Lord Verminaard ordered the dragons to lower the buildings. After a space had been scorched clear, one of the huge red monsters stuck his claws into the Inn and lifted it. The draconians cheered as the dragon dropped it, not gently, onto the blackened grass. Fewmaster Toede, in charge of the town, ordered Otik to repair the Inn immediately. The draconians had one great weakness-a thirst for strong drink. Three days after the town was taken, the Inn reopened.
"I'm all right now," Tika told Otik. She sat up and dried her eyes, wiping her nose with her apron. "I haven't cried once, since that night," she said, more to herself than to him. Her lips tightened into a thin line. "And I'll never cry again!" she swore, rising from the table.
Otik, not understanding but thankful that Tika had regained her composure before the patrons arrived, bustled back behind the bar. "Nearly opening time," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "Maybe we'll have a good crowd today."
"How can you take their money!" Tika flared.
Otik, fearing another outburst, looked at her pleadingly.
"Their money is as good as anyone else's. Better than most these days," he said.
"Humpf!" Tika snorted. Her thick red curls quivered as she stalked angrily across the floor. Otik, knowing her temper, stepped backwards. It didn't help. He was caught. She jabbed her finger into his fat stomach. "How can you laugh at their crude jokes and cater to their whims?" she demanded. "I hate the stench of them! I hate their leers and their cold, scaly hands touching mine! Someday I'll-"
"Tika, please!" Otik begged. "Have some regard for me. I'm too old to be carried off to the slave mines! And you-they'd take you tomorrow if you didn't work here. Please behave- there's a good girl!"
Tika bit her lip in anger and frustration. She knew Otik was right. She risked more than being sent off in the slave caravans that passed through town almost daily-an angered draconian killed swiftly and without mercy. Just as she was thinking this, the door banged open and six draconian guards swaggered in. One of the them pulled the CLOSED sign off the door and tossed it into a corner.
"You're open," the creature said, dropping into a chair.
"Yes, certainly." Otic grinned weakly. "Tika…"
"I see them," Tika said dully.
2
The stranger. Captured!
The crowd at the Inn that night was sparse. The patrons were now draconians, though occasional Solace residents came in for a drink. They generally did not stay long, finding the company unpleasant and memories of former times hard to bear.
Tonight there was a group of hobgoblins who kept wary eyes on the draconians and three crudely dressed humans from the north. Originally impressed into Lord Verminaard's service, they now fought for the sheer pleasure of killing and looting. A few Solace citizens sat huddled in a corner. Hederick, the Theocrat, was not in his nightly spot. Lord Verminaard had rewarded the High Theocrat's service by placing him among the first to be sent to the slave mines.
Near dusk, a stranger entered the Inn, taking a table in a dark corner near the door. Tika couldn't tell much about him-he was heavily cloaked and wore a hood pulled low over his head. He seemed fatigued, sinking down into his chair as though his legs would not support him.
"What will you have?" Tika asked the stranger.
The man lowered his head, pulling down one side of his hood with a slender hand. "Nothing, thank you," he said in a soft, accented voice. "Is it permissible to sit here and rest? I'm supposed to meet someone."
"How about a glass of ale while you wait?" Tika smiled.
The man glanced up, and she saw brown eyes flash from the depths of his hood. "Very well," the stranger said. "I am thirsty. Bring me your ale."
Tika headed for the bar. As she drew the ale, she heard more customers entering the Inn.
"Just a half second," she called out, unable to turn around. "Sit anywhere you've a mind. I'll be with you soon as I can!" She glanced over her shoulder at the newcomers and nearly dropped the mug. Tika gasped, then got a grip on herself. Don't give them away!
"Sit down anywhere, strangers" she said loudly.
One of the men, a big fellow, seemed about to speak. Tika frowned fiercely at him and shook her head. Her eyes shifted to the draconians seated in the center of the room. A bearded man led the group past the draconians, who examined the strangers with a great deal of interest.
They saw four men and a woman, a dwarf, and a kender. The men were dressed in mud-stained cloaks and boots. One was unusually tall, another unusually big. The woman was cloaked in furs and walked with her hand through the arm of the tall man. All of them seemed downcast and tired. One of the men coughed and leaned heavily upon a strange-looking staff. They crossed the room and sat down at a table in the far comer.
"More refugee scum," sneered a draconian. "The humans look healthy, though, and all know dwarves are hard workers. Wonder why they haven't been shipped out?"
"They will be, soon as the Fewmaster sees them."
"Perhaps we should take care of the matter now," said a third, scowling in the direction of the eight strangers.
"Naw, I'm off duty. They won't go far."
The others laughed and returned to their drinking. A number of empty glasses already sat before each of them.
Tika carried the ale to the brown-eyed stranger, set it before him hurriedly, then bustled back to the newcomers.
"What'll you have?" she asked coldly.
The tall, bearded man answered in a low, husky voice. "Ale and food," he said. "And wine for him," he nodded at the man who was coughing almost continually.
The frail man shook his head. "Hot water," he whispered.
Tika nodded and left. Out of habit, she started back toward where the old kitchen had been. Then, remembering it was gone, she whipped around and headed for the makeshift kitchen that had been built by goblins under draconian supervision. Once inside, she astounded the cook by grabbing the entire skillet of fried spiced potatoes and carrying it back out into the common room.
"Ale all around and a mug of hot water!" she called to Dezra behind the bar. Tika blessed her stars that Otik had gone home early. "Itrum, take that table." She motioned to the hobgoblins as she hurried back to the newcomers. She slammed the skillet down, glancing at the draconians. Seeing them absorbed in their drinking, she suddenly flung her arms around the big man and gave him a kiss that made him flush.
"Oh, Caramon," she whispered swiftly, "I knew you'd come back for me! Take me with you! Please, please!"
"Now, there, there," Caramon said, patting her awkwardly on the back and looking pleadingly at Tanis. The half-elf swiftly intervened, his eyes on the draconians.
"Tika, calm down," he told her. "We've got an audience."
"Right," she said briskly and stood up, smoothing her apron. Handing plates around, she began to ladle out the spiced potates as Dezra brought the ale and hot water.
"Tell us what happened to Solace," Tanis said, his voice choked.
Quickly Tika whispered the story as she filled everyone's plate, giving Caramon a double portion. The companions listened in grim silence.
"And so," Tika concluded, "every week, the slave caravans leave for Pax Tharkas, except now they've taken almost everyone-leaving only the skilled, like Theros Ironfeld, behind. I fear for him." She lowered her voice. "He swore to me last night that he would work for them no more. It all started with that captive party of elves-"