Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

Moving as swiftly as he dared, Tanis set foot on the bridge. He could feel the planks quiver and shake. Far below, the river flowed swiftly between the canyon walls; sharp rocks jutted up from its white, foaming surface. Tanis caught his breath and looked away quickly.

“Don’t look down,” he said to the others, feeling a chill emptiness where his stomach had been. For an instant he couldn’t move, then, getting a grip on himself, he edged his way forward. Berem came right behind him, fear of the dragonmen completely obliterating any other terrors the Everman might have experienced.

After Berem came Tasslehoff, walking lightly with kender skill, peering over the edge in wonder. Then the terrified Flint, supported by Fizban. Finally Tika and Caramon set foot on the shivering planks, keeping nervous watch behind them.

Tanis was nearly halfway across when part of the platform gave way, the rotten wood splintering beneath his feet.

Acting instinctively, in a paroxysm of terror, he clutched desperately at the planking and caught hold of the edge. But the rotten wood crumbled in his grasp. His fingers slipped and—

—a hand closed over his wrist.

“Berem!” Tanis gasped. “Hold on!” He forced himself to hang limply, knowing that any movement on his part would only make Berem’s hold on him harder to maintain.

“Pull him up!” he heard Caramon roar, then, “Don’t anybody move! The whole thing’s liable to give way!”

His face tight with the strain, sweat beading on his forehead, Berem pulled. Tanis saw the muscles on the man’s arm bulge, the veins nearly burst from the skin. With what seemed like agonizing slowness, Berem dragged the half-elf up over the edge of the broken bridge. Here Tanis collapsed. Shaking with fright, he lay clinging to the wood, shivering.

Then he heard Tika cry out. Raising his head, he realized with grim amusement that he had probably just gained his life only to lose it. About thirty draconians appeared on the trail behind them. Tanis turned to look across the gaping hole in the center of the bridge. The other side of the platform was still standing. He might jump across the huge hole to safety, and so might Berem and Caramon—but not Tas, not Flint, not Tika, or the old mage.

“Excellent targets, you said,” Caramon murmured, drawing his sword.

“Cast a spell. Old One!” Tasslehoff said suddenly.

“What?” Fizban blinked.

“A spell!” Tas cried, pointing at the draconians, who—seeing the companions trapped on the bridge—hurried up to finish them off.

“Tas, we’re in enough trouble,” Tanis began, the bridge creaking beneath his feet. Moving warily, Caramon stationed himself squarely in front of them, facing the draconians.

Fitting an arrow to his bowstring, Tanis fired. A draconian clutched its chest and fell, shrieking, off the cliff. The half-elf fired again and hit again. The draconians in the center of the line hesitated, milling about in confusion. There was no cover, no way to escape the half-elf’s deadly barrage. The draconians in the front of the line surged forward toward the bridge.

At that moment, Fizban began to cast his spell.

Hearing the old mage chant, Tanis felt his heart sink. Then he reminded himself bitterly that they really couldn’t be in a worse position. Berem, next to him, was watching the draconians with a stoic composure that Tanis found startling until he remembered that Berem didn’t fear death; he would always return to life. Tanis fired again and another draconian howled in pain. So intent was he on his targets that he forgot Fizban until he heard Berem gasp in astonishment. Glancing up, Tanis saw Berem staring into the sky. Following Berem’s gaze, the half-elf was so astonished he nearly dropped his bow.

Descending from the clouds, glittering brightly in the dying rays of the sun was a long golden bridge span. Guided by motions of the old mage’s hand, the golden span dropped down out of the heavens to close the gap in the bridge.

Tanis came to his senses. Looking around, he saw that—for the moment—the draconians were also transfixed—staring at the golden span with glittering reptilian eyes.

“Hurry!” Tanis yelled. Gripping Berem by the arm, he dragged the Everman after him and jumped up onto the span as it hovered just about a foot above the gap. Berem followed, stumbling up clumsily. Even as they stood on it, the span kept dropping, slowing a bit under Fizban’s guidance.

The span was still about eight inches above the platform when Tasslehoff, shrieking wildly, leaped onto it, pulling the awestruck dwarf up after him. The draconians—suddenly realizing their prey was going to escape—howled in rage and surged onto the wooden bridge. Tanis stood on the golden span, near its end, firing his arrows at the lead draconians. Caramon remained behind, driving them back with his sword.

“Get on across!” Tanis ordered Tika as she hopped onto the span beside him. “Stay beside Berem. Keep an eye on him. You, too, Flint, go with her. Go on!” he snarled viciously.

“I’ll stay with you, Tanis,” Tasslehoff offered.

Casting a backward glance at Caramon, Tika reluctantly obeyed orders, grabbing hold of Berem and shoving him along before her. Seeing the draconians coming, he needed little urging. Together they dashed across the span onto the remaining half of the wooden bridge. It creaked alarmingly beneath their weight. Tanis only hoped it would hold, but he couldn’t spare a glance. Apparently it was, for he heard Flint’s thick boots clumping across it.

“We made it!” Tika yelled from the side of the canyon.

“Caramon!” Tanis shouted, firing another arrow, trying to keep his footing on the golden span.

“Go ahead!” Fizban snapped at Caramon irritably. “I’m concentrating. I have to set the span down in the right place. A few more centimeters to the left, I think—”

“Tasslehoff, go on across!” Tanis ordered.

“I’m not leaving Fizban!” said the kender stubbornly as Caramon stepped up onto the golden span. The draconians, seeing the big warrior leaving, surged forward again. Tanis fired arrows as fast as he could; one draconian lay on the bridge in a pool of green blood, another toppled over the edge. But the half-elf was growing tired. Worse, he was running out of arrows. And the draconians kept coming. Caramon came to a stop beside Tanis on the span.

“Hurry, Fizban!” pleaded Tasslehoff, wringing his hands.

“There!” Fizban said in satisfaction. “Perfect fit. And the gnomes said I was no engineer.”

Just as he spoke, the golden span carrying Tanis, Caramon, and Tasslehoff dropped firmly into place between the two sections of the broken bridge.

And at that moment, the other half of the wooden bridge—the half still standing, the half that led to safety on the other side of the canyon—creaked, crumbled, and fell into the canyon.

“In the name of the gods!” Caramon gulped in fear, catching hold of Tanis and dragging him back just as the half-elf had been about to set foot on the wooden planking.

“Trapped!” Tanis said hoarsely, watching the logs tumble end over end into the ravine, his soul seeming to plummet with them. On the other side, he could hear Tika scream, her cries blending with the exultant shouts of the draconians.

There was a rending, snapping sound. The draconian’s cries of exultation changed at once to horror and fear.

“Look! Tanis!” Tasslehoff cried in wild excitement. “Look!”

Tanis glanced back in time to see the other part of the wooden bridge tumble into the ravine, carrying with it most of the draconians. He felt the golden span shudder.

“We’ll fall, too!” Caramon roared. “There’s nothing to support—”

Caramon’s tongue froze to the roof of his mouth. With a strangled gulp, he looked slowly from side to side.