Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [150]
Tas could see the Speaker’s face turn to steel, even Lord Gunthar was scowling. The kender edged nearer the dragon orb.
“We cause lots of trouble, I suppose, without meaning to, and occasionally some of us do happen to acquire certain things which aren’t ours. But one thing the kender know is—”
Tasslehoff broke into a run. Quick and lithe as a mouse, he slipped easily through the hands that tried to catch him, reaching the dragon orb within a matter of seconds. Faces blurred around him, mouths opened, shrieking and yelling at him. But they were too late.
In one swift, smooth movement, Tasslehoff hurled the dragon orb at the huge, gleaming Whitestone.
The round, gleaming crystal—its insides swirling in agitation—hung suspended in the air for long, long seconds. Tas wondered if the orb had the power to halt its flight. But it was just a fevered impression in the kender’s mind.
The dragon orb struck the rock and shattered, bursting into a thousand sparkling pieces. For an instant, a ball of milky white smoke hung in the air, as if trying desperately to hold itself together. Then the warm, springlike breeze of the glade caught it and swept it apart.
There was intense, awful silence.
The kender stood, looking calmly down at the shattered dragon orb.
“We know,” he said in a small voice that dropped into the dreadful silence like a tiny drop of rain, “we should be fighting dragons. Not each other.”
No one moved. No one spoke. Then there was a thump.
Gnosh had fainted.
The silence broke—almost as shattering as the breaking of the orb. Lord Gunthar and the Speaker both lunged at Tas. One caught hold of the kender’s left shoulder, one his right.
“What have you done?” Lord Gunthar’s face was livid, his eyes wild as he gripped the kender with trembling hands.
“You have brought death upon us all!” The Speaker’s fingers bit into Tas’s flesh like the claws of a predatory bird. “You have destroyed our only hope!”
“And for that, he himself will be the first to die!”
Porthios–tall, grim-faced elflord—loomed above the cowering kender, his sword glistening in his hand. The kender stood his ground between the elven king and the knight, his small face pale, his expression defiant. He had known when he committed his crime that death would be the penalty.
Tanis will be unhappy over what I’ve done, Tas thought sadly. But at least he’ll hear that I died bravely.
“Now, now, now …” said a sleepy voice. “No one’s going to die! At least not at this moment. Quit waving that sword around, Porthios! Someone’ll get hurt.”
Tas peered out from under a heaving sea of arms and shining armor to see Fizban, yawning, step over the inert body of the gnome and totter toward them. Elves and humans made way for him to pass, as if compelled to do so by an unseen force.
Porthios whirled to face Fizban, so angry that saliva bubbled on his lips and his speech was nearly incoherent.
“Beware, old man, or you will share in the punishment!”
“I said quit waving that sword around,” Fizban snapped irritably, wiggling a finger at the sword.
Porthios dropped his weapon with a wild cry. Clutching his stinging, burning hand, he stared down at the sword in astonishment—the hilt had grown thorns! Fizban came to stand next to the elflord and regarded him angrily.
“You’re a fine young man, but you should have been taught some respect for your elders. I said to put that sword down and I meant it! Maybe you’ll believe me next time!” Fizban’s baleful gaze switched to the Speaker. “And you, Solostaran, were a good man about two hundred years ago. Managed to raise three fine children—three fine children, I said. Don’t give me any of this nonsense about not having a daughter. You have one, and a fine girl she is. More sense than her father. Must take after her mother’s side. Where was I? Oh, yes. You brought up Tanis Half-Elven, too. You know, Solostaran, between the four of these