may-
be. Come. There'll be shipmasters in here."
The Three Fishes tavern was well filled with patrons for
so early an hour. The first master that Kitiara approached
growled "Mercenaries!" and spat at her feet. She almost
drew her blade on him, but Sturm caught her wrist. "Cut
one, and we'll have to fight them all," he muttered. "Be
patient. We must have a boat to cross the straits."
They tried half a dozen sea captains and were rebuffed
each time. Kitiara was fuming. Sturm was puzzled. He'd
voyaged before, and knew that mariners usually liked to
take on a few passengers. They paid better than fishing or
cargo did, took care of themselves, and didn't take up much
deck space. So why are the masters of Zaradene so hostile?
he wondered.
They drifted to the bar. Kitiara called for ale, but all the
barkeep had was black wine of Nostar. After a sip of the bit-
ter vintage, Sturm shoved his cup aside. Better to be thirsty,

he thought.
Kitiara plunked one of her Silvanesti coins on the dirty
bar. Even in the dim tavern, the glow of gold caught the bar-
keep's eye. He came to the end of the bar, where Sturm and
Kitiara leaned.
"You want something?" said the man. A sheen of sweat
coated his shaved head.
"Words," said Kitiara. "Merely a few words."
"For that amount of gold, you can have all the words you
want." The barkeeper tucked his greasy rag under his arm.
Sturm wondered idly which was dirtier, the rag or the bar-
keep's canvas shirt.
"What happened here?" asked Kitiara.
"They don't like mercenaries here. Ten nights ago, horse-
men attacked the village. Carried off everything they could
grab, including some women and children."
"Who were they?" Sturm asked. "Did they wear insig-
nia?"
"Some say they wasn't true men at all," said the bar-
keeper. "Some say they had hard, dark skin and --" He
looked from side to side to see if anyone else was listening.
"-- and some say they had tails!"
Sturm started to ask another question, but Kitiara
stopped him with a glance. "We need to buy passage to
Caergoth," she said. "Will anybody in Zaradene take us?"
"Dunno. Some of them lost heavy in the raid. They'd as
like to slit your throats as take you to sea."
The barkeep went back to dispensing his awful wares,
Sturm surveyed the room. "I don't like this," he said. "ъaid-
ers with tails? What sort of monsters could they have been?"
"Don't take that one's mutterings too seriously," Kitiara
said. "The farther you get from safe havens like Solace, the
wilder and weirder the tales you'll hear." She tossed back the
Nostarian wine without a shudder. "Skinhead is right about
one thing; we have no friends in this room."
From behind their backs, a voice said, "Be not certain of
that, me hearties."
Sturm and Kitiara faced the speaker. He was a full head
shorter than Kitiara, with sharply pointed features and a
clean, boyish face -- signs of elven blood. Kitiara saw a flash

of Tanis as she had last seen him, blood on his lips, his cheek
red from her slap, staring at her in shock.
"Tirolan Ambrodel, at your service." He bowed from the
waist. "Mariner, map maker, gem cutter, and piper." Tirolan
reached for Kitiara's hand and raised it to his lips. He didn't
kiss it, but touched it to his forehead. She smiled.
Sturm introduced them both and asked, "Can you pro-
vide us with transport to Caergoth, Master Ambrodel?"
"Easily, sir. Me craft, High Crest, is laden with dunnage
for that very port. Will it be just the two of you?"
"And two horses. We're traveling light," Kitiara said.
"For two passengers and two horses, I shall require five
gold pieces -- each."
Sturm gaped at the high price, but Kitiara laughed scorn-
fully. "We'll give you four gold pieces for the both of us," she
said.
"Eight for both," countered Tirolan.
"Five," she said. "And we'll pay in Silvanesti gold."
Tirolan Ambrodel's arched brows bunched over his thin
nose. "True gold of Eli?"
Kitiara picked up the coin from the bar and flashed it in
the mariner's face. Carefully, almost tenderly, Tirolan
reached for the elven gold. He held the coin, caressed it, and
ran his fingertips over the worn inscription. "Very fine," he
said. "Do you know that this coin is more than five hundred
years old? Minted just before the Lords of the East withdrew
into the forest, severing all ties with the human world. How
many of these relics have you tossed away for meat and
wine?"
"I had a dozen," said Kitiara. "Now I have five. They are
yours if you ferry us to Caergoth."
"Done!"
"When do we sail?" asked Sturm.
"The tide ebbs with the first moon's rise. When the silver
moon clears the grip of the sea, we up anchor! And away."
Tirolan slipped the coin into a suede pouch on his belt.
"Now, follow me, and I'll take you to the High Crest."
Sturm dropped some coins on the bar, and they exited the
tavern. They led Tallfox and Pira through the streets of
Zaradene, following as Tirolan Ambrodel led. People turn-

ed from them everywhere they went. One old crone uttered
a charm against bad luck as Tirolan passed.
"The natives are very superstitious," he said. "Anything
or anyone foreign is believed dangerous these days."
Sturm looked back at the circle of stakes in the dunes
above the town. "They have reason to be afraid," he said.
Zaradene had a single decrepit wharf. Sturm was uncer-
tain the warped planks would hold Tallfox's weight, but
Tirolan assured him that it was safe. Cargo far heavier than
horses passed over the wharf every day, he said.
"Where's your boat?" asked Kitiara.
"Me ship is beyond the headland, yonder."
"Why anchor so far out?" Sturm asked.
"Me vessel and crew are not well liked in Zaradene. When
we must call here, we moor in deep water so as to avoid
trouble with the natives."
A wide, shell-like lighter was tied to the pier. A man lay
asleep in the stern, a ragged cap over his face. Tirolan
jumped into the lighter, startling the man into wakefulness.
"This your boat?" said Tirolan in a loud, cheerful voice.
"Uh, yeah."
"Well then, hop to it, man. You can earn your grog money
for the week."
The horses were led to a gangplank. Kitiara spoke sooth-
ingly to Pira, and the mare entered the rocking lighter with-
out too much trouble. Tallfox, on the other hand, balked
completely. Sturm wrapped the reins around his fists and
tried to drag the terrified animal into the boat.
"No, no, that's not the way," said Tirolan. He hopped to
the narrow gunwale and walked agilely to the foot of the
gangplank. "May I, Master Brightblade?" Sturm reluctantly
gave over the reins. Tallfox began to calm the moment Tiro-
lan's slim hands stroked his neck.
Tirolan spoke soothingly to the horse. "Strong as you
are, and you're afraid of a little boat ride? I'm not afraid.
Am I better than you? Am I braver?" To Sturm and Kitiara's
astonishment, Tallfox shook his head energetically and
snorted. "Then," continued Tirolan in quiet, golden tones,
"step down and take your place with your friends." The
chestnut gelding stepped daintily into the lighter and stood

quietly next to Pira. Their tails switched gently in time with
the rocking of the boat.
"How did you do that?" asked Kitiara.
Tirolan shrugged. "I have a way with animals."
After sculling away from the pier, the boatman raised a
tattered lateen sail. The lighter skimmed between bobbing
fishing craft and past the few major merchant ships in the
harbor. The laden boat ran uneventfully all the way to the
southern headland. Then the wind died, and the boatman
went back to his sweep.
  Dark slate-and-indigo clouds piled up on the southern
horizon. Against the blue and green of 'the sea stood the
white hull of the High Crest. Its shape was quite unlike the
other boats in Zaradene harbor. The sheer line rose from the
low, sharp bow to a high poop. The single lofty mast was
painted white, too, and in the freshening air, a green pen-
nant rippled from the masthead.
"Me vessel," said Tirolan proudly. "Isn't she beautiful?"
"I've never seen a white ship before," said Sturm.
"It's very handsome," Kitiara said. She frowned privately
at Sturm and gestured to him.
Amidships, they huddled between their mounts. "This is
getting stranger by the minute," whispered Kitiara. "An
elven captain, shunned by the local folk, a strange white
ship anchored far from other vessels. There's more to this
than meets the eye. I'm glad I lied about how many gold
coins I have."
Sturm said, "I agree. The way he charmed Tallfox wasn't
natural. I think he used a spell." To Sturm, steeped in the
Solamnic tradition, there was no worse sign than the use of
magic.
Kitiara put a hand to his shoulder and said, "Keep your
sword handy."
"All is well?" called Tirolan, over his shoulder.
"Very well," said Kitiara. "Oh, your ship is big."
They were now only a hundred yards from it, and the
High Crest filled their view. The white ship rode steadily in
the waves, anchored at both bow and stern. The deck and
rigging were empty, but a boarding ladder hung over the
bulwark, waiting. Tirolan snared a dangling rope and tied

the lighter fast to the High Crest.
"Ho, there, me hearties! Show yourselves," he sang out in
a clear tenor. The ship's ghostly inactivity vanished in a flur-
ry of bare feet and whoops. A score of agile sailors, all
sharp-featured and beardless, poured onto the deck. Sturm
found himself seized by eager hands and hauled to the deck.
Kitiara followed, carried by four smiling sailors. She
laughed, and they set her on her feet beside Sturm.
A sailor with white hair (yet quite young looking)
approached Tirolan and bowed to him. "Hail, Kade Berun!"
said Tirolan.
"Hail hail, Tirolan Ambrodel!"
"We've two fine horses to bring aboard, Kade. See to it,
will you?"
"Horses! I haven't seen horses since --" Kade Berun
glanced at Sturm and Kitiara. "-- since we left home." He
shouted some orders in a strange tongue, and the lively sail-
ors rushed to the rail overlooking the lighter. They looked at
Tallfox and Pira with unconcealed admiration. The chatter
ceased.
"Sling a boom!" called the boatman in the lighter. "I'll fas-
ten the harness and you can hoist them up!"
The High Crest crew did so and they all were quickly
aboard the ship. Beneath the rapidly setting sun, the sailors
fell to quickly and soon had the High Crest ready for sea.
The sail was raised, a fat triangle of brilliant green fabric.
The High Crest stirred and stood out from the Abanasinian
headland. Tirolan took the wheel and buried the ship's bow
in the tossing waves of the Straits of Schallsea.
Kitiara discarded her black leather jerkin. The breeze
stirred her light linen blouse. She closed her eyes and ran her
fingers through her short black curls. When she opened her
eyes, she spied Sturm brooding by the bowsprit.
"Cheer up!" she said, whacking him on the back. "The
wind is fair and Tirolan seems to know his trade. We'll be in
Caergoth in no time."
"I suppose," Sturm answered. "But I can't help being wor-
ried. The last time I made a sea voyage in these waters was
as a boy. There was magic on that ship, and things went
badly for my mother and me for a time."

"But you came through, didn't you?"
"We did."
"Then be calm! You're a knight in all but the ceremonial
sense, going to reclaim your rightful heritage. Maybe you
don't realize it, but I've got family in Solamnia, too."
"The Uth Matars?"
She nodded. "I've not had contact with them since my
father left us. In all my travels, I've never penetrated the
Solamnic Plain. When you declared your intention to go
north, it seemed as good a time as any to do some exploring
up there." She raised an eyebrow. "The Uth Matars are a
knightly line, too, you know."
"No, I didn't." He realized he knew so little about her,
really.
She left him by the bowsprit and went below. Sturm
slipped the strap off his chin and removed his helmet. The
twin brass horns were smudged; he'd have to polish them
tonight. For now, he cradled the helmet against his chest,
and let the sea wind wash through his long, tangled hair.

Chapter 3
The Severed Head
"Hail, Captain Tinolan," said Sturm, blinking in fhe
bright morning light.
"Hail, hail, Sturm Brightblade! We've reached the cape of
Caer in splendid time. Did you rest well?"
"Well enough. Why have we anchored so far from the
harbor?" Sturm asked.
Kade handed his captain a loose, hooded coat, which
Tirolan slipped on. "The city folk here are even less fond of
elves than those at Zaradene. Here comes one of me boys
now with a lighter for you," he said.
"111 tell Kit we're going."
He lifted the latch on the cabin door and bulled right in --
to find that Kitiara was up and dressing. A linen blouse,
beautifully embroidered with red and blue, slid up over her

bare shoulders. She'd already exchanged her heavy cordu-
roy riding pants for baggy Ergothic-style trousers. He could
not help but stare.
"I'm just about ready," she said. "How does the city look?"
He swallowed and said, "We're a mile or two out. Tirolan
fears the anti-elf sentiment in Caergoth. He's rowing ashore
to scout things, and I'm going with him."
"Good." She picked up her sword belt and buckled it
around her hips. "I'm ready, too."
The four of them lowered the horses with a block and
tackle. Kade held the painter line, while Tirolan, Sturm,
and Kitiara climbed down into the boat. The first mate cast
them off, and Tirolan dug in with the oars.
It was a sultry morning, hotter than any they'd had yet,
and a steamy calm hung over the water. No one spoke as
Tirolan rowed toward the hazy line of the coast.
Caergoth was a major port, and the watercraft thickened
as they drew nearer. Skiffs and dories, ketches and pinnaces
plied to and fro, laden with fish, crab, and clams; larger
boats shuttled goods from the big merchant ships at rest in
the main harbor.
Tirolan swung his arms untiringly back and forth,
maneuvering the yawl between the bigger vessels skillfully.
Kitiara craned her neck to see up the steep side of an
Ergothic argosy. A quartet of sailors in woolly caps leaned
over the rail and hooted at her. She waved gaily and said to
Sturm, "I'd like to see how bold they'd be if we faced each
other with swords in our hands."
Once clear of the heavier ships, the trio noticed a very
strange vessel drawn up to the deep-water docks. It was
high and square, with a pair of what looked like wagon
wheels attached to each side. The short mast was very thick
and a signal fire seemed to be burning from its top. A patch
of grimy smoke drifted away from the ugly ship.
"What in the world is that?" asked Tirolan.
Creeping nearer, they saw that a heavy boom had been
rigged to the craft's starboard side. A barge lay alongside it,
and two enormous wooden crates were already on it. A
third crate, fully as large as Tirolan's yawl, was slowly being
hoisted off the deck of the queer, smoking ship.

"It's going to fall," said Tirolan. "Watch."
The boom swung out, revealing that the crate was
wrapped up in a ca".go net. Clusters of small figures heaved
against the weight of the crate -- in train. The net sagged, a
corner poked through, and the crate ripped free and crashed
into the water, just missing the loaded barge. A string of lit-
tle people, shrieking in high-pitched voices, tumbled over
the side. Tirolan chuckled loudly.
"I should've known," he said. "Gnomes."
Sturm knew the little people only by reputation. They
were incessant tinkerers, makers of weird machinery, and
purveyors of endless theories. Disdaining magic, gnomes
were the most fervent technologists on Krynn. For centu-
ries, the gnomes and the Knights of Solamnia had main-
tained a pact of mutual aid, since both groups distrusted the
workings of magic.
Tirolan rowed around the stern of the gnome ship. Kiti-
ara pointed to an endless string of letters painted across the
stern, along the side, under the bow -- it was the name of the
ship. The portion on the stern read, Principle of Hydrody-
namic Compression and Etheric Volatility, Controlled by
the Most Ingenious System of Gears Invented by the Illustri-
ous Inventor, He-Who-Utters-Polynomial-Fractions-While-
Sleeping and on and on.
"Should we lend a hand?" Sturm asked.
"Not unless you want to get wet," said Kitiara. Sure
enough, the gnomes on the barge who tried to rig up a life
line succeeded only in falling overboard themselves. Tirolan
rowed on.
"I wonder what the crates contain," Sturm said as the
gnomish pandemonium passed astern.
"Who knows? A new machine to peel and core apples,
perhaps," said Tirolan. "Here's the dock."
The elf captain shipped his oars, and the yawl coasted in
to the dock. Sturm slipped the bowline over a cleat, and the
three of them climbed the short ladder to the platform.
With a large block and tackle, anchored to the dock for
loading and unloading cargo, they easily transported their
horses to the dock and shore.
"Where to now?" asked Sturm.

A row of grog shops and taverns lined the wharf, and
beyond them were great warehouses.
"I don't know about you fellows," Kitiara said, gazing at
the line of public houses, "but I'm starved."
"Can't you wait'?" objected Sturm.
"Why should I?" She hitched her sword belt into its
proper angle and set off, trailing her horse behind her. Tiro-
lan and Sturm reluctantly followed.
She chose, for no obvious reason, a tavern called The
Severed Head. Kitiara tied her horse outside, kicked the
door open, and stood there, surveying the room. Figures
stirred in the dim recesses. An odd, fetid odor wafted out
the door.
"Faw!" said Tirolan. "That smell is not human."
"Come, Kit, this is no place for us." Sturm tried to take her
by the elbow and steer her away. But Kitiara would have
none of it. She jerked her arm free and stepped in.
"I'm tired of barren roads and snug ships," she said. "This
looks like an interesting place."
"Be on your guard," Sturm muttered in Tirolan's pointed
ear. "Kit's a good friend, but long months of the quiet life in
Solace have made her reckless." Tirolan winked and fol-
lowed Kitiara inside.
There wasn't an actual bar in The Severed Head, just a
scattering of tables and benches. Kitiara swaggered to a
table near the center of the room and threw one leg over the
back of a chair. "Barkeep!" she shouted. In the darkness,
heads swiveled toward her. Sturm saw more than one pair
of eyes glowing in the shadows. They were red, like the
coals in a farrier's furnace.
Sturm and Tirolan sat down warily. A squat, lumpish
creature appeared by Kitiara's elbow. It puffed like a leaky
bellows, and each breath brought a fresh wave of foulness.
"Uhh?" said the lumpish creature.
"Ale," she snapped.
"Uh-uh."
"Ale!" she said a little louder. The creature shook its
upper body in negative fashion. Kitiara slapped the table-
top. "Bring the specialty of the house," she said. This elicited
an affirmative grunt. The servant trundled around.

"Double-quick!" Kit screeched, and the creature ambled off.
Something rose out of the tavern's shadows. It stood a
good half-head taller than Sturm and was at least twice as
wide. The shambling hulk approached their table.
"This is not a place for you," said the hulk. Its voice was
deep and hollow.
"I don't know," Kitiara said airily, "I've been in worse."
"This is not a place for you," it repeated.
"Maybe we should go," said Tirolan quickly. "There are
many taverns." He eyed the door, gauging the distance to it.
"I already ordered. Sit down."
The hulk leaned over and rested a hand, as big as a dinner
plate and with four fingers, on the table. The hand was dry
and scaly. "You go, or I send you out!" said the hulk.
Tirolan sprang up. "There's no need for trouble --" The
creature's other arm shot out, catching the elf in the chest.
Tirolan staggered