Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

“I don’t believe it—” he muttered.

“Somehow, I do...” Tanis drew a shuddering breath.

In the center of the canyon, suspended in midair, hung the magical golden span, glittering in the light of the setting sun as the wooden bridge on either side of it plunged into the ravine. Upon the span stood four figures, staring down at the ruins beneath them—and across the great gaps between them and the sides of the gorge.

For long moments, there was complete, absolute, deathly silence. Then Fizban turned triumphantly to Tanis.

“Wonderful spell,” said the mage with pride. “Got a rope?”

It was well after dark by the time the companions finally got off the golden span. Flinging a rope to Tika, they waited while she and the dwarf fastened it securely to a tree. Then—one by one—Tanis, Caramon, Tas, and Fizban swung off the span and were hauled up the side of the cliff by Berem. When they were all across, they collapsed, exhausted from fatigue. So tired were they that they didn’t even bother to find shelter, but spread their blankets in a grove of scrubby pine trees and set the watch. Those not on duty fell instantly asleep.

The next morning, Tanis woke, stiff and aching. The first thing he saw was the sun shining brightly off the sides of the golden span—still suspended solidly in mid-air.

“I don’t suppose you can get rid of that thing?” he asked Fizban as the old mage helped Tas hand out a breakfast of quith-pa.

“I’m afraid not...” the old man said, eyeing the span wistfully.

“He tried a few spells this morning,” Tas said, nodding in the direction of a pine tree completely covered with cobwebs and another that was burned to a crisp. “I figured he better quit before he turned us all into crickets or something.”

“Good idea,” muttered Tanis, staring gloomily out at the gleaming span. “Well, we couldn’t leave a clearer trail if we painted an arrow on the side of the cliff.” Shaking his head, he sat down beside Caramon and Tika.

“They’ll be after us, too, you can bet,” Caramon said, munching half-heartedly on quith-pa. “Have dragons bring ’em across.” Sighing, he stuck most of the dried fruit back in his pouch.

“Caramon?” said Tika. “You didn’t eat much...”

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled as he stood up. “Guess I’ll scout ahead a ways.” Shouldering his pack and his weapons, he started off down the trail.

Her face averted, Tika began busily packing away her things, avoiding Tanis’s gaze.

“Raistlin?” Tanis asked.

Tika stopped. Her hands dropped into her lap.

“Will he always be like this, Tanis?” she asked helplessly, looking fondly after him. “I don’t understand!”

“I don’t either,” Tanis said quietly, watching the big man disappear into the wilderness. “But, then, I never had a brother or a sister.”

“I understand!” said Berem. His soft voice quivered with a passion that caught Tanis’s attention.

“What do you mean?”

But—at his question—the eager, hungry look on the Everman’s face vanished.

“Nothing—” he mumbled, his face a blank mask.

“Wait!” Tanis rose quickly. “Why do you understand Caramon?” He put his hand on Berem’s arm.

“Leave me alone!” Berem shouted fiercely, flinging Tanis backward.

“Hey, Berem,” Tasslehoff said, looking up and smiling as if he hadn’t heard a thing. “I was sorting through my maps and I found one that has the most interesting story—”

Giving Tanis a hunted glance, Berem shuffled over to where Tasslehoff sat cross-legged on the ground, his sheaf of maps spread out all around him. Hunching down over the maps, the Everman soon appeared lost in wonder, listening to one of Tas’s tales.

“Better leave him alone, Tanis,” Flint advised. “If you ask me, the only reason he understands Caramon is that he’s as crazy as Raistlin.”

“I didn’t ask you, but that’s all right,” Tanis said, sitting down beside the dwarf to eat his own ration of quith-pa. “We’re going to have to be going soon. With luck, Tas will find a map—”

Flint snorted. “Humpf! A lot of good that will do us. The last map of his we followed took us to a sea port without a sea!”

Tanis hid his smile. “Maybe this will be different,” he said. “At least it’s better than following Fizban’s directions.”

“Well, you’re right there,” the dwarf admitted grumpily. Giving Fizban a sideways glance, Flint leaned over near Tanis. “Didn’t you ever wonder how he managed to live through that fall at Pax Tharkas?” he asked in a loud whisper.

“I wonder about a lot of things,” Tanis said quietly. “Like— how are you feeling?”

The dwarf blinked, completely taken aback by the unexpected question. “Fine!” he snapped, his face flushing.

“It’s just, sometimes I’ve seen you rub your left arm,” Tanis continued.

“Rheumatism,” the dwarf growled. “You know it always bothers me in the spring. And sleeping on the ground doesn’t help. I thought you said we should be moving along.” The dwarf busied himself with packing.

“Right.” Tanis turned away with a sigh. “Found anything, Tas?”

“Yes, I think so,” the kender said eagerly. Rolling up his maps, he stashed them in his map case, then slipped the case into a pouch, taking a quick peek at his golden dragon while he was at it. Although seemingly made of metal, the figurine changed position in the oddest way. Right now, it was curled around a golden ring—Tanis’s ring, one Laurana had given him and he had returned to her, when he told her he was in love with Kitiara. Tasslehoff became so absorbed in staring at the dragon and the ring that he nearly forgot Tanis was waiting.

“Oh,” he said, hearing Tanis cough impatiently. “Map. Right. Yes, you see, once when I was just a little kender, my parents and I traveled through the Khalkist Mountains—that’s where we are now—on our way to Kalaman. Usually, you know, we took the northern, longer route. There was a fair, every year, at Taman Busuk, where they sold the most marvelous things, and my father never missed it. But one year—I think it was the year after he’d been arrested and put in the stocks over a misunderstanding with a jeweler—we decided to go through the mountains. My mother’d always wanted to see Godshome, so we—”

“The map?” interrupted Tanis.

“Yes, the map.” Tas sighed. “Here. It was my father’s, I think. Here’s where we are, as near as Fizban and I can figure. And here’s Godshome.”

“What’s that?”

“An old city. It’s in ruins, abandoned during the Cataclysm—”

“And probably crawling with draconians,” Tanis finished.

“No, not that Godshome,” Tas continued, moving his small finger over into the mountains near the dot that marked the city. “This place is also called Godshome. In fact, it was called that long before there was a city, according to Fizban.” Tanis glanced at the old mage, who nodded.

“Long ago, people believed the gods lived there,” he said solemnly. “It is a very holy place.”

“And it’s hidden,” added Tas, “in a bowl in the center of these mountains. See? No one ever goes there, according to Fizban. No one knows about the trail except him. And there is a trail marked on my map, at least into the mountains...”

“No one ever goes there?” Tanis asked Fizban.

The old mage’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “No.”

“No one except you?” Tanis pursued.

“I’ve been lots of place, Half-Elven!” The mage snorted. “Got a year? I’ll tell you about them!” He shook a finger at Tanis. “You don’t appreciate me, young man! Always suspicious! And after everything I’ve done for you—”