“Raist …” Caramon paused, then asked, “You wouldn’t do what you said, would you? Disown me? Claim that you never had a brother?”
“Oh, don’t be such an idiot, Caramon,” Raistlin said and went to his bed.
4
CARAMON INFORMED STURM THE NEXT DAY THAT NEITHER HE nor his brother could accompany him to Solamnia. Sturm tried arguing and persuading, but Caramon remained adamant, though he could give no clear reason for his change of heart. Sturm marked Caramon as being worried and preoccupied about something. Assuming that Raistlin had decided not to go and had forbidden his brother to go without him, Sturm—though offended and hurt—said no more about the matter.
“If you want a traveling companion, Brightblade, I’ll go with you myself,” Kitiara offered. “I know the fastest and best routes north. Plus, from what I’ve heard, there’s dark doings happening up that way. We shouldn’t either of us travel alone, and since we’re heading the same direction, it makes sense that we travel together.”
The three were in the Inn of the Last Home, drinking a glass of ale. Having stopped by her brother’s home, Kit had recognized immediately that the twins were up to something and was angry when they maintained that nothing unusual was going on. Well aware that she would never be able to pry the secret from Raistlin, she hoped to be able to tease the truth out of the more pliable Caramon.
“You and Tanis would be most welcome, Kitiara,” Sturm said, recovering from his initial astonishment at her offer. “I did not ask you at first because I knew Tanis planned to accompany Flint on his summer journeys, but—”
“Tanis won’t be going with me,” Kit said tonelessly, flatly. She drained her tankard of ale and loudly called out for Otik to bring her another.
Sturm looked over at Caramon, wondering what was going on. Tanis and Kitiara had been together all winter, closer and more affectionate than ever.
Caramon shook his head to indicate that he had no idea.
Sturm was troubled. “I’m not certain—”
“Fine. It’s settled. I’m coming,” Kit said, refusing to listen to any arguments. “Now, Caramon, tell me why you and that wizard brother of yours won’t come with us. Four traveling the road is much safer. Besides, there’s some people up north I want you to meet.”
“Like I told Sturm, I can’t go,” Caramon said.
His usually cheerful face was shadowed, grave. He hadn’t drunk even a sip of his ale, which had by now gone flat. Shoving it aside, he stood up, flung a coin on the table, and left.
He didn’t feel comfortable around Kitiara anymore. He was glad she was leaving, relieved that Tanis wasn’t going with her. He had often felt that he should tell Tanis the truth about that night. Tell Tanis that Kit had been the one to murder Judith. Tell Tanis that she had urged Caramon to let Raistlin take the blame, to let Raistlin die.
She had claimed that she was joking. Still …
Caramon gave a relieved sigh. She would leave, and if they were lucky, she would not return. Caramon was worried about Sturm, who would be traveling in Kit’s company, but on reflection, Caramon decided that the young knight, bolstered by his reliance on the Oath and the Measure, could look after himself. Besides, as Kit said, traveling alone was dangerous.
Caramon’s main concern was for Tanis, who would be terribly hurt by Kit’s decision to leave. Caramon figured—logically—that Kitiara, the restless firebrand, was the one who had ended the relationship.
It was Raistlin who discovered the truth.
Although he had several months to wait before he and Caramon would undertake their journey to the Tower, Raistlin began immediately to make preparations. One of these involved the retooling of the leather thong that held the knife on Raistlin’s wrist, concealed beneath his robes. A flick of that wrist was supposed to cause the knife to drop down, unseen, into the mage’s hand.
At least that was how the thong was designed to work. Raistlin’s wrist was far thinner than the wrist of the war mage who had originally worn it, however. When Raistlin tried wearing the contraption, the thong itself dropped into his hand. The knife fell to the floor. He took it to Flint, hoping the dwarf could fix it.
Flint, looking the thong over, was impressed with the workmanship, thought it might be dwarven. According to Lemuel, the Qualinesti elves had made the knife and the thong as a gift to their friend, the war mage. Raistlin made no mention of this, however. He agreed with the dwarf that the thong was undoubtedly constructed by some great dwarven leatherworker. Flint offered to adjust the size if Raistlin would leave the thong with him for a week or two.
Raistlin had his hand on the doorknocker, was about to knock, when he heard faint voices inside. The voices belonged to Tanis and Flint. Raistlin could distinguish only a few words, but one was “Kitiara.”
Certain that any conversation about his sister would cease if he were introduced into it, Raistlin carefully and quietly lowered his hand from the knocker. He looked to see if anyone was in sight. Finding that he was alone, Raistlin slipped around the side of the house to Flint’s workshop. The dwarf had opened the window to let in the soft spring breeze. Hidden from view by a fall of purple clematis, which grew up the side of the workshop, Raistlin stood to one side of the window.
Any qualms he might have had about eavesdropping on his friends were easily settled. He had often wondered how much Tanis knew about Kit’s activities: midnight meetings with strangers, the murder of the priestess … Was Kit fleeing danger? Had Tanis threatened to denounce her? And where did that leave Raistlin if this were the case? Quite understandably, he had small faith in his sister’s loyalty.
“We’ve been arguing for days,” Tanis was saying. “She wants me to come north with her.”
The conversation was interrupted by a moment’s furious hammering. When that was finished, the talk resumed.
“She claims to have friends who will pay large sums to those skilled with bow and blade.”
“Even half-elves?” Flint grunted.
“I pointed that out, but she says—rightly so—that I could hide my heritage if I wanted. I could grow a beard, wear my hair long to cover my ears.”
“A fine sight you’d look with a beard!”
Flint plied the hammer again.
“Well? Are you going?” he asked when the hammering had stopped.
“No, I’m not,” Tanis said, speaking reluctantly, loath to share his feelings even with his longtime friend. “I need time away from her. Time to think things through. I can’t think when I’m around Kitiara. The truth is, Flint, I’m falling in love with her.”
Raistlin snorted, almost laughed. He swallowed his mirth, fearing to give himself away. He would have expected something inane like this from Caramon, but not the half-elf, who had certainly lived long enough to know better.
Tanis spoke more rapidly, relieved to be able to talk about it. “The one time I ever even hinted at marriage, Kit laughed me to scorn. She scolded me about it for days after. Why did I want to ruin all our fun? We shared a bed, what more could I want? But I’m not happy just sharing my bed with her, Flint. I want to share my life with her, my dreams and hopes and plans. I want to settle down. She doesn’t. She feels trapped, caged. She’s restless and bored. We quarrel continually, over stupid things. If we stayed together, she would come to resent me, perhaps even hate me, and I couldn’t bear that. I will miss her terribly, but it’s better this way.”
“Bah! Give her a year or two with those friends of hers up north and she’ll be back. Maybe then she’ll be receptive to your proposal, lad.”
“She may come back.” Tanis was silent a moment, then he added, “But I won’t be here.”
“Where are you going, then?”
“Home,” Tanis replied quietly. “I haven’t been home in a long time. I know this means I won’t be with you on the first part of your travels, but we could meet in Qualinesti.”
“We could, but … well … The truth of it is, I won’t be going that way, Tanis,” Flint said, clearin
g his throat. He sounded embarrassed. “I’ve been meaning to talk this over with you, but I never seemed to find the right time. I guess this is as good as any.
“That fair at Haven soured me, lad. I saw the ugly faces beneath the masks humans wear, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. Talking to those hill dwarves made me start thinking of my own home. I can never go back to my clan. You know the reason for that, but I’ve a mind to visit some of the other clans in the vicinity. It will be a comfort to me, being with my own kind. I’ve been thinking about what that young scamp Raistlin says about the gods. I’d like to find out if Reorx is around somewhere, maybe trapped inside Thorbardin.”
“Searching for some sign of the true gods … It’s an interesting idea,” Tanis said. He added with a sigh, “Who knows? In looking for them, I might find myself along the way.”
The pain and sadness in the half-elf’s voice made Raistlin ashamed of having listened in on this private conversation. He was leaving his post, heading for the front door, prepared to announce himself by conventional means, when he heard the dwarf say dourly,
“Which of us has to take the kender?”
5
IT WAS THE LAST DAY OF THE MONTH OF SPRING BLOSSOM TIME. The roads were open. Travelers were abroad, once more filling the Inn of the Last Home to capacity. They ate Otik’s potatoes, praised his ale, and told stories of gathering trouble in the world, stories of armies of hobgoblins on the march, of ogres moving down from their hidden holdings in the mountains, hints of creatures more fearsome than these.
Sturm and Kit were planning to leave the first of Summer Home. Tanis was leaving that day, too, explaining somewhat lamely that he wanted to be in Qualinesti in time for some sort of elven celebration involving the sun. Truth was, he knew very well that he could not go back to his empty house, the house that would always echo with her laughter. Flint was to accompany his friend part of the way, and so he, too, was setting off the next day.
It was known now among the companions that Raistlin and Caramon were making a journey themselves—a fact discovered by Kit, who was consumed with curiosity regarding Caramon’s unusual circumspectness and who consequently bullied and teased him until he let fall that much.
Fearful that Kitiara would break his twin’s resolve in the end, force him to reveal his secret, Raistlin hinted that they were going to seek out their father’s relations, who had presumably come from Pax Tharkas. If their friends had looked at a map, they would have noted that Pax Tharkas was located in exactly the opposite direction from the Wayreth Forest.
No one did look at a map, because the only maps available were in the possession of Tasslehoff Burrfoot, who was not present. One of the reasons the companions had come together this last night, other than to bid each other farewell and safe roads, was to determine what to do about the kender.
Sturm began by stating in no uncertain terms that kender were not welcome in Solamnia. He added that any knight seen traveling in the company of a kender would be ruined, his reputation damned and blasted forever.
Kit said shortly that her friends in the north had no use for kender whatsoever, and she made it clear that if Tasslehoff valued his skin, he’d find some other route to travel. She fixed her gaze pointedly and haughtily upon Tanis. Relations between the two were strained. Kit had thought for certain that Tanis would beg her to stay, either that or travel with him. He had done neither, and she was angry.
“I cannot take Tas into Qualinesti,” Tanis said, avoiding her gaze. “The elves would never permit it.”
“Don’t look at me!” Flint stated, alarmed to see them do just that. “If any of my clansmen were to so much as set eyes upon me in company with a kender, they’d lock me up for a crazy Theiwar, and I would be hard pressed to say they were wrong. Tasslehoff should go with Raistlin and Caramon to Pax Tharkas.”
“No,” said Raistlin with a finality in his tone that boded no argument. “Absolutely not.”
“What do we do with him, then?” Tanis asked in perplexity.
“Bind him and gag him and stash him in the bottom of a well,” Flint advised. “Then we sneak off in the middle of the night, and he might—I repeat, he might—not find us.”
“Who are you stashing at the bottom of a well?” came a cheerful voice. Tasslehoff, having sighted his friends through the open window, decided to save himself the wearisome walk around to the front door. Hoisting himself up onto the window ledge, he climbed inside.
“Mind my ale mug! You nearly kicked it over! Get off the table, you doorknob!” Flint caught his ale mug, held it close to his chest. “If you must know, it’s you we’re talking of stashing in the well.”
“Are you? How wonderful!” Tas said, his face lighting up. “I’ve never been at the bottom of a well before. Ah, but I just remembered. I can’t.”
Reaching out, Tas kindly patted Flint’s hand. “I appreciate the thought. I truly do, and I’d almost stay behind to do it, but you see, I’m not going to be here.”
“Where are you going?” Tanis asked the question with trepidation.
“Before I start, I want to say something. I know you’ve been arguing over who takes me along, haven’t you?” Tas looked sternly around at the group.
Tanis was embarrassed. He had not meant to hurt the kender’s feelings. “You can come with us, Tas,” he began, only to be interrupted by a horrified “He cannot!” from Flint.
Tas raised his small hand for silence. “You see, if I go with one of you, then that will make the others feel bad, and I wouldn’t like that to happen. And so I’ve decided to go off on my own. No! Don’t try to make me change my mind. I’m going back to Kendermore, and, no offense”—Tas looked quite severe—“but the rest of you just wouldn’t fit in there.”
“You mean the kender wouldn’t allow us to enter their land?” Caramon asked, insulted.
“No, I mean you wouldn’t fit in. Especially you, Caramon. You’d take the roof off my house the moment you stood up. Not to mention squashing all my furniture. Now, I could make an exception for Flint.…”
“No you couldn’t!” said the dwarf hurriedly.
Tasslehoff went on to describe the wonders of Kendermore, painting such an interesting picture of that carefree shire, where the concepts of private property and personal possessions are completely unknown, that every person at the table firmly resolved never to go anywhere near it.
The issue of the kender settled, there was nothing left but to say good-bye.
The companions sat for a long time at their table. The setting sun gleamed a fiery ball in the red portion of the stained-glass windows, shone orange in the yellow, and a strange sort of green in the blue. The sun seemed to linger as long as the companions, spreading its golden light throughout the sky, before slipping down past the horizon, leaving a warm afterglow behind.
Otik brought candles and lamps to drive away the shadows, along with an excellent supper of his famous spiced potatoes, lamb stew, trout from Crystalmir Lake, bread, and goat’s cheese. The food was excellent; even Raistlin ate more than his usual two or three nibbling bites, actually devouring an entire trout. When every speck was eaten—nothing ever went to waste, with Caramon there to finish off the leftovers—Tanis called Otik over to settle the bill.
“The meal is on the house, my friends—my very dear friends,” Otik said. He wished them all a safe journey and shook hands with everyone of them, including Tasslehoff.
Tanis invited Otik to share a glass, which he did. Flint invited him to share another, and another after that. Otik shared so many glasses that eventually, when his services were required in the kitchen, young Tika had to help him stagger off.
Other Solace residents stopped by the inn, came to their table to say good-bye and offer their good wishes. Many were Flint’s customers, sorry to hear of his leaving, for he had sold out all his stock and let it be known that he expected to be gone as long as a year. Many more came to say farewell to Raistlin, much to the secret astonishment of the rest of the company, w
ho had no idea that the caustic, sharp-tongued, and secretive young man had so many friends.
These were not friends, however. They were his patients, come to express their gratitude for his care. Among these was Miranda. No longer the town beauty, she was wan and pale in her black mourning clothes. Her baby had been among the first to perish with the plague. She gave Raistlin a sweet kiss on his cheek and thanked him, in a choked voice, for being so gentle with her dying child. Her young husband also offered his thanks, then led away his grieving wife.
Raistlin watched her depart, thankful in his heart that he had been warned away from following down that pretty, rose-strewn path. He was uncommonly nice to his brother that night, much to the astonishment of Caramon, who couldn’t imagine what he had done to earn Raistlin’s gratitude.
Strangers at the inn noticed the odd assortment of friends, mainly due to the fact that either Tanis or Flint dropped by to return valuables that had been appropriated by the kender. The strangers shook their heads and raised their eyebrows.
“It takes all kinds to make this world,” they said, and by the disparaging tones in which they spoke, it was obvious that they didn’t believe the old homily in the slightest. In their view, it took their kind and no other.
The night deepened. Darkness gathered around the inn. The shadows crept into the inn itself, for the other customers were gone to their beds, taking their lamps or candles with them to light their way. A pleasantly soused Otik had long ago rolled into his bed, leaving the cleaning up to be done by Tika, the cook, and the barmaids.
They scrubbed the tabletops and swept the floor; the clatter of crockery could be heard coming from the kitchen. Still the companions sat at their table, loath to part, for each felt, in his or her own heart, that this parting would be a long one.
At length, Raistlin, who had been nodding where he sat for some time, said quietly, “It is time for us to go, my brother. I need my rest. I have much studying to do tomorrow.”
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