Dragons of Autumn Twilight - By Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman Page 0,56

the bright new morning sun, were three thick, twisting columns of greasy, black smoke. Tanis stumbled to his feet. He ran over and shook Riverwind gently, trying to wake the Plainsman without disturbing Goldmoon.

"Hush," Tanis whispered, putting a warning finger on his lips and nodding toward the sleeping woman as Riverwind blinked at the half-elf. Seeing Tanis's dark expression, the barbarian was instantly awake. He stood up quietly and moved off with Tanis, glancing around him.

"What's this?" he whispered. "We're in the Plains of Abanasinia. Still about a half day's journey from the Eastwall Mountains. My village lies to the east-"

He stopped as Tanis pointed silently eastward. Then he gave a shallow, ragged cry as he saw the smoke curling into the sky. Goldmoon jerked awake. She sat up, gazed at Riverwind sleepily, then with growing alarm. Turning, she followed his horrified stare.

"No," she moaned. "No!" she cried again. Quickly rising, she began to gather their possessions. The others woke at her cry.

"What is it?" Caramon jumped up.

"Their village," Tanis said softly, gesturing with his hand. "It's burning. Apparently the armies are moving quicker than we thought."

"No," said Raistlin. "Remember-the draconian clerics mentioned they had traced the staff to a village in the Plains."

"My people," Goldmoon murmured, energy draining from her. She slumped in Riverwind's arms, staring at the smoke. "My father . . ."

"We better get going." Caramon glanced around uneasily. "We show up like a jewel in a gypsy dancer's navel."

"Yes," Tanis said. "We've definitely got to get out of here. But where do we go?" he asked Riverwind.

"Que-shu," Goldmoon's tone allowed no contraction. "It's on our way. The Eastwall Mountains are just beyond my village." She started through the tall grass.

Tanis glanced at Riverwind.

"Marulinar the Plainsman called out to her. Running forward, he caught hold of Goldmoon's arm. "Nikh pat-takh merilar!" he said sternly.

She stared up at him, her eyes blue and cold as the morning sky. "No," she said resolutely, "I am going to our village. It is our fault if something has happened. I don't care if there are thousands of those monsters waiting. I will die with our people, as I should have done." Her voice failed her. Tanis, watching, felt his heart ache with pity.

Riverwind put his arm around her and together they began walking toward the rising sun.

Caramon cleared his throat. "I hope I do meet a thousand of those things," he muttered, hoisting his and his brother's packs.

"Hey," he said in astonishment. "They're full." He peered in his pack. "Provisions. Several days' worth. And my sword's back in my scabbard!"

"At least that's one thing we won't have to worry about," Tanis said grimly. "You all right, Sturm?"

"Yes," the knight answered. "I feel much better after that sleep."

"Right, then. Let's go. Flint, wheres Tas?" Turning, Tanis nearly fell over the kender who had been standing right behind him.

"Poor Goldmoon," Tas said softly.

Tanis patted him on the shoulder. "Maybe it won't be as bad as we fear," the half-elf said, following the Plainsmen through the rippling grass. "Maybe the warriors fought them off and those are victory fires."

Tasslehoff sighed and looked up at Tanis, his brown eyes wide. "You're a rotten liar, Tanis," the kender said. He had the feeling it was going to be a very long day.

Twilight. The pale sun set. Shafts of yellow and tan streaked the western sky, then faded into dreary night. The companions sat huddled around a fire that offered no warmth, for there existed no flame on Krynn that would drive the chill from their souls. They did not speak to each other, but each sat staring into the fire, trying to make some sense of what they had seen, trying to make sense of the senseless.

Tanis had lived through much that was horrible in his life. But the ravaged town of Que-shu would always stand out in his mind as a symbol of the horrors of war.

Even so, remembering Que-shu, he could only grasp fleeting images, his mind refusing to encompass the total awful vision. Oddly enough, he remembered the melted stones of Que-shu. He remembered them vividly. Only in his dreams did he recall the twisted and blackened bodies that lay among the smoking stones.

The great stone walls, the huge stone temples and edifices, the spacious stone buildings with their rock courtyards and statuary, the large stone arena-all had melted, like butter on a hot summer day. The rock still smoldered, though it was obvious that the village must have been attacked well over