Dragonlance 10 - The Second Generation Read Free

good, I'll wager."
    "Oh, now, Tika," began Caramon, in the wheedling tone she knew so well, "you can't say that. Maybe she's going to visit a sick relative and darkness caught her on the road or—" Tika lit the candle. "Go ahead. Open up."
    "I'm coming," the big man roared. Heading for the door, he paused, glanced back at his wife.
    "You should toss a log onto the kitchen fire. She might be hungry."
    "Then she can eat cold meat and cheese," Tika snapped, slamming the candle down on the table.
    Tika had red hair and, though its color had grayed and softened with age, her temper had not. Caramon dropped the subject of hot food.
    "She's probably real tired," he said, hoping to pacify his wife. "Likely she'll go straight to her room."
    "Humpf!" Tika snorted. "Are you going to open the door or let her freeze out there?" Arms akimbo, she glared at her husband.
    Caramon, flushing and ducking his head, hastened to open the door.
    A woman stood framed in the doorway. She was not what either had expected, however, and even the soft-hearted Caramon, at the sight of her, appeared to have second thoughts about letting her in. She was heavily cloaked and booted and wore the helm and leather gloves indicative of a dragon rider.
    That in itself was not unusual; many dragon riders passed through Solace these days. But the helm and cloak and gloves were a deep blue, trimmed in black. The light caught a glint of blue scales, glistening on her leather breeches and black boots. A blue dragon rider. Such a person had not been seen in Solace since the days of the war, for good reason. Had she been discovered in daylight, she would have been stoned. Or, at the very least, arrested and made prisoner. Even these days, twenty-five years after the end of the war, the people of Solace remembered clearly the blue dragons that had burned and leveled their town, killed many of their kin. And there were veterans who'd fought in the War of the Lance—Caramon and Tika among them—who recalled with hatred the blue dragons and their riders, servants of the Queen of Darkness. The eyes in the shadow of the blue helm met Caramon's steadily. "Do you have a room for the night, Innkeep? I have ridden far, and I am very tired."
    The voice that came from behind the mask sounded wistful, weary… and nervous. The woman kept to the shadows that had gathered around the door. Awaiting Caramon's answer, she glanced over her shoulder twice, looking not at the ground, but at the skies. Caramon turned to his wife. Tika was a shrewd judge of character—an easy skill to acquire, if you like people, which Tika did. She gave a quick, abrupt nod.
    Caramon backed up and motioned for the dragon rider to enter. She took one final look over her shoulder, then hastily slid inside, keeping out of the direct light. Caramon himself took a look out the door before he shut it.
    The sky was brightly lit; the red and the silver moons were up and close together, though not as close as they'd be in a few days' time. The black moon was out there, too, somewhere, the moon only those who worshipped the Dark Queen could see. These celestial bodies held sway over three forces: good, evil, and the balance between.
    Caramon slammed the door shut and dropped the heavy bar across it. The woman flinched at the sound of the bar thudding into place. She'd been trying to unlatch the clasp of the pin that held her cloak together—a large brooch wrought of mother-of-pearl that gave off a faint and eerie glow in the dimness of the candlelit inn. Her hands shook, and she dropped the brooch to the floor. Caramon bent and started to pick it up. The woman moved quickly to forestall him, attempted to hide it.
    Caramon stopped her, frowning. "An odd adornment," he said, forcing open the woman's hand for Tika to view the pin. He found, now that he studied it, that he was loath to touch it. Tika peered at the brooch. Her lips tightened. Perhaps she was thinking her infallible judge of character had failed her at