Elistan about her when we return. I wonder how much he knew
about this wild scheme of hers. Oh, and if Tasslehoff does show
up, hang onto him, will you? I don’t want him turning up in
Qualinost! I’m going to have enough trouble with Porthios and
the elves as it is!”
“Sure, Tanis,” Tika said softly. For a moment she nestled
close to him, letting herself be comforted by his strength and
the compassion she could sense in both his touch and his voice.
Tanis hesitated, holding her, reluctant to let her go. Glancing
inside the small house, he could hear Caramon crying out in his
sleep.
“Tika -” he began.
But she pushed herself away. “Go along, Tanis,” she said
firmly. “You’ve got a long ride ahead of you.”
“Tika. I wish -” But there was nothing he could say that
would help, and they both knew it.
Turning slowly, he trudged off after Riverwind.
Watching them go, Tika smiled.
“You are very wise, Tanis Half-Elven. But this time you are
wrong,” she said to herself as she stood alone on her porch.
“Lady Crysania isn’t mad. She’s in love.”
CHAPTER 4
An army of dwarves
was marching around the bedroom, their steelshod boots going
THUD, THUD, THUD. Each dwarf had a hammer in his hand
and, as he marched past the bed, he banged it against Cara-
mon’s head. Caramon groaned and flapped his hands feebly.
“Get away!” he muttered. “Get away!”
But the dwarves only responded by lifting his bed up onto
their strong shoulders and whirling it around at a rapid pace, as
they continued to march, their boots striking the wooden floor
THUD. THUD, THUD.
Caramon felt his stomach heave. After several desperate
tries, he managed to leap out of the revolving bed and make a
clumsy dash for the chamber pot in the corner. Having vom-
ited, he felt better. His head cleared. The dwarves dis-
appeared – although he suspected they were hiding beneath the
bed, waiting for him to lie down again.
Instead, he opened a drawer in the tiny bedside table where
he kept his small flask of dwarf spirits. Gone! Caramon
scowled. So Tika was playing this game again, was she! Grin-
ning smugly, Caramon stumbled over to the large clothes chest
on the other side of the room. He lifted the lid and rummaged
through tunics and pants and shirts that would no longer fit
over his flabby body. There it was – tucked into an old boot.
Caramon withdrew the flask lovingly, took a swig of the
fiery liquor, belched, and heaved a sigh. There, the hammering
in his head was gone. He glanced around the room. Let the
dwarves stay under the bed. He didn’t care.
There was the clink of crockery in. the other room. Tika!
Hurriedly, Caramon took another sip, then closed the flask and
tucked it back into the boot again. Shutting the lid very, very
quietly, he straightened up, ran a hand through his tangled
hair, and started to go out into the main living area. Then he
caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he passed.
“Change my shirt,” he muttered thickly.
After much pulling and tugging, he dragged off the filthy
shirt he was wearing and tossed it in a corner. Perhaps he
should wash? Bah! What was he – a sissy? So he smelled – it
was a manly smell. Plenty of women liked it, found it
attractive – found him attractive! Never complained or
nagged, not like Tika. Why couldn’t she take him as he was?
Struggling into a clean shirt he found at the foot of the bed,
Caramon felt very sorry for himself. No one understood him…
life was hard… he was going through a bad time just now…
but that would change… just wait… someday – tomorrow
maybe….
Lurching out of the bedroom, trying to appear nonchalant,
Caramon walked unsteadily across the neat, clean living room
and collapsed into a chair at the eating table. The chair creaked
beneath his great weight. Tika turned around.
Catching her glance, Caramon sighed. Tika was mad –
again. He tried grinning at her, but it was a sickly grin and