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  “Yuk! Selana, I almost ate a bug!” Tasslehoff howled.

  Seeing the distress on his brown and black sparrow face, Selana spoke directly to his mind again. “You’re acting on instinct,” she told him. “Remember, you’re a bird now.”

  “How can I forget?” he said. The thrill of flying was better than he had ever imagined, and he had imagined it a lot in his short life. Whenever he had thought about it in the past, though, he had pictured himself in his own body, flapping his arms, or in the body of some majestic bird of prey, like an owl.

  Suddenly he felt heavier, more massive. The wind had not changed, but it tossed him around much less. His wings had tremendous power, his vision was unbelievably keen. He spotted a mouse skittering among some barrels in an alley and circled, watching the succulent tidbit going about its business, unaware it was being watched. Tas understood then why he felt differently; he had become an owl!

  THE DRAGONLANCE® SAGA

  CHRONICLES TRILOGY

  DRAGONS OF AUTUMN TWILIGHT

  DRAGONS OF WINTER NIGHT

  DRAGONS OF SPRING DAWNING

  LEGENDS TRILOGY

  TIME OF THE TWINS

  WAR OF THE TWINS

  TEST OF THE TWINS

  THE ART OF THE DRAGONLANCE SAGA

  THE ATLAS OF THE DRAGONLANCE SAGA

  TALES TRILOGY

  THE MAGIC OF KRYNN

  KENDER, GULLY DWARVES, AND GNOMES

  LOVE AND WAR

  HEROES TRILOGY

  THE LEGEND OF HUMA

  STORMBLADE

  WEASEL’S LUCK

  PRELUDES TRILOGY

  DARKNESS AND LIGHT

  KENDERMORE

  BROTHERS MAJERE

  HEROES II TRILOGY

  KAZ, THE MINOTAUR

  THE GATES OF THORBARDIN

  GALEN BEKNIGHTED

  PRELUDES II TRILOGY

  RIVERWIND, THE PLAINSMAN

  FLINT, THE KING

  TANIS, THE SHADOW YEARS

  ELVEN NATIONS TRILOGY

  FIRSTBORN

  THE KINSLAYER WARS

  THE QUALINESTI (NOVEMBER 1991)

  MEETINGS SEXTET

  KINDRED SPIRITS

  WANDERLUST

  DARK HEART

  THE CODE AND THE MEASURE

  STEEL AND STONE

  THE COMPANIONS

  WANDERLUST

  DRAGONLANCE® Meetings Sextet • Volume Two

  ©1991 TSR, Inc.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Hasbro SA, represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.

  DRAGONLANCE, Wizards of the Coast, D&D, their respective logos, and TSR, Inc. are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.

  All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cover art by: Clyde Caldwell

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-6322-5

  For customer service, contact:

  U.S., Canada, Asia Pacific, & Latin America: Wizards of the Coast LLC, P.O. Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, +1-800-324-6496, www.wizards.com/customerservice

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  Visit our websites at www.wizards.com

  www.DungeonsandDragons.com

  v3.1

  This is for my first family: Manny and Jan Kirchoff, and Nancy and Mark, for all the memories on which to draw.

  Thanks also to the best department a manager could ever have, for the fellowship, patience, and mutual respect.

  —MK

  And to my parents, Carl and Kay Winter, for doing all the things parents should. Now I appreciate how hard that is.

  —SW

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books in the Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1: A Thing of Beauty

  Chapter 2: Among Friends

  Chapter 3: Inn and Out

  Chapter 4: Darken Way

  Chapter 5: Something Borrowed

  Chapter 6: Lady in Waiting

  Part II

  Chapter 7: The Crashing Boar

  Chapter 8: Audience Day

  Chapter 9: Dancing in the Woods

  Chapter 10: The Ultimate Betrayal

  Chapter 11: Meeting at Last

  Chapter 12: Birds of a Feather

  Chapter 13: A Two-Sided Coin

  Part III

  Chapter 14: The Chase

  Chapter 15: The Jailbreak

  Chapter 16: Winged Creatures of Flame

  Chapter 17: Blu

  Chapter 18: A Gem of a Solution

  Epilogue

  About the Authors

  Prologue

  A still, dense mist prevailed in Wayreth Forest on a cool autumn day. The light that filtered through the thick canopy was gray and dull, so that the forest, too, looked flat and pallid. Occasionally a leaf bounced and shook as if brushed by unseen hands when collected moisture dripped off.

  Two dwarves moved through the obscuring vapor, struggling with the weight of a lifeless body sagging between them. They were dressed plainly in woolen shirts, wide belts, and trousers tucked into heavy boots. They carried their burden to a clump of young birches and dumped it among the damp grasses, then leaned on the shovels they carried along.

  “We should dig a grave,” said the first, scraping thoughtlessly at his bare chin. He was still young and wore his long hair, cropped short at the bangs, like an apprentice.

  The second dwarf shook his long beard. “There’s hardly enough left of him to bother. His kin didn’t care enough to claim him. I’m not going to break my back over his carcass.

  “Give the ravens a treat—he’ll be naught but bones by morning, and no one will miss him.” After wiping bloodstained hands on his trousers, the bearded dwarf rooted through a baggy pocket and withdrew a pipe and a plum-sized stone. Deft fingers snapped the stone open along a concealed hinge. A few quick puffs of breath brought a smoldering ember inside to rosy life and with it he lit his pipe. Moments later, rings of smoke wafted through the heavy air and blended into the mist.

  “This is the third this week,” observed the younger dwarf. “What do you suppose brings them here, knowing the price of failure?”

  The older dwarf considered the body through curls of smoke. Its chest had burst open, and sharp edges of snapped ribs poked through the blood-soaked robe. The right eye and much of that side of the face was clawed away. The right arm curled unnaturally, obviously broken in several places, and the thumb was gone from the right hand.

  “Do they really know?” he wondered aloud. “If we propped this fellow up by the entrance instead of hiding him out here, then they might know the real price of failure.

  “Most of them that come here to the Tower of High Sorcery are apprentice wizards, young and full of themselves. They’ve got a hard choice. They can remain apprentices for the rest of their lives, running, fetching, and practicing minor spells, or they can come here, face death, and earn the right to wear the robes of a full wizard.

  �
��It’s a hard system, lad, but the Conclave of Wizards knows its business. Magic is the mightiest force in the world. The conclave can’t control magic, so instead it controls who uses it. Every wizard on Ansalon who wishes to perform more than minor spells must come to the tower and face the test, else he’ll be branded a renegade and hunted by his brethren. If he’s capable—and lucky—he passes. If not …” With a nod the dwarf indicated the ruined body lying in the weeds. He then snatched up his shovel and led the way back through the mist toward Wayreth and the Tower of High Sorcery.

  As day faded into twilight in Wayreth Forest, a cold breeze whipped the parched autumn leaves into a small whirlpool. On the ground beneath the whirlpool rested the dead wizard’s pale remains. As if created from the leaves themselves, a large golden coin appeared. It spun in the air, so fast it looked almost like a golden ball. Neither rising nor falling, nor moving from side to side, it twirled in the heart of the small maelstrom.

  Then, as suddenly as it began, the wind vanished, leaves tumbled to the earth, and the coin dropped into the cold, thumbless hand of the dead mage. An eerie, whispering wind settled over the misty land as darkness descended.

  Under the light of the waning moon, bloody fingers twitched, flexed, and closed over the coin. New life pulsed through collapsed veins, spasmodically at first, then steadily. The ravaged body writhed among the leaves in torment as its gaping wounds spurted fresh blood. Jagged edges of flesh on the man’s chest closed together. A hoarse moan parted his lips, rising to an anguished wail that rent the damp evening air. The body lay tense and waiting, breathing raggedly.

  “What price for your life, mage?”

  The wizard’s only good eye flew open at the sound of the croaking voice coming from his palm. Although it was a torment, he forced himself into a sitting position and regarded the coin in his hand. On one side it bore a smiling, heavy-jowled face; on the other side, the same face, but leering and angry. Its mouth was a hole that pierced the metal. He raised the coin to look through the hole, but recoiled in horror. Leering, shredded faces atop rotted bodies danced among licking tongues of flame.

  “First you experienced death and now you have seen Hell, all in a single day,” the smiling face said. “Perhaps you are willing to discuss the terms of your rebirth.”

  Bewildered and in pain, the young mage tried to speak. “Who are you?” he rasped. “How have you done this to me?”

  “Do you not recognize the countenance of your god Hiddukel, master of contracts, broker of souls?”

  The young mage shivered and pulled the tattered remnants of his robe closer at the name of the ancient, evil god. “But I follow the neutral god, Sirrion.”

  The coin flipped in his hand, revealing the frowning face. “Where is he now?” it cried. “I have restored your life. How will you serve me?”

  “I did not ask for your help,” the young man said softly.

  “So be it!” Hiddukel’s angry face roared.

  Suddenly the young mage felt his ribs crack anew. A scream of pain, mingled with blood, escaped his lips. “What is it you want?”

  “I want only what you want,” soothed the coin’s smiling face. “Vengeance for your treatment in the tower … power and prestige for my follower. These things I can grant you. In exchange, I ask only for souls.”

  Still gasping, the mage shot back, “What good is my life if my soul is yours?”

  The coin laughed darkly. “ ’Tis not your black-stained spirit I want. Any will do. Each one you send me will increase your power and decrease your debt to me. I will grant your desires, further your schemes, in exchange for something you do not value. Is it not a fair bargain?”

  The young mage lay very still, propped against a tree, strange thoughts crowding his mind. He had felt death, and the cold horror of it was still vivid in his mind. The golden coin’s evil offer promised new life. Even better, it promised power that the Conclave of Wizards had denied him. The offer drew him, enfolded him, and finally embraced him. He closed his eye, and through cracked lips whispered, “I accept.”

  “Splendid!” said the smiling, pudgy face. “Shall we begin our work?”

  The wizard tried to stand but collapsed against the tree, his head still spinning. “I must have rest. And what about my eye and thumb? I’m still injured.”

  The coin squinted at the bedraggled youth. “Our bargain was to restore your life, not to make you whole again. But if that is what you wish, I’m sure we could revise our agreement. Shall I replace your eye and thumb?”

  The mage declined with a weary shake of his head. Staring at the leering, moonlit coin in his blood-splashed palm, he knew that one pact with the god of bargains was enough.

  PART I

  Chapter 1

  A Thing of Beauty

  Ten years later …

  The hillside was slippery with early spring mud. Tasslehoff Burrfoot carefully picked his way along the driest spots, using his forked kender hoopak staff for balance. At times he paused and probed ahead with the pole to test the depth of the sludge puddles. He knew from experience that mud could be deceptive as well as uncomfortable.

  Two days earlier he had given up the idea of catching a ride on a farmer’s or merchant’s wagon. No vehicles could move on the roads in their present condition. Still, in another day or two the roads would solidify nicely, and traffic would again start rumbling and jolting along them. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but walk.

  Tasslehoff was sure this trip would be worthwhile, in spite of the wet feet, spattered clothes, and sputtering evening fires at damp campsites. The treetop village of Solace lay just ahead, and by all accounts it was a sight to see. Centuries earlier, following the great Cataclysm, the citizens of Solace had sought protection from marauders and prowling monsters by moving into the giant vallenwood trees. Now, fanciful descriptions of their lofty homes and graceful rope bridges, perched high above the valley floor, were spoken of throughout Krynn.

  Pausing on a ridge overlooking the fabled village, the kender could not suppress an indrawn breath of wonder. Quaint thatched roofs poked through the tip-tops of budding trees, looking both magical and homey all at once. Wisps of smoke from cook-fires trailed off into the blue afternoon sky.

  A fluttering of excitement filled his lungs, like one hundred pairs of butterfly wings tickling him from the inside. He couldn’t decide whether to skip, hop, or run down that muddy road, so he did all three in an overlapping sort of way and in no time at all reached the edge of Solace.

  Tas paused at the edge of town to gaze up at the homes overhead. From his height of less than four feet, they seemed to tower extraordinarily high. Wide-eyed gazes darted from one tree to the next, taking in every detail: how the structures were anchored in the trees, how many doors and windows each had, the trim and paint, locations of ladders and stairways. He also noticed, however, that not all the houses were in the trees. Several homes and the village stable sat very mundanely on the ground.

  Tas was both disappointed and delighted at that. No one had ever mentioned it before. On the one hand, the town seemed somehow less wonderful if the horses had to stay on the ground.

  But it was also a new piece of information, certainly important enough to merit recording. He fished through the pouch slung from his shoulder and drew out a tightly rolled parchment, a small jar of ink, and a battered quill. The parchment was covered with notes, diagrams, and partial, half, and nearly completed maps of every size and orientation. Quickly locating an unused corner, Tas jotted down a few important observations and sketched out a small diagram of the area. Replacing the items in his pouch, he marched into town.

  The quiet was most seductive. The vallenwoods’ new spring leaves rustled in the breeze as small insects buzzed and chirped. There were no braying donkeys or shrieking children or crashing wagons. There seemed, in fact, to be no people at all.

  Tas’s eyes suddenly narrowed and darted suspiciously from side to side. He had not seen a single person since his arrival. Sure
ly something was amiss. His mind careened wildly through the possibilities. The people could have been captured by slavers, or eaten by scaly monsters who crept into town during the night. Perhaps everyone just moved away, or perhaps they were carried off by giant goatsucker birds. That notion sent a shiver up his spine as he cast a nervous glance across his shoulder.

  Determined to find an answer, Tas singled out a nearby tree and scampered up the steep walkway circling the trunk. The tree held a cozy-looking cottage and a small shed, connected by suspended walkways. He peered through the smoky window of the house, but couldn’t make out much detail in the darkened interior. A knock on the front door brought no response, so he tried the latch—it was locked. From one of his many pockets Tas produced an oilcloth wrapped around an astounding collection of bent and shaped wires, files, and keys of every description. With his nose almost touching the door, he peered into the keyhole for several thoughtful moments, then selected one of the picks. He was about to apply it to the lock when he heard a noise from below.

  Tas looked down in time to see a group of several people carrying baskets and talking and laughing as they walked along the main road through town. Moments later they turned off onto a smaller road and disappeared from view.

  As suddenly as it had appeared, the oilcloth bundle disappeared again, and Tasslehoff scurried to the ground.

  “Hey, wait for me!” he called, but they were too far away to hear. The kender’s short legs pumped furiously as he raced down the road in pursuit of the basket carriers. Around the bend he flew and over a low rise, before skidding to a halt.

  Below the small knob where Tasslehoff stood lay a fair! The area was choked with sellers’ stalls, tents, booths, performers, beggars, and people in general. Lots of people—certainly all of Solace and probably quite a few more, Tasslehoff concluded.

  He rushed down the slope into the throng. On every side he heard the cries of merchants hawking their wares and services. Wide-eyed, the kender looked this way and that, and then back again. He dodged around a donkey when two men carrying a rolled tapestry on their shoulders appeared from nowhere. Tas slipped between them and found himself in a tiny open space, a stationary island in a roiling sea. Twisting right and left, forward and back, he peered from here to there, trying vainly to see everything at once. In fact, he could see very little of anything except arms and torsos flowing past, pushing, touching, gesturing, carrying, buying and selling.