“I’m here to see Goldmoon, ma’am,” Tasslehoff said politely.
“My business is urgent. Quite urgent. If you could just show me where—”
“What do you have here, Guardian?” asked another voice.
“Trouble?”
Tasslehoff twisted his head to see another woman clad in armor, except that she was wearing the armor of a Solamnic Knight. Two more Solamnic Knights walked on either side of her as she proceeded up the walkway.
“I am not certain, Lady Camilla,” replied the guard, saluting.
“This kender has asked to see Goldmoon.”
The two exchanged glances and it seemed to Tas that a shadow crossed the face of the lady Knight. “What does a kender want of the First Master?”
“The who?” Tas wondered.
“Goldmoon, the First Master.”
“I’m an old friend of hers,” Tas said. He held out his hand.
“My name is . . .” He paused. He was growing extremely tired of people staring at him oddly whenever he said his name. He withdrew his hand. “It’s not important. If you’ll just tell me where to find Goldmoon . . .”
Neither of the women answered, but Tas, watching closely, saw the Solamnic Knight glance in the direction of the largest crystal dome. He guessed at once that this was where he needed to be.
“You both look very busy,” he said, edging away. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. If you’ll excuse me. . .” He made a dash for it.
“Should I go after him, sir?” he heard the guard ask the Knight.
“No, leave him be,” Lady Camilla replied. “The First Master has a soft spot in her heart for kender.”
“But he might disturb her solitude,” the guard said.
“I would give him thirty steel pieces, if he could,” Lady Camilla replied.
The lady Knight was fifty years old, a handsome woman, hale and hearty, though her black hair was streaked with silver. Stem of countenance, grim and stoic, she did not appear to be the sort of person given to displays of emotion. Yet Tas heard her say this with a sigh.
Tas reached to the door of the crystal dome and halted, fully expecting someone to come out and tell him he shouldn’t be there. Two white-robed men did emerge, but they only smiled at him and wished him a good afternoon.
“And a good afternoon to you, sirs,” Tas said, bowing. “By the way, I’m lost. What building is this?”
“The Grand Lyceum,” said one.
“Oh,” said Tas, looking wise, although he hadn’t a clue what a lyceum was. “I’m so glad I’ve found it. Thank you.”
Bidding the gentlemen good-bye, the kender entered the Grand Lyceum. After a thorough exploration of the area, the exploration involving opening doors and interrupting classes, asking innumerable questions, and eavesdropping on private conversations, the kender discovered that he was inside the Grand Hall, a popular meeting place for the people who lived and worked and studied in the Citadel of Light.
This being afternoon, the Grand Hall was quiet with only a few people reading or talking together in small groups. At night the Grand Hall would be crowded, for it served as the dining hall for the Citadel, and here everyone—teachers and students alike—gathered for their evening meal.
The rooms inside the crystal dome glowed with sunshine.
Chairs were numerous and comfortable. Long wooden tables stood at one end of the enormous room. The smell of baking bread wafted from the kitchen that was located on a level below.
The reception rooms were at the far end, some of them occupied by students and their masters.
Tasslehoff had no difficulty gathering information about Goldmoon. Every conversation he overheard and half those he interrupted were centered on the First Master. Everyone, it seemed, was very worried about her.
“I cannot believe that the Masters have allowed this to go on this long,” one woman said to a visitor. “Permitting the First Master to remain sealed up in her room like this! She might be in danger. She might be ill.”
“Has no one made any attempt to try to talk to her?”
“Of course, we have tried to talk to her!” The woman shook her head. “We are all of us worried about her. Ever since the night of the storm, she has refused to see or speak to anyone, even those closest to her. Food and water are left for her on a tray during the night. The tray is always found empty in the morning. She leaves us notes on the tray assuring us that she is well, but she begs that we will respect her privacy and not disturb her.”
“I won’t disturb her,” Tasslehoff said to himself. “I’ll tell her very quickly what’s happened, and then I’ll leave.”
“What are we to do?” the woman continued. “The handwriting on the notes is her own. We are all agreed on that.”
“That proves nothing. She may be a prisoner. She may be writing those notes under duress, especially if she fears she will bring down harm upon others in the Citadel.”
“But with what motive? If she were taken hostage, we would expect a ransom request or that some demand be made in return for her well-being. Nothing has been asked of us. We have not been attacked. The island remains as peaceful as anywhere in this dark time. Ships come and go. Refugees arrive daily. Our lives continue apace.”
“What of the silver dragon?” the second woman asked. “Mirror is one of the guardians of Schallsea Isle and of the Citadel of Light. I would think that the dragon, with his magic, would be able to discover if some evil had taken possession of the First Master.”
“He undoubtedly could, but Mirror has vanished as well,” her friend returned helplessly. “He took flight during the worst of the storm. No one has seen him since.”
“I knew a silver dragon once,” Tas said, barging in on the conversation. “Her name was Silvara. I couldn’t help overhearing you talk about Goldmoon. She’s a very good friend of mine. I’m deeply worried about her. Where did you say her rooms were?”
“At the very top of the Lyceum. Up those stairs,” said one.
“Thank you,” said Tas and turned that direction.
“But no one’s allowed up there,” the woman added sternly.
Tas turned back again. “Oh, sure. I understand. Thanks.”
The two women walked off, continuing their conversation.
Tasslehoff loitered in the area, admiring a large statue of a silver dragon that occupied an honored place in the center of the hall.
When the women were gone, Tas glanced about. Seeing that one was watching him, he began to climb the stairs.
Goldmoon’s chambers were located at the very top of the Grand Lyceum. A spiral staircase of many hundred steps led upward through the various levels. The climb was long, the stairs built for the tall legs of humans, not the short legs of kender. Tas had begun bounding up the stairs enthusiastically, but after stair number seventy-five, he was forced to sit down and take a brief rest.
“Whew!” he said, panting. “I wish I were a silver dragon. At least then I’d have wings.”
The sun was starting to dip down into the sea, by the time Tasslehoff—after a few more rests—reached the top.
The staircase ended, so Tas presumed he’d arrived at the level where Goldmoon lived. The hallway was peaceful and quiet, or so it seemed at first. A door decorated with sheaves of what and vines and fruit and flowers stood at the end of the corridor. As Tas moved closer to the door, he detected the faint sound of someone weeping.
The tender-hearted kender forgot his own trouble. He knocked gently on the door. “Goldmoon,” he called out. “It’s me, Tasslehoff. Is anything wrong? Maybe I can help.”
The sound of weeping ceased immediately, replaced by silence.
“Goldmoon,” Tas began. “I really need to talk to—”
A hand grasped hold of his shoulder. Startled, Tas jumped and banged his head against the door. He looked wildly around.
Palin gazed down at him sternly.