“Supply wagons could be driven up to the tunnel, their contents unloaded onto these carts. The carts were either pushed or pulled along the rails, down the tunnel, and into Zhaman. Thus, even besieged, the fortress could still be resupplied, and in case defeat was imminent, those inside the fortress could use this route to escape.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” stated Caramon, entering and peering around.
“What doesn’t?” asked his brother impatiently.
“According to Flint, when the wizard saw that he was about to be defeated, he decided to destroy himself and kill thousands of his own troops.” Caramon gestured to the tunnel. “Why would he do that when he could have fled to safety?”
“And we know we’re not being followed,” said Caramon with a yawn.
As it turned out, they were both wrong. Tas and Tika were out there, and they were following them.
Midway through the day, Tasslehoff and Tika had finally managed to sneak away from laundry detail. When it came time to spread the sopping wet clothes and bedding over bushes to dry, Tika had eagerly volunteered for the task. A quick poke in the ribs had caused Tas to volunteer as well. Tas had managed to retrieve their packs and hide them beneath a rotted log. Snagging these, the two of them had dumped the laundry they were supposed to be hanging and slipped away from camp.
They’d picked up the trail of the three men with ease. They could see in the snow the print of Raistlin’s narrow feet, the brush-marks left by the hem of his robes, and indentations made by his staff. Caramon’s large footprints were always near the smaller prints of his brother, and Sturm’s heavy prints came behind, guarding the rear.
Well aware that they’d lost valuable time and that they had only half the day left before darkness overtook them, Tika tried her best to hurry along. This proved difficult, for Tasslehoff was constantly being distracted by something he saw and continually starting to venture off to investigate. Tika had to either argue him out of it, forcibly restrain him, or if she happened to be looking the other way, go chase him down.
When night fell, the two were still inside the forest.
“We have to stop,” Tika said, dispirited. “If we go on, we might miss their tracks in the dark. Does this clearing look like a good place to camp?”
“As good as any,” said Tas. “There are probably wolves out there ready to tear us apart, but if we build a fire we can keep them away.”
“Wolves?” Tika glanced nervously around the dark forest.
She had traveled far from Solace and the Inn of the Last Home, where she had worked as a barmaid, going on a journey she had never expected to take. Neither had she expected to fall in love on this journey and certainly not with Caramon Majere, who had teased her unmercifully when she was a little girl, calling her “Carrot-top.”
“Freckle-face” and “Skinny Butt.”
He didn’t call her those names now, of course. No one did. Tika had filled out nicely; too nicely, she thought, when she compared herself to the graceful, sylph-like Laurana. Buxom and broadshouldered, with strong, muscular arms, gleaned from years of carrying heavy trays of food and hefting mugs of ale, Tika was always amused when someone termed her “pretty”. Her red curls, green eyes and flashing smile had captured more than one heart back in Solace, and now Caramon’s was among them, his the most treasured.
Here she was, far from home, far from anything resembling a home, if you came down to it, spending the night in a dark—extremely dark—forest, her only companion a kender. While Tasslehoff was her best friend and she was very glad he was with her, she couldn’t help wishing he wouldn’t talk quite so much or so loudly and especially that he wouldn’t keep jumping up at every strange noise and crying out eagerly, “Did you hear that, Tika? It sounded like a bear!” Tika had spent many nights in the wilderness on this trip but always in company with skilled warriors who knew how to defend themselves. Tika had been in a few fights, but thus far the only weapon she had ever wielded with elan was a heavy iron skillet. She had found a sword, but she knew quite well, for she’d been told often enough, that when she wielded it, she was dangerous only to herself.
Tika had not meant to be spending this night alone. She’d meant to be spending the night with Caramon. She knew that once she’d caught up with them, neither Sturm nor Caramon would send her back alone and unprotected, no matter what Raistlin might say. They would have to take her and Tas along with them, and she would be able to keep Caramon out of whatever trouble his brother was likely to get him into.
A snapping sound nearby caused her heart to stop.
“What was that?” she gasped.
Tas had grown sleepy by this time and gone to bed.
“Probably a goblin,” he said drowsily. “You’re taking first watch.” Tika gave a muffled shriek and grabbed her sword.
“Don’t worry,” said Tas, yawning and pulling his blanket up over his head. “Goblins almost never attack by night. Ghosts and ghouls attack by night.”
Tika, who had been reassured, wasn’t anymore.
“You don’t think there are ghosts here?” she asked, dismayed.
“There aren’t any burial grounds around, at least that we’ve found, so I expect not,” said Tas, after giving the matter some thought. He added, with another jaw-cracking yawn, “If a ghost does show up, Tika, be sure to wake me. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”
Tika told herself that the snapping noise she had heard was a deer, not a bear or a wolf, but she quickly threw more wood on the fire until she realized that the fire would reveal them to their enemies. Then she wondered in a panic if she should put it out.
Before she could decide, the fire began to die and there was no more fuel. Tika was afraid to go out to gather wood, and when the last flickering light from the last ember disappeared, she sat in the darkness, clutching her sword and hating Tasslehoff with all her might for sleeping so soundly and peacefully when there were ghosts, goblins, wolves, and other horrible things all around them.
Terror is exhausting, however, not to mention she’d spent half the day hauling water and wringing out wet clothes and the other half traipsing through the woods. Tika’s head sank onto her chest. The hand holding the sword relaxed its grip.
Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that one was never ever supposed to fall asleep on watch.
Chapter 10
A Memory Of The Past. Hope For The Future. Mumblety-peg.
Sturm took first watch for their group that night. Caramon took second. They did not ask Raistlin to stand watch. Sturm would not have trusted him, and Caramon proclaimed his brother too weak; Raist needed his sleep.
The night passed in such profound peace and quiet that Sturm found it difficult to stay awake. He was at length forced to march up and down along the tunnel to fight off the longing to close his eyes. As he marched, his mind went, as it generally did when he was alone, to the time he’d spent in Solamnia, a bittersweet time, with more bitter than sweet.
The knighthood that had once been so revered in Solamnia had long since fallen into disrepute. The reasons for this were numerous. The Cataclysm brought death and destruction to all parts Krynn, not excluding the nation of Solamnia. Shortly after the disaster struck, rumors began to spread throughout Solamnia that the knights had been given the power by the gods to prevent the Cataclysm and had failed to stop it.
People who had lost everything—homes, livelihood, friends and family—were glad to have someone to blame, and the knights were easy targets. Add to this volatile situation those who had always been jealous of the power wielded by the knights, and those who believed, rightly or wrongly, that the knights had grown wealthy at the expense of the poor, and it was small wonder the mixture exploded.