methyst  was clear
 again.  He  peeled  back  the  bloody  cloth over  Kit's wound
 and saw that it was healed.
   Smoke  from  the  hatch  was getting  thicker. Sturm  put an
 arm under Kitiara's legs  and staggered  to his  feet. Muffled
 screams  filtering  through  the  open  hatch proved  that the
 Gharm hadn't yet overcome the fire.
   The  smoke  got  so  bad  that Sturm  retreated to  the poop
 deck, carrying Kitiara. The wind switched  from port  to star-
 board, never allowing the ship  to drive  clear of  the fumes.
 When  the  first  tongues  of  flame licked  out of  the hold,
 Sturm felt real fear. How could  they escape  if the  ship was
 on fire? The Werival's longboat was missing.
   At  that  moment,  the wall  of rain  off the  starboard bow
 parted,  and  out  came  the  brown  hull of  the Cloudmaster.
 The flying  ship was  skimming over  the waves  so low  that a
 few  high  swells  lapped the  bottom of  her hull.  Sturm saw
 the gnomes at the bow, waving white handkerchiefs.
   A  great  shout of  triumph escaped  his throat.  "Kit, wake
 up!" he cried. "Kit, the gnomes are coming! We're saved!"

    Fire blasted out of the fore hatch, and with it, the figure of
  the  Gharm.  Blazing  from  head  to  toe,  the   hideous  ghoul
  bounced  from  bulwark  to  bulwark,  shrieking its  cursed life
  away.  Unable  to  bear  the  burning  any  longer,   the  ghoul
  finally dived into the churning waves.
    The  bows  were  burning  now,  and  the  foremast  was begin-
  ning  to  smolder.  The  Cloudmaster  drifted  past  the  stern.
  Sturm  left  Kitiara  lying  on  the  deck  and  grabbed  a boat
  hook  from  the  rail. As  the gnome  ship coasted  slowly along
  the port side, Sturm hooked it and drew it  tightly to  the car-
  avel.
    The  gnomes  clutched  the  Werival's  sides  as  Sturm lifted
  the limp Kitiara  over his  shoulder. He  sprinted for  the rail
  and  leaped,  one  foot  kicking the  rail top  as he  went. The
  gnomes let go, and the Cloudmaster sank toward the sea.
    "Too   much   weight!"   Wingover   cried.   "Out   ballast!'
  Amidships,   Sighter,  Cutwood,   and  Birdcall   threw  doors,
  window  glass,  and  other  loose  objects  over the  side. The
  ship rose again into the low clouds.
    "W-welcome aboard!" Stutts said heartily.
    "Glad  to  be  here,"  Sturm  said with  genuine relief.  He lay
  sprawled on the deck.
    "What happened down there? asked Wingover.
    "It's a long story."
    "Is  the  lady  well? She  seems unconscious,"  said Sighter.
  He lifted one of her arms and let it fall.
    "She'll  be  all  right,"  Sturm  said. The  Cloudmaster broke
  through the  top of  the clouds.  Below, the  cyclone's whirling
  mass spread out in all its glory. The gnomes  set the  sails and
  put the setting sun to their backs.
    "It was very clever of you to start  a signal  fire," Wingover
  said. "But it  got out  of hand,  didn't it?  I mean,  you might
  have destroyed the whole ship before we ever arrived."
    Sturm  felt  a  crazy  desire  to  laugh.  Instead,  he  said,
  "That's  not  the  way things  went." He  paused to  yawn prodi-
  giously.
    "Did  you  find  anything  useful  on  that  vessel?"  Sighter
  asked. But by then Sturm was already fast asleep.

                         Chapter 35

                      The ъoad to Garnet

       Sturm smelled land: wet soil and flowers and fresh-
 ly turned fields. The  sun was  in his  eyes. He  sat up.  He was
 in   the   wheelhouse,   alone.  The   windows  and   doors  were
 gone,  as  was most  of the  roof. He  went out  on deck.  At the
 bow  was  Sighter,  surveying  the  ground  below with  his tele-
 scope. Aft, by the former tail post, sat Kitiara, Stutts, Fitter,
 and  ъainspot.  Kitiara  was  talking  rapidly  and  making  wild
 gestures with her hands.
    "- and then Sturm stepped in  and chopped  the monster's
 arm off!" The gnomes all went Ohh, and Kitiara described
 how the arm had withered before their very eyes.
    Stutts saw  Sturm   approach.   "Ah,   Master   B-Brightblade!
 You're  awake.  We  are  just  hearing  about  your  t-tremendous
 adventure on board the cursed c-caravel."

 Sturm grunted something noncommittal and looked at
 Kitiara. "How do you feel?" he asked.
   "Fit as can be. How're you7"
   "ъested," he said. "How long have I been asleep?"
   "T-two nights and a day," said Stutts.
   "Two nights!"
   "And a day," added Fitter.
   "I came to about an hour ago," Kitiara said."I slept like a
 dead woman, but now I  feel better  than I  have in  ten sum-
 mers."
   "You almost were a  dead   woman."  Sturm   explained  how
 the Gharm had poisoned her and told her  that the  elven pen-
 dant  had  saved  her  once again.  Kitiara brought  the ame-
 thyst out of her blouse. Not only was it clear once more, but
 it was seamed with hundreds of tiny cracks.
   "I don't remember using it," she said, puzzled.
   "You didn't. I did," said Sturm. Kitiara's eyes  widened in
 surprise.
   He turned and went into the dining room. There the
 water  barrel  sat, almost  empty. Sturm  downed a  dipper of
 tepid water.
   Outside, Wingover said, "I thought men of his order
 would not use magic under any circumstance."
   "They're not supposed to,"  Kitiara said.  She began  to tuck
 the pendant back under her blouse, but as  she did,  it crum-
 bled into dust. She stared sadly at the flakes on  her tunic;
 Tirolan  Ambrodel's  gift  was no  more. Then,  brushing them
 away, she rose and said to the  gnomes, "Excuse  me, fellows.
 I need to have a word with Sturm."
 Kitiara found  Sturm standing  by the  port rail,  staring at
 the green land below.
   "Northern Ergoth," she said."  Wingover spotted  a flock
 of  terns and  followed them.  The birds  led them  to land."
 Sturm  stared  on,  saying nothing.  "Not very  scientific, I
 thought,  but  Wingover  says,  'Anything  that  yields  good
 results is scientific."'
   "I am tainted," Sturm said quietly.
   "In what way?"
   "I used magic. Such a thing is forbidden. How am I ever
 going to become a knight?"

   "That's  ridiculous!  You  used  magic  on Lunitari  when you
 had those visions," she said.
   "Those were inflicted on me; I  had no  choice. On  the ship,
 I used the power of the pendant to heal your wound."
   "I call that a right proper thing  to do!  Are you  sorry you
 didn't let me die?" she asked sarcastically.
   "Of course not."
   "But you're 'tainted' nevertheless?"
   "I am."
   "Then  you  are  a  fool,  Sturm  Brightblade,   a  hidebound
 fool! Do you honestly believe that an ancient set of  rules for
 knightly  conduct  is  more  important  than a  comrade's life?
 My  life?  He  did  not  answer.  "There's  something twisted
 about such thinking, Sturm."
   Sturm  shook  his  head  vigorously. "No,  Kit. I  would have
 given my life to save yours, but it is a cruel turning  of fate
 that made me break the Measure."
   Her  jaw clenched  in anger  and she  said stiffly,  "I never
 realized how  little value  you place  on friendship.  You want
 me  to  believe in  your dusty  old code.  Just like  Tanis. He
 tried  to make  me into  something I  wasn't. He  couldn't con-
 trol me, and  neither can  you!" She  stamped the  deck, barely
 containing her fury.
   Sturm  folded his  hands and  regarded them  carefully. "Vir-
 tue  is  a  hard  master, Kit.  The Measure  and the  Oath were
 never  meant  to  be  easy  burdens to  bear. A  knight carries
 them  like  ponderous  stones  on  his  back, and  their weight
 makes him strong and upright." He lifted  his gaze  until their
 eyes  met.  "You will  never understand,  because all  you want
 from life is to give your burden over to  someone else.  A lov-
 er, a servant, even  a brass  dragon. As  long as  someone else
 can bear the burden of honor for  you, you  don't have  to feel
 guilt, or face the consequences of your acts."
   Color  drained  from  her  face.  No one  had ever  spoken to
 her like that, not even Tanis. "Then this is the end," she said
 coldly.  "From  the  moment  this   soap  bubble   touches  the
 ground, we're finished."
   Kitiara left him watching  the canopy  of trees  unroll. They
 did not speak to each other again.

                   *  *  *  *  *
   "Careful! Careful! Watch those branches!"
 The  Cloudmaster  pushed  into  a  forest clearing.  Elm, ash,
 and  birch  branches  clawed  at  them.  Wingover was  atop the
 deckhouse,  trying to  direct the  landing. Flash  and Birdcall
 had opened the neck of the  ethereal air  bag, letting  some of
 the lifting power out. The flying ship had  scraped over  a few
 bald  hills before  the wind  carried it  down. Sturm  stood at
 the  bow,  fending  off  dangerous  limbs  with  the  boat hook
 from  the Werival  - his  only souvenir  of the  perilous hours
 on  the  cursed ship.  They had  no anchor,  no grapnel  to fix
 them in place, only timing and  control of  the air  bag. Flash
 and Birdcall clung  to the  rope that  held the  half-empty bag
 shut.
 Branches  scraped  the  length  of  the  deck,   snapping  when
 the  gaping  windows  of  the  deckhouse  caught   them.  Birds
 fled, chirping, when the ship disturbed their treetop homes.
  "Clearing ahead!" Sturm called.
  "Get ready!" Wingover cried.
 The bow dipped once the trees were out of the way. The
 keel  gently  touched  the  meadow's  grass,  dragged   a  few
 yards,  and  stopped.  Sturm  jammed  the  boat hook  into the
 ground  and  swung over  the rail.  He landed  on the  soil of
 Krynn with both feet.
  "Praise Paladine!" he said. "Solid ground at last!"
 The boarding ramp fell, and seven gnomes boiled out.
 Wingover  was  inhaling  deep  breaths  and patting  himself on
 the chest when he heard Birdcall whistle questioningly.
  "Can we open the bag now?" asked Flash.
  "Yes, yes, we're landed!"
 The  two  gnomes  pulled  the  zigzag  stitching loose.  A gust
 of sulfurous air fled the bag, and the exhausted craft settled,
 finally and heavily.
  Kitiara  descended   the  ramp   and  dumped   what  belongings
 she had left on the ground. In spite of the bitterness of their
 parting,  Sturm  couldn't  stop  his  eyes from  following her.
 She  paid  no one  the slightest  heed, but  stood a  ways off,
 hanging her  water bottle  and leather  pouch on  opposite hips
 to balance the load. She  slung her  bedroll over  one shoulder

 by  its  strap. Sturm  had an  urge to  speak, to  say something
 conciliatory, but her hard expression forestalled him.
      "Well, Wingover, it's been a long, strange voyage," Kiti-
 ara said, shaking the little man's hand. "I'll never forget it."
   "We couldn't have made it without you, lady."
   She  moved  on  to  Cutwood,  Sighter,  Birdcall,  and  Flash.
 "Keep  thinking  up  new  ideas,"  she  said amiably,  "That way
 the world will never get dull." She turned  to ъoperig  and Fit-
 ter and chucked  the littlest  gnome under  the chin.  "So long,
 boys. Stick together - you make a good team."
   "We will," said the two in unison.
   Finally, she approached ъainspot and Stutts. "You're a
 very  lucky  fellow, Stutts,"  she said  warmly. "Not  many peo-
 ple  get  to  realize their  life's dream  as completely  as you
 have.  Keep  flying,  old  fellow.  I  hope  you will  have many
 more adventures."
   "My," said Stutts. "It d-doesn't seem likely.  I have  so many
 reports to write and s-so many lectures to give. After  all, the
 Gnomish   Patent  Office   must  be   satisfied  that   we  have
 d-done  what  we  have  done."  He  bowed  formally.  "Farewell,
 Mistress. You were a t-tower of strength."
   "I was, wasn't I?"
   "Where are you off to?" Wingover asked.
   "Wherever the trail takes me," she replied.
   Kitiara's crooked smile almost appeared. She squinted
 into the sky. It was not yet noon. The sun warmed her face.
   Sturm  stood  apart  from  her   leave-taking.  He   felt  the
 weight  of  his  own  resolve  and  knew  that what  Kitiara had
 said  was  true.  They  were  finished.  And  yet,  he  knew  he
 would miss the old Kit, the brash, fun-loving companion.
   Kitiara  crossed  the   warm  meadow   briskly  and   did  not
 look  back.  Sunlight  burnished her  black curls  as she  cut a
 swath  through  the  high  grass.  Sturm  bent over  to shoulder
 his  own  gear.  When  he straightened  again, Kitiara  had van-
 ished  among  the  closely  growing  elms  and  birches  at  the
 field's far end.
   "Aren't you going after her?" said Fitter.
   "Why should I do that?" Sturm said. He tied a thready
 piece  of  twine  around  his  bedroll and  tucked it  under his
 arm. "She can take care of  herself. It's  what she  does best."

   "I don't understand," Fitter said,  scratching his  nose. "I
 thought you two were going to get married one day."
   Sturm  dropped  his  cooking  kit at  that remark.  The clay
 pot banged him smartly  on the  toe. "Where  in the  world did
 you get an idea like that?" he asked, flabbergasted.
   "We've  always  heard   how  human   men  and   women  fight
 and yell at each  other, but  always end  up married  and, you
 know -" Fitter blushed. "Having babies."
   Sturm picked up the spilled  contents of  his kit.  "It will
 take a man with more riches and power than  I'll ever  have to
 claim her hand." He  hung the  kit bag  around his  neck. "The
 man  who  wins  Kitiara   Uth  Matar   had  better   have  the
 patience of Paladine and the wisdom of Majere to keep her."
   The  gnomes  gathered  around  him as  he adjusted  the last
 of his equipment. "Where will you go?" asked Wingover.
   "Solamnia, as before. There are  things I  must investigate.
 The  visions  I  had  on  the  red  moon  have  faded  from my
 memory, but I know my  father's trail  begins at  my ancestral
 home, Castle Brightblade. That is my destination."
   Small  hands  patted  him on  the back.  "We wish  you every
 bit  of  luck,  Master  Brightblade,"  said  Cutwood.  'You're
 very smart, for a human."
   "That means a lot, coming from you," Sturm answered
 wryly.
   "W-we  would  offer  to  fly you  on t-to  Solamnia," Stutts
 said, "but we are on f-foot now ourselves."
   That hadn't  occurred to  him. Sturm  said, "Would  you like
 me to escort you  home to  Sancrist?" It  seemed the  least he
 could do.
   "No,  no,  we've  delayed  you  long enough,"  said Sighter.
 "We'll get to Gwynned, all right. There'll be ships there for
 Sancrist."
   "I shall miss you," said  ъainspot fondly.  He held  out his
 small  hand.  With  great  solemnity,  Sturm  shook ъainspot's
 hand  and  each  of  the  other  gnomes' hands  in succession.
 Then he hitched up his gear and started out.
   Funny, he thought;  to have  traveled so  far and  walked so
 little. His feet were more tender now than  before he  went to
 Lunitari.  Walking  will  be  good  penance,  he  decided.  He
 could shed  some of  the stain  of magic  by walking  and con-

  templating  his  transgression.  Perhaps  he  could  also  come to
  grips with the difficult choices he faced as he  tried to  live by
  the Code and the Measure.
     "Good-bye!  Good-bye!"  called  the   gnomes.  Sturm
  snapped out of his reverie and waved to them. They were
  good fellows indeed. He hoped they  would not  have any
  more trouble, but, being gnomes, they probably would.
     He  entered  the  humid  forest  and  plunged  through  thicket
  after  thicket  of  dense greenery.  It cheered  him to  see vines
  and  bushes  with honest  green leaves,  plants that  didn't bleed
  or  cry  when  he  tramped  over  them.   Lunitari  was   such  an
  unnatural world.
     Two miles of woods  later, he  found a  clear creek  and filled
  his  bottle.  The  water  was cold,  and had  a mineral  taste. It
  was  a  welcome  change   after  weeks   of  drinking   soft  rain
  water.  Sturm  paralleled  the  creek bank  for four  miles, until
  he  came  to  an  arched  stone  bridge.  He  climbed the  bank to
  the  road  that  wended  away  north  and  south.  A  road  marker
  was fixed to  the corner  of the  bridge. On  its south  face, it
  read,   'Caergoth   -  20   Leagues',  and   on  its   east  face,
  'Garnet - 6 Leagues'.
     Sturm  laughed  until  tears  came.   The  gnomes   had  landed
  in  Solamnia,  not  twenty  miles  from where  they'd left  in the
  first  place!  And  he  laughed  for  other  reasons.  To  be home
  again,  not  merely  on  Krynn  (though  that  was  good),  but in
  Solamnia.  He  felt  light and  free, without  the gnomes  to wor-
  ry   about,   without   the   constant   apprehension    of   what
  strange  things  might be  around the  next corner  - and  free of
  his  curious  relationship  with  Kitiara.  Their  separation  was
  like the pulling of an aching tooth; a definite feeling of relief,
  yet tinged with an underlying  sense of  loss, of  a void  in him-
  self.
     Sturm  took  the  road  for  Garnet.  The  roads in  this prov-
  ince converged  on the  city, so  it was  the best  way to  get to
  the  northern  plains.  He  set  himself  a  good  pace.  With his
  light  burden  and  no  dependents  to  herd,  he  ought  to  make
  Garnet  by  the  next  morning,  he  thought.  As  he  marched, he
  took  in  the sights  and sounds  and smells  of his  native land.
  The   scrub   pastures   and   rolling  hills.   Peasants  ranging
  through  the  dales,   chasing  cattle   and  driving   them  with

 sticks  to  tumble-down  pens  made  of  fieldstone.  Once the
 Brightblade  family  had  owned  a  vast  herd of  cattle, but
 those  had  been quickly  lost in  the upheavals  that toppled
 the  great,  knightly  estates  throughout  the  country.  Who
 knew but that the  scrawny, ill-tended  beasts that  Sturm now
 saw  shuffling  over  the  hills were  offspring of  the prime
 Brightblade herd?
   It wasn't cattle or land that bothered Sturm about  the fall
 of the Solamnic Knights. Such  things were  not the  true mea-
 sure of a knight's worth. It was the injustice of it. The com-
 mon  folk  blamed   the  Cataclysm   and  the   troubles  that
 followed  on  the  arrogant pride  of the  knights, as  if the
 Knights  of Solamnia  could turn  the whole  world on  its ear
 and split the land asunder!
   Sturm stopped in his  tracks. His  hands were  clenched into
 fists so tight that his knuckles were  blanched white.  He let
 go  of his  anger and  slowly opened  his fists.  Patience, he
 admonished  himself. A  knight must  have self-control,  or he
 is no better than a barbarian berserker.

                              * * * * *

    From  the time  Sturm gained  the road  at the  stone bridge
  to late afternoon of the following day, he met no  other trav-
  elers. This struck him as ominous, especially as he  got near-
  er   to   Garnet.   Drovers   and  merchant   caravans  always
  moved from town to town,  timing their  arrivals to  the local
  market  day.  An  empty  road  indicated  that  something,  or
  someone, was keeping the travelers at home.
    The road began to rise and wind as the hills of Garnet
  grew out of the plain. Here he found signs of traffic: hoof
  prints,  wheel  tracks,  and  marks of  bare and  booted feet.
    The prints  multiplied  until  it  seemed  a small  army had
  marched through not long before.
    Sturm  saw  smoke  rising  from around  a bend.  He shifted
  the  pommel  of  his sword  forward to  be convenient  to his
  hand.
    He could smell the smoke now. Slowly the scene came
  into view. Several heavy wagons were overturne