a tearful farewell, he secretly wondered why she hadn't come to bid him goodbye.
The trail moved south, descending gradually but constantly. It had been thick and overgrown with brush, but the party of warriors Gilthanas led before had cleared it as they moved, so that walking was relatively easy. Caramon walked beside Tika, resplendent in her mismatched armor, instructing her on the use of her sword. Unfortunately, the teacher was having a bad time of it.
Goldmoon had slit Tika's red barmaid skirt up to her thighs for easier movement. Bits of fluffy white from Tika's fur-trimmed undergarments peeped enticingly through the slits. Her legs were visible as she walked, and the girl's legs were just as Caramon had always imagined-round and well-formed. Thus Caramon found it rather difficult to concentrate on his lesson. Absorbed in his pupil, he did not notice that his brother had disappeared.
"Where's the young mage?" Gilthanas asked harshly.
"Maybe something's happened to him," Caramon said worriedly, cursing himself for forgetting his brother. The warrior drew his sword and started back along the trail.
"Nonsense!" Gilthanas stopped him. "What could have happened to him? There is no enemy for miles. He must have gone off somewhere-for some purpose."
"What are you saying?" Caramon asked, glowering.
"Maybe he left to-"
"To collect what I need for the making of my magic, elf," Raistlin whispered, emerging from the brush. "And to replenish the herbs that heal my cough."
"Raist!" Caramon nearly hugged him in his relief. "You shouldn't go off by yourself-it's dangerous."
"My spell components are secret," Raistlin whispered irritably, shoving his brother away. Leaning on the Staff of Magius, the mage rejoined Fizban in the line.
Gilthanas cast a sharp glance at Tanis, who shrugged and shook his head. As the group continued on, the trail became steeper and steeper, leading down from the aspenwoods to the pines of the lowlands. It joined up with a clear brook that soon became a raging stream as they traveled farther south.
When they stopped for a hasty lunch, Fizban came over and hunkered down beside Tanis. "Someone's following us," he said in a penetrating whisper.
"What?" Tanis asked, his head snapping up to stare at the old man incredulously.
"Yes, indeed," the old mage nodded solemnly. "I've seen it- darting in and out among the trees."
Sturm saw Tanis's look of concern. "What's the matter?"
"The Old One says someone's following us."
"Bah!" Gilthanas threw down his last bit of quith-pa in disgust and stood up. "That's insane. Let us go now. The Sla-Mori is still many miles and we must be there by sundown."
"I'll take rear guard," Sturm said to Tanis softly.
They walked through the ragged pines for several more hours. The sun slanted down in the sky, lengthening shadows across the trail, when the group came suddenly to a clearing.
"Hsst!" Tanis warned, falling back in alarm.
Caramon, instantly alert, drew his sword, motioning for Sturm and his brother with his free hand.
"What is it?" piped Tasslehoff. "I can't see!"
"Shhh!" Tanis glared at the kender, and Tas clapped his own hand over his own mouth to save Tanis the trouble.
The clearing was the site of a recent bloody fight. Bodies of men and hobgoblins lay scattered about in the obscene postures of brutal death. The companions looked about fearfully and listened for long minutes but could hear nothing above the roar of the water.
"No enemy for miles!" Sturm glared at Gilthanas and started to step out into the clearing.
"Wait!" Tanis said. "I thought I saw something move!"
"Maybe one of them's still alive," Sturm said coolly and walked forward. The rest followed more slowly. A low moaning sound came from beneath two hobgoblin bodies. The warriors walked toward the carnage, swords level.
"Caramon . . ." Tanis gestured.
The big warrior shoved the bodies to one side. Beneath was a moaning figure.
"Human," Caramon reported. "And covered with blood. Unconscious, I think."
The rest came up to look at the man on the ground. Goldmoon started to kneel down, but Caramon stopped her.
"No, lady," he said gently. "It would be senseless to heal him if we just have to kill him again. Remember-humans fought for the Dragon Highlord in Solace."
The group gathered round to examine the man. He wore chain mail that was of good quality, if rather tarnished. His clothes were rich, though the cloth had worn thin in places. He appeared to be in his late thirties. His hair was thick and black, his chin firm, and his features regular. The stranger opened his eyes and stared up at the companions blearily.
"Thank the gods of the