Dragons of Winter Noght by Weis, Margaret

Goldmoon flushed, remembering, the fateful song that had introduced her to the group. Scowling, Riverwind laid his hand on her shoulder.

“Come away!” he said harshly, glaring at Raistlin. “I warned You-`

But Goldmoon shook her head stubbornly, lifting her chin in a familiar, imperious gesture. “I will sing.” she said coolly, “and Riverwind will, accompany me. I have written a song.”

“Very well,” the mage snapped, slipping the money pouch into his robes. “We will try it this evening.”

The Pig and Whistle was crowded that night. It was a diverse audience-small children and their parents, sailors, draconians, goblins and several kender, who caused everyone to keep an ere on his belongings. William and two helpers bustled about, serving drinks and food. Then the show began.

The crowd applauded Raistlin’s spinning coins, laughed when an illusory pig danced upon the bar, and scrambled out of their chairs in terror when a giant troll thundered in through a window. Bowing, the mage left to rest. Tika came on.

The crowd, particularly the draconians, cheered Tika’s dancing, banging their mugs on the table.

Then Goldmoon appeared before them, dressed in a gown of pale blue. Her silver-gold hair flowed over her shoulders like water shimmering in the moonlight. The crowd hushed instantly. Saying nothing, she sat down in a chair on the raised platform William had hastily constructed. So beautiful was she that not a murmur escaped the crowd. All waited expectantly.

Riverwind sat upon the floor at her feet. Putting a handcarved flute to his lips, he began to play and, after a few moments, Goldmoon’s voice blended with the flute. Her song was simple, the melody sweet and harmonious, yet haunting. But it was the words that caught Tanis’s attention, causing him to exchange worried glances with Caramon. Raistlin, sitting next to him, grasped hold of Tanis’s arm.

“I feared as much!” the mage hissed. “Another riot!”

“Perhaps not,” Tanis said, watching. “Look at the audience.”

Women leaned their heads onto their husband’s shoulders, children were quiet and attentive. The draconians seemed spellbound-as a wild animal will sometimes beheld by music. Only the goblins shuffled their flapping feet, seemingly bored but so in awe of the draconians that they dared not protest.

Goldmoon’s song was of the ancient gods. She told how the gods had sent the Cataclysm to punish the Kingpriest of Istar and the people of Krynn for their pride. She sang of the terrors of that night and those that followed. She reminded them of how the people, believing, themselves abandoned, had prayed to false gods. Then she gave them a message of hope: the gods had not abandoned them. The true gods were here, waiting only for someone to listen to them.

After her song ended, and the plaintive wailing of the flute died, most in the crowd shank their treads, seeming to wake froze a pleasant dream.. When asked what the song had been about, they couldn’t say. The draconians shrugged and called far more ale. The goblins shouted for Tika to dance again. But, here and there, Tanis noticed a face still holding the wonder had warn during the song. And he was not surprised to see, young, dark-skinned woman approach Goldmoon shyly.

“I ask your pardon for disturbing you, my lady,” Tanis heard the woman say, “but your song touched me deeply, I want to learn of the ancient gods, to learn their ways.”

Goldmoon smiled. “Come to me tomorrow,” she said, “an

shall teach you what I know.”

And thus, slowly, word of the ancient gods began to spread.

By the time they left Port Balifor, the dark-skinned woman, soft-voiced young man, and several other people wore the medallion of Mishakal, Goddess of Healing. Secretly they w