“The woman may be a holy cleric of Paladine,” Riverwind said sternly, “and may the gods forgive me if I speak ill of one of their chosen. But I think she’s mad.” Having made this pronouncement, he slung his bow over his shoulder and prepared to depart.
Tanis shook his head. Putting his arm around Tika, he kissed her. “I’m afraid Riverwind’s right,” he said to her softly. “Keep an eye on Lady Crysania while she’s here. I’ll have a talk with Elistan about her when we return. I wonder how much he knew about this wild scheme of hers. Oh, and if Tasslehoff does show up, hang onto him, will you? I don’t want him turning up in Qualinost! I’m going to have enough trouble with Porthios and the elves as it is!”
“Sure, Tanis,” Tika said softly. For a moment she nestled close to him, letting herself be comforted by his strength and the compassion she could sense in both his touch and his voice.
Tanis hesitated, holding her, reluctant to let her go. Glancing inside the small house, he could hear Caramon crying out in his sleep.
“Tika—” he began.
But she pushed herself away. “Go along, Tanis,” she said firmly. “You’ve got a long ride ahead of you.”
“Tika. I wish—” But there was nothing he could say that would help, and they both knew it.
Turning slowly, he trudged off after Riverwind.
Watching them go, Tika smiled.
“You are very wise, Tanis Half-Elven. But this time you are wrong,” she said to herself as she stood alone on her porch. “Lady Crysania isn’t mad. She’s in love.”
4
An army of dwarves was marching around the bedroom, their steelshod boots going THUD, THUD, THUD. Each dwarf had a hammer in his hand and, as he marched past the bed, he banged it against Caramon’s head. Caramon groaned and flapped his hands feebly.
“Get away!” he muttered. “Get away!”
But the dwarves only responded by lifting his bed up onto their strong shoulders and whirling it around at a rapid pace, as they continued to march, their boots striking the wooden floor THUD. THUD, THUD.
Caramon felt his stomach heave. After several desperate tries, he managed to leap out of the revolving bed and make a clumsy dash for the chamber pot in the corner. Having vomited, he felt better. His head cleared. The dwarves disappeared—although he suspected they were hiding beneath the bed, waiting for him to lie down again.
Instead, he opened a drawer in the tiny bedside table where he kept his small flask of dwarf spirits. Gone! Caramon scowled. So Tika was playing this game again, was she! Grinning smugly, Caramon stumbled over to the large clothes chest on the other side of the room. He lifted the lid and rummaged through tunics and pants and shirts that would no longer fit over his flabby body. There it was—tucked into an old boot.
Caramon withdrew the flask lovingly, took a swig of the fiery liquor, belched, and heaved a sigh. There, the hammering in his head was gone. He glanced around the room. Let the dwarves stay under the bed. He didn’t care.
There was the clink of crockery in. the other room. Tika! Hurriedly, Caramon took another sip, then closed the flask and tucked it back into the boot again. Shutting the lid very, very quietly, he straightened up, ran a hand through his tangled hair, and started to go out into the main living area. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he passed.
“Change my shirt,” he muttered thickly.
After much pulling and tugging, he dragged off the filthy shirt he was wearing and tossed it in a corner. Perhaps he should wash? Bah! What was he—a sissy? So he smelled—it was a manly smell. Plenty of women liked it, found it attractive—found him attractive! Never complained or nagged, not like Tika. Why couldn’t she take him as he was? Struggling into a clean shirt he found at the foot of the bed, Caramon felt very sorry for himself. No one understood him... life was hard... he was going through a bad time just now... but that would change... just wait... someday—tomorrow maybe...
Lurching out of the bedroom, trying to appear nonchalant, Caramon walked unsteadily across the neat, clean living room and collapsed into a chair at the eating table. The chair creaked beneath his great weight. Tika turned around.
Catching her glance, Caramon sighed. Tika was mad—again. He tried grinning at her, but it was a sickly grin and didn’t help. Her red curls bouncing in anger, she whirled around and disappeared through a door into the kitchen. Caramon winced as he heard heavy iron pots bang. The sound brought the dwarves and their hammers back. Within a few moments, Tika returned, carrying a huge dish of sizzling bacon, fried maize cakes, and eggs. She slammed the plate down in front of him with such force the cakes leaped three inches into the air.
Caramon winced again. He wondered briefly about eating—considering the queasy state of his stomach—then grouchily reminded his stomach who was boss. He was starved, he couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. Tika flounced down in a chair next to him. Glancing up, he saw her green eyes blazing. Her freckles stood out clearly against her skin—a certain sign of fury.
“All right,” Caramon growled, shoveling food into his mouth. “What’d I do now?”
“You don’t remember.” It was a statement.
Caramon cast about hastily in the foggy regions of his mind. Something stirred vaguely. He was supposed to have been somewhere last night. He’d stayed home all day, getting ready. He’d promised Tika... but he’d grown thirsty. His flask was empty. He’d just go down to the Trough for a quick nip, then to... where... why...
“I had business to attend to,” Caramon said, avoiding Tika’s gaze.
“Yes, we saw your business,” Tika snapped bitterly. “The business that made you pass out right at Tanis’s feet!”
“Tanis!” Caramon dropped his fork. “Tanis... last night...” With a heartsick moan, the big man let his aching head sink into his hands.
“You made quite a spectacle of yourself,” Tika continued, her voice choked. “In front of the entire town, plus half the elves in Krynn. Not to mention our old friends.” She was weeping quietly now. “Our best friends...”
Caramon moaned again. Now he was crying, too. “Why? Why?” he blubbered. “Tanis, of all of them...” His self-recriminations were interrupted by a banging on the front door.
“Now what?” Tika muttered, rising and wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her blouse. “Maybe it’s Tanis, after all.” Caramon lifted his head. “Try at least to look like the man you once were,” Tika said under her breath as she hurried to the door.
Throwing the bolt, she unlatched it. “Otik?” she said in astonishment. “What are—Whose food?”
The rotund, elderly innkeeper stood in the doorway, a plate of steaming food in his hand. He peered past Tika.
“Isn’t she here?” he asked, startled.
“Isn’t who here?” Tika replied, confused. “There’s no one here.”
“Oh, dear.” Otik’s face grew solemn. Absently, he began to eat the food from the plate. “Then I guess the stableboy was right. She’s gone. And after I fixed this nice breakfast.”
“Who’s gone?” Tika demanded in exasperation, wondering if he meant Dezra.
“Lady Crysania. She’s not in her room. Her things aren’t there, either. And the stableboy said she came this morning, told him to saddle her horse, and left. I thought—”
“Lady Crysania!” Tika gasped. “She’s gone off, by herself. Of course, she would...”
“What?” asked Otik, still munching.
“Nothing,” Tika said, her face pale. “Nothing, Otik. Uh, you better get back to the Inn. I’ll—I may be a little late today.”
“Sure, Tika,” Otik said kindly, having seen Caramon hunched over the table. “Get there when you can.” Then he left, eating as he walked. Tika shut the door behind him.
Seeing Tika return, and knowing he was in for a lecture, Caramon rose clumsily to his feet. “I’m not feeling too good,” he said. Lurching across the floor, he staggered into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Tika could hear the sound of wracking sobs from inside.