Color drained from her face. No one had ever spoken to her like that, not even Tanis. "Then this is the end," she said coldly. "From the moment this soap bubble touches the ground, we're finished."
Kitiara left him watching the canopy of trees unroll. They did not speak to each other again.
"Careful! Careful! Watch those branches!"
The Cloudmaster pushed into a forest clearing. Elm, ash, and birch branches clawed at them. Wingover was atop the deckhouse, trying to direct the landing. Flash and Birdcall had opened the neck of the ethereal air bag, letting some of the lifting power out. The flying ship had scraped over a few bald hills before the wind carried it down. Sturm stood at the bow, fending off dangerous limbs with the boat hook from the Werival — his only souvenir of the perilous hours on the cursed ship. They had no anchor, no grapnel to fix them in place, only timing and control of the air bag. Flash and Birdcall clung to the rope that held the half-empty bag shut.
Branches scraped the length of the deck, snapping when the gaping windows of the deckhouse caught them. Birds fled, chirping, when the ship disturbed their treetop homes.
"Clearing ahead!" Sturm called.
"Get ready!" Wingover cried.
The bow dipped once the trees were out of the way. The keel gently touched the meadow's grass, dragged a few yards, and stopped. Sturm jammed the boat hook into the ground and swung over the rail. He landed on the soil of
Krynn with both feet.
"Praise Paladine!" he said. "Solid ground at last!"
The boarding ramp fell, and seven gnomes boiled out.
Wingover was inhaling deep breaths and patting himself on the chest when he heard Birdcall whistle questioningly.
"Can we open the bag now?" asked Flash.
"Yes, yes, we're landed!"
The two gnomes pulled the zigzag stitching loose. A gust of sulfurous air fled the bag, and the exhausted craft settled, finally and heavily.
Kitiara descended the ramp and dumped what belongings she had left on the ground. In spite of the bitterness of their parting, Sturm couldn't stop his eyes from following her.
She paid no one the slightest heed, but stood a ways off, hanging her water bottle and leather pouch on opposite hips to balance the load. She slung her bedroll over one shoulder by its strap. Sturm had an urge to speak, to say something conciliatory, but her hard expression forestalled him.
"Well, Wingover, it's been a long, strange voyage," Kiti ara said, shaking the little man's hand. "I'll never forget it."
"We couldn't have made it without you, lady."
She moved on to Cutwood, Sighter, Birdcall, and Flash.
"Keep thinking up new ideas," she said amiably, "That way the world will never get dull." She turned to Roperig and Fit ter and chucked the littlest gnome under the chin. "So long, boys. Stick together — you make a good team."
"We will," said the two in unison.
Finally, she approached Rainspot and Stutts. "You're a very lucky fellow, Stutts," she said warmly. "Not many peo ple get to realize their life's dream as completely as you have. Keep flying, old fellow. I hope you will have many more adventures."
"My," said Stutts. "It d-doesn't seem likely. I have so many reports to write and s-so many lectures to give. After all, the
Gnomish Patent Office must be satisfied that we have d-done what we have done." He bowed formally. "Farewell,
Mistress. You were a t-tower of strength."
"I was, wasn't I?"
"Where are you off to?" Wingover asked.
"Wherever the trail takes me," she replied.
Kitiara's crooked smile almost appeared. She squinted into the sky. It was not yet noon. The sun warmed her face.
Sturm stood apart from her leave-taking. He felt the weight of his own resolve and knew that what Kitiara had said was true. They were finished. And yet, he knew he would miss the old Kit, the brash, fun-loving companion.
Kitiara crossed the warm meadow briskly and did not look back. Sunlight burnished her black curls as she cut a swath through the high grass. Sturm bent over to shoulder his own gear. When he straightened again, Kitiara had van ished among the closely growing elms and birches at the field's far end.
"Aren't you going after her?" said Fitter.
"Why should I do that?" Sturm said. He tied a thready piece of twine around his bedroll and tucked it under his arm. "She can take care of herself. It's what she does best."
"I don't understand," Fitter said, scratching his nose. "I thought you two were going to get married one day."
Sturm dropped his cooking kit at that remark. The clay pot banged him smartly on the toe. "Where in the world did you get an idea like that?" he asked, flabbergasted.
"We've always heard how human men and women fight and yell at each other, but always end up married and, you know — " Fitter blushed. "Having babies."
Sturm picked up the spilled contents of his kit. "It will take a man with more riches and power than I'll ever have to claim her hand." He hung the kit bag around his neck. "The man who wins Kitiara Uth Matar had better have the patience of Paladine and the wisdom of Majere to keep her."
The gnomes gathered around him as he adjusted the last of his equipment. "Where will you go?" asked Wingover.
"Solamnia, as before. There are things I must investigate.
The visions I had on the red moon have faded from my memory, but I know my father's trail begins at my ancestral home, Castle Brightblade. That is my destination."
Small hands patted him on the back. "We wish you every bit of luck, Master Brightblade," said Cutwood. 'You're very smart, for a human."
"That means a lot, coming from you," Sturm answered wryly.
"W-we would offer to fly you on t-to Solamnia," Stutts said, "but we are on f-foot now ourselves."
That hadn't occurred to him. Sturm said, "Would you like me to escort you home to Sancrist?" It seemed the least he could do.
"No, no, we've delayed you long enough," said Sighter.
"We'll get to Gwynned, all right. There'll be ships there for
Sancrist."
"I shall miss you," said Rainspot fondly. He held out his small hand. With great solemnity, Sturm shook Rainspot's hand and each of the other gnomes' hands in succession.
Then he hitched up his gear and started out.
Funny, he thought; to have traveled so far and walked so little. His feet were more tender now than before he went to
Lunitari. Walking will be good penance, he decided. He could shed some of the stain of magic by walking and con templating his transgression. Perhaps he could also come to grips with the difficult choices he faced as he tried to live by the Code and the Measure.
"Good-bye! Good-bye!" called the gnomes. Sturm snapped out of his reverie and waved to them. They were good fellows indeed. He hoped they would not have any more trouble, but, being gnomes, they probably would.
He entered the humid forest and plunged through thicket after thicket of dense greenery. It cheered him to see vines and bushes with honest green leaves, plants that didn't bleed or cry when he tramped over them. Lunitari was such an unnatural world.
Two miles of woods later, he found a clear creek and filled his bottle. The water was cold, and had a mineral taste. It was a welcome change after weeks of drinking soft rain water. Sturm paralleled the creek bank for four miles, until he came to an arched stone bridge. He climbed the bank to the road that wended away north and south. A road marker was fixed to the corner of the bridge. On its south face, it read, 'Caergoth — 20 Leagues', and on its east face,