“Impossible?” Riverwind asked. “Like a poor, heretic shepherd wooing a princess?” He looked at Caramon. “Like the group of us bringing back the gods? Like stopping Chaos from destroying the world?”
Caramon shook his head, scowling. He started to say something, caught Riverwind’s fierce look, and bit his tongue. Brightdawn and Moonsong stared at their father, their faces lined with worry.
“For the love of Reorx, man!” called Borlos, rising from his place beside the fire. “They’re just kender.”
Riverwind glared at Borlos even more fiercely, and Borlos sank back into his chair and looked at the floor. The Plainsman turned back to Kronn and Catt. Solemnly, he offered them his hand.
“I am Riverwind of Que-Shu,” he said. “I don’t know much about dragons either, but I have love and admiration in my heart for the kender. I will go with you and do the best I can.”
The trees of Solace blazed red with the rising sun. Birdsong filled the air, and squirrels chased each other across the inn’s steep roof. Caramon and Riverwind stood on the balcony outside the tavern, smelling the tempting aroma of cooking fires that drifted on the wind. They cupped mugs of hot tarbean tea in their hands, taking occasional sips to keep the morning’s chill at bay.
“A good day for traveling,” Riverwind noted.
Caramon grunted, took another sip of his tea, and set it down on the balcony’s dew-dappled railing.
Neither man had slept; neither man had wanted to. Soon after Riverwind declared his desire to help the kender, Clemen, Borlos, and Osler had slipped away and the rest had gone upstairs to bed-first Moonsong and Brightdawn, then Kronn and Catt. Last of all Tika had kissed her husband good night, embraced Riverwind with tears in her eyes, and left them alone. The Plainsman had helped Caramon drag a straw pallet into the tavern and lay the drunken tinker out on it. After that, the two old men, who had been friends for more than thirty years, had sat together the whole night through.
“Kendermore,” Caramon muttered.
Riverwind glanced at him, then chuckled, gazing at the vallenwoods’ waving branches. “I know what I’m doing, Caramon.”
“Do you?” Caramon persisted. “Riverwind, you’re sixty-five years old, and you want to pick up and travel across Ansalon to fight a dragon at the behest of two kender you’ve never even met before tonight.” He scowled. “If that makes so much sense to you, could you please explain it to me?”
“They are the children of brave Kronin,” said the Plainsman.
Caramon grunted.
“I owe Tasslehoff as much,” Riverwind added.
Caramon snorted, throwing up his hands.
“You know why I must do this,” Riverwind said.
“You’ll be lucky to survive the trip, let alone kill this Malystryx or defeat an entire army of ogres.”
“Maybe so. But I believe there’s a reason those two arrived the same day I did. A reason known only to the departed gods.”
A thrush landed on the railing, not far from where the two men stood. It peered at them curiously, then twittered and was gone in a flutter of wings.
“You’re batty,” Caramon murmured.
Riverwind winked. “Not yet, old friend,” he allowed. He raised his mug to his lips, draining it in one swallow.
“But dying in battle sure beats dying in bed.”
Caramon cooked breakfast, frying eggs and sausage and making a hash of last night’s uneaten potatoes. Drawn by the smell, Riverwind’s daughters came down from their rooms, as did the kender. Tika brewed a fresh pot of tarbean tea, then went into the storeroom to gather provisions for the travelers: cheese, hardtack, smoked venison and dried apples. She gave them fresh wineskins too, filled with what ale remained from Caramon’s special keg. When Riverwind reached for his purse to pay for the supplies, Caramon stubbornly waved him off.
No one spoke of dragons.
“I hear you’re betrothed, Moonsong,” Tika said.
The Chieftain’s Daughter blushed, lowering her eyes demurely. “Yes,” she said. “At the beginning of the summer, Stagheart of Que-Teh promised himself to me.”
“He didn’t have much choice,” Brightdawn added, grinning wickedly. “Not after Father caught the two of them together in the paddocks east of town.”
“Brightdawn!” Moonsong protested, her face growing darker still.
“Father gave Stagheart a choice,” the younger twin continued, undaunted. “Either he could accept his punishment, or he could agree to a Courting Quest.”
“What was the punishment?” asked Kronn around a mouthful of sausage.
“In our tribe, a warrior who disgraces himself must dress in women’s clothing for a year,” Riverwind explained. “It is a mark of shame.”
“Actually, Father could have banished him from the village, if he wanted,” Brightdawn added. “Lucky for Stagheart, he’s Chief Nightshade’s son.”
Caramon and Tika nodded, understanding. Nightshade was Chieftain of the Que-Teh, who were more powerful than any tribe on the Plains, save the Que-Shu. He and Riverwind had been friends since shortly after the war, and he had been an important ally in uniting the smaller tribes. A marriage between his son and Riverwind’s daughter would only strengthen the link between the two tribes.
“I take it he’s on his Courting Quest now,” Caramon said dryly.
Moonsong, who had been enduring the conversation in embarrassed silence, raised her chin proudly. “Father sent him into the hills. A griffon has been preying on our tribe’s horses in the south fields all summer. When Stagheart returns to Que-Shu with the griffon’s head, we will be married. Mother will conduct the ceremony.”
“And if he doesn’t,” Brightdawn added, “I’m sure Mother can spare him one of her gowns.”
Moonsong shoved her sister, nearly knocking her off the bench, then turned to their father. “Why don’t you ask her about Swiftraven?” she asked.
“There’s nothing to ask!” Brightdawn protested, seeing Riverwind’s brows lower. “I swear!”
“Who’s Swiftraven?” Catt asked.
“Nightshade’s younger son,” Riverwind said. “A mere boy.”
“He’s eighteen, Father,” Brightdawn grumbled.
“Six years younger than you. You should find someone your age.”
“I’m six years younger than Caramon, Riverwind,” Tika interrupted.
Riverwind looked at her, then at Brightdawn. Both women looked back at him defiantly.
“Take my advice, Riverwind,” Caramon said, grinning. “Run while you still can.”
The room rang with laughter, but soon lapsed into an awkward silence. Riverwind cleared his throat. “We should be going,” he said. He pushed his chair back from the dining table and rose, his leather armor creaking. “It is a long ride across the Plains. We must leave if we are to reach my village before dark.”
They walked to the door. Kronn and Catt went ahead to fetch their ponies and the Plainsfolk’s horses. Moonsong and Brightdawn each embraced both Caramon and Tika, then left as well.
Riverwind stood for a moment, framed by the doorway as he faced his friends. Tika hugged him tightly, burying her face against his fur vest. “Riverwind,” she sobbed. “You shouldn’t be going to Kendermore. Not now, especially…
Gently, he pushed her away from him, then put a finger to her lips. He reached out and stroked her silver-red hair.
She shook her head stubbornly, sniffling. He bent down and kissed her forehead.
“I will miss you, Tika,” the Plaimsman said.
She turned and left, heading into the depths of the inn so she could be alone. Caramon watched her go, then turned back to face Riverwind. The two men regarded each other, neither wanting to speak first.
“Father!” Brightdawn’s voice drifted up from the street below. “Come on!”
Caramon bowed his head. “You’ve been a good friend,” he said, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to control it.
“And you have been more than a friend,” Riverwind replied.
The two men embraced, neither needing to put further words to what he felt. Riverwind drew Caramon closer.