back. His hood fell off his head, revealing
his elven features. There was a general intake of breath in
the room. The hiss was enough to make the hair on Sturm's
neck bristle.
"Kurtrah!" said the menacing creature.
Sturm and Kitiara stood smoothly but quickly. Swords
flicked out of sheaths. Tirolan produced an elvish short
sword, and the three closed together, back to back.
"What have you gotten us into?" Sturm asked, keeping
his blade on guard.
"I just wanted a little fun," Kitiara replied. "What's the
matter, Sturm? Do you want to live forever?"
A three-legged stool hurtled out of the dark. Sturm
knocked it aside with his blade. "Not forever, but a few
more years would be nice!"
Somewhere in the gloom, steel glinted. "Move for the
door," Tirolan said. "There are too many of these things in
here to fight." A clay mug shattered on an overhead beam,
showering them with shards. "And I can barely see them!"
"It would be nice to have a candle or two," admitted Kiti-
ara. One huge figure moved out of the shadows toward her.
It wielded a blade as wide as her palm, but she parried, dis-
engaged, and thrust into the darkness. Kitiara felt her sword
point strike flesh, and her attacker howled.

"Candle? I can do better than that!" Tirolan said. He
whirled and jammed his sword into the center of their table.
He began to sing in Elvish, hastily and shakily. The blade of
his weapon glowed red.
Two creatures closed on Sturm. He beat against their
heavier weapons, making a lot of noise but accomplishing
nothing. "Tirolan, we need you!" he barked. The elf sang
on. The short sword was nearly white now. Smoke curled
up from the tabletop. An instant later, the table burst into
flame.
The enemy stood out in the first flash of fire. There were
eight of them, great, brawny lizardlike creatures in thickly
quilted cloaks. The light dazzled them, and they retreated a
few steps. Kitiara gave a battle cry and attacked.
She avoided a cut by her towering opponent and brought
the keen edge of her sword down on the creature's arm. The
big sword clattered to the floor. Kitiara took her weapon in
both hands and thrust it deep into her foe's chest. The crea-
ture bellowed in rage and pain, and tried to get her with its
clawed hand. She recovered and thrust again. The creature
groaned once and fell on its face.
Sturm traded cuts with two creatures. The burning table
filled the room with smoke, and the creatures backed away,
gasping. Tirolan, on Sturm's right, was not doing well. He'd
recovered his now-cool sword, but the short weapon was
doubly outclassed. Only his superior nimbleness was saving
him from being cut down.
With a bang, the creatures stormed the tavern door and
smashed it aside. Flames had spread down the table's legs to
the tinder-dry floor. "Out, out!" Sturm cried. Kitiara was
still dueling, so Sturm grabbed her by the back of the collar
and pulled her away.
"Let go! Leave me alone!" She threw an elbow at Sturm.
He blocked the blow and shook Kitiara.
"Listen to me! The place is burning down around your
ears! Get out!" he cried. ъeluctantly, she complied.
The smoke billowing from the upper-story windows had
drawn a crowd of curious Caergothians. Tirolan, Sturm,
and Kitiara erupted into the street ahead of the flames.
Sturm scanned the watching crowd, but the strange lizard

creatures were gone.
The three of them leaned on each other and coughed the
rancid smoke from their lungs. Gradually, Sturm became
aware of the silence of the crowd around them. He lifted his
head and saw that they all were staring at Tirolan.
"Elf," someone said, making the word sound like a curse.
"Trying to burn down our town," said another.
"Always causing trouble," added a third.
"Back to the boat," Sturm murmured to Tirolan. "And
watch your back."
Kitiara offered Tirolan's fee, but he took only half. The
elvish sailor started off as Sturm and Kitiara mounted their
horses. He stopped, though, turned, and tossed a shiny pur-
ple carved gem to Kit. A wink of his eye made her smile. "A
gift," was all he said. The three of them then parted.

Chapter 4
A Hint of Purple
Kitiara and Sturm rode up a winding trail to the
sand cliffs overlooking the bay. The High Crest had shrunk
to toy size in the distance. After a last look at the elf ship,
they turned their horses inland.
They soon reached the road outside the walls of
Caergoth. From the sutlers and traders who lined the road
they bought bread and meat, dried fruit and cheese.
The road ran as straight as an arrow east. Domed and
cobbled, it was one of the few public works remaining from
pre-Cataclysmic times. Kitiara and Sturm rode side by side
down the center of the road. Its shoulders were fairly thick
with travelers on foot, at least for the first ten miles or so
from the city. By mid-afternoon, they were alone.
They said little. Kitiara finally broke the silence saying, "I

wonder why there are no travelers on the way to Caergoth."
"I was puzzled by that myself," said Sturm. "A bare road
is a bad sign."
"War or robbers beset empty roads."
"I've heard no rumors of wars, so it must be the latter."
They paused by the side of the road long enough to don
their mail shirts and helmets. No sense catching an arrow
when they were so close to reaching Solamnia.
The eerie desolation persisted to the end of the day. Now
and again they passed the burned-out remains of a wagon or
the blanched bones of slaughtered horses and cattle. Kitiara
rode with her sword across her saddle.
  They were tired from the day's morning mayhem and
decided to camp early. They found a pleasant clearing in a
ring of oaks, a hundred yards from the road. Tallfox and
Pira were tied to a picket line to graze on grass and broom
straw. Sturm found a spring and fetched water, while Kiti-
ara built a fire. Dinner was bacon and hard biscuit toasted
over the fire. Night closed in, and they moved closer to the
flames.
Smoke wound in a loose spiral toward the stars. The
moons were up. Solinari and Lunitari. Souls rise up like
smoke to heaven, Sturm thought.
"Sturm."
Kitiara's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Yes?"
"We'll have to sleep in turns."
"Quite so. Ah, I'll stand watch first, all right?"
"Suits me." Kitiara circled around the campfire with her
bedroll. She unrolled it beside Sturm and lay down. "Wake
' me when the silver moon sets," she said.
He looked down at the mass of dark curls by his knee.
Veteran that she was, Kitiara soon dropped off. Sturm fed
the fire from a handy pile of kindling and sat cross-legged,
with his sword across his lap. Once Kitiara stirred, uttering
faint moans. Hesitantly, Sturm touched her hair. She
responded by snuggling closer to him, until her head was
resting on his crossed ankles.
He never felt the lethargy creep over him. One minute
Sturm was awake, facing the fire with Kitiara asleep in front
of him, and the next thing he knew he was lying facedown

on the ground. There was dirt in his mouth, but for some
reason he couldn't spit it out. Worse, he couldn't seem to
move at all. One eye was mashed shut against the ground.
With tremendous effort, he was able to open the other.
He saw the fire still burning. There were several pairs of
legs around it, clad in ragged deerskin leggings. There was
an odd, unpleasant smell, like singed hide or burning hair.
Kitiara was beside him, lying on her back, her eyes closed.
"Nuttin' but food," said a scratchy, bass voice. "Dere's
nuttin' in dis bag but some lousy food!"
"Me! Me!" said another, shriller voice. "Me find coin!"
One pair of legs ambled out of Sturm's sight. "Where da
coins?" He heard a tinkle of metal. One of Kitiara's last
Silvanesti gold coins dropped on the ground. The shrill
speaker said "Ai!" and dropped on his hands and knees.
Then Sturm saw who -- what -- they were.
There was no mistake. The pointed heads, angular fea-
tures, gray skin, red eyes -- they were goblins. The smell was
theirs, too. Sturm tried to muster all his strength to stand,
but it felt as though bars of lead were piled on his back. He
could see and feel enough to know he wasn't tied. That, and
the suddenness with which he was taken, meant that some-
one had cast a spell on him and Kitiara. But who? Goblins
were notoriously dimwitted. They lacked the concentration
necessary for spellcasting.
"Stop your bickering and keep searching," said a clear,
human voice.
So! The goblins were not alone!
Hard, bony hands grabbed his left arm and rolled him
over. Sturm's one open eye stared into the face of two of the
robbers. One was warty and had lost his front teeth. The
other bore scars on his neck from a failed hanging.
"Ai! Him eye open!" squawked the warty one. "He. see!"
Scarface produced an ugly, fork-bladed dagger. "I fix dat,"
he said. Before he could strike the helpless Sturm, another
brigand yelped. The others quickly converged on him.
"I found! I found!" babbled the goblin. What he had
found was the arrowhead amethyst Tirolan had given Kiti-
ara. She had tied a string around the carved shoulders of the
stone and had been wearing it around her neck. The finder

held it up and capered away from his fellows. They slapped
and clawed at him for the pale purple stone.
"Let me see that," said the man. The dancing goblin halted
and contritely carried the amethyst into the shadows
beyond the fire. "ъubbish," said the man. "A flawed bit of
crystal." The arrowhead arced through the air. It hit the dirt
between Sturm and Kitiara and bounced into Kitiara's slack
and open palm. The goblins scampered over to retrieve it.
"Leave it!" the man commanded. "It's worthless."
"Pretty, pretty!" protested Warty. "Me keep."
"I said leave it! Or shall 1 get the wand?"
The goblins -- Sturm estimated there were four -- shrank
back and gibbered.
"We'll take the coins and the horses. Leave the rest," said
the robbers' human master.
"What about da swords?" said Scarface. "Dese is good
irun." He held out Sturm's sword for his leader to see.
"Yes, too good for you. Bring it. It will fetch good money
at Trader Lovo's. Get the woman's, too."
Warty hopped over to Kitiara. He kicked her arm aside
and bent over to draw the sword, which lay under her. As
he did, her hand clamped around the goblin's ankle.
"Wha?" said the wart-faced goblin.
Kitiara yanked his leg out from under him, and the goblin
went down with a thud. In the next instant, she was up,
sword in hand. Warty groped for his dagger, but never drew
it. With one cut, Kitiara sent his ugly head bouncing away.
"Get her! Get her, you miserable wretches! It's three
against one!" yelled the man from the shadows.
Scarface pulled a hook-bladed bill off his shoulder and
attacked. Kitiara knocked the clumsy weapon away repeat-
edly. The other two goblins tried to circle behind her. She
turned so that the fire was at her back.
Sturm raged against the spell that kept him helpless. A
goblin's foot passed within easy reach of his right hand, but
he couldn't even flex a finger to help Kitiara.
Not that she needed any help. When Scarface lunged with
his bill, she lopped the hook off. The goblin stared stupidly
at his shortened shaft. Kitiara thrust through him. "Now it's
two to one!" she said. She leaped over the campfire, landing

between the last two robbers. They screeched in terror and
dropped their daggers. She cut one down as he stood there.
The last goblin ran to the edge of the clearing. Sturm heard
him die among the oaks. There were a few other sounds --
feet running, loud breathing, and a howl of pain.
"Thought you could get away, eh?" Kitiara said. She had
caught the hidden magic-user and brought him back into the
firelight. He was a gaunt fellow twice Sturm's age, dressed in
a shabby gray robe. Tools of his art dangled from a rope tied
around his waist: a wand, a bag of herbs, amulets wrought
in lead and copper. Kitiara kicked the magician's legs out
from under him, and he sprawled in the dirt beside Sturm.
"Take the spell off my friend," Kitiara demanded.
"I-I can't."
"You mean you won't!" She poked him with her sword.
"No, no! I don't know how! I don't know how to take it
off." He seemed ashamed. "I never had to take a paralysis
spell off before. The goblins always cut their throats."
"Because you ordered them to!"
"No! No!"
Kitiara spat. "The only thing worse than a thief is a fool
weakling of a thief."
She raised her blade to her shoulder. "There's only one
way to break the spell that I know of." She was right, and
when the magic-user was dead, the leaden feeling vanished
from Sturm's limbs. He sat up, rubbing his stiff neck.
"By all the gods, Kitiara, you're ruthless!" he said. He
looked around the campsite, now a bloody battlefield. "Did
you have to kill them all?"
"There's gratitude for you," she said. She wiped her blade
on the tail of the dead magician's robe. "They would have
cheerfully cut our throats. Sometimes I don't understand
you, Sturm."
He remembered the goblin's fork-bladed dagger and said,
"You have a point. Still, killing that scruffy magician was no
honorable deed."
She slid her blade into its sheath. "I didn't do it for honor,"
she said. "I was just being practical."
They gathered their belongings from where the robbers
had scattered them. Sturm saw Kitiara pick up the amethyst

necklace. "Look," she said. "It's clear."
In the light from the fire, Sturm saw that the once-purple
stone was now ordinary, transparent quartz. "That explains
it," he said. "You were able to move when the amethyst fell
into your hand, yes?"
The light dawned on her. "That's right. I was wearing it
over my blouse and under my mail --"
"When it touched your skin, the paralysis spell was bro-
ken. The dissipation of the spell bled all the color from the
stone. It's just an arrowhead-shaped piece of quartz now."
Kitiara slipped the loop over her head. "I'll keep it, just
the same. Tirolan probably never realized he was saving our
lives when he gave me the stone."
Their baggage recovered, Sturm began to gather dead
wood from the circle of oaks and heaped it on the fire. The
flames leaped up. "Why are you doing that?" asked Kitiara.
"I'm making a pyre," said Sturm. "We can't leave these
corpses lying about."
"Let the vultures have them."
"It's not out of respect that I do this. Evil magicians, even
one as lowly as this one, have the unhappy habit of return-
ing undead to prey on the living. Help me put them on:he
pyre, and their menace will truly be over."
She agreed, and the goblins and their master were con-
signed to the flames. Sturm flung dirt on the embers, then he
and Kit mounted their horses.
"How do you know so much about magic?" asked Kiti-
ara. "I thought you despised it in all forms."
"I do," Sturm replied. "Magic is the greatest underminer of
order in the world. It's difficult enough to live with virtue
and honor without the temptation of magical power. But
magic exists, and we all must learn to deal with it. For
myself, 1 have had many talks with your brother, and I've
learned some things I've needed to defend myself."
"You mean ъaistlin?" she asked, and Sturm nodded. "His
lectures on magic always put me to sleep," she said.
"I know," said Sturm. "You go to sleep awfully easily."
They turned the horses toward the new morning's sun and
rode away.

Chapter 5
Cloudmaster
The day after the robbers' attack was oppressively
humid. Tallfox and Pira needed frequent watering, for their
heads would sag and their gait falter. They entered a district
of orchards and farms, with a good view from the road on
all sides. Kitiara and Sturm discarded their mail for shirt-
sleeves, and by noon Kitiara had pulled her blouse loose and
tied the tails together around her waist. Thus cooled, they
paused in a fig grove for lunch.
"Too bad they're green," said Kitiara, pinching an imma-
ture fig between her thumb and forefinger. "I like figs."
"I doubt that the orchard's keeper would share your
enthusiasm unless you paid for what you ate," said Sturm.
He hollowed a large biscuit and filled the hole with
chopped, dried fruit and cheese.

"Oh, come on. Haven't you ever snitched apples or
pears? Stolen a chicken and roasted it over a bark fire, while
the farmer hunted for you with a pitchfork?"
"No, never."
"I have. And few things in life taste as sweet as the food
you season with wit." She dropped the fig branch and joined
Sturm under the tree.
"You never considered what your witty little thefts might
do to the farmer, did you, Kit? That he or his family might
go hungry for a night because of your filched meal?"
She bristled. "A fine one you are to talk, Master Bright-
blade. Since when did you ever work for the food that went
into your belly? It's very easy for a lord's son to speak of jus-
tice for the poor, never having been poor himself."
Sturm counted silently until his anger subsided. "I
worked," he said simply. "When my mother, her handmaid
Carin, and I first arrived in Solace twelve years ago, we had
some money that we'd brought with us. But soon it ran out,
and we were in dire straits. My mother was an intensely
proud woman and would not take charity. Mistress Carin
and I did odd jobs around Solace to put food on the table.
We never told my mother."
Kitiara's prickly demeanor softened. "What did you do?"
He shrugged. "Because I was able to read and write, I got
a job with Derimius the Scribe, copying scrolls and manu-
scripts. Not only was I able to earn five silver pieces a week,
but I got to read all sorts of things."
-I never knew that.-
"In fact, I met Tanis at Derimius's shop. He brought in a
ledger that he kept for Flint. Tanis had spilled some ink on
the last pages and wanted Derimius to replace them with
new parchment. Tanis saw a sixteen-year-old boy scribbling
away with a gray goose quill and inquired about me. We
talked and became friends."
This statement was punctuated by a roll of far-off thun-
der. The sultry air had collected in a mass of blue-black
thunderheads piling up in the western sky. They were mov-
ing quickly eastward, so Sturm crammed the last of his
lunch in his mouth and jumped to his feet. He mumbled
something through bread and cheese.

"What?" said Kitiara.
"-- horses. Must secure the horses!"
Lightning lanced down from the clouds to the hills where
the robbers had been vanquished. Wind blew out of the
upper air, swirling dust into Sturm and Kitiara's eyes. They
tied Tallfox and Pira to a fig tree, and hastily rigged their
blankets as a shelter to keep the rain off. Down the road Kit-
iara could see a wall of rain advancing toward them. "Here
it comes!" she said.
  The storm broke over the fig grove with all its fury. ъain
hammered the skimpy screen of blankets down on their
heads. In seconds, Sturm and Kitiara were completely
soaked. ъain collected between the rows of trees and filled
the low places. Water climbed over Kitiara's toes.
Tallfox couldn't bear it. A nervous beast by nature, he
reared and neighed as the storm played around him. His ter-
ror infected the usually stolid Pira, and both horses started
straining against their tethers. A bolt of lightning hit the tall-
est tree in the orchard and blasted it into a million burning
fragments. The horses, driven beyond terror, tore free and
galloped away, Tallfox fleeing east and Pira veering north.
"After them!" Sturm cried above the din.
He and Kitiara splashed off after their respective mounts.
Tallfox was a long-legged sprinter, and he galloped in a
straight line. Pira was a hard-cornering dodger. She wove
among the leafy fig trees, changing direction a dozen times
in twenty places. Kitiara stumbled after her, cursing her
favorite's agility.
The orchard ended in a gully. Kitiara slid down the mud-
dy bank and into calf