Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

“I dunno,” said Caramon, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen him in a while, not since Flint left. But then I’ve been fixing Raist’s tea…”

“Sturm,” said Tanis, breaking in on the knight’s prayers, “have you seen Tasslehoff?” Sturm rose stiffly to his feet. He cast a swift glance around the room. “No. I have not been watching over him. I saw him last before Flint left.”

“Search upstairs,” Tanis ordered.

“Why?” Raistlin asked in a whispered gasp. “You know where he has gone! He went after Flint.”

“Search anyway,” said Tanis grimly.

They looked under crates, inside cupboards, and in the upstairs rooms, but there was no sign of the kender. Sturm took the opportunity, when Tanis and Caramon were roaming about the second level, to speak to Raistlin.

“Tas could ruin our plan! What do we do?”

“Nothing we can do about it now,” Raistlin said with a grimace.

“The only nuisances up there are rats,” Caramon reported as he and Tanis came back down the stairs. “We could question the guards to see if they saw him.”

“And we draw attention to the fact that he’s gone missing,” Tanis said. “We’re already in enough trouble without telling Hornfel we’ve unleashed a kender on his unsuspecting populace. Besides, Tas might come back on his own.”

“And I might walk through this solid stone wall,” said Sturm, “but I doubt it.” Raistlin was about to say something but was interrupted by a dwarf opening the door. They froze, waiting for the dire news that Tasslehoff had been found and tossed in the lake, or the dungeons, or worse.

“Breakfast,” the dwarf announced.

The guard held the door while two more dwarves walked in bearing trays laden with heavy wooden bowls. Caramon sniffed the fragrant aroma and immediately took his seat at the table. The others exchanged glances, wondering if the guards would notice they were one person short. The guards did not take a head count, however. They unloaded the bowls from the tray and handed them about, laid out two loaves of dark bread, and a couple of pitchers of ale, then departed, shutting the door behind them.

Everyone breathed a sigh.

“Those were different guards,” said Tanis. “They’re not the same ones who were here when Flint left. They must have changed shifts. Apparently none of them noticed Tas is missing. Let’s keep it that way as long as we can.”

Sturm sat at the table. Tanis did the same. Caramon was already ladling out the food.

“Smells good,” he said hungrily. He picked up a bowl and took it over to his brother. “Here, Raist. It’s mushrooms in brown gravy. I think there’s onions in there, too.” Raistlin averted his head.

“You need to eat, Raist,” said Caramon.

“Put it there,” said Raistlin, indicating a table near his chair.

Caramon set the bowl down. Raistlin glanced at it and started to turn away. Then he looked at it more intently.

The meal did smell good. Tanis had not thought he was hungry, but he picked up his spoon. Sturm was praying to Paladine to bless this meal. Caramon, tearing off a hunk of bread, dipped it in the gravy and was bringing it, dripping, to his mouth when the staff of Magius lashed out, struck his hand, and knocked the bread to the floor.

“Don’t eat that!’ Raistlin gasped. “Any of you!”

He swung the staff again and struck Sturm’s bowl, sending it to the floor, and then smashed Tanis’s bowl just as he was digging his spoon into it.

Crockery broke. Gravy splattered. Mushrooms went sliding across the table and fell to the floor. Everyone stared at Raistlin.

“It’s poison! Those mushrooms! Deadly poison! Look!” He pointed.

Attracted by the food on the floor, rats had come slinking out of their holes to take their share. One started to lap up the spilled gravy. It took no more than a couple of slurps before its small body quivered, then stiffened. The rat flopped over sideways, its limbs writhing. Froth bubbled on its mouth, and after a moment’s agony, it went limp. The other rats either took warning from their comrade’s terrible fate, or they didn’t like the smell, for they skittered back to their holes. Caramon went white, and jumping from the table, he made another trip to the slop bucket. Sturm stared, transfixed, at the dead rat.

Tanis dropped his spoon. His hands were shaking. “How did you know?”

“If you remember, I studied the mushrooms when we passed through the forest,” said Raistlin.

“Some of you thought my interest quite amusing, as I recall. Arman and I were discussing dwarf spirits, which, you know, are made of mushrooms. What I found most interesting is that the mushrooms used to make dwarf spirits are safe to ingest if allowed to ferment but poisonous if eaten either raw or cooked. I’d never come across any other plant or fungi with this characteristic, and I took special note of it. I recognized the dwarf spirit mushrooms in the stew. Whoever tried to kill us assumed we would not know the difference.”

“And we wouldn’t have,” Tanis admitted. “We are grateful, Raistlin.”

“Indeed,” Sturm murmured. He was still staring at the dead rat.

“Who tried to kill us, I wonder?” Tanis said.

“Those dwarves who brought the food!” Sturm cried, jumping to his feet. He ran to the door, yanked it open, and darted out. He returned, bringing with him his sword and Caramon’s.

“They’re gone,” he reported, “and so are the guards. At least we can now retrieve our weapons. We’ll be ready if they come back.”

“Our first concern should be about Flint,” said Raistlin sharply. “Has it not occurred to you that if we came seeking the hammer, then others might be seeking it as well, others such as the Dark Queen and her minions?”

“The dragonlance was responsible for driving Takhisis back into the Abyss,” Sturm said. “You may be sure she would try to keep them from being forged again.”

“They tried to kill us. Flint might already be dead,” Tanis said quietly.

“I do not think so. They would wait to kill him until after he’s found the hammer,” said Raistlin.

“Perhaps all the dwarves are in league with darkness,” Sturm said grimly.

“Once the dark dwarves worshipped Takhisis, or so it is written,” Raistlin said, “and if you remember, Tanis, I asked you how the Theiwar knew the refugees were in the forest. You brushed it off at the time, but I think we have to look no farther than the Theiwar thane. What is his name—”

“Realgar. I agree,” said Tanis. “Hornfel may not trust us or like us, but he doesn’t seem the type to stoop to murder. I don’t see how we prove it, or how we catch them.”

“Easy,” said Caramon, coming back to the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Whoever did this will return to make sure it worked. When they come, they’ll get a surprise.” Raistlin, Tanis, and Sturm looked at Caramon, then looked at each other.

“I am impressed, my brother,” said Raistlin. “Sometimes you show glimmerings of intelligence.” Caramon flushed with pleasure. “Thanks, Raist.”

“So we pretend we’re dead, and when the murderer enters—”

“We grab him and then we make him talk,” said Caramon.

“It could work,” Sturm conceded. “We take the murderer to Hornfel, and this provides proof that Flint is in danger.”

“And Tas,” Caramon reminded them.

“Wherever he is,” Tanis sighed. He’d momentarily forgotten the missing kender.

“Hornfel will have to let us go after Flint,” Sturm concluded.

Tanis wasn’t sure about that, but at least this attempt on their lives would put the Thanes on the defensive, unless the Thanes were all in on this together.