Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [59]
“And now”—the Lord of Kalaman’s voice rang out above the noise of the crowd—“it is my honor and my very great privilege to present to you the woman who has turned the tide of this war, the woman who has sent the dragonarmies fleeing for their lives over the plains, the woman who has driven the evil dragons from the sky, the woman whose armies captured the evil Bakaris, commander of the Dragon Highlord’s armies, the woman whose name is even now being coupled with the great Huma’s as the most valiant warrior on Krynn. Within a week, she will be riding to Dargaard Keep to demand the surrender of the Dragon Highlord known as the Dark Lady.…”
The Lord’s voice was drowned in cheering. He paused dramatically, then, reaching behind him, caught hold of Laurana and nearly dragged her forward.
“Lauralanthalasa of the Royal House of Qualinesti!”
The noise was deafening. It reverberated off the tall stone buildings. Laurana looked out over the sea of open mouths and wildly waving flags. They don’t want to hear about my fear, she realized wearily. They’ve fears enough of their own. They don’t want to hear about darkness and death. They want children’s tales about love and rebirth and silver dragons.
Don’t we all.
With a sigh, Laurana turned to Silvara. Taking the roses back, she held them up into the air, waving to the jubilant crowd. Then she began her speech.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot was having a splendid time. It had been an easy task to evade Flint’s watchful gaze and slip off the platform where he had been told to stand with the rest of the dignitaries. Melting into the crowd, he was now free to explore this interesting city again. Long ago, he’d come to Kalaman with his parents and he cherished fond memories of the open-air bazaar, the seaport where the white-winged ships lay at anchor, and a hundred other wonders.
Idly he wandered among the festive crowd, his keen eyes seeing everything, his hands busy stuffing objects into his pouches. Really, Tas thought, the people of Kalaman were extremely careless! Purses had the most uncanny habit of falling from people’s belts into Tas’s hands. The streets might be paved with jewels the way he discovered rings and other fascinating trinkets.
Then the kender was transported into realms of delight when he came across a cartographer’s stall. And, as fortune would have it, the cartographer had gone to watch the parade. The stall was locked and shuttered, with a large “CLOSED” sign hanging on a hook.
“What a pity,” thought Tas. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I just looked at his maps.” Reaching out, he gave the lock an expert twitch, then smiled happily. A few more “twitches” and it would open easily. “He mustn’t really mean for people to keep out if he puts on such a simple-minded lock. I’ll just pop in and copy a few of his maps to update my collection.”
Suddenly Tas felt a hand on his shoulder. Irritated that someone should bother him at a time like this, the kender glanced around to see a strange figure that seemed vaguely familiar. It was dressed in heavy cloaks and robes, though the spring day was warming rapidly. Even its hands were wrapped in cloth, like bandages. Bother—a cleric, thought the kender, annoyed and preoccupied.
“I beg your pardon,” said Tas to the cleric who had hold of him, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was just—”
“Burrfoot?” interrupted the cleric in a cold, lisping voice. “The kender who rides with the Golden General?”
“Why, yes,” Tas said, flattered that someone had recognized him. “That’s me. I’ve ridden with Laura—the, er—Golden General—for a long time now. Let’s see, I think it was in the late fall. Yes, we met her in Qualinesti right after we escaped from the hobgoblins’ prison wagons which was a short time after we killed a black dragon in Xak Tsaroth. That’s the most wonderful story—” Tas forgot about the maps. “You see we were in this old, old city that had fallen into a cavern and it