Dragonlance

Tanis, The Shadow Years

by Barbara Siegel and Scott Siegel

Tika, the young barmaid, sighed. It was late. Very late. And the red-haired teen-ager was tired. Even Tanis, who had come back to the Inn of the Last Home after all his friends had gone, looked drained. He sat there alone, save for the exuberant dwarf with the funny nose and drooping ears who had suddenly befriended him.

The barmaid planted her feet sturdily before the dwarven stranger and flung the bar rag over one shoulder. The bean-shaped common room in the Solace inn, once the site of hours of storytelling by Tanis and his companions, now stretched emptily behind her to the stonework fireplace. No flames flickered against the stonework to cheer the lonely room, and the dying embers added precious little warmth. All in all, Tanis thought, the atmosphere suited his mood just fine.

"Hmphh." The skinny teen-ager raised her chin and pressed her lips into a thin line. "I guess that means no?" "Hmphh!" Tika's eyes flashed. "What a vocabulary you have," the dwarf said, mockseriously, his ears drooping a notch lower. "Myself, I love words. May I teach you the phrase, Td be delighted to have a drink with you, Clotnik, you beguiling wretch?'" He grinned in a manner obviously intended to be charming.

Clotnik crowed. "I saw that!" "Hmphh!" Tika ran off to the kitchen. Tanis's tired eyes sparkled at Clotnik's playfulness, at Tika's shyness—which Tanis now saw would ripen into allure when she reached womanhood. Tanis remembered a time when he had been equally innocent. Laurana. Yes, he had felt the heady pleasure of a girl's meaningful gaze, and had it been possible, he might have answered that look with his heart. More recently there had been Kiti-ara. He had ended it with the hot-headed swordswoman just hours before, and for his honesty he had received a slap in the face that jarred his teeth loose. But even now he was wondering if he hadn't been a fool. It was too late to do anything about it; Kit had already left on her journey with Sturm. Tanis knew, with a black certainty, that he would not see Kit—or any of any of his companions— for five long years. And maybe not even then.

Clotnik laughed as Tika disappeared into the kitchen, but his expression quickly darkened when Otik, the innkeeper, emerged through those same doors with a tally sheet in his hands. "I don't know how you managed to drink all that ale," Otik said with a trace of awe in his voice as he placed the tally sheet down on the table in front of Clotnik. "You must make a good living to build up such a bill," he added pointedly.

Clotnik squirmed for a moment and then brightened. "You've had such a busy night," he exclaimed, grabbing the innkeeper's hand and shaking it. "You must have made a small fortune. What is money, then, to such a successful businessman?" He hurried on, not giving Otik a chance to utter as much as a syllable. "Why, you don't need money. Money would be wasted on you!"

The rotund innkeeper glanced warily at Tanis. The half-elf merely shrugged.

Otik appeared uncertain, as though he didn't know what to do first: strangle the bamboozling little dwarf or simply tear out his tongue. After a moment's thought, the decision was firmly made. He'd strangle him and then tear out his tongue.

"I think you've got his attention," Tanis said dryly. "In fact, you've got mine, as well. Not to mention young Ti-ka's," he went on, gesturing toward the kitchen where the barmaid could be spied peeking through the doorway.

Clotnik looked back at the red-haired barmaid. "I love an audience," he said with a satisfied smile. "I live for this." And then he began to juggle. The balls of gold, silver, and glass shimmered in the candlelight as they flew up and down, creating a stark contrast with the heavy iron and brass balls that cut through the air around them.

"Juggling comes naturally to everyone," Clotnik said easily as he deftly plucked the glass ball out of the air and then threw it up again, this time from behind his back. "We juggle our friends, keeping one in the air while we squeeze attention from another. We juggle our work with our pleasure, our needs with our shame, and even our love with our hate. Everyone juggles, all of us trying to keep as many balls in the air as possible, trying to grab at each opportunity before it comes crashing down at our feet."

Now Clotnik juggled all five balls in a fast, tight circle, the round objects blurring from the speed with which he whipped them through the air.

"Meanwhile," the juggler commented, "Tanis tells me he plans to make his journey alone. Ah, toss up a ball of danger, for no one should travel alone in these troubled times. And even as those two balls travel in their circular arc, Tanis must keep the ball of his birth in the air, as well. Because, of course, his ultimate juggling act is between his elven and human halves."

Otik, arrested in the act of wiping his hands on a streaked white apron, drew a sharp breath and gave a troubled glance at Tanis. He didn't know how the half-elf would react to Clotnik's indelicate remark.

The half-elf, betraying no emotion in his voice, carefully said, "Tell me, my friend, what do you juggle besides those balls? Do you juggle your life's breath somewhere between impertinence and honesty?" His hand shifted casually to the sword at his left side, although like most creatures of elven blood, he never would have taken a life unnecessarily—and certainly not out of annoyance alone. Still, it might not hurt to caution the young dwarf that not everyone would be so forgiving. "I wonder how many times you have misjudged your audience and said the wrong thing to the wrong person." Tanis moved his hand back to the table top.

The innkeeper nodded, his eyes drawn again to the whirling balls that Clotnik now juggled in yet another j pattern, this time using his right hand to juggle three in a j circle and his left hand to juggle the other two in the traditional up and down method.

At those words, Clotnik's head whipped around to look at the innkeeper. And in that instant, the juggler lost his concentration. He tried to recover, but it was too late. The iron and brass balls thudded to the floor, one just missing Otik's foot. Clotnik managed to grab the gold and the silver spheres, and then he lunged for the swiftly falling, fragile glass ball. Unfortunately, it had sailed out of his reach. "No!" he cried.

"Then why do you risk it?" Tanis replied, examining the intricate blue and green design on the otherwise clear glass ball before handing it back to Clotnik.

"Good point, but why fight a sand crocodile in the first place?" Tanis retorted. Clotnik gave a short laugh. "I'm going to enjoy traveling with you," he said. "You have a lively mind—not to mention a quick hand."

All his life he had wanted to learn something, anything, about the man who had spawned him. All he knew was that once, during a warring time between humans and elves, a human soldier had had his way with an elven maiden, Tanis's mother, leaving her broken, battered, and with child. What kind of man would do thatl Tanis questioned yet again. What kind of blood did the half-elf have running in his veins? Tanis's mother had died only months after Tanis's birth, leaving him to the care of distant elven relatives—and part of neither world, human nor elven. After ninety-seven years of life, Tanis still wondered about that human warrior. But how could this juggling dwarf know anything about the stranger, no doubt long dead, who was his father?

Fire in the Night "It's cold and it's wet, but it's Not nearly as satis-fying as Otik's ale," said Clotnik as he drank deeply from the clear, clean little lake they'd found at the edge of a wood. It was nearly dark, but they still could see beyond the trees to where the land opened into rolling meadows and fields. Tanis dunked his head into the water. Then, like a dog, he shook his wet mane of reddish-brown hair; droplets rained around him on the sand. Refreshed, he sat down and leaned back against a tree, comfortable in his soft leather traveling gear and cloak.

It was nearly morning when the fire finally burned itself out. The wood was a smoking relic, and ash swirled above the lake on desultory breezes.

Tanis felt his hopes crash around him like one of the burned-out tree trunks that now marred the landscape. Kishpa's blue eyes gleamed with an intensity that doubly alarmed the half-elf. "The old man is delirious," Tanis said. "Clotnik, help me set up the other blankets to form a tent around him. We ought to protect—"

Tanis was still looking down, but instead of seeing Kishpa lying on the ground, he saw the black leather boots of a soldier, toes pointed in his direction. Tanis immediately lifted his eyes, catching a glint of sunlight on the blade of a broadsword swooping straight down toward his head! Elves revere life. Before a battle, elven troops and leaders gather to ask forgiveness for the lives they will take in the coming dispute. But this time, there was no time to move, think, or feel. Suddenly, another sword came from out of nowhere to block the downward sweep of the first. There was a loud clang as steel struck steel, and a voice shouted, "Draw your blade!" Tanis didn't need to be told twice. Instinct from a lifetime of battle experience took over. He threw his right shoulder into his attacker, knocking him down, then pulled his own silver-inlaid broadsword from its scabbard. He intended to protect himself while getting away from whatever madness he had been plunged into. Standing at the ready, he quickly realized that he was in the midst of a small group of elven and human soldiers engaged in deadly hand-to-hand combat in an opening in a forest.

"Some people farm. Some tan hides. There are tinkers, smiths, teachers, clerics, soldiers. Everybody does something. Me," said Scowarr, "I tell jokes."

Multicolored Hope "No!" shouted Scowarr from below as the tiny avalanche reached him, pelting him with stones and a shower of dirt. Luckily, the bush itself didn't hit him. And neither did Tanis, who clung to the fossilized driftwood with one hand while desperately trying to reclaim his toeholds. "Hang on!"

In the hope of diverting Kishpa's thoughts, Tanis quickly gave his attention to the quivering Scowarr. "Where is your good humor, my friend? Isn't laughter

The human soldiers flowed over the southern barricade like water rushing over a falls. But there was a dam up ahead that sought to stop the onrushing tide, a dam not of earth and wood, but of a small phalanx of el-ven villagers led by Tanis.

The silver-inlaid broadsword in Tanis's hand might as well have been a boulder with a handle. His arm was so weary he could hardly lift it. As twilight descended, after more than four hours of intense fighting, Tanis and the others stood atop the barricade as yet another wave of human soldiers stormed the battlement.

Dearest of my Heart,

"Reehsha? Yes, everyone knows old Reehsha," said a sinewy elf who was patching his small skiff at the edge of the water. "Keeps to himself a lot these days. Didn't even help ferry the women and children to the ship," he added, gesturing out to the open sea.

"Sure," agreed the fisherman, his face a map of wrinkles, "but the waves were something treacherous, and there were too many boats out there. Half kept banging into the other half. That's how I got this hole in my bow. We lost four women and six children to drowning; they'd have been safer in the village, taking their chances with the humans than with those rough seas. Yes, Reehsha is a wise old man."

The elf laughed harshly, his teeth showing whitely against his deep tan. "You may want to meet him, but he may not want to meet you. Reehsha doesn't have many visitors. And that's the way he likes it."

It was cool, dark, and peaceful by the edge of the sea, and being away from the village light was soothing to the eyes. Heavy waves crashed upon the sand, leaving a white foam tinged pink by the red light of Lunitari. Tanis breathed in the damp night air as he walked along the sand; the smell of the sea revived him, helping him forget the soreness in his arms and legs. The scent of salt and seaweed was a welcome change from the stench of battle, although elves in general preferred living in wooded areas inland to spending their lives by the sea.

Passing a rickety wooden pier that jutted into the thrashing surf, Tanis suddenly stopped. Without quite knowing why, he turned and stared at the old wooden structure. He thought he'd heard something odd, a sound that somehow didn't belong. At the same instant, a flock of birds skittered off the pier and into the wind, flying on a strong sea breeze.

He started walking again, debating what he would say if he found Brandella and Kishpa together. How would the half-elf explain his presence? Perhaps he could say, "The whole village is looking for you, Kishpa. Please hurry. The elders are making new plans for the defense of the village. You must be there!" Once the mage was gone, Tanis reasoned, he could get Brandella alone and tell her why he had come for her. And then, he thought sourly, she'd think I'm a dimwitted fool.

Like a child, he kicked at the sand. Then he stopped. There was that sound again. He turned and looked back at the pier, staring intently into the dark shadows beneath the wooden structure, holding his breath, listening. What he heard had sounded like a muffled cry. Or maybe it was the flapping of wings—except this time there were no birds to be seen. And wasn't that a faint red glow he saw under the pier? Perhaps his elvensight, which caught the aura of living things even in little light, had focused on a shore animal.

His pulse quickened. It wasn't the birds he'd heard be fore at all. The birds flew away when they were startled by a sound, the same sound he'd heard. And now he heard it again. It was a cry. As swiftly as his legs could carry him through the soft sand, Tanis dashed toward the pier. He could hear nothing over the sound of his own deep breaths and pounding legs, but the memory of that cry kept him running.

No light shone beneath the warped and rotting wooden boards of the pier. Tanis couldn't see details of who was there, but his elvensight revealed something large, shaped like a man. And surely, with the light of Lunitari behind Tanis, whoever or whatever was there could plainly see him. In the darkness, a tall, powerfully built man with a barrel chest crouched over the bruised body of a terrified woman. He held a long, thin-bladed knife in one hand and an ornate, heavy shield in the other. The human jammed his knee into the woman's throat to keep her from crying out as he watched the intruder approach. He could tell by the interloper's forthright stride that they would do battle. He smiled at the thought.

The human had killed twelve elves after he'd scaled the barricade. He had thought that his fellow soldiers were going to overrun the village, but for some reason, few troops had followed him. Trapped inside the elven stronghold, he had killed seven more villagers since nightfall, weaving in and out of back alleys, using the shadows for cover. But elven patrols were getting closer all the time. He needed a hostage to keep them at bay until his fellow soldiers attacked again on the morrow.

She had been walking alone along the beach when he saw her. He'd leaped out from his cover, grabbed her around the mouth and throat, and dragged her, kicking and thrashing, back into the darkness beneath the rotting old pier.

Barely able to breathe, the woman lay near unconsciousness, no longer struggling. As he heard someone approaching, the human paid her no mind, lifting out of his crouch and edging toward an outer wooden pillar. He didn't need a hostage to protect him from a single elf. Hiding, the human waited.

Tanis strained to hear any telltale sounds. All he heard were waves breaking against the front of the pier and the water roiling against the pillars that stretched out into the sea. He heard no voices, saw no movement. The only smell was that of the sea and shoreline.

The human was startled. Where had the interloper gone? He'd disappeared. The human, unused to fear, didn't panic now. He realized that his enemy was smart. It would be a good battle, he thought, one to savor in tales told over the crackling coals of a fire.

Despite the sound of the sea, it was as if the darkness under the pier was deathly quiet. It was its own world of silent treachery and stealth.

He had almost convinced himself to get up and take his leave when he heard the faint sound of someone breathing off to his right. He had called out before, and the person had not answered. That might mean that an enemy hid here in the dark.

The half-elf moved closer, his hand on the grip of his broadsword. From the sound of the breathing, Tanis gauged that he was just a few feet away from his foe. His enemy had given himself away, and he would die for that mistake.

The sharp edge of his broadsword was swooping down on the neck of an unmoving, defenseless dwarf.

The human heard the sound of the broadsword coming free of its scabbard and readied himself for the kill. The red glow of the sword surprised him, but the light it threw off made his attack that much simpler. He saw his enemy clearly and dove at him with his knife pointing directly at the middle of Tanis's back. But the human did not expect his enemy to spin away from him at the last possible moment.

Tanis felt the impact of a glancing blow to the shoulder when the human hurtled past. The half-elf rolled over and came to his feet in one easy motion, his glowing sword held high. The human recovered just as quickly, squaring off with his knife and shield. The creaky pier stood an arm's length above them.

They had the same eyes, the same mouth, the same shaped face. The man had the badly broken nose and long black hair that Clotnik had described. The only thing missing from the juggler's description of his father was the slash wound on his right leg.

This was the man Tanis so much wanted to discover, to meet, to learn about, but now that he had come face to face with him, Tanis didn't know what to do. Perhaps a gesture, he thought. What if he showed the man he meant no harm?

A cry, not of surprise or fear but of infinite sadness, escaped Tanis's lips as he stumbled back out of the way, instinctively raising his enchanted sword to block the blade. With knife locked against sword, the two men's faces were mere inches apart, and Tanis could stand it no more. "Look at me!" he shouted at the distorted image of his own reflection. "Can't you see? I'm—" "—the next to die!" the human swore as he slung one leg behind Tanis's feet and shoved.

Tanis tripped and fell heavily onto his back. His head hit the ground hard, stunning him momentarily. The human had the advantage, and he pressed it. Leaping on top of Tanis, he rammed his shield into the half-elf's face—to hurt him and to blind him to his next move, Tanis knew, a move that would involve slitting the half-elf's belly open with one long rip of his knife.

His father was bigger, heavier, and stronger than Tanis. But such experts as Kitiara, Sturm, and Flint had taught the half-elf to defend himself in ways no ordinary soldier would know. Just as the human's knife twisted down toward his stomach, Tanis executed a flip and roll that sent his father tumbling sideways. The knife missed its mark.

Both scrambled to their feet, Tanis faster than the human. With any other enemy who was obviously out to kill him, Tanis would have met deadly violence with lethal force. But this man was his father. Would Tanis cease to exist if he killed the man, or would his position in Kishpa's memory protect him? Was it fair to spare the man who would go on to rape Tanis's mother? Or had the heinous act already taken place? Tanis made a quick decision and, with a whip of his broadsword, slashed a deep cut in his father's right leg. The man yelled and hobbled backward, his leg spurting blood.

The human ignored him. He had seen enough of this half-elf; he wanted no part of him. The soldier retreated to the prostrate dwarf woman who lay helpless in the red-hued shadows. He dropped his shield and picked her up around the waist, putting his knife to her throat.

"Drop your sword, or she dies," he said. Tanis stared at this man who was his father. "You would kill a helpless woman?" he asked, his voice quivering.

But maybe his father hadn't met his mother yet. Maybe this brigand hadn't yet had his way with her, destroying her life. Suddenly, Tanis neither knew nor cared if killing this human would mean that he, himself, would never be born. If it meant that his mother would be spared the cruelty of this man's attack, perhaps it was worth his own sacrifice. Disgusted and repulsed by the man who had fathered him, Tanis could take no pride in his own blood.

As the human backed away from Tanis, moving out from beneath the pier and dragging Yeblidod with him, the fishermen who had been caring for their boats marched across the beach. The human saw them and ducked back behind a pillar, forgetting Tanis for an instant.

The half-elf charged his father. Yeblidod saw him coming and bit the thumb on the hand holding the knife at her throat. The human yelped and let her go. As she slumped to the ground, Tanis plowed into the soldier's midsection with his head, bashing him into the wooden pillar.

The impact knocked the knife from the soldier's hand, but the man was more startled than hurt. He struck Tanis on the back of the head with his balled fists, once, twice, three times, until the half-elf faltered and fell to his knees. The human kicked him in the head, and Tanis fell backward, rolling over twice.

Tanis looked at the pain in the beaten woman's eyes and thought of his mother. How much worse it must have been for her! A churning in the pit of his stomach made him grab two handfuls of sand and squeeze them, waiting for the pain to subside. But it didn't. Sweat beaded his face, and he slowly began pounding the ground with his fists, over and over again, harder and harder. He had met his father and was appalled. How much of that human animal was inside him? Worse, he'd had it within his power to rid the world of the beast, and he had failed.

With a wail of pain that startled a frightened whimper out of Yeblidod, Tanis abruptly sheathed his glowing broadsword. Then, under the cloak of darkness, he stormed to his feet, lifting the bruised woman in his arms. "I will take you to safety now," he said through clenched teeth, fighting back his tears. "And then I will see to it that the man who did this to you dies." He looked down at her and in a hoarse whisper, added, "I swear it on my mother's life."

She was as light as a child in his arms as he ran across the beach, the lightweight cotton of her long skirt whispering in the sea breeze. He took her to the wooden shack of Reehsha, the closest place he knew of. No light burned, but he pounded at the door anyway.

A brief moment later, a dim light flared in the room. Frantic to find a place to lay Yeblidod down, he turned and spotted a ramshackle bed under the window but was dismayed to find that someone was already in it.

"If you don't move him, I'll kick him out of that bed. I swear it," the half-elf warned. Yeblidod, no doubt awakened by the stridence in his tone, moved fretfully in his arms.

"Kishpa," Tanis finished, lowering his voice as Yeblidod stirred again. "Yes, I know. He'll be all right. I know it. He'll live to a ripe old age. Don't worry about him. But this woman needs care right now."

The old man was reluctant to move Kishpa until he recognized the woman in the half-elf's arms. "Yeblidod? Tell me what happened," he commanded, moving close. Tanis caught a faint whiff of fish.

The old man did as he was ordered. Tanis was awkward and clumsy as he tried to tend to Yeblidod's cuts and bruises. Then a husky feminine voice sounded from the doorway behind him. "What happened? Who's hurt?" the new voice demanded.

Tanis turned and beheld the image of a woman like none he had ever seen. Her pale skin fairly glowed against her dark, curly tresses, and every delicate feature of her face looked as if it had been painted in perfect fleshtones by a master. Her figure was accentuated by a thin, black, woven top, cinched tight around her narrow waist with a cord, setting off long, shapely legs. She wore brown leather shoes with silver buckles, and a woven skirt the color of new leaves.

There was no doubt in Tanis's mind that he was looking at Brandella. And in her own right, she could have sparked the shock that coursed through him now. But the resemblance to another woman, the echo of an earlier love, sent a pang through the half-elf like a fiery bolt from a longbow.

Brandella's black hair was long, practically waist-length; Kitiara's short, black curls had framed her face. But the brown eyes could have been those of sisters. Brandella was a softer, more feminine version of Kitiara. Kit had been his—as much as any man could dare to claim the tempestuous swordswoman—only short days before. And now she was traveling, the gods knew where, with Sturm Bright-blade.

Kitiara would have laughed at Tanis's current pain, he knew. "What, Tanthalas? Not . . . not regrets?" she would have sneered, flashing him her crooked smile and probing the wounds caused by their parting. Yet there would've been an undertone of passion that would have left him breathless.

He couldn't imagine this woman, Brandella, sneering at anyone. He realized he was staring and forced his gaze to the woman's companion. Behind Brandella stood the dwarf, Mertwig. When the dwarf saw who lay on the pallet, he bolted across the room, crying, "Yebbie! Yeb-bie!" Yeblidod raised her arms weakly to her husband as Tanis stepped out of the way. The dwarf wept at her bedside as she patted his head. "I'm all right," she reassured him in a thin whisper, a raspy imitation of her formerly warm alto. "Some rest, a little soup, and I'll be just fine."

"I couldn't find the healer, Reehsha," Brandella answered softly, without looking up from her seat on a low, three-legged stool next to the rickety bed. 'There are many who are sick and dying. He could be anywhere." She cast a distracted look at Kishpa, lying without movement on a fur pallet on the floor.

"But Canpho would come if he knew it was Kishpa," insisted the frustrated fisherman. His gestures made wild shadows on the bare walls of the candlelit shack. "They would find him for you and send him."

"We couldn't risk it," Brandella said plaintively. "If everyone knew that Kishpa was ill and unable to cast his magic to defend the village, there would be panic. As it is, many are worried that our mage is nowhere to be found. If they hadn't discovered a distraction, Anka-tavaka would be awash in fear."

Brandella nodded without glancing his way. "A funny little human they have dubbed a hero," she explained, wiping Yeblidod's forehead gently with a moistened fragment of one of her shawls. Brandella glanced over her shoulder at the old fisherman. "I'm afraid that we alone must fear for the village. And I with guilt," she added, her eyes suddenly filling with tears, "because it was my fault that he has come to this state."

She turned back to her nursing of Yeblidod, ignoring Reehsha's implicit threat. "I asked too much of him," she tried to say evenly, though Tanis could clearly see the hurt in her eyes. 'The humans were about to break through the south wall," she said. 'There were only a handful of defenders left, and I begged him to use his magic to save them because they had been so valiant. He told me that it was too soon for him to use his magic again, but I insisted."

Brandella faltered, then took a deep breath and steadied herself by covering Yeblidod with a blanket, her ministrations completed. The dwarven woman, soothed by her friend's calming hands, slipped quickly into sleep.

"He warned you!" bellowed the old fisherman. "If he dies, it's on your head! And if he dies, by the gods, I'll have your head, too! I'll feed it to the fish!" Reehsha stomped about the room, clearly forgetting the two invalids lying a short distance away.

"Enough!" Tanis shouted. In the same instant, he drew his broadsword, its ominous red glow filling the small shack. He now knew full well the source of his blade's power. It had been Kishpa who had enchanted the sword, saving his life and, quite possibly, the village of Ankatavaka. "I told you," the half-elf growled. "Kishpa will survive. Be a good friend to your mage, and swallow your oaths."

"I am no wizard," said Tanis harshly, lowering his sword so that its point tilted toward the old elf's face and lowering his voice to please Brandella. "I am just a friend to Kishpa and a servant of his lady."

"You lie!" Reehsha shot back, undeterred by the blade's proximity to his nose. "You must be a warrior wizard. You have a magic broadsword, and you have now twice foretold the future. How do you know that Kishpa will live?"

"I... I don't know how . . . how soon Kishpa will revive," Tanis offered, embarrassed by her reaction to him. He swallowed and took control of himself, adding, "I don't know if he will be able to help Ankatavaka when the sun rises and the humans renew their attack. I know only that he will have a long life."

"Who are you?" the dark-eyed weaver finally asked, quietly and kindly. Her voice was steady. "You are a stranger to Ankatavaka, yet you claim to know my Kishpa. You call him friend and declare yourself my protector. Why is this? And by what magic do you possess such a sword?"

"All good questions, Brandella." Tanis dared to gaze into her eyes. Her tears had made her appear that much more pallid, yet the half-elf realized there was a cord of steel beneath the soft demeanor that was as strong as the broadsword he now sheathed.

"My name is Tanis," he began slowly, trying to decide how much he should tell her. The candle sputtered. Mertwig resumed his vigil by his wife's side, and the fisherman slumped onto a wooden bench by the door.

Tanis's problem, he knew, was that at some point he would have to escape the elder Kishpa's memory. He had been told that Kishpa would help him. But how? And when? Without that knowledge, he was reluctant to tell Brandella too much of the truth for fear that she would laugh at him.

"I come from somewhere far away," he began, not quite sure of what he was going to say. "And I possess no magic except for what has been given to me by Kishpa. It is he who brought me here. And it is he who enchanted my sword. You see, I was on the south wall of the village when your mage cast his spell. ..."

At Last, A Hero Scowarr stood on a heavy wooden table, sur-rounded by a sea of happy, hero-worshiping elven faces. He had them just where he wanted them: listening . . .

The funny man's patter was coming fast and sure tonight. He ran one hand through his short hair— the elves seemed to find the cut of his hair especially amusing— and launched into a new joke. "I once asked an elderly elf, To what do you attribute your old age?' His answer? The fact that I was born a long time ago!' " He widened his amber eyes and nodded significantly at the crowd.

The elves roared with laughter. Scowarr glanced down modestly, taking the opportunity to steal a glimpse of the elves' gift to him; they'd provided the slender human with a new set of clothes, the forest-green slacks and jerkins that Ankatavakan men preferred, to replace the filthy rags he'd worn while fighting the human soldiers.

In the back row, a middle-aged elven woman, one of several women who'd chosen to stay and fight beside brothers and husbands, yelped and poked her mate; again the crowd erupted with guffaws and applause.

"It's a miracle," he murmured, adding mentally, Or maybe it's magic. In the back of his mind, he wondered if that young mage, Kishpa, had cast a spell making him genuinely funny or had conjured up a village full of laughing elves. The very fact that the elves were giggling at his jokes seemed even more amazing to him than their hailing him as a great warrior. Elves did not have the greatest sense of humor on Krynn—at least from a human point of view, he thought charitably. Elven folks tended to be rather sober and serious.

"Magic-users!" cried the elder, blue eyes flashing under a shock of white-blond hair. "One of our spies has come back from the human encampment. He says they have wizards to aid them tomorrow. We must find Kishpa!"

Unwilling to yield his place of honor, Scowarr boldly shouted, "If the mage must be found, then I will help you find him!" Then he knelt and softly asked, "Does anybody know where he could be? Any idea at all?"

"No. Really," Scowarr protested, keeping his voice low. The elves closest to the table were beginning to exchange amazed glances, and the comedian was loath to tarnish the newfound shine on his reputation.

"You don't know what a shimmerweed is?" the same villager asked, surprised. When Scowarr shook his head, the elf went on. "It blooms only at night, getting the only light it needs from the moonlight. But when the petals catch the light just so, the shimmerweed blinds anyone nearby and causes him great confusion."

"Oh," said Scowarr, sagely nodding his head. "That shimmerweed. I knew that. So Kishpa is surrounding the human encampment, keeping them from attacking us during the night? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Another villager interjected, "That's not what / heard." He edged in front of the first speaker and said, "My uncle told me that someone saw Kishpa become invisible so that he could walk among the humans, undetected, and learn their plans of war." Other elves murmured and added their conjectures.

"We're wasting time," complained the village elder who had sounded the warning. He forced his way toward the center of the room where Scowarr held sway. "These are just rumors, idle talk, foolish gossip. It isn't like Kishpa to disappear without a trace. Even his human lover, Brandella, has vanished. But Kishpa must be found and told of this new threat. Without his help, the humans will drive us into the Straits of Algoni."

"Someone's out there," Tanis agreed from the back of the room, hearing the faint sound of a voice on the wind. He turned to Reehsha, who had moved from the bench to the window and pulled aside the fishnets that served as curtains. "Can you see anything?"

"What are they doing?" Brandella asked in a whisper. Tanis went to the window to see for himself. He grimaced. "They seem to have a purpose. It looks like they're looking for something—"

Her closeness nearly unnerved him. Kit was a beauty, and Laurana the epitome of young, elven loveliness, but Brandella's very essence was heart-shattering. At her touch, he felt himself go as red as his glowing sword.

Brandella's skin was as delicate as porcelain above the black shirt and the loose green skirt, both obvious products of her loom. Tanis felt his blushing creep inexorably to his hairline. The young weaver appeared unaware of the effect she was having on him, however. 'There's no place to run," she continued. "A few may survive by taking to the fishing boats, but the rest will be slaughtered if our defenses crumble. I beg you; stall for time! Don't let them know the truth. If the villagers fight, they have a chance. If they run, they'll die. You're a warrior. You know what I say is true."

The woman's beauty was almost more than he could bear. The warmth of her hands, the scent of her hair and skin, the perfection of every feature, all made Tanis's mouth go dry. Yet there was more to her than the appeal of her flesh. There was the same energy and passion that had drawn him to Kitiara. Without, he hoped, the all-too-human yearning for power.

He wanted to ask her if he was worthy of her, but he refrained. Nonetheless, he found himself unwilling to let go of her hands. A moment passed. Was it his imagination, or did she seem reluctant to let go, too?

Tanis freed her hands. Brandella gave him a shy smile. A moment later, Tanis opened the door, stepped outside, and with fingers gripping the handle of his sword in its scabbard, he faced the oncoming mob.

It wasn't all bravado on Scowarr's part. He enjoyed the role, playing the hero to the hilt, but he also was worried about the mage. After all, Kishpa had saved his life on the seacliff, and the human was not unmindful of his debt. If Kishpa needed rescuing, Scowarr was willing to do his part. He even thought he was capable of it.

When the searchers climbed the rocks toward Reeh-sha's shack, Scowarr felt his legs and arms aching. Exhaustion was catching up with him, but he refused to give in to it. He wanted to be a hero again—and that meant finding Kishpa.

As Scowarr led the crowd toward the shack, the door to the crumbling old building suddenly swung ajar. Golden light illuminated the darkness, and the silhouette of a fighting man, strong and straight, walked into the shimmering aura and waited.

Tanis decided to keep the door to Reehsha's shack open. Closing it behind him would have suggested that he was trying to keep the crowd from entering. Rather, he reasoned, let it appear as if he had nothing to hide from them.

"It isn't Huma of the Lance." There was some appreciative laughter from the elves behind the funny man. Tanis, however, said nothing.

"Well," said Scowarr with gentle sarcasm, "based upon your hearty laughter at my little joke, I now know for certain that the image before my eyes is that of my dear, ever-so-humorless friend, Tanis." At this, the half-elf proffered a small grin.

A stocky elf, holding a torch and standing behind Scowarr, shouted, 'This must have been where Mertwig was going with Brandella. And if Brandella is in there, I'll wager Kishpa's there, too!" The elf rushed forward, trying to push past Tanis and into the shack. The half-elf grabbed him, accidentally knocking the burning torch out of the elf's hand. The torch soared over the rocks onto the beach, and the damp sand extinguished it with a sizzle.

"I don't know you," the villager shot back. "For all I know, you attacked the poor woman and—" Before he could finish the thought, Tanis leaped at the elf with a savage cry. He went straight for the elf's throat with his bare hands. In a mad scramble to try to stop him, it took six elves to pull Tanis away from his nearly strangled victim.

Many of the elves laughed at his cleverness. Tanis merely nodded. For his part, Scowarr shook his head with resignation. He leaned down close to Tanis and complained, "You are the most difficult audience I've ever had."

Scowarr looked at his friend with a questioning glance. He didn't know who or what Tanis was really hiding in that shack, but there was no question in the funny man's mind that something strange was going on.

He was very curious about the game the half-elf was playing. Scowarr pursed his lips as he stepped away from Tanis and considered his options. He wondered if the villagers would heap still more glory on his little shoulders if he discovered whatever Tanis didn't want found. He also wondered what Tanis would do to him if he betrayed the half-elf's trust. The lure of glory was strong, but Scowarr didn't want to be a dead hero. Besides, he had done rather well for himself by following Tanis's lead. He decided to do it again and hope for the best.

"Come, fellow soldiers," Scowarr announced. "We're wasting our time here. The dawn will break soon, and let us not break with it. We must be ready to fight the humans with or without Kishpa. Are we not brave?"

Scowarr marveled at the effect he'd had on these elves. He almost— but not quite—hoped that he would die this day so that he would never have to face his ordinary life again when the praise and honor stopped. He lingered behind as his followers hurried away.

"You must tell me what's going on," Scowarr pleaded. "Why wouldn't you let anyone in the shack?" Tanis was about to tell him when a figure crossed in front of the doorway behind them, blocking the light. Scowarr squinted to see who stood there as Tanis turned to look, too.

A beautiful woman appeared Next to Kishpa, the light throwing mysterious shadows across her magnificent face, partially hidden by her cloud of black curls. She held one of the mage's arms to keep him from teetering on his unsteady legs. Scowarr was delighted to have found Kishpa, but he was overwhelmed by Brandella.

Tanis and Scowarr started for the door, but a shouted warning from the direction of the village caught their attention. They all turned to see what the trouble was. The mob that had followed Scowarr had apparently flushed one of the human soldiers out of hiding and was pursuing him.

Kishpa, like the half-elf, could make out that much with elvensight, although they both doubted that Scowarr and Brandella could catch much detail. Tanis saw that the soldier was big, his long legs giving him a loping stride.

Tanis tried to focus on the man's face. The distance and the darkness, however, proved to be too great. Yet the human was the right size, and he had been spotted near the beach. It might be him, Tanis thought. It might be my father. Without another thought, the half-elf bolted in the direction of the human.

Tanis didn't answer. The others at Reehsha's shack shrugged and headed into the cabin. All, that is, except Brandella, who lingered in the night air watching Tanis recede into the darkness.

Kishpa, resting on the wooden bench by the door, his red robes pulled around him against the cabin's chill, raised an eyebrow. "My whole life," conceded the mage. "You know that. Why do you ask me such a question?"

"No lectures!" interrupted the dwarf with sudden temper. "I simply want you to tell the artist that I'm good for the price of a certain glass trinket." He spun away from the mage, crossing his short arms before his chest. 'There, I said it."

Mertwig saw Kishpa glance at Brandella, looking for her guidance. She nodded. Mertwig knew that Brandella didn't consider it her business, or Kishpa's, to decide what was right or wrong. The mage's duty, the weaver would feel, wasn't to judge his friends but to give them what he could and let them make their own choices; if Mertwig wanted to put himself into debt for his wife, then that was his decision. As long as he wasn't asking Kishpa to foot the bill, she would see no harm in what Mertwig was suggesting, the dwarf knew. But Kishpa would likely have a different view, Mertwig worried. He wished he'd never embarked on this conversation.

"I don't know ..." he said slowly. "This is a matter of honor. If I vouch for you and you can't pay, it will make me look like a fool to Piklaker—to the whole village. Don't you see that? Don't you see that you're asking me to risk my own reputation? I would do it if you needed food, a roof over your head—something serious. But you want to buy a foolish, useless bauble."

Kishpa's face showed his fatigue, and the long sleeve of his red robe shook as he drew his hand across his eyes, tangling his shock of black hair. Obviously, he didn't wish to argue. He simply sighed and tactlessly replied, "The difference is, I didn't buy anything I couldn't afford."

The two, facing what could be death in battle on the morrow, stared across a widening chasm in their longtime friendship. Mertwig barely held his temper. "I'm telling you, I have to get that glass ball for Yebbie, especially after what she's been through tonight. She deserves it I Besides," he added plaintively, "I told everyone I was going to get it."

"By the gods, if anything goes wrong, I'm the one who's going to look like a fool! Not you!" said the dwarf, his voice suddenly stone cold. "Just tell Piklaker that I'm good for the debt. I'm not going to beg."

Rising wearily from the bench to put his arm around Mertwig's shoulder, the mage tried to break the tension. Kishpa's red robes seemed almost garish against the earth tones of Mertwig's stained clothes. "Please. You're making too much of this," the wizard said, his pained face a sudden portent of the old man he would become. 'There's no reason for you to get angry with me. We simply have a different way of looking at things. I can cast a spell for you and create the—"

Tanis saw the human soldier make a sharp turn into a narrow street. The mob of elves saw him, too, and followed, screaming for his blood. Tanis, behind the elves, feared they would reach the human before he did.

He wasn't the only one who had that thought, however. A small band of elves broke off from the mob and rushed to the rear of the stable. They got there before Tanis, and it was they who came face to face with the human.

In the sudden near-darkness, the red moon casting a weird glow over all, another elf charged the human, swinging a battle-axe. The human sidestepped and slashed with his blade, cutting a deep wound in the elven fighter's side. The elf screamed, dropped his weapon, and fell in a heap.

Despite the blackness behind the stable, Tanis's elven-sight showed him the back of a tall, powerful human bringing his broadsword to bear on a young elf who was clearly overmatched. Next to him, another elf crumpled to the ground, his right leg nearly cut in two.

The main contingent of elves had heard the sounds of battle and would join their fellow villagers soon. The human had to be aware of that. He intended to quickly dispatch the remaining elf who blocked his path.

Except Tanis was there to stop him. The half-elf left his feet and dove at the human as the soldier's sword came down at the hapless young elf. Tanis hit the human behind the knees with his shoulders, knocking him off his feet. The human's sword skittered out of his hand as they both went down, rolling over each other several times in the dirt.

The human ended up on top, quickly pinning Tanis's shoulders to the ground. The soldier reached for his belt and pulled a long, thin-bladed knife from a sheath. Tanis looked up at the man who was about to kill him.

The young elf whom Tanis had saved only a moment before stood over the pair, retrieved his knife from the human and wiped it on the back of the dead man's shirt. Then he shoved the corpse off Tanis with one push of his leg and extended a friendly hand to the half-elf.

The inky gray light of the false dawn was diminished even further by a fog that began to blow in from the Straits of Algoni. In the murky light, the tense citizenry of Ankatavaka watched and waited. The villagers who had survived the battle of the day before stood on the ramparts on the east, south, and north sides of the town, fear their constant companion. The day before, they had been emboldened by Kishpa's presence. If that hadn't been enough, two brave strangers—the bold human, Scowarr, and his enigmatic half-elf companion—had joined their ranks. The pair had made a difference in turning yesterday's battle.

Worse, they feared that their cause was hopeless. Word had spread that the humans now had magicusers on their side. It seemed as if the beleaguered defenders of Ankatavaka had little chance of surviving. The humans were likely, indeed, to drive them into the sea, just as they had promised they would. Many of the elves were privately considering taking fishing boats and fleeing while they still had the chance. The closer it came to sunrise, the less private the talk became. When they plainly heard the humans breaking camp and preparing to attack, the elven defense began falling into disarray, with loud arguments and occasional fistfights.

At first, a few elves on the eastern barricade climbed down to the street and hurried toward the sea amid angry shouts from some of those who stayed behind. Soon, though, the example of those who'd fled inspired others, and scores upon scores of elves on all three sides of the village threw down their weapons and ran down the main street of Ankatavaka toward the boats.

Halfway to the waterfront, however, they came upon a dwarf, a young mage, and a funny-looking man with little shoulders. The trio stood in the narrow cobbled road, blocking their way. Shops loomed closely on each side.

This was no phalanx of intimidating soldiers blocking the path of the fleeing elves. It was just three men, alone, one with magic and the other two with swords, standing against neighbors in the murky morning air. The mage was pale and weak, and his companions didn't appear to be skilled warriors, from their looks. Yet the fleeing elves stopped. They would not dishonor their wizard, his old, dear friend, their hero—or themselves.

Before anyone else could speak, the funny man with the tufted hair and little shoulders said, "I'm going back, too. Your battle is my battle. Today, like yesterday, your village is my village. And today, like tomorrow, my blood is your blood. I'm going back. Come with me." After he spoke, Scowarr felt his skin prickle. Maybe, he thought, he should forget about being funny and concentrate on being heroic.

The crowd muttered with uncertainty. "I'm going back, too," one wizened villager finally said. He turned, and two friends followed. Either shamed or inspired, an ever-growing column of villagers turned and marched back toward the barricades, their hope renewed, their heads held high.

The elves who had stayed behind on the barricades to defend their village were waiting grimly for the human attack when a cacophony erupted behind them. There were whistles, cheers, and voices raised in song. The deserters returned as if they were a fresh new army of reinforcements. But the most heartening sight of all was Kishpa and Scowarr, marching at their head.

Scowarr had promised that he would find the mage and bring him back. He had kept his word. When the mage and the previous day's hero finally climbed the barricades, Ankatavaka was a village that felt fear no more.

The fog on the beach was so thick that Tanis couldn't tell if the sun had come up or not. He walked back to Reehsha's shack in a murky gloom that mirrored his inner thoughts. He realized now that the chances of finding his father were more remote than ever. There were too many humans and too little time. Once the battle for Ankatavaka began again in the morning, many would die—possibly Tanis himself. And when one side won the battle, the other would be slaughtered. He had vowed to Yeblidod that he would wreak vengeance on her attacker. His mind was numb with shame,- he wasn't likely to fulfill his oath. With a heavy heart, he climbed the rocks that led to Reehsha's home. It wasn't until he neared the shack that Tanis noticed, with a start, that no candles burned there as they had when he had left. Had something happened? He rushed to the door and anxiously flung it open, not bothering to knock.

Brandella looked up in startled surprise. She was sitting next to Yeblidod, swabbing the sleeping dwarf's head with a cool, damp cloth. The woman put a finger to her lips, indicating for Tanis to be quiet.

Tanis nodded meekly, letting the tension drain from his neck and shoulders. He glanced around the inside of the dingy one-room cabin and saw that Brandella and Yeblidod were the only ones there. "Where did the others go?" he whispered.

"Wait," she silently mouthed, getting up and coming toward him. When she reached him, she took his arm and led him out the door. They walked a short distance in silence, the gray fog enveloping them as they strolled through the rocks to the beach. They could see each other, but little else, the shack merely a dark image that floated in the distance.

"Kishpa, Mertwig, and Scowarr have gone back to the barricades," explained Brandella. 'They left just a short while ago." She'd thrown a shawl over her head, but droplets of moisture clung to the curls above her brow.

"He's gone to tend to his boat. When he returns, he will look after Yeblidod." Brandella glanced at him curiously. "And what of you? Will you stay here, or will you go to fight the humans7" "Perhaps neither," he answered truthfully. "I came here for a reason."

"Oh. I see." Tanis took a deep breath. He could hear the waves in the distance, but they were lost in the gray-ness. The fog seemed to be suffocating him. Or maybe it was Brandella. The mist played around her face, softening her features and giving her an aura that seemed altogether fitting for a woman who was a memory.

"It seems to matter still to you," she said, reaching out and tenderly touching his cheek, "or you wouldn't seem so sad." She surprised him with her gentle gesture, and she seemed more than a little surprised herself that she had been so bold.

She nodded, dark eyes quietly amused. "I don't know if it's what he says or how he says it, but, yes, he makes me laugh. Isn't he remarkable?"

"He said you appeared out of thin air, right in the middle of a skirmish. He was watching from a hollow tree trunk, and one moment there was nothing and the next moment you were standing there." Out of the corner of an eye, the half-elf could see the weaver eyeing him, watching for his reaction.

Tanis threw back his head and laughed. Her words struck him with such ironic force that he couldn't help himself. "I'm unreal?" he said, choking on his words, taking a few steps away from Brandella and then turning back and facing her. He threw aside both hands. "I'm an apparition? Oh, how I wish Scowarr could hear this," he added with a broad grin. "He thinks I lack a sense of humor. If only he knew!"

"That I'm the only one here who is actually real. You, Yeblidod, Kishpa, Scowarr, Ankatavaka, the humans outside the barricades—you're all only images living in the memory of a dying old mage. When he dies, you all will disappear. This isn't your life the way you lived it; it's the life you lived as he remembers it. I'm real flesh and blood. I'm the living being walking among the ghosts of one man's past. He cast a spell and sent me here."

Her confusion seemed to be turning to anger. A pink spot appeared on each high cheekbone. "You can't just stand there and tell me I don't exist" she protested. In her annoyance, she let go of the shawl and it fell back from her glorious hair. Tanis caught his breath.

A sob suddenly rose in her throat, and Tanis felt a pang for what he was putting her through. "No," she cried, turning away from him and becoming nearly lost in the mist. Like the ethereal figure she was, she called out to him from the enshrouding fog, her words a painful cry: "I've dreamed of you —but with fear!"

Tanis moved quickly through the mist and reached out. He snared Brandella by the arm and pulled her in close to him. "Don't fear me," he pleaded. 'The old mage sent me here for you, Brandella. To free you."

She stood her ground, curls flying free in anger. "Free me from what?" she demanded. "From my happy life? From the man I love? This is not possible. I refuse to go!"

To Tanis's utter astonishment, Brandella drew a short-bladed knife from a hiding place inside her shawl. She was fast, and Tanis was too dumbfounded to move. But she stumbled as she jabbed the blade at Tanis's side, drawing blood with a cut above the hip.

"You do me an injustice," he said with more calm than she might have imagined possible from someone who had just been attacked. "I mean you no harm. I only wish to do what Kishpa has asked of me. And I'm afraid there isn't much time. He could die at any moment, and that would be the end of all of us."

"Please," he begged. "Think a moment. Imagine yourself in his place. You are part elven. You have lived another ninety-eight years, and the human you once loved has long since died. But you remember her well, thinking of her always. And now you lie near death. Except she, in your memory, is still young and full of life, just as you always pictured her, no matter how the years might have changed her. Wouldn't you, if you could, want that image to exist even if the mind that remembered it no longer lived? Wouldn't that, in your moment of passing, be a gift of love beyond anything you could ever imagine?"

Brandella did not answer at once. Tears filled her eyes. "Yes," she finally said. "It would be a great act of love." Then she wiped her eyes and composed herself, saying, "It's a lovely thought, but it doesn't mean that what you're saying is true. You're asking me to leave the man I cherish for a string of pretty words."

"Not for a string of pretty words," Tanis countered. 'Tor love. Brandella," he whispered, finding it hard to say these words, "I yearn for the ideal that Kishpa has found. All my life I have craved what he once had with you. He grieves for its loss. I never had it, and I grieve even more that I may never know it."

She turned it over, hands unsteady, face ashen. "It's a remnant of the same scarf I've been weaving for Kishpa these past few days. How can it be home, unfinished, and here, ancient and tattered?" One hand went to her mouth, lips trembling.

Inside the cabin, Brandella stood with her longbow in hand and a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder. "As soon as Reehsha returns, I am going to the barricades," she announced quietly but firmly.

"I do understand" she fiercely countered. "But I will not go with you. Not now. It is this Kishpa that I love: the one on the barricades, fighting for his village. It is this Kishpa who made me, a human, feel at home in an elven village that I now love."

"Understand me, Tanis," Brandella said firmly. "I was a mere girl floating in the wreckage of a slaveship that foundered in the Straits. The chains were still on my feet, their weight destined to pull me off the piece of hull that I clung to for life. If Kishpa had not had a vision of me during the storm, I would have perished. On rough seas, he sailed out to find me. To save me."

She looked away from Tanis, visibly embarrassed at what she was about to say. "At first I loved him out of gratitude. He treated me with kindness, taking pains to make sure his elven friends—and dwarves like Mertwig and Yeblidod—did not snub me because of my race. Then," she said boldly, gazing once again directly into Tanis's eyes, "he taught me how to learn so that I could teach myself. I learned to weave, to paint, to use a longbow . . . and finally, when I grew up, I learned to love him. And he loved me back.

"Now you ask me to abandon my mage," she continued in disbelief, shaking her head, "to abandon the Kishpa I know so well, because you say the old Kishpa has a wish. But I don't know the old Kishpa. I don't know how the years have changed him. I only know that my Kishpa would be terribly hurt if I left him now."

She cut off his words with a commanding gesture. "Speak no morel" she ordered. "I will go with you when the battle is over. Not before. I will not let my Kishpa down when he needs me most. If what you say is true, and I am nothing more than a memory, I would not have my disappearance in his moment of need be his last remembrance of me."

"Then I will accompany you to the barricades," he insisted. "I will fight alongside you and make sure—as best I can—that no harm befalls you. But whether the battle is won or lost, when it is over, I will take you with me."

Fog hugged the shore, but most of the village basked in brilliant early-morning sunshine. Stonefronted shops appeared deserted on each side. Tanis and Brandella hurriedly stepped down the empty streets, marking the sounds of battle from up ahead.

Clearly something terrible was happening. Tanis and Brandella climbed the ramparts, clambering their way toward Kishpa, who stood in plain view atop the barricade. When they reached the top, they saw what was driving the elves into a state of abject fear.

The enemy troops were virtually uncountable, charging toward Ankatavaka like an endless sea of humanity. Their numbers stretched in every direction, entering the open meadows on all three sides of the village. And they kept streaming out of the woods.

The elves didn't have enough arrows to kill this many humans, even if they hit their mark with every one let loose. The odds, they all realized, had become impossible. They were about to be overrun by an army that outnumbered them at least thirty to one.

Yet Tanis was surprised to find Kishpa, a figure in red robes boldly silhouetted against the eastern sky, calmly surveying the oncoming human horde. Tanis looked around for Scowarr and Mertwig, surprised that they were nowhere in sight.

Kishpa, having given Tanis a suspicious stare when the half-elf showed up with Brandella, finally answered his lover's question. 'They came," he said matter-of-factly, "from a spell, and that's how they shall perish."

"See there," Kishpa said, and indicated a young, blond human carrying a distinctive quiver tooled in blue and yellow. "Now look there, wading across the stream. And there." Tanis and Brandella followed his pointing finger. A blond warrior carried the same quiver across a creek, not 30 yards from that soldier, a duplicate warrior hurried past a tree.

Kishpa looked pleased with himself, his relaxed smile contrasting . 'They might have fooled me," he admitted, "but they overdid it, duplicating far too many soldiers. It made me suspicious, and so I looked more closely. That's when I noticed that too many of them are dressed exactly the same, are holding their bows in the same way, and are running in perfect step with each other. That's when I knew.

"The spell, by the way, is rudimentary," he added, "but I've never seen it done on such a grand scale. There must be at least a half-dozen magic-users in the human camp. If this spell is any indication of their power, none of them are terribly advanced, but, combined, they can come up with very powerful magic."

"If either Scowarr or Mertwig does his job, then we just might—ah, just in time!" the mage exclaimed, pointing down to just inside the village gate. Little Shoulders skidded to a halt below, holding a small metal box in his hands.

Tanis, Kishpa, and Brandella looked into a sea of recalcitrant, almond-eyed faces. With an oath, Tanis jumped down off the barricade and raced across the cobblestones to the gate. He reached for the pulley rope and was about to yank down on it when, just above him on the battlement, a fearful elf with a knife tried to cut the rope. Instead, Brandella sent an arrow flying through the elf's sleeve, pinning it to the battlement wall.

Once the gate was open, the mage shouted to Scowarr, "Open your box and empty it onto the ground just outside. Then get back in. And you, Tanis, close the gate!"

The human horde was fast closing in, covering the open field between the woods and the village. The sound of their charge was deafening, but Kishpa concentrated on his spell, repeating the same strange words over and over again.

The half-elf recoiled from the scene below. A giant spider, with scabrous, long legs and an eager mandible, was turning the humans in its path into masses of slashed and bleeding flesh. The human reflections of those who were killed or injured took on the same bloody countenance as the originals, so scores seemed to fall in agony. The creature killed silently, but the din of the victims was deafening. Brandella turned from the sight with a horrified cry; many of the elves reacted in the same way.

It wasn't long before the very sight of the hideous creature sent the real soldiers into a headlong retreat, their duplicates instantly following. Those humans who were farther away, however, nocked their arrows and sent them flying in the direction of the gigantic spider.

A rain of wildly aimed arrows filled the air, and, perhaps fearing that they might kill the creature, Kishpa continued jabbering away in a long-forgotten tongue, murmuring sounds that Tanis suspected only Raistlin would have known and understood.

Spiders will avoid a fight unless they feel threatened and sense that they have no choice. With the barricades behind them, they had only one direction in which they could easily go. And from that direction came painful arrows and thousands of swarming humans.

With the spiders constantly churning their scaly legs in a field of men, it became virtually impossible to tell which of the spiders was the original and which were the magic duplicates. Slaying the right spider might have ended the humans' ordeal, but they had to fight all of them at the same time. Arrows from the elven barricades made the trial that more hellish for the soldiers.

The human army, both real and unreal, fled as one. They turned like ships on a stormy sea, twisting in one wave and then tacking as if with the wind. Feasting on human blood, the real spider followed after them, hungry for more. And the rest of the duplicate monsters followed in a macabre dance of dozens of thin, long, sharp-edged legs that skittered across the open meadow like so many nightmares. The humans were routed.

For his own part, the mage stood slumped against Brandella's shoulder, exhausted. Supporting her lover, the weaver sent Tanis a look that seemed to say, "See? I told you he would need me," and Tanis nodded shortly. A handful of grateful villagers rushed up to their mage and carried him down on their shoulders, Brandella following. The rest of the elves danced on the barricades, showing little of their notorious elven reserve.

"We must send for the women to come home to us!" shouted Canpho. "We have been saved by great magic!" The cheering thundered, and Kishpa, his face etched with weariness, nonetheless glowed in their praise. No wonder, Tanis thought, that the mage would remember this moment in all its detail years later.

Scowarr stayed behind with Tanis. The slender human had switched back into yesterday's rags— minus the bandages—no doubt to preserve his new finery. "Why aren't you going with them?" the half-elf asked. "Yesterday I was their hero," he complained, sulking. Tanis smiled at his all-toohuman friend. "Elves are not as fickle as humans, Scowarr. They won't forget what you did. But right now Kishpa deserves his praise. Don't be jealous of him."

"Who said I was jealous?" Little Shoulders demanded defiantly.

Another leg came over the wall. Then another. The barricade shifted under the weight, groaning as if in anticipation of the horror to come, as the spider pressed down on its forward legs. The grotesque body of the creature suddenly came into view, its back legs swinging forward, as it steadied itself on the top of the battlement.

A moment later, long, bloodsoaked, razor-sharp spider legs began appearing all along the barricade walls. On every side, the legs appeared, clawing, reaching, climbing. Up they came, the duplicate spiders following their master, a vision of death that moved inexorably down the barricades.

The half-elf drew his enchanted sword, the blade glowing red. Scowarr began to follow suit, pulling his own broadsword from its scabbard. "No," said Tanis, stopping the human before the sword was free of its sheath. "Go for help. I have my eye on the real spider, and if I can keep it at bay, the duplicates will not go forward."

Tanis was moved, even as he prepared to fight. "You have broad shoulders, my friend," he said. "Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. But you can help me best by doing as I ask. Get Kishpa now. The spider will not wait while we debate."

The massive spider, touched by magic, sensed the presence of Kishpa's magic in the glowing red metal of Tanis's sword; this was danger. The spider rubbed its horrific legs, and a screeching, scratching sound pierced the air. It was a call, Tanis realized, to its duplicates to form a protective circle around it. They rushed toward their master in a flurry of skittering legs.

Racing into this web of monsters, Tanis's first thought was that he was committing suicide. The spiders towered over him and he questioned what good even an enchanted sword would do when all he could attack were the creatures' legs. Still, he hacked at the limb of the first monster that blocked his way. He sliced off a hunk of one leg; the beast sprayed blood, proving that while it was a duplicate, it was no mirage. It could kill and be killed. And what happened to one duplicate happened to all: blood spewed from numerous severed legs.

Wounded, the creatures flew into a killing rage. Those closest to Tanis tried to slash him with their sharp-edged legs. However, Tanis had a faster, sharper blade. His glowing broadsword, an extension of his arm, was a blur of color, whipping first left, then right, cutting off pieces of spider leg as if he were a mad woodchopper.

Blood ran in the street like water from a spring mountain thaw. But the runoff was neither cool nor refreshing for Tanis; his battle gear was splatterd with the hot liquid that made the cobblestones slippery underfoot.

He had to get to higher ground, he thought, as he fought to keep his balance in the streams of flowing blood. As he slashed with every step, the spiders moved fearfully out of his way until he reached the barricades. It was here that the real spider waited, its army of protectors decimated and bleeding. The real spider suffered none of the wounds of the others.

But from off to his left, a huge spider, massive and untouched, began spinning a web. With a jerky movement of one thin leg, it threw the mass toward the half-elf, who tried unsuccessfully to outrun the sticky substance. The glutinous webbing caught the warrior, who fought uselessly to free himself, beating back the panic that he felt rising in his chest. With two of its forelegs, the spider pulled, knocking Tanis down. The half-elf tumbled off the barricade and fell into the bloody street below, his sword slipping out of his hand and becoming tangled in the spider's web near his feet.

The spider drew the thin, white cocoon closer. The half-elf, stunned from the fall and disoriented, rolled over onto his back. The behemoth, seemingly sure of its kill, brought yet another leg to bear in dragging Tanis closer. When Tanis was nearly underneath it, the beast began lowering its massive body, its maw dripping.

The beast screamed. The roar, so close to Tanis, echoed painfully. Then the spider suddenly turned away from him, releasing its hold. Struggling against the sticky webbing, Tanis twisted to see what had happened.

Looking through the spider's spindly legs, Tanis saw a most unlikely looking savior. It was Mertwigl The old dwarf had come up behind the creature and had crushed the bottom of one of its legs with his battle-axe. And now the monster focused its hate on a new enemy.

The dwarf had mindlessly dropped the heavy leather bag that he had carried out of the alley, attacking the monster with the hope that he could divert its attention away from Tanis. In this he had been successful. But now who was going to save him from the deadly creature's wrath?

Mertwig cursed again, loud and richly profane. There was much battle experience in his aged heart, and Mertwig knew that one did not enter a contest of war with the expectation of getting help from anything except the weapons carried in one's hands. Those weapons—his axe and a knife with a long, curved blade—were not going to be enough against this hovering monstrosity. Nonetheless, Mertwig stood his ground, spinning his axe in a wide arc over his head. He intended to throw it at the spot where the spider's legs joined, hoping to strike one of its bulging eyes, blinding it. Perhaps then he would have a chance to pick up the heavy bag and run. It was his only chance.

The spider appeared to see no threat from the axe whipping in a tight circle around the dwarf's head. It lunged forward with three legs, its body dipping low. Just then the dwarf let go of his axe. The weapon soared upward, cutting through the air on an angle that took it high over the spider's head. It struck nothing except the barricade behind the behemoth.

As soon as Mertwig had distracted the spider, Tanis tried once again to find his broadsword by feeling his way along the edges of the imprisoning web. He couldn't locate it. He wanted to raise his head, but the restraining cocoon around his body made that impossible. Frustrated, he kicked at the lower end of the webbing with his boots, hoping to tear it.

It did not tear or rip. His leg motion, however, caused something caught in the webbing near his right foot to rattle and scrape against the ground. Tanis heard the sound and rejoiced. He had found his sword.

Tanis quickly rolled over on to his right side. Curling up as much as the glutinous webbing would allow, he used his right foot to push the blade higher while he bent downward to reach with his right hand.

Tanis stretched as far as he could. He gained another inch but could not quite grip the sword. His muscles felt as if they were going to snap from the strain, but he pushed them even farther. This time, his fingers were able to wrap around the end of the handle. Then he gave the handle a little tug, and it jumped up into his palm.

Scrambling to his feet, the half-elf saw Mertwig's danger as the dwarf dove behind the sack. Even as Mertwig leaped through the air, Tanis was dashing up the side of the nearby battlement with long, loping strides. At the top, he saw that the dwarf had briefly avoided the spider's sharp-edged legs. The monster would not miss the next time.

The half-elf had to kill it outright, or die in the attempt. Gauging the distance, Tanis ran along the top of the barricade toward the spider's body, and then jumped out into open space. He flew through the air until he landed on the monster's back, his sword his anchor, digging it deep into the spider's body.

The spider reared up in shock and pain, trying frantically to throw Tanis off its back. Tanis slid off to the right but kept both hands firmly wrapped round the handle of his broadsword. The sheer weight of the half-elf's body caused the blade to slowly slice downward, gutting the creature.

The spider tried to get at Tanis with its flailing legs, but the angle was impossible. Then it rammed its side against the barricade, nearly crushing Tanis. The half-elf anticipated the impact and jumped free, pulling the sword out of the spider. But before the monster could right itself, Tanis leaped up yet again. With one swift and powerful stroke, the sword came down on the center of the creature's body, where its nerves and all its senses met. In that moment, all the wounded duplicates vanished. And the one, lone, vanquished spider curled and crumpled heavily to the ground, dead.

Mertwig shoved the half-elf's swimming head down between his knees. "Yeblidod makes people do this when they feel faint. Stay there, and breathe slowly. Ill fetch the healer," the dwarf ordered. But Tanis reached out for Mertwig's arm and held him there. After a few moments, Tanis was able to speak. He lifted his head. "I'm all right," he wheezed. "Help me up."

Tanis would not let him finish. Instead, the half-elf said, "If not for you ..." He fought back another wave of dizziness, then continued. "I owe you my life, Mertwig. If there is anything I can ever do —"

This time Mertwig cut him off, looking up with an insulted expression. "It is I who owed you a great debt for saving my Yebbie." But then he paused as the two heard the distant sound of people storming up the street. "But now that you mention it," Mertwig hurriedly amended, "there is something you can do. I beg of you, tell no one I was here. \bu never saw me. Never. What you did, you did alone. May I have your word?"

"Then it's a solemn oath," said Mertwig. With that, he dashed over to the heavy sack he had dropped earlier, hoisted it over his shoulder, and then ran down a dark alley. He was already out of sight when Scowarr, Kishpa, and Brandella turned a corner, leading hundreds of elves in the half-elf's direction.

Brandella's reaction surprised everyone—especially Kishpa, it seemed. After stopping and taking in the scene, she suddenly dashed ahead of them all and wrapped her arms around the half-elf, hugging him close.

Eyebrows were raised over numerous pairs of almond-shaped eyes, but no one spoke except Kishpa, who, when he reached Tanis, said with considerable restraint, "We are grateful for what you have done for Anka-tavaka." And then he gently but inexorably pulled Brandella away from the bloodstained half-elf.

Tanis, taken aback by Brandella's uninhibited approval, tried to minimize his actions, saying, "I could not have survived if not for the spell Kishpa cast over my sword. Beyond that, I simply had much luck."

Kishpa's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be battling several emotions—discomfiture with Brandella's reaction to Tanis, respect for his bravery, and perhaps jealousy over sharing the spotlight with a half-elf who increasingly appeared to be his rival. Tanis, watching, wondered which sentiment would emerge victorious.

The bonfires burned along the beach, and there was much rejoicing. Scowarr was pleased that Tanis had been right. Throughout late morning and early afternoon, the human was besieged by wellwishers who praised him for his heroism. He had not been forgotten, after all. He beamed.

Just then, Mertwig arrived with Yeblidod on his arm, the bandaged cut on her temple partially concealed by a wide-brimmed hat. She was pale but seemed much stronger. The shock of the attack apparently had worn off, and a good, long rest had done her wonders.

Canpho, the healer, rushed over to Yeblidod to see how she was feeling. He was obviously pleased with the answer because he smiled broadly and called out, "Friends, we have cheered many heroes today, but there is one here now who remains unsung. With her considerable healing skills, she helped to save many of you and your friends from certain death after the first day of battle. Herself nearly killed last night, she has come back to us whole and happy! I give you Yeblidod!"

Mertwig's face was blissful. He looked at his wife with a gaze bordering on reverence. She returned his look with one of awkward embarrassment. "I don't know what to say," she whispered to her husband.

Mertwig quieted the crowd and proclaimed, "Canpho, you and all of our friends know how much my wife and son mean to me. Like yourselves, I wanted to send my family away before the attack. But Yeblidod, like several of the women"—and Kishpa sent a barbed look in Bran-della's direction —"would not go. She sent our boy away for his safety, but she stayed behind to add her healing powers to those of the wondrous Canpho."

One elf, obviously a bit worse for wear after imbibing a few tankards of victory ale, stood on the sand and burst into another hearty cheer—although it was uncertain whether he applauded Yeblidod, Canpho, the victory, or the ale. His compatriots, giggling, pulled him back down on the sand. Mertwig cast a patient look at the sky and waited for silence.

"For my own part, like all of you. I did what I could on the barricades," he said, the sun casting strange shadows on his craggy face. "With the danger we all faced, many of you, I'm sure, made promises to your loved ones that you would do this or do that for them if all went well with the battle. I, too, made such a promise."

The glass globe, which rested comfortably in Mertwig's hand, was mostly clear, with subtle traces of azure and moss. Mertwig used two hands to pass it gently to Yeblidod. "The clearness of the glass is for the purity of my wife's love," he proclaimed, looking steadily at Yeblidod. "The strands of blue celebrate the sky that witnesses this moment. The green threads in the glass . . . well, they simply reminded me of the gentle green eyes of my own true love," he concluded.

The crowd heeved a collective sigh as Yeblidod, oblivious to two huge tears creeping down her cheek, stroked the glass bauble and held it up to the sun. Even Tanis was moved. There were thunderous applause and cheers from everyone—except Kishpa. The mage frowned with dismay and looked at Brandella. She, too, had a worried expression. It did not stop her, however, from clapping her hands in appreciation of the old dwarf's romantic gesture.

After his speech, Mertwig proudly shepherded his wife through the crowd, yet kept his distance from Kishpa. He also stayed away from Tanis. The half-elf was perplexed by Mertwig's strange behavior.

Suddenly, everything went black. The sun disappeared. The beach was no more. There were no sounds from the crowd. All was emptiness, except for the loud, irregular beating of a heart. There was no up or down. No east or west. Tanis found himself trapped in a void, neither rising nor falling. He groped ahead of him, reaching for whatever he might find in the darkness. But there was nothing. Only the thudding that seemed to grow weaker with each passing moment.

The half-elf reached for his sword. It was an empty gesture; there was no enemy to fight. Helpless, not knowing what he should do, Tanis cried out, "You must live! I will save your Brandella. Keep fighting!"

Did Kishpa hear him? Tanis would never know. But a moment later the sun reappeared. He was back on the beach, still perched on the rock, and the celebration was still on. But it was much later in the day than it had been just a moment ago. The sun was low in the sky, sending long, amber shadows across the sand. Lunitari, the red moon, could be spied on the horizon.

More worrisome yet was that the happy idyl of mere seconds before had turned into a confrontation between Mertwig and a pasty-faced elf whom Tanis did not know. The faces of the observers were somber.

"I saw you sneak out of my uncle's house," declared the elf, whose honey-brown hair just brushed his shoulders. "I could not imagine what you were doing there. I knew you and he had been friends once, but that ended long ago. My uncle had no use for you and your dwarvish ways."

"This is a joyous time," the healer said, coming between the young, angry elf and the distressed Mertwig. Canpho faced the elf. "There is no need for these hard words. You're upset by your uncle's death. We understand—"

At the heinous charge, the assembled elves fell silent. The waves breaking on the shore and the crackling of the dimming bonfires were all that could be heard. The faint smell of roast venison mingled with the usual scents of the seashore.

Mertwig lunged at the young elf, who dodged back against his assembled kin. Canpho and several other elves grabbed the dwarf and held him back. "Dwarves!" muttered one old elf, his icy blue eyes reflecting the belief in elven superiority that was one of the least attractive attributes of the race. Tanis, himself the frequent target of hatred by both humans and elves, felt his heart go out to the brave dwarf who dared to live among elves.

The elf began to struggle against the hands that still held him, his feet scuffling gouges in the sand. "I am not lying! Ask the dwarf how he managed to buy the glass ball for his wife. You all know he is poor. Ask him that!"

Tanis had listened to all of this as he searched the crowd for Brandella. At the mention of the bag that Mertwig had supposedly carried, the half-elf gave pause. He had seen the dwarf hiding behind such a bag during the battle with the spider. Yet Mertwig had saved his life in that same battle. All he had asked for in return was Tanis's silence, and so the promise had been given. The half-elf hoped he would not be called upon to break that vow. But mostly he hoped that Mertwig was innocent.

"This is not to be believed," stammered Mertwig. "Are you giving credence to this slander?" Canpho did not answer. Instead, he said, "It would just be best to tell us the name of your seller. That way, we can put these charges to rest."

Mertwig blustered, and Tanis saw Yeblidod's eyes, so recently filled with happy tears, begin to glisten again. "Well, I don't see what good it will do," the dwarf said. "And it's terribly unfair. I want to keep the price I paid private. This ball was a present, and my wife need not know how much I paid for it." He cast the crowd a beseeching glance, but the tide seemed to have turned against him. Only a few elves nodded encouragingly at the beleaguered dwarf.

Loud buzzing filled the air as everyone talked among themselves, asking who might have seen the well-known elven artist last. Finally, someone standing near Kishpa shouted, "My brother said he left the village right after the human retreat."

"This is not the proper forum to debate these charges," the healer intoned. "Tomorrow, the village elders will convene to hear the evidence and make their pronouncement. Let us speak no more of this today."

Mertwig was stunned. "No!" he shouted, struggling against the hands of those he'd once called friends. "I will not be put on trial for giving my wife a gift! I would rather leave Ankatavaka than be subjected to such humiliation."

"You know little of me," Tanis conceded to the villagers of Ankatavaka. "And, to be honest, I know little of you. I do know sacrifice and bravery, though, and I saw it—

Several elves murmured and shifted their weight. "The dwarf has lived here a long time," said an elf who had remained silent up until now. "Let's not be hasty." Several other villagers nodded their support.

Tanis waited for them to be silent. The late-afternoon sun bathed his hair in a reddish glow. His tooled leather also picked up an auburn warmth. Mertwig realized that Tanis would be far more comfortable tracking deer through the forest than addressing several hundred elves. Unlike Scowarr, Mertwig thought, the half-elf speaks out of duty, not love of attention.

Tanis plunged on. "Let it be known that Mertwig, the dwarf, came to my aid when I fought the giant spider. He saved my life at great risk to his own. For reasons he did not explain to me—modesty, perhaps?—he asked that I not give him his due."

"I break my word by saying this, for how can I remain silent?" Tanis continued. "I speak up for him now because such heroism seems hardly to match the picture of a thief that has been painted. I ask you all, would a thief risk his ill-gotten treasure—let alone his own life—to save a stranger from certain death?"

While the elves chattered among themselves, impressed by Tanis's argument, Mertwig heard Brandella say to Kishpa, "He speaks eloquently for your friend. Should you not do the same while you still have the chance?"

The dwarf and Kishpa saw a change in Brandella's expression. The mage stopped speaking; Mertwig also felt his interest quicken. Something had agitated Brandella. He scanned the crowd and saw Tanis weaving his way in the pair's direction.

She shivered. "Ill be fine. Just be still." Brandella made a gallant effort to control her emotions, calmly singing out, "Look, here comes Tanis," as the half-elf approached her on her other side. Tanis nodded pleasantly at Kishpa and then said something in Brandella's ear. Trembling ever so slightly, she nodded her approval, said a few words that the mage and the dwarf could not hear, and the half-elf quickly moved on.

Mertwig could see that all thoughts of his own dilemma had flown from Kishpa's mind. Something was happening between the half-elf and Brandella. And judging from Kishpa's set expression, the mage had vowed to find out exactly what it was.

"I've come to remind you of your promise," Tanis had whispered to Brandella. "The battle is over. It is time for you to leave this place before you—and everything else here—vanishes. Meet me behind Reehsha's shack."

The weaver clung for a moment to the thought of staying behind, of disappearing when the old wizard could dream of her no more. There was something appealing in the notion of dying together in that way. But who would remember Kishpa if she were to die? Who would keep fits memory alive? She agreed to meet Tanis.

From where he stood, Tanis could not view the celebration on the beach, but he could see the shimmering waves of the Straits of Algoni. The sun soon would set in its depths, and the golden fire on the water's surface would disappear. He hoped he would vanish with Brandella just as quickly and easily.

The half-elf suddenly felt his heart beating fast. Now that he was so close to fulfilling his promise to the old mage, he realized with a start, he had no idea how he was going to get back to his own time! Clotnik had told him that Kishpa would do it. But how? And when?

Tanis was deep in thought when he heard a voice softly say, "I am here." She stood at the far side of the garden near the house. The setting sun's slanting rays caught her hair, giving her dark curls a becoming reddish glow— and setting Tanis's heart to an even greater pounding.

Brandella had told Kishpa that she was tired and going home. If there was one thing he knew about the woman, it was that lies did not come naturally to her lips. Distrust, however, came rather easily to him.

Scowarr scooted around the mage and halted in front of him. His smile was ingratiating. "How can I have a good time if my favorite wizard is angry with me?"

"He needs you," Yeblidod said. She pulled at his robes, grabbed at his arms, wailing in her fear and pain. Although Kishpa was desperate to follow after Brandella, he did not have such a hard heart that he could refuse his old friend's wife. Casting a troubled glance in the direction in which Brandella had gone, he sighed deeply and retraced his steps with Yeblidod.

"I can't just leave without saying good-bye," Brandella said mournfully, staring out into the glimmering sea. She and Tanis had been sitting so quietly that a small flock of gulls had come to rest on the sand at their feet, obviously hoping the two had brought food to share.

Tanis knew there might be little time left, but he also knew how hard it was to part from those you love without saying farewell. He thought about Kitiara's abrupt departure. The gulls' hard, black eyes reminded him of the angry gleam in Kit's eyes as she'd stormed away.

"Both." He laughed harshly, thinking of the good-bye slap he'd received from Kit. "But it's better, in the end," he added thoughtfully, "to tell someone how you feel and to be told the same. Without those words to hold onto—for good or ill—you're just adrift."

At that moment, Tanis remembered the enchanted writing instrument that Kishpa had given him. A band of sligs had been after it, the mage had said. He was right: they wouldn't find it here. He fished it out of the inside pocket of his tunic and handed it to her. "This was once Kishpa's," he said with feeling. "He gave it to me so that I might leave it in this time and place. From his hand to my hand to yours, I give it to you to write him his farewell."

She had barely left his side when he called to her, "Please hurry!" He wasn't sure if he said it because he feared time was running out or because he simply needed to see her again as soon as possible.

Scowarr didn't follow Kishpa and Yeblidod. He had watched Tanis, Kishpa, and Brandella, and had seen every move they had made. The funny man was a jester, but no fool; he sensed trouble was brewing, and he figured that as the savior of Ankatavaka, he had a duty to try to stop it. The arrival of Yeblidod had been his great good fortune. But Kishpa would not be put off for long. Scowarr figured to handle this himself, now, quickly, before the great victory of which he was so grand a part was marred by betrayal and murder.

Farewell Notes Tanis's defense of Mertwig had swayed many of the elves of Ankatavaka. But Canpho had seen that Kishpa was unmoved; the mage had so little concern for the dwarf that the red-robed wizard had left without saying so much as a kind word about his old friend. With the celebrants arguing among themselves, each taking sides, the healer decided to settle the issue of Mertwig's guilt or innocence once and for all.

"I am sending a runner after Piklaker, the artist," Canpho said. "When he is brought back, he will tell us all how he was paid for his work. If he was paid in stolen goods, Mertwig will be punished. If he took a promise of work for payment from the dwarf, then it will go hard with the dwarf's accuser. So shall it be."

Everyone seemed pleased with Canpho's decision. All, that is, except Mertwig. "Unthinkable!" he cried, sputtering in his rage. "My honor remains in question? Am I to be considered a criminal until I am proven innocent on the morrow? The insult is too great!"

Yeblidod had sensed that Mertwig was in more trouble than he could handle. With her world seemingly crumbling around her, she had slipped away and run after Kishpa. He had always been her husband's friend. Surely he would not let Mertwig down now when he was needed most.

When Yeblidod returned a short while later with Kishpa in tow, Mertwig still stood railing against the injustice of Canpho's decision. Many among the elves had turned against the dwarf, but Kishpa had it in his power to rally the people behind his friend. But only if he so chose . . .

Mertwig did not see the mage; he was too involved in his own defense. Kishpa heard his old friend declare, "I've lived here my whole life. You all know me, yet it seems that the only friend I have in all of Ankatavaka is a virtual stranger!" At those words, the mage felt a deep shame—and he finally found his voice.

The dwarf was too hurt and angry with the mage to let him speak—no matter what he had to say. In a shrill voice, Mertwig shouted, "You had your chance to speak, Kishpa. You had many chances to speak, but you did not. Do you think I need your help now? Now, when the whole village has turned against me?"

Mertwig stomped, gesticulating, from side to side. 'Too late," declared the dwarf in a rage. "Too late. I've had enough of this place. If I were an elf, this would not be happening. You would not treat one of your own with this contempt. I will not have it! No more. Yeblidod and I are leaving. We shall find a new home where our word will be trusted."

"You call yourself friend?" the dwarf challenged the mage. "Yes. Of course!" Kishpa took several hurried steps that brought him within arm's length of his onetime companion. The rest of the elves stepped back from the two.

"Then make sure my son is sent to me when the ship returns," Mertwig said. 'That shall be your charge. Do you accept it? Or," he added sarcastically, "does it rankle against your lofty code of conduct to see to such matters?"

Confused and unwilling to look at faces she had known for more than one hundred and forty years, the dwarf's wife took her husband's arm and walked with him past Canpho, past Kishpa, past everyone, into self-exile.

The first thing Brandella did when she stepped through the door of her home was to rush to her loom. She lit one candle and feverishly went to work on the unfinished scarf she had planned to give Kishpa. It would be her farewell present. It had to be, for it was the very scarf that he had carried with him until his old age.

Tenderly, she laid the scarf down on her bed, leaning it against his side of the long, down-filled pillow. With shaking hands, she took a piece of parchment from her table and sat down to write. The words did not come easily:

I would never leave you if I had a choice. But Tanis has come for me, and I cannot refuse him. You see, he comes at your behest, through your own magic as an old man. This life that we live, he says, is not real. It is only as you remember it in your ancient days. In your old age, you think of me still. I love you for that—and for so much more. Just as you have not forgotten me, I promise that I will not forget you. And I will always love you. Believe that. Wear this scarf that I wove with my tears at our parting. But cry not for me because I will always be with you.

She thought of so many other things she might have said, so many memories she might have included to warm his soul, but she didn't know where to begin or how to end. So she left it at that, hoping that her declaration of love, unfettered by other thoughts or remembrances, would tell him most clearly how she felt.

She left the note on top of the scarf and headed for the door—until a thought flew into her head. She looked up at the ceiling and stared at the picture she had drawn so long ago. There she saw the image of Tanis carrying her away. But the dream that she had painted did not tell her if Tanis succeeded in his quest. What if Tanis failed? What if he were unable to take her out of Kishpa's memory? What if he escaped, but she did not; what would Tanis remember of her?

She rushed back to her table and wrote another note, this one for the half-elf. She read it over when she was finished and then closed her eyes to keep her emotions in check. One thing was certain: she knew Kishpa would not understand; he must not see it. She folded the note, put it in a metal box, and then remembered that she was to leave behind the writing instrument with which she had written both her letters. She placed the pen in the box with the note to Tanis, covered it with its lid, and then took the box with her as she rushed outside into the deepening twilight.

On her way to Ankatavaka's east gate, Brandella stopped at the spot where Tanis slew the giant spider. A warrior remembers all his battlefields, she thought, so it was here that she buried the metal box. Later, she would speak of this to Tanis. If he survived and she did not, she wanted him to know that he should never feel adrift.

The breach in his friendship with Mertwig was painful enough, but to find out that Brandella had deserted him was more than Kishpa could bear. He stood alone, sobbing quietly to himself, clutching the brightly colored scarf in one hand and her note to him in the other.

His mind raced with a thousand rancid thoughts of betrayal. She spoke of love in her note. What did she know of love if she could leave him feeling this way? What did she know of love if she could so casually disappear with a stranger? And this nonsense of being imagined and remembered in his own mind when he was old—how had the half-elf convinced her of that? Why did Tanis fabricate such lies?

"I should have killed him a hundred times over for this crime he has committed in stealing away my Brandella. My Brandella! Not his! She might have been fooled by his cleverness, but she will learn of his deceit and come back to me more loving than ever. I shall get her back!" he vowed. "I must!"

It still didn't seem possible that she had gone. He stared once again at the scarf and the note in his hands. Suddenly, he screamed something unintelligible, crumpled the letter, and threw it and the scarf against the wall.

Even before they hit and fell to the floor below, he had scrambled after them, scooping them up quickly with the tenderness with which one might pick up a baby. They were all that he had of her. At least for the moment.

"I considered it many times," Brandella replied uneasily. "If I were not used to Kishpa's magic, I would have thought everything you said was the raving of a madman. Even now, I wonder if I'm putting my life in the hands of someone from whom I should flee."

The sun had set, and the only light shining on them came from a pair of torches that illuminated the east gate. Tanis took one of them in hand. "Follow me. There is a place we must go," he announced with more confidence than he felt. "It is from there that Kishpa's magic will deliver us."

Look at her, he thought, glancing over his shoulder. She comes so willingly, so lovingly, to be with her man. What a contrast with Kitiara! The swordswoman had done as she pleased; if anything, Tanis had followed her bidding. But Brandella . . . Tanis scowled. If only this night belonged to him and not to Kishpa. But what were these thoughts that the half-elf was thinking? He had come to do an old man's bidding and found himself contemplating ways to steal the mage's memories for himself. Tanis, not Mertwig, should be the one on trial, the half-elf thought. But Brandella smiled at him with such tenderness. Her hand fit his so perfectly—

"Uh, I guess so," he said. To hide his embarrassment, Tanis waved his torch over the tree stump as if he were examining the cause of his misstep. A shadow crossed the top of the stump when the light passed near by. "Hollow," said the half-elf. "It seems we are close. This is where Scowarr saved my life. That means I was standing over there when I first appeared in this place." He pointed his torch toward the center of a grassy meadow.

"Listen to me," she ordered, drawing him close. "If you should return to your world without me ... if I cannot leave Kishpa's memory ... if I should disappear .. . then go to the spot where you killed the giant spider. I left something for you there, at the foot of the barricade, buried in a box. It is only for you. For you, Tanis. Do you understand?"

Tanis felt a wave of relief. They would not be left to die in the mage's memory, after all. But then Tanis's body went rigid with shock. The voice was that of a young man, not an old mage lying near death. And Tanis felt the point of a knife held tightly against his back.

Tanis immediately jumped away from the mage, and the blade jabbed into air. But Kishpa was quick on his feet, too. He pounced forward as Tanis spun around, and the half-elf saw the knife slash down at him.

"I could kill you with my magic," shouted Kishpa, scrambling upright, his face dark with rage, "but I would rather do it with my bare hands. You're a traitor and a thief. You betrayed my trust, and you have stolen my woman."

Kishpa did not stop. Tanis elbowed her out of the way, leaving himself wide open to the mage's attack. Before Tanis could move, though, a small figure leaped out of the darkness, smashing into Kishpa's shoulder, spinning him around, and sending him sprawling to the ground.

The mage was more startled than stunned. He recovered quickly, scrambling back to his feet. Little Shoulders, however, did not fare so well. He hit the ground head-first and lay still, blood oozing from his nose.

'Then you must kill me, too!" Brandella said defiantly. "I am his friend, as well. Just as you should be." She stepped in front of Kishpa, blocking his path to the stalwart human who lay stunned on the forest clearing floor.

'This is madness/' shouted the mage. He turned away from Scowarr and advanced upon Tanis, sword waving menacingly in his hand. "Who sent you here?" demanded Kishpa. "What evil wizardry is behind all of this?"

With that, Kishpa whipped his knife in an arc toward Tanis's head. The half-elf instinctively tried to lift his own sword to block the dagger. But he couldn't. The red glow had disappeared, and the sword was too heavy to lift. At the last possible instant, Tanis jumped out of the way, his leather tunic slashed by Kishpa's blade.

With the grace of a cat, the weaver took long, purposeful strides to stand next to Tanis. She held the flaming torch in one hand, and with her other she took Tanis's arm. Then she lifted her eyes to the starry sky and called out, "Kishpa! Wizard of wisdom and love, hear me now in your mind's eye. Forgive yourself for your callow, jealous, youthful ways. I know you for the kind and generous man you have always been. And so shall I always remember you. Free me now to remember you as you have remembered me."

She began to loosen her grip, but Tanis would not let her hand go free. The air no longer carried the sweet scent of a woodland; it had no smell at all. The wind no longer caressed him; it had ceased to blow. The stars were no longer mysterious; they had vanished into a void of black. Something was happening . . .

Tanis started to speak, to warn them, but he didn't get the chance. The world vanished. There was no light, no dark; there were no shades of gray. No warmth, no chill, no feeling at all. Nothing existed except the void . .. and the slow, irregular beating of a heart. . . and Brandella. She floated in this netherworld with him, holding his arm, yet seemingly miles away. It looked as if she were trying to say something, but he couldn't understand her in the oppressive gloom. Despite his elvensight, he could barely see her. When he tried to pull her closer, he discovered that he couldn't move his limbs. When he tried to call to her, he found that the sound of his voice was drowned out by the dull pounding of the unseen heart.

Then, without any warning, the heart began to beat faster. And stronger. The gloom slowly lifted. Colors, sounds, and familiar sights returned. But not the familiar sight of Kishpa in a jealous rage. The old wizard's memory had shifted—perhaps intentionally, Tanis thought— and the half-elf now found himself walking with his head turned, looking at Brandella. She was about to speak to him when he stumbled into something and nearly lost his balance.

"Not for myself," she said. "For Kishpa. I sensed him, his closeness, in a way I have never experienced before. I spoke to him. He knew it was me, and I felt his joy. Did you hear his heart begin to pound? He wants so much to livel"

Tanis countered, "And he wants so much to help you live. Look!" The half-elf indicated the stump. "Don't you see? He brought us back in time to where I tripped on this hollow tree trunk. He doesn't want us to get caught by his younger self again. He's given us a chance, and we've got to make the most of it." His mind swirled with ideas. "Give me three long strips of cloth," Tanis demanded.

A shaft of light shot up into the Night sky from in-side the hollow stump. Kishpa saw it and stealthily approached. He wondered if Tanis and Brandella had taken to the tunnels underneath the cliffs. That would explain the light. Clearly, he was not far behind them.

Tanis crouched behind the tree stump, shrouded in the shadows thrown by Brandella's torch. He heard Kishpa before he saw him. With his keen elvensight, he soon saw the mage, as well. He also saw the knife.

He didn't want to hurt the mage, but he didn't wish to get hurt—or killed—himself either. And he certainly didn't want to kill the wizard, if for no other reason than that such an action might cause the mage to cease to exist in the future. In such an instance, killing the young Kishpa would be tantamount to killing himself and Brandella.

Why wouldn't the dying old man bring them out of his memory? He'd had the chance, but he didn't do it. Or maybe he couldn't do it. Tanis shook his head. He refused to believe that. Kishpa was getting close, and Tanis cursed himself for letting his mind wander. He had to time his actions perfectly, or the mage's knife would be buried in his body right up to the hilt . . . and it was a long blade.

The half-elf changed his position ever so slightly, like an animal readying itself to spring at its prey. And Kishpa stopped. It was almost as if he sensed the danger. Tanis realized that the wizard's strong magic might have warned him. There was no way of knowing for sure, so the half-elf kept calm and waited for Kishpa to make his next move.

Tanis, watching him come closer, leaned farther back behind the cover of the stump to make sure he could not be seen. Even when the mage was illuminated by the light from inside the hollow tree, Tanis remained still, unmov-ing, waiting.

No longer in the darkness, the mage seemed emboldened to move more quickly. Three swift steps took him to the edge of the tree stump, where he leaned over to look down. Before Kishpa could focus his eyes on the flaming torch below, Tanis rose up from his hiding place, swinging his right fist at the mage's head.

His powerful right hand was just about to hit its mark when there was a blur of motion and a small figure hurtled out of the darkness, striking both Kishpa and Tanis. The impact sent them spinning away from each other.

They grappled on the ground, Tanis desperately trying to avoid the wild swinging of Kishpa's knife. He had little success. The blade slashed the half-elf's upper right arm, leaving a gash that sent blood streaming down his wrist. Kishpa struggled to deliver a more penetrating blow while Tanis tried to pin down the mage's free-swinging hand. Kishpa was more successful than the half-elf; this time, the blade sliced into Tanis's upper back, cutting through his tunic and leaving a thin trail of blood oozing across his left shoulder in a jagged diagonal.

When Tanis felt the blade cutting his flesh for a second time, the pain finally drove him to smash his fist hard against Kishpa's left shoulder. The blow struck the mage like a hammer, and his hand spasmed, but he would not drop the knife.

Tanis had been so consumed with stripping Kishpa of his blade, however, that he did not pay enough attention to the mage's other hand. Kishpa scooped up a rock and bashed it against the back of Tanis's head. The half-elf instantly went limp.

Scowarr watched the entire fight with his jaw hanging halfway down his chest. Kishpa, trapped under the half-elf, tried to push his opponent off his body. Tanis may not have known where he was or who he was fighting, but in a fog of pain and confusion, he struggled to stay on top of Kishpa.

The mage hit him again with the rock, except this time the blow struck Tanis's back rather than his head. The fresh shock of the pain helped clear the half-elf's befuddled brain. Before the mage could hit him again, Tanis grabbed Kishpa by the hair, slamming his head against the ground until the mage's eyes glazed over and he stopped struggling.

"Is this necessary?" she demanded, turning toward Tanis. The half-elf managed to rise to his feet, but his legs were wobbly. "If we're going to get a head start, it is," he said.

"A head start to where?" she asked, examining the fabric that held Kishpa helpless. Tanis gave her a warning look, but she gestured him away. "Perhaps we must bind him, but I will make sure his bonds aren't too tight. A head start to where?" she repeated.

"To the place where the old Kishpa is dying," he explained. "It's on the way toward Solace. I have been thinking; maybe we have to be close to that spot. Maybe that's why he couldn't bring us out of his memory: we're too far away."

"I love you," she said, "but Tanis is telling the truth. Listen to me: I heard your ancient, brave heart beating, and I spoke to you. I sensed your presence all around me. You're dying, remembering how we used to be. Except that I will be no more when you . . . when you die. You didn't want that, so you sent Tanis to get me. I know it sounds impossible, but it's true. I wish you could believe it."

Kishpa grew wild-eyed with frustration and made more sounds that she could not understand. He obviously wanted her to remove the gag. She shook her head and stroked his hair, as black as hers but straight.

"I'm going with Tanis to the place where you're dying, nearly a hundred years in the future," she whispered. "He hopes that the magic will work better there. No matter what happens—" She couldn't say anymore. She simply leaned over him, hugged him, and kissed his eyes.

"He's eventually going to work himself out of his bonds," said Little Shoulders. "When he does, what he'd do to me if I were here would not be funny. And funny is my life's work. So I'm going with the two of you."

Traveling at night was unheard of; the roads could be deadly. A person could just as easily fall into a ditch and break a leg in the darkness as fall into a pack of thieves. Tanis, Brandella, and Scowarr had no choice, however. They had to brave the blackness.

She cut him off, saying, "Never mind. I know. You didn't want to worry me. Or the wounds don't hurt. Or some other silly excuse. Well, we're stopping right here and now and cleaning those wounds so that you don't die on us."

"Quiet!" she ordered. This was no introspective weaver; Tanis saw the Brandella who had rained arrows on the attacking humans—was it less than a day before? "You risked your life for me; the least I can do is risk my future for you," she said briskly. "We're stopping!"

"We'll make better time in the morning if we get some sleep before dawn," Scowarr suggested after he tripped and fell over a boulder on the side of the trail. He rubbed the shinbone he'd barked against the granite. "He's right," conceded Brandella. Reluctantly, Tanis agreed. They found a flat, grassy stretch of ground just off the trail and settled in for a short rest. Scowarr offered to take the first watch. He promptly fell asleep.

Tanis bolted awake. A sound had penetrated his slumber. Blinking his eyes in the gray, misty dawn, he saw that the torch had gone out. He sat up and listened again, wondering what had awakened him. Was it an animal in the brush? Could it simply have been a dream? Had Scowarr snored too loudly?

He left the scabbard behind; his exposed sword glowed red with anticipation. Trees flashed by as he raced down the path. The screaming was louder now. He was getting close, and he slowed. The cries seemed to be coming from just beyond the bend.

The trail turned, and so did he—right into a band of four goblins who were attacking the dwarf, Mertwig, I and his wife, Yeblidod. She was screaming, and pelting f the orange creatures with rocks. Mertwig was bleeding, ' but he continued to battle the beasts. However, there were simply too many of the creatures for the game dwarf. He swung his powerful battle-axe, yet it was not enough. He had been stabbed several times, and a long, broken goblin tooth protruded from his right leg. Nevertheless, he fought on.

The creatures, who tended to enjoy a fight as long as the odds were heavily in their favor, didn't seem to mind a second opponent. Two to one weren't bad odds, after all, and the exhausted dwarf was ready to fall.

The tallest of the goblins, a dirty orange monster with lemon yellow eyes, stood closest to Tanis. It swiveled to face the half-elf, holding a broadsword in one hand and a dub that looked suspiciously like a human thigh bone in the other. With a simple flick of his wrist, the tall goblin threw the club directly at Tanis's head. It flew end over end, and Tanis used his sword to split the bone in half— the long way!

The startled creature who had tossed the club snorted and muttered a word in goblin. Tanis, who spoke a few phrases of the goblin tongue, smiled humorlessly. The word had been "Luck!" The goblin swung his sword at the oncoming stranger, obviously expecting Tanis to foolishly run right into the cutting edge of his blade. Tanis kept coming. Luck, indeed.

Tanis did run into the arc of the swinging edge of the goblin's sword, but he deftly parried the blow. Stepping in close, he swung his balled fist into the creature's throat. The goblin fell to the ground, choking.

Seeing this, the three others abandoned their fight with Mertwig to take on the surprising new threat. Two of the goblins came at Tanis, one beast swinging a battle-axe in its long arms, the other goblin a bloody broadsword. The third began to circle around behind the half-elf, holding a hatchet.

Scowarr ran to the downed goblin to make sure it didn't rise again. He kneeled over the dazed creature and asked, "Are you the kind of unlucky goblin who, if it rained soup, would only have a fork in your hand?"

The two remaining goblins bared their sharp fangs; the intruders had evened the odds. Tanis took advantage of the goblins' surprise to impale his sword in the belly of one of them, but the hideous being grabbed hold of the blade and wouldn't let go. As the dying creature twisted away from Tanis, it pulled the sword out of the half-elf's hand. At the same moment, the other goblin struck Tanis a glancing blow with his battle-axe, hitting him in the same spot on the shoulder that Kishpa had cut. Tanis winced in pain and backed away, nearly tripping over a tree root.

The goblin bandit pressed its advantage and swung again. Tanis jumped out of the way but this time lost his footing and fell. The final goblin grinned—until Mertwig's battle-axe struck him from behind, crushing his skull.

Tanis pulled the tooth out of Mertwig's leg, and then Yeblidod used her healing powers on her husband. At least, she tried. The dwarf was badly hurt; that he had fought so nobly and for so long was a testament to his brave heart. That he lived at all as the sun rose over Krynn was due entirely to Yeblidod.

"You saved my life a second time," Tanis humbly told the dying dwarf. Mertwig shook his head and coughed. Smears of blood appeared on his lips. "You stood up for me . . . twice," he finally rasped. "You were there . . . when I needed . . . needed help most. I won't forget."

"You can't continue on," Tanis suddenly told the dwar-ven woman. "Mertwig is too ill. You, yourself, have been through an ordeal. You must go back to Ankatavaka. His pride is less important now than his life."

"Kishpa and you have been so close for so long—and it has come to this," the weaver said in hushed tones. The two women rose and walked a short distance away, arms around each other's waist.

"Yeblidod will be there with him," the half-elf told Brandella quietly. She nodded and silently began to sob.

They traveled at a relentless pace, never knowing how close behind them the young Kishpa might be and never knowing when the blackness of death might snuff out their hope of leaving the ancient wizard's memory.

In two days' time, they reached the woods in which Tanis would one day, many years hence, survive a terrible fire and befriend a dying mage. The trees were not as tall as Tanis remembered them from before the fire, nor was the pond as wide. Yet the place where Kishpa would one day sit and set his magic in motion was easily found. Tanis brought Brandella to the spot and said, "He is thinking of you right now from this very place."

Scowarr, his new suit showing signs of wear but his tufted hair surprisingly tidy, tossed a last stone into the water and then walked to where the half-elf stood with Brandella. He hugged them both. "I hate farewells," he said. 'They're never funny."

Tanis wandered into the woods, away from the pond. His limbs ached with fatigue, and his head hurt from trying to devise some other way to reach the old Kishpa. In the end, he realized that he had to face up to the truth: He was never leaving this place. He had tried and failed. The best Tanis could hope for was that the old mage would live a little longer so that Tanis might have time for himself before the inevitable plunge into darkness.

Knowing now that this would be the last world that he would see, Tanis felt a terrible loneliness. He had promised that he would meet his old friends in five years at the Inn of the Last Home. It was a reunion that would never be. When he failed to appear, they would all wonder what had become of him. Kit would think he was avoiding her—if she herself showed up. Sturm might talk about going to look for him, and Caramon would jump at the chance for such an adventure. But Raistlin, smiling darkly, would never allow his brother to begin such a quest. Raistlin. Would the young mage suspect that it was magic that had kept Tanis from their reunion? Tas would be hurt that the half-elf had not come back, but then he'd likely forget all about it because that was the way of kender.

It was Flint whom Tanis felt worst about. The old dwarf had been brother, father, uncle, and friend to him. It would go hard with Flint if he never returned. The old dwarf was gruff and full of bluster, but he had a heart that was very capable of breaking. And break it would. Flint would guess what the others would not let themselves think: If Tanis didn't show up at the Inn of the Last Home, it meant that he was dead. He desperately wished to spare Flint some of the pain that would come on that distant day.

The half-elf ran back through the woods, racing for the clearing where Brandella and Scowarr waited for him. He pushed through tree branches and hurtled over bushes, not because he knew how to leave the mage's memory, but because he was going home to see his dearest friend. Of all his companions, only Flint Fireforge existed in this time. Dwarves easily lived more than a hundred years. Flint would be young and dashing—or at least as dashing as Flint could ever be, Tanis amended.

Brandella and Scowarr sat wide-eyed with surprise as he ran toward them. He had just broken through the trees and was coming around the far side of the pond when it happened: Everything changed.

The pond, the trees, the rolling hills beyond—all disappeared, to be instantly replaced by a view of Solace! It would have taken days to walk it from the glade, yet he had arrived in Solace in the blink of an eye. It was as if his wish had come true. Or had it?

He looked down, unable to meet Brandella's gaze any longer, as he said, "Whatever time is left, you should spend with your mage." He wanted to reach out and hold her, but instead he said, "Find him, Brandella. Let him know that you love him." And then he spoke his own feelings: "You should let the one you love know that you will always treasure her." His eyes shone. "Always."

Tanis knocked on the rounded door. Weeds waved around the flat stones that led to Flint's groundlevel abode. The hill dwarf had been leery at first of the prospect of living in trees, Tanis remembered; the call of ale would be strong enough to lure Flint up the spiral stairway to the Inn of the Last Home, but the dwarf couldn't help preferring lower altitudes for his own lodgings. The oaken door showed the talents of the metalsmith within—hinges, bolts, door handle crafted with artistry.

Tanis heard the latch give way. Then the door swung open, revealing a youthful, if drunken, Flint Fireforge. The half-elf could only marvel at the unlined face, the nose roundish but not yet bulbous, the body trim if a lit-tly pudgy. Still, there were the ruddy cheeks, the bushy beard, the bright eyes. Tanis hadn't realized how lonely he was until he saw his old friend. Nearly washed away in a flood of emotions, Tanis blurted, "I found you!"

The dwarf peered at the half-elf standing in the doorway. "You don't look familiar. You don't sound familiar. You don't even smell familiar," Flint said irascibly. "You look like you've been through too many battles in too little time."

Nonetheless, Flint felt a strange kinship with the half-elf, perhaps because of the need he could see in the stranger's face. He had known need like that himself. Or maybe, thought the dwarf, I'm just drunk. Flint asked in an unfriendly tone, 'Talk? What about?" "Can I come in?"

The two old friends who had yet to meet in the real world sat across from each other, one eating potatoes, the other drinking ale. Tanis took in the sight of the big main room of the inn. The walls were dirty with soot; the stained glass windows were so grimy that you couldn't tell if it was day or night. The floor looked as if it hadn't been washed in a month. And the odor defied description. Tanis had never appreciated Otik so much until that moment. As for the present innkeeper, he seemed a decent, if slovenly, sort. He was tall and skinny with a crooked nose and sad green eyes. Flint called him "Hey, You."

The innkeeper was right behind him, listening. "I don't know about the other things you mentioned, young fellow, but Flint here certainly does need someone to drag him out of this place when he's had too much to drink and gets into a fight." He wrinkled a crooked nose, grabbed Flint's tankard, and swabbed the table with a rag that seemed to leave the wooden surface greasier than before.

Tanis smiled. He had pulled the feisty dwarf out of nearly every tavern in Ansalon when they'd traveled the countryside together. But that wouldn't happen for decades yet. "Someday," he said softly to Flint, "you'll have a helper who will do all those things for you."

Hey, You poured Tanis some ale to help him wash away the food caught in his throat. The half-elf gratefully drank and was just catching his breath when a hand came down hard on his right shoulder.

Tanis was tired of running from the Mage. more than that, he was tired of hearing Kishpa's name on Bran-della's lips. What had the mage sacrificed for the woman? What had the mage done to show his deep affection? As far as Tanis was concerned, Kishpa ran a poor second to him in devotion to Brandella. Yet the woman loved Kishpa above all else. And that rankled.

The hand that rested on his shoulder did not worry the half-elf. It was the other hand that concerned him. Once before, Kishpa had held a knife to his back, and he might again. The way Tanis was feeling just then, he was of a mind to break that hand in as many places as he could. Tanis grabbed the hand on his shoulder and jerked forward with his whole body, throwing the mage over his head. Over the surprised Flint's head, as well.

"I'll pay for anything he breaks," offered Flint. "I haven't seen a good fight since—" "Since this morning," said Hey, You. "Helps me digest my breakfast," explained the dwarf. "Did you just see that blow to the belly? That fellow I was drinking with sure knows how to throw a punch." "Don't count that other one out," cautioned the innkeeper. "He seems to be able to absorb the punishment." Tanis fought with a cold fury, his fists burying Kishpa under an avalanche of punches to the stomach and head. The mage rocked with each blow, yet he didn't break and he didn't bleed. Nor, strangely, did he fight back.

Tanis eased his way to the left, edging closer to an overturned chair while Kishpa strode toward the half-elf. When Kishpa was right in front of him, Tanis picked up one of the chair's upturned legs and smashed it over the mage's head. It shattered into a dozen pieces. But Kishpa just stood there, giving Tanis a malevolent smile.

Tanis felt a curious satisfaction. "I don't know. You've missed her." The half-elf didn't see the mage's hands move. Nobody saw them. Nonetheless, Tanis was struck in the eye by a punch that staggered him. An unseen fist hit him in the cheekbone, nearly knocking him senseless and snapping his head to one side so hard that he spun halfway around. A blow to the stomach left him on his knees. In all of this, Kishpa never moved. Nor did he continue the pummeling once Tanis was down. He merely took a deep breath as though he had labored hard and then quietly stood over the fallen half-elf.

He was hardly helpless, though, without his favorite weapon; as Tanis sat up, Flint kneed Kishpa in the small of the back, eliciting a groan from the mage. "That will teach you to pick on folks with your magic!" the dwarf declared. Then he threw a punch meant to strike the side of the mage's head. He missed, hitting Tanis in the chest, instead.

Meanwhile, Kishpa muttered several words under his breath, words that neither Tanis nor Flint had ever heard before. Without warning, Flint was lifted off the mage's back as if he were a puppet on a set of strings. He hovered in the air near the ceiling.

The mage twisted to face the door. His eyes sparkled with joy, and a huge grin lit his face. He let go of Tanis and ran to his Brandella. When he did so, Tanis stayed on his feet, but Flint suddenly fell to the floor, hitting the wooden planks with a thud.

Meanwhile, Brandella fought free of Kishpa. The mage's expression instantly turned somber. "What's wrong?" he asked, following her into the Inn.

"I tried to tell you when that gag was in my mouth," Kishpa explained, "but none of you would take it out and listen to me. What you said to me . . . made sense. I believe you. I've been trying to catch up to you to tell you."

"Men!" exhorted Brandella. Then she kissed Kishpa again and straightened his robes. "It was all for nothing," she said pensively. "There will be no good-byes between us because we can't leave. It seems—"

Tanis heard the wizard and blinked several times, trying to remember what Clotnik had told him so long ago. He'd said it was Kishpa who would bring them back to the present. But he hadn't said which Kishpa. Tanis laughed harshly. All along, he had been trying to get the wrong Kishpa to help them while running away from the right one!

With the help of Scowarr, Tanis hobbled over to where Kishpa and Brandella were lost in each others' arms. He cleared his throat to get their attention, and then said, "It would be better not to wait. If you can free us from the ancient Kishpa's memory, you should do it soon."

The mage reluctantly pulled away from Brandella and nodded. "I don't know if my magic will work. I've rethought all of my spells, trying to find a new combination of conjurings that will have the desired effect. I don't know if I can do it."

As Scowarr spoke in low tones, Tanis drifted toward Brandella and Kishpa. The mage saw him coming and regretfully led the woman to the doorway of the Inn of the Last Home. Tanis joined her there, taking her hand.

Kishpa kissed her one last time. And then he surprised Tanis by saying, "Half-Elven, there is no one I would entrust her with but you. I thank you for coming to get her. I know you risked not only your life but your world to do this thing for me. Don't think it escapes me."

The mage stepped back, gave Brandella a last, loving look, and then closed his eyes. Kishpa's lips began to move. At first, Tanis didn't hear him say anything. Soon, though, he could make out the faint sound of odd words spoken in a peculiar rhythm. The chanting became louder.

Tanis felt the pull of the magic. Soon his mind swirled with images. He saw the burnt glade next to the pond. He saw ashes floating in the water. He heard the ragged breathing of the ancient Kishpa. But it was a blur— unreal, untouchable, yet somehow tangible. He and Brandella floated there, looking down from on high as if they were seeing a picture in a cloud that kept changing with the wind.

Suddenly, he noticed a change. Something that he had noted was no longer there. Then he realized: The breathing had stopped. The ground beneath his feet vanished. The glade disappeared. The sights, the smells, all were no more. Everything was gone except for an impenetrable darkness and the familiar sound of a beating heart. Except it was beating too slowly, irregularly. Tanis was still holding Brandella's hand, but he could not see her in the blackness.

The darkness loomed empty, bleak, and seemingly never-ending . . . until they saw a spot of light far in the distance. It was tiny but bright. And it was getting ever closer. Was it a sun? A moon? A fire that would consume them? All Tanis knew was that they were hurtling straight toward it.

The bright light was not a star, a moon, or a fire. It was merely an opening at the end of an almost infinite corridor, much like the bright light one sees when looking at the opening of a mine from deep inside the shaft.

A short, baritone chuckle broke the silence. "Why, this place is Death. Everyone who comes here knows that." Flower gardens in Death? Tanis wondered. A white and black tulip slowly came into focus before him, then drifted out again.

Tanis studied the tulip. When it came back into focus again, it was lavender and black. He shook his head, hoping to clear it, and a cloud of unfocused multicolored snow drifted down past his eyes. "I have no idea. I certainly hope not."

Their eyes slowly stopped tearing, and they were able to see their surroundings. They saw the flowers and the trees. And they saw the man who glared at them. He was a middle-aged human of stature, with a full beard, elegantly sweeping mustache, and sinewy arms. He obviously had been a well-built, powerful man in his youth.

"I've never seen flowers like that," she said. 'They're beautiful." She knelt to smell a blossoming yellow and green flower with splotches of pink and red on its petals. The man, seemingly mollified, smiled indulgently down on her.

"Everything except us," corrected Brandella in a hopeful voice. Flashing them an odd look, the gardener turned and said, as he walked away, "If that's so, then you'll regret it soon enough."

"Why, you'll starve," said the man over his shoulder in a matter-of-fact voice. 'There's nothing to eat here. Nothing. It's all dead: the animals, the fruits, even the trees. All dead. Just like you will be if you don't get out of here."

The man calmly changed direction and advanced on Tanis. He didn't seem threatening in the least, so Tanis didn't deign to protect himself. He should have. Like a bolt of lightning, the man's hand shot across and his fingers encircled Tanis's throat. He squeezed.

Tanis tried to pry his attacker's bony fingers away from his wind pipe, but the grip was like that of death itself. Blue spots began to dance before the half-elf's eyes. 'Tanis!" Brandella cried. "I... can't move." She stood a few feet away, frozen in the act of reaching to help him. The half-elf was on the verge of passing out when the man let go of him. Tanis staggered and fell to the smooth tile path, gasping for air. Tanis sensed, rather than saw, Brandella's body relax from its rigid stance, and he looked up at the gardener, who enunciated angrily, "My hill is more than 'very nice.' Look, you, at the hills and mountains all around. What do you see?"

Tanis looked, but he could not speak. It was Brandella who answered. "Hundreds, maybe thousands, of tall, dark mountains in every direction," she said tentatively. "Very good," the man said, face pallid and eyes terrible. Tanis realized how formidable he must have been in life. The man's lips were thin and tight with anger. Nearby, in vivid contrast to the gardener's mood, pink petals drifted from a small bush to the ground.

"And my mountain is small and white. Those other peaks there, and there, and there"—and he stressed each word with a stab of a bony finger—"are the lies and terrible crimes of my neighbors. My hill represents my failings when I lived on Krynn. I'm not perfect. I had my faults."

Brandella stepped carefully before the man. "With all due respect," she said, obviously hoping not to anger the garden's caretaker, "everyone may come here, but some may come before their time. I don't mean that they die young, but that they don't belong here at all. Not yet. And if that is so, there must be a way to go back. Could you not tell us how we might return?"

The man watched the weaver fixedly. "Nicely said," he finally offered, bowing with a flair that matched his white suit. "Spoken with respect and grace. Perhaps I shall tell you what I know, after all."

"You're very kind," Brandella said sweetly, mustering all of her considerable charm. By the gods, she's going to curtsy, Tanis thought, still seated, and started to speak, but the woman silenced him with a look. She remained standing, however.

The man pointed toward the horizon at the tallest of the forbidding mountains. "It is said that on the other side of Fistandantilus's mountain there lies a portal that leads back to Life. Of course, to my knowledge, no one has ever scaled the wizard's monument to evil. Not even Fistandantilus himself. He lives on this side of it, always in its shadow, never seeing the light of day."

Their guide gave him a long, hard look. "Half-elf, your human side occasionally oversteps the elven," he commented. Tanis swallowed nervously but kept his expression blank. He started to rise, in case the man attacked him again.

"I lived my life," the man finally answered. "I lived it well. There is little more I could do except grow older and more doddering. I am also told by those who have come after me that I left behind something of a reputation. Why spoil it? Besides, I have my flowers here—and the peace, usually," he added with a pointed look at Tanis, "to tend to them. Is that answer enough for you, my inquisitive young despoiler of gardens?"

A Small Sacrifice Tanis stopped breathing and grew dizzy; the shock was so great. In a whisper, he finally managed to croak, "Huma of the Lance . . ."

They marched for hours upon end, yet the sun never moved from its position directly overhead, the clouds did not sweep across the sky, and the dead who populated this world seemed not to stir. Finally they chanced upon an old, haggard woman with scraggly gray hair and a cherubic-looking little blond boy, who were fixing a wagon wheel. The wagon leaned at a precarious angle at a crossroad that sat hard upon a hill, down which streamed a fast-running brook.

"Can you help me and my grandson?" pleaded the woman in an aged, cracking voice. Dressed in a ragged, dark-blue dress that Tanis was sure hadn't been in fashion for centuries, the hag leaned wearily against the wagon. The little boy, wearing a similarly outdated tight-fitting shirt and breeches the color of dried blood, appeared subdued.

The woman's skin was mottled with age spots and her hair was faded. She straightened and moved away from the wagon. "Not the wheel," she said sharply, eyes glinting over a thin nose. 'The wagon can never be fixed. It's something else that we need."

The woman scowled. "Nothing much," she said weakly. Her voice broke and an expression of infinite melancholy spread over her features. "Only a little kindness." Tanis felt guilt wash over him like the petals of Huma's flowers. "A small sacrifice," she continued pathetically. "Perhaps your lives."

Even from a distance, the half-elf could see the pair's eyes turn to fire, burning in their sockets with bright blue flame. The boy laughed again. "I see you!" he cried happily at Tanis and Brandella. "I see you live and that your hearts still beat." He turned to the old woman and excitedly cried, 'They still beat. They beat!"

The hag laughed along with the child as they jumped off the wagon and, slowly, confidently, advanced toward Tanis and Brandella. The crone slowly pulled her hand out from behind her back, revealing a small shovel with razor-sharp edges. It looked like a macabre version of one of Flint's children's toys, something to use to dig a modest hole in a very hard surface. She held the trowel in front of her body as if it were a weapon, while she and the boy began to circle to the right.

With their next footfall, Tanis and Brandella left the tall grass and stepped on a thin layer of leaves and sticks. In that moment, the ground beneath their feet broke apart with a splintering crack. They scrambled to keep their footing, kicking over a pile of small stones, but their momentum sent them falling into a fifteen-foot-deep pit in the earth.

Neither was badly hurt; the soft, damp soil had cushioned the worst of their fall. They scrambled to a crouch as two bloodless faces with blue-flame eyes appeared at the edge above them. "It worked, grandma!" the lad said to the harridan.

"Your beating hearts!" cried the old woman, shaking the trowel. 'To hold the beating heart of a living person in your hands is to leave Death and return to Life. We've waited at this crossroads three thousand eight hundred and eighty one years, hoping this day would come." She clapped her hands. "Our patience has been rewarded."

"Not yet, it hasn't," Tanis challenged. "You don't know for certain that that tale is true. We were told that the path out of Death is to be found on the other side of Fis-tandantilus's mountain. And we were told this by none other than Huma of the Lance!"

Tanis cast the hag a stunned look. "Why, the most famous hero in all of Krynn," he shouted. She appeared to consider, then shook her head. "Must have been after my time. Never heard of him," she said with a shrug.

"Wrong!" the little blond boy chirped. "You'll grow weak from hunger. You need to eat." He nodded wisely. "I used to eat. Food was good. I liked soup. Didn't I, Grandma?" he asked, tugging at the woman's blue skirts.

"You will go to sleep before you die," the little boy continued. 'Then we'll climb down and cut you open with grandma's shovel. Hold your hearts in our hands, go back to Life, and eat soup. Right, Grandma?"

Brandella plopped down with a sigh. "I know this isn't the time to mention it," she said, "but I'm getting hungry. And I'm awfully thirsty, too." She sighed again and picked at a thread hanging from her soft leather slippers.

They sat silently for a few moments, contemplating the truth of her words, until Brandella angrily banged her fist against the side of the pit. A large clump of dirt fell to the ground. Looking at the small hole she had made in the wall of their tomb, she lifted her head, saying, 'That's it!"

She scrabbled toward the half-elf, ignoring the dirt she was grinding into the knees of her woven trousers. 'The stream bends right behind this pit. That's probably why the ground is so soft and damp. Don't you see?" she exclaimed, her voice rising, "I think I know how we can get-"

Chastened, she nodded her head, and Tanis removed his hand from her mouth, leaving a dirty smudge on her cheek. She leaned close to the half-elf and in a low voice said, "The ground is so soft that we can dig our way out of here. The two up there won't have any idea where we're coming up."

Sweat poured from their bodies as Tanis and Brandella clawed and scraped at the earth, flinging big clumps of wet dirt through their legs like dogs digging a hole for a bone. The harder they worked, the more they sweated, and the more they sweated, the drier became their throats.

Every muscle in Tanis's body cried out from the work he was doing in such cramped quarters. Brandella fared no better with fingernails that were broken and bloody. Dirt caked their clothes, inside and out, and generous helpings of earth crept into their eyes, ears, and mouths.

A mud puddle quickly formed at the base of the tunnel, and a short while later the water flow grew from a trickle into a thin but steady stream. Soon, the whole bottom of the gently sloping tunnel turned into a muddy mess, making it difficult for the two to work; they kept slipping and sliding as they tried to dig.

Tanis was in front, stretched out with his head and arms at the location where the water was coming into the tunnel. Brandella was behind him, reaching forward to get at the dirt that Tanis pushed back in her direction. It was her job to take that dirt and move it still farther back into the tunnel.

When the dust and dirt that nearly choked them finally began to settle, Brandella rested her head on Tanis's stomach and said in despair, "We're trapped. We can't get out now; we can't get back to the pit. When the water gets higher, we'll drown."

Tanis was thinking the same thing; there would be no more digging in this lifetime. The only consolation he could think of was that those two ghouls waiting at the top of the pit would not be able to get at them while the half-elf and weaver still lived.

"So do I," she whispered. Now, more than ever, he wished there was at least a little light shining on her face. Even his elvensight was of little use to him here; the angle wasn't right. What was she trying to say to him? Or, rather, what was he trying to hear?

He wondered why he was being so diffident. Why couldn't he be more direct with her? After all, there wasn't much time left. The water rose ever faster; the tunnel was nearly half-filled with cold, suffocating slime, all of it running downhill toward their feet.

Tanis's mind drifted. He remembered a time when he was young. He and Laurana had gone off together to take a swim. The water had been cold, and they'd huddled close on the shore for warmth. Even the memory kept the chill away.

"Do you hear something?" Brandella asked. Reluctantly pulled from his reverie, Tanis could only focus on the sound of the water spilling into the tunnel. "No," he said, listening for voices and hearing none. An instant later, though, he knew what she meant. There was a low thumping sound, and the water seemed to be making far more noise as it gushed into the deepening pond in which they were sprawled.

The earth behind Tanis, where the water came into the tunnel, began to break away from the wall in big clumps. The chunks of muddy earth slid and fell down the wall, and with each new piece of the tunnel that fell, more water shot inside.

The water level began to rise very fast. Death, Tanis realized, would come much sooner than he had figured. The water was rising to their shoulders and would soon reach their heads. It would be only a matter of minutes after that before the water would cover their mouths and noses.

The enormous pressure of the water and the slope ot their tunnel kept them virtually pinned against the area that had caved in. Yet the very force of the water made Tanis realize that there was, in fact, a possible way out—if only they could swim against the tide and make their way through the broken tunnel wall through which the water was flooding in.

The muddy water obscured his elvensight. Nonetheless, he had to find Brandella. He groped in the murky, swirling sludge until he grabbed hold of one of her arms. With Brandella in tow, he pushed off the caved-in portion of the tunnel and then thrust himself against the fiercely flowing tide. Kicking his legs as hard as he could, and stroking madly with his one free arm, he almost made it to the opening.

But the current was too strong. It threw him and Brandella back with tremendous force, turning their bodies into battering rams. They slammed against the far end of the tunnel with such a jarring impact that Tanis could no longer hold his breath. His mouth opened.

The debris that had blocked their path from the cave-in gave way. It turned to loose mud that became the crest of a fast-moving wave. Tanis and Brandella were swept along with it, sputtering for air as they were washed back through the tunnel they had dug.

In mere seconds, they were deposited back at the bottom of the pit. Coughing until they felt their insides would split, Tanis and Brandella crawled away from the opening, where muddy water gushed in.

As the depth of the water in the pit increased, Tanis and Brandella were forced to stand, their muscles protesting after the unwonted battering of the past few days. Then, when the pit became a deep lake, the pair had to tread water. Soon they found themselves rising with the water level toward the top of the pitl

The pit continued to fill from the tunnel down below, the water running downhill from the underbelly of the stream on the high ground above. Tanis and Brandella were just five feet from the lip of the pit. Two more feet and Tanis felt he could reach up to dry land and pull himself out of the water.

"More!" cried the old woman. "Aim for their heads!" I Now it was clear why the ghouls had waited so long to \ act. The two would stun them, then pull them from the i water when they were near the top. "Dive!" Tanis ordered.

Tanis followed right behind, a stone grazing his ear just as his face hit the water. He knew one thing: He planned to be as far away as possible from the old woman and the boy when he came up for air.

Swimming a foot below the surface, he blindly stroked his way to the far side of the pit. When he felt the muddy wall, he shot straight up, hoping his momentum would help him reach the edge so he could climb out. Instead, he found himself right underneath the two who wanted his heart. They'd anticipated his move and run to the far side of the pit. Both heaved rocks the size of their fists from a distance of a mere few feet. One struck Tanis in the shoulder. The other narrowly missed his temple; he deflected it with an outstretched arm.

Falling back into the water, Tanis barely had the time to take another breath before diving under again. He swam in no particular direction, and that turned out to be a wise decision. When he came up for air, the hag and her grandson were more than fifteen feet away and the rocks they threw at him sailed wide of their mark.

Tanis didn't see Brandella. He hoped she'd since come up for air and gone down below again. Waiting for her to surface, however, was out of the question. He took three quick breaths, then one deep lungful of air, and dove, even as more rocks came hurtling in his direction.

Once again, Tanis chose a random direction. Swimming deep enough under water to hide his movement, he made his way to another side of the pit. With his lungs afire, he kicked down hard and fought his way to the top, reaching for the dry ground. The two ghouls were not there.

This was his chance. With palms flat on the outside of the pit, he began pulling himself up out of the water. A rock splashed next to his hip. Another rock bounced past his hand. With a grunt, he swung one leg up out of the pit, and then the other. He rolled away from the edge and came up on his feet. The old woman and the boy were dashing toward him, the boy hurling a rock that flew over Tanis's head. The old woman waved her trowel as if it were a dagger. It was sharp enough to be one.

Even now, Tanis would not draw his sword against them. But he had no qualms about defending himself. The boy stopped short of attacking him, but the old woman came at the half-elf with hate in her eyes. "I need your heart!" she wailed.

While Tanis restrained the old woman by pinning her arms against her body with a bear hug, Brandella scrambled out of the pit and hurried to his side. She grabbed the boy from behind, swinging his legs off the ground. He flailed and kicked, but she held him tight, her arms strong from years of archery practice.

She gazed at him, eyebrows raised. She'd tried to wipe away the vestiges of their stint in the tunnel but had succeeded only in spreading the mud more evenly around her face. Some of it had dried to a thin film. "Scowarr would be proud of you, Half-Elven. You've almost developed a funny bone."

"Well, so do we," she rejoined. They laughed again. Then they sobered as both realized that their companions back at Ankatavaka had vanished with Kishpa's death. They trudged on for some time through the unvarying glare of the sun. The landscape was flat, dry, and dull. Only a few weeds broke through the crust of the ground. After a while, they didn't bother to look up, merely plodding along in silence, heads down.

She nodded, scuffing her wet shoes, which she'd fished from the pit with a stick as Tanis warded off the two ghouls with a board from the old woman's wagon. "I wouldn't mind drinking some nice clean water for a change, either. I still have the taste of mud in my mouth."

"Tanis . . ." she whispered, indicating the route ahead. He looked up. The mountain of Fistandantilus loomed ahead of them. Suddenly, it was as if the sunshine gave no warmth. He shivered despite the glare.

They trudged, hungry and thirsty, down the path to the outskirts of a brightly colored, bustling little town. Tanis took note of the humans, dwarves, elves, and gnomes, all of whom were dashing into and out of warm and inviting-looking buildings that lined the main road through the village. He smiled suddenly and laughed.

Brandella gave him a questioning look. A flake of dried mud dropped from her chin to the soiled shirt that used to be green. She said, "You seem to be in surprisingly good spirits, considering where we are."

He had to admit he was. "I always thought of dying as some sort of eternal sleep. But here the sun is always at high noon. It's never dark—except around the bleak, evil mountains—it doesn't rain, the wind doesn't blow... it's like a perfect summer day, every day."

"We've stopped," Tanis explained patiently. The creature, which barely came up to Tanis's waist, cringed. "Not hurt me!" It fairly imploded with fear.

In reply, the pudgy little creature pulled a leather pouch from over its shoulder and thrust its hand into the bag. It drew out a squashed piece of fried dough. "Magic!" the gully dwarf squeaked. "Stop!"

Tanis sighed. Brandella kneeled and stretched out one hand, palm up. "What's your name?" she asked softly. "May I see what you have?" She half-turned to Tanis and said, "Look. He's found food around here!"

The gully dwarf curled into a quivering ball on the hard-packed dirt street. Only one arm remained free, waving the moldy dough in a semicircle. An algae-green eye peered over a filthy sleeve. Brandella took it as an invitation. "Look," she said. "He's offering . . ."

Suddenly, the dwarf leaped into the air, shrieked, "MAGIC!" at the top of its lungs, flung the fried dough onto the ground, and dove for the shelter of a nearby stairway. The dough hit the ground with a crack—and split open. Its insides had turned to dust. Brandella poked at it with a tentative finger and grimaced.

"Magic?" Brandella asked. "Who is he, anyway7" Her question was answered, not by the half-elf, but by a creature slightly shorter than the gully dwarf. This one resembled a muscular human child, except for the pointed ears, olive eyes, and orange-red hair swept into a long braid at the top of her head.

"That's the town guardian. Isn't that interesting? Where are you two from? You're alive, aren't you? I used to be alive. I'm dead now, though. That's pretty interesting, too, but not as interesting as being alive," the creature rattled on.

Brandella remained kneeling, but she kept a wary eye on the newest creature. Kender are notorious for their curiosity, which usually involves "finding" numerous shiny, often expensive objects that "just happen" to fall out of strangers' pouches, purses, and packs. All Brandella had left that could be easily filched were her muddy shoes, but the shoes had shiny buckles and the kender had been giving them appreciative glances. "Where are we?" the weaver asked the kender. "Yagorn. It's just packed with dead people," the Kender said, reaching over and dragging the filthy gully dwarf toward her. The kender seemed used to the dwarf's odor, but Brandella winced.

"He smells like a dead rat," she complained. 'Thanks for the compliment," the kender observed. The gully dwarf beamed, picked up the fragment of dough, and reached around the Kender to present it to Brandella. "Strong magic. You take," it said.

The kender, who had shifted his gaze to Tanis's scabbard, gave the half-elf a bright-eyed look. "Nobody grubbier than Clym here gets inside the village. Of course, until now we haven't seen anybody filthier than Jard. But the town council says we must keep up the image, living in the shadow of Fistandantilus's mountain, and all."

The kender looked surprised and interested, which was typical for one of her race. "Why would someone want to do that? Not that it's not a good idea, of course. In fact, I'd like to try it. What do you think might be up there?" The kender stopped to examine a silver buckle that had suddenly materialized in her hand.

"You mean he isn't?" Tanis demanded. The kender, for once, said nothing. The gully dwarf gave Tanis a condescending look that seemed to say, "Are you that stupid?" Which was quite a statement from a gully dwarf, Tanis thought.

The half-elf got the message. Then, in a low voice, he asked, "Does that mean that there's no portal?"

Tanis pulled Brandella aside and softly suggested, "If we're going to find out about Fistandantilus's mountain, we've got to find someone to talk to besides a gully dwarf and a kender." He tugged at his leather tunic; it had gone from slightly slimy when wet, to stiff and tight when dry. "Is there anyplace nearby where we can wash this mud off ourselves?" Tanis asked the kender.

"The Baths of Behobiphi. It's the white building on the left side. The one with the soapy bushes on the far side. That's where Behobiphi dumps the water after it's used," the kender confided. "Sometimes I help Behobiphi look after people's clothes while they bathe."

The kender looked away. "Well, not exactly hires. I just help out on my own. To be nice, you understand. In fact, Behobiphi sometimes doesn't even know I'm there." "Most of the time, I'll wager," Tanis muttered. Brandella swallowed a smile and addressed the kender. "Can you take us there?" she asked sweetly, deftly retrieving her other buckle from the creature's pouch.

The kender's chatter rattling on ahead and the smell of the gully dwarf following behind, Brandella and Tanis marched down Yagorn's main street, attracting very little attention until the gully dwarf suddenly pointed at them and shouted, "Alive! Alive! Magic!" Soon a crowd of the curious pressed about them; the kender had a field day finding "lost" objects as humans, gnomes, and others scrutinized the two strangers. Luckily, they'd reached the Baths. The gully dwarf beat on the ninefoot door and then dashed, terrified, down the street and into an alley.

The door opened, and they were greeted by an eight-foot minotaur with a sheet wrapped around his body. The half-man, half-bull looked out at the crowd that had followed Tanis and Brandella, and, nostrils flaring, asked dubiously, "You all want baths?"

The beast turned gentle, liquid eyes toward the pair. "Living?" the minotaur asked. "Haven't seen one of them here in more than three thousand years. And now, two at once!" He took Tanis and Brandella by their hands and ushered them inside. The Kender waved good-bye.

"I am honored that you wish to partake of my baths," said Behobiphi in reverent tones. "By the gods," he added, "you certainly do need them, too. I dare say you are rather dirty. Are living beings this dirty all the time? Is this how it is on Krynn now, all mud and dirt?"

Tanis smiled and shook his head. "A recent accident. We'd like to get cleaned up and then find our way back to Life. We heard that there is a portal on the other side of Fistandantilus's mountain that will take us there."

"Not too many believe that one," the minotaur went on while he showed them two tubs full of hot, soapy water. His voice was so deep, it was difficult to decipher. "After all, the whole idea of a portal is kind of old-fashioned, don't you think7" He shook his horned head. "I don't know how these rumors get started."

Behobiphi pulled a sheet across a rope to separate the two tubs. "When you're through washing," he said, pointing to a pile of towels, "take one of those and go out in the back. Softfire will help dry you off."

The creature paused and scratched one leg with a sharp hoof. "Hundreds of theories. Maybe thousands. For instance, the gnomes of Yagorn have been working on a machine for a couple of thousand years that's supposed to get us all back to Life. It ought to work, too. Have you noticed that the sun here doesn't go down?" Tanis nodded doubtfully.

"Well, the gnomes figure that if night ever comes to Death, then a new day of Life will have to dawn for all of us who dwell here," Behobiphi said, and wrapped his sheet more tightly. "So they're trying to build a machine that will pull the sun out of the sky. They think they may have the problem licked in another three or four thousand years. Now, that, you have to admit, is every bit as plausible as Huma's portal, right?" He favored Tanis with a guileless glance.

Sadly, Tanis had to agree. He began to undress; on the other side of the divider, he could hear Brandella doing the same. A shoe clunked to the floor, and a low wail sounded through the thin curtain. "My buckles!" Brandella mourned.

Brandella, caught off-guard, tripped and fell on the slippery, tiled floor in the doorway. Tanis, his eyes glued on the terrifying sight in the yard and feeling a fear beyond his understanding, didn't look where he was going. He stumbled over her feet and crashed, arms flailing, on top of her. "Dragon!" he shouted.

"That's a good spot," said Softfire. "Stand there." The dragon breathed a clear blue flame that shot out near them. They both flinched but managed to keep from bolting. The air near them grew hot, but not unbearably so, and soon, with each breath of fire, the water that dripped from their bodies began to rapidly evaporate. Even their hair dried.

"Oooohhhh, that's good," sighed Softfire, lifting his chin higher. He licked his dragon lips with a forked tongue and chuckled deep in his throat. "No," he finally answered. "I was a terror when I was young and alive. You should have seen me during what you call the Second Dragon Wars. There was one battle—"

"Then there is a way?" Tanis asked excitedly. He and Brandella exchanged glances; the weaver kept rubbing the silver dragon, scratching his scaly neck in quick, deft strokes. The creature thumped the ground several times with a huge, taloned hind leg; several branches broke from trees and fell to the earth.

"I don't know," Softfire said. "But I do know this: The only way out of Death for you is with magic; it won't work on anyone else here." The creature opened eyes that were more knowing than sleepy. "I heard a story from a brass dragon friend about a strange new spell being offered among all the mages; it might be exactly what you need." Softfire's gaze flicked from Tanis to Brandella and back again. Then the deep voice continued. "According to my friend, a wizard who recently died had quite a collection of bizarre and unusual spells—"

The dragon's eyes drifted shut again, but his voice continued to reverberate. "All the wizards like to trade spells, bartering a fire spell for a darkness spell—that sort of thing. Of course," the dragon continued, twisting his neck so Brandella could reach an out-of-the-way spot, "there is little they can do with their magic here, but they enjoy the collecting; it adds to their status among their peers. Anyway, this new mage arrived and promptly gave away—didn't want anything in return— one of his spells to every mage he could find."

"—that Kishpa would have loved when he was alive," exulted Brandella. "It is exactly the kind of useless spell he collected, something that would be just as useless in the world of the Living as it is in the world of the Dead."

"Yes," Tanis admitted, surprised by the jealousy he felt. Even after Kishpa's death, it seemed, the half-elf could not compete with the mage. "We must find someone who has the spell—and quickly, because we will grow weaker with no food or water. And it must be someone who will share it with us."

Softfire pointed his nose toward the dark mountain. "As I said, Death is a far-flung place; there's quite a lot of room for new arrivals. The closest mage is him. Fistan-dantilus will surely know the spell and know how to invoke it."

Tanis felt a chill of fear encircle his spine. Softfire fixed him with a wise gaze, seeming to know how he felt about the evil wizard. "But beware," warned the dragon. "If he helps you, he will exact a price—and it may not be one you want to pay."

Tanis had been daydreaming about ale and spiced potatoes at the Inn of the Last Home. "The water Behobiphi gave us before we left didn't help at all. And neither did the food," he complained. "My throat has never been so dry"

Dark clouds hovered at the peak of Fistandantilus's towering mountain. A cold drizzle fell upon them as they climbed still higher, the water offering no pleasure to their tongues. Nothing grew on the huge slag heap of evil above them; it ran with sulphurous mud, and sharp, dark stones stood out from the sides like monstrous daggers.

A short while later, they stumbled upon a ramshackle hut partially hidden by a mudslide. Its roof was falling down and, from inside, they heard pitiful moans and groans. Brandella went white, and Tanis felt his insides tighten in fear.

"Fistandantilus isn't like Kishpa. Fistandantilus was one of the most evil mages who ever lived. Most likely, he's torturing someone." Tanis could see by the flash of her brown eyes that he'd said exactly what she was really thinking and that she didn't appreciate his putting her thoughts into words.

"I choose not to," the voice rasped. A dead plant exploded into flame only feet away. Tanis leaped between Brandella and the threat, and the voice laughed. "Don't bother, Half-Elven. Fistandantilus is everywhere."

There was a tension-filled pause before Fistandantilus spoke again. "Half-elf, I tire of this. I have been in this state of invisibility since long before I died, when I traded my corporal being for extra years of life. That meant I also agreed to give up my body in this world, as well."

Although they saw no one, they sensed Fistandantilus eyeing them and felt naked before him. Finally, with an edge of menace to his voice, the dead mage asked, "What brings Tanis and Brandella to my mountain?"

"If you know our names, than you know our reason," Tanis said, surprising himself with his own boldness. After all, Fistandantilus had used his magic to destroy two massive armies, including his own troops, during the Dwarfgate War. What was to stop the wizard, even on a whim, from destroying one human woman and a half-elf?

Laughter cascaded around them. 'True," the menacing voice sibilated. "I've been walking with you in these foothills for quite some time now. Too bad about your thirst. Nothing I can do about it as long as you're alive. When you die of thirst tomorrow, though, come back and I'll conjure you a whole sea of cold, clean water.

This time the sound that surrounded them bore no resemblance to laughter. Like a thousand voices crying out in pain, a scream shivered through the rocks and made their skin crawl. Then they heard the words: "I did not create this mountain of darkness, of gloom, of horror, by helping anyone . . . except myself." The wind blew up hard and cold, a burning, wet spray lashing their faces as the rain whipped down from a gray and tumultuous sky. "If I help you," he said harshly, "it is because you will help me in return. Or you will die."

"There are many risks I would take to return to the Living," Tanis said slowly, knowing that he might be consigning himself and Brandella to death, "but I would not want it on my conscience that I was the one who returned Fistandantilus to Krynn."

"So noble," the wizard said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You won't soil your hands, but what about the woman? Are you so cavalier with her life that you condemn her without asking if she feels as you do?"

Tanis squeezed her hand, but he dared not look at the brave woman who stood by his side. She warmly returned the caress. The half-elf found himself strangely unafraid of his fate. The only thing he wanted in life, he felt, was to wrap his arms around the weaver and hold her close. The presence of the unseen Fistandantilus, however, kept him rooted in place.

"There are many here whom you have known," the mage replied, his voice in harmony with the whining cold wind that shivered through the gnarled dead trees behind his dilapidated cabin. "I can look inside your minds to see those whom you have loved and lost. They exist here in my world." The wizard paused, and more rocks quaked and tumbled as if the mage had imbued them with life. If there was any doubt about Fistandanti-lus's meaning, he dispelled it when he finally said, "I cannot kill again those you once knew, but I can make their existence in Death as painful as the worst moments of their lives."

Tanis felt something cold and slimy against his scalp. It lasted only a moment, but he knew without any question that it was Fistandantilus's touch. A moment later, Bran-della shivered and Tanis knew she'd experienced the same sensation.

"The little girl plays here, running in a sun-dappled wood," the mage continued as lightning flashed out of nowhere, striking the cabin but seemingly inflicting no damage. "But I can make the rains come. I can make the fear of drowning well up in her little girl's mind." The voice was a banshee's shriek. "I can make Cadaloopee relive her worst fears. I can—"

"Stop!" shouted Brandella. Tanis put his arm around her shoulder. Convulsions of shivers passed through her slender frame. He longed to challenge the mage. To defeat him. But Tanis was no magic-user.

"She was a pretty elfmaid, full of life," came the voice. "But fragile. Very fragile. Both in body and mind. Here, in Death, she leads an idyllic existence, caring and cared for by her loved ones. I wonder what she would feel if I arranged for your brutish father to arrive on her doorstep?"

Tanis's heart pounding in his chest, he now knew the depth of his hatred for the wizard. The mage deserved his dark mountain of horrors. And Tanis wished he could bury the wizard at the bottom of it.

Tanis swallowed hard. The mage had had devastating power in life; his bleak, windswept mountain of evil was testament to that. The half-elf pondered the legacy that Fistandantilus had left on Krynn... and he shuddered. It was in that moment, though, that the half-elf saw a glimmer of hope. The mage had performed his magic on Krynn; here, in Death, he was a prisoner of his own creation, existing in the shadow of his horrible deeds. And Tanis remembered something Softfire had said.

"What difference does it make where evil dwells, here or on Krynn?" he argued, seeing her reaction. "Life is short compared to the time one spends in this place. Better Fistandantilus should walk among the living than to terrorize the dead for all eternity."

"I'm trying to tell you that this is our only way." Hating to play Fistandantilus's game, yet knowing there was no other choice, he fixed his face into a sneer and harshly demanded, "How could you possibly live with yourself, knowing that your sister would exist in perpetual terror?"

Acting as though he were trying to speak with her privately, he leaned close to Brandella and whispered, "He was defeated in Life before; he can be defeated again." Tanis knew, of course, that the mage had heard every word. Fistandantilus remained silent.

Tanis looked up at the towering mountain, then at the sorry excuse for a cabin, and finally at the open, gray land in front of him, imagining the wizard hovering there. "It would seem," said the halfelf, "that we must trust each other equally."

The voice laughed with a sound of stones rattling on metal. "Trust each other? Hardly," Fistandantilus crooned. "You forget whom you are talking to. I tell you now that if you cross me, you will regret it for as long as you live—which won't be very long—and for as long as you are dead. Which will be much, much longer. You have my promise on that."

They trudged into the wizard's cabin, soaked to the bone; the never-ending wind and rain had slashed mercilessly at them. Fistandantilus, Brandella thought, was lucky to lack a body that could ache with cold and hunger. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she might be hallucinating all of this. After all, she was weak from lack of food and sleep, and the unrelenting weather had taken its toll.

Tanis watched Brandella worriedly. She seemed pale and ill. They had been busy for several hours doing the wizard's bidding. While storm clouds roiled overheard, they had fixed the roof of the cabin, covering it with tree branches. Next, they swept the mud and water out of the cabin, making it as dry as possible. Of course, it was still thoroughly damp, the air nearly unbreathable in its closeness despite the open door. But Fistandantilus seemed pleased.

The spell, said the mage, had to be performed in a lighted, dry place so that he was fully separated from his endlessly bleak, rain-drenched world. Clearly, thought Tanis, the wizard is afraid that the pull of Death will be too strong to escape. Tanis hoped that was so ... just in case.

"Don't light the candle until I begin the spell," Fistandantilus ordered. His sibilant whisper seemed to have grown stronger. Tanis felt a ripple of fear shiver up his neck. Brandella looked increasingly strained, purple smudges darkening the nearly translucent skin beneath her eyes.

A single candle stood in its holder on a bare wooden table. The wax looked ancient yet unused, the wick charred from untold attempts to set it ablaze, standing up in seeming defiance of any flame. Next to the candle, two small black stones lay on a small pile of torn parchment. "Look behind you on the wall," said the mage.

"Half-elf," Fistandantilus ordered, "take the mirror and hold it in your hands—carefully." The storm increased its tempo outside. Yet despite the sound of the wind, Tanis could hear the sighing voice of the mage as though it buzzed inside his head.

Tanis went to the mirror. It was hanging at eye-level. He reached up to take it off the wall—and froze. Then he waved his hand before the shimmering piece of glass; his face was not reflected. Even when he held it at the correct angle to catch the gray light from the doorway, the mirror showed nothing. Tanis looked back at the weaver. She was shivering, holding herself erect by sheer stubbornness.

The chill in the room deepened. "When I use the spell to send you back to Life, you will take the mirror with you," the voice explained. "It holds, by a spell, my image, the way I looked when I was alive. When it is brought back to your plane, the image will be freed and I will walk once more on Krynn."

Fistandantilus laughed without humor. "That isn't the only spell that is going to Krynn with you from this place beyond the grave. I have put a spell upon you both." Tanis noticed that Brandella was wringing her hands again; her eyes were glassy, her face blank. The mage's next words only increased the tension. "Remember: If you betray me, death will come from those who love you most. You have been warned."

Brandella fumbled next to the candle until her fingers settled on the two stones. She struck them together several times until a spark struck the torn parchment below, setting it aflame. She picked up one end of a paper fragment and, hands shaking, used it to light the candle.

The chanting grew still louder. The cabin began to quiver as if the wind outside were trying to pick the little shack off the ground and hurl it off the foothills, down to the valley below. Water and mud dripped between growing cracks in the ceiling. The dead branches crisscrossed over one section of the roof began to break apart and tumble into the room. A moan escaped the terrified weaver, but Tanis dared not comfort her.

The magic was strong. Tanis felt a change coming. There was little time left, yet every move he made from this point on was critical. By the light of the candle, Tanis reached out and snatched Brandella by the arm. Again, she tried to pull away. But this time the half-elf would not allow it. In his heart, he knew that she might very well sacrifice herself to keep Fistandantilus from returning to Life. He did not want her to do anything that might interfere with his plans.

If something didn't happen soon, they might be injured by the debris falling all around them. So far, the main beams of the cabin were holding, but the land itself seemed to be shaking. From somewhere on high, a roar grew louder with every instant. Through the broken rooftop, Tanis saw, with a terrible certainty, what had caused the shattering sound. The entire top of Fistandan-tilus's dark mountain, the pinnacle that loomed high above them, had broken off and an avalanche of sulphurous blackness was crashing down right toward the cabin.

Timing was all. Tanis knew that if he made his move too soon, Fistandantilus would stop Kishpa's spell and allow them to be crushed by the avalanche. But if Tanis waited too long, if he didn't act in the instant before the spell took effect, he risked the worst of all, bringing the infamous wizard back into Life.

Tanis had to wager that Fistandantilus was fully occupied. The half-elf let himself recall what the old dragon, Softfire, had said: The wizards in Death had little use of their magic. Tanis gambled that the wizard had been bluffing, that he had no power over Brandella's sister or Tanis's mother, that his power in Death extended mainly to pyrotechnics designed to impress visitors. After all, the mage was doomed to stay in the shadows of his horrid mountain; the half-elf hoped Fistandantilus's power was far more limited than the mage had let on.

Soon Tanis would no longer have to pretend to go along with the wizard. As far as the half-elf was concerned, Fistandantilus's threat was empty and the half-elf did not fear him; he just wanted the mage to cast Kishpa's spell.

"Kyvorek blastene tyvvelekk winderfall!" the voice of Fistandantilus thundered. "Tylvvanus! Tylvvanus!" The voice was greater than the din of the fast-approaching avalanche, greater even than the crumbling foothills above the cabin that gave way with huge mudslides, threatening to bury them before the avalanche sealed their doom. Brandella and Tanis saw it all through the porous roof and the splintering walls. The weaver screamed and tried, again unsuccessfully, to pull away from the half-elf.

They had seconds to live. Yet Tanis waited. He sensed that Kishpa's spell was not complete. There had to be a sign, a moment—something—that would tell him that they were about to be transported back to the world of the living. But there was nothing. And Death was nearly upon them.

Brandella screamed again. The mudslide loomed like a tidal wave, poised on its crest and about to break over them. At the same moment, the avalanche smashed through the mud. There was no time left. Tanis raised his hand—the hand that held the mirror—over his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something—the candle flickered for the very first time. It must be the sign! He threw the mirror with all of his might against the candle. The light was snuffed, and the mirror fell to the rock floor, shattering it into a thousand slivers of useless glass.

They heard the rushing wind, the roar of the massive wave of mud, and the crashing of the avalanche. The sounds filled their ears like the echo of the surf in a sea shell. Before them, however, they saw the sun shining in a bright blue sky, felt a cool breeze upon their skin, and heard the flapping of wings as several birds flew away in fear upon the astonishing arrival of a human and a half-elf in their charred thicket of bushes.

Tanis tried to get his bearings. It didn't take him long. He saw the burnt glade and the ash-covered pond. The air was redolent with the scent of fire. But when he looked at the tree trunk upon which Kishpa had rested, the mage was nowhere in sight. Neither was Clotnik.

"You were here with me before, when it was a younger wood, before the fire that destroyed it. Brandella," Tanis said quietly, reverently, "We are home. It was from this place that I came for you. And it is to this place that we have been returned."

Tanis kept his voice steady and looked straight at her. She didn't meet his eyes, however. "You had no way of knowing what I planned," he said, squeezing her hand, "and I couldn't risk telling you. Besides, the important thing is that we're here."

Tanis gently pulled her closer. She did not resist. When their bodies touched, he let go of her hands, encircling her with his arms. Brandella slipped her own arms under Tanis's and joined him willingly in an embrace. Her head rested on his shoulder.

He lifted her head and they looked at each other with searching eyes. And just as quickly as he had found peace, he lost it. The half-elf had done his duty for Kishpa; now he wanted to do something for himself. Yet he paused. What if she were merely grateful? What if her hug was meant as one given by a sister to a brother7 What if she flatly rejected him? And really, was it that different from a romance with Kitiara? It was still love between a human and one of elven blood. Even with only half-elven blood, he would be doomed to watching his beloved grow old and die—decades, and possibly centuries, before him.

He thought of all those things and much more as he looked down upon her parted lips and deep, engulfing eyes. He had to know how the beautiful human weaver, the courageous archer, felt about Tanis Half-Elven. Yet he did not know if he had the right to find out.

Despite himself, he slowly, tentatively lowered his head toward hers. She shifted in his arms. He couldn't tell if she was snuggling in closer or getting a grip so that she could push him away. A voice startled them, calling out, "Who's there?"

As if they had been caught doing something forbidden, Tanis and Brandella quickly parted, carelessly stepping on blackened tree branches. The brittle wood cracked, tossing up little clouds of ash.

When they emerged into a clearing near the pond, Clotnik stood there alone, brown hair and beard as rumpled as ever, eyes bright green beneath a sloped forehead. "My men are all gone," he said with an impish grin. 'They're very good at following orders."

Tanis and Clotnik clasped hands with the warmth of old friends. The juggler was clearly glad to see him, and Tanis felt the same way.

She reached out and touched his face, then ran her fingers over his matted brown hair. Clotnik looked up at her with a childlike expression . . . and she threw her arms around him. "It's you," she cried. "You stayed with Kishpa all these years!"

Tanis stared at both of them, bewildered. He'd been in Ankatavaka, too, but he hadn't recognized Clotnik during his short stay. And he would have remembered. There were few dwarves in the elven village. In fact, the only ones he remembered were Mertwig and Yeblidod.

Suddenly, Tanis's eyes opened wide. Was it possible? Clotnik had Mertwig's weak chin and high, slanting forehead. He had Yeblidod's bright green eyes and slightly humped nose. But the half-elf didn't remember seeing a younger Clotnik in the village.

"You're so grown up!" Brandella interrupted. "By the gods, I haven't seen you since you were a little boy and your mother and father sent you away on the ship before the humans attacked Ankatavaka." She laughed. 'That was either almost one hundred years ago or just last week," she said merrily.

So, thought the half-elf, that's why I didn't know him. "It was the last time I saw you, too," said Clotnik. "But I always remembered the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Not that Kishpa would let me forget. But come," he said, "we'll talk more after you've had food and water."

"How long since I left?" Tanis asked after swallowing the last of Clotnik's jerked beef. Brandella had finished eating and sat off to one side, braiding her long hair into a thick plait that hung over one shoulder.

Clotnik didn't answer at once. Nor did he look at his two companions. Instead, he poked at the ashstrewn ground at the pond's edge as his lips quivered and his hands shook. Brandella leaned over and touched his shoulder, rubbing it tenderly, her own eyes red-rimmed and liquid. She had changed from her filthy woven top into one of Clotnik's longest white shirts; now she used the puffy sleeve to wipe a tear from the little dwarf's cheek. Clotnik shivered but let her minister to him.

"He ... He ... lived throughout the whole first day," stammered the dwarf. He steadied himself but would not look up. "I didn't think he'd live an hour," said the juggler, shaking his head. "His eyes were closed the whole time. He never spoke to me or even acknowledged that I was there." Finally, Clotnik lifted his head and spoke directly to Tanis. "It seemed that he was reliving something that was part nightmare and part the sweetest of idylls. When it was bad for him, he thrashed and moaned—and cried. When it was good, I believe, he smiled and even laughed somewhere deep inside. Was that what you saw, Tanis? Was that how it was for him in the past: part nightmare and part idyll?"

Clotnik stared at the ground again. "He nearly died twice during that first day," he said. "The first time, he sat straight up and screamed at someone, 'Not yet! Not yet!' Then he blinked several times as if he were lost or confused. Soon, though, he smiled again, as if it were all right. The second time, I really thought I'd lost him. It had just gotten dark. Lunitari was low in the sky, casting a dim red light on him, when he began to choke and cough up blood. His eyes opened wide as if Death had caught him by surprise. He stopped breathing. I listened for a heartbeat and couldn't hear one. He was absolutely still. I went to close his eyes, but I stopped."

Clotnik squinted into the harsh afternoon light from the lowering sun. Long shadows splayed out behind them, and Tanis pondered the shadow that a father could throw over the life of his child. How well he knew it.

"I told you before you entered Kishpa's memory that I wanted to go myself," the dwarf reminded him. "Kishpa wouldn't let me. He was hiding something from me, Tanis. I'm sure of it. You were there. Now you know what Kishpa knew; his memory is now your memory. What was it he did not want me to know?"

Tanis shook his head vehemently. "Not at all! I was only pausing to gather my thoughts," the halfelf reassured Clotnik. "He was, in fact, a rather good man. Not perfect. Better than most, I would say."

"You're not telling me anything," scowled the juggler, slinging a sharp-edged, fire-scarred chunk of granite into the lake. It landed with a plunk, scattering sodden ashes and sending floating wood bobbing on the ripples. "I don't want generalities. Tell me what happened!"

"Yes, you do!" shouted Clotnik, jumping to his feet in agitation. A flush rose in his rounded cheeks, matching the glow cast by the setting sun. "Was Mertwig a thief? Did he steal? Tell me! I've heard the talk from villagers. Some said he ran away before the issue could be settled. Others said he was so offended by the accusation that he left Ankatavaka in a huff. With no help from Kishpa, I learned that it was right after that time that my father died." He wrung his stubby hands, his eyes brilliant with anguish. "My mother went back to the village and met me when the ship brought me home, but I was very young then and I don't remember much. All I know was that she was always very sad after I returned. For a very long time, I thought I was the cause of her sadness."

Finally, he said, "My mother died within a year of my father's death." Tanis shook his head sadly. "I didn't know. I'm sorry," he offered. "I liked her very much." He remembered her warm alto, the kindness of her touch.

"I've heard all about my mother," Clotnik said with a world-weary sigh. His voice was leaden. "I'm proud of her and think of her often. She left me that glass ball that I juggle. The one you caught in the Inn."

"If you want to know what kind of person your father was," spoke Tanis, "I can tell you this: He twice saved my life. Both times, Clotnik, he was in great peril or great pain—or both. The first time, he attacked a giant spider that was about to devour me. I would have perished if he hadn't diverted the monster's attention to himself."

'The second time," Tanis continued, "he was mortally wounded, yet he dragged himself to my rescue, slaying a goblin who was about to strike me from behind." Tanis looked directly in Clotnik's eyes. "Do these sound like the actions of a bad man?"

The slanting amber light from the setting sun bathed Clotnik's face, his eyes sparkling with a pleasure that went far beyond the reflected glory of the bright orb in the western sky. No, Tanis thought, the reflected glory came from Mertwig. Clotnik seemed to sit straighter, hold his head more erect—even his ears seemed to droop less. He was seeing himself in a different way, Tanis realized; Clotnik had become the son of a hero. Tanis found himself envying the dwarf.

"That and more," Tanis replied, wishing he were describing his own father. "He was also protective of you and generous to your mother. His first impulse was to send you out of harm's way when there was fear of a human invasion. And he wanted only the best for your mother—even," he said without thinking, "when he couldn't afford it." He caught his breath, hoping Clotnik had missed the slip.

Borne up on this proud image of his father, Clotnik shook his head. "Then why wouldn't Kishpa tell me? Why, when I asked him about the rumors, did he say he didn't know? He'd always change the subject."

"For a simple reason," Tanis said with a benevolent smile. "Kishpa really didn't know." Tanis did not add, however, that he was the only person to whom the dwarf told the truth, just moments before he died.

"What?" The dwarf swung and faced Tanis again. The setting sun left him a silhouette to the half-elf. "If there were rumors about my father in Ankatavaka," Clotnik asked, "why didn't Kishpa stand up for him?"

Tanis bent over to peel a piece of wood from the log. He busied himself with pulling little chips of charred wood from the piece, then wiped his sooty hands on the sandy ground. "He stood up for you, didn't he?" Tanis answered, deflecting the question. "He took care of you all these years. Isn't that what Brandella said?"

"It's just strange," insisted the dwarf. "Kishpa took me in very soon after my mother died. Brandella had already disappeared, and I've always wondered if it was her loss that caused him to take me in. It seemed he needed someone to talk to. And me ... I needed someone to listen to. He treated me as if I were his own. But when I grew and the stories persisted about my father, he took me away from Ankatavaka. We traveled all across Ansalon. We had no friends except each other and, to amuse myself and Kishpa, I learned to juggle."

"Kishpa was a good father to me. I just wish he would have let me enter his past; I would have loved to have seen my father, talked to him." The droopy-eared dwarf turned to Tanis in sudden contrition. "Forgive me! I never asked if you found your own father. Here I am, so concerned only with myself. I should have—"

Tanis stemmed the rush of words with a wave of one tanned hand. "Don't apologize. Except for meeting Brandella—and that's a very large exception—I would much rather that you had gone to meet your father, too."

"Sligs," whispered Clotnik, Sniffing the air. "I can smell their stinking odor. They must have taken her," he said with disgust. He kicked at the ground. "Kishpa's fire didn't stop them. They're still after that enchanted quill." Suddenly, he whirled in the dark to face Tanis. "You did get rid of the quill, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Tanis distractedly, looking for some sign that would tell him in what direction the cousins of the hobgoblins had gone. "I left it in Kishpa's memory, just as he instructed." His elven eyesight helped him see slig footprints all over the grave site, but they told him nothing he didn't already know. Meanwhile his mind spun with recriminations. He berated himself for letting Brandella wander off alone. To have come this far with her only to lose her to a band of sligs filled him with rage. He would have exploded in frustration if he had not spotted a faint point of light on a distant hill. He gestured. "Over there! It looks like a campfire."

They headed indirectly toward the light. Tanis led the way, making sure they did not leave themselves silhouetted against the horizon. Hugging lower ground, they were fast-moving shadows intent upon their destination. When they got close enough to smell the smoke from the campfire, Tanis ducked behind a burned stump and said, "We'll circle around behind. They'll be less likely to expect anyone from the direction they came from."

A nearby slig guard paused as though it had heard voices. Sounds drifted down from the raucous slig camp above; the creature quirked its pointed ears down below, obviously trying to discern whether these new sounds came from below or from the camp. Its sword at the ready, the slig tromped down the hill to investigate.

Flickering light from the fire at the top of the hill illuminated the slig guard in yellow flashes. More than six feet in height, the slig wore no clothes, although its back was daubed with broad stripes of black and brown. Its body was a mass of tough, horny hide that seemed more like flexible stone than skin. A tail dragged along the ground. When the slig looked their way, Tanis saw its long, thin mouth open to reveal rows of thick, sharp teeth. Its almost hornlike ears were huge and pointed.

Clotnik turned to whisper to Tanis, but the half-elf had disappeared without making a sound. Alone, not knowing what he should do, the dwarf froze. All Clotnik could do was watch the slig in silent terror as the guard made its way closer to where he hid in the brush.

The slig's jaws moved up and down as it filled its mouth with spittle. It was moving lower on the hill, the heavy metal trinket that dangled from its massive left ear swinging back and forth with each step.

Off to one side, Tanis watched as the slig came abreast of him, moving toward Clotnik, who was fidgeting in the brush below. As soon as the creature passed him, Tanis leaped up and unsheathed his sword.

The slig heard the familiar sound and turned with surprising speed—right into Tanis's blade. The half-elf speared the creature in the throat, just above the ar-morlike hide that protected its chest. As it fell, it tried to call out a warning, but all it could do was gurgle.

Tanis took the young dwarf by the shoulders and looked directly into his green eyes. "I once knew a man who was much more terrified than you when he went into battle for the first time. When it was over, he was not only still alive, he was a hero. You'll do all right. Just stay behind me. And don't move around so much; you draw too much attention."

Tanis moved carefully up the hill until he could see the slig camp. And Brandella. She was tied to a stake in the ground, lying next to the fire. One of the sligs, obviously the leader by its size, stood over her, spitting its poisoned saliva just inches from her face. It splattered on the ground next to the long braid of black hair that coiled over one shoulder. She didn't cry out. She didn't even move. She simply stared up at the slig with defiance on her face.

The sligs seemed impressed, but not enough to stop. Tanis tried to make out what the slig leader was saying. It sounded like Common tongue, but all the half-elf could hear was the shouted warning, 'Tell or die!"

Clotnik crawled up next to Tanis and saw the remnants of a water wagon, empty barrels lying on their sides all around it. The wagon obviously had been on its way to the glade to fill up at the pond. The dwarf wondered where the driver was. His attention was arrested by something black turning above the blaze, juices dripping down and causing the wood to sizzle and the flames to jump. Clotnik leaned close and whispered, "Where'd they get the venison? I thought all the animals had left with the fire."

Tanis continued to scan the camp. If there had been a wagon, something must have pulled it. On the far side of the camp, he saw what he was looking for: two brawny bullboggs. The six-legged draft animals, crosses between horse, bull and buffalo, weren't fast, but they were steady and dependable.

Brandella had fought the sligs after they surprised her at Kishpa's grave site. It wasn't her own life that she was defending, though: it was the peace of Kishpa and the lives of Tanis and Clotnik. At all cost, she did not want the sligs to disturb her mage's grave, digging it up for the enchanted quill that they so ruthlessly demanded of her. She told them she knew where it was—although she had no intention of ever telling them. Nor did she want the sligs to know that she had two companions just a short distance away. Far preferable, she thought, to die for those who had done so much to try to save her.

Her fight with the sligs was decidedly short. One of the creatures knocked her down with a swipe of its gargantuan right hand, hitting her so hard that she thought for a moment that it had broken her jaw. Two of the wilder sligs grabbed each of her arms, intending, she guessed in terror, to eat her limbs raw. They were stopped by their leader, who kicked them away from the woman.

It was getting dark. Although sligs often lived in caves, they did not like to be out in the open in the dark. The leader, who towered above the other creatures and had a long scar that ran down its snout, ordered the band to take Brandella back to their camp. They would learn there, with torture, what they wanted to know.

Brandella lay quietly by the campfire, thinking of Kishpa and Tanis and Scowarr and the brave acts she'd witnessed the past several days. She was determined, despite a tremor in her abdomen that she couldn't quite control, to live up to those examples. But she blanched as the leader of the sligs took a slat from a broken water barrel and put one end of it in the fire; after the end began to smolder, the slig walked to the weaver and held the burning wood near her face. In Common, the slig said, "I am going to set your hair on fire. Loose hair burns in a flash, but a tight braid should burn slowly— satisfactory for our purposes. If you don't tell me where the magic quill is, I will let the flames continue, to burn your head and face until there is nothing left. Do you understand?"

Brandella knew it was Tanis and Clotnik, and her heart sank. They were throwing their lives away for nothing. They couldn't possibly attack a band this large and survive—there were at least twenty of the creatures!

The slig heard the Noise before it saw the source. There was a pounding that made the earth shake. The creature was slow, however, in taking its eyes off Bran-della's burning hair. When it looked up, Tanis, riding one of the bullboggs, was only feet away.

The half-elf kicked the slig in the chest, knocking it backward into the fire. It screamed and rolled. In the same motion, Tanis leaped off the bullbogg and, wielding his sword, hacked at Brandella's hair, cutting off the long braid at the base of her neck. With the next well-aimed stroke, he slashed her bonds. He sheathed the sword, leaped back on the bullbogg, and held out his arm to her. She sprang up and took it, swinging behind him onto the broad back of the bullbogg. Behind them, the slig leader continued to shriek from the blaze.

Tanis rode the lumbering beast down the hill, in the same direction in which the band of sligs had run. He came up behind them and cut one down after another with the gray metal sword that Flint had forged for him. It wasn't as light and easy in his hands as when it had been enchanted by Kishpa, but it still did its work.

They watered the bullboggs at the pond in the glade, gathered their meager belongings, then quickly set out to the west, putting as much distance between themselves and the sligs as they could before exhaustion overtook them.

When they finally stopped to rest, Tanis took the first watch. Brandella had insisted on the second watch, and he went to wake her two hours later, just before the dawning. He kneeled next to her and watched her sleep, as peaceful as the nearly soundless forest night. He was thinking of the future; she would fit in fine with his small group of friends. Hint, Sturm, Caramon, and Tas would instantly see that she was one of them—although she'd have to keep an eye on her valuables around the kender. Even Raistlin might welcome her in order to leam about Kishpa's magic. Of course, Kit would hate her, but Brandella could hold her own with the swordswoman. Together, they would make quite a group. And maybe, over time, Brandella would come to see him in a new light. He could wait. And he would.

Startled out of a deep sleep, she sat straight up, her newly shortened curls dancing around her shoulders. "What's wrong? What's happened?" she demanded, looking all about for any sign of danger. "Sligs?"

She touched her own hand and felt flesh and bone. "You must have fallen asleep and dreamed it," she said soothingly. "I'm still here. See?" She held out her hand to him. He reached out to take it, but although he could see it, he could not touch it or hold it.

She brushed a dead leaf off the sleeve of Clotnik's borrowed white shirt. The leaf fell to the ground, and Tanis picked it up and crumpled it. That, at least, was real. Then she spoke quietly. "There was no magic. Nothing like that. It must be something else." Despair began to tinge her husky voice.

Clotnik gave a half-smile filled with weariness. He didn't back up. "It will do you no good to take your anger out on me," he said softly, his eyes large and sad. "I didn't know. Kishpa only suggested that it might happen. Even he didn't know for sure."

"Didn't know what?" Brandella pleaded. "What's happening to me, Clotnik?" "You're as real as life to Tanis," the dwarf said tenderly. "For him, your heart beats, your skin feels warm to the touch, your voice is like music played by an inspired musician."

"It's because he sees you as real that you are real," Clotnik said. "The way it was supposed to work was that Tanis would return from Kishpa's memory alone, remembering you in his own mind. Instead, he went one step further, physically bringing you out of Kishpa's memory to exist in his own world. Kishpa said it could happen. But he also said that if it did, it wouldn't last."

"Why?" demanded Tanis. "Why can't it last? Why can't she stay here with me?" There. Now she knew. When he looked at her, her eyes were moist with tears. Yet even now, he didn't know if they were tears of regret or tears of pity.

She stopped. Although trembling with her own fear, not quite knowing her fate, she kissed Mertwig's son on the cheek. There was no sense of touch between them, yet there was no doubt in Clotnik's mind that he had just been blessed.

"Brandella, oh, my Brandella," he said. Fallen leaves crunched under his knees as he dropped down beside her. 'Think of it this way. My memory is a world by itself, like Kishpa's. You'll be alive there. And not a single day will pass when you won't find something new and fresh to discover."

"Listen," he persisted, "memory and imagination are like colors on a painter's palette, constantly being mixed to create something new. And that's what you'll find inside me, Brandella: a whole new world that's yours to explore." He struggled to find words to reassure her. "Everything I remember about you will be changing. Some days, when I wonder what you were like as a little girl, I'll picture you as a child. And you'll be young again. Some nights I'll be walking along a city street—a place you've never been—but I'll be thinking of you, talking to you. You'll answer in my mind. You'll be anywhere and everywhere."

Zarjephwu, the leader of the sliqs, bathed his burned body in the pond that they'd found in the glade. They had followed the tracks of the bullboggs in the moonlight, but, fearing the night, decided to go no farther. They had not, however, given up the chase. As far as Zarjephwu was concerned, the woman who had escaped certainly knew where the enchanted quill was; otherwise why would those two have risked their lives to save her?

The entire band seemed to hold its breath. To question Zarjephwu was tantamount to a death sentence. Silently, they backed away from young Ghuchaz, who quickly sensed that he had gone too far. Meanwhile, Zarjephwu licked the top of his snout while he considered the upstart's challenge. His tiny eyes flickered.

Sligs don't apologize, nor do they make excuses. Ghuchaz, however, was smarter than the others. Before Zarjephwu made his move, the young warrior hurriedly made his own, piping up to say, "I think I know how we can overtake the bullboggs and catch our prey."

Ghuchaz smiled knowingly. Zarjephwu was bigger and stronger, but the younger slig was far more cunning. In a short while, he would be the head of the band . . . and he would soon possess the enchanted quill.

The latter thought was on Zarjephwu's mind when Ghuchaz suddenly lowered his head and bit deep with his long, sharp teeth into his leader's unprotected throat. But he did not rip. Zarjephwu had been caught off-guard, yet was able to strike back with such speed and force that Ghuchaz's head was crushed before he even knew he'd been hit with two rocklike fists. The young slig's body slid to the ground.

Blood ran down Zarjephwu's neck, covering his hard, scaled body. The importance of the enchanted quill was never more apparent. Such a deceit would not have been possible if Zarjephwu had had possession of the writing instrument. It would protect his band—and, especially, protect him—by foretelling the future. His bite wound, his burns, they were just pains he had to endure. They were not important. The only thing that mattered was getting that quill.

Clotnik paced in front of the bullboggs, the tethered animals watching the dwarf in stolid, buffalolike contentment. The dwarf kept looking down the shadowed deer trail, waiting to learn of Brandella's fate.

Clotnik talked, and Tanis listened. They sat on a hillock, catching cool breezes, as the dwarf told him the stories that Kishpa had passed down to him about Brandella. It helped, but even now the jealousy still gnawed at Tanis; he resented that everything he was learning was based on Kishpa's recollections. He wanted so much for her to speak to him directly.

Tanis didn't answer at first. Doubt shot through him like an arrow. She had written the note to him when they were in Kishpa's memory. As far as he knew, it had happened only in the old mage's mind; in reality, Tanis had never been to the village. If he went to Ankatavaka, would the note actually be there? It didn't seem possible, but he had to find out.

Tanis thought of Brandella, picturing her writing the note. Each time he imagined it differently. Once he saw her weeping upon the parchment as she wrote a letter of farewell. A second time he conjured up the image of her writing it with painstaking care, crumbling one sheet of parchment after another, unable to find the words to convey her feelings. The third time, she wrote a letter that told him how to find her if ever she were lost. He imagined that she wrote, "Look for me in your dreams." He promised himself that he would.

Clotnik, seeing the half-elf deep in thought, did not bother him. They rode side by side, heading west toward Ankatavaka, just one more day's journey away. When the dwarf told Tanis that the village was in ruins, abandoned decades ago after a damaging flood, it hadn't deterred him. He still wanted to go, telling the dwarf there was something there that he hoped to find.

To amuse himself, Clotnik reached for his traveling bag and took out several of his juggling balls: the brass, gold, and the glass. He hadn't practiced in more than a week, and he didn't want to get rusty. As the bullbogg beneath him lumbered along the trail, Clotnik began tossing the balls into the air in a lazy, steady circle.

A flash of movement caught Tanis's attention and he glanced over at Clotnik. It amazed the half-elf that the dwarf could so comfortably juggle while being carried aloft by a moving creature. He watched in fascination— until he realized that Clotnik was juggling the exquisite clear glass ball with the blue and green markings.

Seeing that he had an audience, Clotnik's exercise turned into an elaborate act. The brass ball flew high in the air, followed by the gold, then the glass. What had been a small, tight circle became a breathtakingly large ellipse, at the apex of which the ball almost disappeared.

Tanis judged the trajectory and spurred his bullbogg into a gallop. The animal ran faster than the half-elf expected. He overran the glass ball; it was coming down behind him. Letting go of the tether around the animal's neck, Tanis leaped off the creature's back and tried to catch the quickly falling glass ball.

The half-elf didn't answer. In a silent fury, he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and then reached up and grabbed the glass ball out of Clotnik's hand. "Don't you ever juggle with that ball again! Not ever!"

Tanis paused. What good would the truth do Clotnik? For his part, Tanis wished he had been told that his father had been a good and generous man instead of being left to search out the bitter truth. In the end, it wasn't the truth that mattered, anyway, but what you believed to be true. The half-elf was the only one who knew for certain that Mertwig had once made a terrible error in judgment. That secret, he decided, would die with him.

"Your father," said Tanis, "was someone to admire and respect." Thinking fast, he explained, "Mertwig paid for that glass ball with his life because he and your mother were attacked by goblins who tried to steal it. He wouldn't let them take it. And he died fighting them, saving my life in the bargain. So, my friend, please don't juggle this glass ball anymore. Keep it safe, and when you look upon it, think of the love your father had for your mother."

The raid on the human settlement had gone well, Zar-jephwu thought. Not a single human survived, and only one slig had been killed. The bold midday raid netted the remaining fifteen sligs a small herd of bullboggs and several horses, enough animals for each slig to have an extra mount.

They rode their animals hard, not caring if the beasts dropped dead along the way. When that happened, a slig would jump on another steed and keep on riding. By nightfall, they had caught the trail of the woman and her rescuers. Sometime during the following day, they would catch them. That night, in their camp, the band praised Zarjephwu for his clever strategy and wise leadership. He wondered how many of them suspected that the idea of heading northwest to raid the humans had been Ghuchaz's. Not that it mattered. After what he had done to the young slig, he was safe from challenge. And once he had the enchanted quill, none of them would ever succeed if they dared to try.

Zarjephwu, lying on the hard ground, felt the pain of his burns. As he drifted off to sleep, his jaw opened and sharp teeth glistened in the light of the three-quarter moon. He remembered the man— or was it a half-elf?— who had kicked him into the cookfire and run off with the woman. His reptilian face settled into a smile. Sligs despised elves. He would see that one again tomorrow.

The smell of salt air came wafting to Tanis on a gentle sea breeze. He knew they were getting close to the Straits of Algoni. And Ankatavaka. Unconsciously, the half-elf leaned forward on his bullbogg, straining to see some sign of the village beyond the wood in which they rode. He wondered if this was the same forest in which the human soldiers had gathered before making their charge upon the elven barricades. His father had been among those men.

Tanis pushed the memory out of his mind. He didn't want to remember his father. Rubbing the bullboggs sweaty neck, Tanis led them, plodding, through the trees, finding only the barest semblance of a trail; what had been there before had long since been reclaimed by nature.

The dwarf muttered an oath; Tanis heard him swat back a branch that had blocked his path. "It's been at least sixty years. The floods came thirty-eight years ago. Maybe you remember that winter when it rained almost every day?"

"Of course. I was with my friend Flint." Tanis laughed. "We were making our way across a desert in Taladas when the rains started. Almost overnight, the desert was flooded. We had to save ourselves by grabbing hold of a drowned skrit. Have you ever spent three days holding on to the back of a dead, six-foot beetle?"

Their voices trailed off. Through the trees, Tanis saw an open field; beyond that meadow stood the crumbling walls of Ankatavaka. He pointed, about to call out, but Clotnik said, "I see it." Then, in a mournful voice, he added, "It looks so sad."

The main gate loomed ahead of them. It was open, admitting anyone or anything to the streets of the village. But entering by way of the gate was unnecessary. What had once been a well-protected village was now a shambles of dilapidated walls that looked like ancient ruins.

As they rode through the gate, a gust of wind flew in with them, blowing dust and, it seemed to Tanis, carrying them on its wings to another time. Everywhere he looked, he imagined the village as he remembered it. He could see the elves on the barricades, east, south, and north. He could hear the cheers of the villagers when Kishpa's rain spell stopped the human army on the first day of the siege. And when he looked to the south, he re-fought the battle on the top of the barricade.

He remembered the arrow that had come out of nowhere to save his life. Gazing across the open village square, he saw the building from which that arrow had been loosed. Brandella had lived there once, long ago. He had been in her room on the second floor, but only in Kishpa's mind. He wanted to see it again.

"Don't worry," he replied airily. "I'll be careful." But, in fact, he bounded up a rickety staircase that had no business holding his weight. When he reached the top, he found the door to Brandella's home hanging by a single hinge. He pushed through and entered, finding the place stripped bare of furniture, one wall gone, the roof partially torn away. The vast mural that had covered her home was so faded by wind, rain, and sun that it was nearly impossible to make out any of the images—save one. In a far corner, low on the wall, he saw a surprisingly fresh drawing. It depicted a man, seen from behind, his face unshown. Inside his body there hovered the figure of a woman, her face also unshown. He reached out to touch it. When he withdrew his hand, there was paint on his fingertips. His eyes opened wide. Was it still wet? Or had some of the color come off simply because the painting was exposed to the damp sea air? And why was this visible when all the others had faded? If memory served him, her bed had been against this wall. Maybe whoever lived here after her also kept the bed against the wall, protecting it. Or maybe it had been painted, somehow, expressly for him. For this moment. By her.

"The building is falling apart," warned the juggler. "Get out of there—fast!" "I'm coming." With that, Tanis hurried to the door and made for the stairs—except that several steps in the center of the staircase were gone. It had been that portion of the steps that had given way, breaking apart and crashing to the floor below. The half-elf grimaced. Getting out was not going to be easy. But there was no other way.

Going slowly, putting all of his weight on each of the stairs, was the worst thing he could do. He had to take the stairs at a run, leap over the missing section, and hope that when he landed on the lower half of the staircase, it wouldn't collapse.

The half-elf took a deep breath, then plunged down the staircase at breakneck speed, his feet flying, taking three steps at a time. When he reached the chasm between the stairs, he jumped, soaring over the empty space and coming down on the lower section with his right foot. The stair broke.

Tanis bounced off the wall on his right. His momentum carried him down the staircase while he scrambled to keep his balance. Neither Tanis nor the stairs stayed upright. Tanis hit the last few steps hard and rolled out the doorway, into the street. The staircase crashed behind him, a cloud of dust following him out into the air.

While Tanis huffed and puffed, the dwarf wandered away alone to rediscover his own memories; after all, he had grown up in Ankatavaka. Clotnik had gone only as far as the center of the village square, however, when he stopped, looked up, and smiled.

'This statue," the dwarf answered with nostalgia. "I remember when it was dedicated. I had just come back by ship and had learned that my father was dead. Everything in my life had changed. I didn't even know who this person was," he said, pointing up at the weathered stone sculpture.

Tanis glanced up, and his face filled with a look of wonder. It was Scowarr! He stood there, a sword jutting from one hand, his head wrapped in bandages that were on the verge of coming undone. Underneath, on the base, the inscription read: "Let us not forget the Great Scowarr. He came as a stranger. He left as a hero."

The Metal Box While Tanis was telling the dwarf about Sco-warr, a movement down the street caught the dwarf's eye. "There's someone there," said Clotnik.

"It looked like an old man who ducked out of the way when he saw us," Clotnik explained. "I'm going after him. If some of the elves stayed on after the others left, I might find someone who remembers my father."

Clotnik hurried down the street, heading toward the beach. The once-tidy cobblestones lay in disarray, with gaps that now bobbed with weeds. Tanis watched the dwarf until Clotnik rounded a corner and was gone. The half-elf was grateful to be alone. He didn't want Clotnik around to see his disappointment if he couldn't find the message Brandella had buried for him. Nor did he want the dwarf reading over his shoulder if he did find the letter.

Brandella had said the note was buried at the foot of the barricade where he had slain the giant spider. Judging the distance from the main gate and the street from which Mertwig had arrived to save him, Tanis easily reconstructed the spot. A bright orange wildflower grew there, vivid contrast to the pale green weeds that dotted the littered area. Tanis dug it up by its roots, considered tossing it aside, then—not quite knowing why—spent several minutes replanting it a short distance away.

It was hot, hard work. The ground was unyielding, and there was no telling how deep the box might be after nearly a hundred years—especially if flood waters had deposited layers of mud over the land. And then, of course, there was always the chance that the box wasn't there at all. Tanis shook his head, refusing to consider that possibility, and kept digging.

He pushed deeper and deeper, until he had dug a hole a hand's span deep. Then twice that. Still, he dug . .. hoping . . . dreaming . . . wishing that his own experience in Kishpa's memory were as real as the mage's. After all, reasoned Tanis, didn't Clotnik say that Brandella disappeared at about the same time the half-elf took her away? And would Scowarr have been a hero had Tanis not been there beside him? Wasn't it possible that he, Tanis, had actually been there in the past, living and breathing, if only for a short while, somehow bridging the gap between memory and reality? "You're fooling yourself, Half-Elven," he chided. Yet he continued to dig.

Zarjephwu crept among the ruins of the village walls. The sligs had left their steeds in the wood and cautiously covered the ground between the forest and the village, not knowing if their prey was keeping watch. Zar-jephwu's command had spread out behind him, using tumbled walls and piles of weathered debris as cover.

Soon Zarjephwu saw Tanis hard at work, trying to dig something out of the ground. He signaled his warriors to keep their heads down and wait while he studied the half-elf. When Tanis raised his head to wipe the sweat from his brow, the slig leader knew the man in the village square was the one he sought, the one who had kicked him into the fire. The half-elf looked worn and battlescarred, but a light shone in his face, a light that the warrior slig interpreted as the euphoria of nearing a yearned-for goal. Zarjephwu gave the grimace that passed as a smile with sligs. He figured he knew just what Tanis sought.

The slig unconsciously rubbed his burnt, hard-scaled skin. Half of his back and one of his arms was discolored from his roll in the flames. Zarjephwu had spent the better part of two days thinking about what he would do to the person who had caused him this pain. He'd lingered lovingly over the goriest details.

It was clear to the slig leader that the half-elf was looking for something. And if it was buried so deeply underground, then it had to be something very valuable—like the enchanted quill. Zarjephwu grinned, choosing to wait and let the half-elf do all the work before the slig snatched the prize.

Consumed by the task at hand, Tanis was unaware of the eyes that watched him from the ruins. The hole he had dug was nearly an arm's length deep, and he was finally ready to give up. There was nothing to be found. All he had to show for his clawing at the hard, rock-strewn dirt were bloody fingers and aching arms. In disgust, he threw his sword into the hole.

Tanis instantly dove down on his stomach, sticking his head and shoulders into the hole. He pulled his sword up and tossed it behind him, scrabbling at yet another layer of dirt. There were more stones, more roots, and more crusted clay. And something entirely different.

Zarjephwu had wedged himself partly underneath a large slab of stone that once had anchored Ankatavaka's main gate; lying under a rock where it was cool and damp came naturally to the lizardlike slig. With deceptively sleepy eyes, he watched and waited. He was beginning to worry that he'd seen no sign of anyone else. Where was the woman? Where was the half-elf's accomplice in her rescue? Had they gone to the shore and sailed away? If that was so, reasoned the slig, then what was the half-elf digging up?

When Tanis suddenly leaped into the hole, Zarjephwu sensed that his wait had finally ended. He gave a signal as he rose to his feet. Fourteen other sligs immediately appeared as if by magic, rising from their hiding places. Silently, they advanced upon Tanis.

It was a small, square box, still brightly painted in reds and blues in the same distinctly feminine style as the paintings in Brandella's room, but dotted with specks of rust. His soul soared with hope. Hurriedly digging around all four sides of it, Tanis freed the box from its resting place of nearly one hundred years.

Then Tanis heard something . . . inside the box. It was impossible that an animal could have been in it; the box had been sealed thoroughly. Nonetheless, he held it a little farther away from his body as he popped the top off. Inside, he saw two things: the quill he'd given Brandella and a folded piece of ancient parchment. In large letters across the parchment, written in Common, was the emphatic warning, Sligs Behind You!

Knife still in his hand, he slashed at the hand of the closest slig, eliciting a scream. Two others hit him with their heads, butting him in the shoulder and chest. He went down from the impact, the metal box flying out of his hand. The quill tumbled free and fell to the ground. The note— Brandella's note—with the warning scrawled across it fluttered out of the box and down into the hole from which it had been dug.

Rolling sharply to his left, drawing a sharp breath as he tumbled over shards of broken cobblestone, the half-elf avoided a spear that clattered to the ground, narrowly missing one of his legs. His sword lay somewhere behind him. He was dead if he couldn't get to it—and probably dead even if he did. But he had to try.

The sligs fell into confusion, momentarily breaking off their attack to follow Zarjephwu's orders. Tanis also saw the quill, but grabbing it and dying with it in his hand wasn't going to do him any good. Instead, he lunged backward for his sword, grabbed it by the handle, and rolled over and up unto his knees.

A tall, skinny slig scooped the quill off the ground. It didn't have the writing instrument long. Tanis swung his sword, lopping off the creature's arm and slashing into its chest with one sweep. The quill dribbled from lifeless fingers.

The closest sligs scrambled for the quill again. Tanis jumped to his feet, slashing at one of the creatures, but found his sword blocked by a spear held up at both ends by Zarjephwu. Black eyes with points of silver stared at the half-elf with palpable hatred; the powerful creature's muscles barely bulged with his effort. 'The quill is ours," he said in guttural Common. "And so is your life." With that, he let out a stream of poisonous spittle, aimed at Tanis's face, trying to blind him.

The half-elf ducked out of the way, falling backward, trying desperately to keep his footing. Two arms caught him and tried to crush him: another slig. Tanis felt the air whoosh out of his chest as the creature used all its strength to squeeze the life from him. The half-elf tried to fight back, but his arms were pinned to his sides and he couldn't do anything to free himself.

Just as Tanis was about to black out, the slig suddenly let go. Tanis did not know what had saved him; he simply sagged to the ground. This time, however, another set of hands grabbed him and pulled him back up.

Tanis couldn't help remembering that Mertwig had saved Tanis's life in this same place. Plucking from the ground the spear that had recently missed his leg, he tossed it to the dwarf. As he did so, Tanis, breathing heavily, managed to call out, "You remind me of your father."

There were thirteen sligs to fight, all bigger and stronger than the half-elf and the dwarf. There was no use in running; the pair would never get away. But that was only one reason for fighting. The other reason was that letting the enchanted quill, with its future-foretelling magic, fall into the hands of the sligs was purely unthinkable.

However, a very tall slig warrior held the quill high and was proudly passing it to Zarjephwu. Tanis didn't even think; he immediately forged in among the sligs. Clotnik plowed right behind him, his eyes a dangerous green and his weak chin nearly firm.

The half-elf blocked a blow from a bardiche with his sword, hammered another slig in the gut with a closed fist, but staggered under the might of an elbow that caught him in the side of the head. Meanwhile, Clotnik jabbed a slig in the thigh with his spear, and the creature fell to its knees. Tanis saw his chance. He jumped on the back of the fallen slig, gaining enough height to swing his blade at the enchanted quill held aloft by the tall slig.

The bellow of rage from the snarling mouth of Zar-jephwu made his fellow sligs cower in fear. He was so maddened by the loss of the quill that he broke the neck of one of his own warriors, who had stood between him and Tanis.

Clotnik tried to cover Tanis's retreat, stabbing the point of his spear into the shoulder of one slig and then smashing the other end of his spear into the snout of another. But there were too many of them, coming from too many directions.

Tanis tried to protect the fallen dwarf, but two sligs locked their massive hands on his sword arm, easily holding it immobile. As Zarjephwu charged at him, the two began bending his arm back. The half-elf knew they were waiting to hear the crack of a bone.

A shrill, otherworldly scream suddenly erupted from somewhere behind Tanis. In the midst of their murdering, all the sligs stopped cold. The two who were trying to snap Tanis's arm were so startled they turned to look. Even Zarjephwu stopped, shock sweeping over his features.

Though Tanis could not twist to see what had so surprised the sligs, there was something faintly familiar about the high-pitched scream. In the next instant, the two sligs holding Tanis let go and began to run. One was just a bit too slow. A sword slashed its back, and it fell, writhing, to the ground.

Tanis turned to face this scourge of the sligs—and faced Scowarr! The granite statue had come to life. The flapping head bandages, the impossibly high-pitched cry of combined fear and courage, the wildly swinging sword ... it was the Hero of Ankatakava, in all his glory!

Tanis was so startled by the sight of his old friend that he almost fell victim to the sharp edge of a slig broadsword. He dodged the blade at the last possible moment, even as he called out an exultant greeting to the magically awakened statue.

But Scowarr did not answer. His lips, gray granite, only screamed. He fell upon the warriors holding Clotnik down, slaughtering them as if he were an avenging god. The slender human's short hair, bursting in tufts from gaps in the bandages, bristled with vengeance.

Zarjephwu was fearful of the strange, screaming creature with the flapping bandages, but he held no terror of Tanis, and it was the half-elf who had brought his band low. There would be no opportunity to torture the half-elf, but at least he would have the satisfaction of killing him.

The slig moved on all fours, slowly closing the distance between them. Even in his crouch, the slig was nearly as tall as Tanis. Behind him, Clotnik moaned, his blood soaking the ground of the longabandoned village of his birth. Tanis had to draw his enemy away, and so he backed up, keeping his eye on the slig with every step.

Zarjephwu enjoyed the pursuit. The half-elf seemed unnerved to him; the creature both hated and reveled in the weakness of his prey. Carefully, the slig maneuvered toward Tanis, forcing him in a certain direction, waiting for the right moment to pounce and sink his teeth into the half-elf's throat.

As far as Tanis could figure, he had retreated nearly halfway across the open village square. He cast a quick glance away from the slig to see Clotnik trying to drag himself

Tanis did the only thing he could think of; he let his back slide down the base of the statue while he kicked up with his legs. His feet caught the slig in the stomach, sending the creature still higher. Zarjephwu flew over the base. An instant later, he cried out and then went silent.

Tanis rose shakily, looking up at his old friend, expecting a word, a handshake. The statue, aged and weathered, was as impassive as the stone that formed it. Had he dreamed that Scowarr had come to his aid and scattered the sligs? But then Tanis's eyes fell on the inscription below the statue. It had changed! Magically altered from the original, the new inscription read, Now, is that funny, or what?

The Letter "I've stopped the bleeding," Tanis said, looking down with deep concern at the pale, pained face of Clot-nik. "You've been torn up badly, especially your back. Except for some very theatrical scars, though, you should be all right." He tried to muster a reassuring expression.

Now that Clotnik was taken care of, he was anxious to retrieve Brandella's letter. He hurried back to the hole he had dug and found the folded parchment at the bottom. It was old, yellowed, and crumbling at the edges. He lifted it tenderly, lovingly, from its temporary grave and slowly walked back toward Clotnik as he read the words Brandella had written to him so long ago. . . .

I write this now, just moments before leaving with you on what may be a hopeless journey. I know you are convinced that we both will leave Kishpa's memory, but I have my doubts. Should you make your way back to your own world without me, I want you to know how much I thought of you. And what I felt for you. But then you know that, don't you? You asked me once what binds two people together through time. I imagined that you wanted to know how Kishpa and I could love each other so deeply through all these years, so that you, yourself, could somehow learn the secret of finding such a love. How do I answer?

I must look to my weaving and tell you that the kind of love you seek is like one of my scarves. Just as a scarf covers the vulnerable throat from the cold, so does a deep and generous love protect what is vulnerable about you from the world. Love, like a scarf, wraps itself around you on the coldest of days, one more time around you when the winds of evil fortune blow their worst. And, like a scarf, a great love covers your heart. But also like a scarf, love can be easily lost or left behind if one is not careful to remember it.

Now you wait for me while I write a letter that you may never read. So I'll stop now, except to say that should you leave this world while I remain here, I will hold you dear in my memory. After all, what is memory except a way of keeping the things you never want to lose?

Tanis reached the gently snoring Clotnik and sat next to him on a weathered block from the village wall, rereading the letter even as it crumbled in his hands. He tried to read between the lines, under the lines, around the lines—he wanted to understand exactly what she meant. Why hadn't she come right out and said what she felt for him? She'd expected that he somehow knew. Then, again, maybe it was better that he could imagine how she felt.

As Tanis sat immersed in Brandella's letter, six of the seven dead sligs that littered the ruins began to stir. Although they continued to lie as they had fallen, something profound was happening to their bodies. Regardless of their size, shape, or the wounds that had felled them, they started to transform. Slowly at first, the huge hands became smaller, and the fingers lost their long, sharp nails. The transformation picking up speed, their skin lost its scaly hardness. Snouts shrank, jaws and teeth lost their carnivorous appearance. Ears got smaller. Each of the bodies began to change shape, clothing suddenly appeared to cover their nakedness, and weapons evolved in their hands. Soon the eyes fluttered open, though no breath passed their lips.

Tanis looked over his shoulder. An old elf, looking none too steady on his feet, stood a few feet away. Faded tunic and woven slacks, many times patched but scrupulously clean, covered the wiry body. The half-elf put his knife back in its sheath. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," he said.

"Don't like crowds. That's why I live here alone. Good-bye, now." "Crowds?" Tanis asked. "A half-elf and one sleeping dwarf?" At that moment, though, he looked up and saw a sight that filled him with joy. Walking toward him were Flint, Sturm, Camaron, Raistlin, Tas, and—his heart shivered—even Kitiara. Even as the old elf backed away, Tanis shoved Brandella's note in his tunic and shouted a greeting, leaping up and running happily toward his good and true companions.

Flint Fireforge was in the lead, Long Beard swinging with his step and strong, short arms carrying his battle-axe over one shoulder. The others followed close behind. Tanis didn't notice, at first, that they were not smiling. In fact, had he looked closely, he would have seen that their faces showed precious little expression at all.

"I thought you were all spread to the four winds," Tanis called out as he narrowed the gap between them. None spoke a reply, but he didn't wait for one. He immediately shouted, "How did you find me?"

As the half-elf drew near, he looked his friends over with approval. They might have been bringing bad news, but he had to marvel at how fine they all looked on this particular day. Even with the memory of Brandella echoing in his mind, he realized that Kit had never been more beautiful. She looked exactly as he pictured her in his mind, both regal and wild, her bright brown eyes flashing with adventure, curls of close-cropped black hair creeping from under her helm. He was particularly pleased that Kit had come with the others, because that meant she'd forgiven him for ending their affair that last night at the Inn. Perhaps they could still be friends.

His eyes quickly scanned the others. Sturm stood straight and proud, his armor gleaming, Caramon walked with his usual swagger, yet he seemed unusually independent of Raistlin—a change that Tanis viewed with approval. The young mage, himself, never looked healthier; in fact, he looked a bit younger. Tanis often remembered those days, when he and Raistlin were closer friends, with great fondness.

Tanis saw it coming and thought it was a joke. He didn't react—at least not right away. It was only when he saw that the weapon was coming at him too fast and too hard to be stopped in time, that he demanded, "What's the matter with you?" and tried to duck out of the way. But it was too late. If he hadn't already had his arm up high to slap Hint on the back, he never would have been able to block the descent of Hint's arm with his own. A blunt edge of the battle-axe hit Tanis in the shoulder, numbing him for a moment.

Tanis turned to the others for help. Instead, Kitiara's blade nearly disemboweled him. Barely twisting out of the way, he demanded, "Why are you doing this?" Shaken and confused, he scrambled backward as the companions, eerily silent, advanced upon him, their weapons held high. The sun beat starkly on the scene. The weeds twisted in a slight breeze that did nothing to abate the heat.

The evil wizard had promised him death at the hands of those whom he loved most, if the half-elf and Bran-della tricked him. From beyond Life, Fistandantilus had somehow brought his threatened spell to bear. And now Tanis's closest companions had come to slay him. Yet he could not possibly consider fighting them when they were mere pawns of the mage's magic.

He continued to retreat, frantically trying to think of some way to break the spell. Then it came to him: Sco-warr! Perhaps more magic remained in the statue; perhaps it could be used to break the spell that held his friends entrapped.

"End the spell!" begged Tanis of Scowarr. "Use your magic to save my friends. Whatever power was given to the stone of your statue, please use it now!"

Clotnik, roused by Tanis's pleading to the statue, opened his eyes and tried, blearily, to see what the danger was. The dwarf wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. Perhaps he was delirious, he considered. Not trusting his own senses, he did not speak. Instead, he tried to rise and help Tanis fight this new enemy, not understanding that they were the half-elf's friends.

"Stay still," Tanis said, looking back at Sturm and the others. "You'll open your wounds." He would have thrown the dwarf over his shoulder and run, but he knew he wouldn't get far before his friends caught up to them. And with Clotnik in his arms, Tanis wouldn't be free to fight back. Yet even as he thought it through, the half-elf couldn't imagine battling Flint and the others.

The sharp stab of pain that brought Tanis to Clotnik's aid also brought crystal clarity to the dwarf's mind. While the half-elf hovered over him, Clotnik glanced back at what had so troubled him before.

Tanis finally understood. These weren't his friends who had surrounded him and were coming in for the kill. They were the images of his six companions, gleaned from his own mind. The evil wizard's spell worked through the dead, his only conduit to the living plane. The magic was not as powerful as that which Fistandantilus had once possessed, but it was strong enough to destroy Tanis. At least the half-elf knew he could fight these spell creatures. But could he win?

The half-elf neatly sidestepped the charge, tripping Caramon as he passed. The big man went down hard but quickly jumped back to his feet. Tanis no longer paid any attention to him, though; the Tas image was already on the attack with his hoopak. At the same time, the images of Sturm and Kit came at him from either side, their blades flashing silver in the sunlight. The Flint image was on the other side of the statue, creeping up behind him. Only the image of Raistlin held back.

The magic flowed once again from his sword, through his arm, and into his heart. With a lightning flick of his wrist, he cut Tas's hoopak off just above the would-be kender's hand. In the same motion, he parried Kit's lunge at his stomach and kicked Sturm's blade to one side.

Because Tanis was off balance from the kick, Caramon easily grabbed him by the hair and threw him into a crushing headlock. The half-elf countered by jabbing the point of his sword into Caramon's foot. The Caramon image immediately let go and tumbled over in pain, falling right next to Clotnik. The dwarf used the only weapon handy. He raised his brass juggling ball over Caramon's head . . .

Clotnik had no such confusion. He ignored Tanis, smashing Caramon's skull wide open with the brass ball. The image of Raistlin's brother twitched several times in death, then slowly turned back into a slig in front of Clotnik's disbelieving eyes.

Except for Tanis's words to Clotnik, it was a peculiar battle, indeed, for there were no commands, shouts, oaths, or cries of pain from the remaining companions. Their images did not speak a single word or make a single sound. There were only the clash of weapons and a deathly, otherworldly silence. Even the breeze in the sunbathed village square had stilled. It was as if the village of Ankatavaka—the dead stones, the weeds, the crumbled buildings—held its breath.

Clotnik battered Flint's right knee with an expertly thrown gold juggling ball; Mertwig's son was actually doing more damage than the half-elf. Tanis could easily have finished Flint off after Clotnik crippled him, but he looked at the face of his friend and could not bring himself to do it. He let him slip away, only to counter Hint's ferocious attack again a few moments later.

It was the image of Kit who drew first blood, her blade piercing Tanis in the thigh. It was a minor wound, but it brought home to the half-elf that he could not count on his defensive swordsmanship forever. Even with his enchanted blade, he was not invincible.

Sturm and Kit made their thrusts at the same moment. Tanis parried them both with one motion, then slashed at Kit's waist. She didn't scream. But he did. He had to turn away as her image crumpled over sideways.

Clotnik shouted a warning, and Tanis saw the kender image, its brown topknot swinging just like the original, but it was too late. The blade ripped at Tanis's sword arm. The pain nearly caused Tanis to drop the glowing blade. Grimacing, he flailed with the sword. To his horror, he ran through Tasslehoff Burrfoot. He watched in shock as the kender fell to his knees. Tanis wanted to throw his sword away in shame and self-loathing, but even as he watched, the little kender began changing into the lifeless form of a slig, four times Tas's size.

The sword of Sturm Brightblade was upon the half-elf before he'd recovered. Even with the help of his enchanted blade, Tanis was at the Knight's mercy. But a silver juggling ball, tossed by Clotnik, struck Sturm's blade, knocking it askew. Tanis brought his own blade to bear on the Knight's throat, just above the breastplate of his armor. Sturm—at least the image of him—was no more. Tanis felt bile rise in his throat.

"No need to shout," said Raistlin, his face expressionless, his voice the whispery, dead-leaf speech of the long-deceased wizard. "You have an odd assortment of friends, all of them good fighters except for this sickly mage. I easily could have had you killed and brought back to my world, but it seems you have had some magical help. I'll see to that interloper, you can be sure." Tanis smiled. "If I were you, I'd stay clear of Kishpa. He just might be too much for you to handle. Besides, he'll have some help of his own."

He sheathed the sword and wearily made his way to Clotnik, who sat propped against the base of the statue. "I'm glad that's over," said the dwarf, using one hand to stanch the bleeding from a reopened wound. "I was running out of juggling balls."

When the elf sat next to Tanis, he patted him on the back, saying, "You remind me of another young fellow who was here about a hundred years ago. Fought alongside him," he said, pointing at the statue of Scowarr.

The elf paused to think, resting one elbow on a patched trouser leg. "A pleasant girl. Well-liked in the village, even though she was human. Actually," he confided, "I thought she was rather plainlooking, myself. Kishpa thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen." The elf paused to consider, then added, "But of course, he had some human blood."

The elf, apparently tiring of the conversation, stood and brushed off his trousers. "She just disappeared one day," he said, leaving the impression that he, too, was about to take his leave. "Went off with a stranger. Kishpa went after her, but came back alone." The elf pursed his lips. "He never did say what happened."

When Clotnik was well enough to travel, he and Tanis left Ankatavaka together, heading east. They did not stay together long. When they reached a crossroads, Clotnik veered off for the closest town to show off his juggling skills. Tanis, however, craved solitude.

Clotnik rewarded him with a quick smile so like Mertwig's that the half-elf caught his breath. "And you in mine, my friend." Then the dwarf, sitting as straight as one can on a six-legged creature with an impossibly broad back, guided his steed up the path.

Tanis headed into the mountains near Solace. As he rode, he often read the letter Brandella had written him. It wasn't long, though, before the ancient parchment fell apart in his hands. It didn't matter. He had long since committed it to memory.

Cool, crisp days and chilly nights stretched out before him as the autumn season broke early in the high country. It was on one of these nights, as he drifted somewhere near sleep, that he thought once again of Kishpa and Brandella, the two of them sharing their great love. And then it hit him, and he sat bolt upright.

He lay back down, smiling. What a master stroke, he thought. What a brilliant conceit. The old mage had contrived not only to save the woman he loved, but to save himself. For in Tanis's memory, Brandella and Kishpa lived together again, at the height of their youthful love, sacrificing what they wanted most in life—each other. What greater gesture of love could there be?

Tanis recalled their love as Kishpa remembered it. The half-elf knew he could change it all if he chose to. He could imagine that it was he whom Brandella really loved, and over time he could convince himself that this was so. The truth, he knew, was that memories not only fade; they change, become embellished, and are sometimes created out of whole cloth.

Tanis had planned to try his hand at sculpting upon leaving the Inn of the Last Home. Hint's metalsmithing had first sparked his interest, but it was the statue of Sco-warr in Ankatavaka that truly inspired him. There was magic in that stone, and somehow it had come alive. He didn't know if he could fashion such a work, but he felt the passion to try. And he would do it in a way that was bigger than life.

He began in the winter, in the ice, snow, and freezing cold. He chose a granite mountain peak, painstakingly chiseling away the stone to suggest a face of ineffable beauty, intelligence, and warmth. With longing eyes, she looked across a narrow pass at the second of Tanis's creations: her desperate, headstrong, loving mage.

He worked on his masterpiece every day for more than fourteen months. By the spring of the following year, he didn't merely tell their story in stone, he told it in mountains—so that it would last.

Tanis never picked up a chisel again. He left the mountains near Solace and disappeared. His adventures between the finishing of his creation and his rendezvous with the companions at the Inn of the Last Home will, it seems, have to await their own timely telling.

As for his sculpture, the mountain figures never came to life like the statue of Scowarr, but they did something even grander: They came to life in the minds of the untold thousands who saw them. People trekked from all over Krynn to be inspired by the images.