What remained of Riverwind no longer resembled anything human. The man’s flesh had been seared from his body. The white of bone was clearly visible where skin and muscle had melted from his arms. His eyes ran like jelly down the fleshless, cadaverous cheeks. His mouth gaped open in a silent scream. His ribcage lay exposed, hunks of flesh and charred cloth clinging to the bones. But-most horrible-the flesh on his torso had been burned away, leaving the organs exposed, pulsing red in the garish red moonlight.
Tanis sank down, vomiting. The half-elf had seen men die on his sword. He had seen them hacked to pieces by trolls. But this . . . this was horribly different, and Tanis knew the memory of this would haunt him forever. A strong arm gripped him by the shoulders, offering silent comfort and sympathy and understanding. The nausea passed. Tanis sat back and breathed. He wiped his mouth and nose, then tried to force himself to swallow, gagging painfully.
“You all right?” Caramon asked with concern.
Tanis nodded, unable to speak. Then he turned at the sound of Stunn’s voice.
“May the true gods have mercy! Tanis, he’s still alive! I saw his hand move!” Sturm choked. He could say no more.
Tanis rose to his feet and walked shakily toward the body. One of the charred and blackened hands had risen from the stones, plucking horribly at the air.
“End it!” Tanis said hoarsely, his throat raw from bile. “End it! Sturm-”
The knight had already drawn his sword. Kissing the hilt, he raised the blade to the sky and stood before Riverwind’s body. He closed his eyes and mentally withdrew into an old world where death in battle had been glorious and fine. Slowly and solemnly, he began to recite the ancient Solamnic Death Chant. As he spoke the words that laid hold of the warrior’s soul and transported it to realms of peace beyond, he reversed the blade of the sword and held it poised above Riverwind’s chest.
“Return this man to Huma’s breast
Beyond the wild, impartial skies;
Grant to him a warrior’s rest
And set the last spark of his eyes
Free from the smothering clouds of wars,
Upon the torches of the stars.
Let the last surge of his breath
Take refuge in the cradling air
Above the dreams of ravens, where
Only the hawk remembers death.
Then let his shade to Huma rise,
Beyond the wild, impartial skies.”
The knight’s voice sank.
Tanis felt the peace of the gods wash over him like cool, cleansing water, easing his grief and submerging the horror. Caramon, beside him, wept silently. As they watched, moon-light flashed on the sword blade.
Then a clear voice spoke. “Stop. Bring him to me.”
Both Tanis and Caramon sprang up to stand in front of the man’s tortured body, knowing that Goldmoon must be spared this hideous sight. Sturm, lost in tradition, came back to reality with a start and reversed his killing stroke. Goldmoon stood, a tall, slender shadow silhouetted against the golden, moonlit doors of the temple. Tanis started to speak, but he felt suddenly the cold hand of the mage grip his arm. Shivering, he jerked away from Raistlin’s touch.
“Do as she says,” the mage hissed. “Carry him to her.”
Tanis’s face contorted with fury at the sight of Raistlin’s expressionless face, uncaring eyes.
“Take him to her,” Raistlin said coldly. “It is not for us to choose death for this man. That is for the gods.”
16
A bitter choice. The greatest gift.
Tanis stared at Raistlin. Not the quiver of an eyelid betrayed his feelings-if the mage had any feelings. Their eyes met and, as always, Tanis felt that the mage saw more than was visible to him. Suddenly Tanis hated Raistlin, hated him with a passion that shocked the half-elf, hated him for not feeling this pain, hated him and envied him at the same time.
“We must do something!” Sturm said harshly. “He’s not dead and the dragon may return!”
“Very well,” Tanis said, his voice catching in his throat. Wrap him in a blanket. . . . But give me a moment alone with Goldmoon.”