Epilogue
A cool breeze blew through Solace Vale, soughing through the branches of the vallenwoods and rustling their blue-green leaves. It was late summer, with a fortnight still to go before the Harvest Come festival, and the weather had begun to slide toward autumn. The front door of the Inn of the Last Home stood wide open, as did its stained glass windows, allowing the gentle wind to blow the taproom.
This afternoon, the tavern was more or less empty. It was market day in Solace, and the Inn’s patrons had gone down to the town square to shop, gossip, and enjoy the pleasant weather. Tika and her daughters were also at the market, buying food to stock the Inn’s larders.
Thus it was that-with the exception of Clemen, Borlos and Osler, who sat where they always sat, playing cards and swearing at one another-Caramon found himself left alone for a while. He took the opportunity to drag an armchair over to a spot where the breeze was particularly pleasant, sit down, and take a long, leisurely nap. He did not sleep alone, however; in his arms, he held Ulin, his grandson.
Usha’s child had arrived right on time, not quite a year ago. He had been born strong and healthy, and no one-not even Palin, who’d been beside himself with joy-had been quite as proud as Caramon. In the best grandfatherly tradition, he’d spent the past year fawning over Ulin, much to Palin and Usha’s chagrin. Tika often quipped that Caramon spent more time with the baby than he did with his own wife, but she was no one to talk. She spoiled Ulin rotten too.
Today, as with all market days, Caramon had volunteered to take care of the child, giving his mother and father an afternoon to themselves. And today being a particularly lazy day, both Caramon and Ulin were content to snooze quietly, listening to the orchestra of muttering leaves and twittering birds outside the Inn. They were both sound asleep, then, when the tromp of feet sounded on the stairs far below.
As the footsteps drew nearer, Clemen, Borlos and Osler set down their cards and glanced across the tavern. “Hey, big guy!” Clemen shouted across the room. “Company coming!”
Caramon answered with a cavernous snore. In his arms, Ulin made burbling sounds but didn’t wake. The footsteps were close now, nearing the balcony that surrounded the Inn.
“Whose turn is it this time?” Osler asked.
“Bor’s,” said Clemen.
Borlos groaned, then set his cards face down on the table. He rose and walked over to Caramon, then reached out and tapped the innkeeper on the shoulder. “Wake up, you old lummox,” he said, not unkindly.
Caramon’s eyes blinked open, and he peered up at Borlos. “You’re lucky I’ve got the kid here,” he grumbled, nodding at the baby in his arms. “What have I told you about waking me up?”
Just to be safe, Borlos took a quick step back from the chair. “Don’t matter what you’d do to me,” he replied. “Tika said she’d do worse if we let you sleep when guests showed up.”
Caramon’s brow furrowed. “What’d she do, threaten to take away your cards?”
“Well, uh,” Borlos answered, flushing with embarrassment, “actually, yeah.”
Caramon snorted with mock disgust, then shook his head groggily, clearing out the cobwebs. “You said something about guests?”
“Outside,” Osler called from their table. “You can hear them, can’t you, big guy? Haven’t up and gone deaf in your old age, have you?”
Scowling sourly, Caramon strained to listen. Hearing the footsteps-they were on the balcony now-he heaved himself to his feet, Ulin in his arms. Before he could move any farther, though, a shadow stepped into the doorway. Caramon stepped back, fighting to focus against the glaring sunlight that streamed through the door. The visitor was a young woman, clad in a Plainsfolk dress. She walked with a limp, favoring her right leg. Her face…
Caramon caught his breath as he finally made out the woman’s features. She had been truly beautiful, once. On the right side she still was, her strong face framed by long, golden hair shot with strands of silver. The left side, however, was a horror. From forehead to chin, and on down her neck, her skin was red and puckered-a large, glistening scar. Her left eye was seared shut, her left ear a gnarled stub. The golden hair had been scorched away on that side, laying bare her burn-ravaged scalp.
Behind him, Borlos swore softly and hurried back to join the other card players. Caramon took no notice; for a time, he could do little but stare.
“Moonsong?” he breathed.
The right side of her mouth curled into a smile. “Caramon.” She nodded at Ulin. “Your grandson?”
“What?” he asked, stunned. “Oh. Yes.” He continued to look at her, not believing what he saw. “Moonsong… what happened?”
“In good time,” she replied. “We will tell you.”
Caramon’s brow lowered. “We?”
A second woman stepped into the Inn, leaning on a plain staff. She was older, but her face still retained the beauty that once had been Moonsong’s. Caramon recognized her immediately, a sharp ache in his heart.
“Goldmoon,” he said.
The older woman regarded him kindly. “My friend,” she said. “It is good to see you.”
For a moment, Caramon couldn’t think of anything to say. “Why-why are you here?” he asked lamely.
“We come bearing news you should hear,” Goldmoon replied. “My husband is dead-and Brightdawn, Swiftraven, and thousands of brave kender with him.”
Folk who came to the tavern at the Inn of the Last Home that night found it dark and locked. Handpainted signs were posted at the front door and at the bottom of the long flight of stairs that wound around the vallenwood tree.
Closed tonight in memory of Riverwind of Que-Shu.
Guests, please use the back door to go to your rooms.
We will reopen tomorrow.
— Tika and Caramon Majere
Inside, the taproom was almost empty Clemen, Borlos and Osler had gone home shortly after Tika and her daughters returned. Little Ulin had started to cry when he woke and saw Moonsong’s scarred face, and Laura and Dezra had offered to take him home. The girls stayed at Palin and Usha’s house that night, knowing their parents would want to be alone.
A few lonely candles glowed in the tavern, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Caramon and Tika sat at a table by the darkened fireplace, across from Goldmoon and Moonsong. The old Plainswoman sat quietly, her eyes shining in the flickering light, as her daughter told of Riverwind’s last quest and the fall of Kendermore. As she spoke, Caramon bowed his head sorrowfully. Tears crawled down Tika’s cheeks.
“When the house collapsed on top of me, Stagheart pulled me from the rubble. We escaped into the tunnels,” Moonsong said. She paused, taking a sip from a glass of wine Caramon had poured for her. “The fire left me as you see me now. I would surely have died, but the kender saw to my wounds and carried me away through the forest. I remember nothing of that journey, save the kender’s cries when they saw Malystryx on the wing. They were terrified. But she turned back when she was nearly upon us, and I knew Father had succeeded.
“The next thing I remember, I awoke in Balifor, in the kender camp. We had made it safely out of the Kenderwood. Stagheart was with me-he had stayed at my bedside for days, waiting for me to wake. Later, Catt came to visit me. I didn’t understand her pity when she looked at me… not until I asked her to bring me a mirror, and I saw what I had become…
Moonsong’s voice broke, the right side of her face creasing with bitterness. She looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Goldmoon rested a gentle hand on her arm. For a time, the Inn was silent, then Moonsong shook her head, angry with herself, and lowered her anguished gaze back to Caramon and Tika.
“Stagheart didn’t look at me that way, though,” she said softly. “Looking in his eyes, I could almost believe I was whole again-at least in my body. Nothing can make me forget the hole inside me where Brightdawn used to be.
“We stayed in the camp for two weeks. I must have been visited by a dozen healers. They treated me with poultices and salves, herbal draughts and vapors. Slowly I recovered, but I knew it would still be some time before I
