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The old man’s party.

Raistlin leaned forward. He and Caramon exchanged glances as thoughts passed wordlessly between them. It was a rare moment, for only great personal difficulty or danger ever made the twins’ close kinship apparent. Kitiara was their older half-sister.

“Kitiara would not break her oath unless another, stronger oath bound her.” Raistlin spoke their thoughts aloud.

“What does she say?” Caramon asked.

Tanis hesitated, then licked his dry lips. “Her duties with her new lord keep her busy. She sends her regrets and best wishes to all of us and her love—” Tanis felt his throat constrict. He coughed. “Her love to her brothers and to—” He paused, then rolled up the parchment. “That’s all.”

“Love to who?” Tasslehoff asked brightly. “Ouch!” He glared at Flint who had trod upon his foot. The kender saw Tanis flush. “Oh,” he said, feeling stupid.

“Do you know who she means?” Tanis asked the brothers. “What new lord does she talk about?”

“Who knows with Kitiara?” Raistlin shrugged his thin shoulders. “The last time we saw her was here, in the Inn, five years ago. She was going north with Sturm. We have not heard from her since. As for the new lord, I’d say we now know why she broke her oath to us: she has sworn allegiance to another. She is, after all, a mercenary.”

“Yes,” Tanis admitted. He slipped the scroll back into its case and looked up at Tika. “You say this arrived under strange circumstances? Tell me.”

“A man brought it in, late this morning. At least I think it was a man.” Tika shivered. “He was wrapped head to foot in clothing of every description. I couldn’t even see his face. His voice was hissinglike and he spoke with a strange accent. ‘Deliver this to one Tanis Half-Elven,’ he said. I told him you weren’t here and hadn’t been here for several years. ‘He will be,’ the man said. Then he left.” Tika shrugged. “That’s all I can tell you. The old man over there saw him.” She gestured to an old man sitting in a chair before the fire. “You might ask him if he noticed anything else.”

Tanis turned to look at an old man who was telling stories to a dreamy-eyed child staring into the flames. Flint touched his arm.

“Here comes one who can tell you more,” the dwarf said.

“Sturm!” Tanis said warmly, turning toward the door.

Everyone except Raistlin turned. The mage relapsed into the shadows once more.

At the door stood a straight-backed figure dressed in full plate armor and chain mail, the symbol of the Order of the Rose on the breastplate. A great many people in the Inn turned to stare, scowling. The man was a Solamnic knight, and the Knights of Solamnia had fallen into ill-repute up north. Rumors of their corruption had spread even this far south. The few who recognized Sturm as a long-time former resident of Solace shrugged and turned back to their drinking. Those who did not, continued to stare. In these days of peace, it was unusual enough to see a knight in full armor enter the Inn. But it was still more unusual to see a knight in full armor that dated back practically to the Cataclysm!

Sturm received the stares as accolades due his rank. He carefully smoothed his great, thick moustaches, which, being the ages-old symbol of the Knights, were as obsolete as his armor. He bore the trappings of the Solamnic Knights with unquestioned pride, and he had the sword-arm and the skill to defend that pride. Although people in the Inn stared, no one, after one look at the knight’s calm, cold eyes, dared snicker or make a derogatory comment.

The knight held the door open for a tall man and a woman heavily cloaked in furs. The woman must have spoken a word of thanks to Sturm, for he bowed to her in a courtly, old-fashioned manner long dead in the modern world.

“Look at that.” Caramon shook his head in admiration. “The gallant knight helps the lady fair. I wonder where he dragged up those two?”

“They’re barbarians from the Plains,” said Tas, standing on a chair, waving his arms to his friend. “That’s the dress of the Que-shu tribe.”

Apparently the two Plainsmen declined any offer Sturm