the memory of those knights who had died there.
“We must remember or we will fall into complacency – as we
did before – and the evil will come again.”
If it is not already upon us, Tanis thought grimly. And, with
that in mind, he turned and walked rapidly back down the hill.
The Inn of the Last Home was crowded that evening.
While the war had brought devastation and destruction to
the residents of Solace, the end of the war had brought such
prosperity that there were already some who were saying it
hadn’t been “such a bad thing.” Solace had long been a cross-
roads for travelers through the lands of Abanasinia. But, in the
days before the war, the numbers of travelers had been rela-
tively few. The dwarves – except,for a few renegades like Flint
Fireforge – had shut themselves up in their mountain kingdom
of Thorbardin or barricaded themselves in the hills, refusing to
have anything to do with the rest of the world. The elves had
done the same, dwelling in the beautiful lands of Qualinesti to
the southwest and Silvanesti on the eastern edge of the conti-
nent of Ansalon.
The war had changed all that. Elves and dwarves and
humans traveled extensively now, their lands and their king-
doms open to all. But it had taken almost total annihilation to
bring about this fragile state of brotherhood.
The Inn of the Last Home – always popular with travelers
because of its fine drink and Otik’s famous spiced potatoes –
became more popular still. The drink was still fine and the
potatoes as good as ever – though Otik had retired – but the
real reason for the Inn’s increase in popularity was that it had
become a place of some renown. The Heroes of the Lance – as
they were now called – had been known to frequent this Inn in
days gone by.
Otik had, in fact, before his retirement, seriously considered
putting up a plaque over the table near the firepit – perhaps
something like “Tanis Half-Elven and Companions Drank
Here.” But Tika had opposed the scheme so vehemently (the
mere thought of what Tanis would say if he caught sight of that
made Tika’s cheeks burn) that Otik had let it drop. But the
rotund barkeep never tired of telling his patrons the story of the
night the barbarian woman had sung her strange song and
healed Hederick the Theocrat with her blue crystal staff, giving
the first proof of the existence of the ancient, true gods.
Tika, who took over management of the Inn upon Otik’s
retirement and was hoping to save enough money to buy the
business, fervently hoped Otik would refrain from telling that
story again tonight. But she might have spent her hope on bet-
ter things.
There were several parties of elves who had traveled all the
way from Silvanesti to attend the funeral of Solostaran –
Speaker of the Suns and ruler of the elven lands of Qualinesti.
They were not only urging Otik to tell his story, but were tell-
ing some of their own, about the Heroes’ visit to their land and
how they freed it from the evil dragon, Cyan Bloodbane.
Tika saw Otik glance her direction wistfully at this – Tika
had, after all, been one of the members of the group in
Silvanesti. But she silenced him with a furious shake of her red
curls. That was one part of their journey she refused ever to
relate or even discuss. In fact, she prayed nightly that she
would forget the hideous nightmares of that tortured land.
Tika closed her eyes a moment, wishing the elves would
drop the conversation. She had her own nightmares now. She
needed no past ones to haunt her. “Just let them come and go
quickly,” she said softly to herself and to whatever god might be
listening.
It was just past sunset. More and more customers entered,
demanding food and drink. Tika had apologized to Dezra, the
two friends had shed a few tears together, and now were kept
busy running from kitchen to bar to table. Tika started every
time the door opened, and she scowled irritably when she