Caramon’s armor.
Lifting out a cuisse by its leather strap, Tika stood up and turning around, hurled the polished metal straight at Caramon.
It struck him in the shoulder, bouncing off to fall to the floor with a clatter.
“Ouch!” the big man cried, sitting up. “Name of the Abyss, Tika! Leave me alone for—”
“You’re going after her,” Tika said firmly, lifting out another piece of armor. “You’re going after her, if I have to haul you out of here in a wheelbarrow!”
“Uh, pardon me,” said a kender to a man loitering near the edge of the road on the outskirts of Solace. The man instantly clapped his hand over his purse. “I’m looking for the home of a friend of mine. Well, actually two friends of mine. One’s a woman, pretty, with red curls. Her name is Tika Waylan—”
Glaring at the kender, the man jerked a thumb. “Over there yonder.”
Tas looked. “There?” he said pointing, impressed. “That truly magnificent house in the new vallenwood?”
“What?” The man gave a brief, sharp laugh. “What’d you call it? Truly magnificent? That’s a good one.” Still chuckling, he walked off, laughing and hastily counting the coins in his purse at the same time.
How rude! Tas thought, absently slipping the man’s pocket knife into one of his pouches. Then, promptly forgetting the incident, the kender headed for Tika’s home. His gaze lingered fondly on each detail of the fine house nestled securely in the limbs of the still-growing vallenwood tree.
“I’m so glad for Tika.” Tas remarked to what appeared to be a mound of clothes with feet walking beside him. “And for Caramon, too,” he added. “But Tika’s never really had a true home of her own. How proud she must be!”
As he approached the house, Tas saw it was one of the better homes in the township. It was built in the ages-old tradition of Solace. The delicate turns of the vaulting gables were shaped to appear to be part of the tree itself. Each room extended off from the main body of the house, the wood of the walls carved and polished to resemble the tree trunk. The structure conformed to the shape of the tree, a peaceful harmony existed between man’s work and nature’s to create a pleasing whole. Tas felt a warm glow in his heart as he thought of his two friends working on and living in such a wonderful dwelling. Then—
“That’s funny,” said Tas to himself, “I wonder why there’s no roof.”
As he drew closer, looking at the house more intently, he noticed it was missing quite a few things—a roof among them.
The great vaulting gables actually did nothing more than form a framework for a roof that wasn’t there. The walls of the rooms extended only part way around the building. The floor was only a barren platform.
Coming to stand right beneath it, Tas peered upwards, wondering what was going on. He could see hammers and axes and saws lying out in the open, rusting away. From their looks, they hadn’t been used in months. The structure itself was showing the effects of long exposure to weather. Tas tugged his topknot thoughtfully. The building had all the makings of the most magnificent structure in all of Solace—if it was ever finished!
Then Tas brightened. One section of the house was finished. All of the glass had been carefully placed into the window frames, the walls were intact, a roof protected the room from the elements. At least Tika has one room of her own, the kender thought. But, as he studied the room more closely, his smile faded. Above the door, he could see clearly, despite some weathering, the carefully crafted mark denoting a wizard’s residence.
“I might have known,” Tas said, shaking his head. He glanced around. “Well, Tika and Caramon certainly can’t be living there. But that man said—Oh.”
As he walked around the huge vallenwood tree, he came upon a small house, almost lost amidst overgrown weeds, hidden by the shadow of the vallenwood tree. Obviously built only as a temporary measure, it had the look of becoming all too permanent. If ever a building could look unhappy, Tas mused, this one did. Its gables sagged into a frown. Its paint was cracked and peeling. Still, there were flowers in the window-boxes and frilly curtains in the windows. The kender sighed. So this was Tika’s house, built in the shadow of a dream.
Approaching the little house, he stood outside the door, listening attentively. There was the most awful commotion going on inside. He could hear thuds and glass breaking and shouts and thumping.
“I think you better wait out here.” Tas said to the bundle of clothes.
The bundle grunted and plopped itself comfortably down into the muddy road outside the house. Tas glanced at it uncertainly, then shrugged and walked up to the door. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he turned it and took a step forward, confidently expecting to walk right in. Instead he smashed his nose on the wood. The door was locked.
“That’s odd,” Tas said, stepping back and looking around. “What is Tika thinking about? Locking doors! How barbaric. And a bolt lock at that. I’m sure I was expected.…” He stared at the lock gloomily. The shouts and yells continued inside. He thought he could hear Caramon’s deep voice.
“It sure sounds interesting in there.” Tas glanced around, and felt cheered immediately. “The window! Of course!”
But, on hurrying over to the window, Tas found it locked, too! “I never would have expected that of Tika, of all people,” the kender commented sadly to himself. Studying the lock, he noticed it was a simple one and would open quite easily. From the set of tools in his pouch, Tas removed the lock-picking device that is a kender’s birthright. Inserting it, he gave it an expert twist and had the satisfaction of hearing the lock click. Smiling happily, he pushed the paned glass open and crawled inside. He hit the floor without a sound. Peering back out the window, he saw the shapeless bundle napping in the gutter.
Relieved on that point, Tasslehoff paused to look around the house, his sharp eyes taking in everything, his hands touching everything.
“My, isn’t this interesting,” went Tas’s running commentary as he headed for the closed door from beyond which came the crashing sounds. “Tika won’t mind if I study it for a moment. I’ll put it right back.” The object tumbled, of its accord, into his pouch. “And look at this! Uh-oh, there’s a crack in it. She’ll thank me for telling her about it.” That object slipped into another pouch. “And what’s the butter dish doing clear over here? I’m sure Tika kept it in the pantry. I better return it to its proper place.” The butter dish settled into a third pouch.
By this time, Tas had reached the closed door. Turning the handle—(he was thankful to see Tika hadn’t locked it as well!)—he walked inside.
“Hullo,” he said merrily. “Remember me? Say, this looks like fun! Can I play? Give me something to throw at him, too, Tika. Gee, Caramon”—Tas entered the bedroom and walked over to where Tika stood, a breastplate in her hand, staring at him in profound astonishment—“what is the matter with you—you look awful, just awful! Say, why are we throwing armor at Caramon, Tika?” Tas asked, picking up a chain mail vest and turning to face the big warrior, who had barricaded himself behind the bed. “Is this something you two do regularly? I’ve heard married couples do some strange things, but this seems kind of weird—”
“Tasslehoff Burrfoot!” Tika recovered her power of speech. “What in the name of the gods are you doing here?”
“Why, I’m sure Tanis must have told you I was coming,” Tas said, hurling the chain mail at Caramon. “Hey—this is fun! I found the front door locked.” Tas gave her a reproachful glance. “In fact, I had to come in a window, Tika,” he said severely. “I think you might have more consideration. Anyway, I’m supposed to meet Lady Crysania here and—”
To Tas’s amazement, Tika dropped the breastplate, burst into tears, and collapsed onto the floor. The kender looked over at Caramon, who was rising up from behind the backboard like a spectre rising from the grave. Caramon stood looking at Tika with a lost and wistful expression. Then he picked his way through pieces of armor that lay scattered about on the floor and knelt do
wn beside her.
“Tika,” he whispered pathetically, patting her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all those things I said, you know that. I love you! I’ve always loved you. It’s just … I don’t know what to do!”
“You know what to do!” Tika shouted. Pulling away from him, she sprang to her feet. “I just told you! Lady Crysania’s in danger. You’ve got to go to her!”
“Who is this Lady Crysania?” Caramon yelled back. “Why should I give a damn whether she’s in danger or not?”
“Listen to me for once in your life,” Tika hissed through clenched teeth, her anger drying her tears. “Lady Crysania is a powerful cleric of Paladine, one of the most powerful in the world, next to Elistan. She was warned in a dream that Raistlin’s evil could destroy the world. She is going to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth to talk to Par-Salian to—”
“To get help destroying him, isn’t that it?” Caramon snarled.
“And what if they did?” Tika flared. “Does he deserve to live? He’d kill you without a second thought!”
Caramon’s eyes flashed dangerously, his face flushed. Tas gulped, seeing the big man’s fist clench, but Tika walked right up to stand in front of him. Though her head barely came to his chin, Tas thought the big man cowered at her anger. His hand opened weakly.
“But, no, Caramon,” Tika said grimly, “she doesn’t want to destroy him. She’s just as big a fool as you are. She loves your brother, may the gods help her. She wants to save him, to turn him from evil.”
Caramon stared at Tika in wonder. His expression softened.
“Truly?” he said.
“Yes, Caramon,” Tika said wearily. “That’s why she came here, to see you. She thought you might be able to help. Then, when she saw you last night—”
Caramon’s head drooped. His eyes filled with tears. “A woman, a stranger, wants to help Raist. And risks her life to do it.” He began to blubber again.
Tika stared at him in exasperation. “Oh, for the love of—Go after her, Caramon!” she cried, stamping her foot on the floor. “She’ll never reach the Tower alone. You know that! You’ve been through the Forest of Wayreth.”
“Yes,” Caramon said, sniffing. “I went with Raist. I took him there, so he could find the Tower and take the Test. That evil Test! I guarded him. He needed me … then.”
“And Crysania needs you now!” Tika said grimly. Caramon was still standing, irresolute, and Tas saw Tika’s face settle in firm, hard lines. “You don’t have much time to lose, if you’re going to catch up with her. Do you remember the way?”
“I do!” shouted Tas in excitement. “That is, I have a map,” Tika and Caramon turned around to stare at the kender in astonishment, both having forgotten his existence.
“I dunno,” Caramon said, regarding Tas darkly. “I remember your maps. One of them took us to a seaport that didn’t have any sea!”
“That wasn’t my fault!” Tas cried indignantly. “Even Tanis said so. My map was drawn before the Cataclysm struck and took the sea away. But you have to take me with you, Caramon! I’m supposed to meet Lady Crysania. She sent me on a quest, a real quest. And I completed it. I found”—sudden movement caught Tas’s attention—“oh, here she is.”
He waved his hand, and Tika and Caramon turned to see the shapeless bundle of clothes standing in the door to their bedroom. Only now the bundle had grown two black, suspicious eyes.
“Me hungry,” said the bundle to Tas accusingly. “When we eat?”
“I went on a quest for Bupu,” Tasslehoff Burrfoot said proudly.
“But what in the name of the Abyss does Lady Crysania want with a gully dwarf?” Tika said in absolute mystification. She had taken Bupu to the kitchen, given her some stale bread and half a cheese, then sent her back outside—the gully dwarf’s smell doing nothing to enhance the comfort of the small house. Bupu returned happily to the gutter, where she supplemented her meal by drinking water out of a puddle in the street.
“Oh, I promised I wouldn’t tell,” Tas said importantly. The kender was helping Caramon to strap on his armor—a rather involved task, since the big man was considerably bigger since the last time he’d worn it. Both Tika and Tas worked until they were sweating, tugging on straps, pushing and prodding rolls of fat beneath the metal.
Caramon groaned and moaned, sounding very much like a man being stretched on the rack. The big man’s tongue licked his lips and his longing gaze went more than once to the bedroom and the small flask Tika had so casually tossed into the corner.
“Oh, come now, Tas,” Tika wheedled, knowing the kender couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. “I’m sure Lady Crysania wouldn’t mind—”
Tas’s face twisted in agony. “She-she made me promise and swear to Paladine, Tika!” The kender’s face grew solemn. “And you know that Fizban—I mean Paladine—and I are personal friends.” The kender paused. “Suck in your gut, Caramon,” he ordered irritably. “How did you ever get yourself into this condition, anyway?”
Putting his foot against the big man’s thigh, Tas tugged. Caramon yelped in pain.
“I’m in fine shape,” the big man mumbled angrily. “It’s the armor. It’s shrunk or something.”
“I didn’t know this kind of metal shrinks,” Tas said with interest. “I’ll bet it has to be heated! How did you do that? Or did it just get real, real hot around here?”
“Oh, shut up!” Caramon snarled.
“I was only being helpful,” Tas said, wounded. “Anyway, oh, about Lady Crysania.” His face took on a lofty look. “I gave my sacred oath. All I can say is she wanted me to tell her everything I could remember about Raistlin. And I did. And this has to do with that. Lady Crysania’s truly a wonderful person, Tika,” Tas continued solemnly. “You might not have noticed, but I’m not very religious. Kender aren’t as a rule. But you don’t have to be religious to know that there is something truly good about Lady Crysania. She’s smart, too. Maybe even smarter than Tanis.”
Tas’s eyes were bright with mystery and importance. “I think I can tell you this much,” he said in a whisper. “She has a plan! A plan to help save Raistlin! Bupu’s part of the plan. She’s taking her to Par-Salian!”
Even Caramon looked dubious at this, and Tika was privately beginning to think maybe Riverwind and Tanis were right. Maybe Lady Crysania was mad. Still, anything that might help Caramon, might give him some hope—
But Caramon had apparently been working things out in his own mind. “You know. It’s all the fault of this Fis-Fistan-doodle or whatever his name was,” he said, tugging uncomfortably at the leather straps where they bit into his flabby flesh. “You know, that mage Fizban—er—Paladine told us about. And Par-Salian knows something about that, too!” His face brightened. “We’ll fix everything. I’ll bring Raistlin back here, like we planned, Tika! He can move into the room we’ve got fixed up for him. We’ll take care of him, you and I. In our new house. It’s going to be fine, fine!” Caramon’s eyes shone. Tika couldn’t look at him. He sounded so much like the old Caramon, the Caramon she had loved.…
Keeping her expression stern, she turned abruptly and headed for the bedroom. “I’ll go get the rest of your things—”
“Wait!” Caramon stopped her. “No, uh—thanks, Tika. I can manage. How about you—uh—pack us something to eat.”
“I’ll help,” Tas offered, heading eagerly for the kitchen.
“Very well,’ Tika said. Reaching out, she caught hold of the kender by the topknot of hair that tumbled down his back. “Just one minute, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. You’re not going anywhere until you sit down and empty out every one of your pouches!”
Tas wailed in protest. Under cover of the confusion, Caramon hurried into the bedroom and shut the door. Without pausing, he went straight for the corner and retrieved the flask. Shaking it, he found it over half-full. Smiling to himself in satisfaction, he thrust it deep into his pack, then hastily crammed some additional clothes in on top of it.
“Now, I’
m all set!” he called out cheerfully to Tika.
“I’m all set,” Caramon repeated, standing disconsolately on the porch.
He was a ludicrous sight. The stolen dragon armor he had worn during the last months of the campaign had been completely refurbished by the big warrior when he arrived back in Solace. He had beaten the dents out, cleaned and polished and redesigned it so completely that it no longer resembled the original. He had taken a great deal of care with it, then packed it away lovingly. It was still in excellent condition. Only now, unfortunately, there was a large gap between the shining black chain mail that covered his chest and the big belt that girdled his rotund waist. Neither he nor Tas had been able to strap the metal plates that guarded his legs around his flabby thighs. He had stowed these away in his pack. He groaned when he lifted his shield and looked at it suspiciously, as if certain someone had filled it with lead weights during the last two years. His sword belt would not fit around his sagging gut. Blushing furiously, he strapped the sword in its worn scabbard onto his back.
At this point, Tas was forced to look somewhere else. The kender thought he was going to laugh but was startled to find himself on the verge of tears.
“I look a fool,” Caramon muttered, seeing Tas turn away hurriedly. Bupu was staring at him with eyes as wide as teacups, her mouth hanging open.
“Him look just like my Highbulp, Phudge I,” Bupu sighed.
A vivid memory of the fat, slovenly king of the gully dwarf clan in Xak Tsaroth came to Tas’s mind. Grabbing the gully dwarf, he stuffed a hunk of bread in her mouth to shut her up. But the damage had been done. Apparently Caramon, too, remembered.
“That does it,” he snarled, flushing darkly and hurling his shield to the wooden porch where it banged and clattered loudly. “I’m not going! This was a stupid idea anyway!” He stared accusingly at Tika, then, turning around, he started for the door. But Tika moved to stand in front of him.
Time of the Twins Page 7
