5

The riot. Tas disappears. Alhana Starbreeze.

‘Foul knight . . ‘

A rock struck Sturm on the shoulder. The knight flinched, though the stone could have caused him little pain through his armor. Tanis, looking at his pale face and quivering moustaches, knew the pain was deeper than a weapon could inflict.

‘The crowds grew as the companions were marched through the street and word of their taming spread. Sturm walked with dignity, his, head held proudly, ignoring the taunts and jeers. Although their guards shoved the crowd back time and again, they did it half-heartedly and the crowd knew it. More rocks were thrown, as were other objects even less pleasant. Soon all of the companions were cut and bleeding and covered with garbage and filth.

Tanis knew Sturm would never stoop to retaliation, not on this rabble, but the half-elf had to keep a firm grip on Flint. Even then, he was in constant fear the angry dwarf would charge past the guards and start breaking heads. But, in watching Flint, Tanis had forgotten Tasslehoff.

Besides being quite casual in respect to other people’s property, kenders have another unendearing characteristic known as the ‘taunt.’ AII kenders possess this talent to a greater or lesser degree., It is hoses their diminutive race has managed to thrive and survive in a world of knights and warriors, trolls and hobgoblins. The taunt is the ability to insult an enemy and work him into such .a fever pitch of rage that he loses his head and begins fighting wildly and erratically. Tas was a master at the taunt, though he rarely found a need to use it when traveling with his warrior friends. But Tas derided to take full advantage of this opportunity.

He began to shout insults back.

Too late Tanis realized what was happening. In vain he tried to shut him up. Tas was at the front off the line, the half-elf at the back, and there was no way to gag the kender.

Such insults as ‘foul knight’ and ‘elven scum’ lacked imagination, Tas felt. He derided to show these people exactly how much range and scope for variety were available in the Common language. Tasslehoff’s insults were masterpieces of creativity and ingenuity. Unfortunately, they also tended to be extremely personal and occasionally rather crude, delivered with an air of charming innocence..

‘Is that your nose or a disease? Can those fleas crawling on your body do tricks? Was your mother a gully dwarf?’ were only the beginning. Matters went rapidly dawn hill from there.

The guards began eyeing angry crowd in alarm, while the constable gave the order to hurry the prisoners’ march. What he had seen as a victory procession exhibiting trophies of conquest appeared to be disintegrating into a full-scale riot.

‘Shut that Kender up!’ he yelled furiously.

Tanis tried desperately to reach Tasslehoff, but the struggling guards and the surging crowd made it impossible. Gilthanas was knocked off his feet. Sturm bent over the elf, trying to protect him. Flint was kicking and flailing about in a rage. Tanis had just neared Tasslehoff when he was hit in the face with a tomato and momentarily blinded.

‘Hey, constable, you know what you could do with that whistle? You could —’

Tasslehoff never got a chance to tell the constable what he might do with the whistle, because at that instant a large hand plucked him up out of the center of the melee. A hand clapped itself over Tas’s mouth, while two more pairs of hands gripped the Kender’s wildly kicking feet. A sack was popped over his head, and all Tas saw or smelled from that point on was burlap as he felt himself being carried away,

Tanis, wiping tomato from his stinging eyes, heard the sound of booted feet and more shouts and yells. The crowd hooted and jeered, them brake and ran. When he could finally see again, the half-elf glanced around quickly to make certain everyone was all right. Sturm was helping Gilthanas rise, wiping blood from a cut on the elf’s forehead. Flint, swearing fluently, plucked cabbage from his beard.

‘Where’s that blasted kender!’ the dwarf roared. ‘I’ll—’ He stopped and stared, fuming this way and that. ‘Where is that blasted Kender? Tas? So help me—’

‘Hush!’ Tanis ordered, realizing Tas had managed to escape.

Flint turned purple. ‘Why that little bastard!’ he swore. ‘He was the one got us into this and he left us to—’

‘Shhhl’ Tanis said, glaring at the dwarf.

Flint choked and fell silent.

The constable hustled his prisoners into the Hall of Justice. It was only when they were safely inside the ugly brick building that he realized one of them was missing.

‘Shall we go after him, sir’ asked a guard.

The constable thought a moment, then shook his head in anger. ‘Don’t waste your time,’ he said bitterly. ‘Do you know what it’s like trying to find a kender who doesn’t want to be found? No. let him go We’ve still got the important ones. Have them wait here while I inform the Council.’

The constable entered a plain wooden door, leaving the companions and their guards standing in a dark, smelly hallway. A tinker lay in a corner, snoring noisily, obviously having taken too much wine. The guards wiped pumpkin rind off their uniforms and grimly divested themselves of carrot tops and other garbage that clung to them. Gilthanas dabbed at the blood on his face. Sturm tried to clean his cloak as best he could.

The constable returned, beckoning from the doorway.

‘Bring them along.’

As the guards shoved their prisoners forward, Tanis managed to get near Sturm. ‘Who’s in charge here?’ he whispered.

‘If we are fortunate, the Lord is still in control of the city,’ the knight replied softly. ‘The Tarsian lords always had the reputation for being noble and honorable.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, what charges do they have against us? We’ve done nothing. At the worst, an armed escort will make us leave the city.’

Tanis shook his head dubiously as he entered the court room. It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the dingy chambers that smelled even worse than the hallway. Two of the Tarsian council members held oranges studded with cloves up to their noses.

The six members of the council were seated at the bench, which stood upon a tall platform, three upon either side of their Lord, whose tall chair sat in the center. The Load glanced up as they entered. His eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of Sturm, and it seemed to Tanis that his face softened. The Lord even nodded in a gesture of polite greeting to the knight. Tanis’s hopes rose. The companions walked forward to stand before the bench. There were no chairs. Supplicants or prisoners before the council stand to present their cases.

‘What is the charge against these men?’ the Lord asked.

The constable gave the companions a baleful glance.

‘Inciting a riot, milord,’ he said.

‘Riot!’ Flint exploded. ‘We had nothing to do with any riot! It was that rattle-brained—’

A figure in long robes crept forward from the shadows to whisper in his Lordship’s ear. None of the companions had noticed the figure as they entered. They noticed it now.

Flint coughed and fell silent, giving Tanis a meaningful, grim loo k from beneath his thick, white eyebrows. The dwarf shook his head, his shoulders slumped. Tanis, sighed wearily. Gilthanas wiped blood from his cut with a shaking hand, his elven features pale with hatred. Only Sturm stood outwardly calm and unmoved as he looked upon the twisted half-man, halfreptilian face of a draconian.

The companions remaining in the Inn sat together in Elistan’s room for at least an hour after the others were taken away by the guards. Caramon remained on guard near the door, his sword drawn. Riverwind kept watch out the window. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of the angry mob and looked at each other with tense, strained faces. Then the noise faded. No one disturbed them. The Inn was deathly quiet.

The morning wore on without incident. The pale, cold sun climbed in the sky, doing little to warm the winter day. Caramon sheathed his sword and yawned. Tika dragged a chair over to sit beside him. Riverwind went to stand watchfully near Goldmoon, who was talking quietly to Elistan, making plans for the refugees.

Only Laurana remained standing by the window, though there was nothing to see. The guards had apparently grown tired of marching up and down the street and now huddled in doorways, trying to keep warm. Behind her, she could hear Tika and Caramon laugh softly together. Laurana glanced around at them. Talking too quietly to be heard, Caramon appeared to be describing a battle. Tika listened intently, her eyes gleaming with admiration.

The young barmaid had received a great deal of practice in fighting on their journey south to find the Hammer of Kharas and, though she would never be truly skilled with a sword, she had developed shield-bashing into an art. She wore her armor casually now. It was still mismatched, but she kept adding to it, scrounging pieces left on battlefields. The sunlight glinted on her chainmail vest, glistened in her red hair. Caramon’s face was animated and relaxed as he talked with the young woman. They did not touch—not with the golden eyes of Caramon’s twin on them—but they leaned very near each other.

Laurana sighed and turned away, feeling very lonely and— thinking of Raistlin’s words—very frightened.

She heard her sigh echoed, but it was not a sigh of regret. It was a sigh of irritation. Turning slightly, she looked down at Raistlin. The mage had closed the spellbook he was trying to read, and moved into the little bit of sunlight that came through the glass. He had to study his spellbook daily. It is the curse of the magi that they must commit their spells to memory time and again, for the words of magic flicker and die like sparks from a fire. Each spell cast saps the mage’s strength, leaving him physically weakened until he is finally exhausted and cannot work any magic at all without rest.

Raistlin’s strength had been growing since the companions’ meeting in Solace, as had his power. He had mastered several new spells taught to him by Fizban, the bumbling old magician who had died in Pax Tharkas. As his power grew, so did the misgivings of his companions. No one had any overt cause to mistrust him—indeed, his magic had saved their lives several times. But there was something disquieting about him—secret, silent, self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.

Absently caressing the night-blue cover of the strange spellbook he had acquired in Xak Tsaroth, Raistlin stared into the street. His golden eyes with their dark, hourglass-shaped pupils glittered coldly.

Although Laurana disliked speaking to the mage, she had to know! What had he meant—a long farewell?

‘What do you see when you look far away like that?’ she asked softly, sitting down next to him, feeling a sudden weakness of fear sweep over her.

‘What do I see?’ he repeated softly. There was great pain and sadness in his voice, not the bitterness she was accustomed to hearing. ‘I see time as it affects all things. Human flesh withers and dies before my eyes. Flowers bloom, only to fade. Trees drop green leaves, never to regain them. In my sight, it is always winter, always night.’

‘And—this was done to you in the Towers of High Sorcery?’ Laurana asked; shocked beyond measure. ‘Why? To what end?’

Raistlin smiled his rare and twisted smile. ‘To remind me of my own mortality. To teach me compassion.’ His voice sank. ‘I was proud and arrogant in my youth. The youngest to take the Test, I was going to show them all!’ His frail fist clenched. ‘Oh, I showed them. They shattered my body and devoured my mind until by the end I was capable of—’ He stopped abruptly, his eyes shifting to Caramon.

‘Of what?’ Laurana asked, fearing to know, yet fascinated.

‘Nothing,’ Raistlin whispered, lowering his eyes. ‘I am forbidden to speak of it.’

Laurana saw his hands tremble. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breath wheezed and he began to cough. Feeling guilty for having inadvertently caused such anguish, she flushed and shook her head, biting her lip. ‘I-I’m sorry to have given you pain. I didn’t mean to.’ Confused, she looked down, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face—a girlish habit.

Raistlin leaned forward almost unconsciously, his hand stretching out, trembling, to touch the wondrous hair that seemed possessed of a life of its own, so vibrant and luxuriant was it. Then, seeing before his eyes his own dying flesh, he withdrew his hand quickly and sank back in his chair, a bitter smile on his lips. For what Laurana did not know, could not know, was that, in looking at her, Raistlin saw the only beauty he would ever see in his lifetime, Young, by elven standards, she was untouched by death or decay, even in the mage’s cursed vision.

Laurana saw nothing of this. She was aware only that he moved slightly. She almost got up and left, but she felt drawn to him now, and he still had not answered her question, ‘I-I meant—can you see the future’! Tanis told me your mother was—what do they call it—prescient? I know that Tanis comes to you for advice . . . .’

Raistlin regarded Laurana thoughtfully. ‘The half-elf comes to me for advice, not because I can see the future. I can’t. I am no seer. He comes because I am able to think, which is something most of these other fools seem incapable of doing.’

‘But—what you said. Same of us may not see each other again.’ Laurana looked up at him earnestly. ‘You must have foreseen something! What—I must know! Was it . . . Tanis?’

Raistlin pondered. When he spoke, it was more to himself than to Laurana. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t even know why I said that. It’s just that—for an instant—I knew—’ He seemed to struggle to remember, then suddenly shrugged.

‘Knew what?’ Laurana persisted.

‘Nothing. My overwrought imagination as the knight would say if he were here. So Tanis told you about my mother,’ he said, changing the subject abruptly.

Laurana, disappointed but hoping to find out more if she kept talking to him, nodded her head. ‘He said she had the gift of foresight. She could look into the future and see images of what would come to pass.’

‘That is true,’ Raistlin whispered, then smiled sardonically. ‘Much good it did her. The first man she married was a handsome warrior from the northland. Their passion died within months, and after that they made life miserable for each other. My mother was fragile of health and given to slipping into strange trances from which she might not wake for hours. They were poor, living off what her husband could earn with his sword. Though he was clearly of noble blood, he never spoke of his family. I do not believe he even told her his real name.’

Raistlin’s eyes narrowed, ‘He told Kitiara, though. I’m sure of it. That is why she traveled north, to find his family.’

‘Kitiara . . . .. ‘ Laurana said in a strained voice. She touched the name as one touches an aching tooth, eager to understand more of this human woman Tanis loved. ‘Then, that man—the noble warrior—was Kitiara’s father?’ she said in a husky voice.

Raistlin regarded her with a penetrating gaze. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘She is my elder half-sister. Older than Caramon and I by about eight years. She is very much like her father, I believe. As beautiful as he was handsome. Resolute and impetuous, warlike, strong and fearless. Her father taught her the only thing he knew—the art of warfare. He began going on longer and longer trips, and one day vanished completely. My mother convinced the Highseekers to declare him legally dead. She then remarried the man who became our father. He was a simple man, a woodcutter by trade. Once again, her farsight did not serve her.’

‘‘Why’ Laurana asked gently, caught up in the story, amazed that the usually taciturn mage was so voluble, not knowing that he was drawing more out of her simply by watching her expressive face than he was giving in return.

‘The birth of my brother and I for one thing,’ Raistlin said. Then, overcome by a fit of coughing, he stopped talking and motioned to his brother, ‘Caramon! It is time for my drink,’ he said in the hissing, whisper that pierced through the loudest talk. ‘Or have you forgotten me in the pleasure of other company?’

Caramon fell silent in mid-laugh ‘ No, Raist,’ he said guiltily, hurriedly rising from his seat to hang a kettle of water over the fire. Tika, subdued, lowered her head, unwilling to meet the mage’s gaze.

After staring at her a moment’ Raistlin turned back to Laurana, who had watched all this with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. He began to speak again as if there had been no interruption. ‘My mother never really recovered from the childbirth. The midwife gave me up for dead, and I would have died, too, if it hadn’t been for Kitiara. Her first battle, she used to say, was against death with me as the prize. She raised us. My mother was incapable of taking care of children, and my father was forced to work day and night simply to keep us fed. He died in an accident when Caramon and I were in our teens. My mother went into one of her trances that day’—Raistlin’s voice dropped—’and never came out. She died of starvation.’

‘How awful!’ Laurana murmured, shivering.

Raistlin did not speak for long moments; his strange eyes staring out into the chill, gray winter sky. Then his mouth twisted. ‘It taught me a valuable lesson—learn to control the power. Never let it control you!’

Laurana did not seem to have heard him. Her hands in her lap twisted nervously. This was the perfect opportunity to ask the questions she longed to ask, but it would mean giving up a part of her inner self to this man she feared and distrusted. But her curiosity—and her love—were too great. She never realized she was falling into a cunningly baited trap. For Raistlin delighted in discovering the secrets of people’s souls, knowing he might find them useful.

‘What did you do then?’ she asked, swallowing. ‘Did KitKitiara . . .’ Trying to appear natural, she stumbled over the name and flushed in embarrassment.

Raistlin watched Laurana’s inner straggle with interest. ‘Kitiara was gone by then,’ he answered. ‘She left home when she was fifteen, earning her living by her sword. She is an expert—so Caramon tells me—and had no trouble finding mercenary work. Oh, she returned every so often, to see how we were getting along. When we were older, and more skilled, she took us with her. That was where Caramon and I learned to fight together—I using my magic, my brother his sword. Then, after she met Tanis’— Raistlin’s eyes glittered at Laurana’s discomfiture— ‘she traveled with us more often.’

‘Traveled with whom? Where did you go?’

‘There was Sturm Brightblade, already dreaming of knighthood, the kender, Tanis, Caramon, and I. We traveled with Flint, before he retired from metalsmithing. The roads grew so dangerous that Flint gave up traveling. And, by this time, we had all learned as much as we could from our friends. We were growing restless. It was time to separate, Tanis said.’

‘And you did as he said? He was your leader, even then?’ She looked back to remember him as she had known him before he left Qualinost, beardless and lacking the lines of care and worry she saw now on his face. But even then he was withdrawn and brooding, tormented by his feelings of belonging to both races—and to neither. She hadn’t understood him then. Only now, after living in a world of humans, was she beginning to.

‘He has the qualities we are told are essential for leadership, He is quick-thinking, intelligent, creative. But most of us possess these—in greater or lesser degree. Why do the others follow Tanis? Sturm is of noble blood, member of an order whose roots go back to ancient times. Why does he obey a bastard half-elf? And Riverwind? He distrusts all who are not human and half who are. Yet he and Goldmoon both would follow Tanis to the Abyss and back. Why?’

‘I have wondered,’ Laurana began, ‘and I think—’

But Raistlin, ignoring her, answered his own question. ‘Tanis listens to his feelings. He does not suppress them, as does the knight, or hide them, as does the Plainsman. Tanis realizes that sometimes a leader must think with his heart and not his head.’ Raistlin glanced at her. ‘Remember that.’

Laurana blinked, confused for a moment, then, sensing a tone of superiority in the mage which irritated her, she said loftily, ‘I notice you leave out yourself. If you are as intelligent and powerful as you claim, why do you follow Tanis?’

Raistlin’s hourglass eyes were dark and hooded. He stopped talking as Caramon brought his twin a cup and carefully poured water from the kettle. The warrior glanced at Laurana, his face dark, embarrassed and uncomfortable as always whenever his brother went on like this.

Raistlin did not seem to notice. Pulling a pouch from his pack, he sprinkled some green leaves into the hot water. A pungent, acrid smell filled the room. ‘I do not follow him.’ the young mage looked up at Laurana. ‘For the time being, Tanis and I simply happen to be traveling in the same direction.’

‘The Knights of Solamnia are not welcome in our city,’ the Lord said sternly, his face serious. His dark gaze swept the rest of the company. ‘Nor are elves, kender, or dwarves, or those who travel in their company. I understand you also have a magic-user with you, one who wears the red robes. You wear armor. Your weapons are blood-stained and come quickly and readily to your hands. Obviously you are skilled warriors.’

‘Mercenaries, undoubtedly, milord,’ the constable said.

‘We are not mercenaries,’ Sturm said, coming to stand before the bench, his bearing proud and noble. ‘We come out of the northern Plains of Abanasinia. We freed eight hundred men, women, and children from the Dragon Highlord, Verminaard, in Pax Tharkas. Fleeing the wrath of the dragonarmies, we left the people hidden in a valley in the mountains and traveled south, hoping to find ships in the legendary city of Tarsis. We did not know it was landlocked, or we would not have bothered.’

The Lord frowned. ‘You say you came from the north? That is impossible. No one has ever come safely through the mountain kingdom of the dwarves in Thorbardin.’

‘If you know aught of the Knights of Solamnia, you know we would die sooner than tell a lie—even to our enemies,’ Sturm said. ‘We entered the dwarven kingdom and won safe passage by finding and restoring to them the lost Hammer of Kharas.’

The Lord shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the draconian who sat behind him. ‘I do know somewhat of the knights,’ he said reluctantly. ‘And therefore I rnust believe your story, though it sounds more a child’s bedtime tale than—’

Suddenly the doors banged open and two guards strode in, roughly dragging a prisoner between them. They thrust the companions, aside as they flung their prisoner to the floor. The prisoner was a woman. Heavily veiled, she was dressed in long skirts and a heavy cape. She lay for a moment on the floor, as if too tired or defeated to rise. Then, seeming to make a supreme effort of will, she started to push herself up. Obviously no one was going to assist her. The Lord stared at her, his face grim and scowling. The draconian behind him had risen to its feet and was looking down at her with interest. The woman struggled, entangled in her cape and her long, flowing skirts.

Then Sturm was at her side.

The knight had watched in horror, appalled at this callous treatment of a woman. He glanced at Tanis, saw the evercautious half-elf shake his head, but the sight of the woman making a gallant effort to rise proved too much for the knight. He took a step forward, and found a hauberk thrust in front of him.

‘Kill me if you will,’ the knight said to the guard, ‘but, I am going to the aid of the lady.’

The guard blinked and stepped back, his eyes looking up at the Lord for orders. The Lord shook his head slightly. Tanis, watching closely, held his breath. Then he thought he saw the Lord smile, quickly covering it with his hand.

‘My lady, allow me to assist you,’ Sturm said with the courtly, old-fashioned politeness long lost in the world. His strong hands gently raised her to her feet.

‘You had better leave me, sir knight,’’ the woman said, her words barely audible from behind her veil. But at the sound of her voice, Tanis. and Gilthanas gasped softly, glancing at each other. ‘You do not know what you do,’ she said. ‘You risk your life—’

‘It is my privilege to do so,’ Sturm said, bowing. Then he stood near her protectively, his eyes on the guards.

‘She is Silvanesti elven!’ Gilthanas whispered to Tanis. ‘Does Sturm know?’

‘Of course not,’ Tanis said softly. ‘How could he? I barely recognized her accent myself.’

‘What could she be doing here? Silvanesti is far away—’

‘I—’ Tanis began, but one of the guards shoved him in the back. He fell silent just as the Lord started to speak.

‘Lady Alhana,’ he said in a cold voice, ‘you were warned to leave this city. I was merciful last time you came before me because you were on a diplomatic mission from your people, and protocol is still honored in Tarsis. I told you then, however, you could expect no help from us and gave you twentyfour hours to depart. Now I find you still here.’ He looked over at the guards. ‘What is the charge?’

‘Trying to buy mercenaries, milord,’ the constable replied. ‘She was picked up in an inn along the Old Waterfront, milord.’ The constable gave Sturm a scathing glance. ‘It was a good thing she didn’t meet up with this lot. Of course, no one in Tarsis would aid an elf.’

‘Alhana,’ Tanis muttered to himself. He edged over to Gilthanas. ‘Why is that name familiar?’

‘Have you been gone from your people so long you do not recognize the name?’ the elf answered softly in elven. ‘There was only one among our Silvanesti cousins called Alhana, Alhana Starbreeze, daughter of the Speaker of the Stars, princess of her people, ruler when her father dies, for she has no brothers.’

‘Alhana!’ Tanis said, memories coming back to him. The elven people were split hundreds of years before, when KithKanan led many of the elves to the land of Qualinesti following the bitter Kinslayer wars. But the elven leaders still kept in contact in the mysterious manner of the elflords who, it is said, can read messages in the wind and speak the language of the silver moon. Now he remembered Alhana—of all elf maidens reputed to be the most beautiful, and distant as the silver moon that shone on her birth.

The draconian leaned down to confer with the Lord. Tanis saw the man’s face darken, and it seemed as if he was about to disagree, then he bit his lip and, sighing, nodded his head. The draconian melted back into the shadows once more.

‘You are under arrest, Lady Alhana,’ the Lord said heavily. Sturm took a step nearer the woman as the guards closed in around her. Sturm threw back his head and cast them all a warning glance. So confident and noble did he appear, even unarmed, that the guards hesitated. Still, their Lord had given them an order.

‘You better do something,’ Flint growled. ‘I’m all for chivalry, but there’s a time and a place and this isn’t either!’

‘Have you got any suggestions?’ Tanis snapped.

Flint didn’t answer. There wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do and they knew it. Sturm would die, before one of those guards laid a hand on the woman again, even though he had no idea who this woman was. It didn’t matter. Feeling himself torn with frustration and admiration for his friend, Tanis gauged the distance between himself and the nearest guard, knowing he could put at least one out of action. He saw Gilthanas close his eyes, his lips moving. The elf was a magic-user, though he rarely treated it seriously. Seeing the look on Tanis’s face, Flint heaved a sigh and turned toward another guard, lowering his helmeted head like a battering ram.

Then suddenly the Lord spoke, his voice grating. ‘Hold, knight!’ he said with the authority that had been bred in him for generations. Sturm, recognizing this, relaxed, and Tanis breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I will not have blood shed in this Council chamber. The lady has disobeyed a law of the land, laws which, in days gone by, you, sir knight, were sworn to uphold. But, I agree, there is no reason to treat her disrespectfully. Guards, you will escort the lady to prison but with the same courtesy you show me. And you, sir knight, will accompany her, since you are so interested in her welfare.’

Tanis nudged Gilthanas who came out of his trance with a start. ‘Truly, as Sturm said, this Lord comes from a noble and honorable line,’ Tanis whispered.

‘I don’t see what you’re so pleased about, Half-elf.’ Flint grunted, overhearing them. ‘First the kender gets us charged with inciting a riot, then he disappears. Now the knight gets us thrown into prison. Next time, remind me to stick with the mage. I know he’s crazed!’’

As the guards started to herd their prisoners away from the bench, Alhana appeared to be hunting for something within the folds of her long skirt.

‘I beg a favor, sir knight,’ she said to Sturm. ‘I seem to have dropped something. A trifle but precious. Could you look—’

Sturm knelt swiftly and immediately saw the object where it lay, sparkling, on the floor, hidden by the folds of her dress. It was a pin, shaped like a star, glittering with diamonds. He drew in his breath. A trifle! Its value must be incalculable. No wonder she did not want it found by these worthless guards. Quickly he wrapped his fingers around it, then feigned to look about. Finally, still kneeling, he looked up at the woman.

Sturm caught his breath as the woman removed the hood of her cloak and drew the veil from her face. For the first time, human eyes looked upon the face of Alhana Starbreeze.

Muralasa, the elves called her—Princess of the Night. Her hair, black and soft as the night wind, was held in place by a net as fine as cobweb, twinkling with tiny jewels like stars. Her skin was the pale hue of the silver moon, her eyes the deep, dark purple of the night sky and her lips the color of the red moon’s shadows.

The knight’s first thought was to give thanks to Paladine that he was already on his knees. His second was that death would be a paltry price to pay to serve her, and his third that he must say something, but he seemed to have forgotten the words of any known language.

‘Thank you for searching, noble knight,’ Alhana said softly, staring intently into Sturm’s eyes. ‘As I said, it was a trifle. Please rise. I am very weary and, since it seems we are going to the same place, you could do me a great favor by giving me your assistance.’

‘I am yours to command,’ Sturm said fervently, and he rose to his feet, swiftly tucking the jewel inside his belt. He held out his arm, and Alhana put her slender, white hand on his forearm. His arm trembled at her touch.

It seemed to the knight as if a cloud had covered the light of the stars when she veiled her face again. Sturm saw Tanis fall into line behind them, but so enraptured was the knight with the beautiful face burning in his memory that he stared straight at the half-elf without a flicker of recognition.

Tanis had seen Alhana’s face and felt his own heart stir with her beauty. But he had seen Sturm’s face as well. He had seen that beauty enter the knight’s heart, doing more damage than a goblin’s poisoned arrowtip. For this love must turn to poison, he knew. The Silvanesti were a proud and haughty race. Fearing contamination and the lass of their way of life, they refused to have even the slightest contact with humans. Thus the Kinslayer wars had been fought.

No, thought Tanis sadly, the silver moon itself was not higher or farther out of Sturm’s reach. The half-elf sighed. This was all they needed.