit are cracked and splintered. My hunger is so great that I devour myself. My thirst so great that I drink my own waste. This is what I’ve become.
Reaching the sanctuary of his room, he shut the door and then dragged a chair across to lean against it. No elf would dream of disturbing the privacy of one who has shut himself away, but Palin didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust any of them.
He sat down at a writing desk, but he did not write to Jenna.
He placed his hand on a small silver earring he wore in his ear lobe. He spoke the words to the spell, words that perhaps didn’t matter anymore, for there was no one to hear them. Sometimes artifacts worked without the ritual words, sometimes they only worked with the words, sometimes they didn’t work at all under any circumstances. That was happening more and more often these days.
He repeated the words and added “Jenna” to them.
A hungry wizard had sold her the six silver earrings. He was evasive about where he had found them, mumbled something to the effect that they had been left to him by a dead uncle.
Jenna had told Palin, “Certainly, the dead once owned these earrings. But they were not willed to him. He stole them.”
She did not pursue the matter. Many once respectable wizards—including Palin himself—had turned to grave robbery in their desperate search for magic. The wizard had described what the earrings did, said he would not have sold them but that dire necessity drove him to it. She had paid him a handsome sum and, instead of placing the earrings in her shop, she had given one to Palin and one to Ulin, his son. She had not told Palin who wore the others. ..
He had not asked. Once there had been a time when the mages of the Conclave had trusted each other. In these dark days, with the magic dwindling, each now looked sidelong at the others wondering, “Does he have more than I do? Has he found something I have not? Has the power been given to him and not to me?”