Morninglord for young bones!'
It came back to Alin in a flash: the caravan, the flames, and the burning eye. Apparently, it had not all been a dream.
'You… you saved my life?' Alin asked. 'How can I repay you?'
'Well, yer name would be a good start,' the man said. He took Alin's hand. 'Mine be Delkin Snowdawn, Morning Brother of Lathander, o' Luskan. And who might ye be?'
'A-Alin,' the young bard managed through teeth clenched against the pain in his hand. Delkin's grasp was certainly a firm one. When the priest finally released his hand, Alin put it behind his back and rubbed it. 'Alin Cateln, of Tilverton.'
'Ah, a Cormyrean,' Delkin said. 'Good wine there-some o' the best.'
Alin nodded dumbly. He was about to speak again when Delkin seized him about the waist and pulled him along.
'Ye've got to meet me friends, the other Moor Runners,' he boomed. 'And, seeing as how ye're awake, let me get ye a drink to put ye back to sleep.'
Alin blinked, and the priest laughed and added, 'Ah, I just be kiddin' with ye.'
'Moor Runners?' Alin asked. That sounded familiar.
'Won quite a name for ourselves in the Evermoors, killing trolls,' Delkin replied. 'Though that be quite a while back, the name just stuck, ye know. Come o'er here.'
Alin could not refuse as the priest half carried him over to the mismatched pair he had seen before.
'Thard and Inri,' Delkin introduced, indicating the hulking man and the slight woman in turn.
'My lord, my lady,' Alin said with a low bow.
The man was even bigger close up. The woman was a petite elf maid, with hair like gold and a complexion to match. The two completely ignored Alin.
He stood there a moment, uncertain, and looked at Delkin, but the priest was already gone. He turned back to the companions. His mind racing fast, Alin did the only thing he could do: he searched for clues as to what he should say. His eye caught on the design etched in the blade of the greataxe.
'The blades of Tempus, emblazoned upon a swift steed,' he said. 'That means you are a warrior of the Sky Ponies, correct? Such a heavy axe-you must be a strong warrior.'
The hulking man looked at him curiously and asked, 'Aye, what of it?' His voice was rough and deep.
The bard turned to the elf maid next. 'And you, fair lady, by your garb I make you to be a sorceress-shifting veils that change colors in the light, to reflect the chaos that is your magic, am I right?' he asked.
She looked at him for the first time, and her eyes were startlingly pink and red in hue.
'And your gaze, like the sunrise…' Alin began. 'It reminds me of a ballad. Ah, many a time I've spent, on soft-packed ground with my dear lassie, watching the golden jewel climb lazily, my arm around her, gazing more into her eyes than the rise…''
By the time Delkin brought him the promised drink, Alin was sitting with the two, rattling on and on about his journeys, art, and life story. Thard wore a soft, proud smile, and even Inri's eyes were dancing.
'Ye make friends quick,' Delkin praised him as he passed tankards of ale around the table. The barbarian took his tankard and drained it off in one gulp.
'Your companions are fine adventurers,' Alin said. 'I was merely listening to their stories-they are the ones worthy of praise, not I.'
'Mayhap,' Delkin said. He eyed Inri suspiciously, and the elf maid's eyes twitched toward him. 'Though they be having ulterior motives…'
Alin's brow wrinkled and he asked, 'What ulterior motives? '
The Moor Runners looked at one another.
'I had doubted it before,' Inri said. If moonlight could dance, Alin thought, it might have been her voice. 'But not now. We wish to have you join us.'
'As our skald… er, bard,' Thard rumbled.
Delkin nodded and smiled broadly.
Alin was stunned. 'But, what, why?' he asked. 'You… you just met me, and now you want me to be part of your band?'
Delkin wrapped his arm around Alin. 'Ye see, Alven-' he began.
'Alin,' the bard corrected him.
'Right. Our bard, Tannin… well, he… ah, departed at the caravan, and we're looking for a replacement.'
Alin's suspicions were confirmed-the Moor Runners were the adventurers who had been with the caravan.
'A replacement?' asked Alin. 'And you want me?'
'That be yer trade, aye?' replied the priest. 'We heard ye sing along the road, and-'
'I'd love to come with you!' Alin shouted, startling the Moor Runners. None had expected such a reply, and so quickly, but none protested.
'Good,' Thard rumbled. 'Been needin' a good tune, e'er since Tannin was killed.'
'Killed?' asked Alin.
An unhappy Delkin flinched and glowered at Thard.
'In the dragon attack,' Inri explained.
'Aye, wretched beast took us by surprise,' Delkin mused. 'Poor Tannin… 'Tis a risky line of work, adventuring and all…' He looked at Alin. 'Er, not that ye'll be in any danger.'
Alin realized he should have been terrified, but instead he felt excitement rushing through him.
'A dragon?' Alin asked. 'You can kill such a creature, right?'
The Moor Runners looked at one another, dubious.
Finally Delkin shrugged and said, 'Aye, definitely. Ah, well… mayhap. Well, ah, not actually, no. Well, what we really need…'
Just then, the doors of the Wind swung open and crashed loudly against the interior walls. The heads of the inn's patrons, as though pulled by invisible reins, jerked toward the disturbance, and more than a few breaths caught.
The fiery-haired woman who entered the common room was tall, slim, and stunning. Black leather and plate in the Thayan style, complete with spikes like talons, wrapped her muscular frame. A black half-cape fell from one shoulder and a sheathed, curved sword was thrust through her belt of dark reptile skin. A silver ring in the shape of a winged dragon swallowing its own tail gleamed from her right hand. A spiked gauntlet covered her left. Her pale face was lean and sharp, and her eyes-gleaming dark orbs-had a hungry look to them.
'Who be the beauty, I wonder?' Delkin said.
Inri looked sharply at him, then turned wary eyes back on the stranger. Alin said nothing. He just sat there, stunned.
The silence lasted only a moment before the woman spoke. Her voice was powerful, almost husky, and easily caught the attention of all who heard.
'I understand you've a dragon about,' she said.
'Aye? What of it?' a one-eyed patron scoffed.
'I'm looking for a few brave souls who'll help me dispose of the beast,' the woman replied. 'I need a tracker and a mage, if possible.'
'Help ye?' another man asked. Alin recognized him as a snide caravanner. 'Some lass in ridiculous…'
He trailed off when a sliver of metal appeared at his throat. A gasp ran through the common room. No one had seen the woman so much as move, much less draw her blade. The man trembled, his mouth hanging open.
'Ryla Dragonclaw,' she said from between clenched teeth. 'Remember it.'
The man quivered in fear under the intensity of her gaze.
'The Dragonslayer!' Alin blurted. His voice sounded blasphemously loud in the awed stillness.
Ryla's eyes flicked to him and she sheathed her sword with a flourish. Leaving a relieved caravanner behind her, Ryla walked toward the Moor Runners, her step smooth and confident.
'You know me,' she said to Alin, her words meant only for him.
He tried to stammer out a response, but no words would come. Her direct speech and her burning gaze
