Anthology - Love and War

Of course, they couldn't sell the painting. If the Highlord or any of her soldiers ever saw it, they'd cut off Seron's hands. Nonetheless, he wasn't sorry that he had done it. And neither was Kyra. They both hoped that eventually the dark days would pass, and his picture would be a valued — and valuable — reminder of this evil time. More than that, they both hoped it would forever establish Seron as Krynn's pre-eminent artist.

They kept the bleak masterpiece hidden in a wooden crate under their bed. However, it soon began to rankle them both that Seron's greatest work had no audience. What was the point of having painted the picture if no one ever saw it?

It was then that they conceived their daring plan to smuggle the painting to Palanthas where it might be prominently displayed in a gallery. But they would need help.

"Let's send word to Tosch," suggested Kyra. "He could fly here one dark night and take the painting away with him."

"Do you think Tosch would really do it; would he risk his life for a painting?"

"We have nothing to lose by asking," she said.

Two days later, the peddler who had bought a Seron painting of Tosch carried a coded note out of the city and into the mountain warrens. The note asked their friend to come to them after sunset during the night when the two moons were at their smallest. It was a great favor, and they didn't ask it lightly. And they said as much in the note. If Tosch felt it was too dangerous, they said, he shouldn't come; they would understand.

But still they hoped he would glide down to them out of the dark sky.

The nights passed as slowly as a gnome builds a machine. The days were even longer. Eventually, though, the moons went through their glowing phases. It was almost time.

As the sun descended, sending long shadows across a sad, beleaguered city, Kyra and Seron grew anxious. Tonight was the night.

"Do you think the note actually reached Tosch?" wondered Kyra.

"I don't know."

"What if the peddler were intercepted? If the Highlord deciphered our message —»

Suddenly a loud knock sounded at their door. Instinctively, they both reached for each other. Neither of them uttered a word. The worst, it seemed, had happened. They had been found out.

The pounding on the door continued, matched only by the pounding of their hearts. Seron took a deep breath and kissed his wife lightly on the forehead. "Let's try to be brave," he said in a voice that nonetheless betrayed his fear.

She nodded.

Seron got to his feet and opened the door.

"What did I do, roust you two out of bed?" roared Seron's brother, Long-Chin Cheb. "What took you so long to open up? It's not as if you had so far to go to reach the door," he added, glancing disdainfully at the walls of the tiny hut.

"We… we didn't expect to see you," said Seron, catching his breath. "This is quite a surprise. What brings you to Flotsam? Is — is anything wrong?"

"Must something be wrong for me to visit my only family?"

"Seron didn't mean that," piped up Kyra in her husband's defense. "He's glad to see you, just as I am."

Cheb smiled at his sister-in-law. "That's nice of you to say. And let me tell you, you're still a pleasure to look at," he added. "I've always said, my brother's done an awful lot of foolish things in his life, but marrying you wasn't one of them."

To accept the compliment was also to accept the slap at her husband, and that Kyra would not do. She simply nodded curtly and offered her brother-in-law a chair at the table.

He was dressed like a prince, but his clothes lookedbetter than he did. His face was long and sallow, with deep set green eyes that gave him a cadaverous, if mesmerizing, appearance.

As Cheb strutted through the doorway, Seron nervously glanced out the window into the deepening twilight. Tosch would not show himself if he saw a third person in the hut; they had to get rid of Cheb. Assuming, that is, that Tosch was actually coming.

"You'll be glad I made this surprise visit," Seron's brother announced grandly, "when you hear what I have to say. But first — " he dropped his satchel to the floor and plopped down into the most comfortable chair in the house — "pour me some ale, girl."

When she returned with a full mug, he winked and said, "A barmaid never forgets her craft."

Kyra stepped across the room to stand with her hus band. "You said you had news," she said coolly.

The older man downed the mug of ale in one long draught. "Good for what ails you," he said. Then he laughed. "Hey, I made a joke. 'Good for what ALE'S you.' Get it?"

"The news?" asked Seron.

"Of course. You must be anxious to hear it. It's obviously clear," he added gesturing at their home, "that you're in need of glad tidings. Well," he continued, "one day, lo and behold, I received a request for twenty paintings from a wealthy man who wanted to decorate his new home with an artistic touch. Naturally, he didn't want to pay very much, but we managed to settle on a fair price. Of course, I never told him that I had a brother who was a painter. Nor did I tell him that this brother of mine had a hut overflowing with his unsold works of art."

"At what price did you propose this sale of my paintings?" asked Seron.

"Never mind the price," Cheb said with a wave of his hand. "It isn't important. All you need to know is that I will take twenty of your paintings — of my choosing — and give you five percent of everything I make."

Seron physically flinched at his brother's words. Though he could almost feel the knife wound of betrayal, he fought his temper and quietly said, "Forgive me if I choose to ignore this opportunity. I know how you made your fortune — buying unsold goods at a fraction of their cost in one city and then selling them at a generous markup somewhere else. You're entitled to your profits, but five percent of twenty paintings means I'm giving nineteen away for free. No, thank you."

"Come now," said Cheb. "Don't be foolish. This is money in your pocket. Why hesitate? You can't sell this stuff, anyway. Might as well let me take it off your hands."

Seron was silent. He had turned away to look out the window, then glanced back at Kyra. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I say no," she said with firm resolution. "Someday soon," she added pointedly, following his gaze into the dark sky, "your paintings — all of them — will be worth a great deal more."

"You have your answer," said Seron to his brother.

"This is ridiculous," insisted Cheb. "I found a willing buyer and you turn me down. But I'll be magnanimous. I'll raise the offer to a full ten percent. Now what do you say?"

"No," Seron answered emphatically. "You'd best be on your way," he added, afraid that his rage was beginning to break through his calm exterior.

The two brothers glared at each other. Cheb could not understand such an empty-headed artist, while Seron knew, from sad experience, that he could never explain himself to such a money-hungry man.

"Here, take a candle," offered Kyra. "You can light one of our torches outside and use it to find your way along the path."

Seron led the grumbling Cheb to the door. "If you hurry," he said, "you'll still find a bed at the Sea Master Inn. Tell the owner that I sent you. He knows me."

Cheb was already out the door, lighting his torch, when he realized he'd left his satchel in the hut. He rushed back in with the torch aflame and reached for the bag on the floor by the chair.

At the same time, Kyra said, "Here, let me help you."

They accidentally collided while both reached for the satchel, and Cheb lost his balance. Falling over backward, the torch went flying out of his grasp.

The burning torch landed in the comer of the hut, right in the middle of Seron's paints. They exploded in a ball of bright orange flame!