Skyflame was in the study continuing with the cleaning when she heard voices coming from the parlour. They sounded angry. She stood up and brushed the dust from the skirt of her robes and headed towards the source of the commotion.
"How did you get past the Shoikan Grove?" Dalamar asked loudly, practically yelling. His disbelief apparently stemmed from the arrival of a white mage at their tower home. Not a common occurrence at all when one's garden instils fear in the very hearts of men and kender alike.
The new mage was clad, as becomes a mage of her order, in a white robe, complete with hood. The hood in question was up at the moment, obscuring her face from Skyflame's view. Nevertheless, Skyflame was able to make several assumptions: She already knew the white mage was a woman -- while it was possible for a male to have as slender hands as she saw here, no self-respecting man would have fingernails like those! Skyflame also guessed the newcomer to be elven; while she was shorter than both herself and Dalamar, she moved with a polished grace that is extremely rare, even among elves.
The elf woman stamped her foot impatiently. "Don't worry; your precious grove is as fearful as ever. Even with this charm," the mage held out a small, but flawless blue gem. "Even with this, I nearly had to introduce myself as Faunelle, Mage of the Yellow Robes."
Skyflame laughed at this, but Dalamar just narrowed his eyes. "And how did you come by this charm?" he asked.
Faunelle smiled mysteriously. "That's a long story. Perhaps you could first show me to my chambers, so I can wash away all this dust?"
"What makes you think you even have a room here?" Dalamar said rudely.
"This," the woman replied, passing the charm
to Sky for inspection.
Skyflame turned the gem over in her hand, utterly perplexed. She was about to ask Faunelle for more of an explanation when something caught her eye. Not taking her eyes from the stone, Sky gasped, "Dalamar, show her to the guest room!"
"We don't have a guest room!" Dalamar said angrily.
Finally raising her eyes, Skyflame narrowed them at Dalamar. "Top of the stairs, fourth door on the right," she said through clenched teeth.
Dalamar looked absolutely scandalized. "Those are the shalafi's chambers!" he hissed.
"Just do it!" Skyflame retorted. She and Dalamar stood in the parlour glaring at each other while Faunelle shifted uncomfortably a few feet away.
Finally, Skyflame lost her patience. "Now!" she growled, her eyes flashing menacingly with intense, lavender-coloured lightning.
Startled, Dalamar backed up to the other side of the room. When he regained his composure he offered Faunelle his arm and ushered her towards the newly-appointed "guest room". Skyflame watched them leave, and then turned her attention back to the charm in her hands. It was a simple stone; raw, with no setting, yet Sky could not look away. The stone, an aquamarine, was magically imbued with a brightly glowing R...
...It was the mark of Raistlin.
*****
Skyflame stared at the charm she held in her hands. She felt a memory stirring inside her, deep down, but she couldn't place it. Yet. Giving up on the stone and its potential for further explanation -- "nil", she decided -- Skyflame turned her attention elsewhere. It was almost time for the evening meal, and the magi would require something hearty to settle their nerves after the events of the afternoon. However, standing in the kitchen she had absolutely no idea what to make. Dalamar tended to be on the picky side when it came to mealtimes, demanding exclusively elven cuisine. As a result, during Dalamar's residence in the tower over the past six years, neither she nor Raistlin had spent much time behind the stove.
After a few minutes Sky had to give up on the recipe books as well; they were all written in silvanesti, of which she did not speak a word. Grabbing a pan from the overhead rack, Sky started mixing together some of her favourite ingredients. She hoped it would not taste too terrible, although she knew Dalamar would complain, regardless.
Right on cue, Dalamar entered the kitchen. "What's that horrible smell?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
"Dinner," Sky replied tersely. Crossing her arms, she silently challenged him to say more. However, Dalamar apparently decided that silence would be conductive to his continuing good health and changed the subject:
"Why do you allow the trespasser to stay?"
"She's not a trespasser," Sky replied, her voice softening. "She bears the mark of Raistlin."
Dalamar's eyes widened in surprise. "The rock? But I thought all the pass charms were accounted for?"
"I've never seen this one before," Sky admitted.
There was a silence for a moment. "Could it be a fake?" Dalamar asked.
"Unlikely," Sky replied after considering. "Nobody knows about the mark except us. And if it is a fake, then there is no way Faunelle would have survived the trek through the Shoikan Grove."
Dalamar nodded and began rummaging around through the pantry. Finding what he was looking for, he grinned mischievously and walked towards the stove where Sky's creation was sizzling deliciously. Skyflame shrieked and slapped his hand away.
The elf shrugged and returned the spice to the shelf. "You cannot blame me for trying," he said. Dalamar leaned back against the countertop. "What about previous tower guests? They would remember the mark from their charms."
Sky shook her head. "They wouldn't even see the mark unless they were aware of Raistlin's spell and knew the correct words to reveal it. Now, I'm not so pretentious as to say that I know Raistlin's mind, but I don't see him compromising his own security systems by telling his visitors how to fake a way in.
"Dinner is ready," Sky concluded and began to assemble a tray of dish- and silverware to carry to the table. "Go fetch our guest, if you please."
A short while later saw the three magi seated companionably around a hearty dinner. The candles were burning brightly and a fire warmed the room to a pleasant temperature. Sky could not understand why, but she felt at ease with Faunelle, as though they had shared many dinners together just like this one.
Dalamar was the first to break the silence. "Tell us, Faunelle: where did you obtain the charm?"
Faunelle sighed and set her fork down, eyeing the food hungrily. "I suppose you'll not allow me to eat until I do," she said. "But I suppose I owe you something by way of an explanation.
"I run a small herbalist shop in Solace, to the south. I sell remedies and do some minor healing for the locals, but nothing of great importance."
Dalamar interrupted: "So you are a cleric?"
Faunelle looked annoyed. "Not exactly, no. My patron god is Solinari, but as a white mage I am also a disciple of Paladine. I can treat small wounds and ailments, but I am nowhere near as skilled in the healing arts as are the clerics of Mishakal. May I continue?"
Dalamar was about to say something further but was quickly silenced by the look Sky shot him from across the table. "Please do." To Dalamar Sky said: "No more interruptions."
"Thank you, Skyflame," Faunelle said, and smiled. "As I was saying: It was several years ago when I met your shalafi. I thought it a bit odd to receive a visit from a red mage, but he did seem rather sickly."
The sure sounds like Raistlin, Sky thought.
"I suggested that he might wish to see a cleric," Faunelle was saying when Sky focused her attention back on the story, "but he told me, and quite rudely I might add, that he did not require a healer."
This time it was Sky who interrupted. "That's definitely Raistlin!" she exclaimed.
Across the table Dalamar gave Sky a dirty look that silently warned her against jumping to conclusions. "It could have been any sickly red mage, Sky," he said.
Faunelle cast accusing looks at both of them. "Who's telling this story?" Faunelle's question went unanswered, so she continued: "Where was I? Oh, right: He looked around a little bit, messing up my displays. He didn't seem particularly interested in anything but Laertes. My dragon," she offered, after Sky looked at her questioningly.
There was a crashing noise as Sky and Dalamar dropped the forks that they had been holding. At first they sat in shocked silence, but in a few moments they were full of enough questions to put even the most inquisitive kender to shame. Among these, there was one question that was repeated most frequently:
"How!?"
"Laertes is a very young dragon; I raised him myself from birth. His mother and father were killed fighting alongside Solamnic Knights in the Great Battle half a decade past. Laertes came into my possession a few months later by a travelling merchant, who sold me a dragon's egg as a novelty item; I doubt, however, that he would have parted with it if he knew it was alive! The shell was a mottled grey-yellow, but a dragon's egg of any colour is a novelty in Solace, so I put it in the front window where it would be seen -- and, apparently, warmed. Only a few weeks after my purchase I came downstairs to see Laertes sitting happily on the countertop eating my peppermint extract!"
Sky laughed at the thought. "You said the shell was grey-yellow? That would make Laertes a silver dragon, correct?"
"Very good!" Faunelle exclaimed. "Are you very familiar with breeds of dragons, Miss Sky?"
"Erm... no," Skyflame replied slowly. The fact was, she knew nothing about dragons or their eggs. It must be just one of those random facts you pick up and inexplicably retain, she thought.
"Now that we have been suitably impressed by your pet dragon, Faunelle, perhaps you could continue with your initial story? How you got the charm?" Dalamar prompted.
Faunelle seethed. "Laertes is most certainly not my pet. He was orphaned and I adopted him. Secondly, Laertes is instrumental to my being here today, because it was through him that I acquired the gem.
"The human who is called Raistlin had more than just a passing interest in Laertes; he wished to purchase him. For you," she added, turning to face Sky. "I don't know why, exactly, but he was most insistent. I'd like to say that he stopped short of demanding, but that would be a lie. Of course I wouldn't part with my son; Raistlin and I... exchanged words, let us say... for a short time before coming to an agreement: Raistlin gave me the charm and asked that, should anything befall him, I take Laertes to see you. A few weeks ago I heard about Raistlin's unfortunate passing, so here I am," she concluded.
"You brought Laertes?" Skyflame asked, rising from her seat. "Where is he? Isn't he hungry?"
"Laertes is still in Solace," Faunelle said, and Sky slowly sat back down. "You see, I wasn't entirely sure Raistlin was dead; my source claimed that there was something mysterious about the whole affair, and I didn't want to drag Laertes halfway across Krynn if it wasn't necessary. He's not strong enough to defend himself, you see, and there are many less-than-scrupulous persons who would take interest in a young dragon."
Finished with her story, Faunelle tasted a morsel from her plate. "Delicious!" she exclaimed. "And it reminds me of home. Sky, your spiced potatoes taste exactly like Otik's!"
"They do, don't they?" Sky agreed, taking a bite herself. "But I think Otik's are much better; I always seem to use too much pepper."
The girls turned their attentions fully to the food, but Dalamar stared alternately at his plate and at Sky. After a few minutes of such restlessness, he finally broke the silence:
"Sky?"
"What now?" Sky asked irritably.
Dalamar speared a potato with his fork and held it in the air thoughtfully. "Oh, nothing, really," he said dismissively. "Only, you have never in your life been to Solace."
Faunelle was perplexed. "Then how did she know about Otik's potatoes?"
Skyflame felt the two elves looking at her, but "I don't know" was the only answer she could give.
*****
Early the next morning Skyflame and Faunelle were packed and ready to begin the return trip to Solace. Dalamar watched their departure with elven indifference.
“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Skyflame asked, adjusting her pack so it sat more comfortably.
“I am certain,” Dalamar replied. “I find walking to be tedious in the extreme. I would much prefer to remain here in Palanthas and study.”
Skyflame shook her head. Dalamar could be an enigma sometimes! Here they were about to embark on a journey halfway across the continent to meet someone – a dragon, no less! – who might reveal some insight into the mysterious actions of their late master, and he wants to remain behind to study! However, with her new friend being of the same race, Skyflame thought it prudent not to attribute all of Dalamar’s eccentricities to his elvishness.
“Well, if you’re sure.” Skyflame bid Dalamar a short farewell and took Faunelle by the arm, quickly leading her through the fearful Grove.
*****
“The Shoikan Grove isn’t the only scary forest on Krynn, you know,” Faunelle said later that day. “The Darken Wood, which lies just north of Solace, is said to be haunted by the spirits of valiant warriors who died by means of treachery. They kill all who seek to travel the forest paths, forever searching for the reborn souls of the men who condemned their souls to wander restlessly.”
“To the north of Solace?” Sky asked worriedly. “Won’t we be travelling through it, then?”
“We’ll be taking the long way,” Faunelle replied. “In a few days we’ll head east towards the Khalkist Mountains. That road will take us to the north of Crystalmir Lake, which we can cross in relative safety.”
“Relative safety?” Perhaps Dalamar’s choice to remain in Palanthas had not been so odd after all!
“Travelling by water is inherently dangerous, Sky. The weather can turn from fair to foul in less time than it takes a kender to ‘find’ your money pouch. But don’t worry overmuch; the passage by boat takes only a few hours. I am sure nothing will happen before we reach Solace.”
Skyflame was very curious about Faunelle’s home. The entire city, Faunelle told her, save the stables and smithy, was built high in the branches of vallenwood trees. The result was not purely æsthetic, although it certainly was that. The fact of the matter was that there were very few stairways leading to the ground level, making the city easily defendable in times of war.
Skyflame and Faunelle chatted like old friends as they made their way south. By nightfall they knew everything about each other: Faunelle knew about the time Sky twisted her ankle whilst visiting the apothecary, and Sky knew all about Faunelle’s love of dancing – although inasmuch as Sky could surmise, Faunelle had yet to be informed that she was a terrible dancer.
When it became too dark to continue walking the duo set about making camp. They built a small fire to warm their bodies and their food; Sky had brought the leftovers of her – Otik’s – potatoes and Faunelle had raided the tower pantry for quith-pa, which, she maintained, was the only decent travel food.
“Did you grow up in Qualinost or in Silvanost?” Sky asked, suddenly realising that she knew almost nothing about where her elf friend had spent the first perhaps two hundred years of her life.
“Neither,” Faunelle replied, obviously embarrassed by the question. Sky apologised profusely for any offence she had inadvertently caused, but Faunelle dismissed the issue with a wave of her hand. The elf seemed to wrestle with her thoughts before deciding that Skyflame was worthy of her trust.
“I was orphaned,” she exclaimed presently, “abandoned earlier than I can remember. A couple from Solace – a human couple – adopted me and I lived happily with them for many, many years. Sylvanus and Marguerite, my parents, grew old and died when I was still little more than a child… but by then my brothers and sisters were grown, and they inherited the care of me, I guess.”
Faunelle looked wistfully off into the night sky, remembering the faces and songs of long ago. When she spoke again her voice was little more than a whisper: “For many generations did Sylvanus’ kin watch over me and provide for me, and I- I could do nothing but watch while my guardians, my own grand-nieces and –nephews, passed into Paladine’s care.
“I hope it was some comfort to them,” Faunelle said sadly, “to know that one day I would be grown and that it would be I who would now be caring for their children, and their children’s children, and their children’s children’s children…”
Sky contemplated Faunelle’s childhood as she waited in the darkness for sleep to come. It explained much: her name, for one, although quite pretty, was not particularly elven. It also explained her fierce defence of Laertes as a son and not merely a pet; they were both orphans, kindred spirits in their losses.
Raising herself on her elbows, Skyflame studied Faunelle’s sleeping form. The elf was terribly short for her race, not quite matching Sky’s own 5’9”; her hair and eyes were brown, not at all like the usual fairness present in elves. But then, there were exceptions to everything, and Faunelle was not the first of such to make her acquaintance.
Sky yawned and lay on her back. Above her the red moon, Lunitari, was waning at its zenith. Sky looked once more at the sleeping elf woman and felt the dull ache of sympathy tug at her heart. How hard it must be, she thought, to outlive everything you know; year after year to watch over strangers who are your kind though not your kin, bound as their guardian by ties that are stronger even than those of blood.
*****
The dawn brought with it many surprises. The fire, though small and unattended, had burned the night through. Faunelle was at its side cooking a delicious-smelling breakfast over the smouldering embers. A second surprise was the bow that lay at the elf’s feet; it was a law of the gods that magic-users may not carry any weapon other than the small, silver knives presented to them when they pass the Test. But the third and most unusual surprise was the appearance of a kender at the fireside, chatting happily with Faunelle.
“…and then Tanis said,” the kender was saying, “he said ‘You give that back, kender!’ and then he stole my Feather of Might!”
Faunelle laughed at this, commenting that the Tanis person had been spending too much time with a person named Flint.
Sky lay on her pallet, wondering if she should call attention to the fact that she was now awake. She closed her eyes, affecting sleep. What should she do? On the one hand, she felt very awkward; Faunelle had not bothered to wake her when the stranger appeared and so probably wished to speak with him alone. On the other hand, with a kender in the camp, she would much rather be awake to take stock of her items. Not to mention the fact that she knew Faunelle only slightly better than she knew the kender; what if they were conspiring to kill her in her sleep?
Sky opened her eyes to see what Faunelle and the kender were up to and gasped. Not even a foot from her face two bright kender eyes stared back at her, twinkling with curiosity. Sky gasped and put her hand to her heart, trying to slow the palpitations.
“She’s awake!” the kender exclaimed, shouting over his shoulder to Faunelle. Turning back to Sky he said: “Didn’t I sneak up on you well? There’s nothing on Krynn stealthier than a kender, and I should know because I’ve been everywhere! Yes sir-ee, kender are definitely the sneakiest sneaks!”
Skyflame did not argue this point.
“Tasslehoff, be quiet,” Faunelle admonished from the fire. “I’m sorry, Sky; I just asked Tas to check and see if you had awaken yet because your breakfast is getting cold. I honestly didn’t think he’d make such a production out of it.”
“I’m fine,” Sky said. She got to her feet and walked over to the elf, taking the plate that Faunelle offered to her.
Faunelle introduced the kender while Sky ate. He was, apparently, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, a friend of Faunelle’s from Solace. He had been wandering around in search of “interesting things” when Faunelle had almost shot him while hunting for fresh meat for breakfast.
“I wasn’t scared,” Tas interrupted. “Lucky for me, I had my Omnipotent String of Courage with me…”
Faunelle reached over and plucked the leather thong from Tasslehoff’s grasp. Sighing, she used it to tie her hair back from her face. Sky smiled; Faunelle seemed very used to this sort of thing.
“That’s all right,” Tas said, unperturbed, “it was going to be a present for you, anyway, Faunelle.”
“I did not think elves ate meat,” Sky observed presently. Breakfast for all three travellers had been a roasted hare that Faunelle had shot earlier.
“Traditionally, we do not. Habbakuk frowns on it,” Faunelle said by way of explanation. “But though elf was I born, I was raised as a human, and humans eat meat.”
“So if you were raised with human traditions, why did you choose the white robes and not the red?” Sky asked, digging deeper.
Faunelle thought for a moment. She looked at the trees surrounding the clearing almost as if they were kin rather than firewood. “I guess as a way of keeping some of my heritage alive, though so much of it is gone from my life.”
The three travellers ate the rest of their meals in silence before packing up the camp. Skyflame watched Faunelle out of the corner of her eye until she saw the elf pick up the bow. Sky marched across the clearing, grabbed Faunelle’s hands and stared at them scrutinizingly.
“How?” she demanded, still holding tight to Faunelle’s hands. “Your hands should be burned with holy flame. It is forbidden!” she exclaimed, glaring at Faunelle’s bow.
“Not for apprentice magi,” Faunelle said, picking up her bow from where she had dropped it on the ground.
“You never passed the Test?” Sky asked incredulously.
Tasslehoff bounced over into the conversation, completely unaware of the tension between the two women. “Faunelle’s mentor died in the Great Battle before she – Faunelle, I mean, not Gwyllyn. Gwyllyn is – was – Faunelle’s mentor. You know, the one that died. Not that Faunelle has another mentor – I don’t think. Faunelle, do you have another mentor yet…?”
“Enough!” Sky cried, absolutely baffled. Faunelle, what in the Abyss is that kender prattling on about?”
“Er… Tasslehoff was trying to explain that my mentor, a white mage named Gwyllyn, was killed in the Great Battle before I was ready to take the Test. I have yet to find another white mage in need of a half-trained apprentice, so I merely run Gwyllyn’s herbal shop to earn my living.”
Sky felt horrible. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I had no idea.”
Faunelle smiled prettily at her. “It’s quite all right. Gwyllyn died nobly, as she would have liked, and I have my hands full now caring for Laertes.
“It’s just as well, I think,” Faunelle said as she helped Tasslehoff into his pack. “Gwyllyn always said I would make a better archer than a mage!”
*****
Dalamar watched expressionlessly as the two women disappeared into the Shoikan Grove. He shut the large vallenwood door behind him with a sombre thud. Silence at last. Dalamar was not sure which was worse, chatter-wise: a pair of kender or a pair of women. Kender were far worse, he decided at length. At least a woman on her own could enjoy the occasional bout of quietude. Kender, on the other hand, had a disconcerting habit of talking to animals, plants, or even walls if there were no sentient beings around to annoy.
Retiring to the cozy parlour, Dalamar created a magical fire in the fireplace. There were logs in place for show, but they did not burn as the magical flames danced and played across them. Such a waste of life, Dalamar was wont to say, to cut down a life form in the prime of its life and then to burn it, not on a ceremonial pyre, but in a dirty stone hole. But some of the tower’s prestigious guests, such as the Lord Knights of Palanthas, heads of the Knights of Solamnia, were not magic-users and became alarmed at the sight of a fuel-less fire. And so, Dalamar had purchased three beautiful aspen logs from a human trader residing near the Qualinesti lands and had laid them with reverence in the spotlessly clean fireplace in the tower's parlour. The logs, however, sported a single burn mark between them where Skyflame, unknowing, had tried to light a fire. Sky had watched in bewilderment as Dalamar came rushing to the aid of his "babies," dousing the flame with the glass of spring water he had been carrying and began to nurse their "wound," cooing words of sympathy at them and casting dirty looks at his mage friend.
Dalamar looked now to the ugly black scorch mark. He could have turned the afflicted log, placed it at the back of the pile, but the elf felt that to do so would be dishonourable, like recoiling from the face of a knight who had been wounded in battle. The log had, after all, suffered the burn so that its brethren might remain unscathed. The log was a hero! And so, it remained at the front of the pile, proudly displaying its scar for the tower's guests to contemplate and respect.
The elf amused himself for a while by changing the colours of the fire. First red, then a deep blue, then a striking forest green - his personal favourite. As Dalamar watched, the flames changed of their own accord back to a blueish colour, only this time they changed to more of a grey-blue - like the sky after a thunderstorm. Dalamar looked closer, and the flames themselves began to change, merging and mutating to form the countenance of the Dragon Highlord Kitiara.
"You are idle, my pet," the apparition said in its ghostly voice. "What have you done to further our glorious cause?"
Dalamar smiled and caressed the flames lovingly; the magical fire did not harm his skin. "My darling, there is no rush; the Qualinesti suspect nothing. Better still, Skyflame has gone gallivanting off to Solace on some fool's errand. She'll be out of our hair for weeks!"
Despite its fiery constitution, the apparition of the highlord fixed Dalamar with an icy stare. "You are lucky, Dalamar, my love. You have been far too lax of late. I thought for sure Sky would catch on when she stumbled across your lair. Thanks be to Takhisis that her mind was still cloudy with grief for my brother, Raistlin." Kitiara paused here, and Dalamar was sure he could see laughter dancing among the flames. "All-powerful wizard my foot!" she cried triumphantly, and then added, "He was an easy kill."
The two remained in silence for a time, basking in their victory. After a time they began to discuss their plans, murmuring quietly despite the fact that there was no one around for miles to overhear them.
"I need two months, love," Kit finished, tousling Dalamar's hair with the flames of her fingers. "Buy me two months' time; that's all I need."
"Skyflame will return before then," Dalamar said apprehensively. "What if she suspects something? She is still more powerful than I."
Kitiara smiled an evil smile. "You know what you need to do." As quickly as the apparition appeared, it vanished, and all that was left was the magical fire, crackling away on its bed of aspen logs.
Dalamar manipulated the colours of the flames again, splitting the fire in twain: one half lavender and the other black as the Abyss. The fires blazed in equal brilliance for a time, but within moments the lavender flame dimmed and was quickly devoured by the black, consumed in its entirety.
The elf mirrored his mistress' wretched grin. He did, indeed, know what to do.
"Speaker?" The elven chamberlain called softly from the large crystal doorway that marked the entrance to the bedroom of Solostaran, Speaker of the Sun and ruler of Qualinesti. The Speaker looked up feebly from the sheets, his face pallid and sickly. He had been ill for several weeks, and no medicine, no matter how powerful, helped for more than a few hours.
"Leave me," Solostaran told his attendant weakly. "Tell the courtiers that I shall not be holding court today."
The chamberlain bowed his head in acknowledgement and respect. "Yes, Your Magesty. But, Your Majesty, a messenger has just arrived from the city of Palanthas, from the wizard Dalamar. The wizard has sent more of his healing elixir that you favour. It is stronger than the last batch, says the messenger."
"Just as I have run out! Excellent," the Speaker said, trying to sit up. "Send him in."
As promised, the elixir cured the Speaker's ailments more effectively than before. Solostaran was in perfect health for several days before the strange illness returned, more debilitating than ever before.
*****
"What did you say, Tas?" Faunelle asked as she looked across the expanse of Crystalmir Lake.
"I said," Tasslehoff repeated, not the least bit exasperated that Faunelle hadn't been listening, "that Tanis and Flint left Solace just after you did. Solostaran is sick so they went to visit him."
Faunelle looked extremely worried at this. "The Speaker must be terribly unwell for Tanis to return to Qualinost. It's not exactly his favourite place on Krynn."
"A friend of yours knows the Speaker of the Sun?" Sky was impressed. The Qualinesti were a notoriously private people, and were not renowned for their friendships with outsiders. The Qualinesti were far more open than their eastern cousins, the Silvanesti, but this intimate relationship with a man from Solace seemed almost beyond belief.
"Tanthalas - Tanis - is Qualinesti. He's the Speaker's adopted son," Faunelle explained.
The conversation ended as the ferryman and his craft neared the northern shore. Skyflame eyed the craft warily, noting a distinct lack of floatation devices in case the boat should founder.
"Humph," the ferryman said, noticing the mage's reluctance to come aboard. "Ah don't need no hoity-toity floaty dee-vices. The Holy Mirahla is as sound a ship as they come, an' Ah won't stands for nobody what says nothin' else!"
Skyflame eyed the prow of the ship speculatively where the name Holy Mirahla was stencilled lovingly in white paint. She noted, however, an obvious space between the "l" and the "y" that looked suspiciously like it might once have contained an "e". Sky fervently prayed to Gilean for a safe voyage.
The ferryman, a middle-aged human, seemed anxious to head out. "Storm's a-comin'," he said unnecessarily, pointing to the large grey clouds that were rolling in from the north.
Sky stepped tentatively into the Holy Mirahla and was surprised to find it one of the most stable ships that she had ever been aboard. She settled herself comfortably on the worn, wooden seat, as far away from the uncouth ferryman as possible.
While Faunelle and Tasslehoff talked quietly about recent happenings in Solace, Skyflame studied the ever-nearing storm clouds. There was something unsettling about them, she thought. They did not "roll" in, like usual clouds, but rather seemed to rush towards the lake, quite contrary to the gentle breeze that seemed to be fuelling them. Sky paused, amazed. The breeze that pushed the clouds was coming directly from the north, yet the clouds themselves were bearing down on them from the northwest! The storm was obviously magical in nature, but even that was not terribly unusual. The week that it had taken them to travel from Palanthas had been dry; the storm was conjured to provide water for some farmer's crops. Usually the mage would simply create a gentle rain in these circumstances, but there was always the odd mage with a flair for the dramatic. Skyflame paid the storm no more heed.
"We're almost there," Faunelle called over her shoulder. She pointed a slender finger across the expanse of water to a short pier that jutted out from the shoreline. A path led away from the pier but disappeared a short distance away into the greenest, lushest forest that Sky had ever seen.
While the sight of the magnificent trees took her breath away, Skyflame found that it was readily replaced by the increasing wind from the storm. The wind had, in fact, become so strong that the old ferryman was beginning to have some difficulty in keeping their small craft on course.
"This is great!" Tas cried, jumping to his feet. "Look how high the waves are getting! I wonder which side of the boat the waves are higher on?"
The ferryman frowned in consternation as the kender clambered from side to side trying to judge the relative heights of the waves. Sky gathered that the resulting motion was not having an entirely positive effect on the ferryman's ability to steer.
Faunelle did not seem to be benefiting from it, either. Her face had gone completely green and she was surreptitiously staying close to the leeward side of the small craft. She noticed Skyflame studying her and seemed to plead with her eyes for her fellow mage to do something to alleviate her condition.
Sky stood up, cautiously, and moved to apprehend the kender. Reflecting, Skyflame never quite understood what happened next: Tasslehoff darted away from her, rocking the boat perilously and knocking her off balance. At the same time the wind rose to a momentous level. She felt herself being lifted in the air and in the next instant felt the shock of the icy water as she was plunged by unseen hands into the depths of the lake.
"Skyflame!" Faunelle cried, staring at the spot where the mage's red robes had disappeared below the surface. "Paladine, help her!" The white mage turned her face to the heavens, imploring the mercy of her god. What she saw was not a divine hand, poised to intervene, but a spot, black as death, darker than the storm clouds under which it soared. As she watched, a patch of sunlight burst through the clouds and illuminated the spot, which now glowed radiant silver.
"Laertes?" Faunelle gasped, and watched in horror as her son fell from the sky and plunged headfirst into the boat's turbulent wake.
*****
"As sure as the beard on my face, this storm is from the Abyss!" Flint Fireforge exclaimed. He was sitting, mostly dry, beneath the sheltering branches of a tall pine tree and complaining audibly to his half-elven friend.
"That's what you say about every storm, Flint," Tanis replied amiably.
The dwarf muttered a curse under his breath. "Well, this time it's true! Have you ever seen such a storm?"
Tanis had not. They were now well into Qualinesti lands wherein the weather was tempered by the Woodshapers, elven mages, to cater to the needs of the land's fabulous gardens. Around him the vegetation was being flattened in the heavy downpour, and Tanis had no doubt that in the capital city of Qualinost the Woodshapers were hard at work trying to spare the elves' roses from suffering the same fate.
As the men waited, the storm gradually wound down until it was nothing more than a misty haze over a muddy forest path. Tanis and Flint continued on their journey, cursing occasionally when a false step splattered muddy water on one or both of them.
A clash of steel heard from around a bend in the path caught their attentions at the same time. Without a word they abandoned the road for the shelter of the trees and silently crept forward through the thick underbrush to scout out the source of the commotion. Flint thanked Reorx for the rain, lest their footsteps be heard on dry, dead leaves, and apologized profusely for doubting his god's foresight.
On the road before them a traveller was desperately fighting a band of goblins. The man wielded a shortsword, but was outmatched by the bandits both in number and in skill. As they watched, the man clumsily parried a swordthrust from one of the goblins only to lose his balance in the process and fall on his backside. He quickly got to his feet and the macabre dance began anew.
Without wasting another second, Tanis and Flint launched themselves into the fray, shouting war cries in Elvish, Dwarven, Common, and any other language in which they new curses. Startled, the goblins turned their focus to the new foes, adding curses in their own gutteral language.
One of the goblins mercilessly chopped at Tanis with his sword, which the half-elf blocked easily. he returned the blow with one of his own to the goblin's neck, severing its fould head from its equally foul body. Next to him a goblin squealed in terror and in pain as it narrowly avoided a death blow from Flint's battleaxe, backing away with its skull intact but minus the arm that saved it. The remaining goblins fled into the forest, apparently deciding to save their strenth for a more profitable fight.
The lone traveller, whom Tanis and Flint now saw to be a human male, perhaps in his twenties, walked towards where they were standing. He quickly studied his tunic, looking for a clean place to wipe the mud from his hands in order to thank his rescuers. Finding none, the man settled instead for a graceful bow.
"Good sirs," he said, his head bowed low. "I am forever in your debt. Tell me, what can I do to repay the kindness you have shown me today?"
"There is no need," Flint said, slapping a muddy hand on the man's back. "We hate goblins as much as the next traveller. you really shouldn't be travelling alone on these roads, though, especially since you're so terrible with a sword."
Tanis made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and poked his friend in the side, but the man just smiled.
"You need not be embarrassed, elf; your dwarf friend speaks but the truth. Perhaps I could travel with you if it is no inconvenience?"
Tanis and Flint exchanged a look. Bringing a stranger into Qualinost would certainly disgruntle the elves, to say the least.
"Sure," Tanis said without giving the matter a second thought. "Where are you headed?"
"Solace. I am to meet someone there."
"We'll be heading that way in a few days, if you don't mind a short detour. In the meantime, you're welcome to join us in Qualinost..." Tanis trailed off.
"Call me Orin," the man said. "And I'd be delighted to."
*****
Tanis, Flint and Orin arrived late the next morning at a bridge, on the other side of which lay the crystal gates of the elven capital of Qualinost. The bridge was strung across an immense chasm, at the bottom of which ran a churning river rapids, aptly named the Thon-Thalas, or White Rage River. Thye waited patiently on the eastern cliff for an elven warrior of the city guard to cross the bridge and bid them enter.
Tanis watched with mild apprehension as his full-blooded brethren crossed in safety above the roiling water. Although he had lived among the elves for many years of his life, he had no love for them, nor they for him. his half-human blood was the result of the rape of his mother by a human rogue and his presence in Qualinost was a constant reminder of that violent time when the elves and humans had been at war. Tanis had lived in the city as an outcast, and it had been a great relief to both him and to the elves when he had left with Flint several decades ago to live in Solace.
Upon reaching the eastern cliff the guard bowed and addressed them in the Common tongue, out of respect for Flint who was a favourite artisan of the Speaker of the Sun. "His Majesty, Solostaran, sends his greetings to the dwarf, Flint Fireforge, and to Tanthalas of the house of Kanan, and asks that you accept his hospitality and lodge with him in the Tower of the Sun."
The first addressed, Flint humbly accepted Solostaran's offer, mumbling in his embarrassment at being greeted ahead of Tanis, the Speaker's adopted son.
"Who is the human?" asked the guard, making no attempt to mask his comtempt.
"Here, now!" Flint bellowed, forgetting his previous embarrassment in his ire. "This young man is a friend of ours and travels with us, and if you elves don't like it you can... ow! By Reorx, that hurt!" he exclaimed upon receiving a kick in the backside from Tanis.
"As you wish," said the guard, who then turned on his heel and began the trek into the city.
The Tower of the Sun was a building fashioned of rose-coloured crystal that stood on a small hill at the northern border of Qualinost. The Tower was the tallest building in the city and from its spire the Speaker could see out over all of Qualinost and much of the surrounding Qualinesti lands. As it was, Solostaran was curious, though not entirely surprised, to see a human man genuflecting before him in the company of the dwarf and the half-elf.
"Flint, my friend!" Solostaran said, rising from his throne and favouring the dwarf a hearty handshake. Next he turned to Tanis whom he clasped to him in a fatherly embrace, much to the chagrin of the elven courtiers.
"But who is this?" the Speaker asked, gesturing towards Orin.
Tanis was quick to take control of the conversation. "This is Orin, Your Majesty. He was of great help to Flint and I yesterday when we found ourselves beset by a horde of enraged goblins. Why, if it weren't for Orin's bravery, Flint and I may not have made it to Qualinost alive!"
There was murmured approval among the courtiers and a cry of amazement from the Speaker himself. "Is that so?" said Solostaran, clapping Orin amiably on the back. "Qualinost always welcomes a hero! Tomorrow evening there shall be a feast in your honour, sir. Until then, feel free to take in our glorious city as my personal guest."
Suddenly the Speaker doubled up in a fit of coughing that would have elicited sympathy even from Raistlin. Hoarsely, he ordered his courtiers from the room while his manservant rushed to his side with a dose of Dalamar's potion already diluted in a goblet of wine in anticipation of one of the Speaker's frequent attacks.
The potion eased his cough in a matter of minutes and it was not long before Solostaran was issuing orders for Tanis, Flint and Orin to be shown to their rooms. The travellers were tired after their long journey and fell asleep almost immediately in their warm feather beds to the sound of the wind moving through the aspen leaves outside their windows.
Rising late the next morning, Tanis and Flint were surprised to see Orin washed and dressed and waiting anxiously in the hallway outside their doors. The three broke their fasts together and the slight Orin astounded the two muscular warriors by wolfing down his meal and pacing the room, impatient to begin his exploration of the strange, new city.
Flint chuckled and fondly stroked his beard. "You're a man after my own dwarven heart," he said to Orin, pointing to the man's empty plate. Orin merely shrugged his shoulders and beamed at the obvious compliment.
It was market day in Qualinost and all the local merchants were proudly displaying their wares in the square outside the Tower. News of the human hero had spread well ahead of them, and many of the elves hailed Orin on catching sight of him, trying to entice him to their kiosks under the promise of "special discounts - for heroes only."
Orin was more than happy to oblige his fans, flitting from stand to stand in a fit of youthful energy always with a variation of the same question. At the cobbler's he asked for boots like Flint's; at the clotheir's, a belt like Flint's; at the armourer's, mail like Flint's.
Tanis smiled and nudged his friend knowingly. "It seems like you have an admirer."
Flint reddened slightly and smoothed his beard self-indulgently, muttering under his breath that the human had good sense about him, unlike certain half-elves he could mention.
Tanis' laugh was interrupted by a gentle top on his shoulder. he turned around to greet what was presumably an old acquaintance, and paled. He dropped his gaze to the ground and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.
"Laurana!" Flint cried, seeing the elf maiden. "The last time I saw you, you were just a girl! It looks like you've done a lot of growing up while this old dwarf has been away."
It was true. In the last twenty years Laurana had blossomed from a gentle and inquisitive youth into a stunningly beautiful woman. her golden-blonde hair flowed down past her slender waist, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight.
The dwarf reached for Laurana's hand that he might kiss it in the proper courtly fashion, but the princess brushed his hand away.
"We are beyond such formalities, Uncle Flint," she said, and planted a kiss on the dwarf's forehead. Flint's face, already red from both Orin's admiration and the morning's ale, turned an even brighter shade, the colour of hot metal on a forge.
The humble dwarf gave a hearty laugh and patted Laurana on the arm, which was about as high up on her as he could reach now or he would have patted her head the way he had when she was still a child.
"Come now, lassie," he said, gently steering her away from the stricken half-elf. "have you met the man of the hour? Old Orin here saved your uncle's hide but a few days past! He rampaged onto the path, sword glinting red in the twilight, a promise of things to come! Why, he must have killed thirty, no, forty goblins before any of them managed to escape..."
But Laurana was not paying attention. As she passed Tanis she laid a hand gently on his arm. Tanis stiffened at her touch and Laurana pulled her hand away as if she had been scalded. And perhaps she had; her upper lip quivered and her eyes seemed to brim with tears, but just for a moment. In an instant her eyes were dry and her head was held high, as becomes a princess. She greeted Orin graciously and asked to be regaled with tales of his heroism on Krynn. Orin happily obliged, deciding to begin with the time he had saved Tanis and Flint from a horde of fifty goblins, not one of which managed to escape his angry blade.
"To Orin! Protector of the Qualinesti!" Solostaran shouted, holding a glass of wine high in honour of the human. Below him in the garden the toast was echoed by hundreds of elves seated at finely-laid tables; they were th enobles of Qualinost.
"Thank you, elves," Orin said reverently, raising to accept the Speaker's toast. "I regret that I do not have a speech prepared for you on this glorious night. But perhaps, if I may, you would like to hear about the time I laid waste to a horde of no less than sixty goblins..."
Orin had to stop as he was suddenly overcome by racking coughs. He assured the Speaker and his friends that he would be fine, but Solostaran insisted on sending a servant to retrieve a dose of his healing elixir.
Laurana brought Orin a glass of water to help ease his cough until the elixir could be prepared, which she held for him as he drank gratefully.
"Father," she said, addressing Solostaran, who was hovering worriedly over his guest of honour. "Isn't Orin the most extraordinary human you have ever met? Look at his fair complexion and deep blue eyes. By Paladine, there is elf in him somewhere!"
Solostaran nodded an agreement and took the medicinal wine from the retourning servant. This he handed to Orin with a flourish, guaranteeing that it was just what the man needed to cure his ailments.
Orin, who was already in his cups after the previous five toasts, accepted the goblet from the Speaker and took a tentative sniff.
"Bah!" he said, flinging the wine to the ground. "I want none of your elf poison! It's dwarf spirits that my body requires!"
The diners fell silent, all except Flint who let out a loud guffaw.
"Water, my lad! Elf water is what we call wine! Er, though usually we keep those thoughts to ourselves," he added, glancing sheepishly at Laurana.
With the commotion over and Orin settled happily with the finest Thorbardin mushroom spirits, Flint took the opportunity to sidle over to Solostaran and whisper wryly, "Pretty he may be, Your Majesty, but are you sure it's not dwarf he's got in him?"
