"Come, old friend," Tanis admonished mildly. "You remember that time we met the mountain dwarf at the fair in Haven last fall. He claimed that it was the hill dwarves who had clerical powers and refused to share them with their cousins in the mountain."
"Of course he would say that!" Flint bellowed. "To ease his guilty conscience!"
"Tell us a story about Reorx," suggested Caramon, the peacemaker, but the dwarf was angry and wouldn't talk.
"Some of these followers of the new gods claim to have that power," Tanis stated, giving Flint time to cool off. "The clerics of Belzor, for one. The last time I was in Haven, they made a big show of it. Caused cripples to get up and walk and dumb people to speak. What do you say, Kit?"
He'd caught her in a prodigious yawn, which she didn't bother to hide. Raking back her curly hair, she laughed carelessly. "Who wants or needs any gods at all? I certainly don't. No divine force controls my life, and that's the way I like it. I choose my own destiny. 1 am slave to no man. Why should I be a slave to a god and let some priest or cleric tell me how to live?"
Tanis applauded her when she finished and saluted her with a raised glass. Flint was frowning and thoughtful. When his glance fell on Tanis, the frown deepened into concern. Sturm stared raptly into the fire, his dark eyes unusually bright, as if he saw Paladine's knights once more riding into battle in the name of their god. Caramon had long since dozed off. He lay with his head on the table, his hand still wrapped around his ale mug, softly snoring. Tasslehoff, to the wonder and amazement of all, had managed to stand on his head and was shrilly demanding that everyone look at him- quickly, before he fell off the face of Krynn.
"We've stayed long enough," Kit whispered to Tanis. "I can think of lots more interesting things to do than hang around here." Taking hold of his hand, she brought it to her lips, kissed his knuckles.
Tanis's heart was in his eyes, as the saying goes. His love and longing for her was apparent to everyone watching him. Everyone except Kit, who was now playfully nibbling on the knuckles she had previously been kissing.
"I'm going to have to leave Solace soon, Kit," he said to her softly. "Flint will be taking to the road any day now."
Kitiara rose to her feet. "All the more reason not to waste what time we have left. Good-bye, little brothers," she said, not looking at them. "Happy Day of Life Gift."
"Yes, best wishes," Tanis said, turning to Raistlin with a warm smile. He patted the snoring Caramon on the shoulder.
Kitiara put her arm around the half-elf's waist, leaned into him. He placed his arm affectionately on her shoulder. Walking side by side, so closely that they almost tripped over each other's feet, the two left the inn.
Flint sighed and shook his head. "More ale," he called gruffly.
"Did you see me, Flint? Did you see me?" Tasslehoff, his face bright red, skipped back to the table. "I stood on my head! And I didn't fall off the face of Krynn. My head stuck to the floor just like my feet do. I guess you'd have to not have any part of you touching. Do you suppose if I jumped off the roof of the inn?…"
"Yes, yes, go ahead," Flint muttered, preoccupied. The kender dashed away.
"I'll go stop him," Sturm offered and left in hasty pursuit. Raistlin poked his brother, prodded him awake.
"Uh? What?" Caramon grunted, sitting up and peering around, bleary-eyed. He'd been dreaming of Miranda.
Raistlin raised his half-empty wineglass. "A toast, my brother. To love." "To love," Caramon mumbled, sloshing ale on the table.
Chapter 7
As it turned out, Tanis and Flint did not leave Solace that summer.
Caramon had already departed for work in the early morning dawn and Raistlin was putting his books together, preparatory to going to his school, when there was a knock on the door. Simultaneous with the knock, the door flew open and Tasslehoff Burrfoot jumped in.
Flint had been trying to teach the kender that a knock on the door was generally conceded among civilized peoples as an announcement of one's presence and a request to be admitted. One waited patiently at the door until the knock was answered and the door was opened by the person residing in the household.
Tasslehoff simply could not grasp the concept. Knocking on doors was not much practiced in the kender homelands. It wasn't necessary. Kender doors usually stood wide open. The only reason to shut them was during inclement weather.
If a visiting kender walked in on his hosts and found that they were engaged in some pursuit in which he was not particularly welcome, the visitor could either sit in the parlor and wait until his hosts showed themselves or he was free to leave-after ransacking the dwelling for anything interesting, of course.
Some uninformed people on Ansalon maintained that this custom was followed because kender had no locks on their doors. This was not true. All doors to kender dwellings had locks, generally a great many locks of differing types. The locks were only used when a party was in progress. There was no door knocking at these times. The guests were expected to pick the locks to obtain entry, this being the major form of entertainment for the evening.
Thus far, Flint had trained Tasslehoff to at least knock on the door, which he did, generally knocking on the door as he opened it, or else opening it and then knocking on it, as a way to loudly announce his presence in case no one noticed him.
Raistlin was prepared for Tasslehoffs arrival, having heard the kender shouting his name breathlessly six doors down and having heard the neighbors shout back to ask if he knew what time of the morning it was. He also heard Tas stop to inform them of the correct time.
"Well, they were the ones who asked," Tasslehoff said indignantly, swinging inside with the door. "If they didn't want to know, why were they shouting like that? I tell you" -he fetched a sigh as he settled himself down at the kitchen table- "I don't understand humans sometime."
"Good morning," said Raistlin, removing the teapot from the kender's hand. "I will be late for my classes. Was there something you wanted?" he asked severely as Tasslehoff was reaching for the bread and the toasting fork.
"Oh, yes!" The kender dropped the fork with a clatter and jumped to his feet. "I almost forgot! It's a good thing you reminded me, Raistlin. I'm extremely worried. No, thank you, I couldn't eat a thing. I'm too upset. Well, maybe a biscuit. Do you have any jam? I-"
"What do you want?" Raistlin demanded.
"It's Flint," said the kender, eating the jam out of the crock with a spoon. "He can't stand up. He can't lie down either, or sit down for that matter. He's in extremely bad shape, and I'm really worried about him. Truly worried."
The kender was obviously upset, because he shoved the jam pot away even though it still had some jam inside. He did put the spoon in his pocket, but that was only to be expected.
Raistlin retrieved the spoon and asked more about the dwarf's symptoms.
"It happened this morning. Flint got out of bed. and I heard him give a yell, which sometimes he does in the morning, but that's usually after I've gone into his room to say good morning when he wasn't exactly ready for it to be morning yet. But I wasn't in his room at all, and he still yelled. So I went into his room to see what was the matter, and there he was, bent double like an elf in a high wind. I thought he was looking at something on the floor, so I went over to look at whatever he was looking at, but then I found out he wasn't, or if he was he wasn't meaning to. He was looking at the floor because he couldn't do anything else.
" 'I'm stuck this way, you miserable kender!' That's what he said. I was miserable for him, so that was pretty accurate. I asked him what happened.
" 'I bent down to lace my boots and my back gave out.' I said I'd help him straighten up, but he threatened to hit me with the poker if I came near him, so-while it might have been interesting, being hit with a poker, something that's never happened to me before-I decided that hitting me wasn't going to help Flint much, so I better come to you and see if you could suggest anything."
Tasslehoff regarded Raistlin with anxious expectancy. The youn
g man had put his books down and was searching among jars containing unguents and potions that he'd concocted from his herb garden.
"Do you know what's wrong?" Tas asked. "Has he been troubled with back pain before?"
"Oh, yes," said Tas cheerfully. "He said that his back has been hurting him ever since Caramon tried to drown him in the boat. His back and his left leg."
"I see. That's what I thought. It sounds to me as if Flint is suffering from a defluxion of rheum," Raistlin replied.
"A defluxion of rheum," Tas repeated the words slowly, savoring them. He was awed. "How wonderful! Is it catching?" he asked hopefully.
"No, it is not catching. It is an inflammation of the joints. It can also be known as lumbago. Although," Raistlin said, frowning, "the pain in the left leg might mean something more serious. I was going to send some oil of wintergreen home with you to rub into the afflicted area, but now I think I had better come take a look myself."
"Flint, you have an influx of runes!" Tasslehoff cried excitedly, racing through the door, which he had neglected to shut on his way out and which the dwarf, in his misery, could not manage to reach.
Flint had scarcely moved from the place where the kender had left him. He was bent almost double, his beard brushing the floor. Any attempt to straighten brought beads of sweat to his forehead and gasps of agony to his lips. His boots remained unlaced. He stood hunched over, alternately swearing and groaning.
"Runes?" the dwarf yelled. "What has this got to do with runes?"
"Rheum," Raistlin clarified. "An inflammation of the joints caused by prolonged exposure to cold or dampness."
"I knew it! That damn boat!" Flint said with bitter triumph. "I say it again: I'll never set foot in one of those foul contraptions again so long as I live, I swear it, Reorx." He would have stamped his foot upon the vow, this being considered proper among dwarves, but the movement caused him to cry out in pain and clutch the back of his left leg.
"I've got my wares to sell this summer. How am I supposed to travel like this?" he demanded irritably.
"You're not traveling," said Raistlin. "You are going back to bed, and you're going to stay there until the muscles relax. You're all knotted up. This oil will ease the pain. I'll need your help, Tas. Lift his shirt."
"No! Stay away from me! Don't touch me!" "We're only trying to help you to-"
"What's that smell? Oil of what? Pine tree! You're not going to feed me any tree juice!" "I'm going to rub it on you."
"I won't have it, I tell you! Ouch! Ouch! Get away! I have the poker!"
"Tas, go fetch Tanis," Raistlin ordered, seeing that his patient was going to be difficult.
Although he was extremely sorry to leave in the midst of such excitement, the kender ran off to deliver his message. Tanis returned in haste, alarmed by Tasslehoffs somewhat confused account that Flint had been attacked by runes, which Raistlin was trying to cure by making him swallow pine needles.
Raistlin explained the situation in more detailed and coherent terms. Tanis concurred in both the diagnosis and the treatment. Overriding the dwarf's vehement protests (first forcibly removing the poker from his hand), they rubbed the oil into his skin, massaged the muscles of his legs and arms until he was finally able to straighten his back enough to lie down.
Flint maintained the entire time that he was not going to bed. He was setting out on his summer travels to sell his wares. There was nothing any of them could do to stop him. He kept this up as
Tanis helped him hobble to the bed, kept it up though he had to compress his lips against the pain that he said was like a goblin's poison dagger stuck in the back of his leg. He kept it up until Raistlin told Tas to run to the inn and ask Otik for a jug of brandy.
"What's that for?" Flint asked suspiciously. "You going to rub that on me now?"
"You're to swallow a dram every hour," Raistlin replied. "For the pain. So long as you stay in bed."
"Every hour?" The dwarf brightened. He settled himself more comfortably among the pillows. "Well, perhaps I'll just take today off. We can always start tomorrow. Make certain Otik sends the good stuff!" he bellowed after Tas.
"He won't be going anywhere tomorrow," Raistlin told Tanis. "Or the day after, or any time in the near future. He must stay in bed until the pain goes away and he can walk freely. If he doesn't, he could be crippled for life."
"Are you sure?" Tanis looked skeptical. "Flint's complained of aches and pains as long as I've known him."
"This is different. This is quite serious. It has something to do with the spine and the nerves that run up the leg. Weird Meggin treated a person who was suffering symptoms similar to this once, and I helped her. She explained it to me using a human skeleton she had dissected. If you would accompany me to her house, I could show you."
"No, no! That won't be necessary," Tanis said hurriedly. "I'll take your word for it." He rubbed his chin and shook his head. "But how in the name of the Forger of the World we're going to keep that ornery old dwarf in bed, short of tying him to the bedposts, is beyond me."
The brandy aided them in this endeavor, rendering the patient calm, though not quiet, and in a relatively good humor. He actually did what he was told and remained in bed voluntarily. They were all pleasantly surprised. Tanis praised Flint highly for being such a model patient.
What none of them knew was that Flint had actually made an attempt to get out of bed the first night he was incapacitated. The pain was excruciating, his leg had collapsed under him. This incident scared the dwarf badly. He began to think that perhaps Raistlin knew what he was talking about. Crawling back into bed, Flint determined secretly to stay there as long as it took to heal. Meanwhile, he had a good time ordering everyone about and making Caramon feel wretchedly guilty for having been the cause of it all.
Tanis certainly did not mind staying in Solace instead of traveling around Abanasinia. Kitiara remained in Solace as well, much to the astonishment of her brothers.
"I never thought I'd see Kit fall in love with any man."
Caramon said to his twin one evening over supper. "She just doesn't seem the affectionate type."
Raistlin sneered. " 'Love' is not the word, my brother. Love involves caring, respect, fondness. I would term our sister's attachment for the half-elf as one of 'passion,' or perhaps lust' might be a better word. I would guess, from the stories our mother told us, that Kitiara is much like her father in that regard."
"I suppose," Caramon responded, looking uncomfortable. He never liked to talk about their mother if he could help it. His memories of her were not pleasant ones.
"Gregor's love for Rosamun was extremely passionate- while it lasted," Raistlin said, with ironic emphasis on the latter part of his sentence. "He found her different from other women, she amused him. I'm sure there is a certain amusement factor involved with Kitiara's relationship with the half- elf. He is undoubtedly very different from other men she has known."
"I like Tanis," Caramon said defensively, thinking that his brother's words disparaged his friend. "He's a great guy. He's giving me sword fighting lessons. I'm getting really good at it. He said so. I'll have to show you sometime."
"Of course you like Tanis. We all like Tanis," Raistlin said with a shrug. "He is honorable, honest, trustworthy, loyal. As I said, he is far different from any other man our sister has loved."
"You can't know that for sure," Caramon protested.
"Oh, I can, my brother. I can," Raistlin said.
Caramon wanted to know how, but Raistlin refused to elaborate. The twins were silent, finishing their meal. Caramon ate voraciously, devouring everything on his plate and then looking around for more. He had only to wait. Raistlin picked at his food, eating only the choicest morsels, shoving aside any bit of meat with the least amount of gristle or any piece that happened to be even slightly underdone. Caramon was always willing to finish the scraps.
He carried away the wooden bowls to be washed. Raistlin fed his mice and cleaned their cage, then went into the kitche
n to help his brother.
"I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to Tanis, Raist," Caramon said, not looking up from his work.
"My dear brother, you have more water on the floor than you do in the bucket. No! Finish what you are doing. I will mop it up." Grabbing the rag, Raistlin bent down, wiped it over the stone flagon floor. "As for Tanis, he is quite old enough to take care of himself, Caramon. He is, I believe, well over one hundred."
"Maybe he's old in years, Raist, but he's not as old as you and I in some ways," Caramon said. He stacked up the wet bowls and utensils, wrung out the cloth, and shook the water from his hands, which he then wiped on his shirtfront.
Raistlin snorted, clearly disbelieving.
Caramon tried to make himself clear. "Because he's honest, he thinks everyone else is honest, too. And loyal and honorable. But you and I-we know that's not true. Especially it's not true with Kit."
Raistlin looked up swiftly. "What do you mean?"
Caramon flushed, ashamed for his sister. "She lied to Tanis about that money, Raist. The steel coins from Sanction. She told Tanis that she won the money playing at bones with a sailor. Well, I was with her a few days earlier when she came over here to see if I wanted to practice my sword fighting with her. When she was ready to leave, she sent me to fetch her cloak from the chest in the bedroom. When I picked up the cloak, the purse with the coins fell out and the coins spilled. I looked at one, because I'd never seen a coin like it. I asked her where they came from."
"What did she say?"
"She said that it was pay she'd earned for work she'd done up north. She said that there was lots more money where that came from and that I could earn my share and so could you, if you'd give up this foolery about magic and come with us. She said she wasn't ready to go north yet, that she was having too much fun here, and anyway I needed more training and you had to be convinced that you were." Caramon hesitated.
"I was what?" Raistlin prodded him.
"A failure in magic. That's what she said, Raist. Not me, so don't get mad." "I'm not mad. Why would she say such a thing?"
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