“Is this the Lonely Refuge?” Blister asked excitedly. The kender had run to catch up with her long-limbed companions. She took a step closer.
Dhamon looked intently—skeptically—at the silvery-robed man.
“Please, come in. There’s no need to stand out in the heat. I’ll tell Palin you’re here.”
“I don’t know,” Blister babbled. “Maybe he killed Palin. Maybe he’s only pretending Palin’s inside. Maybe he wants to kill us, and he just wants to do it in there—where it’s probably cooler. Maybe he’s the you-know-what—The Storm Over Krynn.”
Fury padded up to the door, sniffed at the man. Then with a wag of his red-haired tail, the wolf disappeared inside.
“I think it’s all right,” Feril whispered.
Dhamon nodded, but his hand drifted to the pommel of his sword. He strode into the tower, Feril and Shaon on his heels. The door started to close as Blister took a last nervous look at the sandy waste, then also rushed inside.
The large, open room they stood in was cool and pleasant. A thick rug stretched across the center of it, which soothed the kender’s aching feet and made her feel a little better.
The walls were covered with tapestries and exquisite paintings that depicted beautiful countrysides, faces of distinguished people, ships, unicorns, and windswept coastlines. A polished stone staircase wound up the side of the room, and more paintings led upward, each one seemingly more striking and expertly rendered than its predecessor.
A man came down the steps. He was tall, dressed in dark green leggings with a lighter green tunic. A white sash was wrapped around his waist, and designs embroidered in red and black crowded it. His graying auburn hair was long, his eyes intense but tired-looking, and he had the start of a beard shadowing his lean face.
The kender guessed him to be roughly her age, perhaps older but in remarkably good health if so. He walked straight, his head held high and his shoulders squared. She judged him handsome and intriguing for a human. She decided immediately that she liked him.
“Goldmoon’s champions,” the Master of the Tower announced, as he extended a sweeping arm toward Dhamon and his companions. “This is Palin Majere,” he softly added. “Our host.”
Silence filled the room. Dhamon wasn’t sure how to begin, and Feril was too busy ogling the surroundings to say anything. Blister edged forward and nodded a greeting, knowing better than to extend her hand for fear he might actually shake it and hurt her.
“Pleased to meet you, sir. Jasper Fireforge told me all about you. Well, some about you anyway. But Jasper’s not here. He’s on the ship—in Palanthas. I think he was afraid it might sail away if he left. Of course, it wouldn’t, even if he did. It’s waiting for us. I’m Blister.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Blister. Goldmoon said you would be coming. Follow me, we have much to discuss.”
“Take a look at this,” Shaon said, suddenly rushing forward. She held the jiggling net bag toward Palin. “It calls itself a spawn. We were attacked by three of these things last night. Only they were a lot larger and meaner at the time.” Palin took the bag from her and peered through the net. The spawn stopped wriggling and stared back through a small hole in the weave.
From his lair beneath the desert, many miles to the north, Khellendros gazed through the eyes of his spawn.
So this is Palin Majere, the Blue thought. Not so old or feeble as I had anticipated, and his allies are powerful. I shall study this Palin Majere, Kitiara’s nephew, as he studies my spawn. And I shall learn what happened to his parents. Perhaps they still live, and I can use him to get to them. Such a fine sacrifice all of them would make.
“Goldmoon said she sensed a growing evil near Palanthas. And I think these are definitely evil,” Dhamon began. “They’re like draconians, though a little different.”
“They explode into balls of lightning when they die,” Blister cut in. “Of course, they can shoot lightning bolts at you when they’re alive. And they can fly. This one said its master is a big storm.”
The sorcerer stroked his chin. “The Master of the Tower and I will study this spawn. Won’t you join us upstairs after you’ve had time to refresh yourselves? Please, take your time. This,” he said, indicating the net bag, “will take a considerable amount of study. We will be on the top floor.” The sorcerer turned and retraced his steps up the stairs.
They were given a chance to bathe and eat, to tend to their wounds and put on clean clothes that were provided for them. Their old garments were discarded into a fireplace. Fury contentedly curled up in front of the hearth. Despite the heat outside, the interior of the tower stayed pleasantly cool.
They sat at a round birch table, on birch chairs that were thickly padded and comfortable. They drank peach cider from tall crystal goblets and enjoyed the silence. The room was elegant, yet simply furnished, white wood everywhere. The china cabinet and the long, low buffet near it were respectively filled and covered with white dishes and vases. It was a welcome change of pace from the desert.
Blister upended her drink, licked her lips and slipped from her chair so she could better admire the dark orange tunic she was wearing. It was one of Linsha Majere’s discarded shirts that was gathered and belted, and it looked more like a long gown with the tip of its tail dragging on the floor. It had tiny seed pearls along the collar, and as the kender ran her white-gloved thumb across them she smiled.
Dhamon was roughly Palin’s size, and borrowed a pair of dark brown leggings and a white silk shirt that fit him almost perfectly. He was pleased at its relative plainness, and the soft material felt good against his body.
Shaon and Feril wore clothes kept on hand for needy travellers, which were far removed from what either woman was used to. Shaon’s dress was a pale lilac trimmed in ivory lace around a high neck. It was a little short and draped only to the tops of her ankles, as Shaon was quite tall. The sea barbarian nonetheless looked stunning, and to her surprise found herself staring in the mirror.
Feril’s was a forest-green flowing gown with roses embroidered in dark red thread along the bodice. The sleeves came to her elbows and fluttered like butterfly wings when she walked. Following Blister’s lead, she got up from the table. She whirled in front of Dhamon, laughing softly. “Do you approve?” Her hair was full again, like a lion’s mane.
Dhamon stared at her. “You’re beautiful,” Dhamon said in a hushed voice. She looked surprised. It was one of those rare times when she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Shaon cleared her throat loudly and walked toward the stairs. “I want to check on my creature,” she said.
“Your creature?” Blister grumbled. “It’s my magic bag. And Feril shrank the nasty thing.” The kender stuck her chin in the air. “It’s our creature.” But the sea barbarian was long gone, and the kender’s words were wasted.
Dhamon moved toward the stairs, but Feril’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Wait,” she began. “You were traveling to the Lonely Refuge for something.” She gestured to a polished walnut box nearly two feet long and half as wide that sat in the center of the table.
“Was that there before?” he asked. Dhamon stepped closer and ran his fingers across the lid, and carefully opened it. Inside was a piece of steel, dented in places, and festooned with bits of brass and gold.
It was a lance handle, old and ornate, with intricate whorls and designs along its surface. He pulled the handle out and inspected the hole for the lance. Dhamon held it with his right hand, the way someone wielding the completed weapon might. The thing felt impossibly light.
Dhamon turned it over and spotted twin hooks. He reached inside his pocket, where he’d slipped the silk banner after changing clothes, and fastened the flag in place. “Only one part is missing now,” he said. “And Palin will take us to it.” He looked to Feril, who was smiling at him proudly.