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Darmon was quiet as they stood on the plateau. He seemed intimidated by the presence of the taller, older man, though Riverwind was probably no more than a handful of years his senior. Darmon kept as far away from the plainsman as was convenient. Leaning on his wooden staff, Riverwind sat down on a large rock to rest. Lona settled on the ground near him and searched through her bag for a midday snack. Darmon remained standing, several yards away, surveying the way they had come.

“Raisins?” Lona offered Riverwind a handful of the fruit.

He laid the staff on the ground by his left foot and took the proffered fruit. Lona began to eat her own handful slowly. “You certainly don't let that staff out of your sight,” the young woman said.

Riverwind looked down at the homely staff. “It is very important.”

“It's only a stick of wood,” Darmon said, moving in to get a share of raisins.

“Darmon,” Lona chided. “It's important to Riverwind.”

The boy shook his head and went back to his study of their position.

“Why is it important?” Lona asked.

Riverwind picked up the wooden rod. He ran his hands over it and frowned. “It's not just wood,” he said softly. “It's really…” The effort of concentration made his head hurt. He gripped the staff so tightly his knuckles whitened. “I don't know. I can't remember. Have I never told you?”

Lona shook her head sadly. “No, Riverwind. You haven't mentioned it at all. I thought you'd carved it yourself.”

“No. No, I didn't,” Riverwind leaned his face against the wood. “At least, I don't think I did. I think I'm supposed to give it to someone.”

“Who?” asked Darmon and popped his last raisin in his mouth.

“I can't remember.” The words were barely audible.

“Well, don't fret over it,” Lona said cheerily. “I'm sure everything will be clear again once you're well.” She hoisted her gear and said, “We should be moving now.”

She and Darmon were quickly ready, but Riverwind sat on his rock, staring at the staff.

“Come on, barbarian,” Darmon said. “We're ready to go.”

Riverwind finally sighed deeply and stood, shouldering his pack. The staff swung out and swept past Darmon. He jumped back quickly.

“Watch it!” he cried. “Keep that dirty stick off my clothes.”

Riverwind apologized and took a firmer grip on the staff.

“It's only a piece of wood, Darmon,” Lona said. “It won't bite you.”

The three of them moved on across the plateau. River-wind's face showed his anxiety. His memory was so dark. There were so many gaps. But he was on his way home. No matter what else was unclear, that was certain. He was on the road home.

When they camped that night, Lona made hot broth for him again. She boiled what looked like an ox-bone in some water and added a sprinkling of powder from a tiny draw-string bag that she wore around her neck. Riverwind asked her what was in the bag.

“Spice,” she said. “Our poor soup bone is practically glass smooth from boiling, so the broth needs something extra to flavor it.” Riverwind peered at the old bone and nodded. The broth was still nearly tasteless.

That night-the third since meeting the two young people-Riverwind had no troubling dreams. The indistinct face of the woman with golden hair floated in and out of his mind, but there was no pain attached to this. He awoke rested and refreshed, and felt stronger than he had in days. He breathed in the warm air and touched the staff lying on the ground.

He would take it to Que-Shu. Once it was there, someone would surely know what to do with it. He worried a bit over the gaps in his memory, but he felt so much better physically that he was certain his memory would return, too.

That morning, Lona brought him his broth. Riverwind stared at the nearly clear liquid in the mug. It was really quite bad, but he didn't want to hurt Lona's feeling. After all, she was sharing what little they had. So, when neither of the others was looking, Riverwind poured the broth out on the ground. He would try to find some game for them today. This would help ease the strain on their meager food supply.

Later that morning, the Sageway appeared in the distance. Riverwind felt great relief. His memory of directions was still sound.

“Does the road run all the way to Solace?” Darmon asked as they took in the vista of the ancient road, green grass sprouting between its bricks.

“Yes, though it branches at different points,” Riverwind noted.

“Do many travelers use it?” asked Lona.

“Many do, though there isn't much trade going west and east. Most traders ply the routes north and south, from Qualinesti up to Solace and across the sea to Solamnia.”

Darmon shouldered the strap he'd tacked to his case and said, “Let's go, I'm eager to get to Solace.”

Riverwind caught his toe on a hummock of grass. He stumbled and threw out his arms to keep his balance. The staff, in his right hand, swung out and hit Lona on the shoulder. With a low cry, she leaped sideways.

“Are you all right?” Darmon asked, coming quickly to her side.

Riverwind apologized. “It was an accident, Lona. I hope I didn't hurt you.”

Lona took her hand from her left shoulder and smiled thinly. “I'm fine. Do you think that silly stick could hurt me?” She picked up her knapsack with her right hand, but she held her left arm rather stiffly.

Riverwind stood unmoving. Lona's words echoed in his mind. Do you think that silly stick could hurt me?

He felt very strange. He'd heard those words before. Someone had said them to him not so very long ago. Who?

Do you think that silly stick could hurt me?

Lona still hadn't moved, and Darmon was fussing over her shoulder. “No, it couldn't have hurt you,” Riverwind said, frowning. “It barely touched you.” He stared at the young woman for so long that she shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Darmon. He put a hand to his forehead. “I've heard those words before,” Riverwind muttered. He strained to remember, the throbbing in his head growing worse.

“What words?” Darmon asked. When no answer was forthcoming, the boy rolled his eyes. “Ignorant barbarian.”

Riverwind's head came up, and he stared at Darmon. “What did you say?” he asked. Darmon glanced at Arlona. Riverwind pointed the staff at the boy.

“What're you doing?” he snapped. “Get that filthy stick away from me. What's wrong with you?”

“It's only a silly stick,” Riverwind said. He turned to Lona. “The two of you are acting very strangely.” Do you think that silly stick could hurt me? “There is something wrong here.”

Lona pulled Darmon back a few steps. She smiled at Riverwind. “Nonsense. You're only imagining things,” she said. “There's nothing wrong with us.”

“Who are you? Who are you really?” Riverwind demanded. Though he had sensed something odd about the two, he really had no clear idea just what the matter was. He quickly found out.

Before Riverwind's astonished eyes, the two young people began to change. Darmon's hair flew away on the wind like dandelion seed, and his freckled skin seemed to melt in strips. Riverwind cried out in horror. Darmon's gray eyes became yellow slits, and his green, scaly body elongated, a pair of wings rising and flexing behind him. His beaked face opened in a wide, hissing grin. Riverwind saw him in his true form and a name he'd forgotten popped into his mind.

“Shanz,” Riverwind croaked, his voice hoarse with shock. “You're Shanz.”

“And me, little man? Do you remember me?” The voice was not Lona's. She was no more. Her dull peasant clothes were a mere heap of rags on the ground. In her place, coiled tightly and wings furled, was a black dragon.

“Khisanth.” Riverwind breathed the name. She had said those familiar words to him back in Xak Tsaroth when he'd first faced her with the staff. “I remember.” Riverwind backed up several steps, holding the Staff of Mishakal-for he knew that that's what it was-before him.