long. Time…" Her fingers, in their blue gloves, twisted together. "Time is running out."
Caramon reached for his cloak, which hung on a peg behind the bar. "Who is it? Tell me his name, and I'll run to fetch him. I know everyone living in Solace…"
"Wait a moment." The prudent Tika stopped him. "What do you want with this man?"
"I can tell you his name, but I cannot tell you why I want to see him, more for his sake than my own."
Caramon frowned. "Will this bring whatever danger you're in down on him as well?"
"I can't say!" The woman avoided looking at him. "Perhaps. I'm sorry for it, but…" Slowly, Caramon shook his head. "I can't wake a man in the middle of the night and take him to what may be his doom—"
The woman lifted anguished eyes. "I could have lied to you. I could have told you that all will be well, but I don't know that. I know only that I bear a terrible secret and I must share it with the one other person alive who has the right to know it!" She reached out, caught hold of Caramon's hand. "A life is at stake. No, sir, more than a life! A soul!"
"It's not up to us to judge, sweetheart," said Tika. "This man, whoever he is, must decide for himself."
"Very well. I'll go fetch him." Caramon flung his cloak around his shoulders. "What's the name?"
"Majere," said the woman. "Caramon Majere."
"Caramon!" repeated Caramon, astounded.
The woman mistook his astonishment for reluctance. "I know I'm asking the impossible. Caramon Majere—a Hero of the Lance, one of the most renowned warriors of Ansalon. What could he have to do with the likes of me? But, if he won't come, tell him…" She paused, considering what she might say. "Tell him I've come about his sister."
"His sister!" Caramon fell back against the wall. The thud shook the inn.
"Paladine help us!" Tika clasped her hands together tightly. "Not… Kitiara?"
Chapter Two
Kitiara's Son
Caramon took off his cloak. He intended to hang it on the peg, but missed. The cloak slid to the floor. He didn't bother to pick it up. The woman watched all this with growing suspicion.
"Why aren't you going to fetch this man?"
"Because you've already found him. I am Caramon Majere."
The woman was startled, then obviously dubious.
"You can ask anyone," Caramon said simply, waving a hand to indicate the inn and beyond.
"What would I gain by lying?" He flushed, patted his broad belly, and shrugged. "I know I may not look much like a hero…"
The woman smiled suddenly. The smile made her seem younger. "I was expecting a great lord. I'm glad you're not. This will be… easier."
She studied him intently. "Now that I look at you, I might have recognized you. She described you to me—'a big man, more brawn than brains, always thinking of where his next meal is coming from.' Forgive me, sir. Those were Kitiara's words, not mine."
Caramon's expression darkened. "I suppose you know, my lady, that my sister is dead. My half-sister, I should say. And you know that Kitiara was a Dragon Highlord, in league with the Queen of Darkness. And why would she tell you anything about me? She may have been fond of me, once, I suppose, but she forgot about that in a hurry."
"I know what Kitiara was, better than most," the woman said, with a sigh. "She lived with me, you see, for several months. It was before the war. About five years before. Will you hear my story from the beginning? I have traveled many hundreds of miles to find you, at great peril."
"Maybe we should wait until morning—"
She shook her head. "No, I dare not. It is safer for me to travel before dawn. Will you hear my story? If you choose not to believe me…" She shrugged.
"Then I will leave you in peace."
"I'll make some tarbean tea," said Tika. She left for the kitchen, first laying her hand on her husband's massive shoulder, silently enjoining him to listen.
Caramon sat down heavily. "Very well. What is your name, my lady? If you don't mind my asking."
"Sara Dunstan. I am—or was—a resident of
Caramon reached for his cloak, which hung on a peg behind the bar. "Who is it? Tell me his name, and I'll run to fetch him. I know everyone living in Solace…"
"Wait a moment." The prudent Tika stopped him. "What do you want with this man?"
"I can tell you his name, but I cannot tell you why I want to see him, more for his sake than my own."
Caramon frowned. "Will this bring whatever danger you're in down on him as well?"
"I can't say!" The woman avoided looking at him. "Perhaps. I'm sorry for it, but…" Slowly, Caramon shook his head. "I can't wake a man in the middle of the night and take him to what may be his doom—"
The woman lifted anguished eyes. "I could have lied to you. I could have told you that all will be well, but I don't know that. I know only that I bear a terrible secret and I must share it with the one other person alive who has the right to know it!" She reached out, caught hold of Caramon's hand. "A life is at stake. No, sir, more than a life! A soul!"
"It's not up to us to judge, sweetheart," said Tika. "This man, whoever he is, must decide for himself."
"Very well. I'll go fetch him." Caramon flung his cloak around his shoulders. "What's the name?"
"Majere," said the woman. "Caramon Majere."
"Caramon!" repeated Caramon, astounded.
The woman mistook his astonishment for reluctance. "I know I'm asking the impossible. Caramon Majere—a Hero of the Lance, one of the most renowned warriors of Ansalon. What could he have to do with the likes of me? But, if he won't come, tell him…" She paused, considering what she might say. "Tell him I've come about his sister."
"His sister!" Caramon fell back against the wall. The thud shook the inn.
"Paladine help us!" Tika clasped her hands together tightly. "Not… Kitiara?"
Chapter Two
Kitiara's Son
Caramon took off his cloak. He intended to hang it on the peg, but missed. The cloak slid to the floor. He didn't bother to pick it up. The woman watched all this with growing suspicion.
"Why aren't you going to fetch this man?"
"Because you've already found him. I am Caramon Majere."
The woman was startled, then obviously dubious.
"You can ask anyone," Caramon said simply, waving a hand to indicate the inn and beyond.
"What would I gain by lying?" He flushed, patted his broad belly, and shrugged. "I know I may not look much like a hero…"
The woman smiled suddenly. The smile made her seem younger. "I was expecting a great lord. I'm glad you're not. This will be… easier."
She studied him intently. "Now that I look at you, I might have recognized you. She described you to me—'a big man, more brawn than brains, always thinking of where his next meal is coming from.' Forgive me, sir. Those were Kitiara's words, not mine."
Caramon's expression darkened. "I suppose you know, my lady, that my sister is dead. My half-sister, I should say. And you know that Kitiara was a Dragon Highlord, in league with the Queen of Darkness. And why would she tell you anything about me? She may have been fond of me, once, I suppose, but she forgot about that in a hurry."
"I know what Kitiara was, better than most," the woman said, with a sigh. "She lived with me, you see, for several months. It was before the war. About five years before. Will you hear my story from the beginning? I have traveled many hundreds of miles to find you, at great peril."
"Maybe we should wait until morning—"
She shook her head. "No, I dare not. It is safer for me to travel before dawn. Will you hear my story? If you choose not to believe me…" She shrugged.
"Then I will leave you in peace."
"I'll make some tarbean tea," said Tika. She left for the kitchen, first laying her hand on her husband's massive shoulder, silently enjoining him to listen.
Caramon sat down heavily. "Very well. What is your name, my lady? If you don't mind my asking."
"Sara Dunstan. I am—or was—a resident of
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