Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [176]
“An inn? In Solace?” The old man paused, stroking his beard. “An inn … there are so many. But I seem to recall spicy potatoes.… That’s it!” The old man peered around at Tanis, his eyes glinting. “I used to tell stories there, to the children. Quite an exciting place, that inn. I remember one night—a beautiful young woman came in. A barbarian she was, with golden hair. Sang a song about a blue crystal staff that touched off a riot.”
“That was you, shouting for the guards!” Tanis exclaimed. “You got us into this!”
“I set the stage, lad,” Fizban said cunningly. “I didn’t give you a script. The dialogue has been all yours.” Glancing at Laurana, then back to Tanis, he shook his head. “Must say I could have improved it a bit here and there, but then—never mind.” Turning away once more, he began yelling at the dragon. “Wake up, you lazy, flea-bitten beast!”
“Flea-bitten!” Pyrite’s eyes flared open. “Why, you decrepit old mage! You couldn’t turn water into ice in the dead of winter!”
“Oh, can’t I?” Fizban shouted in a towering rage, poking at the dragon with his staff. “Well, I’ll show you.” Fishing out a battered spellbook, he began flipping pages. “Fireball … Fireball … I know it’s in here somewhere.”
Absentmindedly, still muttering, the old mage climbed up onto the dragon’s back.
“Are you quite ready?!” the ancient dragon asked in icy tones, then—without waiting for an answer—spread his creaking wings. Flapping them painfully to ease the stiffness, he prepared to take off.
“Wait! My hat!” Fizban cried wildly.
Too late. Wings beating furiously, the dragon rose unsteadily into the air. After wobbling, hanging precariously over the edge of the cliff, Pyrite caught the night breeze and soared into the night sky.
“Stop! You crazed—”
“Fizban!” Tas cried.
“My hat!” wailed the mage.
“Fizban!” Tas shouted again. “It’s—”
But the two had flown out of hearing. Soon they were nothing more than dwindling sparks of gold, the dragon’s scales glittering in Solinari’s light.
“It’s on your head,” the kender murmured with a sigh.
The companions watched in silence, then turned away.
“Give me a hand with this, will you, Caramon?” Tanis asked. Unbuckling the dragonarmor, he sent it spinning, piece by piece, over the edge of the ridge. “What about yours?”
“I think I’ll keep mine a while longer. We’ve still a long journey ahead of us, and the way will be difficult and dangerous.” Caramon waved a hand toward the flaming city. “Raistlin was right. The dragonmen won’t stop their evil just because their Queen is gone.”
“Where will you go?” Tanis asked, breathing deeply. The night air was soft and warm, fragrant with the promise of new growth.
Thankful to be rid of the hated armor, he sat down wearily beneath a grove of trees that stood upon the ridge overlooking the Temple. Laurana came to sit near him, but not beside him. Her knees were drawn up beneath her chin, her eyes thoughtful as she gazed out over the plains.
“Tika and I have been talking about that,” Caramon said, the two of them sitting down beside Tanis. He and Tika glanced at each other, neither seeming willing to speak. After a moment, Caramon cleared his throat. “We’re going back to Solace, Tanis. And I—I guess this means we’ll be splitting up since—” He paused, unable to continue.
“We know you’ll be returning to Kalaman,” Tika added softly, with a glance at Laurana. “We talked of going with you. After all, there’s that big citadel floating around still, plus all these renegade dragonmen. And we’d like to see Riverwind and Goldmoon and Gilthanas again. But—”
“I want to go home, Tanis,” Caramon said heavily. “I know it’s not going to be easy going back, seeing Solace burned, destroyed,” he added, forestalling Tanis’s objections, “but I’ve thought about Alhana and the elves, what they have to go back to in Silvanesti. I’m thankful my home isn’t like that, a twisted nightmare. They’ll need me in Solace, Tanis, to help rebuild. They’ll need my strength. I—I’m used to … being needed.…”
Tika laid her cheek