Muffled sounds coming from outside his feather cocoon indicated the others were caught in the same predicament. Suddenly, from over his head, rang out a clear, melodic voice, speaking in Common. "These are not bull-men. They appear to be like you and your friend."
The feather cocoon opened, and a torch flared in Tanis's face, blinding him for an instant. Tanis felt himself caught up in a bear hug.
"Tanis Half-Elven! I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. And Raistlin, brother mine!"
Now it was the mage's turn to be enveloped in Caramon's muscular frame.
Raistlin smiled broadly. "We expected to find you a captive, not a captor, Brother," the young mage responded, "but as I told Tanis, I trusted we would find you somehow, alive and well."
The twins stood side by side, Caramon's strong arms draped across the slender shoulders of his brother. In the flickering light of the lone torch, Tanis marveled, not for the first time, at how the Majere twins could be at the same time so alike, yet so dissimilar. At this moment, the difference was heightened by the leather thong with feathers attached that encircled Caramon's head, and the feathers that seemed to sprout from his shoulders but were no doubt just sewn to his tunic.
Looking around in the wavering light cast by the torch, it seemed to Tanis that those who accompanied Caramon also sprouted feathers. Tanis squinted. The half-elf couldn't be sure, but these tall beings—they stood at least a head taller than Caramon, who was himself more than six feet—appeared to have wings instead of arms!
Joining him, Flint looked suspiciously at the newcomers and broached the obvious question. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends, or at least tell them that they needn't regard us as enemies?" the dwarf asked Caramon, looking at the feathered creatures nervously.
Caramon grinned broadly. "I apologize. But there is no need to be alarmed." He gestured toward the half-dozen figures who had arrived with him—indeed, who had carried him and Sturm in flight. "These are my friends, the kyrie, a noble folk and sworn enemies of the minotaurs. They rescued Sturm and me from the dungeon where we were imprisoned on the island of Mithas."
He turned slightly to indicate the kyrie nearest Raistlin. "Cloudreaver, this is my brother Raistlin, and my friends Flint Fireforge and Tanis Half-Elven from Solace. The females I do not know," Caramon added, casting a jaundiced eye at Kirsig and then an altogether more favorable glance at Yuril and her fellow sailors. "Though I shall be happy to make their acquaintance," he finished, with an obvious wink at the statuesque Yuril. She didn't return his gesture, but neither did she turn away.
"So where is Sturm?" demanded Flint, unwilling to relinquish a lifetime of skepticism about strange races simply on Caramon's say-so. "And though I'm not sure I really want to know, what about Tasslehoff ?"
"I am here," came a hoarse voice from outside the circle of light cast by the torch. The kyrie, Bird-Spirit, stood aside to reveal Sturm struggling to his feet. Much to his embarrassment, the Solamnic had fainted soon after the kyrie landed at the companion's camp. Only a day and a half had passed since he was rescued from the Pit of Doom. Sturm hadn't had a chance to fully recover from his lengthy ordeal of being shipwrecked, imprisoned, beaten, and almost killed in a duel. He limped into view.
Flint stared. In the dim light, Sturm's face looked oddly lopsided. "What did you do to your mustache?" the dwarf demanded, incredulous.
"Never mind his mustache. Can't you see the poor thing isn't well?" Kirsig scolded, hurrying to Sturm's side. "C'mon, dearie, let me help."
Far too well mannered to recoil at the grotesque appearance of the female half-ogre, Sturm did look questioningly at Flint.
"Aw, don't worry about her. She's all right," the dwarf said gruffly. "And she's not half bad at healing."
Raistlin spoke up. "She's considerably better than that, Sturm. Kirsig has proved invaluable during our voyage at sea and our experience thus far on land." Yuril and the sailors murmured their assent. Her face flushed with pleasure, Kirsig took Sturm's hand and led him over to her pack.
"What are you doing here?"
The question, directed to each other, sprang from Caramon's and Raistlin's lips at the same time. In spite of the cold night air, in spite of the grim surroundings, the twins had to grin at one another.
"I suspect that the stories we have to tell each other are long ones. Perhaps first we should build a fire to warm our bones during the telling," suggested the kyrie called Cloudreaver.
"We didn't build a fire for fear it would reveal our presence," Tanis explained.
"Do not worry," Cloudreaver assured him. "We have scouts roving the skies over the island. To the west is a harsh desert wasteland, and to the far north, a mountainous tropical forest. The only minotaurs that we have spotted are camped at the base of Worldscap Peak in the ruins of the dead city of Karthay. It is two or three days from here by land, but only several hours of flight for a kyrie."
The kyrie carried a small amount of firewood and tinder with them. By the time a fire blazed up, everyone's spirits had improved. The motley company gathered around the flames.
Kirsig heated water to brew a special tea for Sturm who, in the improved light, looked pale and weak. Caramon, on the other hand, appeared to be leaner but more rugged, still a strapping specimen. Yuril, sitting across the campfire from the young warrior, obviously thought so.
While Sturm sipped his tea, Caramon related the tale of treachery aboard the Venora, the magic storm, being transported with Sturm and Tas across thousands of miles to the Blood Sea, the abduction of Tas, and being cast overboard. Of his and Sturm's long, painful sojourn at sea, Caramon said only a few terse words. It was when he began talking about their imprisonment at Atossa that Raistlin
