“I’ll be back,” she said, flashing him a smile and vanishing into the kitchen before he could open his mouth.
The sound of Otik’s voice rose once again, accompanied by a loud banging. His story having been interrupted, Otik was using his cane—one of the most feared weapons in Solace—to restore order. The barkeep was crippled in one leg now and he enjoyed telling that story, too—about how he had been injured during the fall of Solace, when, by his own account, he single-handedly fought off the invading armies of draconians.
Grabbing a panful of spiced potatoes and hurrying back to Riverwind, Tika glared at Otik irritably. She knew the true story, how he had hurt his leg being dragged out of his hiding place beneath the floor. But she never told it. Deep within, she loved the old man like a father. He had taken her in and raised her, when her own father disappeared, giving her honest work when she might have turned to thievery. Besides, just reminding him that she knew the truth was useful in keeping Otik’s tall tales from stretching to new heights.
The crowd was fairly quiet when Tika returned, giving her a chance to talk to her old friend.
“How is Goldmoon and your son?” she asked brightly, seeing Riverwind looking at her, studying her intently.
“She is fine and sends her love,” Riverwind answered in his deep, low baritone. “My son”—his eyes glowed with pride—“is but two, yet already stands this tall and sits a horse better than most warriors.”
“I was hoping Goldmoon would come with you,” Tika said with a sigh she didn’t mean Riverwind to hear. The tall Plainsman ate his food for a moment in silence before he answered.
“The gods have blessed us with two more children,” he said, staring at Tika with a strange expression in his dark eyes.
“Two?” Tika looked puzzled, then, “oh, twins!” she cried joyfully. “Like Caramon and Rais—” She stopped abruptly, biting her lip.
Riverwind frowned and made the sign that wards off evil. Tika flushed and looked away. There was a roaring in her ears. The heat and the noise made her dizzy. Swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, she forced herself to ask more about Goldmoon and, after awhile, could even listen to Riverwind’s answer.
“... still too few clerics in our land. There are many converts, but the powers of the gods come slowly. She works hard, too hard to my mind, but she grows more beautiful every day. And the babies, our daughters, both have silver-golden hair—”
Babies... Tika smiled sadly. Seeing her face, Riverwind fell silent, finished eating, and pushed his plate away. “I can think of nothing I would rather do than continue this visit,” he said slowly, “but I cannot be gone long from my people. You know the urgency of my mission. Where is Cara—”
“I must go check on your room,” Tika said, standing up so quickly she jostled the table, spilling Riverwind’s drink. “That gully dwarf is supposed to be making the bed. I’ll probably find him sound asleep—”
She hurried away. But she did not go upstairs to the rooms. Standing outside by the kitchen door, feeling the night wind cool her fevered cheeks, she stared out into the darkness. “Let him go away!” she whispered. “Please...”
2
Perhaps most of all, Tanis feared his first sight of the Inn of the Last Home. Here it had all started, three years ago this autumn. Here he and Flint and the irrepressible kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, had come that night to meet old friends. Here his world had turned upside down, never to exactly right itself again.
But, riding toward the Inn, Tanis found his fears eased. It had changed so much it was like coming to some place strange, a place that held no memories. It stood on the ground, instead of in the branches of a great vallenwood. There were new additions, more rooms had been built to accommodate the influx of travelers, it had a new roof, much more modern in design. All the scars of war had been purged, along with the memories.
Then, just as Tanis was beginning to relax, the front door of the Inn opened. Light streamed out, forming a golden path of’ welcome, the smell of spiced potatoes and the sound of laughter came to him on the evening breeze. The memories returned in a rush, and Tanis bowed his head, overcome.
But, perhaps fortunately, he did not have time to dwell upon the past. As he and his companion approached the Inn, a stableboy ran out to grab the horses’ reins.
“Food and water,” said Tanis, sliding wearily from the saddle and tossing the boy a coin. He stretched to ease the cramps in his muscles. “I sent word ahead that I was to have a fresh horse waiting for me here. My name is Tanis Half-Elven.”
The boy’s eyes opened wide; he had already been staring at the bright armor and rich cloak Tanis wore. Now his curiosity was replaced by awe and admiration.
“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered, abashed at being addressed by such a great hero. “T-the horse is ready, sh-shall I bring him around n-now, sir?”
“No.” Tanis smiled. “I will eat first. Bring him in two hours.”
“T-two hours. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Bobbing his head, the boy took the reins Tanis pressed into his unfeeling hand, then stood there, gaping, completely forgetting his task until the impatient horse nudged him, nearly knocking him over.
As the boy hurried off, leading Tanis’s horse away, the half-elf turned to assist his companion down from her saddle.
“You must be made of iron,” she said, looking at Tanis as he helped her to the ground. “Do you really intend to ride further tonight?”
“To tell the truth, every bone in my body aches,” Tanis began, then paused, feeling uncomfortable. He was simply unable to feel at ease around this woman.
Tanis could see her face reflected in the light beaming from the Inn. He saw fatigue and pain. Her eyes were sunken into pale, hollow cheeks. She staggered as she stepped upon the ground, and Tanis was quick to give her his arm to lean upon. This she did, but only for a moment. Then, drawing herself up, she gently but firmly pushed him away and stood alone, glancing at her surroundings without interest.
Every move hurt Tanis, and he could imagine how this woman must feel, unaccustomed as she was to physical exertion or hardship, and he was forced to regard her with grudging admiration. She had not complained once on their long and frightening journey. She had kept up with him, never lagging behind and obeying his instructions without question.
Why, then, he wondered, couldn’t he feel anything for her? What was there about her that irritated him and annoyed him? Looking at her face, Tanis had his answer. The only warmth there was the warmth reflected from the Inn’s light. Her face itself—even exhausted—was cold, passionless, devoid of—what? Humanity? Thus she had been all this long, dangerous journey. Oh, she had been coolly polite, coolly grateful, coolly distant and remote. She probably would have coolly buried me, Tanis thought grimly. Then, as if to reprimand him for his irreverent thoughts, his gaze was drawn to the medallion she wore around her neck, the Platinum Dragon of Paladine. He remembered Elistan’s parting words, spoken in private just before their journey’s beginning.
“It is fitting that you escort her, Tanis,” said the now-frail cleric. “In many ways, she begins a journey much like your own years ago—seeking self-knowledge. No, you are right, she doesn’t know this herself yet.” This in answer to Tanis’s dubious look. “She walks forward with her gaze fixed upon the heavens.” Elistan smiled sadly. “She has not yet learned that, in so doing, one will surely stumble. Unless she learns, her fall may be hard.” Shaking his head, he murmured a soft prayer. “But we must put our trust in Paladine.”