[Meetings 06] - The Companions Read online

  Much as he once had with Tanis, Flint had more or less taken the Majere twins under his wing some years back when their mother died and they were still teenagers. Through the dwarf, the half-elf had grown to know and like the brothers—with reservations. Caramon was stalwart and good-natured, yet his easygoing habits sometimes led him astray. As to Raistlin, the pale young mage with the intense gaze, Tanis admitted to himself that he found it difficult to strike up any rapport with Raistlin when Caramon wasn't around.

  "Come on," said Flint, putting an arm around his friend and leading him toward the door. The dwarf stopped for a moment at his worktable and used a broken bit of charcoal to scribble something on a smooth piece of bark. He winked at Tanis, hanging it on the door as they walked out. Gone hunting, the sign read.

  The two friends had to proceed along the elevated walkways strung between the giant vallenwoods toward the eastern edge of town. If the people of Solace hadn't already been accustomed to seeing the pair together, the dwarf and half-elf would have attracted some stares. Flint, stocky and short, with his rolling gait, hurried to keep up with his much taller companion, who glided down the walkways with the easy grace and surefootedness of his mother's race, the Qualinesti elves.

  On this occasion, the picture was made even more comical by Flint's constant gesturing and exclamations as he spouted abominable tales of Tasslehoff, intended to draw Tanis out of his melancholy mood. But Tanis remained mostly silent, taking long strides as Flint endeavored to keep up.

  It wasn't Raistlin's urgent summons that darkened Tanis's thoughts as they walked to Crystalmir Lake so much as it was Raistlin's half-sister, Kitiara Uth Matar. For Tanis, Kitiara was never far from his thoughts.

  Her laughing face and crooked smile teased his mind by day and his dreams by night.

  Tanis and Kitiara had been quarreling more than they had been getting along. Then one day, several weeks ago, Kitiara had informed Tanis that she had an offer to travel in the north with a band of mercenaries hired by a certain lord for some mysterious, no doubt illicit, purpose. Tanis denounced the expedition as unworthy of her. Kitiara had retorted that it was better than dying in her sleep in dull old Solace.

  Upset by the idea of Kit leaving, Tanis had switched tactics and offered to accompany her. This had sparked a fit of laughter on Kitiara's part. She recovered, but a glint of anger lit her dark eyes. "You wouldn't fit in," she said with more than a hint of insult.

  The next morning, Tanis had risen early to see Kit off. She was already astride her horse when he reached the stable. He had to run and grab the bridle to stop her for a moment. Kitiara had smiled vaguely down at him, then bent her dark, curly head and kissed him hard on the lips, before riding off without a word.

  Even now Tanis could conjure up the sensation of that kiss. "Flint," he said to the dwarf as they hurried along the high walkways, "have you ever been in love?"

  Astonished by the impertinent question, the crusty dwarf stumbled and grabbed the rail of the walkway.

  "Not saying that I ever was," recovered Flint, resuming his pace. "But if I had been, I sure would have been more careful about who I happened to fall in love with than some people I know!"

  "What do you mean by that?" the half-elf demanded hotly.

  "I mean, you young pup, that Kitiara Uth Matar is hardly my idea—or anyone else's idea, for that matter—of the ideal female," Flint said firmly. "I've seen the way you moon at her and the way she looks back at you. Two different things. Nothing in common, if you get my drift."

  Flint shook his head with exasperation as they rounded a curve and headed toward the bridge that would take them down onto the forest path leading to the lake. "Besides," the dwarf muttered, "I seem to recall you two having big arguments practically every day before she lit out of here. To my way of thinking, it was half the reason she left."

  Tanis stopped and grabbed Flint's arm. "You haven't answered my question," he said tersely.

  "Well," said Flint, halting in midstep. His eyebrows shot up and down like a pair of wriggling caterpillars. "There may have been someone once. Another hill dwarf like myself, of course. I don't know that you'd call it love. It was sort of . . . a romance."

  Flint stumbled over his words, the color rising to his cheeks. He looked at his feet, shifting his weight back and forth. Tanis waited for him to go on.

  "Well?" queried Tanis at last, leaning closer to his friend, "Go on, what happened? Tell me."

  Flint's expression was pained. "She was a huntsman's daughter," he said hesitantly. "Our families had pledged us to be married since birth. Times were hard in those days." He snorted. "Still are . . ."

  Tanis listened with fascination. The dwarf was normally stingy with personal information. Maybe his good mood had put him off guard, allowing his natural reserve to slip.

  Flint paused, seeming to watch something in his mind's eye. Abruptly he shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs.

  "She was just . . . someone! Back when I was young and foolish like you!" he said gruffly. "You know how it is with dwarves. Marriages have to be arranged and approved by the clans. Or do you know very much about the history of the hill dwarves and mountain dwarves? Now there's an interesting tale . . . ."

  Tanis coughed. "What was her name?"

  Flint glared at him. "Lolly Ockenfels."

  Tanis broke out into a grin.

  "A respectable clan, the Ockenfels," Flint said defensively. "They were exceptional huntsmen. But the point is, I didn't think that it was a good time to get hitched, married, and take on family responsibilities. I was just a sprig of a lad, and although I'd seen her around, I didn't really know Lolly all that well. That is, until we had a secret rendezvous to talk it over, and I found out that she was a lot like me."

  Tanis raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Pigheaded?" he ventured.

  "Strong-minded," Flint said, irritated. "And when we had our secret meeting, why, I found out she was just as eager as I was to scotch the whole thing. Only . . ."

  "Only what?"

  "You ask a lot of bothersome questions," Flint snapped. "I don't know why I'm telling all this to you." He broke off and moved toward the bridge, but Tanis stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

  "Only what?" the half-elf repeated.

  Flint spoke in a quiet voice. "Only, meeting with her, all alone like that, I got to know her better and see what she was like. Strong-minded, like myself . . ."

  "You said that."

  "And kinda pretty. Long pigtails, good, strong shoulders . . . dark brown eyes that were, uh, deep." His voice trailed off. Flint chanced a glance at Tanis, who was waiting eagerly for the rest of the story.

  "Well?"

  Flint set his jaw. "That's one too many questions, boy." The dwarf swatted Tanis on the shoulder, knocking him off balance. "I've said too much already, and Raistlin's waiting."

  Flint clomped off toward the bridge. Tanis looked after him thoughtfully. Then, with a couple of long strides, he caught up.

  Coming across the bridge from the opposite direction sauntered a couple of seedy farmhands heading toward the marketplace in Solace. One, dressed in an ill-fitting tunic, pointed at Tanis and made a loud remark about "pointy elf ears," provoking a guffaw from his companion.

  Flint could feel Tanis tense as they approached. Considering the mood Tanis was in, Flint thought, the half-elf might get himself into trouble.

  The dwarf moved quickly, deftly unbuckling a mallet from the belt around his waist and seeming to drop it accidentally to the ground. He managed to kick it with his boot so that it slid toward the scruffy pair and stopped, spinning, at the feet of the one who had made the crude comment.

  The man stooped to pick it up, but Flint was already there. When he lifted his mallet up, the dwarf "accidentally" smacked its hard, rounded end into the chin of the man in the tunic. The farmhand collapsed in a heap.

  "Oops," said Flint as he and Tanis continued on their way. The other fellow, slapping his friend's cheeks, looked after
them in slack-jawed amazement.

  * * * * *

  By the time Tanis and Flint reached the wooded path along the shore of Crystalmir Lake, their moods had switched. Wondering with some relish what adventure might lay ahead, Tanis's spirits had buoyed considerably, while Flint, who had kept up a monologue about what a , nuisance Tasslehoff could be, had worked himself into a fretful temper.

  The summer had come in with a blaze of scarlet, purple, and gold wildflowers that lined the path. Tall trees ringed the lake. The sky was cloudless, and there was no hint of wind. Placid Crystalmir Lake stretched out before them like shiny blue glass.

  Gazing at the lake's smooth surface, Flint's spirits revived somewhat. He was pretty sure he could beat Tanis at rock-skipping. Maybe he could win that copper back.

  Ahead of them they spotted Raistlin, his back to them, perched on a large flat rock overlooking the lake. The aspiring mage wore a rust-colored robe that covered his thin frame and spilled over onto the stone. Tanis and Flint knew the Majere twin liked this place. It had something to do with an adventure he, Caramon, and Kitiara had here when they were kids. Now he often came here to be alone for hours at a time—"to ponder the imponderable," as Flint put it, "which, fortunately for the rest of us ordinary folks, is a job for mages."

  Raistlin turned and stood to greet them, his grave smile quickly evaporating. His face was tightly drawn. The mage motioned for them to sit next to him on the rock.

  Flint grew silent. He felt Raistlin's eyes rake his face. Not for the first time, Tanis thought that Raistlin's eyes, with their pale blue irises, seemed to bore right through people.

  "What's all the mystery?" Tanis asked mildly. "Why couldn't we meet at Otik's?"

  From a deep fold in his cloak, Raistlin produced an ordinary-looking green bottle with a long neck. "Because I don't think anyone should know about this except for the three of us," he said mysteriously.

  Flint bent his head to take a closer look at the unexceptional bottle and made a sound that was halfway between a harrumph and a guffaw. "Doesn't look so interesting or important to me," the dwarf snorted, with a tinge of disappointment.

  Raistlin shot him a piercing glance. "Watch!" said the mage tersely.

  He pulled out the cork that stoppered the bottle. There was a slight hiss and an escaping aroma of salt air. As the dwarf and half-elf watched, the body of the bottle began to glow brightly. Motes of light swirled within, then began to shimmer and form a recognizable shape. The lights were like tiny, brilliant stars, dancing and swirling, almost hypnotic in their effect.

  The shape they formed was that of Tasslehoff Burrfoot, the very image of the kender, reduced to miniature and animated by the sparkling points of light. The kender was gesticulating. Not only that, but Tasslehoff's utterly distinctive voice also piped eerily out of the long neck of the bottle.

  "Dear Raistlin,

  "Isn't this amazing? I'm writing to you on board the good ship Venora . . . at least it's been a good ship so far (about two nights and two days). Caramon is up on deck having a good time with his new friends the sailors, and Sturm . . ."

  The trio listened in silence to the first half of the magic message. Tanis was amazed. Flint's jaw sagged open.

  "Incredible," said Tanis. "Where did you get it?"

  "A kender in a bottle," mused Flint wryly. "Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all."

  "Shhh!" said Raistlin, "Here comes the important part."

  The kender image continued its tale:

  " . . .He didn't smell as bad as most of them usually do, either. Sturm said he actually detected the scent of soap on the horned beast, whose name is—I guess I should say was, but that's getting ahead of myself—Argotz.

  "As I said, Argotz had the crushed jalopwort, and I haggled a fair deal out of him, and I guess he threw in some extra out of gratitude because when I got back to the inn where we were staying in Hyssop I noticed that I had about twice what I paid for.

  "Anyway, that's not the strange part—remember, I told you there was a strange part. Although I guess you could say that it is plenty strange when a minotaur runs an herbal shop in a cave. At least Asa said so, and I seem to recall that you said so, too. But the really strange part . . ."

  "The kender isn't even here and he's talking nonstop," muttered Flint, rolling his eyes.

  "But the really strange part is what happened next. Oh, did I mention that Argotz was packing up all of his herbs and seemed to be in a big hurry to go somewhere? Of course, we didn't think anything of it until two days later when we woke up on our last morning at Hyssop. That was the day we had planned to leave, and we did leave, too, but before we left, a man came rushing into the inn to tell everyone about what had happened to the minotaur herbalist at the edge of town.

  "We went out there ourselves to see, and sure enough, what the man said was true: A great big explosion had ripped through the cave and blown out the side of the mountain. Bits of the minotaur's goods and belongings were scattered in all directions. 'Argotz probably made a mistake and mixed some of the wrong herbs,' one of the local geniuses said. But if that were true, I answered, then why was his head, neatly severed and dripping blood, stuck on a pike at the edge of the path leading off the main road to the cave?

  "Sturm and Caramon and I thought it was darned curious, but probably none of our business, and we were ready to leave anyway, so we made the boring journey back to Eastport and hired Captain Murloch and his ship to take us to Abanasinia. Captain Murloch reminds me of Flint, although he's much burlier and human, of course, but Captain Murloch thinks he knows the right way to do everything and doesn't always appreciate my advice.

  "Anyway, that's the story of the minotaur herbalist and the crushed jalopwort, which I hope you like, since it cost me the use of this magic message bottle. I have to hurry now because there's a powerful storm brewing—rather unusually dark and fearsome, if you ask me—and I want to toss this into the sea while the waves are crashing high.

  "P.S.: To anyone who finds this bottle and uncorks it, you will hear this message, but that's okay. Bring the bottle to Raistlin Majere of Solace, and he will give you at least fifty coppers for it, or even more because he's generous and doesn't care a whit about money anyway. Ask around town. Most everybody knows him.

  "Truly yours,

  "Tasslehoff Burrfoot of Kendermore,

  "lately of Solace"

  Swiftly Raistlin replaced the cork in the bottle and dropped it back into the folds of his cloak. The mage peered at Flint and Tanis, watching their reaction. "The magic is in the cork," the young mage noted for their benefit, "more so than in the bottle."

  Still entranced by the idea of Tas in a bottle, Flint could only shake his head in wonderment.

  "Where did you get it?" Tanis, his eyes narrowed, repeated his earlier question.

  "A lucky stroke," replied Raistlin. "An honest peddler scooped it out of the water near the docks when he disembarked at a small port called Vengeance Bay on the coast of Abanasinia. After uncorking it and hearing the message, he decided to seek me out. He was planning to travel in this vicinity anyway, but fortunately he came to Solace directly. He arrived yesterday and inquired about me at the Inn of the Last Home. Otik located me, and," the mage added pointedly, "I paid the peddler seventy-five coppers just to prove the kender right."

  "Seventy-five coppers!" exclaimed the notoriously thrifty dwarf.

  "The message bottle is quite unique," agreed Tanis, standing and stretching. He gazed out over Crystalmir Lake, remembering a picnic he and Kitiara had had once on its shores. "But I don't understand why it puts you in mind of danger. It’s just Tas on a boat writing one of his rambling letters. The part about the minotaur herbalist is a little odd, but—"

  "The peddler brought other information with him," Raistlin cut in. "He had come from Eastport himself, where the talk of the docks was that the Venora had been lost at sea in an unusually sudden and violent storm. The peddler has made the trip between Southern Ergoth and Abanasinia many t
imes, so he knows Captain Murloch by sight, and he swears he saw some of the captain's mates drinking in the taverns of Vengeance Bay. And they were paying for their celebration with minotaur coin."

  "Curious," agreed Tanis, running his fingers through his reddish brown hair.

  "Even more curious," added Raistlin, "is that the corpse of Captain Murloch washed up on the rocks within the week. His body was bloated, his features erased. His face was eaten away, covered by strange burns and punctures. Despite that, the crew recognized him as their captain, and immediately they collected what remained of their minotaur money and scattered to the winds."

  Tanis sat down heavily. Flint's brow furrowed.

  "It's been over seven weeks since the Venora left Eastport," added Raistlin significantly.

  "How do you know it isn't some kind of trick, or one of Tas's pranks?" barked Flint suspiciously. "How can you trust this peddler?"

  "It's no trick!" responded Raistlin impatiently, "The peddler only wanted to do the errand and get his coppers. I could see that. He was well-meaning. The message in the bottle held no augury for him."

  Flint sighed. He stood and skipped a stone across the surface of placid Lake Crystalmir. Seven skips. Not bad, the dwarf thought to himself with some pride.

  Sturm and Caramon—those big oafs were nothing more than overgrown kids, really. They couldn't be counted on to behave sensibly, Flint thought. Why, he had spent hours with them in the woods along these very shores, and all around Solace for that matter, teaching them the lore of the forest. Willing enough pupils, but put them together with Tasslehoff, and . . .

  "So they're a few weeks late," said Flint cautiously. "I don't see what all the bother is."

  Raistlin grew solemn. "There's something else . . . something I should have realized before. You remember that I happened to be with Tasslehoff when his friend Asa told him there was a minotaur herbalist on Southern Ergoth who sold crushed jalopwort in his shop.