a crash, and a thud. Turning in astonishment, Tanis saw Tika staring at him, her face white, her green eyes glimmering with tears.
"Leave now!" she pleaded through pale lips. "Please, Tanis! Don't ask any questions! Just go!" She grabbed his arm, her nails digging painfully into his flesh.
"Look, what in the name of the Abyss is going on, Tika?" Tanis asked in exasperation, standing up and facing her.
A splintering crash came in answer. The door to the Inn burst open, hit from outside by some tremendous force. Tika jumped back, her face convulsed in such fear and horror as she looked at the door that Tanis turned swiftly, his hand on his sword, and Riverwind rose to his feet.
A large shadow filled the doorway, seeming to spread a pall over the room. The crowd's cheerful noise and laughter ceased abruptly, changing to low, angry mutterings.
Remembering the dark and evil things that had been chasing them, Tanis drew his sword, placing himself between the darkness and Lady Crysania. He sensed, though he did not see, Riverwind's stalwart presence behind him, backing him up.
So, it's caught up with us, Tanis thought, almost welcoming the chance to fight this vague, unknown terror. Grimly he stared at the door, watching as a bloated, grotesque figure entered into the light.
It was a man, Tanis saw, a huge man, but, as he looked more closely, he saw it was a man whose giant girth had run to flab. A bulging belly hung over cinched up leather leggings. A filthy shirt gaped open at the navel, there being too little shirt to cover too much flesh. The man's face—partially obscured by a three-day growth of beard—was unnaturally flushed and splotchy, his hair greasy and unkempt. His clothes, while fine and well-made, were dirty and smelled strongly of vomit and the raw liquor known as dwarf spirits.
Tanis lowered his sword, feeling like a fool. It was just some poor drunken wretch, probably the town bully, using his great size to intimidate the citizenry. He looked at the man with pity and disgust, thinking, even as he did so, that there was something oddly familiar about him. Probably someone he had known when he lived in Solace long ago, some poor slob who had fallen on hard times.
The half-elf started to turn away, then noticed—to his amazement—that everyone in the Inn was looking at him expectantly.
What do they want me to do, Tanis thought in sudden, swift anger. Attack him? Some hero I'd look—beating up the town drunk!
Then he heard a sob at his elbow. "I told you to leave," Tika moaned, sinking down into a chair. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry as if her heart would break.
Growing more and more mystified, Tanis glanced at Riverwind, but the Plainsman was obviously as much in the dark as his friend. The drunk, meanwhile, staggered into the room and gazed about in anger.
"Wash ish thish? A party?" he growled. "And nobody in-ininvited their old . . . in-vited me?"
No one answered. They were fixedly ignoring the slovenly man, their eyes still on Tanis, and now even the drunk's attention turned to the half-elf. Attempting to bring him into focus, the drunk stared at Tanis in a kind of puzzled anger, as though blaming him for being the cause of all his troubles. Then, suddenly, the drunk's eyes widened, his face split into a foolish grin, and he lurched forward, hands outstretched.
"Tanish . . . my fri-"
"Name of the gods," Tanis breathed, recognizing him at last.
The man staggered forward and stumbled over a chair. For a moment he stood swaying unsteadily, like a tree that has been cut and is ready to fall. His eyes rolled back in his head, people scrambled to get out of his way. Then—with a thud that shook the Inn—Caramon Majere, Hero of the Lance, passed out cold at Tanis's feet.
CHAPTER 3
“Name of the gods," Tanis repeated in sorrow as he stooped down beside the comatose warrior. "Caramon . . ."
"Tanis—” Riverwand's voice caused the half-elf to glance up quickly.
"Leave now!" she pleaded through pale lips. "Please, Tanis! Don't ask any questions! Just go!" She grabbed his arm, her nails digging painfully into his flesh.
"Look, what in the name of the Abyss is going on, Tika?" Tanis asked in exasperation, standing up and facing her.
A splintering crash came in answer. The door to the Inn burst open, hit from outside by some tremendous force. Tika jumped back, her face convulsed in such fear and horror as she looked at the door that Tanis turned swiftly, his hand on his sword, and Riverwind rose to his feet.
A large shadow filled the doorway, seeming to spread a pall over the room. The crowd's cheerful noise and laughter ceased abruptly, changing to low, angry mutterings.
Remembering the dark and evil things that had been chasing them, Tanis drew his sword, placing himself between the darkness and Lady Crysania. He sensed, though he did not see, Riverwind's stalwart presence behind him, backing him up.
So, it's caught up with us, Tanis thought, almost welcoming the chance to fight this vague, unknown terror. Grimly he stared at the door, watching as a bloated, grotesque figure entered into the light.
It was a man, Tanis saw, a huge man, but, as he looked more closely, he saw it was a man whose giant girth had run to flab. A bulging belly hung over cinched up leather leggings. A filthy shirt gaped open at the navel, there being too little shirt to cover too much flesh. The man's face—partially obscured by a three-day growth of beard—was unnaturally flushed and splotchy, his hair greasy and unkempt. His clothes, while fine and well-made, were dirty and smelled strongly of vomit and the raw liquor known as dwarf spirits.
Tanis lowered his sword, feeling like a fool. It was just some poor drunken wretch, probably the town bully, using his great size to intimidate the citizenry. He looked at the man with pity and disgust, thinking, even as he did so, that there was something oddly familiar about him. Probably someone he had known when he lived in Solace long ago, some poor slob who had fallen on hard times.
The half-elf started to turn away, then noticed—to his amazement—that everyone in the Inn was looking at him expectantly.
What do they want me to do, Tanis thought in sudden, swift anger. Attack him? Some hero I'd look—beating up the town drunk!
Then he heard a sob at his elbow. "I told you to leave," Tika moaned, sinking down into a chair. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry as if her heart would break.
Growing more and more mystified, Tanis glanced at Riverwind, but the Plainsman was obviously as much in the dark as his friend. The drunk, meanwhile, staggered into the room and gazed about in anger.
"Wash ish thish? A party?" he growled. "And nobody in-ininvited their old . . . in-vited me?"
No one answered. They were fixedly ignoring the slovenly man, their eyes still on Tanis, and now even the drunk's attention turned to the half-elf. Attempting to bring him into focus, the drunk stared at Tanis in a kind of puzzled anger, as though blaming him for being the cause of all his troubles. Then, suddenly, the drunk's eyes widened, his face split into a foolish grin, and he lurched forward, hands outstretched.
"Tanish . . . my fri-"
"Name of the gods," Tanis breathed, recognizing him at last.
The man staggered forward and stumbled over a chair. For a moment he stood swaying unsteadily, like a tree that has been cut and is ready to fall. His eyes rolled back in his head, people scrambled to get out of his way. Then—with a thud that shook the Inn—Caramon Majere, Hero of the Lance, passed out cold at Tanis's feet.
CHAPTER 3
“Name of the gods," Tanis repeated in sorrow as he stooped down beside the comatose warrior. "Caramon . . ."
"Tanis—” Riverwand's voice caused the half-elf to glance up quickly.
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