Dwarven Nations - Hammer And Axe Part 36

The hole! He brightened. He'd wanted to examine it more carefully anyway. He just hoped the lid was still off.

The kender tiptoed around the bier until he came to the altar. There was the hole, still gaping open. Theros lay beside it, sound asleep, his head pillowed upon his silver arm. Glancing back at Silvara, Tas sneaked silently to the edge.

It would certainly be a better place to hide than where he was now. There were no stairs, but he could see handholds on the wall. A deft kender-such as himself-should have no trouble at all climbing down. Perhaps it led outside.

Suddenly Tas heard a noise behind him. Silvara sighing and stirring ....

Without another thought, Tas lowered himself silently into the hole and began his descent. The walls were slick with moisture and moss, the handholds were s.p.a.ced far apart. Built for humans, he thought irritably. No one ever considered little people!

He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the gems until he was practically on top of them.

"Reorx's beard!" he swore. (He was fond of this oath, having borrowed it from Flint.) Six beautiful jewels-each as big around as his hand-were s.p.a.ced in a horizontal ring around the walls of the shaft. They were covered with moss, but Tas could tell at a glance how valuable they were.

"Now why would anyone put such wonderful jewels down here?" he asked aloud.

"I'll bet it was some thief. If I can pry them loose, I'll return them to their rightful owner:" His hand closed over a jewel.

A tremendous blast of wind filled the shaft, pulling the kender off the wall as easily as a winter gale rips a leaf off a tree. Falling, Tas looked back up, watching the light at the top of the shaft grow smaller and smaller. He wondered briefly just how big the Hammer of Reorx was, and then he stopped falling.

For a moment, the wind tumbled him end over end. Then it switched directions, blowing him sideways. I'm not going to the other side of the world after all, he thought sadly. Sighing, he sailed along through another tunnel. Then he suddenly felt himself start to rise! A great wind was wafting him up the shaft! It was an unusual sensation, quite exhilarating. Instinctively, he spread his arms to see if he could touch the sides of whatever it was he was in. As he spread his arms, he noticed that he rose faster, borne gently upward on swift currents of air.

Perhaps I'm dead, Tas thought. I'm dead and now I'm lighter than air. How can I tell? Putting his arms down, he felt frantically for his pouches. He wasn't certain-the kender had very vague ideas as to the afterlife-but he had a feeling they wouldn't let him take his things with him. No, everything was there. Tas breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a gulp when he discovered himself slowing down and even starting to fall!

What? he thought wildly, then realized he had pulled both his arms in close to his body. Hurriedly he thrust his arms out again and, sure enough, he began to rise. Convinced that hey wasn't dead, he gave himself up to enjoying the flight.

Fluttering his hands, the kender rolled over on his back in. midair, and stared up to see where he was going.

Ah, there was a light far above him, growing brighter and brighter. Now he could see that he was in a shaft, but it was much longer than the shaft he had tumbled down.

"Wait until Flint hears about this!" he said wistfully. Then he caught a glimpse of six jewels, like the ones he'd seen in the other shaft. The rus.h.i.+ng wind began to lessen.

Just as he decided that he could really enjoy taking up flying as a way of life, Tas reached the top of the shaft. The air currents held him even with the stone floor of a torch-lit chamber. Tas waited a moment to see if he might start flying again, and he even flapped his arms a bit to help, but nothing happened.

Apparently his flight had ended.

I might as well explore while I'm up here, the kender thought with a sigh.

Jumping out of the air currents, he landed lightly on the stone floor, then began to look around.

Several torches flared on the walls, illuminating the chamber with a bright white radiance. This room was certainly much larger than the tomb! He was standing at the bottom of a great curving staircase. The huge flagstones of each step-as well as all the other stone in the room-were pure white, much different from the black stone of the tomb. The staircase curved to the right, leading up to what appeared to be another level of the chamber. Above him, he could see a railing overlooking the stairs-apparently there was some sort of balcony up there. Nearly breaking his neck trying to see, Tas thought he could make out swirls and splotches of bright colors s.h.i.+ning in the torchlight from the opposite wall.

Who lit the torches, he wondered? What is this place? Part of Huma's tomb? Or did I fly up into the Dragon Mountain? Who lives here? Those torches didn't light themselves!

At that thought-just to be safe-Tas reached into his tunic and drew out his little knife. Holding it in his hand, he climbed the grand stairs and came out onto the balcony. It was a huge chamber, but he could see little of it in the flickering torchlight. Gigantic pillars supported the ma.s.sive ceiling overhead.

Another great staircase rose from this balcony level to yet another floor. Tas turned around, leaning against the railing to look at the walls behind him.

"Reorx's beard!" he said softly. "Look at that!"

That was a painting. A mural, to be more precise. It began opposite where Tas was standing, at the head of the stairs, and extended on around the balcony in foot after foot of s.h.i.+mmering color. The kender was not much interested in artwork, but he couldn't recall ever seeing anything quite so beautiful. Or had he? Somehow, it seemed familiar. Yes, the more he looked at it, the more he thought he'd seen it before.

Tas studied the painting, trying to remember. On the wall directly across from him was pictured a horrible scene of dragons of every color and description descending upon the land. Towns blazed in flames-like Tarsis-buildings crumbled, people were fleeing. It was a terrible sight, and the kender hurried past it.

He continued walking along the balcony, his eyes on the painting. He had just reached the central portion of the mural when he gasped.

"The Dragon Mountain! That's it-there, on the wall!" he whispered to himself and was startled to hear his whisper come echoing back to him. Glancing around hastily, he crept closer to the other edge of the balcony. Leaning over the rail, he stared closely at the painting. It indeed showed the Dragon Mountain, where he was now. Only this showed a view of the mountain as if some giant sword had chopped it completely in half vertically!

"How wonderful!" The map-loving kender sighed. "Of course;" he said. "It is a map! And that's where I am! I've gone up into the mountain:" He looked around the room in sudden realization. "I'm in the throat of the dragon. That's why this room is such a funny shape:" He turned back to the map. "There's the painting on the wall and there's the balcony I'm standing on. And the pillars. .

:' He turned completely around. "Yes, there's the grand staircase:' He turned back. "It leads up into the head! And there's how I came up. Some sort of wind chamber. But who built this . . . and why?"

Ta.s.slehoff continued on around the balcony, hoping to find a clue in the painting. On the right-hand side of the gallery; another battle was portrayed.

But this one didn't fill him with horror. There were red dragons, and black, and blue, and white-breathing fire and ice-but fighting them were other dragons, dragons of silver and of gold ....

"I remember!" shouted Ta.s.slehoff.

The kender begin jumping up and down, yelling like a wild thing. "I remember! I remember! It was in Pax Tharkas. Fizban showed me. There are good dragons in the world. They'll help us fight the evil ones! We just have to find them. And there are the dragonlancesl"

"Confound it!" snarled a voice below the kender. "Can't a person get some sleep?

What is all this racket? You're making noise enough to wake the dead!"

Ta.s.slehoff whirled around in alarm, his knife in his hand. He could have sworn he was alone up here. But, no. Rising up off a stone bench that stood in a shadowy area out of the torchlight was a dark, robed figure. It shook itself, stretched, then got up and began to climb the stairs, moving swiftly toward the kender. Tas could not have gotten away, even if he had wanted to, and the kender found himself intensely curious about who was up here. He opened his mouth to ask this strange creature what it was and why it had chosen the throat of a Dragon Mountain to nap in, when the figure emerged into the light. It was an old man. It was Ta.s.slehoff's knife clattered to the floor. The kender sagged back against the railing. For the first, last, and only time in his life, Ta.s.slehoff Burrfoot was struck speechless.

"F-F-F . . :'Nothing came out of his throat, only a croak.

"Well, what is it? Speak up!" snapped the old man, looming over him. "You were making enough noise a minute ago. What's the matter? Something go down the wrong way?"

"F-F-F . . :" stuttered Tas weakly.

"Ah, poor boy. Afflicted, eh? Speech impediment. Sad, sad. Here-"The old man fumbled in his robes, opening numerous pouches while Ta.s.slehoff stood trembling before him. "There;" the figure said. Drawing forth a coin, he put it in the kender's numb palm and closed his small, lifeless fingers over it. "Now, run along. Find a cleric . . :"

"Fizban!" Ta.s.slehoff was finally able to gasp.

"Where?" The old man whirled around. Raising his staff, he peered fearfully into the darkness. Then something seemed to occur to him. Turning back around, he asked Tas in a loud whisper, "I say, are you sure you saw this Fizban? Isn't he dead?"

"I know I thought so . . . ''Tas said miserably.

"Then he shouldn't be wandering around, scaring people!" the old man declared angrily. "I'll have a talk with him. Hey,you!" he began to shout.

Tas reached out a trembling hand and tugged at the old man's robe. "I-I'm not sure, b-but I think you're Fizban :'

"No, really?" the old man said, taken aback. "I was feeling a bit under the weather this morning, but I had no idea it was as bad as all that.'" His shoulders sagged. "So I'm dead. Done for. Bought the farm. Kicked the bucket:'

He staggered to a bench and plopped down. "Was it a nice funeral?" he asked.

"Did lots of people come? Was there a twenty-one gun salute? I always wanted a twenty-one gun salute:'

"I-uh.." Tas stammered, wondering what a gun was. "Well, it was . . . more of a . . . memorial service you might say. You see, we-uh-couldn't find your-how shall I put this?"

"Remains?" the old man said helpfully.

"Uh . . . remains:" Tas flushed. 'We looked, but there were all these chicken feathers . . . and a dark elf . . . and Tanis said we v.-ere lucky to have escaped alive ...

"Chicken feathers!" said the old man indignantly. "What have chicken feathers got to do with my funeral?"

"We-uh-you and me and Sestun. Do you remember Sestun, the gully dwarf? Well, there was that great, huge chain in Pax Tharkas. And that big red dragon. We were hanging onto the chain and the dragon breathed fire on it and the chain broke and we were falling"-Tas was warming up to his story; it had become one of his favorites-"and I knew it was all over. We were going to die. There must have been a seventy-foot drop (this increased every time Tas told the tale) and you were beneath me and I heard you chanting a spell-"

"Yes, I'm quite a good magician, you know:'

"Uh right" Tas stammered, then continued hurriedly. "You e chanted this spell - Featherfall or something like that. Anyway, you only said the first word"

'feather' and suddenly'-the kender spread his, hands, a look of awe on his face as he remembered what happened then-"there were millions and millions and millions of chicken feathers. . . ~'

"So what happened) next?" the old man demanded, poking Tas.

"Oh, uh, that's where it gets a bit-uh-rnvuddled;' Tas said. "~ heard a scream .and a thump. Well, it was more like a splatter actually, and l f-E-figured the splatter was you.'

"Me?" the old man shouted. "Splatter!" He glared at the kender furiously. "I never in my life splattered!"

"Then Sestun and I tumbled down into the chicken feathers, along with the chain.

I looked-I really did:" Tas's eyes filled with tears as he remembered his heartbroken search for the old man's body. "But there were too many feathers . .

. and there was this terrible commotion outside where the dragons were fighting.

Sestun and I made it to the door, and then we found Tanis, and I wanted to go back to look for you some more, but Tanis said no . . : "So you left me buried under a mound of chicken feathers?" "It was an awfully nice memorial service;' Tas faltered. "Goldmoon spoke, and Elistan. You didn't meet Elistan, but you remember Goldmoon, don't you? And Tanis?"

"Goldmoon . . :' the old man murmured. "Ah, yes. Pretty girl. Big, stern-looking chap in love with her:"

"Riverwind!" said Tas in excitement. "And Raistlin?"

"Skinny fellow. d.a.m.n good magician;" the old man said solemnly, "but he'll never amount to anything if he doesn't do something about that cough:'

"You are Fizban!" Tas said. Jumping up gleefully, he threw his arms around the old man and hugged him tight.

"There, there;' Fizban said, embarra.s.sed, patting Tas an the back. "That's quite enough. You'll crumple my robes. Don't sniffle. Can't abide it. Need a hankie?"

"No, I've got one-"

"Now, that's better. Oh, I say, I believe that handkerchiefs mine. Those are my initials-"

"Is it? You must have dropped it:'

"I remember you now!" the old man said loudly. "You're Ta.s.sle, Ta.s.sle-something- or-other:'

"Ta.s.slehoff. Ta.s.slehoff Burrfoot;' the kender replied.

"And I'm-" The old man stopped. "What did you say the name was?"

"Fizban."

"Fizban. Yes. . :' The old man pondered a moment, then he shook his head. "I sure thought he was dead..."

Silvara's secret.

How did you survive?" Tas asked; pulling some dried fruit from a pouch to share with Fizban.

The old man appeared wistful. "I really didn't think I did;" he said apologetically. 'I'm afraid I haven t the vaguest notion. But, come to think of it, I haven"t been able to eat a chicken since. Now"-he stared at the kender shrewdly- "what are you doing here?''

"I came with same of my friends. The rest are wandering around somewhere, if they're still alive:" Fie sniffed again.

"They are. Don't worry:" Fizban patted him on the back.

"Do you think so?" Tas brightened. "Well, anyway, we're here with Silvara-"

"Silvara!"The old man leaped to his feet, his white hair flying out wildly. The vague look faded from his face.

"Where is she?" the old man demanded sternly. "And your friends, where are they?"

"D-downstairs;" stammered Tas, startled at the old man's transformation.

"Silvara cast a spell on them!"

"Ah, she did, did she?" the old man muttered. "We'll see about that. Come on:"

He started off along the balcony, walking so rapidly Tas had to run to keep up.

"Where'd you say they were?" the old man asked, stopping near the stairs. "Be specific;" he snapped.

"Uh-the tomb! Huma's tomb! I think it's Huma's tomb. That's what Silvara said:'

"Humpf. Well, at least we don't have to walk:'

Descending the stairs to the hole in the floor Tas had come up through, the old man stepped out into its center. Tas, gulping a little, joined him, clutching at the old man's robes. They hung suspended over nothing but darkness, feeling cool air waft up around them.

"Down;' the old man stated.

They began to rise, drifting toward the ceiling of the upper gallery. Tas felt the hair stand up on his head. "I said down!" the old man shouted furiously, waving his staff menacingly at the hole below him.