Margaret Weis - Amber and Ashes

color -1- -2- -3- -4- -5- -6- -7- -8- -9-

Text Size-- 10-- 11-- 12-- 13-- 14-- 15-- 16-- 17-- 18-- 19-- 20-- 21-- 22-- 23-- 24

acknowledgements

I would like to thank Deb Guzman of Delavan, Wisconsin, and her border collies,

Coy, Tell, and Bizzy, for instructing me and my border collie Tess in the fascinating

work of the herd dog.

My thanks to Joshua Stewart of Beaumont, Texas, who suggested the word

"ernmide" for Rhys's staff.

I would like to thank Weldon Chen, "Granak" of Reno, Nevada, who made a khas

board for me so that I could learn to play the game. Thanks also to Tom Wham of

Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, who played numerous games of khas with me and helped

me understand the rules.

dedication

To Jamie and Renae Chambers.

We've faced some severe storms at sea. Your friendship and dedication kept our

ship afloat.

With my love and thanks, Margaret

introduction

I remember the first time I came across Margaret's work as clearly as if it was

yesterday. It was the mid-'80s and I had just sent out the manuscript of my first

novel, Echoes of the Fourth Magic. Making myself crazy watching the mailman

every day, I decided to divert my attention. I had heard of some new fantasy books

that were making quite a splash, so I went to my local book store and bought the

first dragonlance® novel.

I was immersed in that book when the bad news began to arrive. Rejection letter

after rejection letter showed up at my door; I had no idea of how badly I wanted to

get published.' Frustration turned to outrage, which I took out on the book I

happened to have in my hands at the time. I remember declaring in no uncertain

terms that "I can write a better book than this!" And all the while, I didn't even realize

the declaration as an expression of my own pain.

A few years later, I landed the deal with TSR and was subsequently asked to

come out to Gen Con. My editor, Mary Kirchoff, took me aside to where two

people, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, were preparing for a signing.

Watch these two," she told me. "Learn how a pro handles a signing line."

I sat down, a bit embarrassed, given my reaction to that dragonlance book those

years before. Let me say here that I hadn't finished that novel then. I was just too

angry and frustrated.

I met Margaret and Tracy and we exchanged a few pleasant words.

Nothing too substantial, because the line had started to form. The things that most

struck me during that book signing were the questions and the remarks of the

readers. Fan after fan came up and breathlessly and reverently spoke of Kitiara and

Tanis and Raistlin. These people, numerous, intelligent and erudite, had been deeply

touched by that book I had angrily tossed aside those years before.

That moment remains an epiphany for me. The first thing I did when I got home

was go back to the book store and buy all of those early DRAGONLANCE books.

This time I read them honestly. When I got done, I could have been one of those

people in that line, demanding to know more about Raistlin, worried about Tanis and

in love with Flint and Tasslehoff. The tale was wonderful and wonderfully told, with

characters rich and enchanting (okay, except for Sturm. Man, I hated Sturm and

cheered for the dragon! Mwahahahaha!).

Err, back on point... I am not surprised that Margaret draws lines of fans at every

signing, nor am I the least bit surprised that after all these years, those original

dragonlance books continue to sell tens of thousands of copies each year. They tell

a tale familiar yet fresh. They show us heroes familiar yet unique. And they show us

villains, wonderful and delicious. Of course, there's also Raistlin, so

multi-dimensional, so cool and so bad, so conflicted and so straightforward. The

books are worthy of all the praise, to be sure.

Wow.

Just wow.

Margaret Weis is one of my favorite writers. I wish I could put words together as

beautifully as she. She's also one of my favorite people. Too often we hear the cliche

that someone's smile "lights up a room." Too rarely do we actually meet someone

who has a smile that really does.

Rock on, Margaret, and don't you dare stop writing!

-R.A. Salvatore

prologue

The temple dedicated to his worship was located below the castle's walls and

ramparts, below the towers and spires, below the great hall with its moldering

tapestries, below even the dungeons. The noble family to whom this castle had once

belonged had buried their honored dead in this subterranean vault in order to

maintain the holy sanctity of death, to keep the tombs safe from grave robbers and

worse.

The grave robbers came anyway.

Eons ago, the noble and long forgotten family was consumed in some noble and

long forgotten war. With the castle abandoned, there was no one left to protect the

dead. Although the vault had been dug deep and the stairs that led to it were hidden,

those who have a nose for treasure were able to sniff it out. The robbers pried loose

the marble slabs, carved with the likeness of noble lord and noble lady, from the

tops of the tombs and tossed them, broken, to the floor. They stripped the ruby

rings from bony fingers, lifted the golden circlets from grinning skulls, snatched up

the diamond pendants, and carried away the bejeweled swords.

After the robbers came worse.

Reviled throughout Ansalon, those who embraced the worship of Chemosh, Lord

of Death, were forced to hold their sacred rites and rituals in places hidden from

public view. Temples dedicated to the worship of Chemosh were established in

caves, catacombs, and basements, and it was rumored that there was one in the

sewers of Palanthas. The choicest of all locales for the god's temple were those

already dedicated to Death, for there the power of the god could be most keenly

experienced. Local cemeteries were ideal, but these tended to be visible and were

therefore often raided by local authorities seeking to eradicate the undead, thus

making them dangerous places of worship for the clerics of Chemosh. The

discovery of a family vault that was unknown to the rest of the world was an

important find. Chemosh's followers did all they could to keep it safe and keep it

secret.

Clad in their ceremonial black robes, their faces hidden by white skull masks-for

these followers of Chemosh trusted no one, not even each other-the clerics of the

Lord of Death performed the rituals that brought the bodies of the dead back to

what they considered "life." When they themselves died, the souls of these clerics

were not free to join the River of Souls to the next stage of the wondrous journey.

Having pledged their loyalty to the god in return for favors given to them while they

were living, they were constrained by the god to remain in the world after death,

forced to do his bidding, their mortal remains animated and ordered to guard temple

or treasure and fight off invaders, their corpses dying over and over again, to be

reanimated over and over again.

When the Age of Mortals came and Takhisis stole the world out from the other

gods-including Chemosh-his clerics lost their power. No longer would skeletons rise

at their command and take up arms in their fleshless hands to guard them against

their foes. Some of the clerics burned their black robes and white masks and

blended in with the neighbors. Others kept the faith, kept it safe and secret. Trusting

that someday their god would return, they locked up the vaults, the tombs, and the

crypts and carried such secrets in their hearts. The living loyal to Chemosh bided

their time, and so did the dead.

When Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, came seeking souls to fuel her return to the

world, she could not locate many of those souls who were bound to Chemosh.

Hidden in the darkness of undeath, they kept silent when she called, waiting for their

master.

And now he was here, world found, treacherous Queen deposed and deceased.

Chemosh was back, but he wasn't happy.

He stood in the family vault that had once been his temple, stood amidst the dust

and the rat droppings and bits and pieces of dismembered bodies-a collar bone here,

a shin bone there-and he looked at his followers, who were slowly making their

shambling way out of dark corners or pulling themselves up out of coffins. His lip

curled.

"What an ugly lot you are," he told them. "And you stink, too. Stink to high

heaven. I'm surprised I couldn't locate the world from your stench alone."

The corpses didn't understand. They turned empty eye sockets in his direction

and waited in tongueless silence for his command. As they stood, looking incredibly

stupid, a finger bone dropped off one. Another lost its kneecap. An arm fell off

another.

Chemosh frowned. A rat ran across his boot. He was so plunged in gloom that he

didn't bother to kill it but let it go. The creature took refuge inside a skull, its tail

sticking ludicrously out of the grinning mouth.

"There you stand, awaiting my commands. And just what am I supposed to tell

you to do? Go out and recruit followers for my worship? Wait!" he commanded

irritably. Some of the decaying bodies, having mistaken this for a command, were

heading for the exit. "That wasn't an order, you brainless jumble of bones. I can

imagine the sort of followers you are likely to bring me. Everyone is eager to worship

a god whose devotees are in the last stages of rot."

Chemosh glowered at them, then made a sudden, impatient gesture. "Oh, go on!

Get out of here. You turn my stomach. Go terrorize some village. With any luck," he

added, as they clanked and clattered and shuffled their way out, dropping body

parts all the way, "some holy cleric of Mishakal will find the lot of you and smash

you to bits."

Chemosh sat on the lid of a sarcophagus and flicked a fragment of bone off the

black velvet of his breeches.

"Where are the young, the strong, the beautiful?" he demanded. "Why don't they

come to me? I'll tell you why." He cast a disgusted glance at the departing skeletons.

"The young don't think of death. They think of life, of living, of joy and happiness,

youth and beauty. Speak of Chemosh, and they laugh at the thought. 'Come back to

talk to me of him when I am old and ugly,' they say. Those are the worshippers I

attract-arthritic old geezers who haven't a tooth in their heads, cackling old crones

who chant my name and wave black cats at me. Cats!" he muttered. "What do I

want with cats?"

Chemosh kicked at the skull and sent it rolling. The rat went skittering off into a

dusty corner. "What I want is youth, strength, power. Converts who come to me

willingly, eagerly. Converts who will frequent my temples in broad daylight and

proclaim that they are proud to worship me. That's what I want. That's what I need."

His fist clenched. "To gain the seat of power in the heavens, that is what I must

have."

He stood up and roved restlessly about the vault. "Sargonnas has his minotaur

empire that grows larger every day. The namby-pamby Mishakal. How they adore

her, all flocking to her worship with cries of 'Heal me, heal me!' How can I compete

with that?"

He paused to brush strands of sticky cobweb from his black velvet coat. "Even

Zeboim, that wanton trollop, has the heart of every sailor in the fleet. Me? I have

large quantities of mold and mildew. And spiders. How can I become a king among

the pantheon when the most intelligent of my followers are the maggots who feed off

them?"

Chemosh wiped the dust from his hands, shook the dirt and bone fragments from

his boots, and stalked out the broken-down door that led into the vault. He wound

his way up the stairwell that led back to the surface, back to sunshine and fresh air.

"I am going to make changes," he vowed. "Death will have a new face. A face with

bright eyes and ruby lips."

He emerged into the night and paused to gaze up at the stars, the newly formed

constellations, the newly returned three moons. Chemosh smiled.

"Lips people will be dying to kiss."

1

Mina buried her queen beneath a mountain.

The queen had raised that mountain, molded it, shaped it, lifted it up with her

immortal hands. And now she lay beneath it.

The mountain would die. Gnawed by the teeth of the wind, savaged by the drops

of rain, slowly, over time, century upon century, the magnificent mountain Takhisis

had created would crumble into dust, mingle, and become lost among the ashes of

its dead creator. The final ignominy. The final, bitter irony.

"They will pay," vowed Mma, watching the sun set beyond the mountain,

watching its shadow steal across the valley. "They will pay-all those who had a hand

in this, mortal and immortal. I would make them pay, if I weren't so tired. So very

tired."

She woke up tired; if one could use the term "waking," for she never truly slept.

She passed the night in a restless doze in which she remained conscious of every

shift in the wind, every animal grunt or cry, every dimming of the moonlight or flicker

of the stars. Sleep lapped at her feet, ripples wetting her toes. Whenever sleep's

waves, silent and calm, restful and peaceful, would start to carry her away, she

would jerk to wakefulness with a gasp, as though she were drowning, and sleep

would recede.

Mina spent the daylight hours guarding the Dark Queen's burial site. She never

moved far from that tomb beneath the mountain, though Gaidar nagged at her

constantly to leave, if only for a little while.

"Go for a walk among the trees," the minotaur begged her, "or bathe in the lake or

climb the rocky cliffs to see the sunrise."

Mina could not leave. She had a terrible fear that some person of Ansa-lon would

find this holy site, and once that happened, the gawkers would come to stare and

poke at the body and giggle and smirk. The treasure seekers and despoilers would

come to rip off the jewels and lug away the holy artifacts. Takhisis's enemies would

come to triumph over her. Her faithful would come, desperate to have their prayers

answered, to try to bring her back.

That would be worst of all, Mina decided. Takhisis, a queen who had ruled heaven

and the Abyss, forever chained to the whining pleas of those who had done nothing

to try to save her when she died except wring their hands and whimper, "What will

become of me?"

Day in and day out, Mina paced before the entrance to the tomb beneath the

mountain where she had placed the body of the dead queen. She had worked hard,

for weeks, for months maybe-she had no sense of time-to hide the fact that there

was an entrance, planting trees, bushes, and wild flowers in front of it, training them

to grow over it.

Gaidar helped her in her task, and so did the gods, though she was not aware of

their help and would have scorned it if she'd known of it.

The gods who had judged Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, and found her guilty of

breaking the immortal oath they had all sworn at time's beginning, knew as well as

Mina what would happen if mortals discovered the location of the Dark Queen's

resting place. Trees that were seedlings when Mina planted them grew ten feet tall in

a month. Brush and bramble bushes sprang up overnight. A howling wind that never

ceased to blow polished the cliff face smooth, so that no trace of the entrance to the

tomb remained visible.

Even Mina could no longer find the entrance, at least when she was awake. She

could see it always in her dreams. Now there was nothing left for her to do except to

guard it from everyone-mortal and immortal. She had become distrustful even of

Gaidar, for he had been among those responsible for her queen's downfall. She

didn't like the way the minotaur was always urging her to leave. She suspected that

he was waiting for her to depart and then he would break into the tomb.

"Mina," Gaidar swore to her over and over, "I have no idea where the entrance to

the tomb is. I could not even find this mountain if I left it, for the sun never rises in

the same place twice!" He gestured to the horizon. "The gods themselves conceal it.

East is west one day and west is east another. That is why it is safe to leave, Mina.

Once you leave, you will never find your way back. You can move on with your

life."

She knew the truth of that in her heart. She knew it and longed for it and was

terrified of it.

"Takhisis was my life," Mina said to Gaidar in answer. "When I looked in a mirror,

her face was the face I saw. When I spoke, her voice was the voice I heard. Now

she is gone, and when I look in the mirror, no face looks back. When I speak, there

is only silence. Who am I, Gaidar?"

"You are Mina," he replied.

"And who is Mina?" she asked.

Gaidar could only stare at her, helpless.

They had this conversation often, almost every day. They had it again this

morning. This time, though, Gaidar's answer was different. He had been thinking

long about this and when she said, "Who is Mina?" he responded quietly,

"Goldmoon knew who you were, Mina. In her eyes you could see yourself. You

didn't see Takhisis."

Mina considered this.

Looking back on her life, she saw it divided into three parts. The first was

childhood. Those years were nothing but a blur of color, fresh paint that someone

had smeared with a soaking wet sponge.

The second was Goldmoon and the Citadel of Light.

Mina had no memory of the shipwreck or of being washed overboard or whatever

had happened to her. For her memory-and life-had begun when she opened her eyes

to find herself, wet and water-logged, lying in the sand, looking up at a group of

people who had gathered around her, people who spoke to her with loving

compassion.

They asked her what had happened to her.

She didn't know.

They asked her name.

She didn't know that either.

They would eventually conclude that she had been the survivor of a

shipwreck-though no ships had been reported missing. Her parents were presumed

to have been lost at sea. That theory seemed most likely, since no one ever came

searching for her.

They said it was not unusual that she remembered nothing of her past, for she had

suffered a severe blow to the head, which often accounted for memory loss.

They took her to a place they called the Citadel of Light, a wondrous place of

warmth and radiance and serenity. Looking back on this time, Mina could not ever

remember gray skies in connection with the Citadel, though she knew there must

have been days of wind and storm. For her, the years she spent there, from the age

of nine to fourteen, were lit by the sun gleaming on the crystal walls of the Citadel.

Lit by the smile of the woman who came to be dear to her as a mother-the founder

of the Citadel, Goldmoon.

They told Mina that Goldmoon was a hero, a famous person all over Ansalon. Her

name was spoken with love and respect in every part of that continent. Mina didn't

care about any of that. She cared only that when Goldmoon spoke to her, she spoke

to her with gentle kindness and with love. Although a busy person, Goldmoon was

never too busy to answer Mina's questions, and Mina loved to ask questions.

Goldmoon was old when Mina first met her, as old as a mountain, the girl used to

think. Goldmoon's hair was white, her face lined with deep sorrow and deeper joy,

lines of loss and grief, lines of finding and hope. Her eyes were young as laughter,

young as tears and-Gaidar was right. Looking back through time, Mina could see

herself in Goldmoon's eyes.

She saw a girl growing too fast, awkward and gawky, with long red hair and

amber-colored eyes. Every night, Goldmoon would brush the red hair that was thick

and luxurious, and answer all the questions Mina had thought up during the day.

When her hair was brushed and plaited and she was ready for her bed, Goldmoon

would take Mina onto her lap and tell her stories of the lost gods.

Some of the stories were dark, for there were gods who ruled the dark passions

that are in every man's heart. There were gods of light in opposition to the gods of

dark. Gods who ruled all that was good and noble in mankind. The dark gods

struggled endlessly to gain ascendancy over mankind. The gods of light worked

ceaselessly to oppose them. The neutral gods held the scales of balance. All

mankind stood in the middle, each man free to choose his or her own destiny, for

without freedom, men would die, as the caged bird dies, and the world would cease

to be.

Goldmoon enjoyed telling Mina the stories, but Mina could tell that the stories

made her adopted mother sad, for the gods were gone and man was left alone to

struggle along as best he could. Goldmoon had made a life for herself without the

gods, but she missed them and she longed more than anything for them to return.

"When I am grown," Mina would often say to Goldmoon, "I will go out into the

world, and I will find the gods and bring them back to you."

"Ah, child," Goldmoon would answer with the smile that made her eyes bright,

"your search should carry you no farther than here." She placed her hand on Mina's

heart. "For though the gods are gone, their memory is born in each of us: memories

of eternal love and endless patience and ultimate forgiveness."

Mina didn't understand. She had no memory of anything from birth. Looking

back, she saw nothing except emptiness and darkness. Every night, when she lay

alone in the darkness in her room, she would pray the same prayer.

"I know you are out there somewhere. Let me be the one to find you. I will be

your faithful servant. I swear it! Let me be the one to bring knowledge of you to the

world."

One night, when Mina was fourteen, she made that same prayer, made it as

fervently and earnestly as she had on the very first night she had ever prayed it. And,

on this night, there came an answer.

A voice spoke to her from the darkness.

"I am here, Mina. If I will tell you how to find me, will you come to me?"

Mina sat up eagerly in bed. "Who are you? What is your name?"

"I am Takhisis, but you will forget that. For you, I have no name. I need no name,

for I am alone in the universe, the sole sod, the one god."

"I will call you the One God, then," said Mina. Jumping out of bed, she hastily

dressed herself, made ready to travel. "Let me go tell Mother where I am going-"

'Mother," Takhisis repeated in scorn and anger. "You have no mother. Your

mother is dead."

'I know," said Mina, faltering, "but Goldmoon has become my mother.

She is dearer to me than anyone, and I must tell her that I am leaving, or when she

finds that I am gone, she will be worried."

The voice of the goddess changed, no longer angry but sweetly crooning. "You

must not tell her or that would ruin the surprise. Our surprise-yours and mine. For

the day will come when you will return to tell Goldmoon that you have found the

One God, the ruler of the world."

"But why can't I tell her now?" Mina demanded.

"Because you have not yet found me," Takhisis replied sternly. "I am not even

certain you are worthy. You must prove yourself. I need a disciple who is

courageous and strong, who will not be deterred by unbelievers or swayed by

naysayers, who will face pain and torment without flinching. All this you must prove

to me. Do you have the courage, Mina?"

Mina trembled, terrified. She didn't think she did have the courage. She wanted to

go back to her bed, and then she thought of Goldmoon and how wonderful the

surprise would be. She imagined Goldmoon's joy when she saw Mina coming to her,

bringing with her a god.

Mina laid her hand over her heart. "I have the courage, One God. I will do this for

my adopted mother."

"That is as I would wish it," said Takhisis, and she laughed as though Mina had

said something funny.

Thus began the third part of Mina's life, and if the first was a blur and the second

was light, the third was shadow. Acting on the One God's command, Mina ran away

from the Citadel of Light. She sought out a ship in the harbor and went onboard.

The ship had no crew. Mina was the only person aboard, yet the wheel turned, the

sails raised and lowered; all tasks were accomplished by unseen hands.

The ship sailed over waves of time and carried her to a place that she seemed to

have known forever yet just this moment discovered. In this place, Mina first beheld

the face of the Dark Queen, and she was beautiful and awful, and Mina bowed down

and worshipped her.

Takhisis gave Mina test after test, challenge after challenge. Mina endured them all.

She knew pain akin to the pain of dying, and she did not cry out. She knew pain akin

to the pain of birth, and she did not flinch.

Then came the day when Takhisis said to Mina, "I am pleased with you. You are

my chosen. Now is the time for you to go back to the world and prepare the people

for my return."

"I went back to the world," Mina told Gaidar, "on the night of the great storm. I

met you that night. I performed my first miracle on you. I restored your arm."

He cast her a meaningful glance, and she flushed and said hurriedly, "I mean-the

One God restored your arm."

"Call her by who she was," said Gaidar harshly. "Call her Takhisis."

He looked involuntarily at the stump that was all that was left of his sword arm.

When he had found out the true name of the One God, the god who had returned his

lost arm to him, Gaidar had prayed to his god Sargonnas to remove it again.

"I would not be her slave," he muttered, but Mina didn't hear him.

She was thinking about pride, hubris and ambition. She was thinking about the

desire for power and who had truly been responsible for the fall of the Dark Queen.

"My fault," she said quietly. "I can admit that now. I was the one who destroyed

her. Not the gods. Not even that wretched god-elf Valthonis, or whatever he calls

himself. I destroyed her. I betrayed her."

"Mina, no!" Gaidar returned, shocked. "You were her slave just as much as any of

us. She used you, manipulated you-"

Mina raised her amber eyes to meet his. "So you believed. So they all believed. I

alone knew the truth. I knew it and so did my Queen. I raised an army of the dead. I

fought and killed two mighty dragons. I conquered the elves and brought them under

the heel of my boot. I conquered the Solamnics and saw them run from me like

whipped dogs. I made the Dark Knights a power to be feared and respected."

"All in the name of Takhisis," said Gaidar. The minotaur scratched the fur on his

jowls and rubbed his muzzle. He looked uneasy.

"I wanted it to be in my name," said Mina. "She knew it. She saw into my heart

and that was why she was going to destroy me."

"And that was why you were going to let her," said Gaidar.

Mina sighed and bowed her head. She sat on the hard ground, her legs drawn up.

her arms wrapped around her knees. She wore the clothes she had worn that fateful

day when her Queen had died, the simple garments worn underneath the armor of a

Dark Knight-shirt and breeches. They were ragged and worn now, bleached by the

sun to a nondescript gray. The only color that was bright upon it was the red blood

of the queen who had died in Mina's arms.

Gaidar shook his horned head and sat up straight on the boulder he was using for

a seat, a boulder he'd rubbed smooth over the past several months.

"All that is over now, Mina. It is time you moved on. There is yet much to do in

the world and a new world in which to do it. The Dark Knights are in disarray,

unorganized. They need a strong leader to bring them together."

"They would not follow me," said Mina.

Gaidar opened his mouth to remonstrate then shut it again.

Mina glanced up at him, saw that he knew the truth as well as she did. The Dark

Knights would never again accept her as a commander. They had been wary of her

from the beginning-a girl of seventeen, who barely knew one end of a sword from

another, who had never seen a battle, much less led men into one.

The miracles she performed had won them over. As she had once told that

wretched elf prince, men loved the god they saw in her, not her, and when that god

was overthrown and Mina lost her power to perform miracles, the knights went

down to disastrous defeat. Not only that, but they believed that she deserted them at

the end, left them to face death alone. They would never follow her again, and she

could not blame them.

Nor did she want to be a leader of men. She did not want to go to back into the

world again. She was too tired. She wanted only to sleep. She leaned back against

the bones of the mountain where her queen lay in her eternal slumber and closed her

eyes.

She must have drifted off, for she woke to find Gaidar squatting beside her,

pleading with her earnestly.

"-must leave this prison, Mina! You've punished yourself enough. You have to

forgive yourself, Mina. What happened to Takhisis was her own fault. Not yours.

Margaret Weis - Amber and Ashes

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: