Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [84]
Dragons, thought Goldmoon dreamily. She found it difficult to concentrate and grasp the words that flooded her mind. It would not be until later that she would fully comprehend the message. Then she would remember the words forever.
“To gain the power to defeat them, you will need the truth of the gods, this is the greatest gift of which you were told. Below this temple, in the ruins haunted by the glories of ages past, rest the Disks of Mishakal; circular disks made of gleaming platinum. Find the Disks and you can call upon my power, for I am Mishakal, goddess of healing.
“Your way will not be easy. The gods of evil know and fear the great power of the truth. The ancient and powerful black dragon, Khisanth, known to men as Onyx, guards the Disks. Her lair is in the ruined city of Xak Tsaroth below us. Danger lies ahead of you if you choose to try and recover the Disks. Therefore I bless this staff. Present it boldly, never wavering, and you shall prevail.”
The voice faded. It was then Goldmoon heard Riverwind’s death cry.
Tanis entered the temple and felt as if he had walked backward into memory. The sun was shining through the trees in Qualinost. He and Laurana and her brother, Gilthanas, were lying on the riverbank, laughing and sharing dreams after some childish game. Happy childhood days had been few for Tanis—the half-elf learned early that he was different from the others. But that day had been a day of golden sunshine and warm friendship. The remembered peace washed over him, easing his grief and horror.
He turned to Goldmoon, standing silently beside him. “What is this place?”
“That is a story whose telling must wait,” Goldmoon answered. With a light hand on Tanis’s arm, she drew him across the shimmering tile floor until they both stood before the shining marble statue of Mishakal. The blue crystal staff cast a brilliant glow throughout the chamber.
But even as Tanis’s lips parted in wonder, a shadow darkened the room. He and Goldmoon turned toward the door. Caramon and Sturm entered, bearing the body of Riverwind between them on the makeshift litter. Flint and Tasslehoff—the dwarf looking old and weary, the kender unusually subdued—stood on either side of the litter, an odd sort of honor guard. The somber procession moved slowly inside. Behind them came Raistlin, his hood pulled over his head, his hands folded in his robes—the spectre of death itself.
They moved across the marble floor, intent on the burden they bore, and came to a halt before Tanis and Goldmoon. Tanis, looking down at the body at Goldmoon’s feet, shut his eyes. Blood had soaked through the thick blanket, spreading in great dark splotches across the fabric.
“Remove the blanket,” Goldmoon commanded. Caramon looked at Tanis pleadingly.
“Goldmoon—” Tanis began gently.
Suddenly, before anyone could stop him, Raistlin bent down and tore the blood-stained blanket from the body.
Goldmoon gave a strangled gasp at the sight of Riverwind’s tortured body, turning so pale that Tanis reached out a steadying hand, fearing she might faint. But Goldmoon was the daughter of a strong, proud people. She swallowed, drew a deep, shuddering breath. Then she turned and walked up to the marble statue. She lifted the blue crystal staff carefully from the goddess’s hands, then she returned to kneel beside Riverwind’s body.
“Kan-tokah,” she said softly. “My beloved.” Reaching out a shaking hand, she touched the dying Plainsman’s forehead. The sightless face moved toward her as if he heard. One of the blackened hands twitched feebly, as if he would touch her. Then he gave a great shudder and lay perfectly still. Tears streamed unheeded down Goldmoon’s cheeks as she lay the staff across Riverwind’s body. Soft blue light filled the chamber. Everyone the light touched felt rested and refreshed. The pain and exhaustion from the day’s toil left their bodies. The horror of the dragon’s attack lifted from their minds, as the sun burns through fog. Then the light of the staff dimmed and faded. Night settled over the