"I must get back," she said, pulling on her gloves. "You will contact me upon your return?"
"If I am successful, there will be no need to contact you," Raistlin said softly. "You will know!"
Kitiara almost sneered but caught herself quickly. Glancing at Lord Soth, she prepared to leave the room. "Farewell then, my brother." Controlled as she was, she could not keep an edge of anger from her voice. "I am sorry you do not share my desire for the good things of this life! We could have done much together, you and I!"
"Farewell, Kitiara," Raistlin said, his thin hand summoning the shadowy forms of those who served him to show his guests to the door. "Oh, by the way," he added as Kit stood in the doorway, "I owe you my life, dear sister. At least, so I have been told. I just wanted to let you know that—with the death of Lord Ariakas, who would, undoubtedly, have killed you—I consider my debt paid. I owe you nothing!"
Kitiara stared into the mage's golden eyes, seeking threat, promise, what? But there was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. And then, in an instant, Raistlin spoke a word of magic and vanished from her sight.
The way out of Shoikan Grove was not difficult. The guardians had no care for those who left the Tower. Kitiara and Lord Soth walked together, the death knight moving soundlessly through the Grove, his feet leaving no impression on the leaves that lay dead and decaying on the ground. Spring did not come to Shoikan Grove.
Kitiara did not speak until they had passed the outer perimeter of trees and once more stood upon the solid paving stones of the city of Palanthas. The sun was rising, the sky brightening from its deep night blue to a pale gray. Here and there, those Palanthians whose business called for them to rise early were waking. Far down the street, past the abandoned buildings that surrounded the Tower, Kitiara could hear marching feet, the changing of the watch upon the wall. She was among the living once again.
She drew a deep breath, then, "He must be stopped," she said to Lord Soth.
The death knight made no comment, one way or the other.
"It will not be easy, I know," Kitiara said, drawing the dragonhelm over her head and walking rapidly toward Skie, who had reared his head in triumph at her approach. Patting her dragon lovingly upon his neck, Kitiara turned to face the death knight.
"But we do not have to confront Raistlin directly. His scheme hinges upon Lady Crysania. Remove her, and we stop him. He need never know I had anything to do with it, in fact. Many have died, trying to enter the Forest of Wayreth. Isn't that so?"
Lord Soth nodded, his flaming eyes flaring slightly.
"You handle it. Make it appear to be . . . fate," Kitiara said. "My little brother believes in that, apparently." She mounted her dragon. "When he was small, I taught him that to refuse to do my bidding meant a whipping. It seems he must learn that lesson again!"
At her command, Skie's powerful hind legs dug into the pavement, cracking and breaking the stones. He leaped into the air, spread his wings, and soared into the morning sky. The people of Palanthas felt a shadow lift from their hearts, but that was all they knew. Few saw the dragon or its rider leave.
Lord Soth remained standing upon the fringes of Shoikan Grove.
"I, too, believe in fate, Kitiara," the death knight murmured. "The fate a man makes himself."
Glancing up at the windows of the Tower of High Sorcery, Soth saw the light extinguished from the room where they had been. For a brief instant, the Tower was shrouded in the perpetual darkness that seemed to linger around it, a darkness the sun's light could not penetrate. Then one light gleamed forth, from a room at the top of the tower.
The mage's laboratory, the dark and secret room where Raistlin worked his magic.
"Who will learn this lesson, I wonder?" Soth murmured. Shrugging, he disappeared, melting into the waning shadows as daylight approached.
"I really doubt it," said Tas, dubiously eyeing the sign that hung by one chain over the door. "The 'Cracked Mug' doesn't seem quite the place—”
"Nonsense," growled Caramon, as he had growled more times on this journey already than Tas could count, "she has to eat. Even great, muckety-muck clerics have to eat. Or maybe someone in here will have seen some sign of her on the trail. We're not having any luck."
"No," muttered Tasslehoff beneath his breath, "but we might have more luck if we searched the road, not taverns."
They had been on the road three days, and Tas's worst misgivings about this adventure had proved true.
Ordinarily, kender are enthusiastic travelers. All kender are stricken with wanderlust somewhere near their twentieth year. At this time, they gleefully strike out for parts unknown, intent on finding nothing except adventure and whatever beautiful, horrible, or curious items might by chance fall into their bulging pouches. Completely immune to the self-preserving emotion of fear, afflicted by unquenchable curiosity, the kender population on Krynn was not a large one, for which most of Krynn was devoutly grateful.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot, now nearing his thirtieth year (at least as far as he could remember), was, in most regards, a typical kender. He had journeyed the length and breadth of the continent of Ansalon, first with his parents before they had settled down in Kenderhome. After coming of age, he wandered by himself until he met Flint Fireforge, the dwarven metalsmith and his friend, Tanis Half-Elven. After Sturm Brightblade, Knight of Solamnia, and the twins, Caramon and Raistlin, joined them, Tas became involved in the most wonderful adventure of his life—the War of the Lance.
But, in some respects, Tasslehoff was not a typical kender, although he would have denied this if it were mentioned. The loss of two people he loved dearly—Sturm Brightblade and Flint—touched the kender deeply. He had come to know the emotion of fear, not fear for himself, but fear and concern for those he cared about. His concern for Caramon, right now, was deep.
And it grew daily.
At first, the trip had been fun. Once Caramon got over his fit of sulks about Tika's hard-heartedness and the inability of the world in general to understand him, he had taken a few swigs from his flask and felt better. After several more swigs, he began to relate stories about his days helping to track down draconians. Tas found this amusing and entertaining and, though he continually had to watch Bupu to make certain she didn't get run over by a wagon or wander into a mudhole, he enjoyed his morning.
By afternoon, the flask was empty, and Caramon was even in such a good humor as to be ready to listen to some of Tas's stories, which the kender never tired of relating. Unfortunately, right at the best part, when he was escaping with the woolly mammoth and the wizards were shooting lightning bolts at him, Caramon came to a tavern.
"Just fill up the flask," he mumbled and went inside.
Tas started to follow, then saw Bupu staring in openmouthed wonder at the red-hot blacksmith's forge across the road. Realizing she would either set herself or the town or both on fire, and knowing that he couldn't take her into the tavern (most refused to serve gully dwarves), Tas decided to stay out and keep an eye on her. After all, Caramon would probably be only a few minutes . . ..
Two hours later, the big man stumbled out.
"Where in the Abyss have you been?" Tas demanded, pouncing on Caramon like a cat.
"Jusht having a . . . having a little . . ." Caramon swayed unsteadily, "one for the . . . road."
"I'm on a quest!" Tas yelled in exasperation. "My first quest, given to me by an Important Person, who may be in danger. And I've been stuck out here two hours with a gully dwarf!" Tas pointed at Bupu, who was asleep in a ditch. "I've never been so bored in my life, and you're in there soaking up dwarf spirits!"
Caramon glared at him, his lips pursed into a pout. 'You know shomething," the big man muttered as he staggered off down the road, "you're st-starting to shound a lot like Tika . . .."
Things went rapidly downhill from there.
That night they came to the crossroads.
"Let's go this way," Tas said, pointing. "Lady Crysania's certain to know people are going to try to stop her. She'll take a route that's not very well traveled to try and throw off pursuit. I think we should follow the same trail we took two years ago, when we left Solace—”
"Nonsense!" Caramon snorted. "She's a woman and a cleric to boot. She'll take the easiest road. We'll go by way of Haven."
Tas had been dubious about this decision, and his doubts proved well-founded. They hadn't traveled more than a few miles when they came to another tavern.
Caramon went in to find out if anyone had seen a person matching Lady Crysania's description, leaving Tas —once again—with Bupu. An hour later the big man emerged, his face flushed and cheerful.
"Well, has anyone seen her?" Tas asked irritably.
"Seen who? Oh—her. No . . .."
And now, two days later, they were only about halfway to Haven. But the kender could have written a book describing the taverns along the way.
"In the old days," Tas fumed, "we could have walked to Tarsis and back in this time!"
"I was younger then, and immature. My body's mature now, and I have to build up my strength," Caramon said loftily, "little by little."
"He's building up something little by little," Tas said to himself grimly, "but strength isn't it!"
Caramon could not walk much more than an hour before he was forced to sit down and rest. Often he collapsed completely, moaning in pain, sweat rolling off his body. It would take Tas, Bupu, and the flask of dwarf spirits to get him back on his feet again. He complained bitterly and continually.His armor chafed, he was hungry, the sun was too hot, he was thirsty. At night, he insisted that they stop in some wretched inn. Then Tas had the thrill of watching the big man drink himself senseless. Tas and the bartender would haul him to his room where he would sleep until half the morning was gone.
After the third day of this (and their twentieth tavern) and still no sign of Lady Crysania, Tasslehoff was beginning to think seriously about returning to Kenderhome, buying a nice little house, and retiring from adventuring.
It was about midday when they arrived at the Cracked Mug. Caramon immediately disappeared inside. Heaving a sigh that came from the toes of his new, bright green shoes, Tas stood with Bupu, looking at the outside of the slovenly place in grim silence.
"Me no like this anymore," Bupu announced. She glared at Tas accusingly. "You say we go find pretty man in red robes. All we find is one fat drunk. I go back home, back to Highbulp, Phudge I."
"No, don't leave! Not yet!" Tas cried desperately. "We'll find the—uh—pretty man. Or at least a pretty lady who wants to help the pretty man. Maybe . . . maybe we'll learn something here."
It was obvious Bupu didn't believe him. Tas didn't believe himself.
"Look," he said, "just wait for me here. It won't be much farther. I know—I'll bring you something to eat. Promise you won't leave?"
Bupu smacked her lips, eyeing Tas dubiously. "Me wait," she said, plopping down into the muddy road. "At least till after lunch."
Tas, his pointed chin jutting out firmly, followed Caramon into the tavern. He and Caramon were going to have a little talk –
As it turned out, however, that wasn't necessary.
"Your health, gentlemen," Caramon said, raising a glass to the slovenly crowd gathered in the bar. There weren't many—a couple of traveling dwarves, who sat near the door, and a party of humans, dressed like rangers, who lifted their mugs in return to Caramon's salute.
Tas sat down next to Caramon, so depressed that he actually returned a purse his hands had (without his knowing it) removed from the belt of one of the dwarves as he passed.
"I think you dropped this," Tas mumbled, handing it back to the dwarf, who stared at him in amazement.
"We're looking for a young woman," Caramon said, settling down for the afternoon. He recited her description as he had recited it in every tavern from Solace on. "Black hair, small, delicate, pale face, white robes. She's a cleric—”
"Yeah, we've seen her," said one of the rangers.
Beer spurted from Caramon's mouth. "You have?" he managed to gasp, choking.
Tas perked up. "Where?" he asked eagerly.
"Wandering about the woods east of here," said the ranger, jerking his thumb.
"Yeah?" Caramon said suspiciously. "What're you doing out in the woods yourselves?"
"Chasing goblins. There's a bounty for them in Haven."
"Three gold pieces for goblin ears," said his friend, with a toothless grin, "if you care to try your luck."
"What about the woman?" Tas pursued.
"She's a crazy one, I guess." The ranger shook his head. "We told her the land out around here was crawling with goblins and she shouldn't be out alone. She just said she was in the hands of Paladine, or some such name, and he would take care of her."
Caramon heaved a sigh and lifted his drink to his lips. "That sounds like her all right—”
Leaping up, Tas snatched the glass from the big man's hand.
"What the—” Caramon glared at him angrily.
"Come on!" Tas said, tugging at him. "We've got to go! Thanks for the help," he panted, dragging Caramon to the door. "Where did you say you saw her?"
"About ten miles east of here. You'll find a trail out back, behind the tavern. Branches off the main road. Follow it and it'll take you through the forest. Used to be a short cut to Gateway, before it got too dangerous to travel."
"Thanks again!" Tas pushed Caramon, still protesting, out the door.
"Confound it, what's the hurry," Caramon snarled angrily, jerking away from Tas's prodding hands. "We coulda at least had dinner . . .. "
"Caramon!"said Tas urgently, dancing up and down. "Think! Remember! Don't you realize where she is, Ten miles east of here! Look—" Yanking open one of his pouches, Tas pulled out a whole sheaf of maps. Hurriedly, he sorted through them, tossing them onto the ground in his haste. "Look," he repeated finally, unrolling one and thrusting it into Caramon's flushed face.
The big man peered at it, trying to bring it into focus.
"Huh,"
"Oh, for—Look, here's where we are, near as I can figure. And here's Haven, still south of us. Across here is Gateway. Here's the path they were talking about and here—” Tas's finger pointed.
Caramon squinted. "Dark-dar-dar Darken Wood," he mumbled. "Darken Wood. That seems familiar . . .."
"Of course it seems familiar! We nearly died there!" Tas yelled, waving his arms. "It took Raistlin to save us—”
Seeing Caramon scowl, Tas hurried on. "What if she should wander in there alone," he asked pleadingly.
Caramon looked out into the forest, his bleary eyes peering at the narrow, overgrown trail. His scowl deepened. "I suppose you expect me to stop her," he grumbled.
"Well, naturally we'll have to stop her!" Tas began, then came to a sudden halt. "You never meant to," the kender said softly, staring at Caramon. "All along, you never meant to go after her. You were just going to stumble around here for a few days, have a few drinks, a few laughs, then go back to Tika, tell her you're a miserable failure, figuring she'd take you back, same as usual—”
"So what did you expect me to do?" Caramon growled, turning away from Tas's reproachful gaze. "How can I help this woman find the Tower of High Sorcery, Tas?" He began to whimper. "I don't want to find it! I swore I'd never go near that foul place again! They destroyed him there, Tas. When he came out, his skin was that strange gold color. They gave him those cursed eyes so that all he sees is death. They shattered his body. He couldn't take a breath without coughing. And they made him . . . they made him kill me!" Caramon choked and buried his face in his hands, sobbing in pain, trembling in terror.
"He-he didn't kill you, Caramon," Tas said, feeling completely helpless. "Tanis told me. It was just an image of you. And he was sick and scared and hurting real bad inside. He didn't know what he was doing—”
But Caramon only shook his head. And the tender-hearted kender couldn't blame him. No wonder he doesn't want to go back there, Tas thought remorsefully. Perhaps I should take him home. He certainly isn't much good to anyone in this state. But then Tas remembered Lady Crysania, out there all alone, blundering into Darken Wood . . ..
"I talked to a spirit there once," Tas murmured, "but I'm not certain they'd remember me. And there're goblins out there. And, while I'm not afraid of them, I don't suppose I'd be much good fighting off more than three or four."
Tasslehoff was at a loss. If only Tanis were here! The half-elf always knew what to say, what to do. He'd make Caramon listen to reason. But Tanis isn't here, said a stern voice inside of the kender that sounded at times suspiciously like Flint. It's up to you, you doorknob!
I don't want it to be up to me! Tas wailed, then waited for a moment to see if the voice answered. It didn't. He was alone.