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. "Why did the gods
do it, sir? I just don't understand. Why did they have to kill
so many people? It doesn't make sense. We didn't do
anything! We just lived. We worshiped Paladine. But Krynn
was still cracked, and then the new marsh rose and Lutha
caught the sickness and now everyone . . . everyone I ever
knew is dead." He bowed his head.
Then his mouth set defiantly and his brows came
together in anger. "And so I'm going to ask them. I want
them to answer just one question. Why? Why did they do it
to everyone? What did we do wrong?"
Marakion smiled. "Supposing the gods even respond,
they might drop another mountain on you."
"I don't care," Gylar said petulantly, gathering his
blanket around him and resting his head on his pack. "I
don't care if they do. If they do, they don't care about us and
it won't matter. But. . . but I will ask." He yawned. "I will
ask HIM . . . Paladine."
Gylar fell asleep. Marakion gazed at the young face.
The flame's light played off the round, boyish features that
would not fade for several years yet. Marakion sighed aloud
this time. Watching the boy tell his story, the knight had
realized Gylar was indeed no marauder's lackey. He actually
was what he claimed: a simple country boy in search of
divine answers.
Gylar's story made Marakion think of all the things he'd
lost because of the Cataclysm. If the gods had not dropped
the fiery mountain, his home would not have been attacked.
"You're right, Gylar," he said to the sleeping boy
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