Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [149]
Humans and elves both headed for the dragon orb that sat upon its golden stand, its milky white insides swirling gently within the crystal. Gunthar shouted for order time and again, banging the hilt of his sword upon the table. The Speaker spoke a few words sharply in elven, staring hard at his son, Porthios, and finally order was restored.
But the atmosphere snapped like the air before a storm. Gunthar talked. The Speaker answered. The Speaker talked. Gunthar answered. The dark-skinned mariner lost his temper and made a few cutting remarks about elves. The lord of the Silvanesti reduced him to quivering anger with his sarcastic rejoinders. Several of the knights left, only to return armed to the teeth. They came to stand near Gunthar, their hands on their weapons. The elves, led by Porthios, rose to surround their own leaders.
Gnosh, his report held fast in his hand, began to realize he wasn’t going to be asked to give it.
Tasslehoff looked around despairingly for Elistan. He kept hoping desperately the cleric would come. Elistan could calm these people down. Or maybe Laurana. Where was she? There’d been no word of his friends, the elves had told the kender coldly. She and her brother had apparently vanished in the wilderness. I shouldn’t have left them, Tas thought. I shouldn’t be here. Why, why did this crazy old mage bring me? I’m useless! Maybe Fizban could do something? Tas looked at the mage hopefully, but Fizban was sound asleep!
“Please, wake up!” Tas begged, shaking him. “Somebody’s got to do something!”
At that moment, he heard Lord Gunthar yell, “The dragon orb is not yours by right! Lady Laurana and the others were bringing it to us when they were shipwrecked! You tried to keep it on Ergoth by force, and your own daughter—”
“Mention not my daughter!” the Speaker said in a deep, harsh voice. “I do not have a daughter.”
Something broke within Tasslehoff. Confused memories of Laurana fighting desperately against the evil wizard who guarded the orb, Laurana battling draconians, Laurana firing her bow at the white dragon, Laurana ministering to him so tenderly when he’d been near death. To be cast off by her own people when she was working so desperately to save them, when she had sacrificed so much.…
“Stop this!” Tasslehoff heard himself yelling at the top of his voice. “Stop this right now and listen to me!”
Suddenly he saw, to his astonishment, that everyone had stopped talking and was staring at him.
Now that he had his audience, Tas realized he didn’t have any idea what to say to all of these important people. But he knew he had to say something. After all, he thought, this is my fault—I read about these damn orbs. Gulping, he slid off his bench and walked toward the Whitestone and the two hostile groups clustered around it. He thought he saw—out of the corner of his eye—Fizban grinning from under his hat.
“I—I …” The kender stammered, wondering what to say. He was saved by a sudden inspiration.
“I demand the right to represent my people,” Tasslehoff said proudly, “and take my place on the advisory council.”
Flipping his tassle of brown hair over his shoulder, the kender came to stand right in front of the dragon orb. Looking up, he could see the Whitestone towering over it and over him. Tas stared at the stone, shivering, then quickly turned his gaze from the rock to Gunthar and the Speaker of the Suns.
And then Tasslehoff knew what he had to do. He began to shake with fear. He—Tasslehoff Burrfoot—who’d never been afraid of anything in his life! He’d faced dragons without trembling, but the knowledge of what he was going to do now appalled him. His hands felt as if he’d been making snowballs without gloves on. His tongue seemed to belong in some larger person’s mouth. But Tas was resolute. He just had to keep them talking, keep them from guessing what he planned.
“You’ve never taken us kenders very seriously, you know,” Tas began, his voice sounding too loud and shrill in his own ears, “and I can’t say I blame