Flint led the Thane to the altar of Reorx. Arman lay on the platform, his hands clasped over the hammer, his eyes closed.
The companions were grouped nearby. Tanis had a jagged cut on his arm. Sturm had a cut over one eye and was still suffering from the effects of the magical blast. Caramon had a broken hand from having punched a draconian in the jaw. Raistlin was apparently unhurt, though no one could really tell, for he refused to answer questions and kept his cowl pulled low over his face. Tasslehoff had a torn shirt and a bloody nose. The blood mixed with the kender’s tears as he looked down at the body of the dwarf.
“What happened?” Hornfel asked, grieving. “I could not see in all the turmoil.”
“Your son lived as a hero and he died as a hero,” said Flint simply. “A draconian who had been hiding in the pit attacked your son and tried to take the sacred hammer from him. The draconian stabbed him with a poisoned knife. Even though he knew he was dying, your son continued to fight, and he killed the draconian and flung the body into the pit.”
Tasslehoff gaped at Flint in wonder at the lie. Tas opened his mouth to tell the truth about what had really happened, but Flint fixed the kender with a look so very stern and piercing that Tas’s mouth shut all by itself.
The body of Arman Kharas lay in state in the Life Tree for three days. On the fourth day, Hornfel and the Thanes of the dwarven kingdom of Thorbardin, and Flint Fireforge, their Neidar cousin, carried Arman Kharas to his final rest. His body was placed next to that of the sarcophagus that held the body of his hero, Kharas, and both were placed in the tomb of King Duncan inside the Valley of the Thanes. The plaque on the tomb of the young dwarf was chiseled out of stone by Flint Fireforge. It read:
Hero of the Battle of the Temple, he recovered the Hammer of Kharas and slew the evil Dragon Highlord Verminaard.
All honor to his name
Pike, son of Hornfel
Another body was disposed of at about the same time, though with much less ceremony. Realgar had been found murdered, his throat slit from ear to ear. Clawed footprints, discovered near the body, were the only clue to the identity of his killer.
Hornfel agreed to honor the wager made by Realgar, though Hornfel added that he would have welcomed the refugees into the safety of Thorbardin even if no wager been made. Tanis and the others were free to leave Thorbardin, to take the glad news to the refugees, and guide them to the Southgate, which would be open to receive them.
“Open to them and to the world,” Hornfel promised.
The night after the battle, Flint was unusually grim and dour. He kept apart form the others, refused to answer any questions, stating that he was worn out and telling everybody to leave him alone. He would not eat any dinner but went straight to his bed.
Raistlin was also in a bad temper. He shoved the plate from him, claiming that food turned his stomach. Sturm tried to eat but eventually dropped his spoon and sat with his head in his hands, his face hidden. Only Caramon was in a good mood. After assuring himself there were no mushrooms in the stew, he not only ate his meal, but he finished off his brother’s and Sturm’s. Tasslehoff was also subdued. Though he was reunited with his pouches, he didn’t even bother to sort through them. He sat on a chair, kicking at the legs, and fiddling with something in his pocket.
Tanis tapped the kender on the shoulder. “I’d like to have a talk with you.” Tas sighed. “I thought you might.”
“Come outside, so we don’t disturb Flint,” said Tanis.
Feet dragging, Tas followed the half-elf out of the inn. As Tanis shut the door behind them, he saw Sturm and Raistlin rise from the table and walk over to Flint’s bed.
Tanis turned to the kender.
“Tell me what happened in the Tomb of Duncan. What really happened,” Tanis emphasized. Tas shuffled uncomfortably. “If I tell you, Flint will be mad.”
“I won’t say a word to him,” Tanis promised. “He’ll never know.”
“Well, all right.” Tas gave another sigh, but this was one of relief. “It will be a burden off my mind. You can’t think how hard it is to keep secrets! I found this golden woolly mammoth—”
“Not the mammoth!” said Tanis.
“But that’s a very important part,” Tas argued.
“The Hammer,” Tanis insisted. “Flint was the one who found the Hammer of Kharas, wasn’t he?”
“We both found the Hammer,” Tas tried to explain, “and the body of the real Kharas and a scorpion, then Flint took my hoopak and told me to go away. That was when I met the golden woolly mammoth named Evenstar, but I won’t say another word about him. I promised, you see…”
Sturm and Raistlin stood by the side of Flint’s bed. The dwarf lay with his face to the wall, his back to them.
“Flint,” said Sturm, “are you asleep?”
“Yes,” Flint growled. “Go away!”
“You had the true Hammer of Kharas, didn’t you?” said Raistlin. “You had it in your possession when you entered the Temple of the Stars.
Flint lay still a moment, then he reared up in bed. He faced them, his face red. “I did,” he said through clenched teeth, “to my everlasting shame!”
Raistlin’s mouth twisted. “And you left it in the hands of a corpse! You sentimental old fool!”
“Stop it, Raistlin” ordered Sturm angrily. “Leave Flint alone. You and I were wrong. What Flint did was honorable and noble.”
“How many thousands will pay for that noble gesture with their lives?” Raistlin thrust his hands into the sleeves of his robes. He cast the knight a grim glance. “Nobility and honor do not slay dragons, Sturm Brightblade.”
Raistlin stalked off. Encountering his brother, he snapped at him. “Caramon, make me my tea! I feel nauseated.”
Caramon looked from Sturm to Flint—hunched up on the bed—to his twin, who was as furious as he had ever seen him.
“Uh, sure, Raist,” said Caramon unhappily, and he hurried to do as he was told. Sturm rested his hand on Flint’s shoulder. “You did right,” he said. “I am proud of you and deeply ashamed of myself.”
Sturm cast Raistlin a dark glance, then went to confess his sins and ask forgiveness in prayer. Tasslehoff and Tanis came back inside to find the room silent, except for Sturm’s whispered words to Paladine. Tas felt so much better, now that he’d unburdened himself, that he dumped out the contents of his pouches and sorted through all his treasure, finally falling asleep in the midst of the mess.
Flint was exhausted, but he could find no solace in sleep, for sleep would not come. He lay in his bed in the darkness, sometimes drifting off, only to jerk fearfully to wakefulness, thinking that the aurak again had hold of his boot and was dragging him into the pit. At last Flint could stand it no longer. He rose from his bed, slipped out the door, and sat down upon the door stoop. He gazed into the night. Lights sparked, but they were not the sharp, cold crystalline glitter of the stars, whose beauty never failed to pierce his heart. They were the lights of Thorbardin—larvae trapped inside lanterns until they grew old enough to chew through solid rock. Flint heard the door open and he jumped to his feet, fearing it might be Sturm or Raistlin come to plague him. Seeing it was Tanis, Flint sat back down.
The half-elf sat beside him in silence that was comfortable between the two of them. Flint said at last, “I had the Hammer, Tanis, the true Hammer.” He paused a moment, then added gruffly, “I switched them. I let Arman think he’d found the real one, when, in truth, he found the false.
“I guessed as much,” said Tanis quietly after a moment. “But in the end, you did what was right.”