“Caramon!” Tas drew a horrified breath. “What did they do to her? Did their magic go wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Caramon said softly, “but we’ve got to get help.” He carefully covered the woman’s bruised and bloody face with the cloak.
“I’ll go,” Tas offered, “you stay here with her. This doesn’t look like a really good part of town, if you take my meaning.”
“Yeah,” Caramon said, sighing heavily.
“It’ll be all right,” Tas said, patting the big man on his shoulder reassuringly. Caramon nodded but said nothing. With a final pat, Tas turned and ran back down the alley toward the street. Reaching the end, he darted out onto the sidewalk.
“Hel—” he began, but just then a hand closed over his arm in a grip of iron, hoisting him clear up off the sidewalk.
“Here, now,” said a stern voice, “where are you going?”
Tas twisted around to see a bearded man, his face partially covered by the shining visor of his helm, staring at him with dark, cold eyes.
Townguard, the kender realized quickly, having had a great deal of experience with this type of official personage.
“Why, I was coming to look for you,” Tas said, trying to wriggle free and assume an innocent air at the same time.
“That’s a likely story from a kender!” The guard snorted, getting an even firmer grasp on Tas. “It’d be a history-making event in Krynn, if it was true, that’s for certain.”
“But it is true,” Tas said, glaring at the man indignantly. “A friend of ours is hurt, down there.”
He saw the guard glance over at a man he had not noticed before—a cleric, dressed in white robes. Tas brightened. “Oh? A cleric? How—”
The guard clapped his hand over the kender’s mouth.
“What do you think, Denubis? That’s Beggar’s Alley down there. Probably a knifing, nothing more than thieves falling out.”
The cleric was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a rather melancholy, serious face. Tas saw him look around the marketplace and shake his head. “The Dark One said the cross-roads, and this is it—or near enough. We should investigate.”
“Very well.” The guardsman shrugged. Detailing two of his men, he watched them advance cautiously down the filthy alleyway. He kept his hand over the kender’s mouth, and Tas, slowly being smothered, made a pathetic, squeaking sound.
The cleric, gazing anxiously after the guards, glanced around.
“Let him breathe, Captain,” he said.
“We’ll have to listen to him chatter,” the captain grumbled irritably, but he removed his hand from Tas’s mouth.
“He’ll be quiet, won’t you?” the cleric asked, looking at Tas with eyes that were kind in a preoccupied fashion. “He realizes how serious this is, don’t you?”
Not quite certain whether the cleric was addressing him or the captain or both, Tas thought it best simply to nod in agreement. Satisfied, the cleric turned back to watch the guards. Tas twisted enough in the captain’s grasp so that he, too, was able to see. He saw Caramon stand up, gesturing at the dark, shapeless bundle lying beside him. One of the guards knelt down and drew aside the cloak.
“Captain!” he shouted as the other guard immediately grabbed hold of Caramon. Startled and angry at the rough treatment, the big man jerked out of the guard’s grasp. The guard shouted, his companion rose to his feet. There was a flash of steel.
“Damn!” swore the captain. “Here, watch this little bastard, Denubis!” He thrust Tasslehoff in the cleric’s direction.
“Shouldn’t I go?” Denubis protested, catching hold of Tas as the kender stumbled into him.
“No!” The captain was already running down the alley, his own shortsword drawn. Tas heard him mutter something about “big brute... dangerous.”
“Caramon isn’t dangerous,” Tas protested, looking up at the cleric called Denubis in concern. “They won’t hurt him, will they? What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid we’ll find out soon enough,” Denubis said in a stern voice, but holding Tas in such a gentle grip that the kender could easily have broken free. At first Tas considered escape—there was no better place in the world to hide than in a large city market. But the thought was a reflexive one, just like Caramon’s breaking away from the guard. Tas couldn’t leave his friend.
“They won’t hurt him, if he comes peacefully.” Denubis sighed. “Though if he’s done—” The cleric shivered and for a moment paused. “Well, if he’s done that, he might find an easier death here.”
“Done what?” Tas was growing more and more confused. Caramon, too, appeared confused, for Tas saw him raise his hands in a protestation of innocence.
But even as he argued, one of the guards came up behind the big man and struck him in the back of his knees with the shaft of his spear. Caramon’s legs buckled. As he staggered, the guard in front of him knocked the big man to the ground with an almost nonchalant blow to the chest.
Caramon hadn’t even hit the pavement before the point of the spear was at his throat. He lifted his hands feebly in a gesture of surrender. Quickly, the guards rolled him over onto his stomach and, grasping his hands, tied them behind his back with rapid expertise.
“Make them stop!” Tas cried, straining forward. “They can’t do that—”
The cleric caught him. “No, little friend, it would be best for you to stay with me. Please,” Denubis said, gently gripping Tas by the shoulders. “You cannot help him, and trying will only make things worse for you.”
The guards dragged Caramon to his feet and began to search him thoroughly, even reaching their hands down into his leather breeches. They found a dagger at his belt—this they handed to their captain—and a flagon of some sort. Opening the top, they sniffed and then tossed it away in disgust.
One of the guards motioned to the dark bundle on the pavement. The captain knelt down and lifted the cloak. Tas saw him shake his head. Then the captain, with the other guard’s help, carefully lifted the bundle and turned to walk out of the alley. He said something to Caramon as he passed. Tas heard the filthy word with riveting shock, as did Caramon, apparently, for the big man’s face went deathly white.
Glancing up at Denubis, Tas saw the cleric’s lips tighten, the fingers on Tas’s shoulder trembled.
Then Tas understood.
“No,” he whispered softly in agony, “oh, no! They can’t think that! Caramon wouldn’t harm a mouse! He didn’t hurt Lady Crysania! He was only trying to help her! That’s why we came here. Well, one reason anyway. Please!” Tas whirled around to face Denubis, clasping his hands together. “Please, you’ve got to believe me! Caramon’s a soldier. He’s killed things—sure. But only nasty things like draconians and goblins. Please, please believe me!”
But Denubis only looked at him sternly.
“No! How could you think that? I hate this place! I want to go back home!” Tas cried miserably, seeing Caramon’s stricken, confused expression. Bursting into tears, the kender buried his face in his hands and sobbed bitterly.
Then Tas felt a hand touch him, hesitate, then pat him gently.
“There, there, now,” Denubis said. “You’ll have a chance to tell your story. Your friend will, too. And, if you’re innocent, no harm will come to you.” But Tas heard the cleric sigh. “Your friend had been drinking, hadn’t he?”
“No!” Tas snuffled, looking up at Denubis pleadingly. “Not a drop, I swear...”
The kender’s voice died, however, at the sight of Caramon as the guards led him out of the alley into the street where Tas and the cleric stood. Caramon’s face was covered with muck and filth from the alley, blood dribbled from a cut on his lip. His eyes were wild and blood-shot, the expression on his face vacant and filled with fear. The legacy of past drinking bouts was marked plainly in his puffy, red cheeks and shaking limbs. A crowd, which had begun to form at the sight of the guards, began to jeer.