Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [112]
“What’s that?”
“An old city. It’s in ruins, abandoned during the Cataclysm—”
“And probably crawling with draconians,” Tanis finished.
“No, not that Godshome,” Tas continued, moving his small finger over into the mountains near the dot that marked the city. “This place is also called Godshome. In fact, it was called that long before there was a city, according to Fizban.”
Tanis glanced at the old mage, who nodded.
“Long ago, people believed the gods lived there,” he said solemnly. “It is a very holy place.”
“And it’s hidden,” added Tas, “in a bowl in the center of these mountains. See? No one ever goes there, according to Fizban. No one knows about the trail except him. And there is a trail marked on my map, at least into the mountains.…”
“No one ever goes there?” Tanis asked Fizban.
The old mage’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “No.”
“No one except you?” Tanis pursued.
“I’ve been lots of places, Half-Elven!” The mage snorted. “Got a year? I’ll tell you about them!” He shook a finger at Tanis. “You don’t appreciate me, young man! Always suspicious! And after everything I’ve done for you—”
“Uh, I wouldn’t remind him about that!” Tas said hurriedly, seeing Tanis’s face darken. “Come along, Old One.”
The two hurried off down the trail, Fizban stomping along angrily, his beard bristling.
“Did the gods really live in this place we’re going to?” Tas asked him to keep him from bothering Tanis.
“How should I know?” Fizban demanded irritably. “Do I look like a god?”
“But—”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you talk entirely too much?”
“Almost everyone,” Tas said cheerfully. “Did I ever tell you about the time I found a woolly mammoth?”
Tanis heard Fizban groan. Tika hurried past him, to catch up with Caramon.
“Coming, Flint?” Tanis called.
“Yes,” the dwarf answered, sitting down suddenly on a rock. “Give me a moment. I’ve dropped my pack. You go on ahead.”
Occupied in studying the kender’s map as he walked, Tanis did not see Flint collapse. He did not hear the odd note in the dwarf’s voice, or see the spasm of pain that briefly contracted the dwarf’s face.
“Well, hurry up,” Tanis said absently. “We don’t want to leave you behind.”
“Aye, lad,” Flint said softly, sitting on the rock—waiting for the pain to subside, as it always did.
Flint watched his friend walk down the trail, still moving somewhat clumsily in the dragonarmor. We don’t want to leave you behind.
“Aye, lad,” Flint repeated to himself. Brushing his gnarled hand quickly across his eyes, the dwarf stood up and followed his friends.
3
Godshome.
It was a long and weary day spent wandering through the mountains, aimlessly, as near as the impatient half-elf could tell.
The only thing that kept him from throttling Fizban—after they had walked into the second box canyon in less than four hours—was the undeniable fact that the old man kept them headed in the right direction. No matter how lost and turned around they seemed to get, no matter how often Tanis could have sworn they’d passed the same boulder three times, whenever he caught a glimpse of the sun they were still traveling unerringly to the southeast.
But as the day wore on, he saw the sun less and less frequently. Winter’s bitter chill had gone from the air and there was even the faint smell of green and growing things borne on the wind. But soon the sky darkened with lead-gray clouds and it began to rain, a dull, drumming drizzle that penetrated the heaviest cloak.
By mid-afternoon, the group was cheerless and dispirited—even Tasslehoff, who had argued violently with Fizban over directions to Godshome. This was all the more frustrating to Tanis since it was obvious that neither of them knew where they were. (Fizban, in fact, was caught holding the map upside down.) The fight resulted in Tasslehoff stuffing his maps back in his pouch and refusing to get them out again while Fizban threatened to cast a spell that would turn Tasslehoff’s topknot into a horse’s tail.
Fed up with both of them, Tanis sent Tas to the back of the line to cool