Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

The kender was torn. He started to pick up the book, then his hand hovered over the spectacles, then went back to the book. At last it occurred to him that he could do both—he could put on the spectacles and look at the book.

He picked up the spectacles and slid them over his ears, noting, as he did so, that they appeared to have been made just for him. Most spectacles were way too big and slid down his nose. These stayed put. Pleased, he looked out through the glass and saw that the ruby glass made the redtinged fog even redder than it had been before. Other than that, the spectacles didn’t really do anything. They didn’t make his eyes go all blurry as did other spectacles. Thinking that these spectacles weren’t good for much, Tas picked up the book.

He scrutinized the title. “‘Being a History of Duncan, High King of Thorbardin, with Full and Complete Accounts of the Ogre Battles, the Dwarfgate Wars, and Subsequent Tragic Ramifications Involving Civil Unrest.’ Whew!” Tas paused to straighten out his tongue that had gotten all tangled up over that last bit.

Flint came peering through the fog. “Tasslehoff, you rattle-brain, where have you gotten to?” Tas snatched off the spectacles and thrust them in one of his pockets. He had found them lying about, which made them fair game, but he wasn’t certain Flint would see it that way, and Tas didn’t want to waste time arguing.

“I’m over here,” he called.

“Doing what?” Flint demanded, seeing the light and bearing down on him.

“Nothing,” Tas said, hurt. “Just taking a look at this old book. I can read Dwarvish, Flint. I can’t speak it or understand it, but I can read it. Isn’t that interesting?”

Flint took away the lantern and glanced at the book. “That’s not Dwarvish, you ninny. I don’t know what it is. Any sign of Arman?”

“Who? Oh, him. No, but take a look at this book. It’s about King Duncan. The title says so, along with a bunch of other stuff about rams and civil unrest.”

He stopped talking, because suddenly he couldn’t read the title. The words had gone back to being squiggles, whorls, dots, dashes and curlicues. When he’d seen them through the spectacles, they had been words. When he looked at them now, with the spectacles tucked in his pocket, they weren’t. Tas had a sneaking hunch he knew what was going on.

He glanced about to see if Flint was watching. The dwarf was calling out Arman’s name, but no one answered.

“I don’t like this,” Flint muttered.

“If he is out there searching for the Hammer, he wouldn’t be likely to tell us where, would he?” Tas pointed out. “He wants to beat us to it.”

Flint grunted and rubbed his nose, then muttered again and pulled out the map. Holding it in his hand, he went over to stare and poke at a wall. He looked at the map, then looked back, frowning, at the wall. “Must be a hidden door here somewhere.” He started to tap the wall with his hammer. “According to the map, the Promenade of Nobles is on the other side, but I can’t figure out how to get to it.”

Tas took out the spectacles and held them to his eyes and looked down at the book. Sure enough, the Ramifications and Subesquents were back. Tas peered through the spectacles at Flint, to see if they made the dwarf look different.

Flint looked the same, rather to Tas’s disappointment. The wall, however, had changed a good deal. In fact, it wasn’t a wall at all.

“There’s no wall, Flint,” Tas told him. “Just keep walking and you’ll be inside a dark hall with statues all lined up in a row.”

“What do you mean there’s no wall? Of course, there’s a wall! Look at it!” As Flint turned to glare at him, Tas whipped off the spectacles and held them behind his back. This was more fun than he’d had in a long time. The wall was there once again. A solid stone wall.

“Whoa!” breathed Tas, awed.

“Quit wasting time,” Flint snapped, “and come over and help me look for the secret door. On the other side of this wall is the Promenade. We walk down it, go up some stairs and then go up some more stairs, and we’re at the entrance to the Ruby Chamber with the Hammer!” He rubbed his hands. “We’re close. Really close! We just have to find some way past this blasted wall!” He went back to tapping at the stone work. Tas held up the spectacles, took one last look, then, secreting them in his pocket, he walked boldly up to the wall, closed his eyes—in case the spectacles might be wrong and he was going to smash his nose—and walked straight into the stones.

He heard Flint bellow, then he heard the bellow get stuck in the dwarf’s windpipe so that it turned into a choke, and then Flint was yelling. “Tas! You rattle-brain! Where did you go?” Tas turned around. He could see Flint quite clearly, but apparently the dwarf couldn’t see him, because Flint was running up and down in front of a stone wall that wasn’t there.

“I’m on the other side,” Tas called. “I told you. There’s no wall. It just looks like there’s a wall. You can walk through it!”

Flint hesitated, dithered a little bit, then he put the hammer back in its harness and set down the lantern on the floor. Holding one hand over his eyes and thrusting the other hand in front of him, he walked forward slowly and gingerly.

Nothing happened. Flint took away his hand from his eyes. He found himself, just as Tas had said, in a long, dark hallway lined with statues of dwarves, each standing in its own niche.

“You forgot the lantern,” said Tas, and he went back to fetch it.

Flint stared at the kender in wonder. “How did you know that wall wasn’t real?”

“It was marked on the map,” Tas said. He handed Flint the lantern. “Where does this corridor lead?”

Flint looked back at the map. “No, it isn’t.”

“Bah!” Tas said. “What do you know about maps? I’m the expert. Are we going down this hall or not?”

Flint looked at the map and scratched his head. He looked back at the wall that wasn’t there, then stared at the kender. Tas smiled at him brightly. Flint frowned, then walked off down the corridor, flashing the light over the statues and muttering to himself, something he tended to do a lot when he was around the kender.

Tasslehoff put his hand into his pocket, patted the spectacles, and sighed with bliss. They were magic! Not even Raistlin had such a wonderful pair of spectacles as this.

Tas meant to keep these marvelous spectacles forever and ever, or at least for the next couple of weeks, which, to a kender, amounts to roughly the same thing.

As Flint walked the Grand Promenade, flashing the lantern light here and there, he forgot Tasslehoff and the mystery of the vanishing stone wall. The Hammer was as good as his. In each niche he passed stood a statue of a dwarven warrior clad in the armor of the time of King Duncan. Moving down the long row, Flint imagined himself surrounded by an honor guard of dwarven soldiers, clad in their ceremonial finery, assembled to pay him homage. He could hear their cheers: Flint Fireforge, the Hammer-Finder! Flint Fireforge, the Unifier! Flint Fireforge, the Bringer of the Dragonlance! Flint Fireforge, High King!

No, Flint decided. He didn’t want to be High King. Being king would mean he’d have to live under the mountain, and he was too fond of fresh air, blue sky, and sunshine to do that. But the other titles sounded fine to him, especially the Bringer of the Dragonlance. He came to the end of the rows of dwarven soldiers and there was Sturm, splendid in his armor, saluting him. Next to him stood Caramon, looking very solemn, and Raistlin, meek and humble in the great dwarf’s presence.

Laurana was there, too, smiling on him and giving him a kiss, and Tika was there, and Otik, promising him a life-time supply of free ale if he would honor the inn with his presence. Tasslehoff popped up, grinning and waving, but Flint banished him. No kender in this dream. He passed Hornfel, who bowed deeply, and came to Tanis, who regarded his old friend with pride. There, at the end of the row, was the flashily dressed dwarf from his dream. The dwarf winked at him.