Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [178]
“Light—to the tunnel,” Fizban ordered, his bony legs wrapped around a link in the chain.
The puffball appeared to consider the command. Slowly it skittered to the edge of the tunnel, and then stopped.
“Inside the tunnel!” the magician commanded.
The puffball flame refused.
“I think it’s afraid of the dark,” Fizban said apologetically.
“My goodness, how remarkable!” the kender said in astonishment. “Well,” he thought for a moment, “if it will stay where it is, I think I can see enough to make my way across the chain. It looks like it’s only about fifteen feet or so to the tunnel.” With nothing below but several hundred feet of darkness and air, never mind the stone floor at the bottom, Tas thought.
“Someone should come up here and grease this thing,” Fizban said, examining the axle critically. “That’s all you get today, shoddy workmanship.”
“I’m really rather glad they didn’t,” Tas said mildly, crawling forward onto the chain. About halfway across the gap, the kender considered what it would be like to fall from this height, tumbling down and down and down, then hitting the stone floor at the bottom. He wondered what it would feel like to splatter all over the floor.…
“Get a move on!” Fizban shouted, crawling out onto the chain after the kender.
Tas crawled forward quickly to the tunnel entrance where the puffball flame waited, then jumped off the chain onto the stone floor about five feet below him. The puffball flame darted in after him, and finally Fizban reached the tunnel entrance, too. At the last moment, he fell, but Tas caught hold of his robes and dragged the old man to safety.
They were sitting on the floor resting when suddenly the old man’s head snapped up.
“My staff,” he said.
“What about it?” Tas yawned, wondering what time it was.
The old man struggled to his feet. “Left it down below,” he mumbled, heading for the chain.
“Wait! You can’t go back!” Tasslehoff jumped up in alarm.
“Who says?” asked the old man petulantly, his beard bristling.
“I m-mean …” Tas stuttered, “it would be too dangerous. But I know you how feel—my hoopak’s down there.”
“Hmmmm,” Fizban said, sitting back down disconsolately.
“Was it magic?” Tas asked after a moment.
“I was never quite certain,” Fizban said wistfully.
“Well,” said Tas practically, “maybe after we’ve finished the adventure we can go back and get it. Now let’s try to find some place to rest.”
He glanced around the tunnel. It was about seven feet from floor to ceiling. The huge chain ran along the top with numerous smaller chains attached, stretching across the tunnel floor into a vast dark pit beyond. Tas, staring down into it, could vaguely make out the shape of gigantic boulders.
“What time do you suppose it is?” Tas asked.
“Lunch time,” said the old man. “And we might as well rest right here. It’s as safe a place as any.” He plopped back down. Pulling out a handful of quith-pa, he began to chew on it noisily. The puffball flame wandered over and settled on the brim of the magician’s hat.
Tas sat down next to the mage and began to nibble on his own bit of dried fruit. Then he sniffed. There was suddenly a very peculiar smell, like someone burning old socks. Looking up, he sighed and tugged on the magician’s robe.
“Uh, Fizban,” he said. “Your hat’s on fire.”
“Flint,” Tanis said sternly, “for the last time—I feel as badly as you do about losing Tas, but we cannot go back! He’s with Fizban and, knowing those two, they’ll both manage to get out of whatever predicament they’re in.”
“If they don’t bring the whole fortress down around our ears,” Sturm muttered.
The dwarf wiped his hand across his eyes, glared at Tanis, then whirled on his heel and stumped back to a corner where he hurled himself onto the floor, sulking.
Tanis sat back down. He knew how Flint felt. It seemed odd—there’d been so many times he could happily have strangled the kender, but now that he was gone, Tanis missed him—and for exactly the same reasons. There was an innate, unfailing cheerfulness about Tasslehoff that made him an invaluable