Dragonlance 12 - Raistlin Chronicles - Soulforge (50 page)

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 every one 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, who 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."

Caramon made some unintelligible response. He had drunk more than his share of ale. His nose was red, and he was at that stage of drunkenness in which some men fight and others blubber. Caramon was blubbering.

"I, too, must take my leave," said Sturm. "We need to make an early start, put several miles behind us before the heat of the day sets in."

"I wish you would change your mind and come with us," Kitiara said softly, her eyes on Tanis.

Kit had been the loudest, brashest, liveliest person in the group, except when her gaze would fall on Tanis, and then her crooked smile would slip a little. Moments later, her smile would harden, and her laughter would blare out harshly, the noisiest person at the table. But as the jollity waned and the inn grew quieter, the shadows deepened around them, Kit's laughter died away, her stories began but never came to a close. She drew nearer and nearer to Tanis, and now she clasped his hand tightly beneath the table.

"Please, Tanis," she said. "Come north. You will find glory in battle, wealth, and power. I swear it!"

Tanis hesitated. Her dark eyes were warm and soft. Her smile trembled with the intensity of her passion. He had never seen her look more lovely. He was finding it more and more difficult to give her up.

"Yes, Tanis, come with us," Sturm urged warmly. "I cannot promise you wealth or power, but glory must surely be ours."

Tanis opened his mouth. It seemed he would say "yes." Everyone expected him to say "yes,"

including himself. When the "no" came out, he looked as startled as anyone at the table.

As Raistlin would say later to Caramon, on their way home that night, "The human side of Tanis would have gone with her. It was the elven side of him that held him back."

"Who wants you along anyway?" Kit flared, angry, her pride hurt. She had not anticipated failure.

She slid away from him, stood up. "Traveling with you would be like traveling with my own grandfather. Sturm and I will have lots more fun without you."

Sturm appeared somewhat alarmed at this statement. The pilgrimage to his homeland was a sacred journey. He wasn't going north to "have fun." Frowning, he smoothed his mustaches and repeated that they needed to make an early start.

An uncomfortable silence fell. No one wanted to be the first to leave, especially now, when it seemed likely that their parting would end on a discordant note. Even Tasslehoff was affected. The kender sat quiet and subdued, so unhappy that he actually returned Sturm's money pouch. Tas returned the pouch to Caramon, but the thought was there.

"I have an idea," said Tanis at last. "Let us plan to meet again in the autumn, on the first night of Harvest Home."

"I might be back, I might not," said Kit, shrugging with a careless air. "Don't count on me."

"I trust I will not be back," Sturm said emphatically, and his friends knew what he meant. A return to Solace in the autumn would mean his quest to find his father and his heritage had failed.

"Then we will meet every year after, on the first night of Harvest Home in the fall, those of us who are here," Tanis suggested. "And let us take a vow that five years from now we will return here to the inn, no matter where we are or what we are doing."

"Those of us who are still alive," Raistlin said.

He had intended his words as a joke, but Caramon sat up straight, the shock of his brother's words penetrating his alcohol-induced befuddlement. He cast his twin a frightened glance, a glance that Raistlin deflected with narrowed eyes.

"It was only a small attempt at humor, my brother."

"Still, you shouldn't say things like that, Raist," Caramon entreated. "It's bad luck."

"Drink your ale and keep silent," Raistlin returned irritably.

Sturm's stern expression had eased. "That is a good idea. Five years. I pledge myself to return in five years."

"I'll be back, Tanis!" Tas said, hopping about in excitement. "I'll be here in five years."

"You'll likely be in some jail in five years," Flint muttered.

"Well, if I am, you'll bail me out, won't you, Flint?"

The dwarf swore it would be a cold day in the Abyss before he bailed the kender out of jail one more time.

"Are there cold days in the Abyss?" Tasslehoff wondered. "Are there any sort of days at all in the Abyss, or is it mostly dark and spooky like a giant hole in the ground, or is it filled with blazing fire? Don't you think the Abyss would be a great place to visit, Raistlin? I'd really like to go there someday. I'll bet not even Uncle Trapspringer has—"

Tanis called for silence, just in time to prevent Flint from up-ending his ale mug over the kender's head. Tanis placed his hand, palm down, in the center of the table.

"I vow on the love and friendship I feel for all of you"—his gaze touched each of his friends, gathered them together—"that I will return to the Inn of the Last Home on the first night of Harvest Home five years hence."

"I will be back in five years," said Kit, resting her hand over Tanis's. Her expression had softened.

Her grip on him tightened. "If not sooner. Much sooner."

"I vow on my honor as the knight I hope to become that I will return in five years," Sturm Brightblade said solemnly. He placed his hand over Tanis's and Kit's.

"I'll be here," said Caramon. His large hand engulfed the other hands of his friends.

"And I," said Raistlin. He touched the back of his brother's hand with his fingertips.

"Don't forget me! I'll be here!" Tasslehoff crawled on top of the table to add his small hand to the pile.

"Well, Flint?" Tanis said, smiling at his old friend.

"Confound it, I may have more important things to do than come back to this place just to see your pasty faces," Flint grumbled.

He took hold of the hands of all his friends in his own gnarled and work-hardened hands. "Reorx walk with you until we meet again!" he said, then turned his head, stared very hard out the window at nothing.

The inn's door had long ago been locked for the night. A yawning barmaid was on hand to let them out. Raistlin said his good-byes quickly. He was eager to go home to his rest, and he waited impatiently at the door for his brother. Caramon embraced Sturm, the two longtime friends holding each other close. They parted in silence, both unable to speak. Caramon shook hands with Tanis, and he would have hugged Flint, but the dwarf, scandalized, told him to "get along home."

Tasslehoff flung his arms as far as they would go around Caramon, who playfully tweaked the kender's topknot in return.

Kitiara stepped forward to embrace her brother, but Caramon seemed not to see her. Raistlin was now tapping his foot in irritation. Caramon hurried off, brushing past Kit without a word. She stared after him, then grinned, shrugged. Sturm's good-byes were brief and formal, accompanied by low and respectful bows for Tanis and Flint. Kit arranged a meeting place and then Sturm left.

"I think I'll stay a little longer," said Tas. He was just about to upend his pouches to look over his day's "findings" when there came a heavy knock on the door.

"Oh, hullo, Sheriff," Tas called cheerfully. "Looking for someone?"

Tasslehoff departed in the company of the sheriff. The kender's last words were for someone to remember to get him out of jail in the morning.

Kit stood in the doorway, waiting for Tanis.

"Flint, you coming?" Tanis asked.

The barmaid had taken the candles away. Flint sat in the darkness. He made no response.

"The girl's wanting to close up," Tanis urged.

Still no response.

"I'll take care of him, sir," the barmaid said softly.

Tanis nodded. Joining Kit, he put his arm around her, drew her close. The two walked side by side into the night.

The dwarf sat there, by himself, until dawn.

The blade must pass through the fire, else it will break.

—Par-Salian

It was the sixth day of the seventh month. Antimodes stood in the window of his room in the Tower of Wayreth gazing out into the night. His room was one of many rooms in the tower open to mages arriving to study, to confer, or—as was Antimodes—to participate in giving the Test, which would be held on the morrow.

The tower's accommodations were of various sizes and designs, from small cell-like rooms for the apprentice mages to larger and more lavish rooms reserved for the archmagi. The room in which Antimodes was comfortably ensconced was his customary room, his favorite. Since the archmage was fond of travel, known to drop by at unexpected times, Par-Salian saw to it that the room was always kept ready for his friend's arrival.

Located near the top part of the tower, the suite consisted of a bedroom and a parlor, with a small balcony that sometimes overlooked the Forest of Wayreth and sometimes did not, depending on where the magical forest happened to be at the moment.

If the forest was not there, Antimodes would often conjure up a view himself. Vast fields of yellow wheat, or perhaps crashing surf, depending on what he felt in the mood for that day. The forest was not there this night, but since it was dark and Antimodes was tired from his day's travel, he did not bother with landscaping. He had been standing on the balcony, cooling himself in the evening breeze. Leaving the shutters open to keep the air circulating—it was unusually hot that night—he returned to a small desk, continued his frowning perusal of a scroll, a perusal which already had been interrupted by dinner. A knock on the door again interrupted him. "Enter," he called in an irritated tone. The door opened silently. Par-Salian thrust his head inside.