Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [21]
Tanis hesitated, running over the options in his mind. The Plainsmen had come from the east and—if their story was true and their tribe had been trying to kill them—they wouldn’t want to go back that way. The group could travel south, into the elven kingdom, but Tanis felt a strange reluctance to go back to his homelands. He knew, too, that the elves would not be pleased to see these strangers enter their hidden city.
“We will travel north,” he said finally. “We will escort these two until we come to the crossroads, then we can decide what to do from there. They can go on southwest to Haven, if they wish. I plan to travel farther north and see if the rumors about armies gathering are true.”
“And perhaps run into Kitiara,” Raistlin whispered slyly.
Tanis flushed. “Is that plan all right?” he asked, looking around.
“Though not the eldest among us, Tanis, you are the wisest,” Sturm said. “We follow you—as always.”
Caramon nodded. Raistlin was already heading for the door. Flint shouldered the wine skin, grumbling.
Tanis felt a gentle hand touch his arm. He turned and looked down into the clear blue eyes of the beautiful barbarian.
“We are grateful,” Goldmoon said slowly, as if unused to expressing appreciation. “You risk your lives for us, and we are strangers.”
Tanis smiled and clasped her hand. “I am Tanis. The brothers are Caramon and Raistlin. The knight is Sturm Brightblade. Flint Fireforge carries the wine and Tasslehoff Burrfoot is our clever locksmith. You are Goldmoon and he is Riverwind. There—we are strangers no longer.”
Goldmoon smiled wearily. She patted Tanis’s arm, then started out the door, leaning on the staff that once again seemed plain and nondescript. Tanis watched her, then glanced up to see Riverwind staring at him, the barbarian’s dark face an impenetrable mask.
“Well,” Tanis amended silently, “some of us are no longer strangers.”
Soon everyone had gone, Tas leading the way. Tanis stood alone for a moment in the wrecked living room, staring at the bodies of the goblins. This was supposed to have been a peaceful homecoming after bitter years of solitary travel. He thought of his comfortable house. He thought of all the things he had planned to do—things he had planned to do together with Kitiara. He thought of long winter nights, with storytelling around the fire at the Inn, then returning home, laughing together beneath the fur blankets, sleeping through the snow-covered mornings.
Tanis kicked at the smoldering coals, scattering them. Kitiara had not come back. Goblins had invaded his quiet town. He was fleeing into the night to escape a bunch of religious fanatics, with every likelihood he could never return.
Elves do not notice the passage of time. They live for hundreds of years. For them, the seasons pass like brief rain showers. But Tanis was half human. He sensed change coming, felt the disquieting restlessness men feel before a thunderstorm.
He sighed and shook his head. Then he went out the shattered door, leaving it swinging crazily on one hinge.
5
Farewell to Flint. Arrows fly.
Message in the stars.
Tanis swung over the porch and dropped down through the tree limbs to the ground below. The others waited, huddled in the darkness, keeping out of the light cast by street lamps swinging in the branches above them. A chill wind had sprung up, blowing out of the north. Tanis glanced behind him and saw other lights, lights of the search parties. He pulled his hood over his head and hurried forward.
“Wind’s switched,” he said. “There’ll be rain by morning.” He looked around at the small group, seeing them in the eerie, wildly dancing light of the wind-tossed lamps. Goldmoon’s face was scarred with weariness. Riverwind’s was a stoic mask of strength, but his shoulders sagged. Raistlin, shivering, leaned against a tree, wheezing for breath.
Tanis hunched his shoulders against the wind. “We’ve got to find shelter,” he said. “Some place to rest.”
“Tanis—” Tas tugged on the half-elf’s cloak. “We could go by boat. Crystalmir Lake’s only a short