"Hush!" Tanis ordered, realizing Tas had managed to escape.

Flint turned purple. 'Why that little bastard)" he swore. "He was the one got us into this and he left us to-"

"Shhhl" Tamil said, glaring at the dwarf.

Flint ducked and fell silent.

The constable hustled his prisoners into the Hall of Justice. It was only when they were safely inside the ugly brick building chat he realized one of them was missing.

"Shall we go after him, sari" asked a guard.

The constable thought a moment, then shook his head in anger. "Don't waste your time," he said bitterly. 'Do you know what it's like trying t0 fin) a kender who doesn't want to be found? CST. let him go We've still got the important ores. Have them wait byre white I inform the Council:'

The constable entered a plain wooden door, leaving the companions and their guards standing in a dark, smelly hallway A tinker lay in a corner, snoring noisily, obviously having taken too much wine. The guards wiped pumpkin rind off their uniforms and grimly divested themselves of carrot tops and other garbage that clung to them. Gilthanas dabbed at the blood on his face. Sturm tried to clean his cloak as best he could.

The constable returned, beckoning from the doorway.

"Bring them along:"

As the guards shoved their prisoners forward, Tanis managed to get near Sturm. "Who's in charge here?" he whispered.

"If we are fortunate, the Lord is still in control of the city;" the knight replied softly. "The Tarsian lords always had the reputation for being noble and honorable:' He shrugged. "Besides, what charges do they have against us? We've done nothing. At the worst, an armed escort will make us leave the city."

Tanis shook his head dubiously as he entered the court room. It took some time for his eyes to adjust to tile dimness of the dingy chambers that smelled even worse than the hallway. Two of the Tarsian council members held) oranges studded with cloves up to their noses.

The six members of the council were seated at the bench, which stood upon a tall platform, three upon either side of their Lard, whose tall chair sat in the center. The Load glanced up as they entered. His eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of Sturm, and it seemed to Tanis that his face softened. The Lord even nodded in a gesture of polite greeting to the knight. Tanis's hopes rose. The companions walked forward to stand before the bench. There were no chairs. Supplicants or prisoners before the council stand to present their cases.

"What is the charge against these men?" the lord asked.

The constable gave the companions a baleful glance.

"Inciting a riot, milord;' he said.

"Riot!" Flint exploded. "We had nothing to do with any riot! It oral that rattle-brained=

A figure in long robes crept forward from the shadows to whisper in his Lordship's ear. None of the companions had noticed the figure as they entered. They noticed it now.

Flint coughed and fell silent, giving Tanis a meaningful, grim loo k from beneath his thick, white eyebrows. The dwarf shook his head, his shoulders slumped. Tanis, sighed wearily. Gilthanas wiped) blood from his cut with a shaking hand, his elven features pale with hatred. Only Sturm stood outwardly calm and unmoved as he looked upon the twisted half-man, half-reptilian face of a draconian.

The companions remaining in the Inn sat together in Elistan's room for at least an hour after the others were taken away by the guards. Caramon remained on guard near the door, his sword drawn. Riverwind kept watch out the window. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of the angry mob and looked at each other with tense, strained faces. Then the noise faded. No one disturbed them. The Inn was deathly quiet.

The morning wore on without incident. The pale, cold sun climbed in the sky, doing little to warm the winter day. Caramon sheathed his sword and yawned. Tika dragged a chair over to sit beside him. Riverwind went to stand watchfully near Goldmoon, who was talking quietly to Elistan, making plans for the refugees.

Only Laurana remained standing by the window, though there was nothing to see. The guards had apparently grown tired of marching up and down the street and now huddled in doorways, trying to keep warm. Behind her, she could hear Tika and Caramon laugh softly together. Laurana glanced around at them. Talking too quietly to be heard, Caramon appeared to be describing a battle. Tika listened intently, her eyes gleaming with admiration.

The young barmaid had received a great deal of practice in fighting on their journey south to find the Hammer of Kharas and, though she would never be truly skilled with a sword, she had developed shield-bashing into an art. She wore her armor casually now. It was still mismatched, but she kept adding to it, scrounging pieces left on battlefields. The sunlight glinted on her chainmail vest, glistened in her red hair. Caramon's face was animated and relaxed as he talked with the young woman. They did not touch-not with the golden ayes of Caramon's twin on them-but they leaned very near each other.

Laurana sighed and turned away, feeling very lonely andthinking of Raistlin's wards-very frightened.

She heard her sigh echoed, but it was not a sigh of regret. It was a sigh of irritation. Turning slightly, she looked dawn at Raistlin. The mage had closed the spellbook he was trying to read, and moved into the little bit of sunlight that came through the glass. He had to study his spellbook daily. It is the curse of the magi that they must commit their spells to memory time and again, for the words of magic flicker and die like sparks from a fire. Each spell cast saps the mage's strength, leaving him physically weakened until he is finally exhausted and cannot work any magic at all without rest.

Raistlin's strength had been growing since the companions' meeting in Solace, as had his power. He had mastered several new spells taught to him by Fizban, the bumbling old magician who had died in Pax Tharkas. As his power grew, so did the misgivings of his companions. No one had any overt cause to mistrust him-indeed, his magic had saved their lives several times. But there was something disquieting about him-secret, silent, self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.

Absently caressing the night-blue cover of the strange spellbook he had acquired in Xak Tsaroth, Raistlin stared into the street. His golden eyes with their dark, hourglass-shaped pupils glittered coldly.

Although Laurana disliked speaking to the mage, she had to know! What had he meant-along farewell?

'What do you see when you look far away like that?" she asked softly, sitting down next to him, feeling a sudden weakness of fear sweep over her.

"What do I see?" he repeated softly. There was great pain and sadness in his voice, not the bitterness she was accustomed to hearing. "I see time as it affects all things. Human flesh withers and dies before my eyes. Flowers bloom, only to fade. Trees drop green leaves, never to regain them. In my sight, it is always winter, always night."