Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (49 page)

It was nearly midnight. The moons would not rise tonight. The rain had ceased, but clouds still obscured the sky. The two men crouched in the alley were soon shivering, despite their heavy cloaks. Rats skittered across their feet, making them cringe in the darkness. A drunken hobgoblin took a wrong turn and lurched past them, falling headfirst into a pile of garbage. The hobgoblin did not get back up again and the stench nearly made Tanis and Caramon sick, but they dared not leave their vantage point.

Then they heard welcome sounds—drunken laughter and human voices speaking Common. The two guards they had been waiting for lurched out of the bar and staggered toward them.

A tall iron brazier stood on the sidewalk, lighting the night. The mercenaries lurched into its light, giving Tanis a close look at them. Both were officers in the dragonarmy, he saw. Newly promoted, he guessed, which may have been what they were celebrating. Their armor was shining new, relatively clean, and undented. It was good armor, too, he saw with satisfaction. Made of blue steel, it was fashioned after the style of the Highlords’ own dragon-scale armor.

“Ready?” Caramon whispered. Tanis nodded.

Caramon drew his sword. “Elven scum!” he roared in his deep, barrel-chested bass. “I’ve found you out, and now you’ll come with me to the Dragon Highlord, spy!”

“You’ll never take me alive!” Tanis drew his own sword.

At the sound of their voices, the two officers staggered to a stop, peering bleary-eyed into the dark alley.

The officers watched with growing interest as Caramon and Tanis made a few passes at each other, maneuvering themselves into position. When Caramon’s back was to the officers and Tanis was facing them, the half-elf made a sudden move. Disarming Caramon, he sent the warrior’s sword flying.

“Quick! Help me take him!” Caramon bellowed. “There’s a reward out for him—dead or alive!”

The officers never hesitated. Fumbling drunkenly for their weapons, they headed for Tanis, their faces twisted into expressions of cruel pleasure.

“That’s it! Nail ’im!” Caramon urged, waiting until they were past him. Then—just as they raised their swords—Caramon’s huge hands encircled their necks. He slammed their heads together, and the bodies slumped to the ground.

“Hurry!” Tanis grunted. He dragged one body by the feet away from the light. Caramon followed with the other. Quickly they began to strip off the armor.

“Phew! This one must have been half-troll,” Caramon said, waving his hand to clear the air of the foul smell.

“Quit complaining!” Tanis snapped, trying to figure out how the complex system of buckles and straps worked. “At least you’re used to wearing this stuff. Give me a hand with this, will you?”

“Sure.” Caramon, grinning, helped to buckle Tanis into the armor. “An elf in plate armor. What’s the world coming to?”

“Sad times,” Tanis muttered. “When are we supposed to meet that ship captain William told you about?”

“He said we could find her on board around daybreak.”

“The name’s Maquesta Kar-thon,” said the woman, her expression cool and businesslike. “And—let me guess—you’re
not
officers in the dragonarmy. Not unless they’re hiring elves these days.”

Tanis flushed, slowly drawing off the helm of the officer. “Is it that obvious?”

The woman shrugged. “Probably not to anyone else. The beard is very good—perhaps I should say half-elf, of course. And the helm hides your ears. But unless you get a mask, those pretty, almond shaped eyes of yours are a dead giveaway. But then, not many draconians are apt to look into your pretty eyes, are they?” Leaning back in her chair, she put a booted foot on a table, and regarded him coolly.

Tanis heard Caramon chuckle, and felt his skin burn.

They were on board the
Perechon
, sitting in the captain’s cabin, across from the captain herself. Maquesta Kar-thon was one of the dark-skinned race living in Northern Ergoth. Her people had been sailors for centuries and, it was popularly believed, could speak the languages of seabirds and dolphins.
Tanis found himself thinking of Theros Ironfeld as he looked at Maquesta. The woman’s skin was shining black, her hair tightly curled and bound with a gold band around her forehead. Her eyes were brown and shining as her skin. But there was the glint of steel from the dagger at her belt, and the glint of steel in her eyes.

“We’re here to discuss business, Captain Maque—” Tanis stumbled over the strange name.

“Sure you are,” the woman said. “And call me Maq. Easier for both of us. It’s well you have this letter from Pig-faced William, or I wouldn’t have even talked to you. But he says you’re square and your money’s good, so I’ll listen. Now, where’re you bound?”

Tanis exchanged glances with Caramon. That was the question. Besides, he wasn’t certain he wanted either of their destinations known. Palanthas was the capital city of Solamnia, while Sancrist was a well-known haven of the Knights.

“Oh, for the love of—” Maq snapped, seeing them hesitate. Her eyes flared. Removing her foot from the table, she stared at them grimly. “You either trust me or you don’t!”

“Should we?” Tanis asked bluntly.

Maq raised an eyebrow. “How much money do you have?”

“Enough,” Tanis said. “Let’s just say that we want to go north, around the Cape of Nordmaar. If, at that point, we still find each other’s company agreeable, we’ll go on. If not, we’ll pay you off, and you put us in a safe harbor.”

“Kalaman,” said Maq, settling back. She seemed amused. “That’s a safe harbor. As safe as any these days. Half your money now. Half at Kalaman. Any farther is negotiable.”

“Safe
delivery to Kalaman,” Tanis amended.

“Who can promise?” Maq shrugged. “It’s a rough time of year to travel by sea.” She rose languidly, stretching like a cat. Caramon, standing up quickly, stared at her admiringly.

“It’s a deal,” she said. “Come on. I’ll show you the ship.”

Maq led them onto the deck. The ship seemed fit and trim as far as Tanis, who knew nothing about ships, could tell. Her voice and manner had been cold when they first talked to her, but when she showed them around her ship, she seemed to warm up. Tanis had seen the same expression, heard the same warm tones Maq used in talking about her ship that Tika used
when talking about Caramon. The
Perechon
was obviously Maq’s only love.

The ship was quiet, empty. Her crew was ashore, along with her first mate, Maq explained. The only other person Tanis saw on board was a man sitting by himself, mending a sail. The man looked up as they passed, and Tanis saw his eyes widen in alarm at the sight of the dragon armor.

“
Nocesta
, Berem,” Maq said to him soothingly as they passed. She made a slashing motion with her hand, gesturing to Tanis and Caramon. “
Nocesta
. Customers. Money.”

The man nodded and went back to his work.

“Who is he?” Tanis asked Maq in a low voice as they walked toward her cabin once more to conclude their business.

“Who? Berem?” she asked, glancing around. “He’s the helmsman. Don’t know much about him. He came around a few months back, looking for work. Took him on as a deck-swab. Then my helmsman was killed in a small altercation with—well, never mind. But this fellow turned out to be a damn good hand at the wheel, better than the first, in fact. He’s an odd one, though. A mute. Never speaks. Never goes ashore, if he can help it. Wrote his name down for me in the ship’s book, or I wouldn’t have known that much about him. Why?” she asked, noticing Tanis studying the man intently.

Berem was tall, well-built. At first sight, one might guess him to be middle-aged, by human terms. His hair was gray; his face was clean shaven, deeply tanned, and weathered from months spent on board ship. But his eyes were youthful, clear, and bright. The hands that held the needle were smooth and strong, the hands of a young man. Elven blood, perhaps, Tanis thought, but if so it wasn’t apparent in any of his features.

“I’ve seen him somewhere,” Tanis murmured. “How about you, Caramon? Do you remember him?”

“Ah, come on,” said the big warrior. “We’ve seen hundreds of people this past month, Tanis. He was probably in the audience at one of our shows.

“No.” Tanis shook his head. “When I first saw him, I thought of Pax Tharkas and Sturm.…”

“Hey, I got a lot of work to do, half-elf,” Maquesta said. “You coming, or you gonna gawk at a guy stitching a sail?”

She climbed down the hatch. Caramon followed clumsily, his sword and armor clanking. Reluctantly, Tanis went after
them. But he turned for one final look at the man, and caught the man regarding him with a strange, penetrating gaze.

“All right, you go back to the inn with the others. I’ll buy the supplies. We sail when the ship’s ready. Maquesta says about four days.”

“I wish it was sooner,” muttered Caramon.

“So do I,” said Tanis grimly. “There’s too damn many draconians around here. But we’ve got to wait for the tide or some such thing. Go back to the inn and keep everyone inside. Tell your brother to lay in a store of that herb stuff he drinks—we’ll be at sea a long time. I’ll be back in a few hours, after I get the supplies.”

Tanis walked down the crowded streets of Flotsam, no one giving him a second glance in his dragon armor. He would be glad to take it off. It was hot, heavy and itchy. And he had trouble remembering to return the salutes of draconians and goblins. It was beginning to occur to him—as he saw the respect his uniform commanded—that the humans they stole the uniforms from must have held a high rank. The thought was not comforting. Any moment now, someone might recognize his armor.

But he couldn’t do without it, he knew. There were more draconians in the streets than ever today. The air of tension in Flotsam was high. Most of the town’s citizens were staying home, and most of the shops were closed—with the exception of the taverns. In fact, as he passed one closed shop after another, Tanis began to worry about where he was going to buy supplies for the long ocean voyage.

Tanis was musing on this problem as he stared into a closed shop window, when a hand suddenly wrapped around his boot and yanked him to the ground.

The fall knocked the breath from the half-elf’s body. He struck his head heavily on the cobblestones and—for a moment—was groggy with pain. Instinctively he kicked out at whatever had him by the feet, but the hands that grasped him were strong. He felt himself being dragged into a dark alley.

Shaking his head to clear it, he strained to look at his captor. It was an elf! His clothes filthy and torn, his elven features distorted by grief and hatred, the elf stood above him, a spear in his hand.

“Dragon man!” the elf snarled in Common. “Your foul kind slaughtered my family—my wife and my children! Murdered them in their beds, ignoring their pleas for mercy. This is for them!” The elf raised his spear.

“Shak! It mo dracosali!”
Tanis cried desperately in elven, struggling to pull off his helmet. But the elf, driven insane by grief, was beyond hearing or understanding. His spear plunged downward. Suddenly the elf’s eyes grew wide, riveted in shock. The spear fell from his nerveless fingers as a sword punctured him from behind. The dying elf fell with a shriek, landing heavily upon the pavement.

Tanis looked up in astonishment to see who had saved his life. A Dragon Highlord stood over the elf’s body.

“I heard you shouting and saw one of my officers in trouble. I guessed you needed some help,” said the Highlord, reaching out a gloved hand to help Tanis up.

Confused, dizzy with pain and knowing only that he mustn’t give himself away, Tanis accepted the Highlord’s hand and struggled to his feet. Ducking his face, thankful for the dark shadows in the alley, Tanis mumbled words of thanks in a harsh voice. Then he saw the Highlord’s eyes behind the mask widen.

“Tanis?”

The half-elf felt a shudder run through his body, a pain as swift and sharp as the elven spear. He could not speak, he could only stare as the Highlord swiftly removed the blue and gold dragonmask.

“Tanis! It
is
you!” the Highlord cried, grasping him by the arms. Tanis saw bright brown eyes, a crooked, charming smile.

“Kitiara …”

S
o, Tanis! An officer, and in my own command. I should review my troops more often!” Kitiara laughed, sliding her arm through his. “You’re shaking. You took a nasty fall. Come on. My rooms aren’t far from here. We’ll have a drink, patch up that wound, then … talk.”

Dazed—but not from the head wound—Tanis let Kitiara lead him out of the alley onto the sidewalk. Too much had happened too fast. One minute he had been buying supplies and now he was walking arm in arm with a Dragon Highlord who had just saved his life and who was also the woman he had loved for so many years. He could not help but stare at her, and Kitiara—knowing his eyes were on her—returned his gaze from beneath her long, sooty-black eyelashes.

The gleaming, night-blue dragon-scale armor of the Highlords suited her well, Tanis caught himself thinking. It was
tight-fitting, emphasizing the curves of her long legs.

Draconians swarmed around them, hoping for even a brief nod from the Highlord. But Kitiara ignored them, chatting breezily with Tanis as if it were only an afternoon since they had parted, instead of five years. He could not absorb her words, his brain was still fumbling to make sense of this, while his body was reacting—once again—to her nearness.