Riverwind’s eyes widened in alarm and disapproval. The Plainsman distrusted mages and anything connected with them.
Tanis nodded. “I see you remember Caramon’s stories about the time he and Raistlin traveled there. And they had been invited. This lady goes without invitation, to seek the mages’ advice about—”
Crysania gave him a sharp, imperious glance. Frowning, she shook her head. Tanis, biting his lip, added lamely, “I was hoping you could escort her—”
“I feared as much,” said Riverwind, “when I received your message, and that was why I felt I had to come—to offer you some explanation for my refusal. If it were any other time, you know I would gladly help and, in particular, I would be honored to offer my services to a person so revered.” He bowed slightly to Crysania, who accepted his homage with a smile that vanished instantly when she returned her gaze to Tanis. A small, deep line of anger appeared between her brows.
Riverwind continued, “But there is too much at stake. The peace I have established between the tribes, many who have been at war for years, is a fragile one. Our survival as a nation and a people depend upon us uniting and working together to rebuild our land and our lives.”
“I understand,” Tanis said, touched by Riverwind’s obvious unhappiness in having to refuse his request for help. The half—elf caught Lady Crysania’s displeased stare, however, and he turned to her with grim politeness. “All will be well, Revered Daughter,” he said, speaking with elaborate patience. “Caramon will guide you, and he is worth three of us ordinary mortals, right, Riverwind?”
The Plainsman smiled, old memories returning. “He can eat as much as three ordinary mortals, certainly. And he is as strong as three or more. Do you remember, Tanis, when he used to lift stout Pig-faced William off his feet, when we put on that show in... where was it... Flotsam?”
“And the time he killed those two draconians by bashing their heads together.” Tanis laughed, feeling the darkness of the world suddenly lift in sharing those times with his friend. “And do you remember when we were in the dwarven kingdom and Caramon sneaked up behind Flint and—” Leaning forward, Tanis whispered in Riverwind’s ear. The Plainsman’s face flushed with laughter. He recounted another tale, and the two men continued, recalling stories of Caramon’s strength, his skill with a sword, his courage and honor.
“And his gentleness,” Tanis added, after a moment’s quiet reflection. “I can see him now, tending to Raistlin so patiently, holding his brother in his arms when those coughing fits nearly tore the mage apart—”
He was interrupted by a smothered cry, a crash, and a thud. Turning in astonishment, Tanis saw Tika staring at him, her face white, her green eyes glimmering with tears.
“Leave now!” she pleaded through pale lips. “Please, Tanis! Don’t ask any questions! Just go!” She grabbed his arm, her nails digging painfully into his flesh.
“Look, what in the name of the Abyss is going on, Tika?” Tanis asked in exasperation, standing up and facing her.
A splintering crash came in answer. The door to the Inn burst open, hit from outside by some tremendous force. Tika jumped back, her face convulsed in such fear and horror as she looked at the door that Tanis turned swiftly, his hand on his sword, and Riverwind rose to his feet.
A large shadow filled the doorway, seeming to spread a pall over the room. The crowd’s cheerful noise and laughter ceased abruptly, changing to low, angry mutterings.
Remembering the dark and evil things that had been chasing them, Tanis drew his sword, placing himself between the darkness and Lady Crysania. He sensed, though he did not see, Riverwind’s stalwart presence behind him, backing him up.
So, it’s caught up with us, Tanis thought, almost welcoming the chance to fight this vague, unknown terror. Grimly he stared at the door, watching as a bloated, grotesque figure entered into the light.
It was a man, Tanis saw, a huge man, but, as he looked more closely, he saw it was a man whose giant girth had run to flab. A bulging belly hung over cinched up leather leggings. A filthy shirt gaped open at the navel, there being too little shirt to cover too much flesh. The man’s face—partially obscured by a three-day growth of beard—was unnaturally flushed and splotchy, his hair greasy and unkempt. His clothes, while fine and well-made, were dirty and smelled strongly of vomit and the raw liquor known as dwarf spirits.
Tanis lowered his sword, feeling like a fool. It was just some poor drunken wretch, probably the town bully, using his great size to intimidate the citizenry. He looked at the man with pity and disgust, thinking, even as he did so, that there was something oddly familiar about him. Probably someone he had known when he lived in Solace long ago, some poor slob who had fallen on hard times.
The half-elf started to turn away, then noticed—to his amazement—that everyone in the Inn was looking at him expectantly.
What do they want me to do, Tanis thought in sudden, swift anger. Attack him? Some hero I’d look—beating up the town drunk!
Then he heard a sob at his elbow. “I told you to leave,” Tika moaned, sinking down into a chair. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry as if her heart would break.
Growing more and more mystified, Tanis glanced at Riverwind, but the Plainsman was obviously as much in the dark as his friend. The drunk, meanwhile, staggered into the room and gazed about in anger.
“Wash ish thish? A party?” he growled. “And nobody in-in-invited their old... invited me?”
No one answered. They were fixedly ignoring the slovenly man, their eyes still on Tanis, and now even the drunk’s attention turned to the half-elf. Attempting to bring him into focus, the drunk stared at Tanis in a kind of puzzled anger, as though blaming him for being the cause of all his troubles. Then, suddenly, the drunk’s eyes widened, his face split into a foolish grin, and he lurched forward, hands outstretched.
“Tanish... my fri—”
“Name of the gods,” Tanis breathed, recognizing him at last.
The man staggered forward and stumbled over a chair. For a moment he stood swaying unsteadily, like a tree that has been cut and is ready to fall. His eyes rolled back in his head, people scrambled to get out of his way. Then—with a thud that shook the Inn—Caramon Majere, Hero of the Lance, passed out cold at Tanis’s feet.
3
Name of the gods,” Tanis repeated in sorrow as he stooped down beside the comatose warrior. “Caramon...”
“Tanis—” Riverwind’s voice caused the half-elf to glance up quickly. The Plainsman held Tika in his arms, both he and Dezra trying to comfort the distraught young woman. But people were pressing close, trying to question Riverwind or asking Crysania for a blessing. Others were demanding more ale or just standing around, gawking.
Tanis rose swiftly to his feet. “The Inn is closed for the night,” he shouted.
There were jeers from the crowd, except for some scattered applause near the back where several customers thought he was buying a round of drinks.
“No, I mean it,” Tanis said firmly, his voice carrying over the noise. The crowd quieted. “Thank you all for this welcome. I cannot tell you what it means to me to come back to my homeland. But, my friends and I would like to be alone now. Please, it is late...”
There were murmurs of sympathy and some good-natured clapping. Only a few scowled and muttered comments about the greater the knight the more his own armor glares in his eyes (an old saying from the days when the Solamnic Knights were held in derision). Riverwind, leaving Dezra to take care of Tika, came forward to prod those few stragglers who assumed Tanis meant everyone except them. The half-elf stood guard over Caramon, who was snoring blissfully on the floor, keeping people from stepping on the big man. He exchanged glances with Riverwind as the Plainsman passed, but neither had time to speak until the Inn was emptied.