Dragons of Autumn Twilight - By Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman Page 0,116

people coming here?"

The guard looked at her with dull, pain-filled eyes. "This is the only building," he mumbled. "All burning. All ..."

"No!" Tika went limp with shock and her knees trembled. At that moment, the guard fainted in her arms and she was forced to pull herself together. The last thing she saw as she dragged him inside was Hederick, standing on the porch, staring out over the flaming town with glazed eyes. Tears streamed unheeded down his soot-streaked face.

"There's been a mistake," he whimpered, wringing his hands. "There's been a mistake made somewhere."

That had been a week ago. As it turned out, the Inn was not the only building left standing. The draconians knew which buildings were essential to their needs and destroyed all those that were not. The Inn, Theros Ironfeld's blacksmith shop, and the general store were saved. The blacksmith shop had always been on the ground—because of the inadvisability of having the hot forge located in a tree—but the others had to be lowered to the ground because the draconians found it difficult to get into the trees.

Lord Verminaard ordered the dragons to lower the buildings. After a space had been scorched clear, one of the huge red monsters stuck his claws into the Inn and lifted it. The draconians cheered as the dragon dropped it, not gently, onto the blackened grass. Fewmaster Toede, in charge of the town, ordered Otik to repair the Inn immediately. The draconians had one great weakness—a thirst for strong drink. Three days after the town was taken, the Inn reopened.

"I'm all right now," Tika told Otik. She sat up and dried her eyes, wiping her nose with her apron. "I haven't cried once, since that night," she said, more to herself than to him. Her lips tightened into a thin line. "And I'll never cry again!" she swore, rising from the table.

Otik, not understanding but thankful that Tika had regained her composure before the patrons arrived, bustled back behind the bar. "Nearly opening time," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "Maybe we'll have a good crowd today."

"How can you take their money!" Tika flared.

Otik, fearing another outburst, looked at her pleadingly.

"Their money is as good as anyone else's. Better than most these days," he said.

"Humpf!" Tika snorted. Her thick red curls quivered as she stalked angrily across the floor. Otik, knowing her temper, stepped backwards. It didn't help. He was caught. She jabbed her finger into his fat stomach. "How can you laugh at their crude jokes and cater to their whims?" she demanded. "I hate the stench of them! I hate their leers and their cold, scaly hands touching mine! Someday I'll—"

"Tika, please!" Otik begged. "Have some regard for me. I'm too old to be carried off to the slave mines! And you—they'd take you tomorrow if you didn't work here. Please behave— there's a good girl!"

Tika bit her lip in anger and frustration. She knew Otik was right. She risked more than being sent off in the slave caravans that passed through town almost daily—an angered draconian killed swiftly and without mercy. Just as she was thinking this, the door banged open and six draconian guards swaggered in. One of the them pulled the CLOSED sign off the door and tossed it into a corner.

"You're open," the creature said, dropping into a chair.

"Yes, certainly." Otic grinned weakly. "Tika. . ."

"I see them," Tika said dully.

2

The stranger.

Captured!

The crowd at the Inn that night was sparse. The patrons were now draconians, though occasional Solace residents came in for a drink. They generally did not stay long, finding the company unpleasant and memories of former times hard to bear.

Tonight there was a group of hobgoblins who kept wary eyes on the draconians and three crudely dressed humans from the north. Originally impressed into Lord Verminaard's service, they now fought for the sheer pleasure of killing and looting. A few Solace citizens sat huddled in a corner. Hederick, the Theocrat, was not in his nightly spot. Lord Verminaard had rewarded the High Theocrat's service by placing him among the first to be sent to the slave mines.

Near dusk, a stranger entered the Inn, taking a table in a dark corner near the door. Tika couldn't tell much about him—he was heavily cloaked and wore a hood pulled low over his head. He seemed fatigued, sinking down into his chair as though his legs would not support him.

"What will you have?" Tika asked the stranger.

The man lowered his head, pulling down one side