Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

“This Fistandantilus—did he wear the Black Robes?”

“Ask me no more!” Raistlin had been angry. “You are as bad as the others! How can any of you understand me?”

But Caramon had understood. He’d understood then. He understood now—or thought he did. Caramon waited until the assembly started to break up, then he approached his twin.

“Fistandantilus,” he said in a low voice, looking around to make certain they were not overheard.

“That’s the name of the evil wizard—the one whose spellbook you found—”

“Just because a mage wears the Black Robes does not make him evil,” Raistlin returned with an impatient gesture. “Why can you never get that through your thick skull?”

“Anyway,” said Caramon, not wanting to have this discussion again, for it left him feeling muddled and confused, “I’m glad Tanis and Flint decided not to go to that place, that Skullcap.”

“They are imbeciles, the lot of them!” Raistlin fumed. “Tanis might as well use the dwarf’s head to knock on the side of the mountain for all the good it will do any of them. They will never find the way inside Thorbardin. The secret lies in Skullcap!”

A fit of coughing over came Raistlin, and he had to stop talking.

“You’re getting all worked up,” Caramon said. “It’s not good for you.” Raistlin brought out his handkerchief, pressed it to his lips. He drew in a ragged breath, drew in another. The spasm eased. He laid his hand on his brother’s arm.

“Come with me, Caramon. We have much to do and little time in which to do it.”

“Raist—” Caramon could sometimes read his brother’s mind. He did so now, knew exactly what Raistlin intended. Caramon tried to protest, but his brother’s eyes narrowed alarmingly, and Caramon gulped back his words.

“I’m going back to our dwelling,” Raistlin said coldly. “Come or not, as you choose.” Raistlin left in haste. Caramon followed more slowly.

The mage was in such a hurry and his twin in such misery that neither of them noted Sturm, walking behind.

While the meeting was taking place, Tika Waylan was in the dwelling she shared with Laurana, trying to comb her tangled mass of red curls. Tika sat on a little stool Caramon had made for her. She worked by the light of a lantern, dragging the wooden comb through a strand of hair until it hit a knot. She would try to patiently tease the knotted mass of red apart, as Laurana had taught her, but Tika had very little patience. Eventually she would give the comb a yank, pulling out the knot and a fistful of her hair along with it.

The blanket that the young women had rigged to cover the entrance opened, letting in a blast of air and a flurry of snow. Laurana entered, carrying a lantern.

Tika looked up. “How was the meeting?”

Tika had been in awe of Laurana when she’d first met her in Qualinesti. The two could not have been more different. Laurana was the daughter of a king. Tika was the daughter of a part-time illusionist and full-time thief. Laurana was an elf, a princess.

Tika had run wild for much of her life. Taking to thieving herself, she’d afoul of the law. Otik Sandeth, owner of the Inn of the Last Home in Solace, had offered to adopt the orphan, giving her gainful employment as a bar maid.

The two differed in looks. Laurana was slender and willowy. Tika was buxom and robust. Laurana’s hair was golden, her skin white and rose. Tika’s hair was flame red, her face covered in freckles.

Tika knew quite well that she had her own kind of beauty, and she felt good about herself most times—when she wasn’t around Laurana. Laurana’s blonde hair made Tika’s seem that much redder by contrast, just as Laurana’s graceful figure made Tika feel that she was all hips and bosom.

“How did it go?” Tika asked, glad to lay down the comb. Her arm and shoulder ached and her scalp stung.

“As you might expect,” said Laurana, sighing. “There was lots of arguing. Hederick is a prize dolt—”

“You’re telling me!” Tika said crisply. “I was in the inn when he stuck his hand in the fire.”

“Just when it seemed that no one could agree, Elistan came up with a solution,” said Laurana, and her voice softened in admiration. “His plan is brilliant. They’ve all agreed to it, even Hederick. Elistan suggested that we send a delegation to the dwarven kingdom of Thorbardin to see if we can find refuge there. Tanis volunteered to go, along with Flint.”

“Not Caramon?” asked Tika anxiously.

“No, just Flint and Tanis. Raistlin wanted them to go first to a place called Skullcap to find the secret way into the dwarven kingdom or something like that, but Flint said Skullcap was haunted, and Elistan said they didn’t have time to make the journey before winter set in. Raistlin seemed angry.”

“I’ll bet he did,” said Tika, shivering. “A haunted place named Skullcap would suit him just fine, and he’d drag Caramon along with him. Thank the gods they’re not going!”

“Even Hederick agreed that Elistan’s plan was a good one,” said Laurana.

“I guess wisdom comes with gray hair,” Tika remarked, picking up her comb again. “Though, of course, that didn’t work in Hederick’s case.”

“Elistan’s hair is not gray,” Laurana protested. “It’s silver. I think silver hair makes a man look distinguished.”

“Are you in love with Elistan?” Tika asked. She dug the comb into the mass of curls and began to tug.

Laurana winced at the sight. “Here, let me do that!”

Tika thankfully handed over the comb.

“You are too impatient,” said Laurana reprovingly. “You’re ruining your hair, and you have such beautiful hair. I envy you.”

“You do?” Tika was astonished. “I can’t think why! Your hair is so shimmery and golden!”

“And straight as a stick,” said Laurana ruefully. The comb, in her hands, gently teased each knot until it came loose. “As for Elistan, no, I’m not in love with him, but I do admire him and respect him. He’s been through so much pain and suffering. Such experiences would have made any other man bitter and cynical. They made Elistan more compassionate and understanding.”

“I know someone who thinks you’re in love with Elistan,” said Tika with an impish smile.

“Who do you mean?” Laurana asked, blushing.

“Tanis, of course,” said Tika archly. “He’s jealous.”

“That’s impossible!” Laurana gave the comb a sharper tug than usual. “Tanis doesn’t love me. He’s made that extremely clear. He’s in love with that human woman.”

“That bitch Kitiara!” Tika sniffed. “Pardon my language. As for Tanis, he doesn’t know his heart from his… well, I won’t say what , but you understand. It’s the same with all men.” Laurana was silent, and Tika twisted her head to glance up at her, to see if she was angry. Laurana’s face was mantled with a delicate flush, her eyes lowered. She kept combing, but she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing.

Maybe she doesn’t understand, Tika realized suddenly. It seemed very odd to her that a woman who was a hundred years old knew less about the world and the ways of men than one who was only nineteen. Still, Laurana had lived all those years pampered and protected in her father’s palace in the middle of a forest. Small wonder she was naive.

“Do you really think Tanis is jealous?” Laurana asked, her blush deepening.

“Watch him sometime. He’s goes green as a goblin whenever he sees you and Elistan together.”

“He has no reason to think there is anything between us,” said Laurana. “I’ll speak to him.”

“You will do no such thing!” Tika turned so fast the comb caught in her hair and jerked out of Laurana’s hands. “Let him stew for awhile. Maybe it’ll put that wildcat Kit out of his mind.”