Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

Turning, Dalamar summoned one of the guardians. The disembodied eyes floated over at his command.

“Take this key,” Dalamar said, “and keep it with you for all eternity. Give it up to no one—not even myself. And, from this moment on, your place is to guard this door. No one is to enter. Let death be swift for those who try.”

The guardian’s eyes closed in acquiescence. As Dalamar walked back down the stairs, he saw the eyes—open again framed by the doorway, their cold glow staring out into the night. The dark elf nodded to himself, satisfied, and went upon his way.

Thud, thud, thud.

Tika Waylan Majere sat straight up in bed.

Trying to hear above the pounding of her heart, she listened, waiting to identify the sound that had awakened her from deep sleep.

Nothing.

Had she dreamed it? Shoving back the mass of red curls falling over her face, Tika glanced sleepily out the window. It was early morning. The sun had not yet risen, but night’s deep shadows were stealing away, leaving the sky clear and blue in the half-light of predawn. Birds were up, beginning their household chores, whistling and bickering cheerfully among themselves. But no one in Solace would be stirring yet. Even the night watchman usually succumbed to the warm, gentle influence of the spring night and slept at this hour, his head slumped on his chest, snoring blissfully.

I must have been dreaming, thought Tika drearily. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to sleeping alone?

Every little sound has me wide awake. Burrowing back down in the bed, she drew up the sheet and tried to go back to sleep. Squinching her eyes tightly shut, Tika pretended Caramon was there. She was lying beside him, pressed up against his broad chest, hearing him breathe, hearing his heart beat, warm, secure... His hand patted her on the shoulder as he murmured sleepily, “It’s just a bad dream, Tika... be all gone by morning...”

Thud, thud, thud-thud-thud.

Tika’s eyes opened wide. She hadn’t been dreaming! The sound—whatever it was—was coming from up above! Someone or something was up there—up in the vallenwood!

Throwing aside the bedclothes and moving with the stealth and quiet she had learned during her war adventures, Tika grabbed a nightrobe from the foot of her bed, struggled into it (mixing up the sleeves in her nervousness), and crept out of the bedroom.

Thud, thud, thud.

Her lips tightened in firm resolve. Someone was up there, up in her new house. The house Caramon was building for her up in the vallenwood. What were they doing? Stealing? There were Caramon’s s tools Tika almost laughed, but it came out a sob instead. Caramon s tools—the hammer with the wiggly head that flew off every time it hit a nail, the saw with so many teeth missing it looked like a grinning gully dwarf, the plane that wouldn’t smooth butter. But they were precious to Tika. She’d left them right where he’d left them.

Thud, thud, thud.

Creeping out into the living area of her small house, Tika’s hand was on the door handle when she stopped.

“Weapon,” she muttered. Looking around hastily, she grabbed the first thing she saw—her heavy iron skillet. Holding it firmly by the handle, Tika opened the front door slowly and quietly and sneaked outside.

The sun’s rays were just lighting the tops of the mountains, outlining their snow-capped peaks in gold against the clear, cloudless blue sky. The grass sparked with dew like tiny jewels, the morning air was sweet and crisp and pure. The new bright green leaves of the vallenwoods rustled and laughed as the sun touched them, waking them. So fresh and clear and glittering was this morning that it might well have been the very first morning of the very first day, with the gods looking down upon their work and smiling.

But Tika was not thinking about gods or mornings or the dew that was cold upon her bare feet. Clutching the skillet in one hand, keeping it hidden behind her back, she stealthily climbed the rungs of the ladder leading up into the unfinished house perched among the strong branches of the vallenwood. Near the top she stopped, peeping over the edge.

Ah, ha! There was someone up here! She could just barely make out a figure crouched in a shadowy corner. Hauling herself up over the edge, still making no sound, Tika padded softly across the wooden floor, her fingers getting a firm grip on the skillet.

But as she crossed the floor, creeping up on the intruder, she thought she heard a muffled giggle. She hesitated, then continued on resolutely. Just my imagination, she told herself, moving closer to the cloaked figure. She could see him clearly now. It was a man, a human, and by the looks of the brawny arms and the muscular shoulders, it was one of the biggest men Tika had ever seen! He was down on his hands and knees, his broad back was turned toward her, she saw him raise his hand.

He was holding Caramon’s hammer!

How dare he touch Caramon’s things! Well, big man or no—they’re all the same size once they’re laid out on the floor.

Tika raised the skillet—

“Caramon! Look out!” cried a shrill voice.

The big man rose to his feet and turned around.

The skillet fell to the floor with a ringing clatter. So did a hammer and a handful of nails.

With a thankful sob, Tika clasped her husband in her arms.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Tika? I bet you were surprised, weren’t you! Were you surprised, Tika? And say—would you really have wanged Caramon over the head if I hadn’t stopped you? That might have been kind of interesting to watch, though I don’t think it would have done Caramon much good. Hey, do you remember when you hit that draconian over the head with the skillet—the one that was getting ready to rough up Gilthanas? Tika?... Caramon?”

Tas looked at his two friends. They weren’t saying a word. They weren’t hearing a word. They just stood there, holding each other. The kender felt a suspicious moisture creep into his eyes.

“Well,” he said with a gulp and a smile, “I’ll just go down and wait for you in the living room.” Slithering down the ladder, Tas entered the small, neat house that stood below the sheltering vallenwood. Once inside, he took out a handkerchief, blew his nose, then began to cheerfully investigate the furnishings.

“From the looks of things,” he said to himself, admiring a brand-new cookie jar so much that he absent-mindedly stuffed it into a pouch (cookies included), all the while being firmly convinced that he’d set it back on the shelf, “Tika and Caramon are going to be up there quite a while, maybe even the rest of the morning. Perhaps this would be a good time to sort all my stuff.”

Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, the kender blissfully upended his pouches, spilling their contents out onto the rug. As he absent-mindedly munched on a few cookies, Tas’s proud gaze went first to a whole sheaf of new maps Tanis had given him. Unrolling them, one after another, his small finger traced a route to all the wonderful places he’d visited in his many adventures.

“It was nice traveling,” he said after a while, “but it’s certainly nicer coming home. I’ll just stay here with Tika and Caramon. We’ll be a family. Caramon said I could have a room in the new house and—Why, what’s that?” He looked closely at the map. “Merilon? I never heard of a city named Merilon. I wonder what it’s like...

“No!” Tas retorted. “You are through adventuring, Burrfoot. You’ve got quite enough stories to tell Flint as it is. You’re going to settle down and become a respectable member of society. Maybe even become High Sheriff.”

Rolling up the map (fond dreams in his head of running for High Sheriff), he placed it back in its case (not without a wistful glance). Then, turning his back upon it, he began to look through his treasures.