Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

“What? Are you mad?” Tanis swore at the dragon. “You’re taking us down into the dragonarmies!”

The dragon seemed deaf, and now Tanis saw that all the other brass dragons were circling, preparing to land.

In vain Tanis pleaded with his dragon. Berem, sitting behind Tika, clutched the woman so desperately she could barely breathe. The Everman’s eyes were on the draconians, who were swarming over the plains toward where the dragons were going to land. Caramon was flailing about wildly, trying to avoid the lightning bolts that zapped all around him. Flint had even come to life, tugging frantically at his dragon’s reins, roaring in anger, while Tas was still yelling wildly at Fizban. The old man followed after them all, herding the brass dragons before him like sheep.

They landed near the foothills of the Khalkist Mountains. Looking quickly across the plains, Tanis could see draconians swarming toward them.

We might bluff our way out of this, Tanis thought feverishly, though their disguises had been intended only to get them into Kalaman, not deceive a party of suspicious draconians. However, it was worth a shot. If only Berem would remember to stay in the background and keep quiet.

But before Tanis could say a word, Berem leaped from the back of his dragon and took off, running frantically into the foothills. Tanis could see the draconians pointing at him, yelling.

So much for keeping in the background. Tanis swore again. The bluff might still work... they could always claim a prisoner was trying to escape. No, he realized in despair, the draconians would simply chase after Berem and catch him. According to what Kitiara had told him, all the draconians in Krynn had descriptions of Berem.

“In the name of the Abyss!” Tanis forced himself to calm down and think logically, but the situation was fast getting out of control. “Caramon! Go after Berem. Flint, you—No, Tasslehoff, get back here! Damn it! Tika, go after Tas. No, on second thought, stay with me. You, too, Flint—”

“But Tasslehoff’s gone after that crazy old—”

“And if we’re lucky, the ground will open and swallow them both!” Tanis glanced back over his shoulder and swore savagely. Berem—driven by fear—was clambering over rocks and scrub bushes with the lightness of a mountain goat, while Caramon—hampered by the dragon armor and his own arsenal of weapons—slipped down two feet for every foot he gained.

Looking back across the Plains, Tanis could see the draconians clearly. Sunlight gleamed off their armor and their swords and spears. Perhaps there was still a chance, if the brass dragons would attack—

But just as he started to order them into battle, the old man came running up from where he had landed his ancient gold dragon. “Shoo!” said the old man to the brass dragons. “Shoo—get away! Go back to wherever you came from!”

“No! Wait!” Tanis nearly tore out his beard in frustration, watching as the old man ran among the brass dragons, waving his arms like a farmer’s wife driving her chickens to shelter.

Then the half-elf stopped swearing for—to his astonishment—the brass dragons prostrated themselves fiat on the ground before the old man in his mouse-colored robes. Then, lifting their wings, they soared gracefully into the air.

In a rage, forgetting he was dressed in captured dragonarmy armor, Tanis ran across the trampled grass toward the old man, following Tas. Hearing them coming, Fizban turned around to face them.

“I’ve a good mind to wash your mouth out with soap,” the old mage snapped, glowering at Tanis. “You’re my prisoners now, so just come along quietly or you’ll taste my magic—”

“Fizban!” cried Tasslehoff, throwing his arms around the old man.

The old mage peered down at the kender hugging him, then staggered backwards in amazement.

“It’s Tassle—Tassle—” he stammered.

“Burrfoot,” Tas said backing off and bowing politely. “Tasslehoff Burrfoot.”

“Great Huma’s ghost!” Fizban exclaimed.

“This is Tanis Half-Elven. And that is Flint Fireforge. You remember him?” Tasslehoff continued, waving a small hand at the dwarf.

“Uh, yes, quite,” Fizban muttered, his face flushing.

“And Tika... and that’s Caramon up there... oh, well, you can’t see him now. Then there’s Berem. We picked him up in Kalaman and—oh, Fizban!—he’s got a green gem—ugh, ouch, Tanis, that hurt!”

Clearing his throat, Fizban cast a bleak look around.

“You’re-uh-not with the-err-uh-dragonarmies?”

“No,” said Tanis grimly, “we’re not! Or at least we weren’t.” He gestured behind them. “That’s likely to change any moment now, though.”

“Not with the dragonarmies at all?” Fizban pursued hopefully. “You’re sure you haven’t converted? Been tortured? Brainwashed?”

“No, damn it!” Tanis yanked off his helm. “I’m Tanis Half-Elven, remember—”

Fizban beamed. “Tanis Half-Elven! So pleased to see you again, sir.” Grabbing Tanis’s hand, he shook it heartily.

“Confound it!” Tanis snapped in exasperation, snatching his hand out of the old man’s grip.

“But you were riding dragons!”

“Those were good dragons!” Tanis shouted. “They’ve come back!”

“No one told me!” The old man gasped indignantly.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Tanis continued, ignoring the interruption. “You’ve blown us out of the skies! Sent back our only means to get to Neraka—”

“Oh, I know what I’ve done,” Fizban mumbled. He glanced back over his shoulder. “My, my. Those fellows seem to be gaining. Mustn’t be caught by them. Well, what are we doing standing around?” He glared at Tanis. “Some leader you are! I suppose I’ll have to take charge... Where’s my hat?”

“About five miles back,” stated Pyrite with a great yawn.

“You still here?” Fizban said, glaring at the gold dragon in annoyance.

“Where else would I be?” the dragon asked gloomily.

“I told you to go with the others!”

“I didn’t want to.” Pyrite snorted. A bit of fire flared from his nose, making it twitch. This was followed by a tremendous sneeze. Sniffing, the dragon continued peevishly. “No respect for age, those brass dragons. They talk constantly! And giggle. Gets on my nerves, that silly giggle...”

“Well, you’ll just have to go back by yourself then!” Fizban stalked up to stare the dragon in its bleary eye. “We’re going on a long journey into dangerous country—”

“We’re going?” Tanis cried. “Look, old man, Fizban, whatever your name is, why don’t you and your—uh—friend here go back. You’re right. It’s going to be a long, dangerous journey. Longer, now, that we’ve lost our dragons and—”

“Tanis...” said Tika warningly, her eyes on the draconians.

“Into the hills quick,” Tanis said, drawing a deep breath, trying to control his fear and his anger. “Go on, Tika. You and Flint. Tas—” He grabbed the kender.

“No, Tanis! We can’t leave him here!” Tas wailed.

“Tas!” Tanis said in a voice that warned the kender the half-elf had plainly had enough and wasn’t going to stand for anything further. Apparently the old man understood the same thing.

“I’ve got to go with these folks,” he said to the dragon. “They need me. You can’t go back on your own. You’ll just have to sallyforth—”

“Polymorph!” the dragon said indignantly. “The word is ‘polymorph!’ You never get that right—”

“Whatever!” the old man yelled. “Quickly! We’ll take you with us.”

“Very well,” the dragon said. “I could use the rest.”

“I don’t think—” Tanis began, wondering what they would do with a large gold dragon, but it was too late.