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“Y-yes, y-your, uh, majesty,” the gully dwarf stuttered. The great Phudge waved his filthy hand graciously and the companions bowed their way out. Highbulp, Phudge I, stood for a moment beside his throne, smiling in what he considered a charming manner until his guests were gone. Then his expression changed, transforming into a smile so shrewd and devious his guards crowded around him in eager anticipation.

“You,” he said to one. “Go to quarters. Bring map. Give to fools in next room.”

The guard saluted and ran off. The other guard remained close, waiting in open-mouthed expectation. Phudge glanced around, then drew the guard even nearer, considering exactly how to phrase his next command. He needed some heroes and if he had to create his own out of whatever scum came along, then he would do so. If they died, it was no great loss. If they succeeded in killing the dragon, so much the better. The gully dwarves would get what was—to them—more precious than all the pretty rocks in Krynn: a return to the sweet, halcyon days of freedom! And so, enough of this nonsense about sneaking around.

Phudge leaned over and whispered in the guard’s ear. “You go to dragon. Give her best regards of his majesty, Highbulp, Phudge I, and tell her …”

20

The Highbulp’s map.

A spellbook of Fistandantilus.

I don’t trust that little bastard any farther than I can stand the smell of him,” Caramon growled.

“I agree,” Tanis said quietly. “But what choice do we have? We’ve agreed to bring him the treasure. He has everything to lose and nothing to gain if he betrays us.”

They sat on the floor in the Waiting Place, a filthy antechamber outside the throne room. The decorations in this room were just as vulgar as in the Court. The companions were nervous and tense, speaking little and forcing themselves to eat.

Raistlin refused food. Curled up on the floor apart from the others, he prepared and drank down the strange herbal mixture that eased his cough. Then he wrapped himself in his robes and stretched out, eyes closed, on the floor. Bupu sat curled up near him, munching on something from her bag. Caramon, going over to check on his brother, was horrified to see a tail disappear into her mouth with a slurp.

Riverwind sat by himself. He did not take part in the hushed conversation as the friends went over their plans once again. The Plainsman stared moodily at the floor. When he felt a light touch on his arm, he didn’t even lift his head. Goldmoon, her face pale, knelt beside him. She tried to speak, failed, then cleared her throat.

“We must talk,” she said firmly in their language.

“Is that a command?” he asked bitterly.

She swallowed. “Yes,” she answered, barely audible.

Riverwind rose to his feet and walked over to stand in front of a garish tapestry. He did not look at Goldmoon or even speak to her. His face was drawn into a stern mask, but underneath, Goldmoon could see the searing pain in his soul. She gently laid her hand on his arm.

“Forgive me,” she said softly.

Riverwind regarded her in astonishment. She stood before him, her head bowed, an almost childlike shame on her face. He reached out to stroke the silver-gold hair of the one he loved more than life itself. He felt Goldmoon tremble at his touch and his heart ached with love. Moving his hand from her head to her neck, he very gently and tenderly drew the beloved head to his chest and then suddenly clasped her in his arms.

“I’ve never heard you say those words before,” he said, smiling to himself, knowing she could not see him.

“I have never said them,” she gulped, her cheek pressed against his leather shirt. “Oh, my beloved, I am sorrier than I can say that you came home to Chieftain’s Daughter and not Goldmoon. But I’ve been so afraid.”

“No,” he whispered, “I am the one who should ask forgiveness.” He raised his hand to wipe away her tears. “I didn’t realize what you had gone through. All I could think of was myself and the dangers I had faced. I wish you had told me, heart’s dearest.”

“I wished you had asked,” she