Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (33 page)

But before Tanis could say a word, Berem leaped from the back of his dragon and took off, running frantically into the foothills. Tanis could see the draconians pointing at him, yelling.

So much for keeping in the background. Tanis swore again. The bluff might still work.… They could always claim a prisoner was trying to escape. No, he realized in despair, the draconians would simply chase after Berem and catch him. According to what Kitiara had told him, all the draconians in Krynn had descriptions of Berem.

“In the name of the Abyss!” Tanis forced himself to calm down and think logically, but the situation was fast getting out of control. “Caramon! Go after Berem. Flint, you—No, Tasslehoff, get back here! Damn it! Tika, go after Tas. No, on second thought, stay with me. You, too, Flint—”

“But Tasslehoff’s gone after that crazy old—”

“And if we’re lucky, the ground will open and swallow them both!” Tanis glanced back over his shoulder and swore savagely. Berem—driven by fear—was clambering over rocks and scrub bushes with the lightness of a mountain goat, while Caramon—hampered by the dragonarmor and his own arsenal of weapons—slipped down two feet for every foot he gained.

Looking back across the Plains, Tanis could see the draconians clearly. Sunlight gleamed off their armor and their swords and spears. Perhaps there was still a chance, if the brass dragons would attack,

But just as he started to order them into battle, the old man came running up from where he had landed his ancient gold dragon. “Shoo!” said the old man to the brass dragons. “Shoo—get away! Go back to wherever you came from!”

“No! Wait!” Tanis nearly tore out his beard in frustration, watching as the old man ran among the brass dragons, waving his arms like a farmer’s wife driving her chickens to shelter. Then the half-elf stopped swearing for—to his astonishment—the brass dragons prostrated themselves flat on the ground before the old man in his mouse-colored robes. Then, lifting their wings, they soared gracefully into the air

In a rage, forgetting he was dressed in captured dragonarmy armor, Tanis ran across the trampled grass toward the old man, following Tas. Hearing them coming, Fizban turned around to face them.

“I’ve a good mind to wash your mouth out with soap,” the old mage snapped, glowering at Tanis. “You’re my prisoners now, so just come along quietly or you’ll taste my magic—”

“Fizban!” cried Tasslehoff, throwing his arms around the old man.

The old mage peered down at the kender hugging him, then staggered backward in amazement.

“It’s Tassle—Tassle—” he stammered.

“Burrfoot,” Tas said, backing off and bowing politely. “Tasslehoff Burrfoot.”

“Great Huma’s ghost!” Fizban exclaimed.

“This is Tanis Half-Elven. And that is Flint Fireforge. You remember him?” Tasslehoff continued, waving a small hand at the dwarf.

“Uh, yes, quite,” Fizban muttered, his face flushing.

“And Tika … and that’s Caramon up there … oh, well, you can’t see him now. Then there’s Berem. We picked him up in Kalaman and, oh—Fizban!—he’s got a green gem—ugh, ouch, Tanis, that hurt!”

Clearing his throat, Fizban cast a bleak look around.

“You’re—uh—
not
with the—er—uh—dragonarmies?”

“No,” said Tanis grimly, “we’re not! Or at least we weren’t.” He gestured behind them. “That’s likely to change any moment now, though.”

“Not with the dragonarmies at all?” Fizban pursued hopefully. “You’re sure you haven’t converted? Been tortured? Brainwashed?”

“No, damn it!” Tanis yanked off his helm. “I’m Tanis Half-Elven, remember—”

Fizban beamed. “Tanis Half-Elven! So pleased to see you again, sir.” Grabbing Tanis’s hand, he shook it heartily.

“Confound it!” Tanis snapped in exasperation, snatching his hand out of the old man’s grip.

“But you were riding dragons!”

“Those were
good
dragons!” Tanis shouted. “They’ve come back!”

“No one told me!” The old man gasped indignantly.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Tanis continued, ignoring the interruption. “You’ve blown us out of the skies! Sent back our only means to get to Neraka—”

“Oh, I know what I’ve done,” Fizban mumbled. He glanced back over his shoulder. “My, my. Those fellows seem to be gaining. Mustn’t be caught by them. Well, what are we doing standing around?” He glared at Tanis. “Some leader you are! I suppose I’ll have to take charge.… Where’s my hat?”

“About five miles back,” stated Pyrite with a great yawn.

“You still here?” Fizban said, glaring at the gold dragon in annoyance.

“Where else would I be?” the dragon asked gloomily.

“I told you to go with the others!”

“I didn’t want to.” Pyrite snorted. A bit of fire flared from his nose, making it twitch. This was followed by a tremendous sneeze. Sniffing, the dragon continued peevishly. “No respect for age, those brass dragons. They talk constantly! And giggle. Gets on my nerves, that silly giggle.…”

“Well, you’ll just have to go back by yourself then!” Fizban stalked up to stare the dragon in its bleary eye. “We’re going on a long journey into dangerous country—”

“We’re
going?” Tanis cried. “Look, old man, Fizban, whatever your name is, why don’t you
and
your—uh—friend here go back. You’re right. It’s going to be a long, dangerous journey. Longer, now, that we’ve lost our dragons and—”

“Tanis … “said Tika warningly, her eyes on the draconians.

“Into the hills quick,” Tanis said, drawing a deep breath, trying to control his fear and his anger. “Go on, Tika. You and Flint. Tas—” He grabbed the kender.

“No, Tanis! We can’t leave him here!” Tas wailed.

“Tas” Tanis said in a voice that warned the kender the half-elf had plainly had enough and wasn’t going to stand for anything further. Apparently the old man understood the same thing.

“I’ve got to go with these folks,” he said to the dragon. “They need me. You can’t go back on your own. You’ll just have to sallyforth—”

“Polymorph!” the dragon said indignantly. “The word is ‘polymorph!’ You never get that right—”

“Whatever!” the old man yelled. “Quickly! We’ll take you with us.”

“Very well,” the dragon said. “I
could
use the rest.”

“I don’t think,” Tanis began, wondering what they would do with a large gold dragon, but it was too late.

While Tas watched, fascinated, and Tanis fumed in impatience, the dragon spoke a few words in the strange language of magic. There was a bright flash and then, suddenly, the dragon vanished.

“What? Where?” Tasslehoff looked all around.

Fizban leaned over to pick up something out of the grass.

“Get moving! Now!” Tanis hustled Tas and the old man into the foothills, following after Tika and Flint.

“Here,” Fizban said to Tas as they ran. “Hold out your hand.”

Tas did as instructed. Then the kender caught his breath in awe. He would have come to a dead stop to examine it, except Tanis caught him by the arm and dragged him forward.

In the palm of Tas’s hand gleamed a tiny golden figure of a dragon, carved in exquisite detail. Tas imagined he could even see the scars on the wings. Two small red jewels glittered in the eyes, then—as Tas watched—the jewels winked out as golden eyelids closed over them.

“Oh, Fizban, it—it’s—beautiful! Can I truly keep it?” Tas yelled over his shoulder to the old man, who was puffing along behind.

“Sure, my boy!” Fizban beamed. “At least until this adventure’s ended.”

“Or it ends us,” Tanis muttered, climbing rapidly over the rocks. The draconians were drawing nearer and nearer.

U
p and up into the hills they climbed, the draconians in pursuit of the group, who now appeared to them to be spies.

The group had lost the trail Caramon used chasing after Berem, but could not take time to search for it. They were considerably startled, therefore, when they suddenly came across Caramon, sitting calmly on a boulder, Berem—unconscious—stretched out beside him.

“What happened?” Tanis asked, breathing heavily, exhausted after the long climb.

“I caught up with him, finally.” Caramon shook his head. “And he put up a fight. He’s strong for an old guy, Tanis. I had to clunk him. I’m afraid I was a bit too hard, though,” he added, staring down at the comatose figure remorsefully.

“Great!” Tanis was too tired even to swear.

“I’ll handle this,” Tika said, reaching into a leather pouch.

“The draconians are coming up past that last big rock,” Flint reported as he stumbled into view. The dwarf seemed about done in. He collapsed onto a rock, mopping his sweating face with the end of his beard.

“Tika—” Tanis began.

“Found it!” she said triumphantly, pulling out a small vial. Kneeling down beside Berem, she took the stopper from the vial and waved it under his nose. The unconscious man drew a breath, then immediately began to cough.

Tika slapped him on the cheeks. “On your feet!” she said in her barmaid voice. “Unless you want the draconians to catch you.”

Berem’s eyes flew open in alarm. Clutching his head, he sat up dizzily. Caramon helped him stand.

“That’s wonderful, Tika!” Tas said in excitement. “Let me—” Before she could stop him, Tas grabbed the vial and held it up to his own nose, inhaling deeply.

“Eeee Ahhhh!” The kender gagged, staggering back into Fizban, who had come up the path after Flint. “Ugh! Tika! That’s … awful!” He could barely speak. “What is it?”

“Some concoction of Otik’s,” Tika said, grinning. “All of us barmaids carried it. Came in handy in lots of instances, if you take my meaning.” Her smile slipped. “Poor Otik,” she said softly. “I wonder what’s become of him. And the Inn—”

“No time for that now, Tika,” Tanis said impatiently. “We’ve got to go. On your feet, old man!” This to Fizban, who was just sitting down comfortably.

“I’ve got a spell,” Fizban protested as Tas tugged and prodded him up. “Take care of those pests instantly. Poof!”

“No!” Tanis said. “Absolutely not. With my luck, you’d turn them all into trolls.”

“I wonder if I could …” Fizban’s face brightened.

The afternoon sun was just beginning to slide down the rim of the sky when the trail they had been following ever higher into the mountains suddenly branched off into two different directions. One led into the mountain peaks, the other seemed to wind around the side. There might be a pass among the peaks, Tanis thought; a pass they could defend, if necessary.

But before he could say a word, Fizban started off on the trail that wound around the mountain. “This way,” the old
mage announced, leaning on his staff as he tottered forward.

“But—” Tanis started to protest.

“Come on, come on. This way!” said Fizban insistently, turning around and glaring at them from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “That way leads to a dead end—in more ways than one. I know. I’ve been here before. This leads around the side of a mountain to a great gorge. Bridge over the gorge. We can get across, then fight the draconians when they try to come after us.”

Tanis scowled, unwilling to trust the crazy old mage.

“It is a good plan, Tanis,” Caramon said slowly. “It’s obvious we’re going to have to fight them sometime.” He pointed to the draconians climbing up the mountain trails after them.

Tanis glanced around. They were all exhausted. Tika’s face was pale, her eyes glazed. She leaned on Caramon, who had even left his spears back on the trail to lighten his burden.

Tasslehoff grinned at Tanis cheerfully. But the kender was panting like a small dog and he was limping on one foot.

Berem looked the same as always, sullen and frightened. It was Flint that worried Tanis most. The dwarf had not said a word during their flight. He had kept up with them without faltering, but his lips were blue and his breath came in short gasps. Every once in a while—when he thought no one was looking—Tanis had seen him put his hand over his chest or rub his left arm as if it pained him.

“Very well.” The half-elf decided. “Go on, old mage. Though I’m probably going to regret this,” he added, under his breath as the rest hurried along after Fizban.

Near sundown, the companions came to a halt. They stood on a small rocky ledge about three-quarters of the way up the side of the mountain. Before them was a deep, narrow gorge. Far below they could see a river winding its way through the bottom of the gorge like a glistening snake.

It must be a four-hundred-foot drop, Tanis calculated. The trail they stood on hugged the side of the mountain, with a sheer cliff on one side and nothing but air on the other. There was only one way across the gorge.

“And that bridge,” said Flint—the first words he had spoken in hours, “is older than I am … and in worse shape.”

“That bridge has stood for years!” Fizban said indignantly. “Why, it survived the Cataclysm!”

“I believe it,” Caramon said sincerely.

“At least it’s not too long,” Tika tried to sound hopeful, though her voice faltered.

The bridge across the narrow gorge was of a unique construction. Huge vallenwood limbs were driven into the sides of the mountain on either side of the gorge. These limbs formed an X-shape that supported the wooden plank platform. Long ago, the structure must have been an architectural marvel. But now the wooden planks were rotted and splitting. If there had been a railing, it had long since fallen down into the chasm below. Even as they watched, the timbers creaked and shuddered in the chill wind of evening.