Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [110]
“Tasslehoff, go on across!” Tanis ordered.
“I’m not leaving Fizban!” said the kender stubbornly as Caramon stepped up onto the golden span. The draconians, seeing the big warrior leaving, surged forward again. Tanis fired arrows as fast as he could; one draconian lay on the bridge in a pool of green blood, another toppled over the edge. But the half-elf was growing tired. Worse, he was running out of arrows. And the draconians kept coming. Caramon came to a stop beside Tanis on the span.
“Hurry, Fizban!” pleaded Tasslehoff, wringing his hands.
“There!” Fizban said in satisfaction. “Perfect fit. And the gnomes said I was no engineer.”
Just as he spoke, the golden span carrying Tanis, Caramon, and Tasslehoff dropped firmly into place between the two sections of the broken bridge.
And at that moment, the other half of the wooden bridge—the half still standing, the half that led to safety on the other side of the canyon—creaked, crumbled, and fell into the canyon.
“In the name of the gods!” Caramon gulped in fear, catching hold of Tanis and dragging him back just as the half-elf had been about to set foot on the wooden planking.
“Trapped!” Tanis said hoarsely, watching the logs tumble end over end into the ravine, his soul seeming to plummet with them. On the other side, he could hear Tika scream, her cries blending with the exultant shouts of the draconians.
There was a rending, snapping sound. The draconian’s cries of exultation changed at once to horror and fear.
“Look! Tanis!” Tasslehoff cried in wild excitement. “Look!”
Tanis glanced back in time to see the other part of the wooden bridge tumble into the ravine, carrying with it most of the draconians. He felt the golden span shudder.
“We’ll fall, too!” Caramon roared. “There’s nothing to support—”
Caramon’s tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. With a strangled gulp, he looked slowly from side to side.
“I don’t believe it,” he muttered.
“Somehow, I do.…” Tanis drew a shuddering breath.
In the center of the canyon, suspended in midair, hung the magical golden span, glittering in the light of the setting sun as the wooden bridge on either side of it plunged into the ravine. Upon the span stood four figures, staring down at the ruins beneath them—and across the great gaps between them and the sides of the gorge.
For long moments, there was complete, absolute, deathly silence. Then Fizban turned triumphantly to Tanis.
“Wonderful spell,” said the mage with pride. “Got a rope?”
It was well after dark by the time the companions finally got off the golden span. Flinging a rope to Tika, they waited while she and the dwarf fastened it securely to a tree. Then—one by one—Tanis, Caramon, Tas, and Fizban swung off the span and were hauled up the side of the cliff by Berem. When they were all across, they collapsed, exhausted from fatigue. So tired were they that they didn’t even bother to find shelter, but spread their blankets in a grove of scrubby pine trees and set the watch. Those not on duty fell instantly asleep.
The next morning, Tanis woke, stiff and aching. The first thing he saw was the sun shining brightly off the sides of the golden span, still suspended solidly in mid-air.
“I don’t suppose you can get rid of that thing?” he asked Fizban as the old mage helped Tas hand out a breakfast of quith-pa.
“I’m afraid not,” the old man said, eyeing the span wistfully.
“He tried a few spells this morning,” Tas said, nodding in the direction of a pine tree completely covered with cobwebs and another that was burned to a crisp. “I figured he better quit before he turned us all into crickets or something.”
“Good idea,” muttered Tanis, staring gloomily out at the gleaming span. “Well, we couldn’t leave a clearer trail if we painted an arrow on the side of the cliff.” Shaking his head, he sat down beside Caramon and Tika.
“They’ll be after us, too, you can bet,” Caramon said, munching half-heartedly on quith-pa. “Have dragons bring ’em across.” Sighing, he stuck most