Dragons of Autumn Twilight dc-1

by Margaret Weis

Caramon stared at the creature without fear. "My brother is dying," he shouted. "Do what you will to me. I ask only one thing. Give me my sword so that I can die fighting!"

  The dragon laughed shrilly; the draconians joined it, gurgling and croaking horribly. As the dragon's wings beat the air, it began to rock back and forth, seemingly preparing to leap on the warrior and devour him.

  "This will be fun. Let him have his weapon," the dragon commanded. Its flapping wings caused a wind to whip through the camp, scattering sparks from the fire.

  Caramon shoved the draconian guards aside. Wiping his hand across his eyes, he walked over to the pile of weapons and pulled out his sword. Then he turned to face the dragon, resignation and grief etched into his face. He raised his sword.

  "We can't let him die out there by himself!" Stunn said harshly, and he took a step forward, prepared to break out.

  Suddenly a voice came from the shadows behind them.

  "Hssst… Tanis!"

  The half-elf whirled around. "Flint!" he exclaimed, then glanced apprehensively at the draconian guards, but they were absorbed in watching the spectacle of Caramon and the dragon. Tanis hurried to the back of the bamboo cage where the dwarf stood.

  "Get out of here!" the half-elf ordered. "There's nothing you can do. Raistlin's dying, and the dragon-"

  "Is Tasslehoff," Flint said succinctly.

  "What?" Tanis glared at the dwarf. "Make sense."

  "The dragon is Tasslehoff," Flint repeated patiently.

  For once Tanis was speechless. He stared at the dwarf.

  "The dragon's made of wicker," the dwarf whispered hurriedly. "Tasslehoff sneaked behind it and looked inside. It's rigged! Anyone sitting inside the dragon can make the wings flap and speak through a hollow tube. I guess that's how the priests keep order around here. Anyway, Tasslehoff's the one flapping his wings and threatening to eat Caramon."

  Tanis gasped. "But what do we do? There's still a hundred draconians around. Sooner or later they're going to realize what's going on."

  "Get over to Caramon, you and Riverwind and Sturm. Grab your weapons and packs and the staff. I'll help Goldmoon carry Raistlin into the woods. Tasslehoff's got something in mind. Just be ready."

  Tanis groaned.

  "I don't like it any better than you do," the dwarf growled. "Trusting our lives to that rattle-brained kender. But-well, he is the dragon, after all."

  "He certainly is," Tanis said, eyeing the dragon who was shrieking and wailing and flapping its wings and rocking back and forth. The draconians were staring at it in open-mouthed wonder. Tanis grabbed Sturm and Riverwind and huddled down near Goldmoon, who had not left Raistlin's side. The half-elf explained what was happening. Sturm looked at him as if he were as crazed as Raistlin. Riverwind shook his head.

  "Well, have you got a better plan?" Tanis asked.

  Both of them looked at the dragon, then back at Tanis, and shrugged.

  "Goldmoon goes with the dwarf," Riverwind said.

  She started to protest. He looked at her, his eyes expressionless, and she swallowed and fell silent.

  "Yes," Tanis said. "Stay with Raistlin, lady, please. We'll bring the staff to you."

  "Hurry then," she said through white lips. "He is very nearly gone."

  "We'll hurry," Tanis said grimly. "I have a feeling that once things get started out there, we're going to be moving very fast!" He patted her hand. "Come on." He stood up and took a deep breath.

  Riverwind's eyes were still on Goldmoon. He started to speak, then shook his head irritably and turned without a word to stand beside Tanis. Sturm joined them. The three crept up behind the draconian guards.

  Caramon lifted his sword. It flashed in the firelight. The dragon went into a wild frenzy, and all of the draconians fell back, braying and beating their swords against their shields. Wind from the dragon's wings blew up ashes and sparks from the fire, setting some nearby bamboo huts on fire. The draconians did not notice, so eager were they for the kill. The dragon shrieked and howled, and Caramon felt his mouth go dry and his stomach muscles clench. It was the first time he had ever gone into battle without his brother; the thought made his heart throb painfully. He was about to leap forward and attack when Tanis, Sturm, and Riverwind appeared out of nowhere to stand by his side.

  "We will not let our friend die alone!" the half-elf cried defiantly at the dragon. The draconians cheered wildly.

  "Get out of here, Tanis!" Caramon scowled, his face flushed and streaked with tears. "This is my fight."

  "Shut up and listen!" Tanis ordered. "Get your sword and mine, Sturm. Riverwind, grab your weapons and the packs and any draconian weapons you can pick up to replace those we lost. Caramon, pick up the two staffs."

  Caramon stared at him. "What-"

  "Tasslehoff's the dragon," Tanis said. "There isn't time to explain. Just do as I say! Get the staff and take it into the woods. Goldmoon's waiting." He laid his hand on the warrior's shoulder. Tanis shoved him. "Go! Raistlin's almost finished! You're his only chance."

  This statement reached Caramon's mind. He ran to the pile of weapons and grabbed the blue crystal staff and Raistlin's Staff of Magius, while the draconians yelled. Sturm and Riverwind armed themselves, Sturm bringing Tanis his sword.

  "And now, prepare to die, humans!" the dragon screamed. Its wings gave a great lurch and suddenly the creature was flying, hovering in midair. The draconians croaked and cried out in alarm, some breaking for the woods, others hurling themselves flat on the ground.

  "Now!" yelled Tanis. "Run, Caramon!"

  The big warrior broke for the woods, running swiftly toward where he could see Goldmoon and Flint waiting for him. A draconian appeared in front of him, but Caramon hurled it out of his way with a thrust of his great arm. He could hear a wild commotion behind him, Sturm chanting a Solamnic war cry, draconians yelling. Other draconians leaped at Caramon. He used the blue crystal staff as he had seen Goldmoon use it, swinging it in a wide arc with his huge right hand. It flashed blue flame and the draconians fell back.

  Caramon reached the woods and found Raistlin lying at Goldmoon's feet, barely breathing. Goldmoon grabbed the staff from Caramon and laid it on the mage's inert body. Flint watched, shaking his head. "It won't work," muttered the dwarf. "It's used up."

  "It has to work," Goldmoon said firmly. "Please," she murmured, "whoever is master of this staff, heal this man. Please."

  Unknowing, she repeated it over and over. Caramon watched for a moment, blinking his eyes. Then the woods around him were lit by a gigantic burst of flame.

  "Name of the Abyss!" Flint breathed. "Look at that!"

  Caramon turned just in time to see the great black wicker dragon crash headlong into the blazing bonfire. Flaming logs flew into the air, showering sparks over the camp. The draconians' bamboo huts, some already ablaze, began burning fiercely. The wicker dragon gave a final, horrifying shriek and then it, too, caught fire.

  "Tasslehoff!" Flint swore. "That blasted kender-he's inside there!" Before Caramon could stop him, the dwarf ran out into the blazing draconian camp.

  "Caramon…" Raistlin murmured. The big warrior knelt beside his brother. Raistlin was still pale, but his eyes were open and clear. He sat up, weakly, leaning against his brother and stared out at the raging fire. "What's going on?"

  "I'm not sure," Caramon said. "Tasslehoff turned into a dragon and after that things get real confused. You just rest." The warrior stared into the smoke, his sword drawn and ready in case any draconians came for them.

  But the draconians now had little interest in the prisoners. The smaller breed, panic stricken, were fleeing into the forest as their great god-dragon went up in flames. A few of the robed draconians, bigger and apparently more intelligent than the other species, were trying desperately to bring order to the fearful chaos raging around them.

  Sturm fought and slashed his way through the draconians without encountering any organized resistance. He had just reached the edge of the clearing, near the bamboo cage,
when Flint passed him, running back toward the camp!

  "Hey! Where-" Sturm yelled at the dwarf.

  "Tas-in the dragon!" The dwarf didn't stop.

  Sturm turned and saw the black wicker dragon burning with flames that shot high into the air. Thick smoke boiled up, blanketing the camp, the dank heavy swamp air preventing it from rising and drifting away. Sparks showered down as part of the blazing dragon exploded into the camp. Sturm ducked and batted out sparks that landed on his cape, then ran after the dwarf, catching up with the short-legged Flint easily.

  "Flint," he panted, grasping the dwarf's arm. "It's no use. Nothing could live in that furnace! We've got to get back to the others-"

  "Let go of me!" Flint roared so furiously that Sturm let go in amazement. The dwarf ran for the burning dragon again. Sturm heaved a sigh and ran after him, his eyes beginning to water in the smoke.

  "Tasslehoff Burrfoot!" Flint called. "You idiotic kender! Where are you?"

  There was no answer.

  "Tasslehoff!" Flint screamed. "If you wreck this escape, I'll murder you. So help me-" Tears of frustration and grief and anger and smoke coursed down the dwarf's cheeks.

  The heat was overwhelming. It seared Sturm's lungs, and the knight knew they couldn't breathe much more of this or they would perish themselves. He took hold of the dwarf firmly, intending to knock him out if necessary, when suddenly he saw movement near the edge of the blaze. He rubbed his eyes and looked closer.

  The dragon lay on the ground, the head still connected to the blazing body by a long wicker neck. The head had not caught fire yet, but flames were starting to eat into the wicker neck. The head would soon be ablaze, too. Sturm saw the movement again.

  "Flint! Look!" Sturm ran toward the head, the dwarf pounding along behind. Two small legs encased in bright blue pants were sticking out of the dragon's mouth, kicking feebly.

  "Tas!" Sturm yelled. "Get out! The head's going to burn!"

  "I can't! I'm stuck!" came a muffled voice.

  Sturm stared at the head, frantically trying to figure out how to free the kender, while Flint just grabbed hold of Tas's legs and pulled.

  "Ouch! Stop!" yelled Tas.

  "No good," the dwarf puffed. "He's stuck fast."

  The inferno crept up the dragon's neck.

  Sturm drew his sword. "I may cut off his head," he muttered to Flint, "but it's his only chance." Estimating the size of the kender, guessing where his head would be, and hoping his hands weren't stretched out over his head, Sturm lifted his sword above the dragon's neck.

  Flint closed his eyes.

  The knight took a deep breath and brought his blade crash ing down on the dragon, severing the head from the neck. There was a cry from the kender inside but whether from pain or astonishment Sturm couldn't tell.

  "Pull!" he yelled at the dwarf.

  Flint grabbed hold of the wicker head and pulled it away from the blazing neck. Suddenly a tall, dark shape loomed out of the smoke. Sturm whipped around, sword ready, then saw it was Riverwind.

  "What are yo-" The Plainsman stared at the dragon's head. Perhaps Flint and Sturm had gone mad.

  "The kender's stuck in there!" Sturm yelled. "We can't take the head apart out here, surrounded by draconians! We've got to-"

  His words were lost in a roar of flame, but Riverwind finally saw the blue legs sticking out of the dragon's mouth. He grabbed hold of one side of the dragon's head, thrusting his hands in one of the eyesockets. Sturm got hold of the other, and together they lifted the head-kender inside-and began running through the camp. Those few draconians they encountered took one look at the terrifying apparition and fled.

  "C'mon, Raist," Caramon said solicitously, his arm around his brother's shoulder. "You've got to try and stand. We have to be ready to move out of here. How do you feel?"

  "How do I ever feel?" whispered Raistlin bitterly. "Help me up. There! Now leave me in peace for a moment." He leaned against a tree, shivering but standing.

  "Sure, Raist," Caramon said, hurt, backing off. Goldmoon glanced at Raistlin in disgust, remembering Caramon's grief when he thought his brother was dying. She turned away to watch for the others, staring through the gathering smoke.

  Tanis appeared first, running so fast he crashed into Caramon. The big warrior caught him in his huge arms, breaking the half-elf's forward momentum and keeping him on his feet.

  "Thanks!" Tanis gasped. He leaned over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. "Where are the others?"

  "Weren't they with you?" Caramon frowned.

  "We got separated." Tanis drew in huge gulps of air, then coughed as the smoke flew down his lungs.

  "SuTorakh!" interrupted Goldmoon in an awed voice. Tanis and Caramon both spun around in alarm, staring out into the smoke-filled camp to see a grotesque sight emerging from the swirling smoke. A dragon's head with a forked blue tongue was lunging at them. Tanis blinked in disbelief, then he heard a sound behind him that nearly made him leap into a tree in panic. He whirled around, heart in his throat, sword in his hand.

  Raistlin was laughing.

  Tanis had never heard the mage laugh before-even when Raistlin was a child-and he hoped he would never hear it again. It was weird, shrill, mocking laughter. Caramon stared at his brother in amazement, Goldmoon in horror. Finally the sound of Raistlin's laughter died until the mage was laughing silently, his golden eyes reflecting the glow of the draconian camp going up in flames.

  Tanis shuddered and turned back around to see that in fact the dragon's head was carried by Sturm and Riverwind. Flint raced along in front, a draconian helm on his head. Tanis ran forward to meet them.

  "What in the name of-"

  "The kender's stuck in here!" Sturm said. He and Riverwind dropped the head to the ground, both of them breathing heavily. "We've got to get him out." Sturm eyed the laughing Raistlin warily. "What's the matter with him? Still poisoned?"

  "No, he's better," Tanis said, examining the dragon's head.

  "A pity," Sturm muttered as he knelt beside the half-elf.

  "Tas, are you — all right?" Tanis called out, lifting the huge mouth to see inside.

  "I think Sturm chopped off my hair!" the kender wailed.

  "Lucky it wasn't your head!" Flint snorted.

  "What's holding him?" Riverwind leaned down to peer inside the dragon's mouth.

  "I'm not sure," Tanis said, swearing softly. "I can't see in all this blasted smoke." He stood up, sighing in frustration. "And we've got to get out of here! The draconians will get organized soon. Caramon, come here. See if you can rip off the top."

  The big warrior came over to stand in front of the wicker dragon's head. Bracing himself, he got hold of the two eyesockets, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then grunted and heaved. For a minute nothing happened. Tanis watched the muscles bulge on the big man's arms, saw his thigh muscles absorb the strain. Blood rushed to Caramon's face. Then there was the ripping and snapping sound of wood splintering. The top of the dragons head gave way with a sharp crack. Caramon staggered backwards as the top half of the head suddenly came off in his hands.

  Tanis reached in, grabbed Tas's hand, and jerked him free. "Are you all right?" he asked. The kender seemed wobbly on his feet, but his grin was wide as ever.

  "I'm fine," Tas said brightly. "Just a little singed." Then his face darkened. "Tanis," he said, his face crinkling with unusual worry. He felt at his long topknot. "My hair?"

  "All there," Tanis said, smiling.

  Tas breathed a sigh of relief. Then he began to talk. "Tanis, it was the most wonderful thing — flying like that. And the look on Caramon's face-"

  "The story will have to wait," Tanis said firmly. "We've got to get out of here. Caramon? Can you and your brother make it all right?"

  "Yeah, go on," Caramon said.

  Raistlin stumbled forward, accepting the support of his brother's strong arm. The mage glanced behind at the sundered dragon's head and he wheezed, his shoulders shaking in silent, grim amusement.

>   15

  Escape, The well. Death on black wings

  Smoke from the burning draconian camp hung over the black swamplands, shielding the companions from the eyes of the strange, evil creatures. The smoke floated wraithlike through the swamps, drifting across the silver moon and obscuring the stars. The companions dared not risk a light-even the light from Raistlin's staff-for they could hear horns blowing all around them as the draconian leaders tried to reestablish order.

  Riverwind led them. Although Tanis had always prided himself on his own woodland skills, he completely lost all sense direction in the black misty mire. An occasional fleeting glimpse of the stars, whenever the smoke lifted, showed him that they were bearing north.

  They hadn't gone far when Riverwind missed a step and plunged knee-deep into muck. After Tanis and Caramon dragged the Plainsman out of the water, Tasslehoff crept ahead, testing the ground with his hoopak staff. It sank every time.

  "We have no choice but to wade," Riverwind said grimly.

  Choosing a path where the water seemed shallower, the company left firm ground and splashed into the muck. At first it was only ankle deep, then they sank to their knees. Soon they sank deeper still; Tanis was forced to carry Tasslehoff, the giggling kender grasping him around the neck. Flint steadfastly refused all offers of help, even when the tip of his beard got wet. Then he vanished. Caramon, following him, fished the dwarf out of the water and slung him over his shoulder like a wet sack, the dwarf too tired and frightened to grumble. Raistlin staggered, coughing, through the water, his robes dragging him down. Weary and still sick from the poison, the mage finally collapsed. Sturm grabbed hold of him and half-dragged, half-carried the mage through the swamp.

  After an hour of floundering in the icy water, they finally reached firm ground and sank down to rest, shivering with the cold.

  The trees began to creak and groan, their branches bending as a sharp wind sprang up from the north. The wind blew the mists into wispy rags. Raistlin, lying on the ground, looked up. The mage caught his breath. He sat up, alarmed.

  "Storm clouds." He choked, coughing, and fought to speak. "They come from the north. We have no time. No time! We must reach Xak Tsaroth. Hurry! Before the moon sets!"