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 way. There’re caves on the other side, and it will cut walking time tomorrow.”
“That’s a good idea, Tas, but we don’t have a boat.”
“No problem.” The kender grinned. His small face and sharply pointed ears made him look particularly impish in the eerie light. Tas is enjoying all of this immensely, Tanis realized. He felt like shaking the kender, lecturing him sternly on how much danger they were in. But the half-elf knew it was useless; kenders are totally immune to fear.
“The boat’s a good idea,” Tanis repeated, after a moment’s thought. “You guide. And don’t tell Flint,” he added. “I’ll take care of that.”
“Right!” Tas giggled, then slipped back to the others. “Follow me,” he called out softly, and he started off once more. Flint, grumbling into his beard, stumped after the kender. Goldmoon followed the dwarf. Riverwind cast a quick, penetrating glance around at everyone in the group, then fell into step behind her.
“I don’t think he trusts us,” Caramon observed.
“Would you?” Tanis asked, glancing at the big man. Caramon’s dragon helm glinted in the flickering lights; his ring-mail armor was visible whenever the wind blew his cape back. A longsword clanked against his thick thighs, a short bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over his shoulder, a dagger protruded from his belt. His shield was battered and dented from many fights. The giant was ready for anything.