Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

While Tas watched, fascinated, and Tanis fumed in impatience, the dragon spoke a few words in the strange language of magic. There was a bright flash and then, suddenly, the dragon vanished.

“What? Where?” Tasslehoff looked all around.

Fizban leaned over to pick up something out of the grass.

“Get moving! Now!” Tanis hustled Tas and the old man into the foothills, following after Tika and Flint.

“Here,” Fizban said to Tas as they ran. “Hold out your hand.”

Tas did as instructed. Then the kender caught his breath in awe. He would have come to a dead stop to examine it, except Tanis caught him by the arm and dragged him forward.

In the palm of Tas’s hand gleamed a tiny golden figure of a dragon, carved in exquisite detail. Tas imagined he could even see the scars on the wings. Two small red jewels glittered in the eyes, then—as Tas watched—the jewels winked out as golden eyelids closed over them.

“Oh, Fizban, it—it’s—beautiful! Can I truly keep it?” Tas yelled over his shoulder to the old man, who was puffing along behind.

“Sure, my boy!” Fizban beamed. “At least until this adventure’s ended.”

“Or it ends us,” Tanis muttered, climbing rapidly over the rocks. The draconians were drawing nearer and nearer.

Up and up into the hills they climbed, the draconians in pursuit of the group, who now appeared to them to be spies.

The group had lost the trail Caramon used chasing after Berem, but could not take time to search for it. They were considerably startled, therefore, when they suddenly came across Caramon, sitting calmly on a boulder, Berem—unconscious—stretched out beside him.

“What happened?” Tanis asked, breathing heavily, exhausted after the long climb.

“I caught up with him, finally.” Caramon shook his head. “And he put up a fight. He’s strong for an old guy, Tanis. I had to dunk him. I’m afraid I was a bit too hard, though,” he added, staring down at the comatose figure remorsefully.

“Great!” Tanis was too tired even to swear.

“I’ll handle this,” Tika said, reaching into a leather pouch.

“The draconians are coming up past that last big rock,” Flint reported as he stumbled into view. The dwarf seemed about done in. He collapsed onto a rock, mopping his sweating face with the end of his beard.

“Tika—” Tanis began.

“Found it!” she said triumphantly, pulling out a small vial. Kneeling down beside Berem, she took the stopper from the vial and waved it under his nose. The unconscious man drew a breath, then immediately began to cough.

Tika slapped him on the cheeks. “On your feet!” she said in her barmaid voice. “Unless you want the draconians to catch you.”

Berem’s eyes flew open in alarm. Clutching his head, he sat up dizzily. Caramon helped him stand.

“That’s wonderful, Tika!” Tas said in excitement. “Let me—” Before she could stop him, Tas grabbed the vial and held it up to his own nose, inhaling deeply.

“Eeee Ahhhh!” The kender gagged, staggering back into Fizban, who had come up the path after Flint. “Ugh! Tika! That’s. . . awful!” He could barely speak. “What is it?”

“Some concoction of Otik’s,” Tika said, grinning. “All of us barmaids carried it. Came in handy in lots of instances, if you take my meaning.” Her smile slipped. “Poor Otik,” she said softly. “I wonder what’s become of him. And the Inn—”

“No time for that now, Tika.” Tanis said impatiently. “We’ve got to go. On your feet, old man!” This to Fizban, who was just sitting down comfortably.

“I’ve got a spell,” Fizban protested as Tas tugged and prodded him up. “Take care of those pests instantly. Poof!”

“No!” Tanis said. “Absolutely not. With my luck, you’d turn them all into trolls.”

“I wonder if I could . . .” Fizban’s face brightened.

The afternoon sun was just beginning to slide down the rim of the sky when the trail they had been following ever higher into the mountains suddenly branched off into two different directions. One led into the mountain peaks; the other seemed to wind around the side. There might be a pass among the peaks, Tanis thought; a pass they could defend, if necessary.

But before he could say a word, Fizban started off on the trail that wound around the mountain. “This way” the old mage announced, leaning on his staff as he tottered forward.

“But—” Tanis started to protest.

“Come on, come on. This way!” said Fizban insistently, turning around and glaring at them from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “That way leads to a dead end—in more ways than one. I know. I’ve been here before. This leads around the side of a mountain to a great gorge. Bridge over the gorge. We can get across, then fight the draconians when they try to come after us.”

Tanis scowled, unwilling to trust the crazy old mage.

“It is a good plan, Tanis,” Caramon said slowly. “It’s obvious we’re going to have to fight them sometime.” He pointed to the draconians climbing up the mountain trails after them.

Tanis glanced around. They were all exhausted. Tika’s face was pale, her eyes glazed. She leaned on Caramon, who had even left his spears back on the trail to lighten his burden.

Tasslehoff grinned at Tanis cheerfully. But the kender was panting like a small dog and he was limping on one foot.

Berem looked the same as always, sullen and frightened. It was Flint that worried Tanis most. The dwarf had not said a word during their flight. He had kept up with them without faltering, but his lips were blue and his breath came in short gasps. Every once in a while—when he thought no one was looking— Tanis had seen him put his hand over his chest or rub his left arm as if it pained him.

“Very well.” The half-elf decided. “Go on, old mage. Though I’m probably going to regret this,” he added, under his breath as the rest hurried along after Fizban.

Near sundown, the companions came to a halt. They stood on a small rocky ledge about three-quarters of the way up the side of the mountain. Before them was a deep, narrow gorge. Far below they could see a river winding its way through the bottom of the gorge like a glistening snake.

It must be a four-hundred-foot drop, Tanis calculated. The trail they stood on hugged the side of the mountain, with sheer cliff on one side and nothing but air on the other. There was only one way across the gorge.

“And that bridge,” said Flint—the first words he had spoken in hours, “is older than I am . . . and in worse shape.”

“That bridge has stood for years!” Fizban said indignantly. “Why, it survived the Cataclysm!”

“I believe it,” Caramon said sincerely.

“At least it’s not too long,” Tika tried to sound hopeful, though her voice faltered.

The bridge across the narrow gorge was of a unique construction. Huge vallenwood limbs were driven into the sides of the mountain on either side of the gorge. These limbs formed an X-shape that supported the wooden plank platform. Long ago, the structure must have been an architectural marvel. But now the wooden planks were rotted and splitting. If there had been a railing, it had long since fallen down into the chasm below. Even as they watched, the timbers creaked and shuddered in the chill wind of evening.

Then, behind them, they heard the sound of guttural voices and the clash of steel on rock.

“So much for going back,” Caramon muttered. “We should cross over one by one.”

“No time,” Tanis said, rising to his feet. “We can only hope the gods are with us. And—I hate to admit it—but Fizban’s right. Once we get across, we can stop the draconians easily. They’ll be excellent targets, stuck out there on that bridge. I’ll go first. Keep behind me, single-file. Caramon, you’re rear guard. Berem, stay behind me.”