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DRAGONLANCER TALES IIVolume 2THE CATACLYSM1992 TSR, Inc. All Rights Reserved.IntroductionThe world was forged upon three pillars: good, evil, neutrality. Inorder to progress, a balance between the three must be maintained. Butthere came a time in Krynn when the balance tilted. Believing himselfto be the equal to the gods in knowledge and in wisdom, the Kingpriestof Istar sought the gods in arrogance and pride and demanded that theydo his bidding.Having viewed with sorrow the tilting of the scales ofbalance, resulting in hatred, prejudice, race divided againstrace, the gods determined to restore the balance of theworld. They cast a fiery mountain upon Ansalon, thenwithdrew their power, hoping those intelligent races whodwelt upon Krynn would once again find their faith - in thegods, in themselves, and in each other.This catastrophe became known as the Cataclysm.Michael Williams tells a tale of vengeance in his epicpoem, "The Word and the Silence." He and his wife, Teri,continue the tale and turn it into a mystery, as the accusedmurderer's son seeks to end the curse on his family in"Mark of the Flame, Mark of the Word."Matya, a very cunning trader, stumbles onto thebargain of her life - literally - in Mark Anthony's "TheBargain Driver."In Todd Fahnestock's story, "Seekers," a young orphanboy embarks on a perilous journey to ask the gods aquestion.For most people, the Cataclysm meant sorrow, death,ruination. For the entrepreneurs in Nick O'Donohoe'sstory, "No Gods, No Heroes," the Cataclysm meansopportunity.Richard A. Knaak tells the tale of Rennard, known toreaders of THE LEGEND OF HUMA. Now a ghost,doomed to torment in the Abyss, Rennard finds himselftransported back to Ansalon during the Cataclysm. Is it anaccident, or has he been brought back for a reason?Dan Parkinson continues the adventures of the Bulp clanof gully dwarves. Led by their valiant leader, Gorge III, theBulps leave Istar in search of the Promised Place. What theyfind instead is certainly not what they expected, in "OgreUnaware."Roger E. Moore reveals why Astinus never hires kenderto be scribes, in his story, "The Cobbler's Son."A ship bound for Istar may be making its final voyage,in Paul B. Thompson and Tonya R. Carter's story, "TheVoyage of the SUNCHASER."Doug Niles continues the adventures of his scribe,Foryth Teal, as that intrepid historian sets out to investigatea priest's claim that he can perform miracles, in "The HighPriest of Halcyon."In "True Knight," we continue the story of the cleric ofMishakal, Brother Michael, and Nikol, daughter of aSolamnic Knight. The two survive the Cataclysm, but nowthey want answers. Their search leads them to an encounterwith the knight who, so rumor has it, could have preventedthe Cataclysm.MARGARET WEIS AND TRACY HICKMANTHE WORD AND THE SILENCEIOn Solamnia's castlesravens alight,dark and unnumberedlike a year of deaths,and dreamt on the battlements,fixed and holy,are the signs of the OrderKingfisher and Rose -Kingfisher and Roseand a sword that is bleeding foreverover the covering mountains,the shires perpetually damaged,and the blade itselfis an unhealed wound,convergence of blood and memory,its dark rain maskingthe arrangement of stars,and below it the ravens gather.Below it foreverthe woman is telling the story,telling it softlyas the past collapsesinto a breathing light,and I am repeating her storythen and now in a willful duskat the turn of the yearin the flickering halls of the keep.The story ascends and spirals,descends on itselfand circles through timethrough effacing eventand continuing vengeancedown to the timeI am telling her telling you this.But bent by the firelike a doubling memory,the woman recounts and dwellsin a dead man's story,harsh in the earsof his fledgling son,who nods, and listens again, and descendsto a dodging countryof tears and remembrance,where the memories of othersfashion his bent recollections,assemble his fatherfrom mirrors and smokeand history's hearsaytwines and repeats,and the wavering country,Solamnia, muses and listens.OUT ON THE PLAINS, ORESTES,the woman is saying, OUT AMONG FIRESWHICH THE BARD'S VOICE IGNITEDIN RUMOR AND CALUMNY,THERE THEY ARE BURNING YOUR FATHER,HIS NAME AND OUR BLOODFOREVER FROM CAERGOTHTO HARBORING KALAMANAND OUT IN THE DYINGBAYS OF THE NORTH:ALL FOR A WORD, MY SON,A WORD MASKED AS HISTORYSHIELDING A NEST OF ADDERS.WITH WORDS ARE WE POISONED,ORESTES, MY SON, she repeatsin the fragmenting darkness,the firelight fixedon her hair, on the ivoryglove of her handand the tilted goblet.And always Orestes listenedand practiced his harpfor the journey approaching,and the world contracted,fierce and impermeable,caged in the wheeling wordsof his mother, cagedin a custom of deaths.IIThree things are lostin the long night of words:history's edgethe heart's long appeasementthe eye of the prophet.But the story bornof impossible fragmentsis this: that Lord Pyrrhus Alectolight of the coastarm of Caergothfather to dreamingand to vengeful Orestesfell to the peasantsin the time of the Rendingfell in the vanguardof his glittering armiesand over his lapsing eyewheeled constellationsthe scale of Hiddukelriding west to the garrisoned city.It is there that the edgeof history ends:the rest is a songthat followed on songthe story involvedin its own devisingtied in devolving circles untiltruth was a wordin the bardic nightand the husk of eventwas a dim mathematicslost in the matrix of stars.IIIBut this is the storyas Arion told it,Arion Corvus, Branchala's bardthe singer of mysterieslight on the wingstring of the harp.Unhoused by the Rending,traveling west, his mapa memory of hearth and castle,unhoused, he sounded foreverthe hymns of cometand fire perpetualsounded the Time of the Rending,betrayals and uprisingsspanning the breadth of the harper's hand,and history rodeon the harp incantingthe implausible music of breath.His was the song I remember,his song and my mother's retelling.O sing the ravensperpetually wrongedto the ears of my children,O sing to them, Arion Stormcrow:DOWN IN THE ARM OF CAERGOTH HE RODE:PYRRHUS ALECTO, THE KNIGHT OF THE NIGHT OF BETRAYALSFIREBRAND OF BURNING THAT CLOUDED THE STRAITS OF HYLO,THE OIL AND ASH ON THE WATER, IGNITED COUNTRY.FOREVER AND EVER THE VILLAGES BURN IN HIS PASSAGE,AND THE GRAIN OF THE PEASANTRY, LIFE OF THE RAGGED ARMIESTHAT HARRIED HIM BACK TO THE KEEP OF THE CASTLEWHERE PYRRHUS THE FIREBRINGER CANCELED THE WORLDBENEATH THE DENIAL OF BATTLEMENTS,WHERE HE DIED AMID STONE WITH HIS COVERING ARMIES.FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS THE COUNTRY OF CAERGOTHHAS BURNED AND BURNED WITH HIS EFFACING HAND,A BARREN OF SHIRES AND HAMLETS,AND Firebringer HISTORY HANGS ON THE PATH OF HIS NAME.IVLook around you, my sonfor the fire in Arion's singing:For where in this country,in forgotten Caergoth,where does a single village burn?Where does a peasant sufferand starve by the fire of your father?Somewhere to the eastbefore a white arras,gilded with laureland gold adulation,the bard sings a liein a listening house,and Caergoth burnsin the world's imagining,while the bard holds somethingback from his singing,something resembling the truth.But let not the breathof the fire touch your father,Orestes, my son,my arm in the dwindling world,my own truthmy prophecy,soothed the effacing mother,and darkly and silentlyOrestes listened, the deadly harppoised in his hand circuitous.And the word turned to deedand the song to a journey by night,and the listening yearsto a cloak and a borrowed name,as the boy maturedin his mother's word,and the harp strings dronedin the facing windas he rode out alone, seeking Arion.VHigh on the battlementsof Vingaard Keepas the wind plunged overthe snow-covered walls,Orestes perchedin a dark cloak huddled,the window below himgabled in light,and he muttered and listened,his honored impatiencegrown loud at the songof the bard by the fire.Melodiously, Arion sangof the world's beginning,the shape of us allretrieved by the handsof the gods from chaos,the oceans inscribingthe dream of the plains,the sun and the moonsappointing the countrywith light and the passageof summer to winter,the bright land's cornerslovely with trees,the leaves quick with life... 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