"I'm not sure I do. Are you saying that this young man deliberately provoked his brother and his friend into a fistfighf?"
"Well, no, not exactly." Flint considered. "His question to me was sincere. I've no doubt of that. But then, he must have known how the talk of gods and all that hoo-hah about magic would affect a Solamnic knight. And if there was ever a Solamnic knight walking around without his armor, that is young Sturm for you. Born with a sword up his back, as we used to say.
"But that Raistlin." The dwarf shook his head. "I think he just liked knowing that he could make them fight, best friends and all."
"Hey, now!" Flint shouted, suddenly realizing that he wasn't going to have any furniture left if he didn't put an end to the brawl. "What do you think you're doing? You've broken my dishes! Stop that! Stop it, I say!"
The two paid no heed to the dwarf. Flint waded into the fray. A swift and expert kick to the outside of the kneecap sent Sturm rolling. He rocked in agony on top of the bits of broken crockery, clutching his knee and biting his lip to keep from crying out in pain.
Flint grabbed hold of a handful of Caramon's long, curly hair and gave it a swift, sharp tug. Caramon yelped and tried unsuccessfully to prize loose the dwarf's hold. Flint had a grip of iron.
"Look at you both!" the dwarf stated in disgust, giving Caramon's head a shake and Sturm another kick. "Acting like a couple of drunken goblins. And who taught you to fight? Your great-aunt Minnie? Both of you taller than me by a foot at least, maybe two feet for the young giant, and here you are. Flat on your back with the foot of a dwarf on your chest. Get up. Both of you."
Shamefaced and teary-eyed from the pain, the two young men slowly picked themselves up off the floor. Sturm stood balancing on one leg, not daring to trust his full weight to his injured knee. Caramon winced and massaged his stinging scalp, wondering if he had a bald spot.
"Sorry about the dishes," Caramon mumbled.
"Yes, sir, I am truly sorry," Sturm said earnestly. "I will make recompense for the damage, of course."
"I'll do better than that. I'll pay for it," Caramon offered.
Raistlin said nothing. He was already counting out money from their take at the fair.
"Darn right you'll pay for it," the dwarf said. "How old are you?"
"Twenty," answered Sturm.
"Eighteen," said Caramon. "Raist is eighteen, too."
"Since he knows we are twins, I'm certain Master Fireforge has figured that out," Raistlin said caustically.
Flint eyed Sturm. "And you plan to be a knight." The dwarfs shrewd gaze shifted to Caramon. "And you, big fellow. You figure on being a great warrior, I suppose? Sell your sword to some lord."
"That's right!" Caramon gaped. "How did you know?"
"I've seen you around town, carrying that great sword of yours-handling it all wrong, I might add. Well I'm here to tell both of you right now that the knights'll take one look at you and the way you fight, Sturm Brightblade, and they'll laugh themselves right out of their armor. And you, Caramon Majere, you couldn't sell your fighting skills to my old grannie."
"I know I have a lot to learn, sir," Sturm replied stiffly. "If I were living in Solamnia, I would be squire to a noble knight and learn my craft from him. But I am not. I am exiled here." His tone was bitter.
"There's no one in Solace to teach us," Caramon complained. "This town is way too quiet. Nothing ever happens here. You'd think we'd at least have a goblin raid or something to liven things up."
"Bite your tongue, lad. You don't know when you're well off. As for a teacher, you're looking at him." Hint tapped himself on the breast.
"You?" Both young men appeared dubious.
Flint stroked his beard complacently. "I had my foot on both of you, didn't I? Besides"-reaching out, he gave Raistlin a poke in the ribs that caused him to jump-"I want to talk to the book reader here about his views on a good many matters. No need to talk of money," the dwarf added, seeing the twins exchanging doubtful glances and guessing what they were thinking. "You can pay me in chores. And you can start by going to the inn and seeing what's become of that dratted kender."
As if the words had conjured him, the door was thrown open by the "dratted" kender.
"I've got the cider and a kidney pie that someone didn't want, and- Ah, there! I knew it!"
Tasslehoff gazed sadly at the remains of the chest and the broken dishes. "You see what happens, Flint, when I'm not around?" he said, solemnly shaking his topknot.
Chapter 3
The unlikely friendship between the young humans, the dwarf, and the kender flourished like weeds in the rainy season, according to Tasslehoff. Flint took exception to being called a "weed," but he conceded that Tas was right. Flint had always had a soft spot in his gruff heart for young people, particularly those who were friendless and alone. He had first become acquainted with Tanis Half- Elven when he met that young man living in Qualinesti, an orphan that neither race would claim. Tanis was too human for the elves, too elven for humans.
Tanis had been raised in the household of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, the leader of the Qualinesti, growing up with the Speaker's own children. One of those children, Porthios, hated Tanis for what he was. Another cousin, Laurana, loved Tanis too much. In that is another tale, however.
Suffice it to say that Tanis had left the elven kingdom some years ago. He'd gone for help to the first person-the only person-he knew outside of Qualinesti: Hint Fireforge. Tanis had no skill at all in working metal, but he did have a head for figures and a keen business sense. He soon discovered that Flint was selling his wares far below their true worth. He was cheating himself.
"People will be happy to pay more for quality workmanship," Tanis had pointed out to the dwarf, who was terrified that he would lose his clientele. "You'll see."
Tanis proved to be right, and Flint prospered, much to the dwarf's astonishment. The two became partners. Tanis began accompanying the dwarf on his summer travels. Tanis hired the wagon and the horses, put up the booths at the local fairs, made appointments to show Flint's wares privately to the well-to-do.
The two developed a friendship that was deep and abiding. Flint asked Tanis to move in with him, but Tanis pointed" out that the dwarf's house was a bit cramped for the tall half-elf. Tanis's dwelling place was nearby, however, built up in the tree branches. The only quarrel the two ever had-and it wasn't really a quarrel, more of a grumbling argument-was over Tanis's trips back to Qualinesti.
"You're not fit for anything when you come back from that place," Flint said bluntly. "You're in a dark mood for a week. They don't want you around; they've made that plain enough. You upset their lives and they upset yours. The best thing for you to do is wash the mud of Qualinesti off your boots and never go back."
"You're right, of course," said Tanis reflectively. "And every time I leave, I swear I will never return. But something draws me back. When I hear the music of the aspen trees in my dreams, I know it is time for me to return home. And Qualinesti is my home. They can't deny it to me, no matter how they'd like to try."
"Bah! That's the elf in you!" Flint scoffed. " 'Music of the aspen trees!' Horse droppings! I haven't been home in one hundred years. You don't hear me carrying on about the music of the walnuts, do you?"
"No, but I have heard you express a longing for proper dwarf spirits," Tanis teased.
"That's completely different," Flint returned sagaciously. "We're talking life's blood here. I do wonder that Otik can't seem to get the recipe right. I've given it to him often enough. It's these local mushrooms, or what humans think pass for mushrooms."