planned, Tika! He can move into the room we’ve got fixed up
for him. We’ll take care of him, you and I. In our new house.
It’s going to be fine, fine!” Caramon’s eyes shone. Tika couldn’t
look at him. He sounded so much like the old Caramon, the
Caramon she had loved….
Keeping her expression stern, she turned abruptly and
headed for the bedroom. “I’ll go get the rest of your things -”
“Wait!” Caramon stopped her. “No, uh – thanks, Tika. I can
manage. How about you – uh – pack us something to eat.”
“I’ll help,” Tas offered, heading eagerly for the kitchen.
“Very well,” Tika said. Reaching out, she caught hold of the
kender by the topknot of hair that tumbled down his back.
“Just one minute, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. You’re not going any-
where until you sit down and empty out every one of your
pouches!”
Tas wailed in protest. Under cover of the confusion, Cara-
mon hurried into the bedroom and shut the door. Without
pausing, he went straight for the corner and retrieved the flask.
Shaking it, he found it over half-full. Smiling to himself in sat-
isfaction, he thrust it deep into his pack, then hastily crammed
some additional clothes in on top of it.
“Now, I’m all set!” he called out cheerfully to Tika.
“I’m all set,” Caramon repeated, standing disconsolately on
the porch.
He was a ludicrous sight. The stolen dragonarmor he had
worn during the last months of the campaign had been com-
pletely refurbished by the big warrior when he arrived back in
Solace. He had beaten the dents out, cleaned and polished and
redesigned it so completely that it no longer resembled the orig-
inal. He had taken a great deal of care with it, then packed it
away lovingly. It was still in excellent condition. Only now,
unfortunately, there was a large gap between the shining black
chain mail that covered his chest and the big belt that girdled
his rotund waist. Neither he nor Tas had been able to strap the
metal plates that guarded his legs around his flabby thighs. He
had stowed these away in his pack. He groaned when he lifted
his shield and looked at it suspiciously, as if certain someone
had filled it with lead weights during the last two years. His
swordbelt would not fit around his sagging gut. Blushing furi-
ously, he strapped the sword in its worn scabbard onto his
back.
At this point, Tas was forced to look somewhere else. The
kender thought he was going to laugh but was startled to find
himself on the verge of tears.
“I look a fool,” Caramon muttered, seeing Tas turn away hur-
riedly. Bupu was staring at him with eyes as wide as tea-cups,
her mouth hanging open.
“Him look just like my Highbulp, Phudge I.” Bupu sighed.
A vivid memory of the fat, slovenly king of the gully dwarf
clan in Xak Tsaroth came to Tas’s mind. Grabbing the gully
dwarf, he stuffed a hunk of bread in her mouth to shut her up.
But the damage had been done. Apparently Caramon, too,
remembered.
“That does it,” he snarled, flushing darkly and hurling his
shield to the wooden porch where it banged and clattered
loudly. “I’m not going! This was a stupid idea anyway!” He
stared accusingly at Tika, then, turning around, he started for
the door. But Tika moved to stand in front of him.
“No,” she said quietly. “You’re not coming back into my
house, Caramon, until you come back one whole person.”
“Him more like two whole person,” mumbled Bupu in a muf-
fled voice. Tas stuffed more bread in her mouth.
“You’re not making any sense!” Caramon snapped viciously,
putting his hand on her shoulder. “Get out of my way, Tika!”
“Listen to me, Caramon,” Tika said. Her voice was soft, but
penetrating; her eyes caught and held the big man’s attention.
Putting her hand on his chest, she looked up at him earnestly.
“You offered to follow Raistlin into darkness, once. Do you
remember?”
Caramon swallowed, then nodded silently, his face pale.
“He refused,” Tika continued gently, “saying it would mean
your death. But, don’t you see, Caramon – you have followed