The War Of The Lance Read Free

instead of stale ale and yesterday's stew. Called “Three Sheets,” after a popular drinking
     song of the time, the inn was located in - . But where it was located doesn't matter. The
     inn was destroyed five years later in the Dragon Wars and never rebuilt. Small wonder, for
     it was on a road little traveled then and less traveled after the dragons leveled
    the town. It would be some time yet before the Queen of
    Darkness plunged the world into what she hoped would be eternal night, but already, in
     these years just prior to the war, her evil shadow was spreading. Goblins had always been
     a problem in this realm, but suddenly what had been small bands of raiders who struck
     isolated farms had grown into armies attacking villages.
    “What's His Lordship offering?” queried a mage clad in red robes who occupied a booth -
     the one nearest the fire and the most comfortable in the crowded inn - with just one
     companion. No one thought of joining them. Though the mage was sickly in appearance, with
     a hacking cough that nearly bent him double, those who had served with him in previous
     campaigns whispered that he was quick to anger and quicker with his spells.
    “Standard rate - two pieces of steel a week and a bounty on goblin ears. I signed us up.”
     The man responding was a large, burly warrior who sat down opposite his questioner.
     Shedding his plain, undecorated cloak in the heat of the room, the warrior revealed hard-
     muscled arms the size of tree trunks and a chest like a bull's. He unbuckled from around
     his waist a sword belt, laying on the table near at hand a sword with every appearance of
     having been well and skillfully used.
    “When do we get our pay?”
    “After we drive out the goblins. He'll make us earn it.”
    “Of course,” said the mage, “and he won't be out any cash to those who die. What took you
     so long?”
    “The town is packed! Every mercenary this side of Ansalon is here, not to mention horse
     traders, camp followers, swordmakers, and every kender not currently behind bars. We'll be
     lucky to find a place in a field to spread our blankets this night.”
    “Hullo, Caramon!” called out a leather-armor-clad man, coming over to the table and
     clapping the warrior on the back. “Mind if I share your booth?” he asked, starting to sit
     down. “It's standing room only in this place. This your twin I've heard so much about?
     Introduce us.”
    The mage lifted his head, fixed his gaze upon the stranger.
    Golden eyes with pupils the shape of an hourglass
    glittered in the shadows of the red hood. The light in the inn glinted off golden skin.
     Near at hand stood a wooden staff - obviously and ominously magical - topped by a
     multifaceted crystal clutched in a dragon's claw. Gulping, the man rose quickly to his
     feet and, with a hasty farewell to Caramon, took his ale to a distant comer of the room.
    “He looked at me as if he saw me on my deathbed!” muttered the man to more congenial
     companions.
    “It's going to be a cold night tonight, Raist,” said the warrior to his brother in a low
     voice when the two were again alone. “It smells like snow in the air. You shouldn't sleep
     outside.”
    “And where would you have me sleep, Caramon?” asked the mage in a soft, sneering voice.
     “In a hole in the ground, like a rabbit, for that is all we can aff - .” He broke off in a
     fit of coughing that left him breathless.
    His twin gazed at him anxiously. Pulling a coin from a shabby purse he wore at his belt,
     Caramon held it up. “We have this, Raist. You could sleep here tonight and the next night.”
    “And what would we do for food in the interim, my brother? We won't get paid for a
     fortnight, at least.”
    Caramon lowered his voice and, leaning across the table, grasped hold of his brother's arm
     to draw him near. “I could snare us something, if need be.”
    “You'd be the one to end up in a snare, you fool!” The mage