Dragonlance 04 - Time of the Twins (6 page)

For the first time, Tanis saw a pale stain of color touch Crysania's marble cheeks. Her dark brows contracted as she seemed to be thinking. Then her face cleared. Looking up at Tanis, she smiled.

"There is no danger," she said. "I am in Paladine's hands. The dark creatures may have been sent by Raistlin, but they have no power to harm me! They have merely strengthened my resolve." Seeing Tanis's face grow even grimmer, she sighed. "I promise this much. I will think about it. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the journey is too dangerous—”

"And a waste of time!" Tanis muttered, sorrow and exhaustion making him speak bluntly what he had felt all along about this woman’s crazy scheme."If Par-Salian could have destroyed Raistlin, he would have done it long before—”

"Destroy!" Crysania regarded Tanis in shock, her gray eyes cold. "I do not seek his destruction."

Tanis stared at her in amazement.

"I seek to reclaim him," Crysania continued. "I will go to my rooms now, if someone will be so kind as to guide me to them."

Dezra hurried forward. Crysania calmly bade them all goodnight, then followed Dezra from the room. Tanis gazed after her, totally at a loss for words. He heard Riverwind mutter something in Que-shu. Then Caramon groaned again. Riverwind nudged Tanis. Together they bent over the slumbering Caramon and—with an effort—hauled the big man to his feet.

"Name of the Abyss, he's heavy!" Tanis gasped, staggering under the man's dead weight as Caramon's flacid arms flopped over his shoulders. The putrid smell of the dwarf spirit made him gag.

"How can he drink that stuff?" Tanis said to Riverwind as the two dragged the drunken man to the door, Tika following along anxiously behind.

"I saw a warrior fall victim to that curse once," Riverwind grunted. "He perished leaping over a cliff, being chased by creatures that were there only in his mind."

"I should stay—” Tanis murmured.

"You cannot fight another's battle, my friend," Riverwind said firmly. "Especially when it is between a man and his own soul."

It was past midnight when Tanis and Riverwind had Caramon safely at home and dumped—unceremoniously—into his bed. Tanis had never been so tired in his life. His shoulders ached from carrying the dead weight of the giant warrior. He was worn out and felt drained, his memories of the past—once pleasant—were now like old wounds, open and bleeding. And he still had hours to ride before morning.

"I wish I could stay," he repeated again to Tika as they stood together with Riverwind outside her door, gazing out over the sleeping, peaceful town of Solace. "I feel responsible—”

"No, Tanis," Tika said quietly. "Riverwind's right. You can't fight this war. You have your own life to live, now. Besides, there's nothing you can do. You might only make things worse."

"I suppose." Tanis frowned. "At any rate, I'll be back in about a week. I'll talk to Caramon then."

"That would be nice." Tika sighed, then, after a pause, changed the subject. "By the way, what did Lady Crysania mean about a kender coming here? Tasslehoff'?"

"Yes," Tanis said, scratching his beard. "It has something to do with Raistlin, though I'm not sure what. We ran into Tas in Palanthas. He started in on some of his stories—I warned her that only about half of what he says is true and even that half's nonsense, but he probably convinced her to send him after some person she thinks can help her reclaim Raistlin!"

"The woman may be a holy cleric of Paladine," Riverwind said sternly, "and may the gods forgive me if I speak ill of one of their chosen. But I think she's mad." Having made this pronouncement, he slung his bow over his shoulder and prepared to depart.

Tanis shook his head. Putting his arm around Tika, he kissed her. "I'm afraid Riverwind's right," he said to her softly. "Keep an eye on Lady Crysania while she's here. I'll have a talk with Elistan about her when we return. I wonder how much he knew about this wild scheme of hers. Oh, and if Tasslehoff does show up, hang onto him, will you? I don't want him turning up in Qualinost! I'm going to have enough trouble with Porthios and the elves as it is!"

"Sure, Tanis," Tika said softly. For a moment she nestled close to him, letting herself be comforted by his strength and the compassion she could sense in both his touch and his voice.

Tanis hesitated, holding her, reluctant to let her go. Glancing inside the small house, he could hear Caramon crying out in his sleep.

"Tika—” he began.

But she pushed herself away. "Go along, Tanis," she said firmly. "You've got a long ride ahead of you."

"Tika. I wish—” But there was nothing he could say that would help, and they both knew it.

Turning slowly, he trudged off after Riverwind.

Watching them go, Tika smiled.

"You are very wise, Tanis Half-Elven. But this time you are wrong," she said to herself as she stood alone on her porch. "Lady Crysania isn't mad. She's in love."

"Get away!" he muttered. "Get away!"

But the dwarves only responded by lifting his bed up onto their strong shoulders and whirling it around at a rapid pace, as they continued to march, their boots striking the wooden floor

THUD. THUD, THUD.

Caramon felt his stomach heave. After several desperate tries, he managed to leap out of the revolving bed and make a clumsy dash for the chamber pot in the corner. Having vomited, he felt better. His head cleared. The dwarves disappeared—although he suspected they were hiding beneath the bed, waiting for him to lie down again.

Instead, he opened a drawer in the tiny bedside table where he kept his small flask of dwarf spirits.Gone! Caramon scowled. So Tika was playing this game again, was she! Grinning smugly, Caramon stumbled over to the large clothes chest on the other side of the room. He lifted the lid and rummaged through tunics and pants and shirts that would no longer fit over his flabby body. There it was—tucked into an old boot.

Caramon withdrew the flask lovingly, took a swig of the fiery liquor, belched, and heaved a sigh. There, the hammering in his head was gone. He glanced around the room. Let the dwarves stay under the bed. He didn't care.

There was the clink of crockery in. the other room. Tika! Hurriedly, Caramon took another sip, then closed the flask and tucked it back into the boot again. Shutting the lid very, very quietly, he straightened up, ran a hand through his tangled hair, and started to go out into the main living area. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he passed.

"Change my shirt," he muttered thickly.

After much pulling and tugging, he dragged off the filthy shirt he was wearing and tossed it in a corner. Perhaps he should wash? Bah! What was he—a sissy? So he smelled—it was a manly smell. Plenty of women liked it, found it attractive—found him attractive! Never complained or nagged, not like Tika. Why couldn't she take him as he was? Struggling into a clean shirt he found at the foot of the bed, Caramon felt very sorry for himself. No one understood him . . . life was hard . . . he was going through a bad time just now . . . but that would change . . . just wait . . . someday—tomorrow maybe . . ..

Lurching out of the bedroom, trying to appear nonchalant, Caramon walked unsteadily across the neat, clean living room and collapsed into a chair at the eating table. The chair creaked beneath his great weight. Tika turned around.

Catching her glance, Caramon sighed. Tika was mad— again. He tried grinning at her, but it was a sickly grin and didn't help. Her red curls bouncing in anger, she whirled around and disappeared through a door into the kitchen. Caramon winced as he heard heavy iron pots bang. The sound brought the dwarves and their hammers back. Within a few moments, Tika returned, carrying a huge dish of sizzling bacon, fried maize cakes, and eggs. She slammed the plate down in front of him with such force the cakes leaped three inches into the air.

Caramon winced again. He wondered briefly about eating— considering the queasy state of his stomach—then grouchily reminded his stomach who was boss. He was starved, he couldn't remember when he'd eaten last. Tika flounced down in a chair next to him. Glancing up, he saw her green eyes blazing. Her freckles stood out clearly against her skin—a certain sign of fury.

"All right," Caramon growled, shoveling food into his mouth. "What'd I do now?"

"You don't remember." It was a statement.

Caramon cast about hastily in the foggy regions of his mind. Something stirred vaguely. He was supposed to have been somewhere last night. He'd stayed home all day, getting ready. He'd promised Tika . . . but he'd grown thirsty. His flask was empty. He'd just go down to the Trough for a quick nip, then to . . . where . . . why . . .

"I had business to attend to," Caramon said, avoiding Tika's gaze.

"Yes, we saw your business," Tika snapped bitterly. "The business that made you pass out right at Tanis's feet!"

"Tanis!" Caramon dropped his fork. "Tanis . . . last night . . ." With a heartsick moan, the big man let his aching head sink into his hands.

"You made quite a spectacle of yourself," Tika continued, her voice choked. "In front of the entire town, plus half the elves in Krynn. Not to mention our old friends." She was weeping quietly now. "Our best friends . . .."

Caramon moaned again. Now he was crying, too. "Why? Why?" he blubbered. "Tanis, of all of them . . ." His selfrecriminations were interrupted by a banging on the front door.

"Now what?" Tika muttered, rising and wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her blouse. "Maybe it's Tanis, after all." Caramon lifted his head. "Try at least to look like the man you once were," Tika said under her breath as she hurried to the door.

Throwing the bolt, she unlatched it. "Otik?" she said in astonishment. "What are—Whose foods?"

The rotund, elderly innkeeper stood in the doorway, a plate of steaming food in his hand. He peered past Tika.

"Isn't she here?" he asked, startled.

"Isn't who here?" Tika replied, confused. "There's no one here."

"Oh, dear." Otik's face grew solemn. Absently, he began to eat the food from the plate. "Then I guess the stableboy was right. She's gone. And after I fixed this nice breakfast."

"Who's gone?" Tika demanded in exasperation, wondering if he meant Dezra.

"Lady Crysania. She's not in her room. Her things aren't there, either. And the stableboy said she came this morning, told him to saddle her horse, and left. I thought—”

"Lady Crysania!" Tika gasped. "She's gone off, by herself. Of course, she would . . .."

"What?" asked Otik, still munching.

"Nothing," Tika said, her face pale. "Nothing, Otik. Uh, you better get back to the Inn. I'll—I may be a little late today."

"Sure, Tika," Otik said kindly, having seen Caramon hunched over the table. "Get there when you can." Then he left, eating as he walked. Tika shut the door behind him.

Seeing Tika return, and knowing he was in for a lecture, Caramon rose clumsily to his feet. "I'm not feeling too good," he said. Lurching across the floor, he staggered into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Tika could hear the sound of wracking sobs from inside.

She sat down at the table, thinking. Lady Crysania had gone, she was going to find Wayreth Forest by herself. Or rather, she had gone in search of it. No one ever found it, according to legend. It found you! Tika shivered, remembering Caramon's stories. The dread Forest was on maps, but— comparing them—no two maps ever agreed on its location. And there was always a symbol of warning beside it. At its center stood the Tower of High Sorcery of Wayreth, where all the power of the mages of Ansalon was now concentrated. Well, almost all -

In sudden resolution, Tika got up and thrust open the bedroom door. Going inside, she found Caramon flat upon the bed, sobbing and blubbering like a child. Hardening her heart against this pitiful sight, Tika walked with firm steps over to the large chest of clothes. As she threw open the lid and began sorting through the clothes, she found the flask, but simply tossed it into a corner of the room. Then—at the very bottom—she came upon what she had been searching for.

Caramon's armor.

Lifting out a cuisse by its leather strap, Tika stood up and, turning around, hurled the polished metal straight at Caramon.

It struck him in the shoulder, bouncing off to fall to the floor with a clatter.

"Ouch!" the big man cried, sitting up. "Name of the Abyss, Tika! Leave me alone for—”

"You're going after her," Tika said firmly, lifting out another piece of armor. "You're going after her, if I have to haul you out of here in a wheelbarrow!"

"Uh, pardon me," said a kender to a man loitering near the edge of the road on the outskirts of Solace. The man instantly clapped his hand over his purse. "I'm looking for the home of a friend of mine. Well, actually two friends of mine. One's a woman, pretty, with red curls. Her name is Tika Waylan—”

Glaring at the kender, the man jerked a thumb. "Over there yonder."

Tas looked. "There?" he said pointing, impressed. "That truly magnificent house in the new vallenwood"?"

"What?" The man gave a brief, sharp laugh. "What'd you call it? Truly magnificent? That's a good one." Still chuckling, he walked off, laughing and hastily counting the coins in his purse at the same time.

How rude! Tas thought, absently slipping the man's pocket knife into one of his pouches. Then, promptly forgetting the incident, the kender headed for Tika's home. His gaze lingered fondly on each detail of the fine house nestled securely in the limbs of the still-growing vallenwood tree.

"I'm so glad for Tika," Tas remarked to what appeared to be a mound of clothes with feet walking beside him. "And for Caramon, too," he added. "But Tika's never really had a true home of her own. How proud she must be!"

As he approached the house, Tas saw it was one of the better homes in the township. It was built in the ages-old tradition of Solace. The delicate turns of the vaulting gables were shaped to appear to be part of the tree itself. Each room extended off from the main body of the house, the wood of the walls carved and polished to resemble the tree trunk. The structure conformed to the shape of the tree, a peaceful harmony existed between man's work and nature's to create a pleasing whole. Tas felt a warm glow in his heart as he thought of his two friends working on and living in such a wonderful dwelling. Then—

"That's funny," said Tas to himself, "I wonder why there's no roof."

As he drew closer, looking at the house more intently, he noticed it was missing quite a few things—a roof among them. The great vaulting gables actually did nothing more than form a framework for a roof that wasn't there. The walls of the rooms extended only part way around the building. The floor was only a barren platform.

Coming to stand right beneath it, Tas peered upwards, wondering what was going on. He could see hammers and axes and saws lying out in the open, rusting away. From their looks, they hadn't been used in months. The structure itself was showing the effects of long exposure to weather. Tas tugged his top knot thoughtfully. The building had all the makings of the most magnificent structure in all of Solace—if it was ever finished!

Then Tas brightened. One section of the house was finished. All of the glass had been carefully placed into the window frames, the walls were intact, a roof protected the room from the elements. At least Tika has one room of her own, the kender thought. But, as he studied the room more closely, his smile faded. Above the door, he could see clearly, despite some weathering, the carefully crafted mark denotating a wizard's residence.

"I might have known," Tas said, shaking his head. He glanced around. "Well, Tika and Caramon certainly can't be living there. But that man said—Oh."

As he walked around the huge vallenwood tree, he came upon a small house, almost lost amidst overgrown weeds, hidden by the shadow of the vallenwood tree. Obviously built only as a temporary measure, it had the look of becoming all too permanent. If ever a building could look unhappy, Tas mused, this one did. Its gables sagged into a frown. Its paint was cracked and peeling. Still, there were flowers in the windowboxes and frilly curtains in the windows.The kender sighed. So this was Tika's house, built in the shadow of a dream.

Approaching the little house, he stood outside the door, listening attentively. There was the most awful commotion going on inside. He could hear thuds and glass breaking and shouts and thumping.

"I think you better wait out here," Tas said to the bundle of clothes.

The bundle grunted and plopped itself comfortably down into the muddy road outside the house. Tas glanced at it uncertainly, then shrugged and walked up to the door. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he turned it and took a step forward, confidently expecting to walk right in. Instead he smashed his nose on the wood. The door was locked.

"That's odd," Tas said, stepping back and looking around. "What is Tika thinking about? Locking doors! How barbaric. And a bolt lock at that. I'm sure I was expected . . .." He stared at the lock gloomily. The shouts and yells continued inside. He thought he could hear Caramon's deep voice.

"It sure sounds interesting in there." Tas glanced around, and felt cheered immediately. "The window! Of course!"

But, on hurrying over to the window, Tas found it locked, too! "I never would have expected that of Tika, of all people," the kender commented sadly to himself. Studying the lock, he noticed it was a simple one and would open quite easily. From the set of tools in his pouch, Tas removed the lock-picking device that is a kender's birthright. Inserting it, he gave it an expert twist and had the satisfaction of hearing the lock click. Smiling happily, he pushed the paned glass open and crawled inside. He.hit the floor without a sound. Peering back out the window, he saw the shapeless bundle napping in the gutter.

Relieved on that point, Tasslehoff paused to look around the house, his sharp eyes taking in everything, his hands touching everything.

"My, isn't this interesting," went Tas's running commentary as he headed for the closed door from beyond which came the crashing sounds. "Tika won't mind if I study it for a moment. I'll put it right back." The object tumbled, of its accord, into his pouch. "And look at this! Uh-oh, there's a crack in it. She'll thank me for telling her about it." That object slipped into another pouch. "And what's the butter dish doing clear over here? I'm sure Tika kept it in the pantry. I better return it to its proper place." The butter dish settled into a third pouch.