Tika was so furious she was tempted to turn around and slap Raistlin across his golden-skinned face. She knew that would only make matters worse, however. Digging her nails into her flesh to keep control of herself, she kept facing Caramon, forcing him to look at her, talk to her, think about her and what she was saying.
“Raistlin exaggerates,” Tika told him. “He’s trying to make you feel guilty. He’s a wizard! He has his magic, and like he said, the helm will protect Sturm and Sturm can still use his sword. You have to come with me!”
Caramon was in agony. His face had gone an ugly, blotchy red, mottled with pale white splotches. He looked at his twin and he looked at Tika, then he looked away from both of them.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled.
Tasslehoff poked his head in the door. “You people are being awfully loud,” he said sternly. “I can hear you yelling clear down at the end of the corridor!”
Tika lapsed into irate silence. Caramon still didn’t say anything and Sturm began to pace, marching back and forth, impatient to be on his way.
“Whatever you decide, my brother,” said Raistlin.
Tika eyed Caramon. “Well?”
Caramon cast an uneasy glance at Tika.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “We’re all tired and hungry. It’s been a long day. Let’s go back into the tunnel, get something to eat, and talk about this in the morning.”
“You’re going with your brother,” said Tika in frozen tones.
“I don’t know,” Caramon said, hedging. “I haven’t decided. I need to think.” Tika cast him a look—a green-eyed baleful look that skewered Caramon like a spear. She stalked angrily out of the room.
“Tika! Wait…” Caramon started after her.
“Where do you think you are going?” Raistlin demanded. “You must help me persuade the prince to stay. He will not be pleased at the delay.”
Caramon watched Tika walking down the corridor, heading back toward the library. She looked angry clear through to her bones.
“Tas, go with her,” Caramon said in low tones, so his brother couldn’t hear. Tas obligingly ran off. Caramon could hear the two talking.
“Tika, what’s wrong?” Tas called out, racing to catch up with her.
“Caramon’s a blithering idiot,” Tika answered, choking on her rage, “and I hate him!”
“Caramon!” Raistlin said sharply. “I need you!”
Sighing deeply, Caramon went back to his twin.
After a great deal of talking and reasoning, Raistlin finally persuaded Prince Grallen to stay overnight in Skullcap. He told the prince he and his brother needed to rest before they could undertake the journey, and at last the Prince grudgingly agreed.
They returned to the library and from there went back into the tunnel. Caramon, fearing draconians might find them, wanted to shut the stone door. Raistlin pointed out that the draconians did not know about the tunnel and they should be safe enough here. Shutting the stone door would make a lot of noise. The only reason the draconians hadn’t heard the clamor the first time was due to the dragon’s roaring. Of course, after this, there was no argument. The door remained open.
They ate sparingly, for they had a long journey ahead of them—no matter which way they decided to go. Sturm ate what was given him then fell immediately into a deep slumber from which he could not be wakened.
Caramon was so unhappy he almost couldn’t eat. Tika wouldn’t talk to him or even look at him. She sat with her back against the stone wall, moodily chewing on dried meat. Raistlin ate very little, as always, then went to study his spells, ordering everyone to leave him in peace. He sat on the floor, his robes wrapped around him for warmth, bathed in the pale glow of the staff, his book propped on his knees.
Tasslehoff was fascinated by Sturm-turned-dwarf. The kender sat talking to the prince as long as the prince would talk to him, and when Sturm fell asleep, Tasslehoff continued to sit beside him, watching him.
“He even snores different from Sturm!” Tas reported, when Caramon walked over to see how the knight was faring.
Caramon glanced at his brother, then bent down to take hold of the helm.
“Are you going to yank it off? Here, let me help!” Tas offered, adding excitedly, “Can I put it on next? Can I be the prince?”
Caramon only grunted. He tugged on the helm, twisted it, and when that wouldn’t work, he gave it a thump to see if he could loosen it.
The helm was stuck fast.
“The only way you’re going to get it off is to take Sturm’s head with it,” Tas said. “I guess that’s not an option, huh?”
“No, it isn’t,” said Caramon.
“That’s too bad,” said Tas, disappointed but philosophical. “Oh, well, if I can’t be a dwarf, at least I have the fun of watching Sturm be a dwarf.”
“Fun!” Caramon snorted.
He slumped back against the wall, folded his arms over his chest, and settled himself comfortably on the floor. He had offered to take the first watch. Tika stood up, wiped off her hands, and started to walk toward him. Caramon groaned inwardly and braced himself.
“Did you enjoy your dinner?” he asked, rising nervously to his feet. Tika glanced over her shoulder at Raistlin. Seeing him absorbed in his reading, she said softly, “You’ve made up your mind. You’re going with your brother, aren’t you?”
“Look, Tika, I’ve been thinking,” said Caramon. “What if we all go to Thorbardin tomorrow? We’ll meet up with Flint and Tanis, then Raistlin can stay with them, and you and I will go back to warn the others—”
“We’ll go back to bury them, you mean,” said Tika. She turned on her heel and returned to her place by the wall.
“She doesn’t understand,” Caramon said to himself. “She doesn’t understand how weak Raistlin is, how sick he gets. He needs me. I can’t leave him. The refugees will be all right. Riverwind is smart. He’ll know what to do.”
Raistlin, who had been only pretending to study his spells, smiled to himself in satisfaction when he saw Tika walk off. He shut the spell-book, put it back in his pack that his brother always carried for him, and feeling suddenly weary from the day’s exertions, he doused the light of his staff and went to sleep.
The night deepened. The darkness in the tunnel was impenetrable. Tika sat awake, listening to the various sounds: Sturm’s rumbling snore, Caramon’s shuffling, Tasslehoff’s twitches and whiffles, and other noises that were maybe rats and maybe not.
Tika knew what she had to do. She just had to find the courage to do it.
Caramon gave a jaw-cracking yawn. Fumbling about in the dark, he located Tas and shook him.
“I can’t stay awake any longer,” he said softly. “You take over.”
“Sure, Caramon,” said Tas sleepily. “Is it all right if I sit by Sturm? He might wake up and then I can ask the prince if I could wear the helm, just for a little while.”
Caramon muttered something to the effect that the prince and the helm could all go straight to the Abyss as far as he was concerned. Tika heard him walking over by her, and she swiftly lay down and closed her eyes, though he probably couldn’t see her in the darkness. He called out her name.
“Tika,” he whispered loudly, hesitantly.
She didn’t answer.
“Tika, try to understand,” he said plaintively. “I have to go with Raist. He needs me.” She kept quiet. Caramon heaved a huge sigh then, tripping over Sturm’s feet, he groped about until he found his blanket and lay down. When he was snoring, Tika rose to her feet. She found her pack and a torch and crept over to where Tasslehoff was keeping himself entertained by poking at Sturm with his hoopak in an effort to make him wake up.
“Tas,” said Tika in a smothered voice. “I need you to light this torch for me.” Always glad to oblige, Tas fumbled about in one of his pouches. He produced flint and a tinderbox and soon the torch was burning brightly. Tika held her breath, waiting for the light to wake the sleepers. Raistlin muttered something and pulled his cowl over his eyes and rolled over. Sturm did not so much as twitch. Caramon, who had overslept through an ogre attack and kept on snoring.