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 pennant 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 flurry 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 sailors 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 fasten 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 worried. 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.

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 corduroy 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 little 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 centuries, the gnomes and the Knights of Solamnia had maintained a pact of mutual aid, since both groups distrusted the workings of magic. Tirolan rowed around the stern of the gnome ship. Kitiara 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 Hydrodynamic Compression and Etheric Volatility, Controlled by the Most Ingenious System of Gears Invented by the Illustrious Inventor, He-Who-Utters-Polynomial-Fractions-WhileSleeping 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. Tirolan 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 followed 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 tabletop. "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 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 Kitiara. One huge figure moved out of the shadows toward her. It wielded a blade as wide as her palm, but she parried, disengaged, 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 creature 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. Reluctantly, 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 purple carved gem to Kit. A wink of his eye made her smile. "A gift," was all he said. The three of them then parted.