Darkness and Light

Chapter 2

The sky hab not yet lost its violet hue when Sturm reached the farrier's shop. Tirien, the farrier, had his establishment in a vallenwood tree. The winding ramp to Tirien's shop was doubly wide and strongly braced for horses. Tirien, ruddy-faced from leaning over forge fires, and with heavily muscled arms and shoulders from wielding his farrier's hammer, was already up and about when the knight arrived.

"Sturm!" he boomed. "Come in, lad. I'm just straightening some nails."

Tirien's helper, a boy named Mercot, plucked a red-hot spike from the furnace with a pair of tongs. He set the bent nail in the groove atop Tirien's anvil, and the brawny farrier smote it twice. Mercot flicked the straight nail into a bucket of water. A serpent's hiss and a wisp of steam arose.

"I need my horse, Tirien," said Sturm.

"Right. Mercot, fetch Master Brightblade's animal."

The boy's eyes widened. Rings of soot around them made him look like a startled owl.

"The chestnut gelding?" "Aye, and be quick about it!" said Tirien. To Sturm he continued, "Reshod him, as you asked. A good mount."

Sturm paid his bill while Mercot led Tallfox, his horse, to the lower platform. Sturm had bought Tallfox from a Quekiri tribesman only a few weeks before, and he was still learning the horse's manners. He shouldered his bedroll and pack and descended the ramp to where Mercot had tied his mount. Tirien's hammer rang out again, banging twisted scrap iron into arrowstraight horseshoe spikes. Sturm distributed his baggage over Tallfox's sides and rump.

He filled his water bottle and heard, "You're late."

Kitiara was slouched in a corner under the livery's eaves. She was wrapped to her ears in a red horse blanket.

"Am I?" asked Sturm.

"The sun is just rising. When did you get here!"

"Hours ago. I slept here," she said, casting off the blanket. Underneath, Kitiara still wore the clothes she'd had on the previous night. She stretched her arms and braced the knots out of her stiff back.

"Why in the gods' names did you sleep here?" asked Sturm. "Did you think I'd forget and leave without you?"

"Oh, not you, noble friend. It seemed like a good place to sleep, that's all. Besides, Pira needed a shoe repaired."

Sturm led Tallfox down to the ground. He swung into Tallfox's saddle and waited for his companion. Kitiara came loping down the ramp, leading a rather nondescript brown and white spotted mare.

"Something wrong?" she asked, mounting beside Sturm.

"I just imagined that you would prefer a fiery stallion for your mount," he replied. "This, ah, quaint animal doesn't suit you at all."

"This 'quaint animal' will still be walking a steady pace long after that beast of yours is no more than bones and hide," Kitiara said. Her fitful sleep had not improved her temperament since her parting with Tanis. "I've been on six campaigns with Pira, and she's always carried me home."

"My apologies."

They rode out of Solace, north by east. The new sun pierced the hills around Solace and warmed the air. Sturm and Kitiara breakfasted simply, on jerky and water. The fine dawn became an even finer morning, and Kitiara's spirits rose.

"I can't be unhappy on the road," she said. "There's too much to see and do."

"We should be on guard as well," Sturm said. "I heard travelers in the inn say there were brigands about."

"Tshaw. Peasants on foot may have reason to fear brigands, but two warriors, armed and mounted — it's the robbers who'd best be afraid!"

Sturm made polite assent, but still kept his eyes on the horizon and his sword hilt handy.

Their route was simple enough. Once clear of Solace's hills, the two would turn northwest and make for the coast. On the shore of the Straits of Schallsea was a small fishing port called Zaradene. From there Kitiara and Sturm could easily take passage to Caergoth in southern Thelgaard. North of Caergoth lay Solamnia proper, their ultimate destination. Such was their plan. But plans, as said the sage wizard Arcanist, are like figures drawn in sand: easily made and just as easily disturbed. The forests and hills of Abanasinia thinned with the miles. Kitiara filled the hours with tales of her past adventures.

"My first hire was with Mikkian's Marauders. They were a bad lot. Mikkian was a low-born lout from Lemish. He had the bad fortune of always losing parts of himself in battle — an eye, an arm, half an ear. Pretty ugly he was, and mean! I walked into his camp, sure of my skill with a blade. In those days, I had to pretend to be a boy, else the churls would have ganged up on me," she said.

"How does one go about getting hired as a mercenary?"

"In Mikkian's band, there was only one way: kill one of his men. Mikkian had only so many openings on his payroll, and he wouldn't expand it for anybody." Kitiara wrinkled her nose at the memories conjured up by Mikkian. "Worthless rogue! The foot soldiers made a big ring and put me in it with a snaggletoothed axeman called — now what was his name? First man I ever killed. Trigneth? Drigneth? Some name like that. So we went at it, axe against sword. It was not a pretty fight, I tell you. We had to stay in the dead center of the ring, or Mikkian's boys would poke us with daggers and spear points. Trigneth — Drigneth? — fought like a woodcutter, chop, chop, chop. He never laid an edge on me. I got him with a straight thrust, right through the neck." She regarded Sturm. He looked shocked.

"How long were you with Mikkian's company?" he asked, finally.

"Twelve weeks. We sacked a walled town near Takar, and Mikkian finally lost a part he couldn't do without."

Sturm raised an eyebrow.

"His head," said Kitiara. "That was the end of the Marauders. It was every man for himself, and the whole company broke up, looting and killing. The townsfolk rose up and fought back, wiping out the whole damn gang. Save for yours truly." She smiled crookedly. Kitiara had a deep fund of such stories, all exciting and nearly all bloody. Sturm found himself confused. He'd known her for about two years now and was no closer to understanding her. This handsome, bright woman possessed no small measure of wit and charm, and yet was enamored with war on its basest level. He had to admit he marveled at her strength and cunning — but he feared Kitiara a little, too. The road petered into a path, and after a score of miles it merged into a stretch of sandy pine barrens. The air grew still and heavy with moisture.

They camped in the barrens that night, and the wind gave them their first smell of the sea. Pine knots made an acrid, smoky campfire. As Kitiara fed the flames, Sturm watered the horses. He returned to the dim circle of firelight and squatted on the sand. Kitiara handed him a cold mutton joint. Sturm gnawed the peppered meat, and Kitiara leaned back, her feet to the fire and her head pillowed by her bedroll.

"There's Paladine," she said. "See?"

She pointed to the heavens. "Paladine, Mishakal, Branchala," she said, naming each constellation in turn. "Do you know the sky?"

"My boyhood tutor, Vedro, was an astrologer," Sturm said, not really answering. He lifted his eyes. "It is said that the will of the gods can be divined by the movement of the stars and planets."

"What gods?" Kitiara replied lazily. "You don't believe in the gods7"

"Why should I? What have they done for the world lately? Or for me ever?" Sturm could tell she was baiting him, so he decided to drop the subject. "What is that group there?" he asked.

"Opposite Paladine?" "Takhisis. The Queen of Darkness."

"Oh, yes. The Dragonqueen." He tried to see the authoress of evil, but to him it was only a spatter of stars. The white orb of Solinari climbed above the horizon. In its glow, the sandy hillocks and solitary pines were pale ghosts of their daytime selves. Not long after, in the middle quadrant of the sky, a red glow of equal size appeared.

"Now that I know," said Sturm. "Lunitari, the red moon."

"Luin to the Ergothites, Red-Eye in Goodlund. A strange color for a moon, don't you think?" said Kitiara. He tossed the naked mutton bone aside. "I didn't know there were proper colors for moons."

"White or black are proper. Red means nothing." She propped her head up so that Lunitari was directly in her line of sight.

"I wonder why it's red?" Sturm reclined on his bedroll'.

"The gods ordained it so. Lunitari is the abode of neutrality, of neutral magic and illusion. Vedro theorized that the color came from the blood sacrificed to the gods."

He offered this cautiously.

"Other philosophers claim the red color represents the heart of Huma, the first knight of the Dragonlance." There was only silence from his companion. "Kit?" he said quietly. A rasp from the shadows revealed the result of his lecture. Kitiara was asleep.

The village of Zaradene was a low, brown smudge on the gray-white shore. There were perhaps fifty weatherworn houses of varying size, none with more than two stories. Sturm and Kitiara rode down the face of a steeply sloping dune toward the village. On the way, they had to thread through lines of sharpened stakes, buried in the sand with the points slanting out. Here and there the stakes were scorched by fire.

"A hedgehog," Kitiara remarked. "A defense against cavalry. The villagers must have been raided not long ago."

Behind the stakes was a shallow trench, which was spotted with black clots of blood, soaked into the sand. The faces of the people of Zaradene were not friendly as Sturm and Kitiara rode up the single sandy track that was the main street. Sullen eyes and work-gnarled hands clenched into fists seemed to be everywhere. Kitiara reined up and dismounted in front of a sagging gray tavern that bore the name Three Fishes. Odd white posts and rafter ends showed between the weatherworn clapboards. Sturm tied Tallfox to one of the posts. It was bone, from some enormous, long-dead sea creature.

"What do you suppose it was?" he asked Kit curiously.

Kitiara glanced at the bone and said, "Sea serpent, maybe. Come. There'll be shipmasters in here."

The Three Fishes tavern was well filled with patrons for so early an hour. The first master that Kitiara approached growled "Mercenaries!" and spat at her feet. She almost drew her blade on him, but Sturm caught her wrist.

"Cut one, and we'll have to fight them all," he muttered. "Be patient. We must have a boat to cross the straits."

They tried half a dozen sea captains and were rebuffed each time. Kitiara was fuming. Sturm was puzzled. He'd voyaged before, and knew that mariners usually liked to take on a few passengers. They paid better than fishing or cargo did, took care of themselves, and didn't take up much deck space. So why are the masters of Zaradene so hostile? he wondered. They drifted to the bar. Kitiara called for ale, but all the barkeep had was black wine of Nostar. After a sip of the bitter vintage, Sturm shoved his cup aside. Better to be thirsty, he thought. Kitiara plunked one of her Silvanesti coins on the dirty bar. Even in the dim tavern, the glow of gold caught the barkeep's eye. He came to the end of the bar, where Sturm and Kitiara leaned.

"You want something?" said the man. A sheen of sweat coated his shaved head.

"Words," said Kitiara. "Merely a few words."

"For that amount of gold, you can have all the words you want." The barkeeper tucked his greasy rag under his arm. Sturm wondered idly which was dirtier, the rag or the barkeep's canvas shirt.

"What happened here?" asked Kitiara.

"They don't like mercenaries here. Ten nights ago, horsemen attacked the village. Carried off everything they could grab, including some women and children."

"Who were they?" Sturm asked. "Did they wear insignia?"

"Some say they wasn't true men at all," said the barkeeper. "Some say they had hard, dark skin and — " He looked from side to side to see if anyone else was listening. "- and some say they had tails!"

Sturm started to ask another question, but Kitiara stopped him with a glance. "We need to buy passage to Caergoth," she said. "Will anybody in Zaradene take us?"

"Dunno. Some of them lost heavy in the raid. They'd as like to slit your throats as take you to sea." The barkeep went back to dispensing his awful wares, Sturm surveyed the room. "I don't like this," he said. "Raiders with tails? What sort of monsters could they have been?"

"Don't take that one's mutterings too seriously," Kitiara said. "The farther you get from safe havens like Solace, the wilder and weirder the tales you'll hear."

She tossed back the Nostarian wine without a shudder. "Skinhead is right about one thing; we have no friends in this room."

From behind their backs, a voice said, "Be not certain of that, me hearties."

Sturm and Kitiara faced the speaker. He was a full head shorter than Kitiara, with sharply pointed features and a clean, boyish face — signs of elven blood. Kitiara saw a flash of Tanis as she had last seen him, blood on his lips, his cheek red from her slap, staring at her in shock.

"Tirolan Ambrodel, at your service." He bowed from the waist. "Mariner, map maker, gem cutter, and piper."

Tirolan reached for Kitiara's hand and raised it to his lips. He didn't kiss it, but touched it to his forehead. She smiled. Sturm introduced them both and asked,

"Can you provide us with transport to Caergoth, Master Ambrodel?"

"Easily, sir. Me craft, High Crest, is laden with dunnage for that very port. Will it be just the two of you?"

"And two horses. We're traveling light," Kitiara said.

"For two passengers and two horses, I shall require five gold pieces — each." Sturm gaped at the high price, but Kitiara laughed scornfully.

"We'll give you four gold pieces for the both of us," she said.

"Eight for both," countered Tirolan.

"Five," she said. "And we'll pay in Silvanesti gold."

Tirolan Ambrodel's arched brows bunched over his thin nose.

"True gold of Eli?"

Kitiara picked up the coin from the bar and flashed it in the mariner's face. Carefully, almost tenderly, Tirolan reached for the elven gold. He held the coin, caressed it, and ran his fingertips over the worn inscription. "Very fine," he said. "Do you know that this coin is more than five hundred years old? Minted just before the Lords of the East withdrew into the forest, severing all ties with the human world. How many of these relics have you tossed away for meat and wine?"

"I had a dozen," said Kitiara. "Now I have five. They are yours if you ferry us to Caergoth."

"Done!"

"When do we sail?" asked Sturm.

"The tide ebbs with the first moon's rise. When the silver moon clears the grip of the sea, we up anchor! And away." Tirolan slipped the coin into a suede pouch on his belt. "Now, follow me, and I'll take you to the High Crest."

Sturm dropped some coins on the bar, and they exited the tavern. They led Tallfox and Pira through the streets of Zaradene, following as Tirolan Ambrodel led. People turned from them everywhere they went. One old crone uttered a charm against bad luck as Tirolan passed.

"The natives are very superstitious," he said. "Anything or anyone foreign is believed dangerous these days."

Sturm looked back at the circle of stakes in the dunes above the town.

"They have reason to be afraid," he said.

Zaradene had a single decrepit wharf. Sturm was uncertain the warped planks would hold Tallfox's weight, but Tirolan assured him that it was safe. Cargo far heavier than horses passed over the wharf every day, he said.

"Where's your boat?" asked Kitiara. "Me ship is beyond the headland, yonder."

"Why anchor so far out?" Sturm asked.

"Me vessel and crew are not well liked in Zaradene. When we must call here, we moor in deep water so as to avoid trouble with the natives."

A wide, shell-like lighter was tied to the pier. A man lay asleep in the stern, a ragged cap over his face. Tirolan jumped into the lighter, startling the man into wakefulness.

"This your boat?" said Tirolan in a loud, cheerful voice.

"Uh, yeah."

"Well then, hop to it, man. You can earn your grog money for the week."

The horses were led to a gangplank. Kitiara spoke soothingly to Pira, and the mare entered the rocking lighter without too much trouble. Tallfox, on the other hand, balked completely. Sturm wrapped the reins around his fists and tried to drag the terrified animal into the boat.

"No, no, that's not the way," said Tirolan. He hopped to the narrow gunwale and walked agilely to the foot of the gangplank. "May I, Master Brightblade?"

Sturm reluctantly gave over the reins. Tallfox began to calm the moment Tirolan's slim hands stroked his neck. Tirolan spoke soothingly to the horse. "Strong as you are, and you're afraid of a little boat ride? I'm not afraid. Am I better than you? Am I braver?"

To Sturm and Kitiara's astonishment, Tallfox shook his head energetically and snorted.

"Then," continued Tirolan in quiet, golden tones, "step down and take your place with your friends." The chestnut gelding stepped daintily into the lighter and stood quietly next to Pira. Their tails switched gently in time with the rocking of the boat.

"How did you do that?" asked Kitiara. Tirolan shrugged.

"I have a way with animals." After sculling away from the pier, the boatman raised a tattered lateen sail. The lighter skimmed between bobbing fishing craft and past the few major merchant ships in the harbor. The laden boat ran uneventfully all the way to the southern headland. Then the wind died, and the boatman went back to his sweep.

Dark slate-and-indigo clouds piled up on the southern horizon. Against the blue and green of 'the sea stood the white hull of the High Crest. Its shape was quite unlike the other boats in Zaradene harbor. The sheer line rose from the low, sharp bow to a high poop. The single lofty mast was painted white, too, and in the freshening air, a green pennant rippled from the masthead.

"Me vessel," said Tirolan proudly. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"I've never seen a white ship before," said Sturm.

"It's very handsome," Kitiara said. She frowned privately at Sturm and gestured to him.

Amidships, they huddled between their mounts. "This is getting stranger by the minute," whispered Kitiara. "An elven captain, shunned by the local folk, a strange white ship anchored far from other vessels. There's more to this than meets the eye. I'm glad I lied about how many gold coins I have." Sturm said, "I agree. The way he charmed Tallfox wasn't natural. I think he used a spell."

To Sturm, steeped in the Solamnic tradition, there was no worse sign than the use of magic.

Kitiara put a hand to his shoulder and said, "Keep your sword handy."

"All is well?" called Tirolan, over his shoulder.

"Very well," said Kitiara. "Oh, your ship is big." They were now only a hundred yards from it, and the High Crest filled their view. The white ship rode steadily in the waves, anchored at both bow and stern. The deck and rigging were empty, but a boarding ladder hung over the bulwark, waiting. Tirolan snared a dangling rope and tied the lighter fast to the High Crest. "Ho, there, me hearties! Show yourselves," he sang out in a clear tenor. The ship's ghostly inactivity vanished in a flurry of bare feet and whoops. A score of agile sailors, all sharp-featured and beardless, poured onto the deck. Sturm found himself seized by eager hands and hauled to the deck. Kitiara followed, carried by four smiling sailors. She laughed, and they set her on her feet beside Sturm. A sailor with white hair (yet quite young looking) approached Tirolan and bowed to him.

"Hail, Kade Berun!" said Tirolan.

"Hail hail, Tirolan Ambrodel!"

"We've two fine horses to bring aboard, Kade. See to it, will you?" "Horses! I haven't seen horses since — " Kade Berun glanced at Sturm and Kitiara. "- since we left home."

He shouted some orders in a strange tongue, and the lively sailors rushed to the rail overlooking the lighter. They looked at Tallfox and Pira with unconcealed admiration. The chatter ceased. "Sling a boom!" called the boatman in the lighter. "I'll fasten the harness and you can hoist them up!" The High Crest crew did so and they all were quickly aboard the ship. Beneath the rapidly setting sun, the sailors fell to quickly and soon had the High Crest ready for sea. The sail was raised, a fat triangle of brilliant green fabric. The High Crest stirred and stood out from the Abanasinian headland. Tirolan took the wheel and buried the ship's bow in the tossing waves of the Straits of Schallsea. Kitiara discarded her black leather jerkin. The breeze stirred her light linen blouse. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her short black curls. When she opened her eyes, she spied Sturm brooding by the bowsprit. "Cheer up!" she said, whacking him on the back. "The wind is fair and Tirolan seems to know his trade. We'll be in Caergoth in no time."

"I suppose," Sturm answered. "But I can't help being worried. The last time I made a sea voyage in these waters was as a boy. There was magic on that ship, and things went badly for my mother and me for a time."

"But you came through, didn't you?"

"We did."

"Then be calm! You're a knight in all but the ceremonial sense, going to reclaim your rightful heritage. Maybe you don't realize it, but I've got family in Solamnia, too."

"The Uth Matars?"

She nodded.

"I've not had contact with them since my father left us. In all my travels, I've never penetrated the Solamnic Plain. When you declared your intention to go north, it seemed as good a time as any to do some exploring up there."

She raised an eyebrow. "The Uth Matars are a knightly line, too, you know."

"No, I didn't." He realized he knew so little about her, really.

She left him by the bowsprit and went below. Sturm slipped the strap off his chin and removed his helmet. The twin brass horns were smudged; he'd have to polish them tonight. For now, he cradled the helmet against his chest, and let the sea wind wash through his long, tangled hair.