Love And War (30 page)

Riverwind smiled down at her. “You will always be Chieftain's Daughter,” he said,
smoothing the golden hair. “That is not something that depends on false gods, it is
something within you. Even if you had not been Arrowthorn's child, you would be a leader.
And someday, I know, you will lead people to the true gods. That is something to be proud
of. It is only your pride in false things that you need to sacrifice.”

Goldmoon entwined her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down so his face was within
her reach. The lantern light made his eyes sparkle red, and a grin fluttered across his
lips just before their mouths met.

The shepherd's tenderness eased her worries about the future. As Riverwind caressed her
lips with his own, he kneaded away all the tension in her shoulders with his fingers.

They both whispered, “I love you,” simultaneously. Goldmoon laughed, and Riverwind smiled
with a pleasure the priestess had never imagined she could evoke in the man. He put his
arms about her shoulders and pulled her a little closer. But Goldmoon was tired of
respectful, delicate embraces. She pressed against his warrior's body and wrapped her arms
about his waist to keep him from pulling away.

Without witnesses to inhibit him, he let the passion of his kiss match her own. All the
while, his hands slid her long hair up and down her back, against the silky fabric of her
robe. Goldmoon wanted to bring him the same sensual pleasure he gave her, but his armor
covered him like a shell. She wriggled one hand beneath the leather and then inside his
shirt, where she could press her fingertips against his back.

Riverwind straightened, and his head jerked up. A low moan rumbled through his chest as
Goldmoon ran her fingers along his spine.

“You sound like a cat purring,” she teased.

Riverwind gave a little snarl like a wild cat. Though she'd heard him use it in the battle
with Hollow-sky, it startled her now. Riverwind grinned at the look on her face, then bent
over and very lightly licked her behind the ear. He drew her hands forward and flicked his
tongue over both palms.

Goldmoon shivered with delight. She caught the ends of the ceremonial sash about his waist
and wound them once about his wrists. “Now I am the tiger hunter,” she joked and pressed
against him harder, kissing his mouth, then his chin, his throat.

Goldmoon had never before sensed so much buming warmth within her body. The dank cavern no
longer felt chill, but Riverwind suddenly struggled free of the sash and held her away
from him. “This hunt must end,” he gasped.

“What's wrong?” she asked, frightened by the way his whole frame shuddered.

The warrior took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Calmer, he stroked her cheek with his forefinger. “We will change many of our people's
ways,” he explained, “yet there are some customs which we ought still to follow. I have
yet to ask your father's permission to court you.”

Goldmoon tapped her foot in annoyance. “I suspect that I might change more customs than
you, if I have my way,” she retorted.

“Is the honor of marriage vows so worthless a thing to wait for?” he asked.

“No, but Father might not agree,” Goldmoon said tightly.

“He cannot deny me,” Riverwind pointed out, “if I go on a courting quest.”

She gave a sly grin. “The look on Arrowthorn's face will be worth seeing.” More seriously
she added, “I will wait for you, Riverwind, however long it takes.” She sighed. “Though I
do not think the waiting will be easy.”

“And now,” Riverwind said firmly, “we must find the way out!”

“What's that?” asked Riverwind, tilting his head to hear as they walked along by the light
of the fire-beetle lantern.

“It sounds like water running,” Goldmoon replied, listening. She licked her dry lips. “We
can fill our waterskins, at least.”

“Better yet,” said Riverwind, “it is probably an underground stream that may lead us to
the surface and out of here if we follow it!”

Hope rising in their hearts, the two hurried toward the source of the sound and came upon
a swiftly flowing, underground river.

“Crow's luck!” Goldmoon snapped with annoyance as the strong current tore her waterskin
from her grasp.

“Don't worry, I'll get it,” Riverwind offered, stepping into the water to reach after the
bag.

“No, Riverwind. The water's too swift. Leave it,” Goldmoon ordered.

But Riverwind took another step, then slipped on something underfoot, and plunged forward
with a cry. He tried to swim back to the bank, but despite his efforts, the current
dragged him off into the darkness.

“Riverwind!” Goldmoon screamed. She stood up and, in her haste, knocked over the lantern.
The lid fell off and the fire beetles skittered out and away from the water.

Echoes of her call rang through the cavern, mocking her. Absolutely alone in the
pitch-black, unfamiliar cave Chieftain's Daughter stood frozen with terror. “I've got to go after Riverwind! What if
he's hurt? But do I dare?” she whispered, her fear of drowning pulling her back from the water as
strongly as her love for Riverwind pulled her toward it.

Suddenly Goldmoon laughed grimly. “Of course I dare,” she cried out. Tearsong had told her
to sacrifice that which hindered her daring - her fear.

The princess unfastened the clasp to her fur cloak and let it fall to the ground. Taking a
deep breath, she dove into the water toward the spot where Riverwind had disappeared.

The cold of the water was a painful shock. Goldmoon tried to surface immediately, but the
weight of her long dress hindered her and the undercurrent held her in its clutches. Her
lungs were ready to burst.

That's it, she thought. I'm going to drown. Let it be quick, without pain, she prayed. She
began to feel numb all over.

But with a last burst of energy, Goldmoon kicked her legs hard, driving her up into the
small pocket of air between the deep water and the top of the cavern.

Her respite was short-lived. A deep thrumming filled the air all about her. A waterfall,
she realized, and she was being carried straight toward it!

Light blinded Goldmoon's eyes, and for a moment, as she shot over the edge of the
waterfall, she felt as though she were a hawk hanging over the world. Then she plunged.
Shooting pains surged from her stomach and heart, and when she hit the water below, she
was too disoriented to tell up from down.

Then strong arms grasped her and pulled her gently from the water to the shore. Too weak
to do more than turn her head, she smiled sweetly as Riverwind collapsed beside her. They
lay dripping and shivering on the sweet-smelling grass in the warm sunshine, taking deep
breaths of the fresh air.

They were in a valley beneath the mountain. The waterfall poured out of a cliff face so
far above them that their survival seemed a miracle.

“I knew,” Goldmoon gasped, “that you would find us a way out.”

Riverwind laughed, and Goldmoon laughed with him. She rolled near to him and lay her head
on his shoulder. Then she sighed heavily and her eyes became clouded with concerns for the
future - now that they had one. “We'll have to explain about Hollow-sky. At least now we know just how far Lore-man will go. He won't
catch us off guard again.”

“I don't understand,” Riverwind said. “After he tried to get Hollow-sky to kill you, won't
your father just banish his family?”

“We have no proof - just Hollow-sky's words - and he is dead. Loreman is very powerful;
there are too many people who will take his side. Since Hollow-sky failed, Loreman will
probably denounce him as a traitor himself.”

“And what do we say about us?” Riverwind asked.

“Father won't be pleased,” she said. “But I will tell him that I will wed none but you.”

“If I ask him for a courting quest, can he deny me?” Riverwind asked tensely.

“No. He'll be forced to follow tradition. But he may send you to find or do something
impossible.”

“If it will earn me you, the gods will aid me.” Riverwind smiled gently and slid his
fingers through her wet hair.

Goldmoon shifted her position and sat up on her knees, facing him. “Tearsong told me that
one day you would bring great power to my hands. So I know you will return triumphant.”

“And quickly,” Riverwind added hopefully.

“Do you know what happens at the questing ritual?” Goldmoon asked.

Riverwind shook his head no.

“Well, after you've spoken privately with Father, you'll stand before the whole tribe.
Arrowthorn will proclaim that you will go on a quest to prove your worthiness to be my
husband. Then, he'll ask me if that is what I want - ”

“And you'll say yes,” Riverwind added with a smile of certainty.

“Well, yes.” She smiled back. “Then he'll announce us betrothed, until such a time as the
quest is fulfilled or forsaken.”

“It will be fulfilled,” he said solemnly, capturing one of her hands in his own.

“And then,” she said, “we'll kiss before the whole tribe. . . .” She placed her free hand
on his shoulder and leaned toward him. She heard his swift intake of breath before she
kissed him lingeringly. “Well, perhaps not quite like that,” she whispered sweetly.

“The servants are probably wondering where we are,” Riverwind said huskily. “It's going to
be a long way around the mountain to find them.“ ”I know.“ ”We should get started,“ he added. ”If I must wait
for you,” Goldmoon whispered, once again settling herself in the crook of his arm with her head on his shoulder, “surely you
can wait for me - until . . . until . . .” She pondered. “Until the sun dries my hair,”
she said finally, laughing.

“That may take some time.” “But not long enough.” Goldmoon sighed. “I will enjoy the
waiting,” Riverwind assured her as he spread locks of the golden strands across his armored chest. “Who knows? Maybe a cloud
will pass by.”

Raistlin's Daughter Margaret Weis and Dezra Despain I first heard the legend of Raistlin's Daughter about five years after my twin's death. As
you can imagine, I was extremely intrigued and disturbed by the rumors and did what I
could to investigate. In this I was assisted by my friends - the old Companions - who had
by this time scattered over most of Ansalon. We found versions of the legend in almost
every part of the continent. It is being told among the elves of Silvanesti, the people of
Solamnia, and the Plainsmen who have returned to Que-shu. But we could find no
verification of it. Even the kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, who goes everywhere and hears
everything (as kender do), could discover no first-hand information regarding it. The
story is always told by a person who heard it from his aunt who had a cousin who was
midwife to the girl . . . and so forth.

I even went so far as to contact Astinus, the Historian, who records history as it passes
before his all-seeing eyes. In this, my hope to hear anything useful was slim, for the
Historian is notoriously close-mouthed, especially when something he has seen in the past
might affect the future. Knowing this, I asked only for him to tell me whether or not the
legend was true. Did my twin father a child? Does he or she live still on this world?

His response was typical of that enigmatic man, whom some whisper is the god Gilean,
himself. “If it is true, it will become known. If not, it won't.”

I have agreed to allow the inclusion of the legend in this volume as a curiosity and
because it might, in the distant future, have some bearing upon the history of Krynn. The reader should be
forewarned, however, that my friends and I regard it as veritable gossip.

- Caramon Majere Twilight touched the Wayward Inn with its gentle hand, making even that shabby and
ill-reputed place seem a restful haven to those who walked or rode the path that led by
its door. Its weather-beaten wood - rotting and worm- ridden when seen in broad daylight -
appeared rustic in the golden-tinged evening. Its cracked and broken windowpanes actually
sparkled as they caught the last rays of dying light, and the shadows hit the roof just
right so that no one could see the patches. Perhaps this was one reason that the inn was
so busy this winter night - either that or the masses of gray, lowering clouds gathering
in the eastern sky like a ghostly, silent army.

The Wayward Inn was located on the outskirts - if the magical trees deemed it so - of the
Forest of Wayreth. If the magical trees chose otherwise, as they frequently did, the inn
was located on the outskirts of a barren field where nothing anyone planted grew. Not that
any farmer cared to try his luck. Who would want anything from land controlled, so it was
believed, by the archmages of the Tower of High Sorcery, by the strange, uncanny forest?

Some thought it peculiar that the Wayward Inn was built so close to the Forest of Wayreth
(when the forest was in appearance), but then the owner - Slegart Havenswood - was a
peculiar man. His only care in the world, seemingly, was profit - as he would say to
anyone who asked. And there was always profit to be made from those who found themselves
on the fringes of wizards' lands when night was closing in.

There were many this evening who found themselves in those straits apparently, for almost
every room in the inn was taken. For the most part, the travelers were human, since this
was in the days before the War of the Lance when elves and dwarves kept to themselves and
rarely walked this world. But there were a few gully dwarves around; Slegart hired them to
cook and clean up, and he was not averse to allowing goblins to stay in his place as long
as they behaved themselves. There were no goblins this night, however, though there were
some humans who might have been taken for goblins - so twisted and crafty were their
faces. It was this large party who had taken several of Slegart's rooms (and there weren't
many in the small, shabby place), leaving only two empty. Just about the time when the first evening star appeared in the sky, to be almost immediately overrun by the advancing column of clouds, the door
to the inn burst open, letting in a chill blast of air, a warrior in leather armor, and a
mage in red robes. From his place behind the dirty bar, Slegart frowned. It was not that
he disliked magic-users (rumor had it that his inn existed by the grace of the wizards of
the tower), but that he didn't particularly like them staying in his place.