heard Otik’s voice rise above the clatter of mugs and tongues.
“… beautiful autumn night, as I recall, and I was, of course,
busier than a draconian drill sergeant.” That always got a
laugh. Tika gritted her teeth. Otik had an appreciative audi-
ence and was in full swing. There would be no stopping him
now. “The Inn was up in the vallenwood trees then, like the rest
of our lovely city before the dragons destroyed it. Ah, how
beautiful it was in the old days.” He sighed – he always sighed
at this point – and wiped away a tear. There was a sympathetic
murmur from the crowd. “Where was I?” He blew his nose,
another part of the act. “Ah, yes. There I was, behind the bar,
when the door opened….”
The door opened. It might have been done on cue, so perfect
was the timing. Tika brushed back a strand of red hair from her
perspiring forehead and glanced over nervously. Sudden
silence filled the room. Tika stiffened, her nails digging into her
hands.
A tall man, so tall he had to duck to enter the door, stood in
the doorway. His hair was dark, his face grim and stern.
Although cloaked in furs, it was obvious from his walk and
stance that his body was strong and muscular. He cast a swift
glance around the crowded Inn, sizing up those who were
present, wary and watchful of danger.
But it was an instinctive action only, for when his penetrat-
ing, somber gaze rested on Tika, his stern face relaxed into a
smile and he held his arms open wide.
Tika hesitated, but the sight of her friend suddenly filled her
with joy and a strange wave of homesickness. Shoving her way
through the crowd, she was caught in his embrace.
“Riverwind, my friend!” she murmured brokenly.
Grasping the young woman in his arms, Riverwind lifted her
effortlessly, as though she were a child. The crowd began to
cheer, banging their mugs on the table. Most couldn’t believe
their luck. Here was a Hero of the Lance himself, as if carried
on the wings of Otik’s story. And he even looked the part! They
were enchanted.
For, upon releasing Tika, the tall man had thrown his fur
cloak back from his shoulders, and now all could see the Man-
tle of the Chieftain that the Plainsman wore, its V-shaped sec-
tions of alternating furs and tooled leathers each representing
one of the Plains tribes over which he ruled. His handsome
face, though older and more careworn than when Tika had
seen him last, was burned bronze by the sun and weather, and
there was an inner joy within the man’s eyes which showed that
he had found in his life the peace he had been searching for
years before.
Tika felt a choking sensation in her throat and turned
quickly away, but not quickly enough.
“Tika,” he said, his accent thick from living once more
among his people, “it is good to see you well and beautiful still.
Where’s Caramon? I cannot wait to see – Why, Tika, what’s
wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Tika said briskly, shaking her red curls
and blinking her eyes. “Come, I have a place saved for you by
the fire. You must be exhausted and hungry.”
She led him through the crowd, talking nonstop, never giv-
ing him a chance to say a word. The crowd inadvertently
helped her, keeping Riverwind occupied as they gathered
around to touch and marvel over his fur cloak, or tried to shake
his hand (a custom Plainsmen consider barbaric) or thrust
drinks into his face.
Riverwind accepted it all stoically, as he followed Tika
through the excited throng, clasping the beautiful sword of
elven make close to his side. His stern face grew a shade darker,
and he glanced often out the windows as though already long-
ing to escape the confines of this noisy, hot room and return to
the outdoors he loved. But Tika skillfully shoved the more exu-
berant patrons aside and soon had her old friend seated by the
fire at an isolated table near the kitchen door.
“I’ll be back,” she said, flashing him a smile and vanishing