4

Rescue.

Fizban's magic.

Raistlin suffered in body, Sturm suffered in mind, but perhaps the one who experienced the keenest suffering during the companions' four-day imprisonment was Tasslehoff.

The cruelest form of torture one can inflict on a kender is to lock him up. Of course, it is also widely believed that the crudest form of torture one can inflict on any other species is to lock them up with a kender. After three days of Tasslehoff s incessant chatter, pranks, and practical jokes, the companions would have willingly traded the kender for a peaceful hour of being stretched on the rack—at least that's what Flint said.

Finally, after even Goldmoon lost her temper and nearly slapped him, Tanis sent Tasslehoff to the back of the cart. His legs hanging over the edge, the kender pressed his face against the iron bars and thought he would die of misery. He had never been so bored in his entire life.

Things got interesting with the discovery of Fizban, but the old man's amusement value wore thin when Tanis made Tas return the old magician's pouches. And so, driven to the point of desperation, Tasslehoff latched onto a new diversion.

Sestun, the gully dwarf.

The companions generally regarded Sestun with amused pity. The gully dwarf was the object of Toede's ridicule and mistreatment. He ran the Fewmaster's errands all night long, carrying messages from Toede at the front of the caravan to the hobgoblin captain at the rear, lugging food up to the Fewmaster from the supply cart; feeding and watering the Fewmaster's pony, and any other nasty jobs the Fewmaster could devise. Toede knocked him flat at least three times a day, the draconians tormented him, and the hobgoblins stole his food. Even the elk kicked at him whenever he trotted past. The gully dwarf bore it all with such a grimly defiant spirit that it won him the sympathy of the companions.

Sestun began to stay near the companions when not busy. Tanis, eager for information about Pax Tharkas, asked him about his homeland and how he came to work for the Fewmaster. The story took over a day for Sestun to relate and another day for the companions to piece together, since he started in the middle and plunged headlong into the beginning.

What it amounted to, eventually, wasn't much help. Sestun was among a large group of gully dwarves living in the hills around Pax Tharkas when Lord Verminaard and his draconians captured the iron mines which he needed to make steel weapons for his troops.

"Big fire—all day, all night. Bad smell." Sestun wrinkled his nose. "Pound rock. All day, all night. I get good job in kitchen"—his face brightened a moment—"fix hot soup. Very hot." His face fell. "Spill soup. Hot soup heat up armor real fast. Lord Verminaard sleep on back for week." He sighed. "I go with Fewmaster. Me volunteer."

"Maybe we can shut the mines down," Caramon suggested.

"That's a thought," Tanis mused. "How many draconians does Lord Verminaard have guarding the mines?"

"Two!" Sestun said, holding up ten grubby fingers.

Tanis sighed, remembering where they had heard that before.

Sestun looked at him hopefully. "There be only two dragons, too."

"Two dragons!" Tanis said incredulously.

"Not more than two."

Caramon groaned and settled back. The warrior had been giving dragon fighting serious thought ever since Xak Tsaroth. He and Sturm had reviewed every tale about Huma, the only known dragon fighter the knight could remember. Unfortunately, no one had ever taken the legends of Huma seriously before (except the Solamnic Knights, for which they were ridiculed), so much of Huma's tale had been distorted by time or forgotten.

"A knight of truth and power, who called down the gods themselves and forged the mighty Dragonlance," Caramon murmured now, glancing at Sturm, who lay asleep on the straw-covered floor of their prison.

"Dragonlance?" muttered Fizban, waking with a snort. "Dragonlance? Who said anything about the Dragonlance?"

"My brother," Raistlin whispered, smiling bitterly. "Quoting the Canticle. It seems he and the knight have taken a fancy to children's stories that have come to haunt them."

"Good story, Huma and the Dragonlance," said the old man, stroking his beard.

"Story—that's all it is." Caramon yawned and scratched his chest. "Who knows if it's real or if the Dragonlance was real or if even Huma was real."

"We know the dragons are real," Raistlin murmured.

"Huma was real," Fizban said softly. "And so was the Dragonlance." The old man's face grew sad.

"Was it?" Caramon sat up. "Can you describe it?"

"Of course!" Fizban sniffed disdainfully.

Everyone was listening now. Fizban was, in fact, a bit disconcerted by his audience.

"It was a weapon similiar to—no, it wasn't. Actually it was—no, it wasn't that either. It was closer to ... almost a ... rather it was, sort of a—lance, that's it! A lance!" He nodded earnestly. "And it was quite good against dragons."

"I'm taking a nap," Caramon grumbled.

Tanis smiled and shook his head. Sitting back against the bars, he wearily closed his eyes. Soon everyone except Raistlin and Tasslehoff fell into a fitful sleep. The kender, wide awake and bored, looked at Raistlin hopefully. Sometimes, if Raistlin was in a good mood, he would tell stories about magic-users of old. But the mage, wrapped in his red robes, was staring curiously at Fizban. The old man sat on a bench, snoring gently, his head bobbing up and down as the cart jounced over the road. Raistlin's golden eyes narrowed to gleaming slits as though he had been struck by a new and disturbing thought. After a moment, he pulled his hood up over his head and leaned back, his face lost in the shadows.

Tasslehoff sighed. Then, glancing around, he saw Sestun walking near the cage. The kender brightened. Here, he knew, was an appreciative audience for his stories.

Tasslehoff, calling him over, began to relate one of his own personal favorites. The two moons sank. The prisoners slept. The hobgoblins trailed along behind, half-asleep, talking about making camp soon. Fewmaster Toede rode up ahead, dreaming about promotion. Behind the Fewmaster, the draconians muttered among themselves in their harsh language, casting baleful glances at Toede when he wasn't looking.

Tasslehoff sat, swinging his legs over the side of the cage, talking to Sestun."The kender noticed without seeming to that Gilthanaswas only pretending to sleep. Tas saw the elf's eyes open and glance quickly around when he thought no one was watching. This intrigued Tas immensely. It seemed almost as if Gilthanas was watching or waiting for something. The kender lost the thread of his story.

"And so I... uh ... grabbed a rock from my pouch, threw it and—thunk—hit the wizard right on the head," Tas finished hurriedly. "The demon grabbed the wizard by the foot and dragged him down into the depths of the Abyss."

"But first demon thank you," prompted Sestun who had heard this story—with variations—twice before. "You forgot."

"Did I?" Tas asked, keeping an eye on Gilthanas. "Well, yes, the demon thanked me and took away the magic ring he'd given me. If it wasn't dark, you could see the outline the ring burned on my finger."

"Sun uping. Morning soon. I see then," the gully dwarf said eagerly.

It was still dark, but a faint light in the east hinted that soon the sun would be rising on the fourth day of their journey.

Suddenly Tas heard a bird call in the woods. Several answered it. What odd-sounding birds, Tas thought. Never heard their like before. But then he'd never been this far south before. He knew where they were from one of his many maps.

They had passed over the only bridge across the White-rage River and were heading south toward Pax Tharkas, which was marked on the kender's map as the site of the famed Thadarkan iron mines. The land began to rise, and thick forests of aspens appeared to the west. The draconians and hobgoblins kept eyeing the forests and their pace picked up. Concealed within these woods was Qualinesti, the ancient elvenhome.

Another bird called, much nearer now. Then the hair rose on Tasslehoff's neck as the same bird call sounded from right behind him. The kender turned to see Gilthanas on his feet, his fingers to his lips, an eerie whistle splitting the air.

"Tanis!" Tas yelled, but the half-elf was already awake. So was everyone in the cart.

Fizban sat up, yawned, and glanced around. "Oh, good," he said mildly, "the elves are here."

"What elves—where?" Tanis sat up.

There was a sudden whirring sound like a covey of quail taking flight. A cry rang out from the supply wagon in front of them, then there was a splintering sound as the wagon, now driverless, lurched into a rut and tipped over. The driver of their cage wagon pulled sharply on the reins, stopping the elk before they ran into the wrecked supply wagon. The cage tipped precariously, sending the prisoners sprawling. The driver got the elk going again and guided them around the wreckage.

Suddenly the driver of the cage screamed and clutched at his neck where the companions saw the feathered shaft of an arrow silhouetted against the dimly lit morning sky. The driver's body tumbled from the seat. The other guard stood up, sword raised, then he, too, toppled forward with an arrow in his chest. The elk, reeling the reins go slack, slowed until the cage rolled to a halt. Cries and screams echoed up and down the caravan as arrows whizzed through the air.

The companions fell for cover face first on the floor of the cage.

"What is it? What's going on?" Tanis asked Gilthanas.

But the elf, ignoring him, peered through the dawn gloom into the forest. "Porthios!" he called.

"Tanis, what's happening?" Sturm sat up, speaking his first words in four days.

"Porthios is Gilthanas's brother. I take it this is a rescue," Tanis said. An arrow zipped past and lodged in the wooden side of the cart, narrowly missing the knight.

"It won't be much of a rescue if we end up dead!" Sturm dropped to the floor. "I thought elves were expert marksmen!"

"Keep low." Gilthanas ordered. "The arrows are only to cover our escape. This is a strike-and-run raid. My people are not capable of attacking a large body directly. We must be ready to run for the woods."

"And how do we get out of these cages?" Sturm demanded.

"We cannot do everything for you!" Gilthanas replied coldly. "There are magic-users—"

"I cannot work without my spell components!" Raistlin hissed from beneath a bench. "Keep down. Old One," he said to Fizban who, head raised, was looking around with interest.

"Perhaps I can help," the old magician said, his eyes brightening. "Now, let me think—"

"What in the name of the Abyss is going on?" roared a voice out of the darkness. Fewmaster Toede appeared, galloping on his pony. "Why have we stopped?"

"We under attack!" Sestun cried, crawling out from under the cage where he'd taken cover.

"Attack? BIyxtshok! Get this cart moving!" Toede shouted. An arrow thunked into the Fewmaster's saddle. Toede's red eyes flew open and he stared fearfully into the woods. "We're under attack! Elves! Trying to free the prisoners!"'

"Driver and guard dead!" Sestun shouted, flattening himself against the cage as another arrow just missed him. "What me do?"

An arrow zipped over Toede's head. Ducking, he had to clutch his pony's neck to keep himself from falling off. "I'll get another driver," he said hastily. "You stay here. Guard these prisoners with your life! I'll hold you responsible if they escape."

The Fewmaster stuck his spurs into his pony and the fear crazed animal leaped forward. "My guard! Hobgoblins! To me!" the Fewmaster yelled as he galloped to the rear of the line.

His shouts echoed back. "Hundreds of elves! We're surrounded. Charge to the north! I must report this to Lord Verminaard." Toede reined in at the sight of a draconian captain. "You draconians tend to the prisoners!" He spurred his horse on, still shouting, and one hundred hobgoblins charged after their valiant leader away from the battle. Soon, they were completely out of sight.

"Well, that takes care of the hobgoblins," Sturm said, his face relaxing in a smile. "Now all we have left to worry about is fifty or so draconians. I don't suppose, by the way, that there are hundreds of elves out there?"

Gilthanas shook his head. "More like twenty."

Tika, lying flat on the floor, cautiously raised her head and looked south. In the pale morning light, she could see the hulking forms of the draconians about a mile ahead, leaping into the cover on either side of the road as the elven archers moved down to fire into their ranks. She touched Tanis's arm, pointing.

"We've got to get out of this cage," Tanis said, looking back. "The draconians won't bother taking us to Pax Tharkas now that the Fewmaster's gone. They'll just butcher us in these cages. Caramon?"

"I'll try," the fighter rumbled. He stood and gripped the bars of the cage in his huge hands. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to force the bars apart. His face reddened, the muscles in his arms bunched, the knuckles on his big hands turned white. It was useless. Gasping for breath, Caramon flattened himself on the floor.

"Sestun!" Tasslehoff cried. "Your axe! Break the lock!"

The gully dwarf's eyes opened wide. He stared at the companions, then he glanced down the trail the Fewmaster had taken. His face twisted in an agony of indecision.

"Sestun—" Tasslehoff began. An arrow zinged past the kender. The draconians behind them were moving forward, firing into the cages. Tas flattened himself on the floor. "Sestun," he began again, "help free us and you can come with us!"

A look of firm resolve hardened Sestun's features. He reached for his axe, which he wore strapped onto his back. The companions watched in nailbiting frustration as Sestun felt all around his shoulders for the axe, which was located squarely in the middle of his back. Finally, one hand discovered the handle and he pulled the axe out. The blade glinted in the gray light of dawn.

Flint saw it and groaned. "That axe is older than I am! It must date back to the Cataclysm! He probably couldn't cut through a kender's brain, let alone that lock!"

"Hush!" Tanis instructed, although his own hopes sank at the sight of the gully dwarf's weapon. It wasn't even a battle-axe, just a small, battered, rusty woodcutting axe the gully dwarf had apparently picked up somewhere, thinking it was a weapon. Sestun tucked the axe between his knees and spat on his hands.

Arrows thunked and clattered around the bars of the cage. One struck Caramon's shield. Another pinned Tika's blouse to the side of the cage, grazing her arm. Tika couldn't remember being more terrified in her life—not even the night dragons struck Solace. She wanted to scream, she wanted Caramon to put his arm around her. But Caramon didn't dare move.

Tika caught sight of Goldmoon, shielding the injured Theros with her body, her face pale but calm. Tika pressed her lips together and drew a deep breath. Grimly she yanked the arrow out of the wood and tossed it to the floor, ignoring the stinging pain in her arm. Looking south, she saw that the draconians, momentarily confused by the sudden attack and the disappearance of Toede, were organized now, on their feet and running toward the cages. Their arrows filled the air. Their chest armor gleamed in the dim gray light of morning, so did the bright steel of their longswords, which they carried clamped in their jaws as they ran.

"Draconians, closing in," she reported to Tanis, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"Hurry, Sestun!" Tanis shouted.

The gully dwarf gripped the axe, swung it with all his might, and missed the lock, striking the iron bars a blow that nearly jarred the axe from his hands. Shrugging apologetically, he swung again. This time he struck the lock.

"He didn't even dent it," Sturm reported.

"Tanis," Tika quavered, pointing. Several draconians were within ten feet of them, pinned down for a few moments by the elven archers, but all hope of rescue seemed lost.

Sestun struck the lock again.

"He chipped it," Sturm said in exasperation. "At this rate we'll be out in about three days! What are those elves doing, anyway? Why don't they quit skulking about and attack!"

"We don't have enough men to attack a force this size!" Gilthanas returned angrily, crouching next to the knight. "They'll get to us when they can! We are at the front of the line. See, others are escaping."

The elf pointed to the two wagons behind them. The elves had broken the locks and the prisoners were dashing madly for the woods as the elves covered them, darting out from the trees to let fly their deadly barrage of arrows. But once the prisoners were safe, the elves retreated into the trees.

The draconians had no intention of going into the elven woods after them. Their eyes were on the last prison cage and the wagon containing the prisoners' possessions. The companions could hear the shouts of the draconian captains. The meaning was clear: "Kill the prisoners. Divide the spoils."

Everyone could see that the draconians would reach them long before the elves did. Tanis swore in frustration. Everything seemed futile. He felt a stirring at his side. The old magician, Fizban, was getting to his feet.

"No, Old One!" Raistlin grasped at Fizban's robes. "Keep under cover!"

An arrow zipped through the air and stuck in the old man's bent and battered hat. Fizban, muttering to himself, did not seem to notice. He presented a wonderful target in the gray light. Draconian arrows flew around him like wasps, and seemed to have as little effect, although he did appear mildly annoyed when one stuck into a pouch he happened to have his hand in at the moment.

"Get down!" Caramon roared. "You're drawing their fire!"

Fizban did kneel down for a moment, but it was only to talk to Raistlin. "Say there, my boy," he said as an arrow flew past right where he'd been standing. "Have you got a bit of bat guano on you? I'm out."

"No, Old One," Raistlin whispered frantically. "Get down!"

"No? Pity. Well, I guess I'll have to wing it." The old magician stood up, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and rolled up the sleeves of his robes. He shut his eyes, pointed at the cage door, and began to mumble strange words.

"What spell is he casting?" Tanis asked Raistlin. "Can you understand?"

The young mage listened intently, his brow furrowed. Suddenly Raistlin's eyes opened wide. "NO!" he shrieked, trying to pull on the old magician's robe to break his concentration. But it was too late. Fizban said the final word and pointed his finger at the lock on the back door of the cage.

"Take cover!" Raistlin threw himself beneath a bench. Sestun, seeing the old magician point at the cage door—and at him on the other side of it—fell flat on his face. Three draconians, reaching the cage door, their weapons dripping with their saliva, skidded to a halt, staring up in alarm.

"What is it?" Tanis yelled.

"Fireball!" Raistlin gasped and at that moment a gigantic ball of yellow-orange fire shot from the old magician's fingertips and struck the cage door with an explosive boom. Tanis buried his face in his hands as flames billowed and crackled around him. A wave of heat washed over him, searing his lungs. He heard the draconians scream in pain and smelled burning reptile flesh. Then smoke flew down his throat.

"The floor's on fire!" Caramon yelled.

Tanis opened his eyes and staggered to his feet. He expected to see the old magician nothing but a mound of black ash like the bodies of the draconians lying behind the wagon. But Fizban stood staring at the iron door, stroking his singed beard in dismay. The door was still shut.

"That really should have worked," he said.

"What about the lock?" Tanis yelled, trying to see through the smoke. The iron bars of the cell door already glowed red hot.

"It didn't budge!" Sturm shouted. He tried to approach the cage door to kick it open, but the heat radiating from the bars made it impossible. "The lock may be hot enough to break!" He choked in the smoke.

"Sestun!" Tasslehoff's shrill voice rose above the crackling flames. "Try again! Hurry!"

The gully dwarf staggered to his feet, swung the axe, missed, swung again, and hit the lock. The superheated metal shattered, the lock gave way, and the cage door swung open.

"Tanis, help us!" Goldmoon cried as she and Riverwind struggled to pull the injured Theros from his smoking pallet.

"Sturm, the others!" Tanis yelled, then coughed in the smoke. He staggered to the front of the wagon, as the rest jumped out, Sturm grabbing hold of Fizban, who was still staring sadly at the door.

"Come on. Old One!" he yelled, his gentle actions belying his harsh words as he took Fizban's arm. Caramon, Raistlin, and Tika caught Fizban as he jumped from the flaming wreckage.

Tanis and Riverwind lifted Theros by the shoulders and dragged him out, Goldmoon stumbled after them. She and Sturm jumped from the cart just as the ceiling collapsed.

"Caramon! Get our weapons from the supply wagon!" Tanis shouted. "Go with him, Sturm. Flint and Tasslehoff, get the packs. Raistlin—"

"I will—get my pack," the mage said, choking in the smoke. "And my staff. No one else may touch them."

"All right," Tanis said, thinking quickly. "Gilthanas—"

"I am not yours to order around, Tanthalas," the elf snapped and ran off into the woods without looking back.

Before Tanis could answer, Sturm and Caramon ran back.mCaramon's knuckles were split and bleeding. There had been two draconians looting the supply wagon.

"Get moving!" Sturm shouted. "More coming! Where's your elf friend?" he asked Tanis suspiciously.

"He's gone ahead into the woods," Tanis said. "Just remember, he and his people saved us."

"Did they?" Sturm said, his eyes narrow. "It seems that between the elves and the old man, we came closer to getting killed than with just about anything short of the dragon!"

At that moment, six draconians rushed out from the smoke, skidding to a halt at the sight of the warriors.

"Run for the woods!" Tanis yelled, bending down to help Riverwind lift Theros. They carried the smith to cover while Caramon and Sturm stood, side by side, covering their retreat.

Both noticed immediately that the creatures they faced were unlike the draconians they had fought before. Their armor and coloring were different, and they carried bows and longswords, the latter dripping with some sort of awful icor. Both men remembered stories about draconians that turned to acid and those whose bones exploded.

Caramon charged forward, bellowing like an enraged animal, his sword slashing in an arc. Two draconians fell beforemthey knew what was attacking. Sturm saluted the other four with his sword and swept off the head of one in the return stroke. He jumped at the others, but they stopped just out of his range, grinning, apparently waiting for something.

Sturm and Caramon watched uneasily, wondering what was going on. Then they knew. The bodies of the slain draconians near them began to melt into the road. The flesh boiled and ran like lard in a skillet. A yellowish vapor formed over them, mixing with the thinning smoke from the smoldering cage. Both men gagged as the yellow vapor rose around them. They grew dizzy and knew they were being poisoned.

"Come on! Get back!" Tanis yelled from the woods.

The two stumbled back, fleeing through a rainstorm of arrows as a force of forty or fifty draconians swept around the cage, screeching in anger. The draconians started after them, then fell back when a clear voice called out, "Hai! Ulsain!" and ten elves, led by Gilthanas, ran from the woods.

"Quen talas uvenelei!" Gilthanas shouted. Caramon and Sturm staggered past him, the elves covering their retreat, then the elves fell back.

"Follow me," Gilthanas told the companions, switching to High Common. At a sign from Gilthanas, four of the elven warriors picked up Theros and carried him into the woods.

Tanis looked back at the cage. The draconians had come to a halt, eyeing the woods warily.

"Hurry!" Gilthanas urged. "My men will cover you."

Elven voices rose out of the woods, taunting the approaching draconians, trying to lure them into arrow range. The companions looked at each other hesitantly.

"I do not want to enter Elvenwood," Riverwind said harshly.

"It is all right," Tanis said, putting his hand on Riverwind's arm. "You have my pledge." Riverwind stared at him for a moment, then plunged into the woods, the others walking by his side. Last to come were Caramon and Raistlin, helping Fizban. The old man glanced back at the cage, now nothing more than a pile of ashes and twisted iron.

"Wonderful spell. And did anyone say a word of thanks?" he asked wistfully.

The elves led them swiftly through the wilderness. Without their guidance, the party would have been hopelessly lost. Behind them, the sounds of battle turned half-hearted.

"The draconians know better than to follow us into the woods," Gilthanas said, smiling grimly. Tanis, seeing armed elven warriors hidden among the leaves of the trees, had little fear of pursuit. Soon all sounds of fighting were lost.

A thick carpeting of dead leaves covered the ground. Bare tree limbs creaked in the chill wind of early morning. After spending days riding cramped in the cage, the companions moved slowly and stiffly, glad for the exercise that warmed their blood. Gilthanas led them into a wide glade as the morning sun lit the woods with a pale light.

The glade was crowded with freed prisoners. Tasslehoff glanced eagerly around the group, then shook his head sadly.

"I wonder what happened to Sestun," he said to Tanis. "I thought I saw him run off."

"Don't worry." The half-elf patted him on the shoulder. "He'll be all right. The elves have no love for gully dwarves, but they wouldn't kill him."

Tasslehoff shook his head. It wasn't the elves he was worried about.

Entering the clearing, the companions saw an unusually tall and powerfully built elf speaking to the group of refugees. His voice was cold, his demeanor serious and stern.

"You are free to go, if any are free to go in this land. We have heard rumors that the lands south of Pax Tharkas are not under the control of the Dragon Highlord. I suggest, therefore, that you head southeast. Move as far and as fast as you can this day. We have food and supplies for your journey, all that we can spare. We can do little else for you."

The refugees from Solace, stunned by their sudden freedom, stared around bleakly and helplessly. They had been farmers on the outskirts of Solace, forced to watch while their homes burned and their crops were stolen to feed the Dragon Highlord's army. Most of them had never been farther from Solace than Haven. Dragons and elves were creatures of legend. Now children's stories had come to haunt them.

Goldmoon's clear blue eyes glinted. She knew how they felt. "How can you be so cruel?" she called out angrily to the tall elf. "Look at these people. They have never been out of Solace in their lives and you tell them calmly to walk through a land overrun by enemy forces—"

"What would you have me do, human?" the elf interrupted her. "Lead them south myself? It is enough that we have freed them. My people have their own problems. I cannot be concerned with those of humans." He shifted his eyes to the group of refugees. "I warn you. Time is wasting. Be on your way!"

Goldmoon turned to Tanis, seeking support, but he just shook his head, his face dark and shadowed.

One of the men, giving the elves a haggard glance, stumbled off on the trail that meandered south through the wilderness. The other men shouldered crude weapons, women caught up their children, and the families straggled off.

Goldmoon strode forward to confront the elf. "How can you care so little for—"

"For humans?" The elf stared at her coldly. "It was humans who brought the Cataclysm upon us. They were the ones who sought the gods, demanding in their pride the power that was granted Huma in humility. It was humans who caused the gods to turn their faces from us—"

"They haven't!" Goldmoon shouted. "The gods, are among us!"

Porthios's eyes flared with anger. He started to turn away when Gilthanas stepped up to his brother and spoke to him swiftly in the elven language.

"What do they say?" Riverwind asked Tanis suspiciously.

"Gilthanas is telling how Goldmoon healed Theros," Tanis said slowly. It had been many, many years since he had heard or spoken more than a few words in the elven tongue. He had forgotten how beautiful the language was, so beautiful it seemed to cut his soul and leave him wounded and bleeding inside. He watched as Porthios's eyes widened in disbelief.

Then Gilthanas pointed at Tanis. Both the brothers turned to face him, their expressive elven features hardening. Riverwind flicked a glance at Tanis, saw the half-elf standing pale but composed under this scrutiny.

"You return to the land of your birth, do you not?" Riverwind asked. "It does not seem you are welcome."

"Yes," Tanis said grimly, aware of what the Plainsman was thinking. He knew Riverwind was not prying into personal affairs out of curiosity. In many ways, they were in more danger now than they had been with the Fewmaster.

"They will take us to Qualinost," Tanis said slowly, the words apparently causing him deep pain. "I have not been there for many years. As Flint will tell you, I was not forced out, but few were sorry to see me leave. As you once said to me, Riverwind—to humans I am half-elven. To elves, I was half-man."

"Then let us leave and travel south with the others," Riverwind said.

"You would never get out of here alive," Flint murmured.

Tanis nodded. "Look around," he said.

Riverwind glanced around him and saw the elven warriors moving like shadows among the trees, their brown clothing blending in with the wilderness that was their home. As the two elves ended their conversation, Porthios turned his gaze from Tanis back to Goldmoon.

"I have heard strange tales from my brother that bear investigation. I extend to you, therefore, what the elves have extended to no humans in years—our hospitality. You will be our honored guests. Please follow me."

Porthios gestured. Nearly two dozen elven warriors emerged from the woods, surrounding the companions.

"Honored prisoners is more like it. This is going to be rough on you, my lad," Flint said to Tanis in a low, gentle voice.

"I know, old friend." Tanis rested his hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "I know."