Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [106]
“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.