Raistlin conducted an experiment. He placed a rounded lump of brightly colored glass, acquired from leavings at the glassblowers, inside his pouch. The next time Tas "found" the pouch, he discovered the glass inside. Enchanted, he drew out the glass, dropped the pouch to the floor. Raistlin retrieved the pouch and his spell components intact. After that, he took to putting some trinket or interesting object (a bird's egg, a petrified beetle, a sparkling rock) in the pouch. Whenever he missed it, he knew where to look.
As Raistlin learned more about kender, Caramon was learning the fine and not-so-fine points of dwarven combat.
Due to the short stature of dwarves and the fact that they generally fight opponents much taller than themselves, dwarven fighting techniques are not elegant. Flint used a number of moves-groin kicks and rabbit punches, for example-that were not chivalrous, according to Sturm. "I will not fight like a common street brawler," he protested.
The time of year was the deepest part of midwinter. Crystalmir Lake was frozen and snow-covered. Most people kept indoors where it was warm, toasting their feet and drinking hot punch. Flint had Sturm and Caramon outside, working them into a lather, "toughening them up."
"Is that so?" Flint walked over to stand beneath the tall young man. Drops of water from his panting breath coated Sturm's mustaches, making him look like walrus, according to Tasslehoff.
"And what will you do when you are attacked by a common street brawler, laddie?" Flint demanded. "Raise your sword to him in some fool salute while he kicks you in your privates?"
Caramon guffawed. Sturm frowned at the vulgarity, but conceded that the dwarf had a point. He should at least know how to counter such an attack.
"Goblins, now," Flint continued his lecture. "They're basically cowards, unless they're fired up with liquor, and then they're just plain crazed. A goblin will always try to jump you from behind, slit your throat before you know what's hit you. Like this. He'll use his hairy hand to muffle your scream, and with his other, draw the blade right across here. You'll bleed to death almost before your body hits the ground.
"Now, here's what you do. You use the goblin's own weight and forward movement against him. He comes at you, jumps on you like this… "
"Let me be the goblin!" Tasslehoff begged, waving his hand. "Please, Flint! Let me!" "All right. Now, the kender-"
"Goblin!" Tas corrected and leapt onto Flint's broad back. "-jumps on you. What do you do? Just this."
Flint grabbed hold of the kender's two hands that were clutching for his throat and, bending double, flipped the kender over his head.
Tas landed hard on the frozen, snow-covered ground. He lay there a moment, gasping and gulping.
"Knocked the air clean out me!" he said when he could talk. He scrambled to his feet. "I've never not been able to breathe before, have you, Caramon? It's an interesting feeling. And I saw the stars and it's not even night. Do you want me to do it to you. Caramon?"
"Hah! You couldn't flip me!" Caramon scoffed.
"Maybe not," Tas admitted. "But I can do this."
Clenching his fist, he drove it right into Caramon's broad midriff.
Caramon groaned and doubled over, clutching his gut and sucking air.
"Well struck, kender," came an approving voice that rang out over the laughter of the others.
"Not bad, Tasslehoff. Not bad," said another.
Two people, heavily muffled in furs, were walking through the snow. "Tanis!" Flint roared in welcome. "Kitiara!" Caramon cried out in surprise.
"Tanis and Kitiara!" Tasslehoff yelled, though he'd never seen or met Kitiara before in his life.
"Here, now. Do you all know each other?" Tanis demanded. He looked from Caramon and Raistlin to Kitiara in astonishment.
"I should," answered Kitiara with her crooked grin. "These two are my brothers. The twins I was telling you about. And as for Brightblade, here, he and I used to play together." Her crooked smile gave the words a salacious meaning.
Caramon whistled and poked Sturm in the ribs. Sturm flushed in embarrassment and anger. Saying stiffly that he was needed at home, he bowed coldly to the newcomers, turned on his heel, and stalked off.
"What'd I say?" Kit asked. Then she laughed and, holding out her arms, invited her brothers to her embrace.
Caramon gave her a bear hug. Showing off his strength, he lifted her from the ground.
"Very good, little brother," she said, eyeing him approvingly when he set her down. "You've grown since I saw you last."
"Two whole inches," Caramon said proudly.
Raistlin turned his cheek to his sister, avoided her embrace. Kitiara, with a laugh and a shrug, kissed him, an obliging peck. He stood motionless beneath her scrutinizing gaze, his hands folded in front of him. He was wearing the robes of a mage now, white robes, a gift from his mentor, Antimodes.
"You've grown, too, baby brother," Kit observed.
"Raistlin's grown a whole inch," said Caramon. "It's my cooking that's done it." "That wasn't what I meant," said Kit.
"I know. Thank you, Sister," Raistlin replied. The two exchanged glances, in perfect accord.
"Well, well," said Kit, turning back to Tanis. "Who would have thought it? I leave my brothers babes in arms and come back to find them grown men. And this"-she turned to the dwarf-"this must be Flint Fireforge."
She held out her gloved hand. "Kitiara uth Matar."
"Your servant, ma'am," said Flint, accepting her hand.
The two shook hands with every mark of mutual pleasure in the meeting.
"And I'm Tasslehoff Burrfoot," said Tas, offering one hand to be shaken while the other was gliding toward the young woman's belt.
"How do you do, Tasslehoff," Kit said. "Touch that dagger and I'll use it to slice off your ears," she added good-naturedly.
Something in her voice convinced Tasslehoff that she meant what she said. Being rather fond of his ears, which served to prop up his topknot, Tasslehoff began to rummage through a pouch Tanis obviously didn't want.
Flint deemed that the lessons were over, invited his guests inside for a sip and a bite.
Tanis and Kit shed their cloaks. Kitiara was dressed in a long leather tunic that came to midthigh. She wore a man's shirt, open at the neck, and a finely tooled leather belt of elven make and design. She was unlike any woman the others had ever known, and none of them, including her brothers, seemed to know quite what to make of her.
Her gaze was that of a man, bold and straightforward, not the simpering, blushing modesty of a well-bred woman. Her movements were graceful-the grace of a trained swordsman- and she had the confidence and coolness of a blooded warrior. If she was a bit cocky, that only enhanced her exotic appeal.
"You've noticed my belt," she said, proudly exhibiting the hand-tooled leather girdle that encircled her slender waist. "It's a gift from an admirer."
None of those present had to look far to find the gift giver. Tanis Half-Elven watched Kit's every movement with open admiration.
"I've heard a lot about you, Flint," Kit added. "All good, of course."
"I haven't heard a thing about you," Flint returned, with his customary bluntness. "But I'll wager I will." He looked at Tanis, and mingled with his affection for his friend was a hint of concern. "Where did you two meet?"
"Outside of Qualinesti," said Tanis. "I was on my way back to Solace when I heard screams coming out of the woods. I went to investigate and found what I thought was this young woman being attacked by a goblin. I ran to her aid, only to discover that I'd been mistaken. The screams I'd heard were coming from the goblin."
"Qualinesti," Flint said, eyeing Kit. "What were you-a human-doing in Qualinesti?"