Spirit of the Wind

morning.

Shivering, Caramon let his gaze drift from the black bier, over to the white one on the room’s other side. The second bier bore no carvings. It was a simple block of white marble, veined with blue. It was heaped with white roses, just as Steel’s was covered with lilies. In the midst of the roses lay the body of Tanis Half-Elven.

Caramon looked upon his friend’s face, at the odd smile that twisted his gray beard. After a moment, though, he bowed his head, grimacing. The pain of seeing Tanis, quiet and still upon the slab, had not lessened with the passage of years. It still made him feel terribly alone.

He wasn’t alone this time, though. At the bier’s foot knelt a tall man clad in buckskins and furs. A many- feathered headdress-doffed out of respect for the dead-rested on the floor by his side. Long hair, once black but now mostly white, spilled loose over his shoulders. The firelight came from a torch in the man’s left hand. He chanted softly, then stopped suddenly, raising his head.

“My friend,” the man said. “I am glad you’ve come.”

“Riverwind?” Caramon asked.

The man nodded, but still he did not turn. He raised a muscular arm, deeply tanned from years spent in the wilderness. “Please, Caramon,” he beckoned. “Come see what we have brought, my daughters and I.”

Caramon stepped forward. As he did, he glimpsed something on the bier, beside Tanis’s body. It was a long, slender staff with a plain shaft and an ornately carved head. The torchlight caught it, and it flashed with bright blue light.

Slowly, stiffly, Riverwind rose. He turned to look at Caramon. His face was as it had always been-more weathered and wrinkled, perhaps, but the strength and kindness were still there. His dark eyes shone.

“Goldmoon felt it would be fitting,” he said.

Caramon gazed upon the staff that lay beside his friend’s body, and words would not come. It had been more than thirty years since he had seen it, but it was just as he remembered: hewn of blue crystal, a single sapphire shaped with craftsmanship beyond the ken of man. So much had begun with that staff.

“Is it real?” he asked, his voice faint with wonder.

Riverwind nodded. “When the war with Chaos ended, Goldmoon and I went east again, on a pilgrimage to Xak Tsaroth. I had found proof of the old gods there before. We hoped to find it again.” He was silent a moment, frowning, then cleared his throat awkwardly. “We did not. When we reached the temple, the statue of Mishakal there had fallen and shattered upon the floor. We found the staff amid the rubble and took it with us. It is not a holy relic any more, Caramon. It has no magic. But when we learned of this tomb, we knew it belonged here. Tanis would understand.”

Caramon blinked back tears. “I’m sure he does.”

Neither man said anything for a long while. The torch crackled and popped.

“Where are the girls?” Caramon asked.

“I asked them to leave me here,” Riverwind replied. “They went, I think, to visit Usha.”

“Tika told me they’ve been to the graves.”

The Plainsman nodded solemnly. “They wanted dearly to see them and begged to come with me. I am sorry we couldn’t visit sooner, my friend. Things have been difficult for our people, these past two years.”

“So I’ve heard,” Caramon said. “Are you still having trouble keeping the alliance between the tribes?”

“From time to time,” Riverwind answered. “But that is no great worry. When the Dark Knights left these lands, though, they left their Brutes behind. Several clans have settled in the Eastwall Mountains. My son is seldom home these days, there is so much fighting.”

Caramon nodded. “But Wanderer is well?”

“As well as one might expect,” Riverwind said grimly.

Caramon hesitated. “And Goldmoon?”

“She fares well,” Riverwind assured him. “The loss of the goddess weighs on her, of course, but she has always been strong. She wanted to come, but with Wanderer away she couldn’t afford to leave Que-Shu.”

“That’s a shame,” Caramon said earnestly. “I’m sure she’d want to see-” He stopped abruptly, his hand waving feebly at the green-cloaked body upon the bier. Together they stared down at Tanis’s remains.

“Do you know,” Riverwind said sadly, “the last time I saw him was ten years ago? He and Laurana came to visit us on the plains. I wanted to return the favor, to go to Solanthus, but-” He spread his hands. “I always thought there would be time for such things later. I was sure he’d outlive us all.”

“Well,” Caramon said, “he was part elf.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Riverwind pressed his hands together, raising them to his lips. “Tanis always knew what to do. Even when we didn’t think he did-even when he didn’t think he did-in his heart he knew.”

“I know,” Caramon answered. “And that’s what killed him. Just like Sturm-he knew the right thing to do, and he did it, damn the cost.” He bowed his head. “Sometimes, I wish he hadn’t. I know it’s selfish, but even so. Sometimes I wonder if any of us will ever die peacefully in bed, with the people we love all around us.”

Riverwind flinched, then looked away. For a moment, the Plainsman said nothing. When he spoke again, his voice was tight and strained. “Be careful what you wish for, Caramon.”

Caramon stared at him, his forehead creased with confusion. “What do you mean?”

The Plainsman turned to face him, his eyes shining in the torchlight. “My friend,” he said, “I am dying.”

Chapter 3

Caramon said nothing. He stood silently, staring at Riverwind. He fell back a pace and leaned against Steel’s skull-carved bier. The attar of lilies surrounded him, a cloying scent that made him want to retch.

“How?” he asked.

The Plainsman nodded thoughtfully. “A fair question.” He bent down, lifting up his headdress, and gestured toward the door. “I will answer it, but not here. I have already broken a taboo of my people, speaking of death in such a place. Go on ahead, Caramon. I will finish saying my farewells, and then I will join you outside.”

Thankful to be out of the dark, close crypt, Caramon turned and hurried out of the Last Heroes’ Tomb. He didn’t stop until he was outside the gold and silver doors. The air outside was cold, heralding the coming autumn, and he drank it down deeply. His breath misted in the air before him.

There was movement off to his left. He glanced at it sharply, but it was just a pair of kender-come, no doubt, to pay honor to Tas. One of them, a male, held what looked like a burnt shoe. The other one was female; her hands were empty. They looked up at him, their eyes wide.

Not wanting to deal with kender just now, Caramon shook his head and marched across the meadow away from the tomb. After a few dozen paces he stopped, looking up at the single, pale moon. He continued to stare at it, even when he heard the scuff of soft boots in the grass.

“It still seems strange to me, as well,” said Riverwind, drawing to a halt beside Caramon. He looked up at the ivory disk. “I often dream of the red moon, you know. Sometimes, when we could steal away without anyone noticing, Goldmoon and I would climb the hills east of Que-Shu and watch it rise. We would hold hands, and one thing would lead to another He smiled an old man’s smile, remembering. After a moment, it became a sly grin. “That’s how the girls came about, if you take my meaning.”

Caramon chuckled. “I certainly do. With Tika and me, it was sunsets.”

“ ‘Was?’ ” Riverwind asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Well-ll,” Caramon said.

They laughed together, then Riverwind grew solemn. “Be thankful, Caramon. You still have the sun. In my heart, this pale moon will never take the red one’s place.”

The wind gusted, icy fingers clawing up Caramon’s spine. He hunched his shoulders.

“So,” he murmured.

“So,” Riverwind agreed. “You asked me how, a moment ago. I’m glad you did-I owe you answers, after setting this burden upon your shoulders. Let us walk.”

They set out across the meadow toward the distant lights of Solace. The vallenwoods muttered as the wind played among their boughs.