Dragons of the Highlord Skies

1 An Offering to Zeboim. Derek Quotes the Measure.

Derek Crownguard and his fellow knights, Brian Donner and Aran Tallbow, stood at the rail of a merchant ship, watching their entry into the harbor of Rigitt, a port city located about seventy miles from Tarsis. The ship, known as the Marigold, named for the captain’s daughter, had encountered fair weather and smooth seas the entire way.

Aran Tallbow stood head and shoulders over his fellow knights. Aran was a large man and he lived large, being jovial, good-natured, and fun-loving. He had sandy red hair and his mustaches—the traditional mustaches of a Solamnic knight—were long and flowing. He was fond of a “wee dram” as the dwarves say and carried a small flask in a leather holder attached to his sword belt. Inside the flask was the finest brandywine, which he sipped continually. He was never drunk, just always in a good humor. His laughter came from his belly and was as large as himself. He might seem an unlikely knight, but Aran Tallbow was a fierce warrior, his courage and skill in battle renowned. Not even Derek could fault him for that.

As the ship sailed into the harbor of Rigitt, the knights watched with amusement as the sailors offered up gifts of thanksgiving. The gifts ranged from necklaces made of shells to small wooden carvings of various monsters of the deep, all handmade by the sailors during the voyage. Chanting and singing their thanks for a safe journey, they tossed the gifts into the water.

“What is that word they keep repeating, sir?” Aran asked the captain. “Sounds like ‘Zeboim, Zeboim’.”

“That’s it exactly, sir,” said the captain. “Zeboim, goddess of the sea. You should make an offering to her yourselves, my lords. She doesn’t take kindly to being slighted.”

“Despite the fact there has been no sign of this goddess for over three hundred years?” Aran asked, with a wink at his friends.

“Just because we’ve heard no word from her, nor seen a sign, doesn’t mean Zeboim’s not keeping her eye on us,” said the captain gravely.

He leaned over the rail as he spoke to drop a pretty bracelet made of blue crystals into the green water. “Thank you, Zeboim,” he called out. “Bless our journey home!”

Derek watched with stern disapproval. “I can understand ignorant sailors believing in superstitious nonsense, but I can’t believe that you, Captain, an educated man, take part in such a ritual.”

“For one, my men would mutiny if I did not, my lord,” said the captain, “and for another”—he shrugged—“it’s better to be safe than sorry, especially where the Sea Witch is concerned. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, as we are coming into port, I have to attend to my duties.”

The knights stood beside the railing, observing the sights and sounds of the port. With winter fast closing in, the port was almost empty except for the fishing vessels that braved all but the fiercest winter gales.

“Beg pardon, m’luds,” came a voice behind them.

The three knights turned to see one of the sailors bowing and bobbing to them. They knew this man well. He was the oldest aboard ship. He claimed to have been a sailor for sixty years, saying he had gone to sea as a lad at the age of ten. He was wizened and bent, his face burnt brown by the sun and wrinkled with age. He could still climb the ropes as fast as the young men, however. He could predict the coming of a storm by watching the way the gulls flew, and he claimed he could talk to dolphins. He had survived a shipwreck, saying he had been rescued from drowning by a beautiful sea elf.

“For you both, m’luds,” the old man said, gumming the words, for he was missing most of his teeth to scurvy. “For to give to the Sea Witch.”

He held in his hands two carved wooden animals, and these he presented with a bob and a bow and a toothless grin to Aran and Brian.

“What is it?” Brian asked, examining the small hand-carved wooden animal.

“It looks like a wolf,” Aran remarked.

“Yes, m’lud. Wolf,” said the old man, touching his hand to his forehead. “One fer both.” He pointed a gnarled finger first at Aran, then to Brian. “Give ’em to the Sea Witch. So she’ll take kindly to you.”

“Why wolves, Old Salt?” Aran asked. “Wolves are not very sea-like. Wouldn’t a whale suit her better?”

“I was told wolves in a dream,” said the old man, his shrewd eyes glinting. He pointed to the sea. “Give ’em to the goddess. Ask ’er for ‘er blessing.”

“You do and I’ll bring you up on charges before the Council,” Derek stated.

Derek was not noted for his sense of humor, but he did sometimes indulge in small dry jokes (so dry and so small they often went unnoticed). He might be teasing, but then again, he might not. Brian couldn’t tell.

Not that it mattered with Aran, who was quick to turn anything into a jest.

“You frighten me. What would be the charges, Derek?” Aran asked with mock concern.

“Idol worship,” said Derek.

“Hah! Hah!” Aran’s laughter went rolling over the water. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t get a wolf.”

Derek had kept to their cabin during the voyage, spending his time reading the copy of the Measure he carried with him, making notations in the margins. He left the cabin only to take daily exercise on the deck, which meant that he walked up and down it for an hour, or to dine with the captain. Aran had roamed the deck from morning to night, mingling freely with the sailors, learning “the ropes” and dancing the hornpipe. He had undertaken to scramble up the rigging and had nearly broken his neck when he fell from the yardarm.

Brian had spent most of his time at sea trying to restrain the high spirits of Aran.

“So I just toss this into the water… “said Aran to the old man, prepared to suit his actions to his words. “Do I say a prayer—”

“You do not,” said Derek sternly. He reached out and plucked the wolf carving from Aran’s hand and gave it back to the old man. “Thank you, mate, but these knights have their swords. They don’t need a blessing.”

Derek looked pointedly at Brian, who, muttering his thanks, handed his wolf to the old man.

“Are you certain sure, m’luds?” the old man asked, eyeing them intently. His shrewd scrutiny made Brian uncomfortable, but before he could respond Derek cut him off.

“We have no time for fairy tales,” Derek said tersely. “Gentlemen, we will be going ashore soon and we have our packing to finish.”

He left the railing and went striding across the deck.

“You give it to the goddess for me,” said Aran to the old man, clapping him on the shoulder, “with my thanks.”

Glancing back, Brian saw the old man still standing there, still watching them. Then the captain’s voice rang out with an order to all hands to prepare to drop anchor. The old man tossed the wolf carvings overboard and dashed off to obey.

Derek disappeared below decks, heading to the small cabin the three knights shared. Aran followed after him, taking a pull from his flask as he went. Brian lingered to gaze out to sea. The breeze blew off the glacier that was far to the south and carried with it the nip of winter. The waves were sun-dappled gold on top, blue below. The wind plucked at the hem of his cloak. Sea birds wheeled in the sky, or bobbed up and down placidly on the surface of the water.

Brian wished he’d taken the old man’s wolf carving. He wished he’d made an offering to the sea goddess, whoever she was. He imagined her: beautiful and capricious, dangerous and deadly. Brian lifted his hand to salute her.

“Thank you for a safe voyage, my lady,” he said, half-mocking and half-serious.

“Brian!” Derek’s irate voice echoed up from down below.

“Coming!” Brian called.

The knights did not stay long in Rigitt. They hired horses for the journey north to Tarsis that would take them across the Plains of Dust. The road was still passable, though there had been snow up north around Thorbardin, or so Aran heard from a drinking companion, a mercenary who had just traveled that route.

“He advised us not to stay inside Tarsis,” Aran told them, as they were loading supplies onto the horses. “He suggests we make camp in the hills and enter the city during the day. He said we should keep the fact that we’re Knights of Solamnia to ourselves. The Tarsians have no love for us, it seems.”

“The Measure states: ‘A knight should walk openly in the sunshine, proudly proclaiming his nobility to the world’,” Derek quoted.

“And if the Tarsians toss us out of the city on our noble posteriors, what of our mission to find the dragon orb?” asked Aran, grinning.

“They won’t toss us out. You have this information on the authority of some rag-tag sellsword,” said Derek disparagingly.

“The captain told me much the same, Derek,” Brian said.

“Prior to the Cataclysm, the knights made Tarsis a Lord City of Solamnia, despite the fact that the city was hundreds of miles away. That way, the knights could protect the city from enemies. Then came the Cataclysm and the knights couldn’t protect themselves, much less a city far from Solamnia. The knights who had lived in Tarsis—those who survived—returned to Palanthas, leaving the Tarsians to fight their battles alone.”

“The Tarsians have never forgiven us for abandoning them,” Brian concluded.

“Perhaps we could find a loophole—” Aran began.

Brian shot him a warning glance, and Aran, rubbing his nose, rephrased his suggestion.

“Perhaps the Measure makes some provision for such a delicate political situation.”

“You should be better versed in the Measure,” said Derek reprovingly, “otherwise you would know what it says. We will not enter Tarsis under false pretenses. We will present our credentials to the proper authorities and receive their permission to enter the city. There will be no trouble if we behave honorably, whereas there would be trouble if we were caught sneaking into the city like thieves.”

“You make it sound like I’m suggesting we enter the city dressed in black with sacks over our heads,” said Aran, chuckling. “There’s no need to flaunt the fact that we’re knights. We don’t have to lie—just pack up our fancy tabards and the hand-tooled leather armor, replace our ornate helms with plain, take off the badges that mark our rank, remove our spurs, and wear ordinary, serviceable clothing. Maybe trim our mustaches.”

That last was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Derek did not even deign to respond. He made a final adjustment to the horse’s bridle, then left to go settle the bill with the innkeeper.

Aran shrugged and reached for his flask. He took a couple of sips, then offered the flask to Brian, who shook his head.

“Derek does talk sense, Aran,” Brian argued. “It might go badly for us if we were caught trying to hide our true identities. Besides, I can’t imagine the Tarsians would still hate us after three hundred years!”

Aran looked at him and smiled. “That’s because you can’t imagine hating anyone, Brian.” He sauntered over to look out the stable door, then, seeing Derek was out of earshot, he returned to his friend. “Do you know why Lord Gunthar asked me to come on this mission?”

Brian could guess, but he didn’t want to. “Aran, I don’t think—”

“I’m here to make certain Derek doesn’t screw it up,” Aran said flatly. He took another drink.

Brian winced at the crudeness of the expression. “Derek’s a Knight of the Rose, Aran. He’s your superior and mine. According to the Measure—”

“Piss on the Measure!” said Aran sharply, his jovial mood evaporating. “I’m not going to allow this mission to fail because Derek cares more about adhering to some moldy old code of antiquated laws than he does about saving our nation.”

“Perhaps without those laws and the noble tradition they represent, the nation wouldn’t be worth saving,” Brian remarked moodily.

Aran rested his hand affectionately on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Brian.”

“So is Derek,” said Brian earnestly. “We’ve known him a long time, Aran. We’ve both been his friends for years.”

“True,” said Aran, shrugging again, “and we’ve both seen how much he’s hardened and changed.”

Brian sighed. “Be patient with him, Aran. He’s suffered a lot. The loss of castle, his brother’s terrible death…”

“I will be patient,” said Aran, “up to a point. Now I’m going to indulge in a stirrup cup. Join me?”

Brian shook his head. “Go on. I’ll wait for Derek.”

Aran mounted his horse and rode off to enjoy a final mug of ale and to refill his flask before starting out.

Brian remained in the stable, adjusting the horse’s bridle. Damn Aran anyway! Brian wished Aran hadn’t told him the true reason he’d come. Brian didn’t like to think Lord Gunthar trusted Derek so little he’d set a friend to spy on him, and Brian didn’t like hearing Aran had accepted such a demeaning assignment. Knights did not spy on each other. That must be in the Measure somewhere.

If so, Derek didn’t quote those parts, for he had his own spies in the court of Lord Gunthar. Perhaps Derek’s spies had told him that Aran was a spy. Brian leaned his head against the horse’s neck. He could almost believe Queen Takhisis had returned to the world, planting the seeds of discord among those who had once been the champions of honor and valor. The seeds had taken root in fear and were now flourishing into noxious weeds of hatred and mistrust.

“Where is Aran?” Derek’s voice roused Brian from his dark reflections.

“He went to get some ale,” Brian said.

“We’re not on a kender outing,” Derek said grimly. “He takes nothing seriously, and now I suppose we must go haul him out of some bar.”

Derek was wrong. They found Aran, wiping foam from his mouth, waiting for them on the road that led to Tarsis.

The three set out, with Aran in the middle, Derek on his right, and Brian on his left. He recalled with sudden vividness another quest, their very first.

“Do you remember when the three of us were squires, and we were tired of tilting at the quintain and whacking each other with wooden swords. We decided to prove ourselves and so we—”

“—decided to go to Nightlund to seek the death knight!” Aran began to chuckle. “By my soul, I had not thought of that in a long time. We rode three days into what we fancied was Nightlund, though in truth we never got close, and then we came to that empty castle. It was deserted. The walls were cracked, the battlements crumbling. One of the towers was charred and burned, and we knew we’d found it—Dargaard Keep. The accursed home of the dread Lord Soth.” Aran’s chuckles turned to laughter. “Do you remember what happened next?”

“I’m not likely to forget,” said Brian. “I lost five years of my life that night. We camped out near the keep to keep watch on it, and sure enough, we saw a strange blue light flickering in one of the windows.”

“Ha, ha! The blue light!” Aran guffawed.

“We girded on our armor—”

“—that didn’t fit us, because it was stolen from our masters,” Aran recalled. “All of us were scared out of our wits, but we would none of us admit it and so we went forth.”

“Derek was our leader. Remember, Derek? You gave the signal, and we charged inside and”—Brian could barely speak for mirth—“we were met by a dwarf—”

“—who’d set up an illegal spirit distillery inside the keep…” Aran roared with laughter. “The blue light we saw was the fire cooking his mash! He thought we were there to steal his brew and he came roaring at us from the shadows, waving that bloody great ax. He looked ten feet tall, I swear!”

“And we gallant knights ran off in three different directions with him chasing after us, shouting he was going to chop off our ears!”

Aran was doubled over the pommel of his saddle. Brian was laughing so hard, he could barely see. He wiped his streaming eyes and glanced over at Derek.

The knight sat bolt upright on his horse. He gazed straight ahead, slightly frowning. Brian’s laughter trailed off.

“Don’t you remember that, Derek?” he asked. “No,” said Derek. “I don’t.”

He spurred his horse to a gallop, making it clear he wanted to ride alone.

Aran brought out his flask, then fell into line behind Derek. Brian chose to bring up the rear. There were no more stories, no more laughter. As for singing songs of heroic deeds to enliven the journey, Brian tried to recall one, but found he couldn’t.

Singing would only annoy Derek anyway.

The three rode north in silence, as the gray clouds massed and the snow began to fall.

2 Abrupt end of a peaceful journey. The Measure reconsidered

The journey to Tarsis was long, cold and miserable. The wind blew incessantly across the Plains of Dust and was both a curse and a blessing; a curse in that its chill fingers plucked aside cloaks and jabbed through the warmest clothing, a blessing in that it kept the road clear of mounding snow drifts.

The knights had brought firewood with them, figuring there would be little chance of finding wood on the way. They did not have to make use of it, however, for they were invited to spend the first night with the nomads who lived in this harsh land.

The Plainsmen gave them shelter consisting of a hide tent and food for themselves and their horses. All this, yet they never spoke a word to them. The knights woke in the gray of dawn to find the Plainsmen dismantling their tent around them. By the time the knights had made their morning ablutions, the nomads were ready to depart. Derek sent the affable Aran to give the Plainsmen their thanks.

“Very strange,” Aran commented on his return, as Brian and Derek were readying the horses.

“What is?” Derek asked.

“The man we took for their leader seemed to be trying to tell me something. He kept pointing north and frowning and shaking his head. I asked him what he meant, but he didn’t speak Common or any other language I tried. He pointed north three times, then he turned and walked off.”

“Perhaps the road to the north is blocked by snow,” Brian suggested.

“Could be what he meant, I suppose, but I don’t think so. It seemed more serious than that, as if he were trying to warn us of something bad up ahead.”

“I was thinking to myself last night it was odd to find the Plainsmen traveling this time of year,” said Brian. “Don’t they usually make permanent camp somewhere during the winter months?”

“Maybe they’re fleeing something,” said Aran. “They were in a hurry this morning, and the chief certainly looked grim.”

“Who can tell what such savages do or why,” said Derek dismissively.

“Still, we should be on our guard,” Brian suggested.

“I am always on my guard,” returned Derek.

The snow let up and a freshening wind whisked away the clouds. The sun shone, warming them and making their journey more pleasant. At Derek’s insistence, they still wore the accoutrements of knighthood: tabards marked with the rose, the crown, or the sword, depending on their rank; their ornate helms; tall boots with the spurs each had won; and fine woolen cloaks. They had covered many miles the day before and hoped that by hard riding and stopping only long enough to rest the horses they would reach Tarsis before nightfall.

The day passed uneventfully. They did not find any places where the road was blocked. They met no other people, nor did they see signs anyone else had traveled this way. They gave up trying to puzzle out what the Plainsman had meant.

Toward late afternoon, the clouds returned and the sun disappeared. The snow started, falling furiously for a time, then the squall lifted and the sun came back. This continued on the rest of the afternoon, the knights riding from patches of snow into patches of sunlight and back to snow, until the weather grew so confused—as Aran quipped—they could see the snowflakes glitter in the sun.

During one of the flurries, the knights topped a slight rise and found, on their way down, the vast expanse of the plains spread out before them. They could see bands of snow glide across the prairie, and during a break in one of the small storms, a walled city.

The city disappeared in a sudden burst of blowing snow, but there was no doubt that it was Tarsis. The sight cheered them, as did the thought of an inn with a blazing fire and hot food. Aran had said no more about camping in the hills.

“The captain of the ship recommended an inn known as the Red Dragon,” Brian said.

“Not exactly a propitious name,” Aran remarked dryly.

“You can throw salt over your shoulder and turn around in a circle thirteen times before you go inside,” said Derek.

Aran looked at him in astonishment, then he caught Derek’s smile. The smile was stiff, as if not much used, but he was smiling.

“I’ll do that,” Aran said, grinning.

Brian breathed a sigh of relief, glad to feel the tension between them ease. They rode on, climbing yet another gentle rise. Topping this one, they saw ahead of them a deep, rock-strewn gully spanned by a wooden bridge.

The knights halted as a sudden snow squall enveloped them in white, obscuring their vision. When the snow lessened and they could see the bridge again, Aran started to urge his horse forward. Derek raised a warding hand.

“Hold a moment,” he said.

“Why?” Aran halted. “Did you see something?”

“I thought I did, before that last squall. I saw people moving on the other side of the bridge.”

“No one there now,” said Aran, rising in his saddle and gazing ahead.

“I can see for myself,” said Derek. “That’s what bothers me.”

“This would be a good place for an ambush,” observed Brian, loosening his sword in its scabbard.

“We could find another place to cross,” Aran suggested. He was one of the few knights skilled in archery, and he reached for the bow he wore slung on his back.

“They’ve seen us. If we turn back, it will look suspicious. Besides,” Derek added coolly, “I’d like to see who is lurking about this bridge and why.”

“Maybe it’s trolls,” Aran said, grinning, recalling the old child’s tale, “and we’re the billy goats.”

Derek pretended he hadn’t heard. “The bridge is narrow. We’ll have to cross in single-file. I will go first. Keep close behind me. No weapons, Aran. Let them think we haven’t seen them.”

Derek waited until another flurry of snow descended on them then touched his horse lightly on the flanks and started forward at a slow pace.

As his horse reached the bridge, Aran said in a low voice, “‘It’s only I, Billy Goat Gruff!’”

Derek half-turned in the saddle. “Damn it, Aran, be serious for once!”

Aran only laughed and urged his horse forward, falling in behind Derek. Brian, keeping watch over his shoulder, brought up the rear.

The knights rode slowly across the bridge. Though the snow concealed them, the horse’s hooves clattered on the wooden planks, effectively announcing their coming. They kept their ears stretched, but could hear nothing. Brian, peering behind them through the intermittent flurries, saw no one following them. He might have concluded Derek was jumping at shadows, but he knew the man too well for that. Derek might be a prize ass at times, but he was an excellent soldier—intuitive and keenly observant. Even Aran, though he’d joked about billy goats, was not joking now. He had his hand on his sword’s hilt and was keeping close watch.

Derek was about halfway across the bridge. Aran was coming along behind him, his horse clattering over the wooden slats, and Brian’s horse was behind Aran’s, when three strangers suddenly reared up out of the snow and began walking toward them. The strangers were enveloped in long cloaks that trailed over the snowy ground. They kept their hoods drawn over their heads, making it impossible to see their faces. Large leather gloves covered their hands, and they wore heavy boots.

Whoever they were, the horses didn’t like them. Derek’s horse snorted and laid back its ears. Aran’s horse danced sideways, while Brian’s nervously backed and shied.

“Well met, fellow travelers!” one of the strangers called out as he ambled toward the bridge. “Where are you bound in such foul weather?”

Brian stirred in the saddle. The stranger spoke Common well enough and was trying to sound friendly, but Brian tensed. He had detected a faint sibilant hissing at the end of the word “travelers.” Thus might a draconian speak the word. And draconians had been known to try to disguise their scaly bodies in long cloaks with hoods. Brian wondered if his companions had heard the hiss too and if they were likewise on their guard. He didn’t dare turn to look at them or act as if anything was out of the ordinary.

Then Aran, riding ahead of him, said softly in Solamnic, “Not trolls. Lizards.”

Brian shifted his hand beneath his cloak to grasp the hilt of his sword.

Derek eyed the strangers warily, then said, “Since we are on the road to Tarsis and that city lies directly ahead of us, it would seem safe to say that Tarsis is where we are bound.”

“Mind if we ask you a few questions?” the draconian inquired, still friendly.

“Yes, we do,” said Derek. “Now stand aside and let us cross.”

“We’re looking for some people,” the draconian continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “We have a message for them from our master.”

Brian caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A fourth draconian was off to the side of the road, half-hidden behind a signpost. Hooded and cloaked like the others, the draconian was far shorter than his three companions. He was moving about inside his cloak, and Brian thought perhaps the creature was about to draw a weapon. Instead, the draconian brought forth a document of some sort. The creature consulted the document, then called out something to his comrades and shook his head.

The leader glanced over at the draconian with the paper and then, shrugging, said affably, “My mistake. A good journey to you gentlemen,” and turned to walk off.

The knights stared at each other. “Keep riding,” Derek ordered.

The knights rode on. Derek’s horse made it across the bridge, and Aran’s was close behind when a gust of wind swirled down the gully, seized the corner of Derek’s cape and blew it back over his shoulder. The rose of his Order, embroidered on his tabard, flared bright red, the only color in the white, snow-covered landscape.

“Solamnics!” The word hissed from the short, squat draconian by the sign post. “Kill them!”

The draconians whipped around. They flung back their cloaks, revealing themselves as baaz draconians, the footsoldiers of the dragonarmies. Snatching off their gloves, they drew long, curve-bladed swords. Their bodies might be covered in scales and they held their weapons in clawed hands, but they were fierce and intelligent fighters, as the three knights had reason to know, for they had fought against them in Vingaard and at Castle Crownguard.

Sword in hand, Derek spurred his horse directly at the lead draconian, trusting that the beast’s stamping hooves would force the attacking draconian to retreat or be trampled. Unfortunately, Derek’s horse was a hired nag, not a trained war horse. The horse was terrified by the strange-smelling lizard-man and it reared back on its hind legs, whinnying frantically and nearly dumping Derek out of the saddle.

Derek struggled to calm the horse and keep his seat, and for the moment he could pay attention to little else. Seeing one knight in trouble, a draconian came at him, sword raised. Aran rode his horse between Derek’s plunging steed and his attacker. Slashing at the draconian with his sword, Aran cut the monster across the face.

Blood sprayed. A large chunk of bloody flesh sagged loose from the creature’s jaw. The draconian hissed in pain, but he kept coming and tried to jab the curve-bladed sword into Aran’s thigh. Aran kicked at the blade with his booted foot and knocked it from the draconian’s hand.

Brian spurred his horse off the bridge, heading to block off the third draconian, who was running to join the others. As he rode, he kept an eye on the short, squat draconian near the signpost and saw in amazement that the creature appeared to be growing! Then Brian realized the draconian was not growing; he was merely standing upright. A bozak draconian, he had been squatting comfortably on his haunches. Now he rose up to his full seven-foot height.

The bozak did not reach for a weapon. He lifted his voice in a chant and raised his hands, fingers extended toward Aran.

Brian bellowed, “Aran! Duck!”

Aran did not waste time asking why but flung himself forward, pressing against his horse’s neck. An eerie pinkish light flared through the falling snow. Balls of fire shot from the draconian’s fingers. The missiles whistled harmlessly over Aran’s back, showering sparks as they passed.

Shouting challenges, Brian drew his sword and galloped his horse toward the bozak, hoping to stop the creature from casting another spell. He heard, behind him, the clash of steel and Derek yelling something, but Brian did not dare lose sight of his enemy long enough to see what was happening.

The bozak coolly ignored Brian. The draconian did not believe he was in any danger, and Brian realized there must be a good reason for this. Brian looked about. A draconian was running alongside his horse, ready to spring at him and try to drag him to the ground.

Brian made an awkward, back-handed slash with his sword, and he must have hit the draconian, for blood spurted and the creature dropped out of sight. Brian tried to stop his horse’s forward motion, but the beast was terrified by the smell of blood and the shouts and the fighting and was completely out of control. Wild-eyed, spittle flying, the horse carried Brian closer to the bozak. The draconian raised his clawed hands, fingers splayed, pointing at Brian.

Brian flung his sword into the snow and leaped off the maddened horse, hurling himself at the bozak. Brian slammed into the draconian, taking the bozak completely by surprise. The fiery missiles shot off in all directions. The bozak, arms flailing wildly, toppled over backward with Brian on top of him.

Brian scrambled to his feet. The bozak, jarred by the fall, was fumbling for his sword. Brian snatched the knife at his belt and stabbed it with all his strength into the bozak’s throat. The draconian gurgled and choked as blood welled around the knife, and the creature glared at him in fury that rapidly dimmed as death took him.

Remembering just in time that bozaks were as dangerous dead as they were alive, Brian shouted a warning to his friends, then turned and hurled himself as far from the creature as he could manage. He landed belly-first on the snow-covered ground, bruising his ribs on a rock, just as an explosion sent a wave of heat washing over him. He lay still a moment, half-stunned by the blast, then looked back.

The bozak was charred bone, smoldering flesh, and fragments of armor. Aran, swearing loudly, stood over his dead foe, trying to wrench free his sword encased in the stony statue that had been a baaz. Aran gave his sword a mighty yank. The stone crumbled to ash and he nearly went over backward. He caught his balance, and, still swearing, wiped blood from a cut on his chin.

“Anyone hurt?” Derek called out. He stood beside his shivering horse. His sword was wet with blood. A pile of ashes lay at his feet.

Aran grunted in response.

Brian was looking about for his horse, only to see it galloping madly across the plains, heading for home. He whistled and shouted, all in vain. The horse paid no heed, kept running.

“There goes my gear!” Brian exclaimed in dismay. “The rest of my armor, food, my clothes…”

He’d been wearing his breastplate and helm, but he was sorry to lose the remainder: grieves and bracers, gloves…

Shaking his head, Brian bent to retrieve his sword and saw the document the bozak had been consulting lying in the snow. The draconian must have tossed it down in order to concentrate on his spellcasting. Curious, Brian picked it up.

“What in the Abyss are draconians doing camped out by a bridge in the snow? “Aran demanded. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Ambushing travelers makes sense for them,” said Derek.

“They weren’t going to ambush us. They were going to let us go until they saw that bright red rose of yours and realized we were Solamnic knights,” Aran returned.

“Bah! They would have jumped us from behind no matter what,” said Derek.

“I’m not so sure,” said Brian, rising to his feet, the document in his hand. “I think they’re bounty hunters. I saw the bozak consulting this as we rode up. He saw that we didn’t match the descriptions, and he ordered the baaz to let us go.”

The document contained a list of names, accompanied by descriptions, and amounts to be paid in reward for their capture. Tanis Half-elven was the first name on the list, Flint Fireforge was another with the word “dwarf” written alongside. There was a kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, two elves, a wizard, Raistlin Majere, and a man listed as a cleric of Paladine.

“And look at this.” Brian indicated a name. “An old friend of ours.”

Sturm Brightblade. Beside his name was written, Solamnic knight.

“Huh! Brightblade is not a knight,” said Derek, frowning.

Aran looked at him in astonishment. “Who cares if he’s a knight or not?” He jabbed at the document. “This is why the draconians were keeping a watch on this bridge. They were looking for these people, one of whom happens to be a friend of ours and a Solamnic.”

“A friend of yours, perhaps,” said Derek. “Brightblade is no friend of mine.”

“I don’t think we should stand here arguing,” Brian pointed out. “There could be more draconians around. Tarsis might have fallen into enemy hands for all we know.” Folding the paper carefully, he thrust it into his belt.

“Not likely,” said Derek. “We would have heard news of that in Rigitt, and these draconians were in disguise. If they were in control of Tarsis, they would be swaggering about letting everyone know they were in charge. They were here in secret, acting on their own.”

“Or on orders from their master,” Aran commented. “Did you notice—they were wearing blue insignia like the draconians that attacked us in Solamnia.”

“That is odd, come to think of it,” Brian said. “According to reports, the red wing of the dragonarmy is nearer to Tarsis than the blue.”

“Blue or red, they are all our foes, and Brian is right,” said Derek. “We have already been here too long. Brian, you ride with Aran. His horse is the largest and strongest. We’ll transfer his gear to my horse.”

They shifted the saddlebags from Aran’s horse to Derek’s, then Aran mounted and pulled Brian up behind him. Brian’s horse had long since disappeared.

Aran and Brian started to canter off down the road.

“Where are you going?” Derek demanded.

“Tarsis,” said Aran, halting. “Where else?”

“I don’t think we should enter Tarsis openly,” said Derek. “Not until we know more about what is going on.”

“You mean, not announce our noble presence?” Aran exclaimed in mock horror. “I’m shocked, Derek, shocked that you would even suggest such a thing! I may never recover.” He drew out his flask and took a consoling drink.

Derek gave him an angry look and did not answer. Brian glanced at the sky. The clouds were swirling, gray over white. A pale light gleamed from beneath them. If the clouds cleared, the night would be frigid.

“Where do we go?” he asked.

“According to the map, there is wooded hill country west of Tarsis. We will camp there for the night, keep watch on the city, and decide what to do in the morning.” Derek turned his horse’s head, striking off across the plains.

Aran, chuckling to himself, followed along behind him.

“Interesting to see Brightblade’s name on a bounty list,” Aran said to Brian. “And keeping strange company from the looks of it—elves, dwarves and the like. I suppose that’s what comes of living in a crossroads town like Solace. I’ve heard it’s a wild place. Did he ever say anything to you about his life there?”

“No, he never discussed it. But then, Sturm was always a very private man. He rarely spoke about himself at all. He was more concerned about his father.”

“Too bad about that.” Aran sighed. “I wonder what sort of trouble Sturm’s in now?”

“Whatever it is, he’s in this part of Ansalon—either that, or someone thinks he is,” said Brian.

“I’d like to see Brightblade again. He’s a good man, despite what some think.” Aran cast a dour glance at Derek. “I don’t suppose it’s likely, though.”

“You never know who’ll you’ll meet on the road these days,” said Brian.

“That’s true enough,” Aran stated, laughing, and he dabbed at his chin to see if it was still bleeding.

The three knights spent a cold and cheerless evening huddled around a fire in a shallow cave in the hills above Tarsis. The snowstorm had blown itself out and the night was clear, with both Solinari and Lunitari shedding silver and red light.

From their camp, the knights could see one of the main gates, closed and barred until morning. Guards manned the walls, pacing off the watch in slow, measured tread. The city was dark; most people were in their beds.

“The city seems quiet enough,” said Brian, when Aran came to relieve him, taking his turn at watch.

“Yeah, and draconians not ten miles from here,” said Aran, shaking his head.

The knights were up early to see the gates open. No one was waiting to enter and only a few people departed (mostly kender being escorted out of town). Those who left took the road to Rigitt. The gate guards remained in their towers, venturing out into the cold only when forced to do so by someone wanting admittance. The guards walking the battlements did so in bored fashion, pausing often to warm themselves at fires burning in large iron braziers and to chat companionably. Tarsis was the picture of a city at peace with itself and all the world.

“If draconians were watching for these people on a bridge leading to Tarsis, you can bet they’re also keeping an eye out for them in Tarsis itself,” said Brian. “They’ll have someone lurking about near the gates.”

Aran winked at Brian. “So, Derek, are we going to march into Tarsis wearing full knightly regalia and carrying banners with the kingfisher and the rose?”

Derek looked very grim.

“I have consulted the Measure,” he said, bringing out the well-worn volume. “It states that fulfillment of a quest of honor undertaken by a knight with sanction from the Council should be the knight’s first priority. If the fulfillment of the quest of honor requires that the knight conceal his true identity, succeeding at the quest takes precedence over the duty of the knight to proudly proclaim his allegiance.”

“You lost me somewhere around precedence and fulfillment,” said Aran. “In words of one syllable, Derek, do we disguise ourselves or not?”

“According to the Measure, we may disguise ourselves without sacrificing our honor.”

Aran’s lips twitched. He caught Brian’s warning glance, however, and swallowed his glib comment along with a gulp from the flask.

The knights spent the rest of the day removing all their badges and insignia. They cut the embroidered decorations from their clothes and stowed away their armor in the back of the cave. They would wear their swords, and Aran would keep his bow and quiver of arrows. Weapons were not likely to cause comment, for no one went forth unarmed these days.

“All that’s left of our knighthood is our mustaches,” said Aran, tugging at his.

“Well, we’re certainly not going to shave,” said Derek sternly.

“Our mustaches will grow back, Derek,” Aran said.

“No.” Derek was adamant. “We will pull our hoods low and wrap scarves around our heads. As cold as it is, no one will pay any attention.”

Aran rolled his eyes, but he accepted the ruling meekly, much to Derek’s surprise.

“You owe Derek,” said Brian, as he and Aran were arranging the screen of brush over the cave.

Aran grinned sheepishly. The knight’s long, luxurious red mustache was his secret pride. “I guess I do. I would have shaved my mustache, mind you, but it would have been like cutting off my sword arm. Don’t tell Derek, though. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Brian shrugged. “It seems strange to me that we risk imperiling our mission for the sake of some fuzz on our upper lips.”

“This is not to be termed ‘fuzz’,” said Aran severely, fondly smoothing his mustache. “Besides, it might actually look worse if we shaved. Our faces are tan from the sea voyage, and the white skin on our lips would look very suspicious, whereas, if we don’t shave… well… I’m sure we won’t be the only men in Tarsis with mustaches.”

They decided to enter the city separately, their reasoning being that three armed men entering alone would cause less stir than three trying to enter together. They would meet at the library of Khrystann.

“Though we have no idea where this library is or how to find it,” Aran remarked lightly. “Nor do we know what it is we’re looking for once we get there. Nothing I like better than a well organized fiasco.”

Bundled in their cloaks, their hoods pulled low and scarves wrapped around their faces from nose to neck, Aran and Brian watched Derek ride down out of the hills, heading for the main city gate.

“I don’t see what we could do differently,” Brian said.

Aran shifted restlessly in his saddle. His customary cheerfulness had left him suddenly, leaving him moody and edgy.

“What’s wrong?” Brian asked. “Your flask empty?”

“Yes, but that’s not it,” Aran returned gloomily. He shifted again on his saddle, glancing around behind him. “There’s a bad feel to the air. Don’t you notice it?”

“The wind’s changed direction, if that’s what you mean,” said Brian.

“Not that. More like a goose walking across my grave. Only in this case the goose has built a nest on it and hatched goslings. I felt the same way before the attack on Castle Crownguard. You’d better go, if you’re going,” Aran added abruptly.

Brian hesitated. He regarded his friend with concern. He’d seen Aran in all sorts of moods from wild to reckless to merry. He’d never seen him in a black mood like this.

“Go on.” Aran waved his hand as though he were shooing the aforementioned geese. “I’ll meet you in the library that was probably destroyed three hundred years ago.”

“That isn’t funny,” Brian growled over his shoulder as he walked down the hill, heading for the gates of Tarsis.

“Sometimes I’m not,” said Aran quietly.

3 The bargain. The Library of Khrystann

Before the Cataclysm, Tarsis had been known as Tarsis the Beautiful. When she looked into her mirror, she saw reflected there a city of culture and refinement, wealth, beauty, and charm. She spent money lavishly, and she had money to spend, for ships brought rich cargos to her ports and laid them at her feet. Lush gardens of flowering plants adorned her like jewels. Knights, lords, and ladies walked her tree-lined streets. Scholars came from hundreds of miles away to study at her library, for Tarsis was not only elegant and refined and lovely, she was learned, too. She looked out over her glittering bay and saw nothing but joy and happiness on her horizon.

Then the gods hurled the fiery mountain on Krynn, and Tarsis was forever changed. Her glittering bay vanished. The water receded. Her ships were stranded in the mud and muck of a wrecked harbor. Tarsis looked in the mirror and saw her beauty ruined, her rich clothes soiled and torn, her jewel-like gardens withered and dead.

Unlike many who suffer tragedy and adversity and have the grace and dignity and courage to rise again, Tarsis let tragedy sink her. Wallowing in self-pity, she blamed the Knights of Solamnia for her downfall and drove the knights from their homes into exile. She blamed wizards, too, and dwarves and elves and anyone who was not “one of us.” She blamed the wise men and women who had come there to study in the ancient Library of Khrystann, and she drove them out. She left the library in ruins and forbade anyone from entering it.

Tarsis turned mean and mercenary, covetous and grasping. She took no joy in beautiful things. The only beauty in her eyes was the glitter of steel coins. Her seaport was gone, but she still maintained overland trade routes and used her wiles to foster trade with her neighbors.

At last, more than three hundred years later, Tarsis could look in the mirror once again. She would never regain her former beauty, but she could at least dress herself up in her borrowed finery, rouge her cheeks and paint her lips. Sitting in the shadows where no one could see her clearly, she could pretend that she was once more Tarsis the Beautiful.

The city of Tarsis had been guarded by a twenty-foot-high stone wall, pierced by towers and gates at intervals, and by the sea. The wall ended at the harbor where the sea took over. Where the sea ended, the wall resumed. The wall remained, but the sea’s absence left an unfortunate gap in the city’s security.

A reduction in the population caused by the departure of sailors and ship builders, sail makers and merchants and all those who had depended on the sea for their living meant a drastic drop in tax revenues. Tarsis went from wealth to poverty literally overnight. There was no money to build a new stretch of twenty-foot-high wall. Five feet was about as much as could be managed. Besides, as one Tarsian lord said gloomily, they didn’t need protection anyway. Tarsis had nothing anyone wanted.

That had been years ago. Tarsis was more prosperous now. The Tarsians had heard rumors of war in the north. They knew Solamnia had been attacked (“Snooty knights! Serves them right!”), and they had heard that the elves had been driven out of Qualinesti (“What could you expect of elves? Simpering cowards, all of them!”). There was talk that Pax Tharkas had fallen (“Pax what? Never heard of it.”) Tarsis paid little heed to any of this. With prosperity had come complacency. Tarsis had been at peace forever, and her people saw no threat on their horizon, so why waste money on something as dull and prosaic as a wall when they could build fine houses and showy municipal structures? Thus the five-foot-wall remained.

The wall had two main iron-clad gates located in the north and the east. Derek was to enter by the northern gate, where traffic was deemed to be heaviest. Aran rode in through the eastern gate, and it fell to Brian to try to make his way on foot through the gate at the southern part of the city—the Harbor Wall, as it was known.

Being the weakest part of the city’s defenses, the knights assumed the Harbor Wall would be the one most closely guarded. Derek’s choice of Brian for this route was something of a back-handed compliment. He cited Brian’s calm and unruffled demeanor, his quiet courage. He also mentioned that, of the three of them, Brian looked the least like a knight.

Brian accepted the truth of Derek’s statement and was not offended. Although of noble birth, Brian had been raised to hard work, not privilege, as had the wealthy Derek. Brian’s father had not inherited his bread; he’d been forced to earn it. An educated man, he had been hired as Derek’s tutor, and he and his family were given housing at Castle Crownguard. Aran, son of a neighboring lord, was invited to come study with the other boys, and thus the three friends became acquainted.

Brian’s lineage was not as long or as noble as Derek’s and Aran’s, and Brian felt the difference between them. Aran never alluded to it or thought anything about it. If Brian had been a fishmonger’s son, Aran would have treated him the same. Derek never mentioned his background, never said an unkind or uncivil word to Brian or demeaned him in any way, yet, perhaps unconsciously, Derek drew a line between the two of them. On one side was Derek Crownguard and on the other side the son of the hired help. When Derek said that Brian didn’t have the look of a knight, Derek wasn’t being arrogant. He was just being Derek.

The day was sunny and cold, the air calm. Brian walked across the plains at an easy, measured pace, taking note of all who came and went. Each gate was guarded by two or three men, and these were all members of the Tarsian guard. He saw no signs of draconians.

Brian approached the gate cautiously, searching the shadows of the tower for anyone taking an unusual interest in people entering the city. A few loiterers were standing about, all of them bundled up against the cold. If one was a draconian, he would be difficult to spot.

The Tarsian guards stood huddled near a fire in an iron brazier and seemed reluctant to leave it. Brian continued walking toward the gate, and no one challenged him. The guards looked him over from a distance and didn’t appear much interested in him, for they continued to hold their hands over the blaze. When Brian reached the gate, he came to a halt and looked at the guards.

Two of the guards turned to a third. Apparently it was his turn to deal with those who wanted to enter. Annoyed at being torn away from his warm place by the fire, the guard pulled a fur cap down about his ears and walked over to Brian.

“Name?” the guard asked.

“Brian Conner,” said Brian.

“Where from?”

“Solamnia,” said Brian. The guard would be able to tell as much by his accent.

The guard scowled and shoved the fur cap away from his ear to hear better.

“You’re not one of them knight-fellows?” the guard demanded.

“No,” said Brian. “I am a wine merchant. I heard there was the possibility of obtaining some very fine wines in Tarsis these days. What with the fall of Qualinesti and all,” he added nonchalantly.

The guard frowned and said loudly, “No elf wine here. Nothing like that going on in Tarsis, sir.” In a low voice, the guard added, “I’ve a cousin deals in that sort of ‘hard-to-find’ merchandise. Go to Merchant’s Row and ask for Jen. She’ll fix you up handsome.”

“I will, sir, thank you,” said Brian.

The guard gave him directions to find Merchant’s Row and said, “Remember Jen,” and told him he could enter. Brian tried, but the guard continued to stand in the gate, blocking his way.

Brian wondered what was going on, then he saw the guard surreptitiously rub his thumb and two fingers together. Brian reached into his purse and brought out a steel coin. He handed it to the guard, who snapped his hand shut over the coin and then stepped to one side.

“Have a pleasant stay in our fair city, sir,” said the guard, as he touched his hat.

Glad that the scarf over his face hid his smile, Brian walked through the gate. He headed toward Merchant’s Row, just in case the guard was watching him. The streets were crowded, despite the cold, with people going to work or to market or simply out for a walk now that the snow had ceased falling.

Once there, he’d make his way to the Upper City which, according to the Aesthetic Bertrem, was the last known location of the lost library. Brian glanced back over his shoulder occasionally to see if anyone was following him, but as far as he could tell, no one seemed the least bit interested in him. He hoped his companions had entered the city with similar ease.

The three knights met up with each other in the old part of the city. Derek and Aran had each gained access to the city without difficulty, though Derek had discovered, as had Brian, that entry came with a cost. The guard at the main gate had demanded two steel in payment, terming it a “head” tax. Aran had not been “taxed” at all, so perhaps there were still honest people in Tarsis, or so he said. He was the last to arrive; he’d stopped on the way to refill his flask and he was in a much better mood.

Both Aran and Derek had seen people standing about the gates, but they might have been nothing more than the usual idlers curious to see who came and went. That led them to talk of Sturm Brightblade and his strange companions.

“I never understood why you dislike Sturm Brightblade so much, Derek,” Aran said, as they sat down on a crumbling garden wall to eat bread and meat, washed down—for Aran’s part—with brandywine. “Or why you opposed his candidacy for knighthood.”

“He did not have the proper upbringing,” said Derek.

“You could say that about me,” said Brian. “My father was your tutor.”

“You were raised in my father’s house among your peers,” said Derek, “not in some border town on the edge of nowhere among outlandish folk. Besides, Brian, your father was a man of honor.”

“Angriff Brightblade was honorable. He was just unfortunate,” said Aran, shrugging. “According to Lord Gunthar—”

Derek snorted. “Gunthar was always an apologist for the Brightblades. Would you seriously recommend for knighthood a man who never knew his father? If Angriff was Sturm’s father…”

“You have no right to say that, Derek!” stated Brian angrily.

Derek glanced at his friend. Brian was generally easy-going, slow to anger. He was angry now, and Derek realized that he’d gone too far. He had, after all, impugned the reputation of a noblewoman and that was very much against the Measure.

“I didn’t mean to imply that Sturm was a bastard,” Derek said gruffly. “I just find it damn odd that Sir Angriff suddenly packed off his wife and child to some place where he knew they would never have contact with anyone from Solamnia, as if he were ashamed of them.”

“Or as if he were trying to save their lives,” suggested Aran. He offered the flask around, got no takers, and so enjoyed it himself. “Angriff Brightblade had made some very bad enemies, poor man. He did what he thought he was best by sending his family away. I think it is to Sturm’s credit that he made the journey all the way back to Solamnia to find out what happened to his father—”

“He came to find his fortune,” said Derek scornfully, “and when he discovered there was nothing left, he sold the family property and went back to live in his tree house.”

“You put everything into the worst possible light,” said Brian. “Sturm sold the family property to pay off the family’s debts, and he went back to Solace because he found a harsh welcome in Solamnia.”

“Give it up, Brian,” said Aran, grinning. “Sturm Brightblade could be another Huma and single-handedly drive Queen Takhisis back into the Abyss and Derek would still think he was not worthy of his spurs. It all goes back to that feud between their grandfathers—”

“That has nothing to do with it!” said Derek, growing angry in his turn. “Why are we even discussing Sturm Brightblade?”

“Because if there is a chance that he is in Tarsis and he needs our help, we are bound to help him,” said Brian. “Whether he is a knight or not, he is a fellow Solamnic.”

“To say nothing of the fact that our enemies are eager to get their scaly hands on him,” added Aran. “The friend of my enemy is my friend… or is it my enemy? I can never remember.”

“Our mission comes first,” said Derek sternly, “and we should end this conversation. You never know who might be listening.”

Brian glanced at their surroundings. The old city was a dump. The pavement of the street was cracked and broken, littered with chunks of stone and rubble. Mounds of rotting leaves lay in odd corners of broken stonework, all that remained of abandoned buildings that were either wholly or partially demolished. Large oak trees growing from the crevices in the middle of the shattered streets were evidence that this part of the city had been lying in ruins for many years, perhaps ever since the Cataclysm.

“Unless the dragonarmies have found a way to recruit rats, I’d say we’re pretty safe,” commented Aran, dislodging one of the creatures with a chunk of a stone. “We haven’t seen another living thing in the last hour.”

Brian stood with his hands on his hips and looked up and down the dusty street. “I think Bertrem sent us on a wild kender chase, Derek. There’s no sign of a library anywhere around here.”

“Yet this is valuable property,” Aran remarked. “You’d think the good people of Tarsis would either rebuild or at least clear out the rubble and turn it into a park or something.”

“Ah, but then that would mean they’d have to remember what they once were. Remember the beauty, remember the glory, remember the white-winged ships, and Tarsis can’t let herself do that,” said a woman’s voice coming from behind them.

The knights grasped the hilts of their swords, though they did not draw them, and turned to face the eavesdropper. The woman’s voice was high-pitched, bright and effervescent, and her looks matched her voice. She was slender, short and brown-skinned, with a pert smile and russet-colored hair that fell about her face and shoulders in a wild and haphazard manner.

Her movements were quick and quiet, and she had a wide, ingenuous smile enhanced by a roguish dimple in her left cheek. Her clothes were plain and nondescript and appeared to have been put on without much thought, for the color of her blouse clashed with her skirt and her thick cloak was at odds with both. Judging by her speech, however, she was well-educated. Her accent was Solamnic. She was somewhere between twenty and thirty years of age, or so Brian guessed.

She stood in the shadows of an alleyway, smiling at them, not in the least disconcerted.

Derek made a stiff bow. “I beg your pardon for not giving you proper greeting, Mistress.” He spoke politely because she was a woman, but coldly because she had been eavesdropping on them. “I had no idea of your presence.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said the woman with a laugh. “You must be Sir Derek Crownguard.”

Derek’s jaw dropped. He stared at her in astonishment, then he frowned.

“I beg your pardon, Mistress, but you have the advantage of me.”

“Didn’t I introduce myself? I’m so forgetful. Lillith Hallmark,” she replied and held out her hand.

Derek regarded her in shock. Well-bred Solamnic women curtsied. They did not offer to shake hands like a man. He eventually took her hand in his—to do otherwise would insult her. But he did not seem to know what to do with her hand and released it as soon as possible.

“Would you by any chance be related to the Hallmarks of Varus?” Aran asked her.

“I’m Sir Eustace’s daughter,” Lillith said, pleased. “His fourth daughter.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. He was certainly not having much luck with knights’ daughters these days. First the Uth Matar woman in Palanthas, who’d turned out to be a thief. Now this young woman, the daughter of a knight, walking about in garb she might have stolen from a kender, and talking and acting as boldly as a man.

“How is my father, sir?” Lillith asked.

“I have the honor to report that the last time I saw him, your noble father was well,” said Derek. “He fought bravely at the battle of Vingaard Keep and left the field only when it was apparent we were heavily outnumbered.”

“Dear old Daddy,” said Lillith, laughing. “I’m surprised he had sense enough to do that. Usually he stands around like a big dummy just waiting to get hit on the head.”

Derek was shocked beyond words at such disrespectful talk, especially from a woman.

Aran laughed loudly and shook hands jovially with Lillith, and Brian kissed her hand, which caused her to laugh again. He noted, as he held her hand in his, that the index finger and thumb were stained dark purple and there were similar purple splotches, both faded and fresh, on her woolen blouse and her skirt. Brian let go her hand reluctantly. He thought he’d never seen anything so enchanting as the dimple in her left cheek. He wanted to make her laugh again, just to see the dimple deepen, see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.

Derek frowned at his cohorts, considering they were encouraging bad behavior. He had to speak to this lady, but he would speak coldly, to express his disapproval.

“How did you know me, Mistress Hallmark?” he asked.

“Bertrem sent word to me to keep watch for a Solamnic knight searching for the fabled Library of Khrystann,” Lillith answered. “You’re the first, last, and only knights I’ve seen in these parts for years, and then I heard you mention Bertrem’s name, so I assumed you must be Sir Derek Crownguard.”

“I did not give the Aesthetic Bertrem leave to proclaim our coming,” said Derek stiffly. “Indeed, I ordered him to maintain the strictest secrecy.”

“Bertrem didn’t tell anyone except me, and I haven’t told anyone else, Sir Derek,” said Lillith, her dimple flashing. “It’s a good thing he did. You would have spent years searching for the library and never found it.”

“You’re an Aesthetic!” Aran guessed.

Lillith winked at him; something else highly improper for a well-bred Solamnic woman. “Do you gentlemen want me to take you to the library?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, Mistress,” said Derek.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, sir,” returned Lillith, folding her arms across her chest. “But in return, you must do something for me. I need a favor.”

Derek scowled. He did not like this young woman and he certainly did not like being blackmailed into serving her. “What would you have us do, Mistress?”

Lillith’s dimple vanished. She seemed troubled and suddenly motioned them to come near and, when she spoke, she kept her voice low. “Something is very wrong in this city. We’ve heard rumors—”

“Who is ‘we?’ Derek interrupted.

“Those of us who have the interests of the world at heart,” Lillith replied, meeting his gaze steadfastly. “We’re on the same side in this war, Sir Derek, I assure you. As I was saying, we’ve heard rumors that draconians have been seen inside the city walls.”

The three knights exchanged glances.

“Outside the city walls, too,” said Aran.

“So the rumors are true. You’ve seen them?” Lillith said, looking grave. “Where?”

“On the road to Tarsis. They were camped out by a bridge. They were watching those who crossed…”

“That makes sense,” said Lillith. “Someone is circulating a bounty list for the assassins of Dragon Highlord Verminaard. I happened to get hold of a copy.” She reached to her waistband and drew out a document similar to the one they had taken from the draconians.

“I’ve been searching for a person a long time, only to find him at last on this list. I want you to apprehend him and bring him to me.” Lillith held up a warning finger. “You must do this without anyone’s knowledge.”

“You have the wrong people, Mistress,” said Derek. “You should speak to the local Thieves Guild. They are experts at kidnapping—”

“I don’t want him kidnapped! And I certainly don’t want thieves to get hold of him, or the draconians.” Lillith flushed in her earnestness. “He carries something of great value and I’m very much afraid he doesn’t appreciate its importance. He might give this object to the enemy out of sheer ignorance. I’ve been trying to think of some way to get hold of him ever since I saw his name on this list. You gentlemen are a godsend. Give me your word of honor as knights that you will do this for me and I will show you how to find the library.”

“That is blackmail—unworthy of the daughter of a knight!” said Derek, and Brian, regretfully, couldn’t help but agree with him. This was all very vague and shadowy.

Lillith was not daunted. “I think it’s unworthy of a knight to refuse to help a knight’s daughter!” she said spiritedly.

“What is the object this person carries?” Aran asked curiously.

Lillith hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. If it were my secret, I would tell you, Sir Knight, but the secret is not mine to share. My information came from one who would be in great peril if he were discovered. He’s not supposed to be talking to us. He risked a great deal revealing this much, but he’s worried about this valuable object and also the person carrying it.” Derek continued to look grim.

“Which person on this bounty list do you want us to find?” Brian asked.

Lillith put her finger on a name.

“Out of the question!” barked Derek.

“Derek…” said Brian.

“Brian!” said Derek, glowering.

“I’ll just leave you gentlemen to discuss this among yourselves.” Lillith walked off out of ear-shot.

“I do not trust this hoyden,” said Derek, “even if she is the daughter of a knight, and I have no intention of kidnapping a kender! She is playing some sort of prank on us.”

“Derek, we’ve tramped up and down this blasted street most of the morning and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of a library,” Aran said, exasperated. “We could spend the rest of our lives searching for it. I say we agree to do this little errand of hers in return for her helping us locate the library.”

“Besides, if the draconians are keen to get their claws on the kender, that alone should give us reason enough to want to save him,” Brian pointed out. “He was one of those who killed the Highlord, apparently, along with Sturm.”

“He might be able to tell us where we could find Sturm,” said Aran.

Brian shook his head, signaling to Aran that this argument was the last one to use to induce Derek to go along with Lillith’s plan. Quite the opposite, in fact. For his part, Brian was eager to help Lillith regardless, if only to see her smile again.

Derek was obviously not happy about the situation, but he had to face facts: they could not find the library and, with draconians lurking about the city there was no time to waste.

He called to Lillith. “We will undertake this task for you, Mistress. Where do we find this kender?”

“I have no idea,” she said brightly. Seeing Derek’s brows come together, she added, “My fellow Aesthetics are keeping an eye out for him. They’ll let me know. In the meantime, I will show you the library. See there? I can be honorable, too.”

“What are draconians doing in Tarsis, Mistress?” Brian asked. She was leading them down an alleyway that appeared to be a cul-de-sac, with no library in sight.

Lillith shook here head. “Maybe nothing more than searching for these people. We don’t know.”

“Have you reported this to the authorities?”

“We tried,” said Lillith, making a face. “We sent a delegation to see the lord. He scoffed at us. He claimed we were imagining things. He termed us rabble-rousers, said we were trying to start trouble.”

Lillith shook her head. “There was something odd about him, though. He used to be a gracious man, always taking his time to listen to supplicants, but when we saw him this time, he was brusque, almost rude.” She sighed deeply. “If you ask me, trouble’s already started.”

“What do you mean?”

“We think the enemy has him in their control. We can’t prove it, of course, but it would make sense. They have some sort of hold over him. That’s the only reason our lord would allow those monsters to even get near our city.”

The alley ran between a large building which had fallen into such decrepitude it was hard to tell that it had once been an elegant mansion. The walls looked as if they would tumble down if someone breathed on them and they kept clear, though Lillith assured them the building had been standing for hundreds of years. She continued down the alley, pausing every now and then to glance over her shoulder, to make sure they were not being followed.

“Mind the sewer grate,” she said, pointing. “The bolts are rusty, and it’s not to be trusted. You could take a nasty tumble.”

Aran, who had been about to step on the grate, hopped nimbly over it.

“Why don’t the Tarsians clean all this up?” he asked, gesturing. “It’s been over three hundred years, after all.”

“At first they were too busy just trying to survive to rebuild what was lost,” Lillith answered. “They took the bricks and granite and marble blocks from ruined structures and used them to construct houses. I think they meant to rebuild their city at first, but what with hardship, danger and people leaving the city to find work other places, there was always a lack of money and, perhaps more important, a lack of will.”

“In later years, as they grew more prosperous, they must have considered rebuilding this part as they did other parts,” said Brian. “I saw some magnificent structures on my way here.”

Lillith shook her head. “It’s because of the library. This part of the city came to be associated with those the people blamed for their woes—wizards, clerics, scholars, and Solamnic Knights like yourselves. The citizens feared that if they rebuilt the library and universities troublemakers like us would come back.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t destroy the library,” said Aran.

“The Aesthetics feared the worst. When word of the trouble occurring in Tarsis reached our Order, they were deeply concerned. They sent a group to the city—a dangerous journey back then, what with the lawlessness in the land—with instructions to either save the books or, if they were too late, salvage what they could.

“When they arrived, the Aesthetics found that the clerics of Gilean working here prior to the Cataclysm had received warnings that something terrible was about to occur. The clerics could have left Krynn safely with the clerics of the other gods, but they chose to remain to guard the books. Fortunately the library had been built below ground, so that when the fiery mountain struck, the library was spared. All they had to fear now was men.

“When the mobs came to burn and loot the library, they found the Aesthetics guarding it. Many of them were slain in the battle, but they kept the mobs at bay until they could seal up the library entrance. After that, they concealed the entrance so that no one could find it or open the door unless they knew the secret. The books have thus remained safe all these centuries, guarded by those who love them.”

“Such as yourself,” said Brian admiringly. He took hold of her hand, indicating her ink-stained fingers.

Lillith blushed, but she gave a matter-of-fact nod. Brian kept hold of her hand, as if by accident. Lillith smiled at him, the dimple flashed, and she gently slid her hand out of his grasp.

“What book or reference are you looking for, Sir Brian? Perhaps I can help you find it. I’m familiar with most of what’s down here, though not all, mind you. That would take several lifetimes.”

Derek gave Brian a sharp glance, silencing him.

“It is not that we do not trust you, Mistress Hallmark,” Derek said coolly. “But I believe we should keep this information to ourselves. We might put you in danger otherwise.”

“Just as you choose,” said Lillith. She came to a halt. “Here we are.”

“A blank wall,” Aran stated.

They walked through a shadowy archway that led to a dead end. A wall made of multicolored stones, rounded and weathered and set in mortar, butted up against a hillside covered over with long grass.

“The Library of Khrystann,” said Lillith.

She placed her boot on a flagstone in front of the wall and pressed on it. To the knights’ amazement, the solid stone wall gave a sudden jolt and slid off to one side.

“It’s not stone at all,” exclaimed Aran, reaching out his hand to touch it. “It’s wood painted to look like stone!” He laughed. “What a masterpiece! It fooled me completely!”

The knights looked back down the alley and saw it in a far different light.

“The alley is part of the library’s defenses,” said Brian. “Anyone trying to reach the library has to walk down it.”

“And the sewer grate I almost stepped on—it’s a trap!” Aran regarded Lillith with more respect. “You and your Aesthetics appear ready to fight and die to defend the library. Why? It’s only a bunch of books.”

“A bunch of books that contain the bright light of wisdom of past generations, Sir Aran,” said Lillith softly. “We fear that if this light is quenched, we will plunge into a darkness so deep we might never find our way out.”

She shoved aside the wooden door painted to look like stone. Behind it was another wooden door, this one of very old workmanship. Carved into the wood were the scales of balance resting on a book.

“The symbol of Gilean, God of the Book and Keeper of the Balance.” Lillith reached out her hand to touch the scales.

“You speak of him with reverence,” said Brian. “Do you believe the gods have returned?”

Lillith opened her mouth to reply, but Derek cut her short. “We have no time for such nonsense. Please proceed, Mistress.”

Lillith gave Brian a sidelong glance and a secret smile.

“We will speak of that later,” she said.

She pressed on one of the scales twice, then the other scale three times, then pressed four times on the symbol on the book. The second door slid open. A long staircase extended straight down into darkness. A lantern hung on a hook on the wall near the door. Lillith removed the lantern and, opening a glass panel, lit the stub of a candle inside. The flame burned clear. She shut the glass panel carefully and lighted their way down the stairs.

The air grew warmer. The stairway smelled of old leather and sheepskin and the dust of time. At the bottom of the stairs was another door, again decorated with the scales and a book. Lillith pressed on each again, only in a different order. The door slid into the wall. She entered the room, holding her lantern high.

The room was enormous. Long and wide, it extended far beyond the reach of the lantern light. And it was filled, floor to ceiling, with books. Shelves of books lined the walls. Shelves of books marched in long rows across the floor, row after row, on and on into the darkness. It was a veritable forest of shelves, and the books on those shelves were as numerous as the leaves on a forest of trees.

The three knights stared at the books in awe mingled with growing dismay.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help, Sir Derek?” Lillith asked serenely.

4 A hopeless search. The riot. Kender-snatching

“There are thousands!” Aran gasped.

“Thousands of thousands,” said Brian in hopeless tones. Derek turned to Lillith. “There must be a catalog of the books, Mistress Hallmark. The Aesthetics are known for their meticulous record-keeping.”

“There was,” said Lillith. “The books were catalogued and cross-referenced by title, author, and content.”

“You’re speaking in the past tense,” Aran noted ominously.

“The catalog was destroyed,” Lillith told them gravely.

“Who would do such a thing? Why?” Brian asked.

“The Aesthetics themselves destroyed it.” Lillith gave a deep sigh. “Right before the Cataclysm, during the time that the Kingpriest handed down the Edict of Thought Control, he threatened to send his Enforcers to the library to search the catalog of books so that his Enforcers could remove and burn all those deemed ‘a threat to the faith’. The Aesthetics could not allow this, of course, so they burned the catalog. If the Enforcers wanted to know what was in the books, they were going to have to read them. All of them.”

“And so, it seems, are we,” said Brian grimly.

Brian pointed to Lillith’s ink-stained fingers. “Not necessarily. You’ve been recreating the catalog, haven’t you, Mistress Hallmark?”

“I wish you would all just call me Lillith, and, yes, I’ve been trying to recreate the catalog. I haven’t gotten very far. It’s an enormous task.”

“Derek, we must tell her why we’re here,” murmured Aran.

Derek was determined to keep the orb a secret, and for a moment he looked obstinate. Then his gaze went to the shelves of books, shelf after shelf after shelf of books. He pressed his lips together a moment, then said tersely, “We’re looking for information concerning dragon orbs. All we know for certain is that they were created by wizards.”

Lillith gave a low whistle. “Wizards, eh? I don’t recall coming across any information on dragon orbs, but then, I haven’t started work on the books that deal with magic.”

Derek and Brian looked at each other in dismay. Aran, shaking his head, reached for his flask.

“I can show you the section where books on the arcane are shelved,” Lillith offered. “They’re all the way in the back, I’m afraid.”

The shelves were stacked closely together; the aisles between them were so narrow that occasionally Aran had to turn sidewise to fit. They moved cautiously, for the lantern light didn’t go very far. Brian fell over a crate in the dark and almost knocked down an entire shelf.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lillith said, as they edged their way around several shelves that had toppled over, spilling their contents onto the floor. “I haven’t started to work on this section yet and I didn’t want to disturb anything. Though it may not look it, there is order in this chaos.

“Which reminds me, gentlemen,” Lillith added in severe tone, “if you take a book down from a shelf, please put it back in exactly the same place you found it. Oh, and if you could make a note of the contents, that would be a big help to me. By the way, how many different languages do you speak?”

“Solamnic,” Derek answered impatiently, not understanding the reason for the question, “and Common, of course.”

Lillith paused, holding the lantern high. “Nothing else? Elvish? Khurian?”

The knights all shook their heads.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” she said, biting her lip. “We Solamnics assume everyone in the world speaks our language, or if they don’t, they should. Wizards come in all races and nationalities. Their writings are in many different languages, including the language of magic. Given the way our people feel about wizards, I doubt you’ll find many books written in Solamnic.”

“This just keeps getting better and better!” Aran remarked cheerfully. “We could take weeks to find a scroll on dragon orbs, only to discover it’s written in some obscure dwarvish dialect and we can’t understand a word! Here’s a toast to our quest!” He took a pull from his flask.

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Derek admonished. “Fortune might smile on us.”

Lillith clapped her hands together. “By Gilean’s Book! Fortune has smiled on you. I just thought of something. That kender you’re going to rescue might be able to help you!”

“A kender?” Derek repeated in disgust. “I most seriously doubt it!”

“How could he help us?” asked Brian.

Lillith flushed. “I can’t tell you that, but he might.”

“The kender again! When do we go in search of this kender?” Derek asked in resigned tones.

“Whenever my friends tell me he’s arrived in Tarsis, if he comes here at all. I’m just hoping he will because of that list.” Lillith hiked up her skirts to climb over another shelf. “This way. I’ll show you where to look and I’ll give you what help I can.”

The knights spent two days in the library in what proved to be a frustrating and fruitless search. They decided against returning to their camp, for that would mean passing in and out of the city gates, and once inside, they deemed it wise to stay, particularly if there were draconians about. Lillith suggested they sleep in the library—an ideal hiding place, since no one in Tarsis ever came there. Brian took the two horses to a stable near the main gate, in case they had to make a hasty departure. Lillith brought them food and drink. They made their beds on the floor among the shelves.

Dusk to dawn, they searched through books, manuscripts, treatises, scrolls, collections of notes, and scribbles on scrap paper. They sat at long wooden tables hemmed in and blocked off by a maze of shelves that Aran swore shifted position when they weren’t looking, for if they left, they always seemed to lose their way back. They worked by lantern light, for the library had no windows. Lillith pointed out the old skylights located high in the lofty ceiling that had once let in the sunlight. The skylights were covered over with earth and debris and rubble.

“We thought it best to leave them hidden like that,” she said, and added wistfully, “Someday, perhaps, we can uncover them and light will once again shine on us. Now is not the time, however. Too many people in this world consider knowledge a threat.”

The library was not only dark, it was eerily silent. All sound was absorbed and swallowed up by the books. The world could end in an explosion of fire outside and they would be none the wiser.

“I tell you honestly,” said Aran on the morning of the third day, “I’d rather be fighting death knights.” He opened a book. Dust flew up his nose and he gave a violent sneeze. “An entire legion of death knights with a hundred drunken dwarves thrown in!”

He glanced dispiritedly through the discolored pages. “This appears to have been written by spiders who dipped their legs in ink and ran across the vellum. There are pictures of dragons, though, so this might have something to do with orbs.”

Lillith peered over his shoulder. “That’s the language of magic. Put it here with the other books on dragons.” She shoved her hair out of her eyes, leaving a smear of dirt on her forehead. “Be sure to mark its place on the shelf.”

“This book also has pictures of dragons,” said Brian, “but the pages are so brittle I’m afraid they’ll disintegrate if I continue examining it, and I can’t read it anyway.”

Lillith took the book from him, handling it carefully, and added it to the small pile.

“Perhaps there is a wizard is the city who could translate this writing for us—” Brian began.

“We’re not telling the wizards about this,” Derek stated flatly.

“There aren’t any wizards in Tarsis, anyway,” said Lillith, “or at least any who’d openly admit to it. We’ll wait for the kender. I’m not promising anything, mind you, but—”

“Lillith?” A male voice called out her name. “Are you here?”

Derek rose to his feet.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Lillith hurriedly. “It’s one of the Aesthetics.” She raised her voice. “I’m coming, Marcus!”

She hurried off toward the front of the library.

“Brian, go with her,” Derek ordered.

Brian did as he was told, wending his way through the shelves, trying to remember the twists and turns that would take him to the front and not strand him on some remote literary island. He kept the light of Lillith’s lantern in sight and eventually caught up with her.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?” Lillith asked, dimpling.

Brian felt his cheeks burn and was thankful it was so dim she couldn’t see him flush.

“It’s just… it might be dangerous,” he said lamely. Lillith only laughed at him.

A man stood in the doorway. He was wrapped up in cloak and scarves and it was difficult to tell anything about him. Lillith hurried over to him and the two conferred together in low voices. Brian hung back, though he knew quite well Derek had sent him to spy on her. The two didn’t speak long. Marcus left and Lillith came back to Brian. Her eyes were shadowed in the lantern light. She looked troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Brian asked.

“You should alert the others,” she said.

Brian gave a halloo that echoed off the walls and shook the dust from the ceiling. He heard Aran swear and the sound of heavy objects falling.

Lillith winced. “Be careful!” she called out anxiously.

“Oh, I’m all right,” Aran answered.

Lillith muttered something, and Brian grinned. It wasn’t the knight she was worried about. It was her precious books.

“The kender is in Tarsis,” she reported when Derek and Aran emerged from the gloom into the lantern light. “He and his friends entered the city through one of the gates this morning. They’re staying in the Red Dragon, but there’s going to be trouble. The guards at the gate saw that one of the men was wearing a breastplate with the markings of a Solamnic knight and reported him to the authorities. They’ve sent guards to the inn to arrest them.”

“That would be Brightblade,” said Derek irritably, “and he is not a knight. He has no right to wear such armor!”

“That’s not really the point, Derek,” said Aran, exasperated. “The point is that Brightblade and his friends are about to be arrested, and if the draconians find out that these are the people they’ve been searching for—”

“They can’t find out!” said Lillith urgently. “They mustn’t! They’ll search the kender’s belongings, and they’ll discover what he’s carrying. You have to save him.”

“From the Tarsian guards? In broad daylight? Mistress, I don’t care what mysterious thing this kender is supposed to be carrying. A rescue attempt would only end in our joining the kender in prison,” said Derek.

“My friends are going to create a diversion,” Lillith said. “You’ll be able to grab the kender in the confusion. Bring him straight here. I’ll be waiting for you. Now hurry!” She started to herd them up the stairs.

“How will we find this inn?” Brian asked. “We don’t know our way around town!”

“You won’t have any trouble,” she predicted. “Keep to the main road out front. Go back through the Central Plaza, the way you came. After that, just follow the shouting.”

Brian blinked and rubbed his eyes as he walked into the bright winter sunlight. He’d been living in the library in perpetual night, and he had no idea what time of day it was. From the position of the sun, he guessed it must be about midmorning. The knights hastened along the main street as Lillith had told them, meeting no one until they came to the Central Plaza. Here, they found crowds of people, all in a state of excitement. Those who had been inside the shops and stalls were pouring out into the streets, while others were breaking into a run. The knights could hear a low roaring sound, as of waves breaking on a shore.

“What’s happening, my good man?” Aran asked, stopping to talk to a shopkeeper gloomily watching his customers stream out of his store. “Has the sea come back?”

“Very funny,” the shopkeeper growled. “Seems there’s some sort of riot going on over by the Red Dragon Inn. A Solamnic Knight made the mistake of showing his insignia in our city. The guards tried to haul him off to the Hall of Justice, but they may not get that far. We don’t take kindly to his kind in Tarsis. He’ll get justice, all right.”

Aran raised his hand to make sure the scarf he had wound around his nose and mouth had not slipped. “A pox on all Solamnic Knights, I say. I think we’ll go have a look. Good day to you, sir.”

“Here,” said the shopkeeper, handing Aran a rotting tomato. “I can’t leave the store, but throw this at him for me.”

“I’ll do that, sir, thank you,” said Aran.

The three ran off, joining the throng of people heading in one direction. They found their way blocked by people yelling insults and tossing the occasional rock. Judging by the craning heads, the prisoners were coming in their direction. Brian peered over the shoulders of those in front of him and saw the small procession come into view. The Tarsian guards had their prisoners surrounded. The crowds fell back and grew quiet at the sight of the guards.

“There’s Brightblade, all right,” Aran announced. He was the tallest of them and had the best view. “And to judge by his ears, that man with him is the half-elf. There’s a true elf and a dwarf, and that must be Lillith’s prize kender.”

“Where’s the diversion?” Brian wondered.

“We can at least get closer,” said Derek, and they shoved their way through the mob that was milling about indecisively. The crowd had grown bored yelling at the knight and it seemed they might disperse when, suddenly, the kender lifted his shrill voice and yelled at one of the guards, “Hey, you! Adle-pated pignut! What happened to your muzzle?”

The guard went red in the face. Brian had no idea what an adle-pated pignut was, but apparently the guard did, for he lunged at the kender, who dodged nimbly out of the guard’s grasp and swatted him over the head with his hoopak. Some in the crowd jeered, others applauded, while others began throwing whatever came to hand—vegetables, rocks, shoes. No one was particular about his aim, and the Tarsian guards found themselves under fire. The kender continued to taunt anyone who caught his fancy, with the result that several in the crowd tried to break through the guards’ defenses to get to him.

The commander of the guard started yelling at the top of his lungs. The elf was knocked off his feet. Brian saw Sturm halt and bend protectively over the fallen elf, fending off people with his hands. The dwarf was kicking someone and punching with his fists, while the half-elf was trying desperately to make his way to the kender.

“Now!” said Derek. He commandeered a gunny sack he found lying in front of a vegetable stand and shouldered his way through the crowd. Brian and Aran followed in his wake.

The half-elf was about to grab hold of the kender. Not knowing what else to do, Aran tossed his tomato and struck the half-elf full in the face, momentarily blinding him.

“Sorry about that,” Aran said ruefully.

Derek swooped down on the kender and clamped his hand over his mouth. Brian and Aran grabbed the kender’s feet. Derek popped the sack over his head and carried him, wriggling and squeaking, down the street.

Someone yelled to stop them, but the knights had acted so rapidly that by the time those watching realized what had happened, they were gone.

“You take him!” Derek shouted to Aran, who was the strongest among them.

Aran tossed the kender over his shoulder, keeping one arm clamped over his legs. The kender’s topknot had fallen out of the sack and straggled down Aran’s back. Derek ran down an empty side street. Brian came last, keeping an eye on their backs. With only a vague idea of where they were, they feared getting lost and they made their way back to the main road as quickly as possible.

The bagged kender was emitting muffled howls and wriggling like an eel. Aran was having difficultly hanging onto him and people were stopping to stare.

“Keep quiet, little friend,” Aran advised the kender, “and quit kicking. We’re on your side.”

“I don’t believe it!” shrieked the kender.

“We’re friends of Sturm Brightblade,” said Brian.

The kender ceased to howl.

“Are you knights like Sturm?” he asked excitedly.

Derek cast Aran a stony glance and seemed about to launch into one of his tirades. Aran shook his head at him.

“Yes,” he said, “we’re knights like Sturm, but we’re in hiding. You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t, I promise,’ said the kender, then he added, “Can you take me out of the sack? It was fun, at first, but now it’s starting to smell of onion.”

Derek shook his head. “Once we reach the library. Not before. I’ve no mind to go chasing a kender through the streets of Tarsis.”

“Not just yet,” Aran said conspiratorially. “It’s too dangerous. You’d be recognized.”

“You’re probably right. I’m one of the heroes of the battle of Pax Tharkas, and I helped find the Hammer of Kharas. When are we going to rescue the others?”

The three knights looked at each other.

“Later,” said Aran. “We… uh… have to think up a plan.”

“I can help,” the kender offered eagerly. “I’m an expert at plan-thinking. Would it be possible for you to open a small hole so that I could breath a little better? And maybe you could not jounce me around quite so much. I ate a big breakfast and I think it’s starting to turn on me. Have you ever wondered why the same food that tastes so good going down tastes really horrible when it comes back up—”

Aran dropped the kender on the ground. “I’m not going to have him puke on me,” he told Derek.

“Keep a firm grip on him,” ordered Derek. “He’s your responsibility.”

Aran removed the bag. The kender emerged, red in the face from being dangled upside-down and out-of-breath. He was short and slender, like most of his race, and his face was bright, inquisitive, alert, and smiling. He twitched a fur-lined vest and garishly colored clothes into place, felt to make sure his topknot of hair was still on top of his head and checked to see that all his pouches had come with him. This done, he held out his small hand.

“I’m Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” he said. “My friends call me Tas.”

“Aran Tallbow,” said Aran, and he gravely shook hands, then offered his flask. “To make up for the onion.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Tas, and he took a drink and almost took the flask, quite by accident, of course, as he told Aran in apology.

“Brian Donner,” said Brian, extending his hand.

Tas looked expectantly at Derek.

“Keep moving,” said Derek impatiently, and he walked off.

“Funny sort of name,” muttered the kender with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Sir Keep Moving.”

“He’s Derek Crownguard,” said Aran, getting a tight grip on the kender’s collar.

“Humph,” said Tas. “Are you sure he’s a knight?”

“Yes, of course, he is,” said Aran, grinning at Brian and winking. “Why do you ask?”

“Sturm says knights are always polite, and they treat people with respect. Sturm is always polite to me,” said Tas in solemn tones.

“It’s the danger, you see,” Brian explained. “Derek’s worried about us. That’s all.”

“Sturm worries about us a lot, too.” Tas sighed and looked back over his shoulder. “I hope he and the rest of my friends are all right. They always get into trouble if I’m not with them. Of course,” he added on second thought, “my friends get into lots of trouble when I am with them, but then I’m there to help them out of it, so I think I should go back—”

The kender made a sudden jerk, gave a twist and a wriggle, and before Aran knew what was happening the knight was holding an empty fur vest, and the kender was dashing off down the street.

Brian leaped after him and was finally able to catch him. Fortunately, Derek was far ahead of them and hadn’t seen what had happened.

“How did he escape like that?” Aran demanded of his friend.

“He’s a kender,” said Brian, unable to help laughing at the bewildered expression on Aran’s face. “It’s what they do.”

He assisted Tas in putting his fur vest back on, then, said, “I know you’re worried about your friends. So are we, but we’ve been sent on a very important mission to find you.”

“Me?” Tas said, astonished. “An important mission to find me-Tasslehoff Burrfoot?”

“There’s someone who wants to meet you. I promise,” Brian added gravely, “on my honor as a knight that when I have taken you to talk to our friend, I will help you rescue your friends.”

“Derek’s not going to like that,” Aran predicted with a grin.

Brian shrugged.

“An important mission!” breathed Tasslehoff. “Wait until I tell Flint. Yes, sure, I’ll come with you. I wouldn’t want to disappoint your friend. Who is your friend anyway? Why does he want to see me? Where are we going? Will he be there when we arrive? How did you know where to find me?”

“We’ll explain everything later,” said Aran. “We have to hurry.”

Aran took hold of Tas by one arm, Brian grabbed him by the other, and they hustled him down the street.

5 Magical glasses. The word “chromatic”. Love amid the dust

Lillith was waiting for them at the entrance to the library. Her face brightened when Aran and Brian deposited the kender on the ground in front of her.

“You found him! I’m so glad,” Lillith said, relieved. “Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” said the kender, reaching out his hand.

“Lillith Hallmark,” she returned, taking his hand in hers and pressing it warmly. “I am so very honored to meet you, Master Burrfoot.”

Tas flushed with pleasure at this.

“We should not be standing out in the open,” Derek warned. “Take him into the library.”

“Yes, you’re right. Come inside.” Lillith led the way. The kender followed her, delighted with the wonder of this unexpected adventure.

“A library! I love libraries. I’m not usually permitted inside them, however. I tried to visit the Great Library of Palanthas once, but I was told they don’t allow kender. Why is that, Lillith, do you know? I thought maybe they had made a mistake and what they meant to say was that they didn’t allow ogres, which I can understand, and I tried to crawl in through a window, so as not to bother anyone at the door, but I got stuck, and the Pathetics had to come help me—”

“Aesthetics,” Lillith corrected, smiling.

“Yes, them, too,” said Tas. “Anyway, I found out the rule doesn’t say anything about ogres, but it does say ‘no kender’. I’m very glad you admit kender.”

“We don’t as a general policy,” said Lillith, “but in your case, we’ll make an exception.”

By this time, they’d descended the stairs into the library proper. Tasslehoff stood quite still, staring around in awe. Lillith kept her hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you very much, gentlemen, for bringing him, and now, if you could excuse us, I must speak with Master Burrfoot in private.” Lillith added in apologetic tones, “As I told you, this is not my secret.”

“Secret?” said Tas eagerly.

“Of course, Mistress,” said Derek. He hesitated then added, “You mentioned something about Burrfoot being able to assist us—”

“I will let you know if he can or not,” Lillith assured him. “That’s part of the secret.”

“I’m extremely good at keeping secrets,” Tas announced. “What secret am I keeping?”

Derek bowed in acknowledgement, then headed for the back of the library. Aran and Brian accompanied him, and Lillith soon lost sight of them among the shelves. The sound of their footfalls grew muffled and faint, though she could still hear Aran’s laughter, resounding through the building, shaking the dust from the books.

“Come, sit down,” said Lillith, guiding Tas to a chair. She sat down beside him and drew her chair close to his. “I have a very important question to ask you. The answer is very important to me and to many other people, Tasslehoff, so I want you to think very carefully before you reply. I want to know—do you have with you the Glasses of Arcanist?”

“The what of who?” Tasslehoff asked, puzzled.

“The Glasses of Arcanist.”

“Did this Arcanist say I took them?” Tas demanded, indignant at the accusation. “Because I didn’t! I never take anything that’s not mine.”

“I have a friend, a very good friend named Evenstar, who says that you found the glasses in the floating tomb of King Duncan in Thorbardin. He says you dropped them, and he picked them up and gave them back to you—”

“Oh!” Tas leaped up in excitement. “You mean my Special Magical Glasses for Reading Stuff! Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Yes, I think I have them somewhere. Would you like me to look?”

“Yes, please,” said Lillith, alarmed at the kender’s cavalier attitude, but she reminded herself, he is a kender, and the gold dragon knew that when he allowed him to keep the glasses.

“I hope you haven’t told anyone about Evenstar,” said Lillith, watching in growing concern as Tas started upending his pouches and dumping their contents onto the floor. She knew kender picked up all manner of various and assorted trinkets and treasures, ranging from the valuable to the ridiculous and everything in between. But she hadn’t quite realized the vast extent of a kender’s holdings until she saw it piling up on the floor. “Our friend could get into a lot of trouble if anyone knew he was helping us.”

“I haven’t said a word about meeting a golden… woolly mammoth,” Tasslehoff replied. “You see, we were in Duncan’s tomb—my friend, Flint, and I and there was this dwarf who said he was Kharas, only then we found the real Kharas and he was dead—extremely dead. So we wondered who the dwarf was really and I’d found these glasses inside the tomb and I put them on and when I looked through the lenses at the dwarf, he wasn’t a dwarf, he was a golden… woolly mammoth.”

He gave her a pitiful glance. “You see how it is? When I tried to tell anyone that I met a golden… woolly mammoth… it always comes out… woolly mammoth. I can’t say… woolly mammoth.”

“Ah, I see,” said Lillith in understanding.

The golden dragon had apparently found a way to keep even a kender’s lips sealed on his secret, a secret he had since revealed, but only to the Aesthetics.

Many years ago, the good dragons had awakened to find their eggs had been stolen away from them by the dragons of Queen Takhisis. Using their eggs as hostages, the Queen forced the good dragons to promise they would not take part in the upcoming war. Fearing for the fate of their young, the good dragons agreed, though there were some among their number who advocated strongly that this was the wrong course. Evenstar had been one of these. He had spoken out forcefully against such appeasement and had vowed that he would not feel bound by any such oath. He had been punished for his rebellion. He had been banished to the Floating Tomb of King Duncan in Thorbardin, there to guard the Hammer of Kharas.

Two dwarves, Flint Fireforge and Arman Kharas, accompanied by Tasslehoff, had recently discovered the sacred hammer and restored it to the dwarves, freeing Evenstar from his prison. While in the tomb, Tasslehoff had encountered Evenstar, who questioned the kender about the situation in the world. What he heard greatly disturbed Evenstar, especially when he learned that an evil new race known as draconians had appeared on Krynn. A terrible suspicion was growing in his mind as to the fate of the young metallic dragons. Evenstar did not yet dare reveal himself. If the forces of darkness knew that a golden dragon was awake and watching the doings of the dark Queen, she would send her evil dragons after him, and, because he was isolated and alone, he would be no match for them. Thus he had found this magical method to make a kender keep a secret.

“The next time I looked through the glasses we were in a great big hall I can’t recall the name of and the dwarves were fighting Dragon Highlord Verminaard, only he was supposed to be dead, so I looked at him through the glasses and he wasn’t Verminaard at all. He was a draconian!”

Tas had plopped himself down on the floor and was sorting through his valuable possessions as he talked, searching for the glasses. Lillith realized in dismay that this search could take a considerable amount of time, since the kender could not pick up anything without examining it and showing it to her and telling her all about how he’d come by it and what it did and what he planned to do with it.

“Tas,” said Lillith, “there are some very dangerous people in the city who would give a great deal to find these magical glasses. If you think you might have left them back in the inn—”

“Ah! I know!” Tasslehoff smacked himself in the forehead. “I’m such a doorknob, as Flint is always telling me.” Tas reached his hand into one of the pockets in his bright colored trousers. He pulled out an assortment of objects—a prune pit, a petrified beetle, a bent spoon which he said was to be used for turning any undead he might be lucky enough to encounter, and finally, wrapped in a handkerchief embroidered with the name C. Majere, was a pair of spectacles made of clear glass with wire rim frames.

“They’re truly remarkable.” Tas regarded them with fond pride. “That’s why I’m so careful of them.”

“Uh, yes,” said Lillith, vastly relieved.

“Does your friend want them back?” Tas asked wistfully.

Lillith didn’t know how to answer. Evenstar had told Astinus, the Master of the Great Library, to seek out the kender and make certain Tas had the glasses in his possession. The dragon had said nothing about taking the glasses away from the kender, nor had he said anything about the kender using them to help the knights or anyone seeking knowledge.

As the follower of a neutral god, one who maintained the balance between the gods of Light and those of darkness, Lillith was not supposed to take sides in any war. Her assigned task was to guard the knowledge. If this was done, if the knowledge of the ages was preserved, then no matter whether good or evil prevailed, wisdom’s flame would continue to light the way for future generations.

The Kingpriest, though he had revered Paladine, God of Light, had feared knowledge. He feared that if people were permitted to learn about gods other than Paladine and the gods of Light, they would cease to worship those gods and turn to others. That was why Paladine and the other gods of Light had turned against him.

Now Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, was trying to conquer the world. She also feared knowledge, knowing that those who live in ignorance will not ask questions, but will slavishly do what they are told. Takhisis was trying to stamp out knowledge, and Gilean and his followers were determined to oppose her.

Where were the gods of Light in this battle? Had they returned with Gilean? Did Paladine and the other gods of Light have their champions, and if so, would they be like the Kingpriest? Would they want to destroy the books? If they did, Lillith would fight them as she would fight draconians or anyone else who threatened her library.

Perhaps this was the reason Evenstar had turned to Astinus for help and not to Paladine, assuming Paladine was around. Evenstar distrusted Takhisis and her minions, yet he was not certain he could trust the gods of Light.

Now Lillith was confronted with the kender, and although she considered herself open-minded and free from prejudice, she couldn’t help but think the dragon might have chosen a more responsible guardian for such a valuable artifact. She considered it a major miracle the kender had kept hold of the glasses all during the long journey from Thorbardin to Tarsis. It was not her place to judge, however, especially when she didn’t know all the facts. She had been told to find the kender and ascertain that he had the spectacles on him. She could report back that he did. Her job was done, but should she allow him to help the knights?

“No, Evenstar doesn’t want them back,” Lillith said to Tas. “You can keep them.”

“I can?” Tas was thrilled. “That’s wonderful! Thank you!”

“You can thank your friend the golden woolly mammoth,” said Lillith, smiling. She took out a small book and began to take notes. “Now, tell me what you see this time when you look through the lenses…”

In the back portion of the library, the knights had not resumed their search but were embroiled in an argument.

“You did what?” Derek demanded, scowling at Brian.

“I gave the kender my word of honor as a knight that I would help rescue Sturm and the others,” Brian repeated calmly.

“You had no right to make such a promise!” Derek returned angrily. “You know the importance of our mission to recover this dragon orb and take it back to Solamnia! You could put it all in peril—”

“I didn’t say anything about you assisting them, Derek,” Brian told him. “You and Aran can continue with your search for the dragon orb. Brightblade is a fellow Solamnic, and though I only knew him a short time, I consider him a friend. Even if I didn’t know him, I would do everything in my power to keep him and his companions from falling into the hands of the enemy. Besides,” he added stubbornly, “I have now given my word.”

“The Measure says it’s our duty to thwart and confound our foes,” Aran pointed out, tilting his flask to his mouth, then wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Tell me how we confound our foes by rescuing a half-elf and a dwarf and a counterfeit knight?” Derek retorted, but Brian could see that his argument was having some effect. Derek was at least considering his proposal.

Brian went back to work, giving Derek time to think things through. Their studies were interrupted by Lillith, who came marching the kender along, her hand on his shoulder, giving his hand an occasional slap—in a friendly manner—when he tried to pluck a book off the shelves.

All three knights rose politely to their feet. “Yes, Mistress, how may we serve you?” Derek asked.

“It’s how I can serve you, or rather, how Tasslehoff can serve you.” Lillith reached for one of the books in the stack dealing with dragons. Opening the book to a page at random, she moved it near the lantern. “Tas, can you read this?”

Tasslehoff climbed onto a tall stool. He settled himself comfortably and peered at the page. He wrinkled his forehead. “You mean all those squiggly lines? No, sorry.”

Derek grunted. “I’d be surprised if he can read at all!”

Lillith said softly, “Tas, I meant for you to put on the special glasses when you read. What we talked about.”

“Oh, yeah! Right!” Tasslehoff reached his hand into his pocket and fumbled about.

“I think they’re in the other pocket,” Lillith whispered. “Mistress, we are wasting valuable time—” Tasslehoff dove into the correct pocket and came up, glasses in hand. He placed them on his small nose, pinched the nosepieces together to help them stay on, and looked down at the page.

“It says, ‘The red dragons are the largest of the chro… chrom… “—he stumbled over the word—“chromatic dragons and the most feared. Although they disdain humanoids, red dragons may occasionally ally themselves with those who have the same goals and ambitions, which include a lust for power. Red dragons revere Queen Takhisis—’”

“Let me see that!” Derek snatched the book away from Tasslehoff. He stared at it, then shoved it back. “He’s lying. I can’t read a word.”

“But he can,” said Lillith triumphantly, “with the magical Glasses of Arcanist.”

“How do you know he’s not making it up?” “Oh, come now, Derek,” said Aran, laughing, “would a kender or anyone else for that matter make up the word ‘chromatic’?”

Derek eyed Tas dubiously. He held out his hand. “Let me see those glasses.”

Tasslehoff glanced at Lillith. She nodded her head and Tas handed him the glasses, though with obvious reluctance.

“They’re mine,” he said pointedly, “given to me by a golden woolly mammoth.”

Derek attempted to put the glasses on his nose, but they were much too small. He peered at the book through the lenses, practically going cross-eyed to try to focus on the words. Lowering the glasses, he rubbed his eyes and regarded the kender with more respect.

“He’s telling the truth,” Derek admitted, sounding astonished beyond belief. “I can read the words with those glasses, though I have no idea how.”

“They’re magical,” said Tas proudly. He quickly plucked the glasses out of Derek’s hand. “They used to belong to some guy named Arachnid.”

“Arcanist,” said Lillith. “He was a half-elf sage who lived before the Cataclysm. He made several pairs of these glasses and gave them to the Aesthetics to use in research.”

“How do they work?” Brian asked.

“We don’t really know for certain. It’s thought—”

But she didn’t have a chance to finish. A shout interrupted her. “Lillith, it’s me, Marcus!”

“Excuse me,” she said. “I sent Marcus to find out about your friends, Tas. This is probably important news.”

“I’ll come, too,” Tas jumped off his stool.

“You will sit and read, kender,” said Derek.

Tas bristled with indignation. “Now, see here, Sir Shinguard, my friends may be in danger and if they are, they need me, so you can take your book and—”

“Please, Master Burrfoot,” Brian hastily intervened, “we really need your help. We can’t read these books and you can. If you could look through them and find anything at all about dragon orbs, we would be deeply in your debt. You remember that I have pledged to help your friends and I give you my word as a knight that I will do my utmost.”

“You can be of vital service to these knights, Tas,” Lillith added gravely. “I think the golden woolly mammoth would take it as a personal favor.”

“Well… I guess,” said Tas.

He eyed Derek balefully, then climbed back up on the stool and, putting his elbows on the table, began to read, his lips moving with the words.

Lillith started back to the front of the library to meet with her friend. She had taken only a few steps when she paused, turned back, and gave Brian a dimpled smile. “You can come with me, if you like. Just to make sure I’m not selling your secrets to the enemy.”

Brian glanced at Derek, who looked very annoyed, but gave a nod.

“I’m sorry about the way Derek’s acting,” he said in a low voice as he trailed Lillith. “I hope you know that I don’t suspect you—”

“I am deeply offended, sir,” said Lillith, stopping. “I may never get over it.”

“Please, Mistress.” Brian took hold of her hand. “I am truly sorry…”

Lillith burst out laughing. “I was teasing! Do you knights always take everything so seriously?”

Brian flushed deeply. He let go of her hand and started to turn away.

“Now I’m the one who is sorry,” Lillith said. “I didn’t mean to make sport of you, sir.”

She found his hand in the shadowy darkness and squeezed it tightly.

“I’m not ‘sir’,” he said. “I’m Brian.”

“I’m Lillith,” she said softly, pulling him nearer.

Tall bookshelves surrounded them, fenced them in and cut them off, separating them from everyone else in the world. Dust clung to them. They had only Lillith’s lantern for light, and she set it on the floor in order to take both his hands in both of hers. The two seemed to stand in a pool of candle-lit radiance, even as they remained hidden in sweet darkness.

Neither was ever sure quite how it happened, but their lips met and touched and kissed and parted and touched again and kissed again.

“Lillith!” Marcus again called out for her. “It’s important!”

“Just a minute!” she called breathlessly, then added softly, “We should go… Brian…” “Yes, we should, Lillith…” But neither moved.

They kissed again, and then Lillith, with a little sigh, picked up the lantern. Holding hands, they wended their way through the bookshelves, taking their time, warmed by each other’s touch. When they neared the front, they paused for one last, quick kiss.

Brian smoothed his mustaches, Lillith smoothed her tousled hair, and both tried very hard to look perfectly innocent. Rounding a corner of a shelf, they came suddenly upon Marcus, who had grown tired of waiting and started down an aisle in search of her.

“Oh, there you are,” Marcus said, raising his lantern.

Marcus was not at all what Brian had come to expect of an Aesthetic. His head wasn’t shaved and he wore ordinary breeches, shirt and coat, not robes and sandals. He wore a sword and he had the look of a soldier, not a scholar. Still, Lillith wasn’t what Brian had expected in an Aesthetic either.

“Did the knights rescue the kender?” Marcus asked.

“Yes,” said Lillith, “we have him safe and sound. What about his friends, the others on the bounty list?”

“The half-elf, the dwarf, the elf, and the knight have been taken before the lord in the Hall of Justice. I stayed to listen to some of the trial. The lord seemed surprised to see a Solamnic knight, but I think he was pleased as well. He tried to do what he could to help them, but that strange fellow—the one in the cloak—intervened, and started whispering in the Lord’s ear.”

“You say they’re on trial? What crime are Sturm and the others supposed to have committed?” Brian asked curiously.

“Remember the bounty list,” said Lillith.

“Ah, right,” said Brian. “Killing Highlord Verminaard.”

“No one’s supposed to know that, of course,” Marcus said. “But a couple of bounty hunters got drunk in a bar down by the old docks and told the tale and now the story’s all over town. There’s other news, too.”

“Not good, I take it,” said Lillith.

“According to Alfredo—”

“—his lordship’s clerk,” Lillith explained for Brian’s edification. “Alfredo’s also one of us.”

“His lordship has been secretly slipping out of the city by night to meet with someone. Add to this the way his lordship has been acting—nervous and edgy and unhappy—and Alfredo decided to follow him, find out what was going on.”

“He took an enormous risk,” said Lillith.

“To give Alfredo credit,” said Marcus wryly, “he suspected his lordship of doing nothing more terrible than cheating on his lordship’s lady wife. Our friend found out different. His lordship went to meet with representatives of a Dragon Highlord.”

“Blessed Gilean!” Lillith gasped in horror, her hand over her mouth. “We were right!”

“From what Alfredo could gather, our lord is negotiating with the new Highlord of the Red Wing—a hobgoblin named Toede. If Tarsis surrenders peacefully, the city will not come under attack—”

“The Highlord is lying,” said Brian bluntly. “They made the same false promise at Vingaard. They pretend to negotiate, but it’s just a ruse they use until their forces are in place. When they are, they will break off negotiations and attack.”

Brian turned to Lillith. “The attack could be only a matter of days away, hours maybe. You are a Solamnic and the daughter of a knight. You will be in grave danger. Come with us. We will take you to a place of safety.”

“Thank you, Brian,” said Lillith gently, “but I cannot leave the library. You have your mission, and I have mine. The library has been given into my trust. I have vowed to protect the books, and as you say, I am the daughter of a knight, one who keeps her vows.”

Brian started to press the issue, but she shook her head with a smile and turned back to her friend. Brian saw that nothing he could say would sway her, and he loved her more for her courage and her honor, even as he wished with all his heart she were not so honorable, nor so courageous.

Lillith and Marcus were discussing Brightblade and his friends. “Half the group is still in the Red Dragon Inn, including a cleric of Mishakal and a cleric of Paladine.”

“Those old gods of long ago? People are claiming to be their clerics?” Brian asked.

Lillith and Marcus looked very solemn, and Brian realized suddenly they were serious.

“Oh, come now. You don’t think they are—I mean, you can’t believe—”

“—in the true gods? Of course we do,” Lillith said crisply. “After all, we worship one of those gods ourselves. We Aesthetics are clerics of Gilean, pledged to his service.”

Brian opened his mouth and shut it again, not knowing what to say. Lillith seemed a sensible young woman and here she was, going on about serving gods who had abandoned humanity three hundred years ago. Brian would have liked to question Lillith about her faith, but now was hardly the time for a theological discussion.

“I saw cloaked and hooded figures hanging about the inn,” Marcus added. “I’m certain they’re draconians and they’re keeping watch on these people. If the Highlord gets hold of a cleric of Paladine and a cleric of Mishakal—”

“We can’t let that happen,” said Lillith firmly. “We must bring the others here to the library. If the city is attacked, this is the one place they might be safe. Marcus—go outside, see if the library is being watched.”

Marcus nodded and raced up the stairs.

Lillith turned back to Brian. Resting her hand on his arm, she looked up into his face.

“You must try to save the knight and his friends. The draconians won’t take them to prison. They’ll take them to their deaths.”

Brian put his arm around her and drew her close.

“I will do anything you ask of me, Lillith, but first, answer me this. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I didn’t,” Lillith said softly, smiling up at him, “until now.”

They held each other close for a long, sweet moment, then Lillith sighed deeply and said, “You’d better go. I’ll stay here to keep on eye on the kender.”

“I’ll stay in the library with you, help you defend it. Derek and Aran can go on this dragon orb mission without me—”

Lillith shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t be right. You have your duty, and I have mine.” She smiled. Her dimple flashed. “When this is over, we will share war stories. You’d better hurry,” she added.

Knowing it was hopeless, Brian gave up trying to persuade her. He shouted for Derek and Aran, and they made their way through the stacks of books. Tasslehoff accompanied them, despite Derek’s repeated orders for the kender to return to his reading.

“My friends are in trouble, aren’t they?” Tas heaved a deep sigh. “I suppose I’ll have to go save them—again. Did I tell you about the time I rescued Caramon from a vicious man-eating Stalig Mite? We were in this wonderful haunted fortress known as Skullcap—”

“You are not going, kender,” said Derek.

“Yes, I am, human,” said Tas.

“We can’t chain him to the stool. He’ll only run off if you leave him,” Lillith pointed out. “You might as well take him with you. That way, at least you’ll know where he is.”

Eventually Derek was persuaded, though he wasn’t happy. “Once we return, Burrfoot,” Derek said, “you will continue searching for information on dragon orbs.”

“Oh, I found that already,” said Tas nonchalantly.

“You did?” Derek exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you didn’t ask me,” said Tas with grave dignity.

“I’m asking now,” said Derek, glowering.

“Not very nicely,” Tas admonished.

Lillith leaned down to whisper something in his ear.

“Oh, all right, I’ll tell you. Dragon orbs are made of crystal and magic and they have something inside them… I forget…” He thought a moment. “Essence… that’s it. Essence of chromatic dragons.”

Tasslehoff enjoyed the way these words rolled off his tongue, and he repeated them several times with relish until Derek ordered him sharply to get on with it.

“I don’t know what the essence of a chromatic dragon is,” Tas said, gleefully taking advantage of the chance to say it all one more time, “but that’s what’s in them. If you can gain control over one of these dragon orbs, you can use it to order dragons to do your bidding, or summon them, or something.”

“How does it work?” Derek asked.

“The book didn’t give instructions,” Tas replied, irritated at being asked all these questions when his friends were in danger. Seeing Derek frown, he added, “I have a friend who probably knows all about them. He’s a wizard. His name is Raistlin and we can ask him—”

“No,” said Derek, “we can’t. Did the book say where to find these dragon orbs?”

“It says one was taken to a place called Icereach—” Tas began.

“You should really hurry,” Lillith interrupted urgently. She had been fidgeting near the door the entire time, glancing nervously up the stairs. “We can talk about this when you come back. Your friend the knight has been arrested and it’s likely he’s going be killed.”

“He’s not a knight,” insisted Derek. “But,” he added in a more subdued tone, “he is a fellow Solamnic. Brian, you’re in charge of the kend—Master Burrfoot.” He and Aran started up the stairs. Tasslehoff hung about at the bottom, waiting for Brian.

“One more kiss,” Brian said to Lillith, smiling. “For luck?”

“For luck!” she said and kissed him, then she added wistfully, “Have you ever found something you’ve searched for all your life, only to know that you’re bound to lose it and maybe you’ll never find it again?”

“That happens to me all the time,” exclaimed Tasslehoff, crowding close to the two of them. “I once found this extremely interesting ring that belonged to an evil wizard. It kept jumping me all over the place—first here, then there, then back to here again. I was quite fond of it, only I seem to have misplaced it—”

Tasslehoff stopped talking. His story about the ring and the evil wizard was extremely exciting, very interesting and mostly true, but he’d lost his audience. Neither Lillith nor Brian were listening.

Derek called his name impatiently. Brian gave Lillith one last kiss then got a firm grip on Tasslehoff, and the two ran up the stairs.

Lillith sighed and went back to her dusty books.

6 The rescue. Sturm settles an argument

The knights and the kender emerged from the library’s secret entrance to find themselves in a snow storm, a startling change in the weather, for the day had been sunny when they went underground.

Large, heavy snowflakes were plummeting down from the sky, obscuring their vision and making walking on the stone streets slippery and treacherous. Though Marcus had been gone only a few moments, his footprints were already being covered up by the fast-falling snow. As Tas said, the snow was so thick they could barely see their noses in front of their faces, and they were startled when a figure suddenly loomed out of the white curtain.

“It’s me, Marcus,” he said, raising his hands as he heard the rattle of steel. “It occurred to me you’ll need a guide to the Hall of Justice.”

Derek muttered his thanks as he sheathed his sword, and they hurried on through the storm, blinking the snow out of their eyes and slipping on the icy pavement. Though the rest of the world had gone still and silent beneath a snowy blanket, their little part of it was quite lively, for the kender talked incessantly.

“Have you ever noticed how snow makes everything look different? I guess that’s why it’s really easy to get lost in a blizzard. Are we lost? I don’t remember seeing that tree before—the one that’s all humped over. I think we’ve taken a wrong turn—”

Eventually they came to a street corner and a building the kender did recognize, though this didn’t stop his flow of talk.

“Look at all the gargoyles! Hey, I saw one of them move! Brian, did you see that very fierce-looking gargoyle move? Wouldn’t it be exciting if it flew off its perch on that building and swooped down on us and gouged out our eyes with its sharp talons? Not that I want to have my eyes gouged out, mind you. I like my eyes. I couldn’t see much without them. Say, Marcus, I think we’re lost again. I don’t remember going past that butcher—oh, wait, yes, I do—”

“Can’t you keep him quiet?” Derek grumbled.

“Not without cutting out his tongue,” Aran returned.

Derek seemed to be considering this as a viable option. By this time, however—fortunately for Tas—they had arrived at the Hall of Justice, a large, ugly brick structure. Despite the storm, a crowd had gathered out front, some of them shouting for the detested Solamnic to quit skulking about behind the lord’s skirts and show himself.

“These people truly hate us,” said Derek.

“You can’t really blame them,” said Marcus.

“They were the ones who turned on us,” returned Derek. “Many Solamnics died in this city after the Cataclysm at the hands of the mobs.”

“That was a tragedy,” Marcus admitted. “And after the riot was over, some of the people here were genuinely ashamed of themselves. The Tarsians sent a delegation to Solamnia to try to make peace. Did you know that?”

Derek shook his head.

“Their overtures were rebuffed. They were not even permitted to leave their ship to set foot on Solamnic soil. If the Solamnics had been forgiving to those who wronged them, as the Measure states they should,” Marcus added with a sidelong glance at Derek, “the knights would have been welcomed back to Tarsis and perhaps the city might not find itself about to be attacked by the dragonarmy.”

“Much of Solamnia is now in the hands of the enemy,” said Derek.

“Yes, I know,” Marcus replied. “My parents live in Vingaard. I have not heard from them in a long time.”

The knights were silent a moment, then Brian asked quietly, “You are from Solamnia, then?”

“I am,” said Marcus. “I am one of the ‘Pathetics’ as the kender terms us.” He smiled through the snow at Tasslehoff. “I was sent here with Lillith and several others to protect the library.”

“There’s no way you can protect it!” said Brian, suddenly and unreasonably angry at the man. “Not from the dragonarmies. The library’s safely hidden. You and Lillith should just lock it up and leave it. You’re putting your lives in danger over a few books.”

He paused, flushing. He had not meant to speak with such passion. They were all staring at him in astonishment.

Marcus was gentle, sympathetic, but resolute. “You forget, Sir Knight, that our god is with us. Gilean will not leave us to fight alone, if fight we must. Wait here a moment. I see one of my colleagues. I’ll go ask him what’s going on.”

He hastened through the snow to speak to a man who had just come out of the Hall. After a moment’s conference, Marcus came hurrying back.

“Your friends are going to be taken to prison—”

“I hope it’s a nice prison,” Tasslehoff said to no one in particular. “Some are and some aren’t, you know. I’ve never been in the Tarsis jail before, so I haven’t any idea—”

“Silence, Burrfoot!” Derek ordered peremptorily. “Aran, put that damn flask away!”

Tasslehoff opened his mouth to give the knight a piece of his mind, but he sucked in a gigantic clump of snow-flakes and spent the next few moments trying to cough them back up.

“The constable won’t risk bringing them within sight of this mob,” Marcus continued, “not after what happened when he tried to arrest them. He’ll take them round by an alley in the back.”

“Luck is on our side, for once,” said Derek.

“Not luck,” said Marcus gravely. “Gilean favors us with his blessing. Hurry! This way!”

“Perhaps it was Gilean who choked the kender,” suggested Aran. He had put the flask back in his belt and was patting the coughing Tasslehoff on the back. “If he did, I may become his disciple,” said Derek.

Marcus led them around the side of the Hall to an alleyway that ran behind the building. As if the storm delighted in playing tricks, the snow shower ended, and sunlight sparkled on the new fallen snow. Then more clouds scudded across the sky and the sun began to play at peek-a-boo, ducking in and out of the snow showers, so that one moment the sun shone brightly and the next snow was falling.

The building cast a shadow over the alley that was dark and gloomy. Just as they entered it, Brian saw two cloaked and hooded figures detach themselves from the wall at the far end and walk off in the opposite direction.

“Look there!” he said, pointing.

“Draconians,” said Aran, sneaking a drink when Derek wasn’t looking. “They’re dressed exactly like those who stopped us at the bridge.”

“Do you think they saw us?”

“I doubt it. We’re in shadow. I wouldn’t have seen them but they walked into the sunlight. I wonder why they left so quickly—”

“Hush! This must be them!” Marcus warned.

A door opened and they could hear voices.

“Take the kender,” Derek told Marcus.

Tasslehoff tried to insist they would need his help in the upcoming battle, but Marcus clapped his hand over Tas’s mouth and that ended that.

The constable emerged from the Hall. He was leading five prisoners, one of whom, they were astonished to see, was a woman. Three guards marched alongside. Brian recognized Sturm walking protectively near the woman, and they had been told correctly: Sturm was indeed wearing a breastplate on which was engraved the rose and the kingfisher, symbols of the knights.

Whatever Derek might say of Sturm Brightblade, Brian had always found the man to be the personification of a Solamnic knight—gallant, courageous and noble—which made it strange that Sturm would do something so dishonorable as to lie about being a knight, wear armor he had no right to wear.

Brian drew his sword, sliding it slowly and silently from its sheath. His friends had their weapons in hand. Marcus drew the muzzled kender back further into the shadows.

The door slammed shut behind the prisoners. The constable marched them down the alleyway. Brian saw Sturm exchanging glances with one of the other prisoners, and he guessed that they were going to try to make a break for freedom.

“I’ll take the constable,” said Derek. “You take the other guards.”

The constable could hear the shouts of the mob in the front of the building, but he believed they were safe in the alley. He wasn’t looking for trouble and consequently wasn’t keeping a very good watch. The first he knew of trouble was when he caught a flash of steel. Seeing three cloaked figures rushing toward him, he put his whistle to his lips to sound the alarm. Derek clubbed him with the hilt of his sword, knocking the man unconscious before he could summon help. Aran and Brian menaced the three guards with their swords, and they ran off down the alleyway.

The knights turned to the prisoners, who were blinking in astonishment at their sudden rescue.

“Who are you?” demanded the half-elf.

Brian regarded the man curiously. He was tall and muscular, clad in leather and furs, and he wore a beard, perhaps to conceal his elf features, though they weren’t that noticeable that Brian could see, except for his pointed ears. He appeared no older than his mid-thirties, but the expression in his eyes was that of someone who has lived long in the world, someone who knew life’s sorrows as well as its joys. Of course, the elf blood in him would give him a life-span far longer than most humans. Brian wondered how old he really was.

“Have we escaped one danger only to find a worse?” the half-elf demanded. “Unmask yourselves.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Brian realized they must look more like assassins than saviors. He pulled down his scarf, turned to Sturm, and spoke swiftly in Solamnic, “Oth Tsarthon e Paran,” meaning, “Our meeting is in friendship.”

Sturm had placed himself in front of the female prisoner, keeping her protectively behind him, shielding her with his body. The woman was heavily veiled and wore a thick cloak, so that Brian could gain no clear impression of her. She moved with flowing grace and her hand, resting on the knight’s arm, was remarkable for its delicacy and alabaster purity.

Sturm gasped in recognition.

“Est Tsarthai en Paranaith,” he replied, meaning, “My companions are your friends.” He added in Common, “These men are Knights of Solamnia.”

The half-elf and the dwarf both looked at them suspiciously. “Knights! Why—”

“There is no time for explanation, Sturm Brightblade,” Derek told him, speaking in Common out of politeness, since he assumed the others could not speak Solamnic. “The guards will return soon. Come with us.”

“Not so fast!” stated the dwarf.

He was an elder dwarf, to judge by the gray in his long beard, and like most dwarves Brian had known, he appeared to be irascible, obstinate, and headstrong. He snatched up a halberd one of the guards had let fall, and grasping it in his large, strong hands, he slammed it down on his bent knee, snapping off the handle so that he could wield it more easily.

“You’ll find time for explanations, or I’m not going,” the dwarf told them. “How’d you know the knight’s name and how came you to be waiting for us—”

Tasslehoff had, by this time, managed to escape Marcus’s grasp.

“Oh, just run him through,” the kender cried cheerfully. “Leave his body to feed the crows. Not that they’ll bother; there’s few in the world who can stomach dwarf—”

The half-elf relaxed and smiled. He turned to the red-faced dwarf. “Satisfied?”

“Some day I’ll kill that kender,” the dwarf muttered into his beard.

All this time, Sturm had been staring hard at Derek, who had removed his scarf from his face.

“Brightblade,” Derek acknowledged coldly.

Sturm’s lips tightened, his face darkened, and his hand clenched over the hilt of his sword. Brian tensed, foreseeing trouble, but then Sturm glanced at those with him, especially at the veiled woman. Brian could guess what Sturm was thinking. Had he been alone, he would have refused to accept any aid from the man who had publicly insulted him and his family.

“My lord,” said Sturm, his voice equally cold. He did not bow. If either had been going to say more, they were cut off by the sound of whistles and shouts heading in their direction.

“The guards! This way!” called Marcus.

Sturm’s friends looked to him and he gave a nod. Marcus led them into a maze of streets and alleyways that twisted and turned back in on themselves like a drunken serpent. They soon lost the guards, and when they could no longer hear the whistles, deemed they were safe from pursuit and slowed their pace to mingle with the people in the street.

“Are you glad I rescued you, Flint?” asked Tasslehoff, walking alongside the scowling dwarf.

“No,” he answered, glowering, “and you didn’t rescue me, you doorknob. These knights did.” He cast Brian, who was keeping near the kender, a grudgingly grateful glance.

Tasslehoff grinned and winked conspiratorially at Brian, then said, “That’s a fine halberd you have there,

Flint!”

Flint had been about to toss away the broken weapon, but at the kender’s teasing, he held onto it firmly. “It suits my purpose,” he said, “and besides, it’s not a halberd. It’s a hauberk.”

“No, it isn’t!” Tasslehoff gave a smothered giggle. “A hauberk’s a shirt made of chain mail like the one Sir Brian is wearing. A halberd’s a weapon.”

Flint snorted. “What would a kender know about weapons?” He shook it at Tasslehoff, who was now so overcome with laughter he was having difficulty keeping up with his friends. “This is a hauberk!”

“Oh, yes! Just like that helm you’re wearing has the mane of a griffon! All of us know it’s horse hair,” Tasslehoff retorted.

Flint was already red in the face and puffing from the running. At this accusation, he went purple. He put his hand to the white tail that dangled down from his helm. “It is not! Horse hair makes me sneeze! This is the mane of a griffon!”

“But griffons don’t have manes!” Tasslehoff protested, skipping alongside the dwarf, pouches bouncing and spilling their contents. “Griffons have an eagle’s head and a lion’s body, not the other way around. Just like that’s a halberd, not a hauberk—”

“Is this or is this not a hauberk?” Flint demanded. He shoved his weapon practically in Sturm’s nose.

“That is what we knights know as a halberd,” said Sturm, moving the point away from the mysterious woman, who continued to hold onto his arm.

Tasslehoff gave a whoop of triumph.

“However,” Sturm added diplomatically, seeing Flint look chagrined, “I believe the Theiwar dwarves have a word for ‘halberd’ that sounds similar to ‘hauberk’? Perhaps that is what you were thinking, Flint.”

“That’s true!” stated Flint, his dignity upheld. “I… er… can’t rightly recall the word right at this moment, not being fluent in Theiwar, you understand, but it sounds like hauberk, which is what I meant.”

Tasslehoff grinned and seemed about to comment, but the half-elf, exchanging smiles with Sturm, put an end to the discussion by seizing hold of the kender and hustling him up to the front of the group so fast that his boots skimmed the street.

Brian was impressed by the good fellowship among this oddly assorted group of friends. He was particularly impressed with Sturm. He kept fast hold of the woman he had taken under his protection, and though clearly concerned with her, he had the patience to end the argument between the kender and the dwarf, while managing to maintain the dwarf’s dignity.

As if aware of what Brian was thinking, Sturm met his eye and gave a half-smile and a slight shrug of the shoulders.

They continued moving through the side streets, avoiding the major roads. Tanis Half-elven had hold of the kender and was keeping hold of him. The kender wriggled and squirmed in his friend’s grasp, his shrill voice raised in pleading. Whatever Tas wanted, Tanis was obviously having none of it.

They came to the marketplace, and here they would have to leave the side streets and move out into the open, taking the main road that led to the library. A few guards could be seen searching for them, but finding a handful of people amidst the throng of shoppers was going to be difficult and the guards were obviously not all that interested in capturing the escaped prisoners.

Brian recalled Lillith saying that something was wrong in this city. The guards apparently thought so, for they looked dour and unhappy. Ordinary citizens were still going about their business, but now that he paid attention, he saw people huddling together in knots, talking in hushed voices and glancing nervously over their shoulders. Sturm and the others kept their heads down, their eyes lowered, and did nothing to call attention to themselves. Obviously they’ve been in tense situations like this before, Brian realized. The half-elf even managed to squelch the kender.

They made their way safely through the market and came at last to the road that led to the old part of the city and the library. Here Tanis called a halt. Kender in tow, he came to speak to the knights.

“I thank you, sirs, for helping us,” Tanis said. “We must take our leave of you. We have friends in the Red Dragon Inn who have no idea what has happened—”

“You can’t, Tanis!” Tasslehoff cried. “I keep telling you! You have to come to the library to look at what I’ve found. It’s really, really important!”

“Tas, I don’t need to see another petrified frog,” Tanis said impatiently. “We have to go back to tell Laurana—”

“Oh, tell Laurana!” Tasslehoff said through a smothered giggle.

“—and Raistlin, Caramon, and the others that we are safe,” Tanis continued. “The last they saw of us, we were being taken off to prison. They will be worried.” He held out his hand. “Sir Derek, thank you—”

Tas took advantage of his friend’s distraction to give a wrench and a leap, and managed to twist himself out of Tanis’s grasp. Derek made a grab for the kender, but he missed, and Tas ran off down the alleyway.

“I’ll meet you in the library!” Tas called over his shoulder, waving his hand. “The knights know where!”

“I’ll go fetch him,” Flint offered, though he was so winded he stood doubled over, his hands on his knees. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

“No!” said Tanis. “We’re already split in two. I won’t have us going off in three directions. We keep together.”

Marcus volunteered to go after him, and he set off in pursuit.

“I say leave the kender and good riddance,” stated Flint.

“Actually, he has found something of vital importance,” said Derek. “I think you should come see what we have discovered.”

Brian and Aran exchanged startled glances.

“What are you doing?” Aran asked Derek, drawing him to one side. “I thought this dragon orb was a secret.”

“I’m going to need the half-elf’s cooperation,” Derek said in a low voice. “I intend to take the kender with us to Icereach—”

“You’re joking!” Aran exclaimed, horrified.

“I never joke,” said Derek sternly. “He’s the only one who can translate these magical writings for us. We will need him.”

“He won’t go,” said Brian. “He won’t leave his friends.”

“Then Brightblade must persuade him, or better yet, I will order Brightblade to accompany us.”

“He’s not a knight, Derek, as you keep reminding us,” said Brian. “He doesn’t have to obey your orders.”

“He will unless he wants me to tell his friends the truth,” said Derek harshly. “He can make himself useful on the journey minding the horses and the kender.”

They had kept their voices low, but Sturm must have heard his name mentioned for he looked over at them to see Derek’s disapproving gaze fixed on his breastplate. Sturm flushed, then turned away.

Derek, don’t do this, Brian begged his friend silently. Just let it be. Let them go their way and we’ll go ours.

He had the unhappy feeling that wasn’t going to happen.

“Come with us, Brightblade,” Derek called, making it sound like an order.

The half-elf and the dwarf exchanged troubled glances, then both looked at Sturm, who had not heard, for he was talking in low and reassuring tones to the veiled woman.

“Mark my words—this isn’t going to end well,” the dwarf predicted “and it’s all the fault of that rattlebrained kender!”

The half-elf gave a deep sigh and nodded his head in gloomy agreement.

“They don’t know the half of it!” Aran remarked.

He took out his flask, hefted it, found it was empty. He shook it. Nothing came out.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now I have to put up with Derek while I’m sober.”

7 A last kiss. Fine and blood

The knights and their newfound companions arrived back at the library without incident. Marcus had returned to report that Tas was safely back at the library, regaling Lillith with his tale of how they had fought off six hundred Tarsian guards and a wandering giant.

“Brian,” said Derek, “before we enter the library, go fetch Brightblade. Tell him I want to speak with him.”

Brian sighed deeply, but went to do as he was told.

Sturm Brightblade came of an honored family and he had the backing of Lord Gunthar, who was an old and valued friend of the family. When Sturm had asked that he be considered for knighthood, Lord Gunthar had supported the young man. It was Derek who had opposed Sturm’s nomination to enter the knighthood on various grounds: Sturm had not been raised in Solamnia; he had been raised by his mother, his father having been absent during his formative years; Sturm was not properly educated; he had not served as a squire to a knight; and most damning, Derek had hinted that Sturm’s parentage was subject to question.

Fortunately Sturm had not been present to hear all that Derek had said about him and his family, or there would have been bloodshed in the council hall. As it was, Lord Gunthar had answered the charges, arguing vehemently in favor of his young friend, but Derek’s charges had been enough to sink Sturm’s candidacy.

Rumor had it that when Sturm heard rumors of what Derek had said, the young man had tried to challenge Derek to a contest of honor. That was not possible, however. A mere nobody, such as Sturm Brightblade, could not challenge a Lord Knight of the Rose to mortal combat. Feeling himself disgraced, Sturm had determined to leave Solamnia. In vain, Lord Gunthar had tried to persuade Sturm to remain. Gunthar urged him to wait a year, and his name could be submitted again. In the meantime, Sturm could refute Derek’s charges. Sturm refused. He left Solamnia shortly after, taking with him his inheritance—his father’s sword and armor, part of which he was now wearing, though he had no right to do so.

Two proud and stubborn men, Brian thought, both at fault.

“We need to talk to you, Sturm,” said Brian. “In private. Perhaps the lady would like to take some time to rest,” he concluded awkwardly.

Sturm escorted the veiled woman to a stone bench near what had once been a marble fountain. He gallantly brushed off the snow, removed his cloak, and spread it out on the bench, then graciously assisted her to seat herself. The true elf, whose name was Gilthanas, had not spoken a word to any of them this entire time. He sat protectively beside the woman. Tanis stood fidgeting, looking about. He nodded in acquiescence when Sturm told him he was going to speak with his friends.

Derek led the way to a place where they could talk in private and not be overheard. Brian, who had the dread feeling he knew what was coming, found a chance to say a quick word to Sturm, holding him back when he would have followed Derek.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for what happened to you—in regard to the knighthood. Derek’s my friend and there’s no man I love and honor more,” Brian smiled ruefully, “but he can be a horse’s rear end sometimes.”

Sturm made no reply. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground. His face was dark with anger.

“All of us have our failings,” Brian continued. “If Derek would ever take off his armor, we’d find a human being underneath, but he can’t take off that armor, Sturm. He’s just not made that way. He expects perfection of everyone, especially himself.”

Sturm seemed to soften at this. He looked less grim.

“When the dragonarmies overran Castle Crownguard,” Brian continued, “a dragon killed his younger brother, Edwin. That is, we assume he is dead.” He paused a moment, thinking back to that terrible time, and said quietly, “We hope he is dead. Derek’s wife and child are now forced to reside with her father, because Derek cannot provide a house to shelter her. How must any man feel about that, especially a man as proud as Derek? He has nothing left, except the knighthood, this quest of his—” Brian sighed “—and his pride. Remember that, Sturm, and forgive him, if you can.”

Having said this, Brian walked away, lest Derek should suspect he’d said anything. Sturm was silent, stiff and formal when he joined Derek. Aran, peering over Derek’s helm, looked at Brian and lifted his eyebrows in a question. Brian could only shake his head. He had no idea what Derek was doing.

“Brightblade,” said Derek abruptly, “we have had our differences in the past…”

Sturm’s body trembled, his hands clenched. He said nothing, but gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement.

“I remind you that according to the Measure, in time of warfare, all personal animosities must be set aside. I am willing to do so,” Derek added, “if you are. I prove it by taking you into our confidence. I am going to reveal to you the nature of our quest.”

Brian was astonished, as all of a sudden he realized what Derek was doing. He felt himself growing so angry he had to choke back the harsh words; Derek was being conciliatory to Sturm because he needed the kender.

Sturm hesitated, then gave a great sigh, as though letting go a heavy burden, and said quietly, “I am honored by your trust, my lord.”

“You have leave to tell your friends of our mission,” Derek said, “but this must go no further.”

“I understand,” said Sturm. “I answer for their honor as for my own.”

Considering that he was speaking for outlandish folk, such as dwarves and half-elves, Derek raised an eyebrow at this, but he let it go. He needed the kender.

Derek was about to proceed when Aran interrupted.

“Is it true you killed a Dragon Highlord in Pax Tharkas?” he asked with interest.

“My friends and I assisted in a slave uprising in Pax Tharkas that resulted in the death of the Highlord,” Sturm replied.

Aran was impressed. “No need to be modest, Brightblade. You must have had more to do with it than that, for your name to be on the Highlord’s bounty list!”

“Is it?” Sturm asked, startled.

“It is. Your name and those of your companions. Show him, Brian.”

“We can do that another time. We have more important matters to discuss now,” said Derek, casting Aran an irate glance. “We have been sent by the Knight’s Council to find and bring back to Sancrist a valuable artifact called a dragon orb. We heard rumors that this orb might be found in Icereach, and we have stopped here at the ancient library to try to gain more information. The kender has been of valuable assistance to us in this.”

Sturm smoothed his mustaches, embarrassed and uneasy. “I do not like to speak ill of anyone, my lords, especially Tasslehoff, whom I have known for many years and whom I consider a friend—”

Derek frowned at the thought of anyone considering a kender a friend, but fortunately, Sturm didn’t notice.

“—you should be aware, however, that Tas, while a very good-hearted person, is known to sometimes… er… fabricate—”

“If you are trying to say that the kender is a little liar, I am aware of that,” stated Derek impatiently. “The kender is not lying now. We have proof of the veracity of his claims. I think you and your friends should come see for yourselves.”

“If Tasslehoff has been able to help you, I am glad. I’m sure Tanis will want to speak to him,” Sturm added wryly. “Now, if there is nothing more to discuss—”

“Just one thing—who is the woman in the veil?” Brian asked curiously, glancing over his shoulder.

The woman was still seated on a bench, speaking to the true elf and the half-elf. The dwarf stumped about nearby.

“Lady Alhana, daughter of the King of Silvanesti,” Sturm answered. His gaze warmed as it fell upon her.

“Silvanesti!” Aran repeated, amazed. “She is far from home. What is a Silvanesti elf doing in Tarsis?”

“The reach of the Dark Queen is long,” said Sturm gravely. “The dragonarmies are about to invade her homeland. The lady has risked her life to travel to Tarsis in search of mercenaries to help the elves fight off their foes. It was for that she was arrested. Mercenaries are not welcome in this city, nor are those who seek to hire them.”

“Do you mean to say the dragonarmies have moved so far south that they threaten to attack Silvanesti?” asked Brian, aghast.

“So it would seem, my lord,” Sturm replied. He glanced at Derek and said in tones of sympathy and regret, “I hear war has come to Solamnia as well.”

“Castle Crownguard fell to the dragonarmies, as did Vingaard,” said Derek stolidly, “and all the realm to the east. Palanthas yet stands, as does the High Clerist’s’ Tower, but the fiends may launch an attack at any moment.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” said Sturm earnestly, and he looked Derek in the eye for the first time. “Truly sorry.”

“We do not need sympathy. What we need is the power to drive these butchers from our homeland,” Derek replied harshly. “That is why this dragon orb is of such vital importance. According to the kender, it confers upon the one who masters it the ability to control dragons.”

“If that is true, it would indeed be good news for all of us who fight for the cause of freedom,” Sturm said. “I will go inform my friends.”

He walked off to speak to the half-elf.

“Now, I suppose we must be civil to these people,” said Derek dourly, and bracing himself, he went to join Sturm.

Aran stared after him. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you, Brian? He’s being nice to Brightblade so he will help us keep hold of the kender. Otherwise, Derek wouldn’t give Sturm the back of his hand.”

“Maybe,” Brian admitted. “though, to do him justice, I honestly believe Derek doesn’t think of it like that. In his mind, he’s doing this for Solamnia.”

Aran tugged on his mustaches. “You’re a good friend to him, Brian. I wish he deserved you.”

He started to reach for his flask, then remembered it was empty, and with a sigh sauntered off to make the acquaintance of Sturm Brightblade’s regrettable friends.

As it turned out, one was not so regrettable, not even to Derek, who felt no reduction of his dignity upon being introduced to the Lady Alhana. The Solamnics had not been ruled by a king for many centuries, but the knights were still respectful of royalty and charmed by it, especially by such surpassingly beautiful royalty as Alhana Starbreeze.

They proceeded to the library, where they found the kender perusing books with the magical glasses. The half-elf, who had been presented to them as Tanis Half-Elven, was inclined to be severe with Tas for running off, but eventually Tanis relented, when it appeared that Tasslehoff was actually able to read the ancient texts and was not making it all up.

While the knights and the kender and his friends were talking, Brian slipped away to go in search of Lillith. He had been disappointed to find, on his return, that she had left upon some errand. He went back to the entrance and found Marcus peering nervously up the stairs.

“There’s a bad feeling in the air,” he said. “Do you notice?”

Brian remembered Aran saying the same thing not so long ago. Now that Marcus had called his attention to it, Brian did feel ill-at-ease. As Aran had said, it was as though someone were walking across his grave.

“Where’s Lillith?” Brian asked.

“She’s praying in our chapel,” Marcus replied. He indicated a room off to one side of the main entrance. Another door, marked with the book and the scales, stood partway ajar.

Brian was startled by this. He didn’t know what to do.

“It’s just… we might be leaving soon… I wanted to see her…”

“You can go in,” Marcus said, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt—” “It’s all right.”

Brian hesitated, then he walked over and gently pushed on the door.

The chapel was quite small, large enough for only a few people at a time. At the far end was an altar. On the altar lay an open book and beside it was a scale of balance, perfectly poised so that both sides were equal. Lillith was not kneeling, as Brian had half expected. She sat cross-legged before the altar, very much at her ease. She was speaking in a low voice, but it did not seem that she was praying so much as holding a conversation with her god, for she would occasionally emphasize a point with a gesture.

Brian opened the door a little farther, intending to slip into the back of the room, but the door hinges creaked. Lillith turned around and smiled at him.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Gilean and I were just talking,” she said. “You speak of him as though he were a friend,” said Brian.

“He is,” said Lillith, rising to her feet. Her dimple flashed.

“But he’s a god. At least, you believe he is a god,” said Brian.

“I respect and revere him as a god,” Lillith answered, “but when I come to him, he makes me feel welcome as if I were visiting an old friend.”

Brian glanced down at the altar, trying to think of some way to change the subject, which made him uncomfortable. He looked at the book, thinking it must be some holy text, and said in astonishment, “The pages of the book are blank. Why is that?”

“To remind us that our lives are made up of blank sheets waiting to be filled,” Lillith replied. “The book of life is open when we are born, and it closes with our death. We write in it continually, but no matter how much we write, what joy or sorrow we experience or what mistakes we have made, we will always turn the page, and tomorrow’s page is always blank.”

“Some people might find that prospect daunting,” said Brian somberly, looking down at the page, so starkly white and empty.

“I find it filled with hope,” said Lillith. She moved close to him.

He took hold of her hands and clasped them in his own. “I know what I want to write on tomorrow’s page. I want to write my love for you.”

“Then let us write it on today’s page,” said Lillith softly. “We will not wait for tomorrow.”

A small cut-crystal jar filled with ink stood on the altar; beside it was a feather pen. Lillith dipped the quill in the ink and then, half-serious and half-laughing, she drew a heart on the page, as might a child, and wrote his name, Brian, inside the heart.

Brian picked up the pen and was going to write her name, but he was interrupted by the sound of horn calls coming from outside the library. Though the horns were distant, far away, still he recognized them. His stomach clenched. His heart thudded. His hand jerked and dropped the pen that had been forming the letter “L”.

He turned toward the door.

“What is that dreadful noise?” Lillith gasped.

The blaring noise was growing louder by the moment. She grimaced at the discordant, raucous blaring.

“What is it?” she asked urgently. “What does it mean?”

“The dragonarmies,” said Brian, striving to be calm for her sake. “What we feared has happened. Tarsis is under attack.”

He and Lillith looked at each other. This was the moment they must part, he to his duty, she to hers. They gave each other the gift of a precious moment, a moment to cling to each other, a moment to memorize a loved face, a moment they would each hold in the coming darkness. Then they let go, each turning away.

“Marcus,” Lillith called, running out of the chapel. “Fetch the Aesthetics! Bring them here!”

“Derek!” Brian shouted. “The dragonarmies! I’m going out to take a look!”

He was about to race up the stairs when he heard raised voices coming from the library’s interior. Brian groaned inwardly. He could guess what was going on. He turned from the stairs and made his way among the bookshelves, moving as rapidly as possible, hoping to head off a dispute.

“Where do you think you are going, kender?” Derek could be heard shouting.

“With Tanis!” Tas yelled back, sounding amazed at the question. “You’re knights. You can get along fine without me, but my friends need me!”

“We offer you our protection, Half-Elven,” Derek was saying as Brian arrived. “Are you turning that down?”

“I thank you, Sir Knight,” Tanis replied, “but as I told you, we cannot go with you. We have friends in the Red Dragon. We must return to them—”

“Bring the kender, Sturm,” Derek ordered, “and come with us.”

“I cannot, sir,” Sturm replied. He rested his hand on the half-elf’s shoulder. “He is my leader, and my first loyalty is to my friends.”

Derek was incensed that Sturm Brightblade, a Solamnic, would have the temerity to refuse a direct order from a knight who was his superior by birth, and to add insult to injury, instead proudly proclaim that he obeyed the orders of some half-breed elf.

Tanis understood. He started to say something, perhaps to try to assuage Derek’s ire, but Derek intervened.

“If that is your decision, I cannot stop you,” Derek said, cold with anger. “But this is another black mark against you, Sturm Brightblade. Remember that you are not a knight. Not yet. Pray that I am not there when the question of your knighthood comes before the Council.”

Sturm went livid. He cast a conscience-stricken look at the half-elf, who appeared considerably astonished.

“What did he say?” the dwarf demanded. “The knight’s not a knight?”

“Leave it, Flint,” said Tanis quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, of course it doesn’t matter.” Flint shook his fist under Derek’s nose. “We’re glad he’s not one of you stuck-up steel-for-brains knights! It would serve you right if we did leave you with the kender!”

“Tanis,” Sturm said in low tones, “I can explain—”

“There’s no time for explanations!” Tanis was shouting in his urgency. “Listen! They’re coming closer. Gentlemen, I wish you success. Sturm, see to the Lady Alhana. Tasslehoff, you’re coming with me.” Tanis laid firm hands on the kender. “If we get separated, we’ll meet at the Red Dragon Inn.”

The horn calls were coming closer. Tanis managed to marshal his friends together and they hurried off, following the kender, who knew the path through the bookshelves. Derek glared at the books piled on the table in frustration. There were a number not yet studied.

“At least we know there’s an orb in Icereach, and we know what it does,” Aran pointed out. “Now let’s get out of this city before all hell breaks loose.”

“The horses are stabled near the main gate. We can escape in the confusion—” Brian added.

“We need that kender!” Derek stated.

“Derek, be reasonable,” Aran said, but Derek was unpacking his armor and refused to heed him.

The time for disguising themselves was past. They might have to fight their way out of the city, and Aran and Derek buckled on their breastplates over chain mail and put on their helms. Brian, who had lost his armor when his horse ran off, had to make do with his leather. They sorted through their gear, took only what they deemed necessary, and left the rest behind. They made their way among the books, back to the entrance.

“I thank you for your assistance, Mistress,” Derek said to Lillith, who was keeping guard on the door. “How do we find the Red Dragon Inn?”

Lillith stared at him in astonishment. “This is a strange time to go inquiring for a room, sir.”

“Please, Mistress, we don’t have much time,” Derek stated.

Lillith shrugged. “Go back to the center of the city. The inn’s not far from the Hall of Justice.”

“You go on ahead,” said Brian to the others. “I’ll catch up.”

Derek cast him an annoyed glance, but made no comment. Aran grinned at Brian and winked, then he and Derek dashed up the stairs.

Brian turned to Lillith. “Shut and seal the door. They won’t find it—”

“I will,” she said. Her voice trembled a little, but she was composed and even managed a smile. “I’m waiting for the other Aesthetics to come. We have laid in supplies. We’ll be safe. Draconians are not interested in books—”

No, thought Brian, despairing, they’re only interested in killing.

He gave her a last, lingering kiss, then—hearing Derek bellowing—he tore himself away from her and ran after his friends.

“May the Gods of Light watch over you!” she called after him.

Brian glanced back over his shoulder and waved his hand in farewell. The last he saw of her, she was smiling and waving, then a shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.

Brian looked up to see the red wings and enormous red body of a dragon. The dragonfear swept over him, crushing hope and rending courage. His sword arm faltered. He staggered as he ran, barely able to breathe for the terror that seemed to darken everything around him.

The dragonarmies had not come to conquer Tarsis. They had come to destroy it.

Brian fought against the fear that twisted inside him so that he was nearly physically ill. He wondered if Derek and Aran were watching him, a witness to his weakness, and pride and anger bolstered him. He kept running. The red monster flew by, heading toward those sections of Tarsis where panic-stricken people were thronging into the streets.

Brian found Aran and Derek sheltered in the shadows of a crumbling doorway.

More red dragons came, their wings filling the skies. The knights heard the roaring of the monstrous beasts, saw them wheel and dive down upon their helpless victims, breathing great gouts of fire that incinerated everything and everyone it touched. Smoke began to rise as buildings exploded into flame. Even from this distance, they could hear the horrible screams of the dying.

Aran had gone ashen. Derek maintained his stern composure but only by great effort. He had to lick his lips twice before he could speak.

“We’re going to the inn.”

They all ducked involuntarily as a red dragon flew overheard, his belly skimming the treetops. Had the dragon looked down, he would have seen them, but the beast’s fierce eyes were staring hungrily ahead. He was eager to join in the slaughter.

“Derek, that’s madness,” Aran hissed. Sweat beaded his lip beneath his helm. “The dragon orb is what is important. Forget the damn kender!” He pointed to the thickening coils of black smoke. “Look at that! We might as well march into the Abyss!”

Derek gave him a cold look. “I’m going to the inn. If you’re afraid, I’ll meet you back at our campsite.”

He started off, running down the street, dodging from one shelter to another, diving from a doorway to a grove of trees to a building, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the dragons.

Brian looked helplessly at Aran, who flung up his hands in exasperation.

“I suppose we’ll have to go with him! At least maybe we can keep the idiot from getting himself killed.”