"Where is here?" Tanis slid off the centaur's broad back onto the ground. He stared around him but could see nothing. Apparently the trees kept even the smallest glimmer of moonlight or starlight from penetrating through to the trail.

"Thee stands in the center of Darken Wood," the centaur replied. "And now I bid thee farewell-or fare evil, depending on how the Forestmaster judges thee."

"Wait a minute!" Caramon called out angrily. "You can't just leave us here in the middle of this forest, blind as newborn kittens-"

"Stop them!" Tanis ordered, reaching for his sword. But his weapon was gone. An explosive oath from Sturm indicated the knight had discovered the same thing.

The centaur chuckled. Tanis heard hooves beat into soft earth and tree branches rustled. The centaurs were gone.

"Good riddance!" Flint sneezed.

"Are we all here?" Tanis asked, reaching out his hand and feeling Sturm's strong, reassuring grasp.

"I'm here," piped Tasslehoff. "Oh, Tanis, wasn't it wonderful? I-"

"Hush, Tas!" Tanis snapped. "The Plainsmen?"

"We're here," said Riverwind grimly. "Weaponless."

"No one has a weapon?" Tanis asked. "Not that it would do us much good in this cursed blackness," he amended bitterly.

"I have my staff," Goldmoon's low voice said softly.

"And a formidable weapon that is, daughter of Que-shu," came a deep voice. "A weapon for good, intended to combat illness and injury and disease." The unseen voice grew sad, "In these times it will also be used as a weapon against the evil creatures who seek to find and banish it from the world."

11

The Forestmaster. A peaceful interlude

Who are you?" Tanis called. "Show yourself!"

"We will not harm you," bluffed Caramon.

"Of course you won't." Now the deep voice was amused. "You have no weapons. I will return them when the time is propitious. No one brings weapons into Darken Wood, not even a Knight of Solamnia. Do not fear, noble knight. I recognize your blade as ancient and most valuable! I will keep it safe. Forgive this apparent lack of trust, but even the great Huma laid the Dragonlance at my feet."

"Huma!" Sturm gasped. "Who are you?"

"I am the Forestmaster." Even as the deep voice spoke, the darkness parted. A gasp of awe, gentle as a spring wind, swept the company as they stared before them. Silver moonlight shone brightly on a high rock ledge. Standing on the ledge was a unicorn. She regarded them coolly, her intelligent eyes gleaming with infinite wisdom.

The unicorns beauty pierced the heart. Goldmoon felt swift tears spring to her eyes and she was forced to close them against the animal's magnificent radiance. Her fur was the silver of moonlight, her horn was shining pearl, her mane like seafoam. The head might have been sculpted from glistening marble, but no human or even dwarven hand could capture the elegance and grace that lived in the fine lines of the powerful neck and muscular chest. The legs were strong but delicate, the hooves small and cloven like those of a goat. In later days, when Goldmoon walked dark paths and her heart was bleak with despair and hopelessness, she had only to shut her eyes and remember the unicorn to find comfort.

The unicorn tossed her head and then lowered it in grave welcome. The companions, feeling awkward and clumsy and confused, bowed in return. The unicorn suddenly whirled and left the rock ledge, cantering down the rocks toward them.

Tanis, feeling a spell lifted from him, looked around. The bright silver moonlight lit a sylvan glade. Tall trees surrounded them like giant, beneficent guardians. The half-elf was aware of a deep abiding sense of peace here. But there was also a waiting sadness.

"Rest yourselves," the Forestmaster said as she came among them. "You are tired and hungry. Food will be brought and fresh water for cleansing. You may put aside your watchfulness and fears for this evening. Safety exists here, if it exists anywhere in this land tonight."

Caramon, his eyes lighting up at the mention of food, eased his brother to the ground. Raistlin sank into the grass against the trunk of a tree. His face was deathly pale in the silver moonlight, but his breathing was easy. He did not seem ill so much as just terribly exhausted. Caramon sat next to him, looking around for food. Then he heaved a sigh.

"Probably more berries anyway," the warrior said unhappily to Tanis. "I crave meat- roasted deer haunch, a nice sizzling bit of rabbit-"

"Hush," Sturm remonstrated softly, glancing at the Forestmaster. "She'd probably consider roasting you first!"

Centaurs came out of the forest bearing a clean, white cloth, which they spread on the grass. Others placed clear crystal globe lights on the cloth, illuminating the forest.

Tasslehoff stared at the lights curiously. "They're bug lights!"

The crystal globes held thousands of tiny bugs, each one having two brightly glowing spots on its back. They crawled around inside the globes, apparently content to explore their surroundings.

Next, the centaurs brought bowls of cool water and clean white cloths to bathe their faces and hands. The water refreshed their bodies and minds as it washed away the stains of battle. Other centaurs placed chairs, which Caramon stared at dubiously. They were crafted of one piece of wood that curved around the body. They appeared comfortable, except that each chair had only one leg!

"Please be seated," said the Forestmaster graciously.

"I can't sit in that!" the warrior protested. "I'll tip over." He stood at the edge of the tablecloth. "Besides, the tablecloth is spread on the grass. I'll sit on the grass with it."

"Close to the food," muttered Flint into his beard. The others glanced uneasily at the chairs, the strange crystal bug lamps, and the centaurs. The Chieftain's Daughter, however, knew what was expected of guests. Although the outside world might have considered her people barbarians, Goldmoon's tribe had strict rules of politeness that must be religiously observed. Goldmoon knew that to keep your host waiting was an insult to both the host and his bounty. She sat down with regal grace. The one-legged chair rocked slightly, adjusting to her height, crafting itself for her alone.

"Sit at my right hand, warrior," she said formally, conscious, of the many eyes upon them. Riverwind's face showed no emotion, though he was a ludicrous sight trying to bend his tall body to sit in the seemingly fragile chair. But-once seated-he leaned back comfortably, almost smiling in disbelieving approval.

"Thank you all for waiting until I was seated," Goldmoon said hastily, to cover the others' hesitation. "You may all sit now."

"Oh, that's all right," began Caramon, folding his arms across his chest. "I wasn't waiting. I'm not going to sit in these weird chair-" Sturm's elbow dug sharply into the warrior's ribs.

"Gracious lady," Sturm bowed and sat down with knightly dignity.

"Well, if he can do it, so can I," muttered Caramon, his decision hastened by the fact that the centaurs were bringing in food. He helped his brother to a seat and then sat down gingerly, making certain the chair bore his weight.

Four centaurs positioned themselves at each of the four corners of the huge white cloth spread out upon the ground. They lifted the cloth to the height of a table, then released it. The cloth remained floating in place, its delicately embroidered surface as hard and sturdy as one of the solid tables in the Inn of the Last Home.

"How splendid! How do they do that?" Tasslehoff cried, peering underneath the cloth. "There's nothing under there!" he reported, his eyes wide. The centaurs laughed uproariously and even the Forestmaster smiled. Next the centaurs laid down plates made of beautifully cut and polished wood. Each guest was given a knife and fork fashioned from the horns of a deer. Platters of hot roasted meat filled the air with a tantalizing smoky aroma. Fragrant loaves of bread and huge wooden bowls of fruit glistened in the soft lamplight.