paled visibly, though totally unaware of what crime he had
committed, and mopped his shining forehead with the sleeve of
his robe.
Raistlin started to leave, but Crysania stopped him. “I-I
apologize for not trusting you, Raistlin Majere,” she said softly.
“And, again, I thank you for coming.”
Raistlin turned. “And I apologize for my sharp tongue,” he
said. “Farewell, Revered Daughter. If you truly do not fear
knowledge, then come to the Tower two nights from this night,
when Lunitari makes its first appearance in the sky.”
“I will be there,” Crysania answered firmly, noting with plea-
sure Bertrem’s look of shocked horror. Nodding in good-bye,
she rested her hand lightly on the back of the ornately carved
wooden chair.
The mage left the room, Bertrem followed, shutting the door
behind him.
Left alone in the warm, silent room, Crysania fell to her
knees before the chair. “Oh, thank you, Paladine!” she
breathed. “I accept your challenge. I will not fail you! I will not
fail!”
CHAPTER 1
Behind her, she
could hear the sound of clawed feet, scrapping through the
leaves of the forest. Tika tensed, but tried to act as if she didn’t
hear, luring the creature on. Firmly, she gripped her sword in
her hand. Her heart pounded. Closer and closer came the foot-
steps, she could hear the harsh breathing. The touch of a
clawed hand fell upon her shoulder. Whirling about, Tika
swung her sword and… knocked a tray full of mugs to the
floor with a crash.
Dezra shrieked and sprang backward in alarm. Patrons sit-
ting at the bar burst into raucous laughter. Tika knew her face
must be as red as her hair. Her heart was pounding, her hands
shook.
“Dezra,” she said coldly, “you have all the grace and brains of
a gully dwarf. Perhaps you and Raf should switch places. You
carry out the garbage and I’ll let him wait tables!”
Dezra looked up from where she knelt, picking broken pieces
of crockery up off the floor, where they floated in a sea of beer.
“Perhaps I should!” the waitress cried, tossing the pieces back
onto the floor. ‘Wait tables yourself… or is that beneath you
now, Tika Majere, Heroine of the Lance?”
Flashing Tika a hurt, reproachful glance, Dezra stood up,
kicked the broken crockery out of her way, and flounced out of
the Inn.
As the front door banged open, it hit sharply against its
frame, making Tika grimace as she envisioned scratches on the
woodwork. Sharp words rose to her lips, but she bit her tongue
and stopped their utterance, knowing she would regret them
later.
The door remained standing open, letting the bright light of
fading afternoon flood the Inn. The ruddy glow of the setting
sun gleamed in the bar’s freshly polished wood surface and
sparkled off the glasses. It even danced on the surface of the
puddle on the floor. It touched Tika’s flaming red curls teas-
ingly, like the hand of a lover, causing many of the sniggering
patrons to choke on their laughter and gaze at the comely
woman with longing.
Not that Tika noticed. Now ashamed of her anger, she
peered out the window, where she could see Dezra, dabbing at
her eyes with an apron. A customer entered the open door,
dragging it shut behind him. The light vanished, leaving the
Inn once more in cool, half-darkness.
Tika brushed her hand across her own eyes. What kind of
monster am I turning into? she asked herself remorsefully.
After all, it wasn’t Dezra’s fault. It’s this horrible feeling inside
of me! I almost wish there were draconians to fight again. At
least then I knew what I feared, at least then I could fight it with
my own hands! How can I fight something I can’t even name?
Voices broke in on her thoughts, clamoring for ale, for food.
Laughter rose, echoing through the Inn of the Last Home.
This is what I came back to find. Tika sniffed and wiped her
nose with the bar rag. This is my home. These people are as
right and beautiful and warm as the setting sun. I’m sur-
rounded by the sounds of love – laughter, good fellowship, a