Margaret Weis: Dragons of Summer Flame

“I know there’s no fire in the forge!” Flint howled, so infuriated that he started to splutter. “I... But... You...”

“Well, it’s a good thing I came back,” Tas said resolutely. “Look where you’d be without me! We’ll catch up with Tanis and the others later. By that time, they will have gotten themselves into no end of trouble, and you and I’ll have to rescue them. Just like the old days. Now, why don’t you light the fire, and I’ll sit here under this nice tree and tell you stories. Oh, and by the way, I’ve got this for us.” Tas rummaged through one of his pouches, came up with a silver flask, which he exhibited proudly. “Caramon’s finest!”

Flint stared at the tree. He stared at the forge. He stared at the kender. Then Flint stared at the flask.

Especially at the flask.

The dwarf scratched his head.

“By Reorx,” he muttered, “it wouldn’t hurt to have a nip. Just to warm myself, mind you. I suppose you paid Caramon for it?”

Flint took hold of the flask, popped off the cork, sniffed at it eagerly.

“I will,” Tas said, leaning back, his head on his pouch. “The next time I’m there. Now. Where was I? Oh, yes. The famous Kender Spoon of Turning. Well, there was this specter, you see, and...”

The kender prattled on. Flint tasted the brandy, found it to his liking, took several swigs, tucked the flask in a nip pocket.

There would be time enough to join Tanis and the others. An eternity, if you wanted to get right down to it.

“I might just build that fire after all,” Flint decided. “Anything to keep from listening to the chatter of that rattle-brained kender.”

Flint gathered up wood, stoked the forge, lit a spark. He began to pull on the bellows, and their breath fanned the spark into a flame.

The forge fire soon burned bright, warmed the dwarf, the kender, and the tree.

Flint sat down, decided he’d taste the brandy again, to see if it was as good as he’d thought it was the first time.

It was.

He handed the flask to Tas, who tried it and handed the flask back to the dwarf.

The forge fire glowed hotter and brighter.

And in the night sky over Ansalon there burns a new star—a red star—which will remain forever fixed and unchanging, a sign that, even in the Age of Mortals, mankind is not alone.

It will be noted by Krynnish scholars that the legend of creation related by the Protector differs in some respects from the legends of creation related by other races. This is natural, considering that each race considers itself central in the universe. The dwarves, for example, refuse to admit that they were created by the confusion caused by Graygem. They maintain that they are Reorx’s creation. Many elves believe that they are the one true race and that other races are mere ink blots on Gilean’s Great Book. The Irda are, however, the race in possession of the longest unbroken history of Krynn and therefore we consider that their account probably comes closest to the actual events.