Sturm, always melancholy, seemed even darker and more brooding than usual. "I don't approve of this, Tanis," he muttered, folding his arms across the bright metal of his antique breastplate.

"I know;" said Tanis irritably. "You've said it-not once, but several times. It's too late now. There's nothing to be done but make the best of it:"

The end of his sentence was lost in another resounding cheer as Elistan raised the Hammer above his head, showing it to the crowd before beginning the walk down the aisle. Tanis put his hand on his forehead. He was growing dizzy as the cool underground cavern heated up from the mass of bodies.

Elistan started to walk down the aisle. Rising to greet him on a dais in the center of the Hall was Hornfel, Thane of the Hylar dwarves. Spaced behind the dwarf were seven carved stone thrones, all of them now empty. Hornfel stood before the seventh throne-the most magnificent, the throne for the King of Thorbardin. Lang empty, it would be occupied once more, as Hornfel accepted the Hammer of Kharas. The return of this ancient relic was a singular triumph for Hornfel. Since his thanedom was now in possession of the coveted Hammer, he could unite the rival dwarven thanes under his leadership.

" We fought to recover that Hammer;' Sturm said slowly, his eyes upon the gleaming weapon. "The legendary Hammer of Kharas. Used to forge the dragonlances. Lost for hundreds of years, found again, and lost once more. And now given to the dwarvesl" he said in disgust.

"It was given to the dwarves once before;' Tanis reminded him wearily, feeling sweat trickle down his forehead. "Have Flint tell you the tale, if you've forgotten. At any rate, it is truly theirs now."

Elistan had arrived at the foot of the stone dais where the Thane, dressed in the heavy robes and massive gold chains dwarves loved, awaited him. Elistan knelt at the foot of the dais, a politic gesture, for otherwise the tall, muscular cleric would stand face-to-face with the dwarf, despite the fact that the dais was a good three feet off the ground. The dwarves cheered mightily at this. The humans were, Tanis noticed, more subdued, some muttering among themselves, not liking the sight of their leader abasing himself:.

"Accept this gift of our people-" Elistan's words were lost in another cheer from the dwarves.

"Gift!" Sturm snorted. "Ransom is nearer the mark."

"In return for which;" Elistan continued when he could be heard, "we thank the dwarves for their generous gift of a place to live within their kingdom:'

"For the right to be sealed in a tomb . . :' Sturm muttered.

"And we pledge our support to the dwarves if the war should come upon us!" Elistan shouted.

Cheering resounded throughout the chamber, increasing as Thane Hornfel bent to receive the Hammer.. The dwarves stamped and whistled, most climbing up on the stone benches.

Tanis began to feel nauseated. He glanced around. They would never be missed. Hornfel would speak; so would each of the other six Thanes, not to mention the members of the Highseekers Council. The half-elf touched Sturm on the arm, motioning to the knight to follow him. The two walked silently from the Hall, bending low to get through a narrow archway. Although still underground in the massive dwarven city, at least they were away from the noise, out in the cool night air.

"Are you all right?" Sturm asked, noticing Tanis's pallor beneath his beard. The half-elf gulped draughts of cool air.

"I am now;" Tanis said, flushing in shame at his weakness. "It was the heat . . . and the noise:"

"Well, we'll be out of here soon;' Sturm said. 'Depending, of course, on whether or not the Council of Highseekers votes to let us go to Tarsis:'

"Oh, there's no doubt how they'll vote;" Tanis said, shrugging. "Elistan is clearly in control, now that he's led the people to a place of safety. None of the Highseekers dares oppose him-at least to his face. No, my friend, within a month's time perhaps, we'll be setting sail in one of the white-winged ships of Tarsis the Beautiful:'

"Without the Hammer of Kharas," Sturm added bitterly. Softly, he began to quote. " 'And so if was told that the Knights took the golden Hammer, the Hammer blessed 6y the great god Paladine and given to the One of the Silver Arm so that he might forge the Dragonlance of Huma, Dragonbane, and gave the Hammer to the dwarf they called Kharas, or Knight, for his extraordinary valor and honor in battle. And he kept Kharas for his name. And the Hammer of Kharas passed into the dwarven kingdom with assurances from the dwarves that it should be brought forth again at need-"

"It has been brought forth;' Tanis said, straggling to contain his rising anger. He had heard that quotation entirely too many times!

"II has been brought forth and will be left behind!" Sturm bit the words. "We might have taken it to Solamnia, used it to forge our own dragonlances

"And you would be another Huma, riding to glory, the Dragonlance in your hand!" Tanis's control snapped. "Meanwhile you'd let eight hundred people die-"

"No, I would not have let them die!" Sturm shouted in a towering rage. "The first clue we have to the dragonlances and you sell it for-"

Both men stopped arguing abruptly, suddenly aware of a shadow creeping from the darker shadows surrounding them.

"Shirak;' whispered a voice, and a bright light flared, gleaming from a crystal ball clutched in the golden, disembodied claw of a dragon atop a plain, wooden staff. The light illuminated the red robes of a magic-user.

The young mage walked toward the two, leaning upon has staff, coughing slightly. The light from his staff shone upon a skeletal face, with glistening metallic gold skin drawn tightly over fine bones. His eyes gleamed golden.

"Raistlin;" said Tanis, his voice tight. "Is there something you want?"

Raistlin did not seem at all bothered by the angry looks both men cast him, apparently well accustomed to the fact that few felt comfortable in his presence or wanted him around.

He stopped before the two. Stretching forth his frail hand, the mage spoke, "Akular-alan suh Tagolann Jistrathar." and a pale image of a weapon shimmered into being as Tanis and Sturm watched in astonishment.

It was a footman's lance, nearly twelve feet long. The point was made of pure silver, barbed and gleaming, the shaft crafted of polished wood. The kip was steel, designed to be thrust into the ground.

"It's beautiful!" Tanis gasped. "What is it?"

"A dragonlance;" Raistlin answered.

Holding the lance in his hand, the mage stepped between the two, who stood aside to let him pass as if unwilling to be touched by him. Their eyes were on the lance. Then Raistlin turned and held it out to Sturm.