Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [153]
“Now then, you asked for that, you know,” Fizban scolded, brushing the Speaker’s robes as the elf gaped at him.
“Who are you?” the Speaker gasped.
“Mmmm. What was that name?” The old magician glanced around at Tasslehoff.
“Fizban,” the kender said helpfully.
“Yes, Fizban. That’s who I am.” The magician stroked his white beard. “Now, Solostaran, I suggest you call off your guards and tell everyone to settle down. I, for one, would like to hear the story of this young woman’s adventures, and you, for one, would do well to listen. It wouldn’t hurt you to apologize, either.”
As Fizban shook his finger at the Speaker, his battered hat tilted forward, covering his eyes. “Help! I’ve gone blind!” Raistlin, with a distrustful glance at the elven guards, hurried forward. He took the old man’s arm and straightened his hat.
“Ah, thank the true gods,” the magician said, blinking and shuffling across the floor. The Speaker watched the old magician, a puzzled expression on his face. Then, as if in a dream, he turned to face Goldmoon.
“I do apologize, lady of the Plains,” he said softly. “It has been over three hundred years since the elven clerics vanished, three hundred years since the symbol of Mishakal was seen in this land. My heart bled to see the amulet profaned, as I thought. Forgive me. We have been in despair so long I failed to see the arrival of hope. Please, if you are not weary, tell us your story.”
Goldmoon related the story of the medallion, telling of Riverwind and the stoning, the meeting of the companions at the Inn, and their journey to Xak Tsaroth. She told of the destruction of the dragon and of how she received the medallion of Mishakal. But she didn’t mention the Disks.
The sun’s rays lengthened as she spoke, changing color as twilight approached. When her story ended, the Speaker was silent for long moments.
“I must consider all of this and what it means to us,” he said finally. He turned to the companions. “You are exhausted. I see some of you stand by courage alone. Indeed”—he smiled, looking at Fizban who leaned against a pillar, snoring softly—“some of you are asleep on your feet. My daughter, Laurana, will guide you to a place where you can forget your fears. We will hold a banquet in your honor tonight, for you bring us hope. May the peace of the true gods go with you.”
The elves parted, and out of their midst came an elfmaiden who walked forward to stand beside the Speaker. At sight of her, Caramon’s mouth sagged open. Riverwind’s eyes widened. Even Raistlin stared, his eyes seeing beauty at last, for no hint of decay touched the young elfmaiden. Her hair was honey pouring from a pitcher; it spilled over her arms and down her back, past her waist, touching her wrists as she stood with her arms at her sides. Her skin was smooth and woodland brown. She had the delicate, refined features of the elves, but these were combined with full, pouting lips and large liquid eyes that changed color like leaves in flickering sunshine.
“On my honor as a knight,” Sturm said with a catch in his voice, “I’ve never seen any woman so lovely.”
“Nor will you in this world,” Tanis murmured.
All the companions glanced at Tanis sharply as he spoke, but the half-elf did not notice. His eyes were on the elfmaid. Sturm raised his eyebrows, exchanged looks with Caramon who nudged his brother. Flint shook his head and sighed a sigh that seemed to come from his toes.
“Now much is made clear,” Goldmoon said to Riverwind.
“It hasn’t been made clear to me,” Tasslehoff said. “Do you know what’s going on, Tika?”
All Tika knew was that, looking at Laurana, she felt suddenly dumpy and half-dressed, freckled and red-headed. She tugged her blouse up higher over her full bosom, wishing it didn’t reveal quite so much or that she had less to reveal.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Tasslehoff