Margaret Weis - Heroes And Fools

“It’s harvested from the hie honeycombs of the giant bees just hie outside the village,” Gustin explained, pointing roughly to the south. “Uldred, Mesk, hie Puldar, go to the hive and gather more for our most important guest. Hic . Honey for Reorx!”

There were bowls of blueberries sprinkled with sugar, more ale, yams drowning in creamy butter, cinnamon sticks, more ale. The air continued to buzz with praise for the god who had deigned to grace the town of Neidarbard with his lofty presence.

“Where’d Chaos banish all the gods to?” This from a woman with a chocolate-covered spoon. She hadn’t been drinking as much as the others and was easier to understand. “Was it t’other side of the world? Or maybe not on this world?”

The draconian swallowed a big piece of boar meat. “I am not permitted to say, kind woman. Chaos hie bid that location be kept a secret from all mortals.”

There were murmurs of “I understand.”

“So why’d you return to Krynn? Did Chaos let you free?” The same woman.

The draconian speared a yam. “He did not let me.”

There was a chorus of oooohs punctuated by clinking mugs.

“I defied him and escaped his secret place. I was too long away from hie Krynn and the company of dwarves and kender,” he continued, puffing out his dwarven chest. The yam slid easily down his throat, followed by another swig of ale. “So I decided on my own to return. Chaos does not know I’m here. When he was not looking, I cleverly escaped. Hence, I must be going. If I am to summon the other gods, I must do so before he finds me out and tries to stop me. Hic . Perhaps, though, I shall have just one more slice of boar.”

The draconian’s gaze drifted from face to face between bites of boar and blueberries. Some of the musicians had finished their meal and were striking up a sprightly tune. The melody was pleasing to the sivak’s ears. They were all so. . happy. It was an emotion generally denied him, abhorred by him, a weak sentiment that had no place in the lives of he and his fellows. He couldn’t recall that he’d ever been happy before. He found himself grinning like everybody else.

“Maybe you can stay for the dance tonight!” This from a young dwarven woman in a red gown trimmed with embroidered daisies.

“Stay? No.” How long had it been since he killed the dwarf? An hour? Two? He needed to be leaving before he lost hold of this form and his sivak body returned. That would certainly put an end to the merriment, and possibly an end to his life, as several of the sturdiest-looking dwarves carried swords and hammers. Still, he did not feel the tingling that usually signaled he was soon to shed his form. Perhaps he was wrong about the time. Perhaps he could tarry. He felt for the cadence of his heart and found that it seemed to beat in time with the dwarven drums.

“For one dance?” She politely persisted.

“I really should be going. Gods to summon, plagues to end, hie dragons to deal with, and other important business I must attend to. . ”

Another ale was thrust into his hand and quickly found its way down his throat. It all tasted so good. There was no tingling, no hint of the coming reversion to his beloved self. Perhaps there was something in this wonderful ale that was allowing him to retain this wonderful body longer-even forever.

“I want you to have this.” An elderly dwarven woman swayed up behind him, placed a medallion around his neck. “My husband mined the gold it’s made of. Gave this to me when we were young and when all the gods walked on Krynn.”

“ Hic , I want hic, you to have hic, this.” Gustin Stoutbeard was unfastening a badge from his tunic, a dark purple ribbon from which hung a gold charm hammered in the face of a dwarf. “It’s a symbol of you. Hic. Hic . It was cast years ago and given to me by the previous hic, mayor.” The acting mayor turned, his belly bumping into the dra-conian and nearly knocking him out of his seat. He thrust the pin into the draconian’s cape, where a cloak clasp would hang, not noticing the draconian cringe at being stabbed by the long sharp object.

“And this!” A small dwarven child passed her his doll. “It’s my favorite.”

“I can’t accept these,” the sivak protested. “Now I really hic, must be leaving.”

Another mug of ale was placed in front of him. The musicians were playing a slow tune now, rich with a complicated countermelody that sometimes drifted off-key. The sivak found himself humming along.

“You hic, must hic, accept our gifts!” the acting mayor returned. He looked crestfallen. “We revere you above all the hic, gods. Reorx the hic, Forge, the greatest hic, of Krynn’s gods. It was you who hic, tamed Chaos to form the world, and it was you who created the stars by hic, striking your hammer against Chaos.”

“It is true,” the sivak admitted, as he ran his thick fingers around the lip of the tankard. “I did indeed create the stars. Hie. My crowning achievement, I think. Of course, I am also rather proud of the mountains. I made them with a brush of my hand.”

“You are the father of dwarves and kender, and we owe you our lives,” said the young kender with two topknots whom he had met when he first entered the village. “You forged the Graygem. Without you, the Chaos War would have been lost. Krynn would be no more.”

Mugs were clanked together in toasts to the Forge, and dwarves slapped each other on the back and swayed in their seats.

“Well, yes,” the draconian evenly intoned. “The Chaos War would have turned out much worse had I not taken some steps to intervene and help mortals. Yes, I will happily accept your gifts.”

The acting mayor instantly brightened and cleared his throat. “The most hic, powerful of all the gods, we knew it would be you who came back to hic, Krynn first. We knew that you would show yourself to your hic, children, the dwarves and kender of Thorbardin. Hie.”

A cheer went up, and the draconian was passed another thick slice of bread with the last of the wonderful honey atop it. The boys would be back from the honeycomb soon with more, he was told.

Maybe I could linger for one dance, he thought. He’d never danced before. How long had it been since he killed the dwarf? It couldn’t have been that long ago, he told himself. The time didn’t matter anymore, did it? The ale was forestalling the transformation. He closed his eyes and savored the last few bites of the boar, felt the meal resting comfortably in his very full stomach. He listened to the band and the bubbling of the fountain, the slurred conversations of his new friends. They were much better company than his own kind, he decided. They loved him.

His expression grew wistful, and he pushed himself away from the table, tucking the doll under his arm and finding that it took a bit of concentration to stand without wobbling. He glanced over his shoulder toward the fountain, and noticed that the paper lanterns were being lit and that the sun was setting. “Yes, I believe hic, I can stay for a dance or two before I must leave to summon Mishakal and Habbakuk, Solanari and the others.”

“But not Takhisis!” cried the kender with two topknots. “Please don’t summon Takhisis!”

There were hisses and softly muttered curses at the mention of the Dark Queen’s name.

“No. Rest assured hic, that I will not be summoning Takhisis.” He grinned inwardly, as it was the first real truth he’d uttered since entering the village.

“Doyoureallyhavetoleave?” asked an elderly kender who was gripping the table to keep from falling over. “SummonthegodsfromNeidarbard!”

The acting mayor pushed away from the table and stood, wobbling from the effects of the ale. “Now, now, good folk of hic, Neidarbard. We have been hic, truly hic, blessed this day. Never before has a god, the god of Krynn, set foot in our hic, fair village. We must not be selfish, and hic, we must not-”