“Oh, just run him through,” the kender cried cheerfully. “Leave his body to feed the crows. Not that they’ll bother; there’s few in the world who can stomach dwarf—”
The half-elf relaxed and smiled. He turned to the red-faced dwarf. “Satisfied?”
“Some day I’ll kill that kender,” the dwarf muttered into his beard.
All this time, Sturm had been staring hard at Derek, who had removed his scarf from his face.
“Brightblade,” Derek acknowledged coldly.
Sturm’s lips tightened, his face darkened, and his hand clenched over the hilt of his sword. Brian tensed, foreseeing trouble, but then Sturm glanced at those with him, especially at the veiled woman. Brian could guess what Sturm was thinking. Had he been alone, he would have refused to accept any aid from the man who had publicly insulted him and his family.
“My lord,” said Sturm, his voice equally cold. He did not bow. If either had been going to say more, they were cut off by the sound of whistles and shouts heading in their direction.
“The guards! This way!” called Marcus.
Sturm’s friends looked to him and he gave a nod. Marcus led them into a maze of streets and alleyways that twisted and turned back in on themselves like a drunken serpent. They soon lost the guards, and when they could no longer hear the whistles, deemed they were safe from pursuit and slowed their pace to mingle with the people in the street.
“Are you glad I rescued you, Flint?” asked Tasslehoff, walking alongside the scowling dwarf.
“No,” he answered, glowering, “and you didn’t rescue me, you doorknob. These knights did.” He cast Brian, who was keeping near the kender, a grudgingly grateful glance.
Tasslehoff grinned and winked conspiratorially at Brian, then said, “That’s a fine halberd you have there,
Flint!”
Flint had been about to toss away the broken weapon, but at the kender’s teasing, he held onto it firmly. “It suits my purpose,” he said, “and besides, it’s not a halberd. It’s a hauberk.”
“No, it isn’t!” Tasslehoff gave a smothered giggle. “A hauberk’s a shirt made of chain mail like the one Sir Brian is wearing. A halberd’s a weapon.”
Flint snorted. “What would a kender know about weapons?” He shook it at Tasslehoff, who was now so overcome with laughter he was having difficulty keeping up with his friends. “This is a hauberk!”
“Oh, yes! Just like that helm you’re wearing has the mane of a griffon! All of us know it’s horse hair,” Tasslehoff retorted.
Flint was already red in the face and puffing from the running. At this accusation, he went purple. He put his hand to the white tail that dangled down from his helm. “It is not! Horse hair makes me sneeze! This is the mane of a griffon!”
“But griffons don’t have manes!” Tasslehoff protested, skipping alongside the dwarf, pouches bouncing and spilling their contents. “Griffons have an eagle’s head and a lion’s body, not the other way around. Just like that’s a halberd, not a hauberk—”
“Is this or is this not a hauberk?” Flint demanded. He shoved his weapon practically in Sturm’s nose.
“That is what we knights know as a halberd,” said Sturm, moving the point away from the mysterious woman, who continued to hold onto his arm.
Tasslehoff gave a whoop of triumph.
“However,” Sturm added diplomatically, seeing Flint look chagrined, “I believe the Theiwar dwarves have a word for ‘halberd’ that sounds similar to ‘hauberk’? Perhaps that is what you were thinking, Flint.”
“That’s true!” stated Flint, his dignity upheld. “I… er… can’t rightly recall the word right at this moment, not being fluent in Theiwar, you understand, but it sounds like hauberk, which is what I meant.”
Tasslehoff grinned and seemed about to comment, but the half-elf, exchanging smiles with Sturm, put an end to the discussion by seizing hold of the kender and hustling him up to the front of the group so fast that his boots skimmed the street.
Brian was impressed by the good fellowship among this oddly assorted group of friends. He was particularly impressed with Sturm. He kept fast hold of the woman he had taken under his protection, and though clearly concerned with her, he had the patience to end the argument between the kender and the dwarf, while managing to maintain the dwarf’s dignity.
As if aware of what Brian was thinking, Sturm met his eye and gave a half-smile and a slight shrug of the shoulders.
They continued moving through the side streets, avoiding the major roads. Tanis Half-elven had hold of the kender and was keeping hold of him. The kender wriggled and squirmed in his friend’s grasp, his shrill voice raised in pleading. Whatever Tas wanted, Tanis was obviously having none of it.
They came to the marketplace, and here they would have to leave the side streets and move out into the open, taking the main road that led to the library. A few guards could be seen searching for them, but finding a handful of people amidst the throng of shoppers was going to be difficult and the guards were obviously not all that interested in capturing the escaped prisoners.
Brian recalled Lillith saying that something was wrong in this city. The guards apparently thought so, for they looked dour and unhappy. Ordinary citizens were still going about their business, but now that he paid attention, he saw people huddling together in knots, talking in hushed voices and glancing nervously over their shoulders. Sturm and the others kept their heads down, their eyes lowered, and did nothing to call attention to themselves. Obviously they’ve been in tense situations like this before, Brian realized. The half-elf even managed to squelch the kender.
They made their way safely through the market and came at last to the road that led to the old part of the city and the library. Here Tanis called a halt. Kender in tow, he came to speak to the knights.
“I thank you, sirs, for helping us,” Tanis said. “We must take our leave of you. We have friends in the Red Dragon Inn who have no idea what has happened—”
“You can’t, Tanis!” Tasslehoff cried. “I keep telling you! You have to come to the library to look at what I’ve found. It’s really, really important!”
“Tas, I don’t need to see another petrified frog,” Tanis said impatiently. “We have to go back to tell Laurana—”
“Oh, tell Laurana!” Tasslehoff said through a smothered giggle.
“—and Raistlin, Caramon, and the others that we are safe,” Tanis continued. “The last they saw of us, we were being taken off to prison. They will be worried.” He held out his hand. “Sir Derek, thank you—”
Tas took advantage of his friend’s distraction to give a wrench and a leap, and managed to twist himself out of Tanis’s grasp. Derek made a grab for the kender, but he missed, and Tas ran off down the alleyway.
“I’ll meet you in the library!” Tas called over his shoulder, waving his hand. “The knights know where!”
“I’ll go fetch him,” Flint offered, though he was so winded he stood doubled over, his hands on his knees. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing.
“No!” said Tanis. “We’re already split in two. I won’t have us going off in three directions. We keep together.”
Marcus volunteered to go after him, and he set off in pursuit.
“I say leave the kender and good riddance,” stated Flint.
“Actually, he has found something of vital importance,” said Derek. “I think you should come see what we have discovered.”
Brian and Aran exchanged startled glances.
“What are you doing?” Aran asked Derek, drawing him to one side. “I thought this dragon orb was a secret.”
“I’m going to need the half-elf’s cooperation,” Derek said in a low voice. “I intend to take the kender with us to Icereach—”
“You’re joking!” Aran exclaimed, horrified.
“I never joke,” said Derek sternly. “He’s the only one who can translate these magical writings for us. We will need him.”
“He won’t go,” said Brian. “He won’t leave his friends.”
“Then Brightblade must persuade him, or better yet, I will order Brightblade to accompany us.”