“I’ve a feeling the Highlord will be in tonight, storm or no storm,” the innkeeper told the sleepy clerk. “Wake me if she comes.”
Shivering, he glanced outside into the night once more, seeing in his mind’s eye the dragonarmy officer walking the empty streets of Flotsam, the shadowy figure of the draconian slinking after him.
“On second thought,” the innkeeper muttered, “let me sleep.”
The storm shut down Flotsam tonight. The bars that normally stayed open until the dawn straggled through their grimy windows were locked up and shuttered against the gale. The streets were deserted, no one venturing out into the winds that could knock a man down and pierce even the warmest clothing with biting cold.
Tanis walked swiftly, his head bowed, keeping near the darkened buildings that broke the full force of the gale. His beard was soon rimed with ice. Sleet stung his face painfully. The half-elf shook with the cold, cursing the dragonarmor’s cold metal against his skin. Glancing behind him occasionally, he watched to see if anyone had taken an unusual interest in his leaving the inn. But the visibility was reduced to almost nothing. Sleet and rain swirled around him so that he could barely see tall buildings looming up in the darkness, much less anything else. After a while, he realized he better concentrate on finding his way through town. Soon he was so numb with cold that he didn’t much care if anyone was following him or not.
He hadn’t been in the town of Flotsam long—only four days to be precise. And most of those days had been spent with her.
Tanis blocked the thought from his mind as he stared through the rain at the street signs. He knew only vaguely where he was going. His friends were in an inn somewhere on the edge of town, away from the wharf, away from the bars and brothels. For a moment he wondered in despair what he would do if he got lost. He dared not ask about them...
And then he found it. Stumbling through the deserted streets, slipping on the ice, he almost sobbed in relief when he saw the sign swinging wildly in the wind. He hadn’t even been able to remember the name, but now he recognized it—the Jetties.
Stupid name for an inn, he thought, shaking so with the cold he could barely grasp the door handle. Pulling the door open, he was blown inside by the force of the wind, and it was with an effort that he managed to shove the door shut behind him.
There was no night clerk on duty—not at this shabby place. By the light of a smoking fire in the filthy grate, Tanis saw a stub of a candle sitting on the desk, apparently for the convenience of guests who staggered in after hours. His hands shook so he could barely strike the flint. After a moment he forced his cold-stiffened fingers to work, lit the candle, and made his way upstairs by its feeble light.
If he had turned around and glanced out the window, he would have seen a shadowy figure huddle in a doorway across the street. But Tanis did not look out the window behind him; his eyes were on the stairs.
“Caramon!”
The big warrior instantly sat bolt upright, his hand reaching reflexively for his sword, even before he turned to look questioningly at his brother.
“I heard a noise outside,” Raistlin whispered. “The sound of a scabbard clanking against armor.”
Caramon shook his head, trying to clear the sleep away, and climbed out of bed, sword in hand. He crept toward the door until he, too, could hear the noise that had wakened his light-sleeping brother. A man dressed in armor was walking stealthily down the hall outside their rooms. Then Caramon could see the faint glow of candlelight beneath the door. The sound of clanking armor came to halt, right outside their room.
Gripping his sword, Caramon motioned to his brother. Raistlin nodded and melted back into the shadows. His eyes were abstracted. He was calling to mind a magic spell. The twin brothers worked well together, effectively combining magic and steel to defeat their foes.
The candlelight beneath the door wavered. The man must be shifting the candle to his other hand, freeing his sword hand. Reaching out, Caramon slowly and silently slid the bolt on the door. He waited a moment. Nothing happened. The man was hesitating, perhaps wondering if this was the right room. He’ll find out soon enough, Caramon thought to himself.
Caramon flung open the door with a sudden jerk. Lunging around it, he grasped hold of the dark figure and dragged him inside. With all the strength of his brawny arms, the warrior flung the armor-clad man to the floor. The candle dropped, its flame extinguishing in melted wax. Raistlin began to chant a magic spell that would entrap their victim in a sticky web-like substance.
“Hold! Raistlin, stop!” the man shouted. Recognizing the voice, Caramon grabbed hold of his brother, shaking him to break the concentration of his spellcasting.
“Raist! It’s Tanis!”
Shuddering, Raistlin came out of his trance, arms dropped limply to his sides. Then he began to cough, clutching his chest.
Caramon cast an anxious glance at his twin, but Raistlin warded him away with a wave of the hand. Turning, Caramon reached down to help the half-elf to his feet.
“Tanis!” he cried, nearly squeezing the breath out of him with an enthusiastic embrace. “Where have you been? We were sick with worry. By all the gods, you’re freezing! Here, I’ll poke up the fire. Raist"—Caramon turned to his brother—“are you sure you’re all right?”
“Don’t concern yourself with me!” Raistlin whispered. The mage sank back down on his bed, gasping for breath. His eyes glittered gold in the flaring firelight as he stared at the half-elf, who huddled thankfully beside the blaze. “You better get the others.”
“Right.” Caramon started out the door.
“I’d put some clothes on first,” Raistlin remarked caustically.
Blushing, Caramon hurried back to his bed and grabbed a pair of leather breeches. Pulling these on, he slipped a shirt over his head, then went out into the hallway, softly closing the door behind him. Tanis and Raistlin could hear him knocking gently on the Plainsmen’s door. They could hear Riverwind’s stern reply and Caramon’s hurried, excited explanation.
Tanis glanced at Raistlin—saw the mage’s strange hourglass eyes focused on him with a piercing stare—and turned uncomfortably back to gaze into the fire.
“Where have you been, Half-Elf?” Raistlin asked in his soft, whispering voice.
Tanis swallowed nervously. “I was captured by a Dragon Highlord,” he said, reciting the answer he had prepared. “The Highlord thought I was one of his officers, naturally, and asked me to escort him to his troops, who are stationed outside of town. Of course I had to do as he asked or make him suspicious. Finally, tonight, I was able to get away.”
“Interesting.” Raistlin coughed the word.
Tanis glanced at him sharply. “What’s interesting?”
“I’ve never heard you lie before, Half-Elf,” Raistlin said softly. “I find it... quite... fascinating.”
Tanis opened his mouth, but, before he could reply, Caramon returned, followed by Riverwind and Goldmoon and Tika, yawning sleepily.
Hurrying to him, Goldmoon embraced Tanis swiftly. “My friend!” she said brokenly, holding onto him tightly. “We’ve been so worried—”
Riverwind clasped Tanis by the hand, his usually stern face relaxed in a smile. Gently he took hold of his wife and removed her from Tanis’s embrace, but it was only to take her place.
“My brother!” Riverwind said in Que-shu, the dialect of the Plains people, hugging the half-elf tightly. “We feared you were captured! Dead! We didn’t know—”
“What happened? Where were you?” Tika asked eagerly, coming forward to hug Tanis.
Tanis looked over at Raistlin, but he was lying back on his hard pillow, his strange eyes fixed on the ceiling, seemingly uninterested in anything being said.
Clearing his throat self-consciously, intensely aware of Raistlin listening, Tanis repeated his story. The others followed it with expressions of interest and sympathy. Occasionally they asked questions. Who was this Highlord? How big was the army? Where was it located? What were the draconians doing in Flotsam? Were they really searching for them? How had Tanis escaped?