CHAPTER 2

Perhaps most of all, Tanis feared his first sight of the Inn of the Last Home. Here it had all started, three years ago this autumn. Here he and Flint and the irrepressible kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, had come that night to meet old friends. Here his world had turned upside down, never to exactly right itself again.

But, riding toward the Inn, Tanis found his fears eased. It had changed so much it was like coming to some place strange, a place that held no memories. It stood on the ground, instead of in the branches of a great vallenwood. There were new additions, more rooms had been built to accommodate the influx of travelers, it had a new roof, much more modern in design. All the scars of war had been purged, along with the memories.

Then, just as Tanis was beginning to relax, the front door of the Inn opened. Light streamed out, forming a golden path of welcome, the smell of spiced potatoes and the sound of laughter came to him on the evening breeze. The memories returned in a rush, and Tanis bowed his head, overcome.

But, perhaps fortunately, he did not have time to dwell upon the past. As he and his companion approached the Inn, a stableboy ran out to grab the horses' reins.

"Food and water," said Tanis, sliding wearily from the saddle and tossing the boy a coin. He stretched to ease the cramps in his muscles. "I sent word ahead that I was to have a fresh horse waiting for me here. My name is Tanis Half-Elven."

The boy's eyes opened wide; he had already been staring at the bright armor and rich cloak Tanis wore. Now his curiosity was replaced by awe and admiration.

"Y-yes, sir," he stammered, abashed at being addressed by such a great hero. "T-the horse is ready, sh-shall I bring him around n-now, sir?"

"No." Tanis smiled. "I will eat first. Bring him in two hours."

"T-two hours. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Bobbing his head, the boy took the reins Tanis pressed into his unfeeling hand, then stood there, gaping, completely forgetting his task until the impatient horse nudged him, nearly knocking him over.

As the boy hurried off, leading Tanis's horse away, the halfelf turned to assist his companion down from her saddle.

"You must be made of iron," she said, looking at Tanis as he helped her to the ground. "Do you really intend to ride further tonight?"

"To tell the truth, every bone in my body aches," Tanis began, then paused, feeling uncomfortable. He was simply unable to feel at ease around this woman.

Tanis could see her face reflected in the light beaming from the Inn. He saw fatigue and pain. Her eyes were sunken into pale, hollow cheeks. She staggered as she stepped upon the ground, and Tanis was quick to give her his arm to lean upon. This she did, but only for a moment. Then, drawing herself up, she gently but firmly pushed him away and stood alone, glancing at her surroundings without interest.

Every move hurt Tanis, and he could imagine how this woman must feel, unaccustomed as she was to physical exertion or hardship, and he was forced to regard her with grudging admiration. She had not complained once on their long and frightening journey. She had kept up with him, never lagging behind and obeying his instructions without question.

Why, then, he wondered, couldn't he feel anything for her? What was there about her that irritated him and annoyed him? Looking at her face, Tanis had his answer. The only warmth there was the warmth reflected from the Inn's light. Her face itself—even exhausted—was cold, passionless, devoid of— what? Humanity? Thus she had been all this long, dangerous journey. Oh, she had been coolly polite, coolly grateful, coolly distant and remote. She probably would have coolly buried me, Tanis thought grimly. Then, as if to reprimand him for his irreverent thoughts, his gaze was drawn to the medallion she wore around her neck, the Platinum Dragon of Paladine. He remembered Elistan's parting words, spoken in private just before their journey's beginning.

"It is fitting that you escort her, Tanis," said the now-frail cleric. "In many ways, she begins a journey much like your own years ago—seeking self-knowledge. No, you are right, she doesn't know this herself yet." This in answer to Tanis's dubious look. "She walks forward with her gaze fixed upon the heavens." Elistan smiled sadly. "She has not yet learned that, in so doing, one will surely stumble. Unless she learns, her fall may be hard." Shaking his head, he murmured a soft prayer. "But we must put our trust in Paladine."

Tanis had frowned then and he frowned now, thinking about it. Though he had come to a strong belief in the true gods— more through Laurana's love and faith in them than anything else—he felt uncomfortable trusting his life to them, and he grew impatient with those like Elistan who, it seemed, placed too great a burden upon the gods. Let man be responsible for himself for a change, Tanis thought irritably.

"What is it, Tanis?" Crysania asked coldly.

Realizing he had been staring at her all this while, Tanis coughed in embarrassment, cleared his throat, and looked away. Fortunately, the boy returned for Crysania's horse at this moment, sparing Tanis the need to answer. He gestured at the Inn, and the two walked toward it.

"Actually," Tanis said when the silence grew awkward, "I would like nothing better than to stay here and visit with my friends. But I have to be in Qualinesti the day after tomorrow, and only by hard riding will I arrive in time. My relations with my brother-in-law are not such that I can afford to offend him by missing Solostaran's funeral." He added with a grim smile, "Both politically and personally, if you take my meaning."

Crysania smiled in turn, but—Tanis saw—it was not a smile of understanding. It was a smile of tolerance, as if this talk of politics and family were beneath her.

They had reached the door to the Inn. "Besides," Tanis added softly, "I miss Laurana. Funny, isn't it? When she is near and we're busy about our own tasks, we'll sometimes go for days with just a quick smile or a touch and then we disappear into our worlds. But when I'm far away from her, it's like I suddenly awaken to find my right arm cut off. I may not go to bed thinking of my right arm, but when it is gone . . .."

Tanis stopped abruptly, feeling foolish, afraid he sounded like a lovesick adolescent. But Crysania, he realized, was apparently not paying the least bit of attention to him. Her smooth, marble face had grown, if anything, more cold until the moon's silver light seemed warm by comparison. Shaking his head, Tanis pushed open the door.

I don't envy Caramon and Riverwind, he thought grimly.

The warm, familiar sounds and smells of the Inn washed over Tanis and, for long moments, everything was a blur. Here was Otik, older and fatter, if possible, leaning upon a cane and pounding him on the back. Here were people he had not seen in years, who had never had much to do with him before, now shaking his hand and claiming his friendship. Here was the old bar, still brightly polished, and somehow he managed to step on a gully dwarf . . ..

And then there was a tall man cloaked in furs, and Tanis was clasped inside his friend's warm embrace.

"Riverwind," he whispered huskily, holding onto the Plainsman tightly.

"My brother," Riverwind said in Que-shu, the language of his people. The crowd in the Inn was cheering wildly, but Tanis didn't hear them, because a woman with flaming red hair and a smattering of freckles had her hand upon his arm. Reaching out, still holding fast to Riverwind, Tanis gathered Tika into their embrace and for long moments the three friends clung to each other—bound together by sorrow and pain and glory.

Riverwind brought them to their senses. Unaccustomed to such public displays of emotion, the tall Plainsman regained his composure with a gruff cough and stood back, blinking his eyes rapidly and frowning at the ceiling until he was master of himself again. Tanis, his reddish beard wet with his own tears, gave Tika another swift hug, then looked around.

"Where's that big lummox of a husband of yours?" he asked cheerfully. "Where's Caramon?"

It was a simple question, and Tanis was totally unprepared for the response. The crowd fell completely silent; it seemed as if someone had shut them all up in a barrel. Tika's face flushed an ugly red, she muttered something unintelligible, and, bending down, dragged a gully dwarf up off the floor and shook him so his teeth rattled in his head.

Startled, Tanis looked at Riverwind, but the Plainsman only shrugged and raised his dark eyebrows. The half-elf turned to ask Tika what was going on, but just then felt a cool touch upon his arm. Crysania! He had completely forgotten her!

His own face flushing, he made his belated introductions.

"May I present Crysania of Tarinius, Revered Daughter of Paladine," Tanis said formally. "Lady Crysania, Riverwind, Chieftain of the Plainsmen, and Tika Waylan Majere."

Crysania untied her traveling cloak and drew back her hood. As she did so, the platinum medallion she wore around her neck flashed in the bright candlelight of the Inn. The woman's pure white lamb's wool robes peeped through the folds of her cloak. A murmur—both reverent and respectful—went through the crowd.

"A holy cleric!"

"Did you catch her name? Crysania! Next in line . . ."

"Elistan's successor . . ."

Crysania inclined her head. Riverwind bowed from the waist, his face solemn, and Tika, her own face still so flushed she appeared feverish, shoved Raf hurriedly behind the bar, then made a deep curtsey.

At the sound of Tika's married name, Majere, Crysania glanced at Tanis questioningly and received his nod in return.

"I am honored," Crysania said in her rich, cool voice, "to meet two whose deeds of courage shine as an example to us all."

Tika flushed in pleased embarrassment. Riverwind's stern face did not change expression, but Tanis saw how much the cleric's praise meant to the deeply religious Plainsman. As for the crowd, they cheered boisterously at this honor to their own and kept on cheering. Otik, with all due ceremony, led his guests to a waiting table, beaming on the heroes as if he had arranged the entire war especially for their benefit.

Sitting down, Tanis at first felt disturbed by the confusion and noise but soon decided it was beneficial. At least he could talk to Riverwind without fear of being overheard. But first, he had to find out—where was Caramon?

Once again, he started to ask, but Tika—after seeing them seated and fussing over Crysania like a mother hen—saw him open his mouth and, turning abruptly, disappeared into the kitchen.

Tanis shook his head, puzzled, but before he could think about it further, Riverwind was asking him questions. The two were soon deeply involved in talk.

"Everyone thinks the war is over," Tanis said, sighing. "And that places us in worse danger than before. Alliances between elves and humans that were strong when times were dark are beginning to melt in the sun. Laurana's in Qualinesti now, attending the funeral of her father and also trying to arrange an agreement with that stiff-necked brother of hers, Porthios, and the Knights of Solamnia. The only ray of hope we have is in Porthios's wife, Alhana Starbreeze." Tanis smiled. "I never thought I would live to see that elfwoman not only tolerant of humans and other races, but even warmly supporting them to her intolerant husband."

"A strange marriage,” Riverwind commented, and Tanis nodded in agreement. Both men's thoughts were with their friend, the knight, Sturm Brightblade, now lying dead—hero of the High Clerist's Tower. Both knew Alhana's heart had been buried there in the darkness with Sturm.

"Certainly not a marriage of love." Tanis shrugged. "But it may be a marriage that will help restore order to the world. Now, what of you, my friend? Your face is dark and drawn with new worries, as well as beaming with new joy. Goldmoon sent Laurana word of the twins."

Riverwind smiled briefly. "You are right. I begrudge every minute I am away," the Plainsman said in his deep voice, "though seeing you again, my brother, lightens my heart's burden. But I left two tribes on the verge of war. So far, I have managed to keep them talking, and there has been no blood shed yet. But malcontents work against me, behind my back. Every minute I am away gives them a chance to stir up old blood feuds."

Tanis clasped his arm. "I am sorry, my friend, and I am grateful you came." Then he sighed again and glanced at Crysania, realizing he had new problems. "I had hoped you would be able to offer this lady your guidance and protection." His voice sank to a murmur. "She travels to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest."

Riverwind's eyes widened in alarm and disapproval. The Plainsman distrusted mages and anything connected with them.

Tanis nodded. "I see you remember Caramon's stories about the time he and Raistlin traveled there. And they had been invited. This lady goes without invitation, to seek the mages' advice about—”

Crysania gave him a sharp, imperious glance. Frowning, she shook her head. Tanis, biting his lip, added lamely, "I was hoping you could escort her—”

"I feared as much," said Riverwind, "when I received your message, and that was why I felt I had to come—to offer you some explanation for my refusal. If it were any other time, you know I would gladly help and, in particular, I would be honored to offer my services to a person so revered." He bowed slightly to Crysania, who accepted his homage with a smile that vanished instantly when she returned her gaze to Tanis. A small, deep line of anger appeared between her brows.

Riverwind continued, "But there is too much at stake. The peace I have established between the tribes, many who have been at war for years, is a fragile one. Our survival as a nation and a people depend upon us uniting and working together to rebuild our land and our lives."

"I understand," Tanis said, touched by Riverwind's obvious unhappiness in having to refuse his request for help. The halfelf caught Lady Crysania's displeased stare, however, and he turned to her with grim politeness. "All will be well, Revered Daughter," he said, speaking with elaborate patience. "Caramon will guide you, and he is worth three of us ordinary mortals, right, Riverwind?"

The Plainsman smiled, old memories returning. "He can eat as much as three ordinary mortals, certainly. And he is as strong as three or more. Do you remember, Tanis, when he used to lift stout Pig-faced William off his feet, when we put on that show in . . . where was it . . . Flotsam?"

"And the time he killed those two draconians by bashing their heads together." Tanis laughed, feeling the darkness of the world suddenly lift in sharing those times with his friend. "And do you remember when we were in the dwarven kingdom and Caramon sneaked up behind Flint and—” Leaning forward, Tanis whispered in Riverwind'sear. The Plainsman’s face flushed with laughter. He recounted another tale, and the two men continued, recalling stories of Caramon's strength, his skill with a sword, his courage and honor.

"And his gentleness," Tanis added, after a moment's quiet reflection. "I can see him now, tending to Raistlin so patiently, holding his brother in his arms when those coughing fit nearly tore the mage apart—”

He was interrupted by a smothered cry, a crash, and a thud. Turning in astonishment, Tanis saw Tika staring at him, her face white, her green eyes glimmering with tears.

"Leave now!" she pleaded through pale lips. "Please, Tanis! Don't ask any questions! Just go!" She grabbed his arm, her nails digging painfully into his flesh.

"Look, what in the name of the Abyss is going on, Tika?" Tanis asked in exasperation, standing up and facing her.

A splintering crash came in answer. The door to the Inn burst open, hit from outside by some tremendous force. Tika jumped back, her face convulsed in such fear and horror as she looked at the door that Tanis turned swiftly, his hand on his sword, and Riverwind rose to his feet.

A large shadow filled the doorway, seeming to spread a pall over the room. The crowd's cheerful noise and laughter ceased abruptly, changing to low, angry mutterings.

Remembering the dark and evil things that had been chasing them, Tanis drew his sword, placing himself between the darkness and Lady Crysania. He sensed, though he did not see, Riverwind's stalwart presence behind him, backing him up.

So, it's caught up with us, Tanis thought, almost welcoming the chance to fight this vague, unknown terror. Grimly he stared at the door, watching as a bloated, grotesque figure entered into the light.

It was a man, Tanis saw, a huge man, but, as he looked more closely, he saw it was a man whose giant girth had run to flab. A bulging belly hung over cinched up leather leggings. A filthy shirt gaped open at the navel, there being too little shirt to cover too much flesh. The man's face—partially obscured by a three-day growth of beard—was unnaturally flushed and splotchy, his hair greasy and unkempt. His clothes, while fine and well-made, were dirty and smelled strongly of vomit and the raw liquor known as dwarf spirits.

Tanis lowered his sword, feeling like a fool. It was just some poor drunken wretch, probably the town bully, using his great size to intimidate the citizenry. He looked at the man with pity and disgust, thinking, even as he did so, that there was something oddly familiar about him. Probably someone he had known when he lived in Solace long ago, some poor slob who had fallen on hard times.

The half-elf started to turn away, then noticed—to his amazement—that everyone in the Inn was looking at him expectantly.

What do they want me to do, Tanis thought in sudden, swift anger. Attack him? Some hero I'd look—beating up the town drunk!

Then he heard a sob at his elbow. "I told you to leave," Tika moaned, sinking down into a chair. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry as if her heart would break.

Growing more and more mystified, Tanis glanced at Riverwind, but the Plainsman was obviously as much in the dark as his friend. The drunk, meanwhile, staggered into the room and gazed about in anger.

"Wash ish thish? A party?" he growled. "And nobody in-ininvited their old . . . in-vited me?"

No one answered. They were fixedly ignoring the slovenly man, their eyes still on Tanis, and now even the drunk's attention turned to the half-elf. Attempting to bring him into focus, the drunk stared at Tanis in a kind of puzzled anger, as though blaming him for being the cause of all his troubles. Then, suddenly, the drunk's eyes widened, his face split into a foolish grin, and he lurched forward, hands outstretched.

"Tanish . . . my fri-"

"Name of the gods," Tanis breathed, recognizing him at last.

The man staggered forward and stumbled over a chair. For a moment he stood swaying unsteadily, like a tree that has been cut and is ready to fall. His eyes rolled back in his head, people scrambled to get out of his way. Then—with a thud that shook the Inn—Caramon Majere, Hero of the Lance, passed out cold at Tanis's feet.