Again Cloudreaver turned to Bird-Spirit first, this time offering the knife to his friend. Bird-Spirit took the knife and cut himself across the top of the forearm, a gash that dripped blood. Cloudreaver caught some of the blood in the bowl, then took the bowl from Bird-Spirit and passed it around the circle.
One by one the others cut themselves and dripped their own blood into the bowl containing the vital juices of the rare sea dragon.
When the knife came to Caramon, he looked up and met Cloudreaver's eyes once more. Without knowing why, but trusting the rituals of this good and honorable race of bird-people, Caramon cut himself on the forearm. Inexperienced, he cut himself rather deeply, and after blood spurted into the bowl, he had to grip his arm to stem the flow.
Cloudreaver was the last to cut himself.
Everyone kept silent now. The chanting had stopped. Nobody moved.
Kneeling in the center of the circle, Cloudreaver was the first to drink from the bowl. He started forward to hand it to Bird-Spirit, then had a second thought. The son of Sun Feather, the brother of Morning Sky, the heir to leadership of the kyrie turned and brought the bowl to Caramon Majere.
If the truth were known, Caramon was sickened at the thought of drinking the mixture, but he had come this far. He would do what was asked of him. Gripping the bowl with both hands, he put the slightly warm liquid to his lips and gulped some down.
Glancing up, he saw approval in Cloudreaver's eyes. Around the circle, he saw nodding faces.
Around the circle the bowl went.
Caramon was not the only warrior to be sickened that night by the sea dragon ritual. Within minutes of drinking the mixture of blood and sea dragon juices, he had rushed outside to vomit repeatedly in the darkness.
Afterward, with a wry grin, Cloudreaver told Caramon that that was no dishonor. Caramon had purified himself, and now he would be considered one of them, an honorary-for he was not a kyrie-member of their Warrior Society.
Chapter 12
Early in the morning, before leaping for Atossa, Tasslehoff drank a double dose of the evil potion. He said he was beginning to like the taste of it-milky, a tad sweet-and it was not a problem for Fesz to coax it all down.
Because of his familiarity with the kender, Dogz was assigned to go along on the journey from Lacynos to Atossa, and from there to Karthay. His mission: to guard Tas.
'Well, let's call it safeguarding,' Fesz was overheard by Tas to say to Dogz.
Dogz was disgusted with how Tasslehoff was behaving lately, which was less like a kender and more like a just plain evil person. The huge minotaur tried to beg off the assignment, but Fesz insisted that Dogz accompany them.
'He thinks you're his friend,' said Fesz wisely, adding, 'Besides, I command it.'
In half a day, the three of them covered the distance to Atossa, riding in a royal coach drawn by a team of sleek black horses. As much for display as for protection, a troop of fully armored minotaur soldiers thundered alongside, stirring up clouds of dust. The road was rocky and full of bumps, and both minotaurs and the kender were tossed up and down repeatedly in their seats.
Outside the windows of the coach, Tasslehoff glimpsed barren desert. Between the noise and the dust and the sweltering heat and the boring scenery, it really wasn't a very agreeable journey, Tasslehoff thought. Although he did enjoy being bounced up and down in his seat more than Fesz and Dogz did.
They arrived at midday, to be greeted with much pomp and circumstance. The delegation saluted Fesz in the manner to which a high dignitary was entitled. The welcoming minotaurs observed Tas with obvious curiosity. Dogz stood scowling in the background.
A minotaur with showy insignia, attended by a human slave, made a big show of fawning over Fesz and inviting him to a lunch in his honor. But Fesz, already in a foul mood because of the hot, noisy, thoroughly unpleasant journey, brushed past the other minotaur, insisting upon seeing the human prisoner-the one who had not escaped-right away.
'Yes, right away! Or heads will roll!' added Tasslehoff in a voice that brooked no argument.
'That's him,' rumbled Dogz. 'He's one of the humans from the ship.' He added, almost guiltily, 'I guess we should have killed him right off, instead of throwing him overboard.'
'Of course you should have,' said Tas, somewhat sulkily. 'Now look at all the bother he's caused. If you had asked me, I would have said, 'Kill him and be done with it.' Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today- especially when it comes to killing, I always say. Of course, I wasn't really evil at the time, so maybe I wouldn't have said 'Kill him and be done with it' exactly, but in retrospect, Dogz, you're absolutely right.'
'What's his name again?' asked Fesz, cocking his head and observing the human.
They were standing in front of Sturm Brightblade's prison cell. Sturm sat on a chair facing them, his hands tied with rope behind the chair. The Solamnic was somewhat bruised and bloody, probably signs of recent beatings. But the minotaur guards had obviously tried to freshen him up to make him look presentable for the unusual visit from this high emissary of the Nightmaster.
Sturm glowered at them. He was surprised and initially relieved to see Tasslehoff, but the kender hadn't greeted him, maintaining an aloof demeanor. Sturm watched, puzzled, as Tas whispered in conspiratorial conversation with the minotaurs. The kender was certainly acting peculiarly. The young Solamnic couldn't catch Tas's eye.
What was he up to?
One of the minotaurs, Sturm noted, was the oddest specimen he had laid eyes on yet. Hulking and large- horned, this one was obviously some dignitary or high priest. The bull creature was dressed in feathers and furs and moved with solemn, dignified purpose.
Sturm had the distinct impression Tas was acting as the minotaur's sidekick or aide.
'Sturm Brightblade,' said Tas, spitting contemptuously the way he had seen some of the minotaurs do. 'He thinks he's a Solamnic Knight, but he's not really-just another sad case of misguided ambition, if you ask me. It's a long story, and I'm not sure you want to go into it, but as far as I can figure it out, it all started with his father-'
'Let me see him more closely,' growled Fesz, interrupting.
Behind them, the minotaur guard hurried to oblige. The door slid open, and Tas and Fesz stepped inside the cell.
Dogz waited outside the cell, feeling indifferent to the whole situation.
Fesz approached Sturm, studying him with a frown on his face. Tas did likewise, hoping that Fesz noticed how well he imitated the minotaur's every movement. The kender stuck his face right up next to Sturm's, cocking his head just as the minotaur shaman did.
Having already learned that it was a mistake to react impulsively in this prison, Sturm decided to remain silent, assess this latest development, and watch for some inkling of what game the unpredictable kender was playing.
'A big mistake,' said Tasslehoff scornfully. 'Obviously they've been torturing this fellow, which is a monumental waste of time. He'd die rather than break his code of honor. The same goes for Kitiara, if I haven't mentioned it before. Waste of time to torture her. Only in her case, it has nothing to do with honor. It's just plain pigheadedness. When we get to Karthay, we can tell the Nightmaster, if he hasn't figured it out for himself. Which he probably has, being the Nightmaster and all.'
Sturm listened carefully. What was this kender babble about Kitiara, Karthay, and someone called the Nightmaster?
'It's especially a waste of time to torture Sturm if all you're going to do is punch and kick and occasionally cut
