Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [156]
Tearsong’s funeral banquet was the most elaborate to be given in the memory of the Que-shu. Her grieving husband had spared no expense. Like the banquet in Qualinost on this night, there was a great deal of food which few could eat. There were half-hearted attempts at conversation when no one wanted to talk. Occasionally someone, overcome with sorrow, was forced to leave the table.
So vivid was this memory that Goldmoon could eat little; the food was ash in her mouth. Riverwind regarded her with concern. His hand found hers beneath the table and she gripped it hard, smiling as his strength flowed into her body.
The elven feast was held in the courtyard just south of the great golden tower. There were no walls about the platform of crystal and marble which sat atop the highest hill in Qualinost, offering an unobstructed view of the glittering city below, the dark forest beyond, and even the deep purple edge of the Tharkadan Mountains far to the south. But the beauty was lost on those in attendance, or made more poignant by the knowledge that soon it would be gone forever. Goldmoon sat at the right hand of the Speaker. He tried to make polite conversation, but eventually his worries and concerns overwhelmed him and he fell silent.
To the Speaker’s left sat his daughter, Laurana. She made no pretense at eating, just sat with her head bowed, her long hair flowing around her face. When she did look up, it was to gaze at Tanis, her heart in her eyes.
The half-elf, very much aware of the heart-broken stare as well as of Gilthanas eyeing him coldly, ate his food without appetite, his eyes fixed on his plate. Sturm, next to him, was drawing up in his mind plans for the defense of Qualinesti.
Flint felt strange and out of place as dwarves always feel among elves. He didn’t like elven food anyway and refused everything. Raistlin nibbled at his food absently, his golden eyes studying Fizban. Tika, feeling awkward and out of place among the graceful elven women, couldn’t eat a morsel. Caramon decided he knew why elves were so slender: the food consisted of fruits and vegetables, cooked in delicate sauces, served with bread and cheeses and a very light, spicy wine. After starving for four days in the cage, the food did nothing to satisfy the big warrior’s hunger.
The only two in the entire city of Qualinost to enjoy the feast were Tasslehoff and Fizban. The old magician carried on a one-sided argument with an aspen, while Tasslehoff simply enjoyed everything, discovering later—to his surprise—that two golden spoons, a silver knife, and a butter dish made of a seashell had wandered into one of his pouches.
The red moon was not visible. Solinari, a slim band of silver in the sky, began to wane. As the first stars appeared, the Speaker of the Suns nodded sadly at his son. Gilthanas rose and moved to stand next to his father’s chair.
Gilthanas began to sing. The elven words flowed into a melody delicate and beautiful. As he sang, Gilthanas held a small crystal lamp in both hands, the candlelight within illuminating his marble features. Tanis, listening to the song, closed his eyes; his head sank into his hands.
“What is it? What do the words mean?” Sturm asked softly.
Tanis raised his head. His voice breaking, he whispered:
The Sun
The splendid eye
Of all our heavens
Dives from the day,
And leaves
The dozing sky,
Spangled with fireflies,
Deepening in gray.
The elves about the table stood quietly now, taking up their own lamps as they joined in the song. Their voices blended, weaving a haunting song of infinite sadness.
Now Sleep,
Our oldest friend,
Lulls in the trees
And calls
Us in.
The Leaves
Give off cold fire,
They blaze into ash
At the end of the year.
And birds
Coast on the winds,
And wheel to the North
When Autumn ends.
The day grows dark,
The seasons bare,