Ник О'Донохью - Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

Come, squirrel, tell me your name

My name? Squirrel, I guess .

No, tell me your real name. I don’t think you are truly a squirrel. What is your real name?

I don’t know .

Think, won’t you ?

The squirrel tried, but thinking only made his head throb worse. Let it go, cat—Pytr. I think I’ll nap .

I don’t think you should.

Why? Maybe I’ll dream again, maybe ...

Ah! The dreams . Pytr purred softly, nudged the squirrel through the bars, and managed to ignore the cat-hunger that reminded him just how tasty a squirrel could be. Don’t sleep, squirrel. Talk to me, eh? Tell me, how did he catch you ?

Right outside the door . The squirrel sighed. Right outside the door .

That’s why I thought you were really a squirrel. I didn’t see him change you. I thought—well, I’m sorry, but I thought you were dinner .

I can understand how you would. But I still think I am .

Dinner ?

No. A squirrel. I don’t remember being “changed.” I think I’ve always been a squirrel .

Squirrels don’t dream, remember ?

Maybe crazy squirrels do

No, no, you’re not crazy, squirrel . Pytr made a sound low in his throat that might have been a chuckle. You’re not crazy .

The squirrel looked up then, and Pytr thought he saw the light of some memory shine in his black eyes.

Not crazy—stone-headed .

What ?

A stone-headed ... something. That’s what he always calls me. I don’t think he really means it, but that’s what he always calls me .

Pytr purred his satisfaction. Who? Who calls you that ?

But the light and the memory were gone. The squirrel curled up again, nose to tail, and sighed heavily. I don’t know. I can’t remember. Won’t you let me sleep now, Pytr? I need to sleep. It’s winter. I need to sleep .

Poor squirrel , Pytr thought. He slipped from the table and crossed the room to the hearth. He didn’t see any way he could help, though he badly wanted to.

Rieve , he thought, growling at the moonless night and wondering if there were any mice to be had, You are going to have so much to pay for .

There was a certain elegance about Raistlin’s plan. Tanis acknowledged it with a grin.

“What do you want us to do, Raistlin?”

“Eat.”

Tanis frowned. “What?”

“Eat. Eat everything you can, all the provisions we brought along.” The young mage’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “That should be no trial for my brother, but everyone should eat until he is full.”

“But—”

“Don’t debate with me, Tanis. I know what I’m doing. But, I will tell you why. These are not the shapes of animals that you will be taking on. You will be these creatures. And the primary need of an animal in winter is to be sure that his belly is full. If that need is not satisfied, all of your other purposes will fall aside. You will have, to a degree, your own minds, but not your own bodies, nor your own instincts. And instinct to an animal is what your mind is to you. Do you understand?”

Tanis did, and he was not certain now that the plan was quite so elegant. “Raistlin, I—”

The young mage raised an eyebrow, offered a mild challenge. “Afraid, Tanis?”

“I’d be a fool if I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you would be. What does it come down to, then? Can you trust me? You’ll have to answer that. For yourself and for the others. They will do what you ask of them.”

Tanis knew that this was true. It had been proved many times before now. He looked away from the young mage to where his friends sat near the morning’s dying fire. Caramon, he thought, would not require convincing. He trusted his twin completely. Sturm, speaking quietly with Wren who yet rode his wrist, could be made to understand. But Flint? There would be a problem. The old dwarf disliked and mistrusted anything that had to do with magic.

As though he heard the half-elf’s thought, Raistlin leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Let Flint be the first. I’ll do it quickly, before he knows.”

“Why?”

“If you give him a chance to argue, we could be here until the day after tomorrow.”

Tanis smiled without humor. It was true. “He’ll be all right?”

“He’ll be fine. You all will be. They trust you, Tanis. Do you trust me?”

Trust was a habit, gained slowly and lost quickly. The habit of trusting Raistlin was still on him, despite the unease Tanis felt now. “I trust you.”

“Good. Then go tell them to eat. The last thing we need is one of us turning on another out of hunger. Most particularly,” he said, smiling as though over some private jest, “my brother.”

I trust you, Tanis thought as he rose to leave, but you do make it hard sometimes.

Raistlin was kind with his choices. And kind in other matters. Tanis knew that when he saw the young mage step silently behind Flint as though the old dwarf was the last thing on his mind. The air around the two shivered, sighed softly, and before Tanis could draw a breath, Flint was gone.

In his place stood a dog who shook himself as though shaking off rain. Tanis grinned. This was no lean-shanked mongrel, but a broad-chested, thick-furred shepherd’s dog. Though the dog’s muzzle was white with invading age, his long, tapered jaws were still powerful. Those jaws, Tanis knew, could tear the throat out of a marauding wolf. Or, under noble restraint, could lift a kitten carefully by the scruff of its neck to carry it out of harm’s way. It was to this breed that shepherds had trusted their flocks and their families for generations.

Right now, though, Flint the dog looked dangerous. Ears back, he snarled and bared long teeth made for slashing.

Wren left Sturm’s wrist and dropped to the ground before the dog. She whispered something that sounded like encouragement and the snarling faded to a familiar low grumbling. As he’d planned with Raistlin, Tanis dropped to his knee beside the dog— Flint! he reminded himself—and tied around his neck a bright blue square of cloth torn from the spare shirt in the dwarf’s pack. There was a look in the shepherd dog’s eyes that made Tanis glad he resisted the urge to ruffle the silky ears.

Caramon drew a breath to speak—to laugh or question, Tanis didn’t know—and suddenly a tawny panther, muscles rippling, tail switching restlessly, stood where once Raistlin’s twin had sat.

Well done! Tanis thought. Across the panther’s thick chest and shoulders he strapped Caramon’s belt in the form of a harness. He looked around for Sturm but saw neither the young man nor a beast to which he might have been changed.

“Raistlin?”

The mage pointed upward to the trees. A black-headed, gray-bodied peregrine falcon sounded a long, high wail and spread its wings with unconscious grace.

He knows them, Tanis thought, he knows them well to choose so fittingly. He offered his wrist, and the falcon glided down, gripping with sharp talons.

“Easy, Sturm, easy!”

The grip relaxed a little; when the falcon lowered his head Tanis slipped a tightly knotted thong and the signet ring from which Sturm was never parted over the peregrine’s head.

“Only one left, Tanis,” Raistlin said softly.

“I’m ready.”

Raistlin met the half-elf’s eyes and held them. “I’ll be with you,” he assured. “I’ll be right with you to bring you back.”

“I know.”

Once more the air shivered, then sighed. Raistlin was alone in the clearing with Wren, the shepherd dog, the panther, the bright-eyed falcon, and a quick, red-pelted fox.