Dragons of Autumn Twilight - By Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman Page 0,11

he's alive." His face darkened. "But no one knows where he is."

"Your inheritance?" Caramon asked.

Sturm smiled, a melancholy smile that softened the lines in his proud face. "I wear it," he replied simply. "My armor and my weapon."

Tanis looked down to see that the knight wore a splendid, if old-fashioned, two-handed sword.

Caramon stood up to peer over the table. "That's a beauty," he said. "They don't make them like that these days. My sword broke in a fight with an ogre. Theros Ironfeld put a new blade on it today, but it cost me dearly. So you're a knight now?"

Sturm's smile vanished. Ignoring the question, he caressed the hilt of his sword lovingly. "According to the legend, this sword will break only if I do," he said. "It was all that was left of my father's-"

Suddenly Tas, who hadn't been listening, interrupted. "Who are those people?" the kender asked in a shrill whisper.

Tanis looked up as the two barbarians walked past their table, heading for empty chairs that sat in the shadows of a corner near the firepit. The man was the tallest man Tanis had ever seen. Caramon-at six feet-would come only to this man's shoulder. But Caramon's chest was probably twice as big around, his arms three times as big. Although the man was bundled with the furs barbarian tribesmen live in, it was obvious that he was thin for his great height. His face, though dark-skinned, had the pale cast of one who has been ill or suffered greatly.

His companion-the woman Sturm had bowed to-was so muffled in a fur-trimmed-cape and hood that it was difficult to tell much about her. Neither she nor her tall escort glanced at Sturm as they passed. The woman carried a plain staff trimmed with feathers in barbaric fashion. The man carried a well-worn knapsack. They sat down in the chairs, huddled in their cloaks, and talked together in low voices.

"I found them wandering around on the road outside of town," Sturm said. "The woman appeared near exhaustion, the man just as bad. I brought them here, told them they could get food and rest for the night. They are proud people and would have refused my help, I think, but they were lost and tired and-"-Sturm lowered his voice-"there are things on the road these days that it is better not to face in the dark."

"We met some of them, asking about a staff," Tanis said grimly. He described their encounter with Fewmaster Toede.

Although Sturm smiled at the description of the battle, he shook his head. "A Seeker guard questioned me about a staff outside," he said. "Blue crystal, wasn't it?"

Caramon nodded and put his hand on his brother's thin arm. "One of the slimy guards stopped us," the warrior said. "They were going to impound Raist's staff, if you'll believe that-for further investigation they said. I rattled my sword at them and they thought better of the notion."

Raistlin moved his arm from his brother's touch, a scornful smile on his lips.

"What would have happened if they had taken your staff?" Tanis asked Raistlin.

The mage looked at him from the shadows of his hood, his golden eyes gleaming. "They would have died horribly," the mage whispered, "and not by my brother's sword!"

The half-elf felt chilled. The mage's softly spoken words were more frightening than his brothers bravado. "I wonder what is so important about a blue crystal staff that goblins would kill to get it?" Tanis mused.

"There are rumors of worse to come," Sturm said quietly. His friends moved closer to hear him. "Armies are gathering in the north. Armies of strange creatures-not human. There is talk of war."

"But what? Who?" Tanis asked. "I've heard the same."

"And so have I," Caramon added. "In fact, I heard-"

As the conversation continued, Tasslehoff yawned and turned away. Easily bored, the kender looked around the Inn for some new amusement. His eyes went to the old man still spinning tales for the child by the fire. The old man had a larger audience now-the two barbarians were listening, Tas noted. Then his jaw dropped.

The woman had thrown her hood back and the firelight shone on her face and hair. The kender stared in admiration. The woman's face was like the face of a marble statue-classic, pure, cold. But it was her hair that captured the kender's attention. Tas had never before seen such hair, especially on the Plainsmen, who were usually dark-haired and dark-skinned. No jeweler spinning molten strands of silver and gold could