Dragons of Winter Noght by Weis, Margaret

And so must I.

Briskly, refusing to allow herself to think any further, Laurana lifted her head and beckoned for Silvara to come near.

Sturm paced the length of the crude cabin that had been given to them, unable to sleep. The dwarf lay stretched out on a bed, snoring loudly. Across the room, Tasslehoff lay curled in a ball of misery, chained by his foot to the bedpost. Sturm sighed. How much more trouble could they get into?

The evening had gone from bad to worse. After Laurana had fainted, it had been all Sturm could do to hold back the enraged dwarf. Flint vowed to tear Porthios limb from limb. Derek stated that he considered himself to be a prisoner held by the enemy and, as such, it was his duty to try and escape; then he would bring the Knights down to recover the dragon orb by force. Derek was immediately escorted away by the guards. Just when Sturm got Flint calmed down, an elflord appeared out of nowhere and accused Tasslehoff of stealing his purse.

Now they were being held under double guard, ‘guests’ of the Speaker of the Suns.

“Must you pace about like that?” Derek asked coldly.

“Why? Am I keeping you awake?” snapped Sturm.

“Of course not. Only fools could sleep under these circumstances. You’re breaking my concen-”

“Hsst!” Sturm said, raising his hand warningly.

Derek instantly fell silent. Sturm gestured. The older knight joined Sturm in the center of the room where he was staring up at the ceiling. The log house was rectangular, with one door, two windows, and a firepit in the center of the floor. A hole cut in the roof provided ventilation.

It was through this hole Sturm heard the odd sound that caught his attention. It was a shuffling, scraping sound. The wooden beams in the ceiling creaked as though something heavy was crawling over it.

“A wild beast of some sort,” Derek muttered. “And we’re weaponless!”

“No,” Sturm said, listening closely. “It’s not growling. It’s moving too silently, as if it didn’t want to be heard or seen. What are those guards doing out there?”

Derek went to the window and peered out. “Sitting around a fire. Two are asleep. They’re not overly concerned about us, are they?” he asked bitterly.

“Why should they be?” Sturm said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “There’s a couple of thousand elves within the sound of a whisper. What the-”

Sturm fell back in alarm as the stars he had been watching through the hole were suddenly blotted out by a dark, shapeless mass. Sturm reached down swiftly and grabbed a lag from the smoldering fire, holding it by the end like a club.

“Sturm! Sturm Brightblade!” said the shapeless mass.

Sturm stared, trying to remember the voice. It was familiar. Thoughts of Solace flooded his mind. “Theros!” he gasped. “Theros Ironfeld! What are you doing here? The last I saw you, you were lying near death in the elven kingdom!”

The huge blacksmith of Solace struggled down through the opening in the ceiling, bringing part of the roof with him. He landed heavily, waking the dwarf, who sat up and peered, bleary eyed, at the apparition in the center of the cabin.

“What-” the dwarf started up, fumbling for his battle-axe which was no longer by his side.

“Hush!” the smith commanded. “No time for questions. The Lady Laurana sent me to free you. We’re to meet her in the woods beyond the camp. Make haste! We have only a few hours before dawn and we must be across the river by then.” Theros strode over to look at Tasslehoff, who was trying without success to free himself. “Well, master thief, I see someone caught you at last.”

“I’m not a thief!” Tas said indignantly. “You know me better than that, Theros. That purse was planted on me-”

The smith chuckled. Taking hold of the chain in his hands, he gave a sudden heave and it split apart. Tasslehoff, however, did not even notice. He was staring at the smith’s arms. One arm, the left, was a dusky black, the color of the smith’s skin. But the other arm, the right, was bright, shining silver!