Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [123]
“I feared as much!” the mage hissed. “Another riot!”
“Perhaps not,” Tanis said, watching. “Look at the audience.”
Women leaned their heads onto their husband’s shoulders, children were quiet and attentive. The draconians seemed spellbound, as a wild animal will sometimes be held by music. Only the goblins shuffled their flapping feet, seemingly bored but so in awe of the draconians that they dared not protest.
Goldmoon’s song was of the ancient gods. She told how the gods had sent the Cataclysm to punish the Kingpriest of Istar and the people of Krynn for their pride. She sang of the terrors of that night and those that followed. She reminded them of how the people, believing themselves abandoned, had prayed to false gods. Then she gave them a message of hope: the gods had not abandoned them. The true gods were here, waiting only for someone to listen to them.
After her song ended, and the plaintive wailing of the flute died, most in the crowd shook their heads, seeming to wake from a pleasant dream. When asked what the song had been about, they couldn’t say. The draconians shrugged and called for more ale. The goblins shouted for Tika to dance again. But, here and there, Tanis noticed a face still holding the wonder it had worn during the song. And he was not surprised to see a young, dark-skinned woman approach Goldmoon shyly.
“I ask your pardon for disturbing you, my lady,” Tanis overheard the woman say, “but your song touched me deeply. I—I want to learn of the ancient gods, to learn their ways.”
Goldmoon smiled. “Come to me tomorrow,” she said, “and I shall teach you what I know.”
And thus, slowly, word of the ancient gods began to spread. By the time they left Port Balifor, the dark-skinned woman, a soft-voiced young man, and several other people wore the blue medallion of Mishakal, Goddess of Healing. Secretly they went forth, bringing hope to the dark and troubled land.
By the end of the month, the companions were able to buy a wagon, horses to pull it, horses to ride, and supplies. What was left went toward purchase of ship’s passage to Sancrist. They planned to add to their money by performing in the small farming communities between Port Balifor and Flotsam.
When the Red Wizard left Port Balifor shortly before the Yuletide season, his wagon was seen on its way by enthusiastic crowds. Packed with their costumes, supplies for two months, and a keg of ale (provided by William), the wagon was big enough for Raistlin to sleep and travel inside. It also held the multi-colored, striped tents in which the others would live.
Tanis glanced around at the strange sight they made, shaking his head. It seemed that—in the midst of everything else that had happened to them—this was the most bizarre. He looked at Raistlin sitting beside his brother, who drove the wagon. The mage’s red-sequined robes blazed like flame in the bright winter sunlight. Shoulders hunched against the wind, Raistlin stared straight ahead, wrapped in a show of mystery that delighted the crowd. Caramon, dressed in a bearskin suit (a present of William’s), had pulled the head of the bear over his own, making it look as though a bear drove the wagon. The children cheered as he growled at them in mock ferocity.
They were nearly out of town when a draconian commander stopped them. Tanis, his heart caught in his throat, rode forward, his hand pressed against his sword. But the commander only wanted to make certain they passed through Bloodwatch where draconian troops were located. The draconian had mentioned the show to a friend. The troops were looking forward to seeing it. Tanis, inwardly vowing not to set foot near the place, promised faithfully that they would certainly appear.
Finally they reached the city gates. Climbing down from their mounts, they bid farewell to their friend. William gave them each a hug, starting