Kender, Gully Dwarves And Gnomes t1-2

by Margaret Weis

  The squirrel sighed. I don't know how I know this, Pytr, being a squirrel as I am, but I have a feeling that friends are coming.

  The long, eerie howl of a dog cascaded through the night. The hackles rose on the back of Pytr's neck. A fox's sharp yipping followed, and a falcon wailed high, then low. The panther was silent, but Pytr knew he was near.

  Pytr rose, back arched, tail swollen to nearly the width of the squirrel's. Rieve was on his feet, his back to the fire. His fear scent, sour and urgent, filled the room.

  Let us hope, squirrel, that these are friends, indeed. Though if they are, I will tell you now that you have some very strange friends for a squirrel.

  Part of the squirrel agreed completely. Another part, however, the part that dreamed memories he knew he shouldn't have, laughed happily.

  The falcon descended on a dropping air current and caught the tree's bare branch neatly to perch. He spread his wings, his dark eyes flashing, and screamed an imperious challenge.

  Sturm! the fox thought, stretching his sharp-toothed jaws in a grin of acknowledgement. Behind him he heard the shepherd dog, Flint, just drifting down the hill. That path would take him right into the cottage's dooryard, shadowed now by night and trees. To his left and ahead, around the far side of the cottage, rumbled the low growl of the panther. Caramon was in place. It occurred to the fox — Tanis — that it was a very good thing that Caramon had eaten well before the change.

  The fox tested the air carefully, identified the scents of his companions and of those within the cottage. Man-scent was strong, and so was the smell of cat and squirrel.

  Squirrel. His mouth began to water in spite of himself. Squirrels, he knew from some heretofore untapped well of information, tasted nearly as good as rabbits. Tanis shuddered and shook himself.

  He caught man-scent again, this time from a hill behind him. That scent he knew well, though he had only recently come to recognize it: Raistlin. Light and sweet, the small scent of a wren hovered near. All were in position.

  Wren, he whispered, though to any who heard it might only have been the soft pant of a fox pausing to rest in his night hunting.

  Here, here

  You know what to do?

  Yes. I'm ready.

  Go, then!

  She stitched the night air gracefully, darting from the bushes where Raistlin was concealed, down through the shadows pooled beneath the trees near the cottage door where Flint crouched ready.

  The panther, Caramon, had silenced his ominous rumbling, but Tanis scented him closer now and knew he was prowling, ghost-silent, along the side of the house. Above him the falcon took wing and landed on the roof above the door. Tanis caught his breath; had he seen the falcon anywhere he would have known him for Sturm by the proud lift of his head.

  Wren alighted on the windowsill and fluttered her wings against the glass. In the voice of the bird she piped and lamented. She might only have been some night-caught creature seeking shelter.

  A shadow crossed the glass. Tanis heard an indrawn breath. Man-scent rose on the air, stronger now. The panther's green eyes glittered dangerously in the light spilling from the window. It seemed to Tanis, with his heightened sense of smell, that Rieve must know what waited outside his door.

  Wren left the sill, flew to the door, and came near to hitting Flint where he waited in the shadows.

  Rieve's shadow left the window, vanished, then fell to block the line of light leaking from beneath the door. A red ghost in the night, Tanis glided down the hill, keeping to the shadows until he was aligned with Flint at the opposite side of the door. He heard the sound of the latch being lifted.

  "Wren," a cold voice said from within. "So, you've returned?"

  Yes! she piped. Oh, please let me in!

  "Of course, little one, of course." There was silky threat in the mage's voice. "You've reconsidered?"

  Yes! Only let me in! Please!

  The door opened quickly, orange light spilled out into the night, and Wren shot past the mage like a small brown comet. He turned, then fell, breathless beneath the weight of a large black shepherd dog and a slim red fox.

  The mage kicked hard at the fox and sent it tumbling across the floor. Before he could move to rise, however, the dog's teeth clamped onto his shoulder. Behind him the cat hissed and the caged squirrel scolded and chattered. He brought up his knee and drove it into the dog's stomach. Snarling, the beast fell away.

  Rieve scrambled to his feet, kicked again at the dog, andmissed. He spun toward the door and came eye to razor sharp beak with a dark-eyed falcon.

  "No!" he shouted, flinging up an arm to protect his eyes. The falcon's talons raked along the back of his hand. "No!"

  As though in response to his protest, the falcon darted away, lifting high to take perch on the mantel. Rieve drew a shuddering breath and stumbled again to the door. A heavy, tawny paw hit him hard in the chest and dropped him where he stood. The panther's fangs shone like daggers in the fire's glow.

  Standing at the panther's shoulder, one hand on the mountain cat's broad golden head, another extended in a parody of greeting, stood a light-eyed, pale young mage. His cold smile awoke a fear in Rieve that even the panther's gleaming fangs had not.

  Rieve moaned. He wondered if he would have time to prepare for death.

  Animals were turning into people all around him, and the squirrel didn't know where to look first. The falcon, that beautiful bird, became a tall, dark-haired young man. There was still something of the falcon's brooding about him. The squirrel thought that it must always have been this way. The fox, limping from having been kicked half-way across the cottage, was no fox at all but a red-haired half-elf who leaned against the wall, holding ribs that must truly hurt from the look in his long eyes.

  The dog… ah, the dog! The squirrel almost knew that he would be a dwarf, brown-bearded and grumbling about a sore stomach even before he was changed.

  There remained only the panther, crouched over Rieve, his heavy paw still planted firmly in the middle of the mage's chest. The slight young man scratched the big cat's ears idly, smiling as though he had only dropped in for a cup of something warm to take the chill out of the night.

  "Four more changes we need, friend Rieve," the young man murmured. "I will effect one after you effect three."

  Rieve panted something, and the squirrel thought it must be hard getting enough air to speak with the panther leaning so heavily on him.

  "Do I take that for agreement?"

  "Do I — do I have a choice?" Rieve asked sourly.

  "Well, yes. We always have choices. Yours, however, are limited."

  Rieve swallowed hard, recognized the limits, and nodded. The squirrel flashed his tail and scurried around in his cage.

  Cat! Pytr! Watch! Watch! They're going to do more changes! Pytr? Pytr, where are you?

  Pytr was gone. Or the cat was gone, anyway, replaced by a stocky, golden-haired man who wore around one wrist a slim bracelet of braided leather.

  And the wren, who had clung so fearfully to the edge of the table near the squirrel's cage during the whole splendid attack only moments ago, was gone as well. Instead, a small, pretty girl, her hair the color of the wren's brown feathers, rested her hand on the cage.

  "One more," she said, "And this, perhaps, the most important."

  The panther, of course, the squirrel thought. He looks fierce enough to eat the mage for dinner and still come away hungry. They'll change the panther next.

  But to the squirrel's surprise, the panther remained a panther, rumbling and growling deep inside his broad chest. The girl leaned over his own cage and undid the latch. She gathered him carefully into her hands and lifted him out.

  No more cage I As though he hadn't breathed in days, the squirrel drew in a lungful of air and leaped from the girl's hands. He could smell the sweet night air. He could taste it, and it tasted like freedom.

  The girl cried out, the dark-haired young man shouted something, and the half-elf leaped to kick the door
shut. But squirrels can make themselves very small. Sucking in all the air that he could, the squirrel dashed between the closing door and the jamb and plunged into the night. He'd had enough of men and beasts and cages. He wanted trees, cozy nests, and sweet caches of chestnuts. And he was going to have those now, no matter what they shouted inside…

  "Come back here, you stone-headed kender!"

  Halfway up the closest tree the squirrel stopped, frozenby the dwarf's cry. Not crazy, he'd told Pytr, but stone headed. Stone-headed… something. Stone-headed kender! Kender?

  Something strange happened to the cold night air. It shivered, the way it does under summer's heat, and then it sighed, the sound of a small drifting breeze. The squirrel tried to breathe but found that he couldn't quite draw in the air he needed. Suddenly he lost his grip and tumbled to the ground.

  Kender!

  "And where, in the names of all the gods, did you think you were going?"

  "I — " Tas got his legs under him and climbed to his feet. Some of the squirrel feeling was in him yet. He had to swallow hard to ignore the imperative to run from the dwarf. "I — don't know. I don't even really know how I got here, wherever here is. I was following the wren, I think, and… well, then I was here, falling out of this tree. But I think I remember some dreams… strange ones, about squirrels and cats and — »

  Flint snorted and pulled the kender to his feet. For all his scowling, though, his hands were gentle. "Come on, now, back inside. You can be sure Caramon is getting hungry by now. And Raistlin has some work to do yet."

  "But Caramon is always hungry," Tas said, dusting himself off. "What's so important about that — oh, the panther?"

  Flint nodded. Tas, remembering Pytr's intense and always sharp cat-hunger, grinned slyly. He was not unhappy that Rieve must be learning even now what it meant to be the object of that hunger. "It's just a thought, Flint, but perhaps they could just feed Caramon whatever's lying around the cottage?"

  In the end, though Tas had not been alone in his wistful wish, they did not feed Rieve to the panther. Some oath or promise was extracted from him, though what passed between him and Raistlin none ever learned, for Raistlin banished all but the big panther from the cottage. If Caramon heard or understood, he was uncharacteristically silent about it. And a week later, when those who had been cat and squirrel, wren and falcon, fox, dog, and panther were gathered in Solace, it was yet a matter for speculation.

  Wren watched Raistlin, who sat in the shadows of Flint's hearth. "Were truth told, I'm not sure that I want to know."

  "I wouldn't mind knowing," Pytr muttered. He stroked her hair and sighed. "I'd like to know with what coin Rieve's debt has been paid."

  The young woman shook her head and smiled. Small and cheerful, her brown eyes bright now when she looked at Pytr, she was, Flint thought then, very like the wren for which she'd been named and which she had, for a time, been.

  Tanis, who at that moment had the same thought, glanced once at the dwarf and, when he received a slight nod, crossed to the hearth and took up one of Flint's small carvings.

  "For you," he said, taking a seat next to Wren.

  "But — what is it? Surely you've given us enough?"

  "One more thing, but you must close your eyes now."

  Curious, Sturm and Caramon leaned closer and Tas ducked under Pytr's arm to get a closer look. They saw nothing, however, for Tanis had the object hidden in closed hands. In the hearth's shadow, Raistlin stirred but did not rise to join his companions.

  Wren closed her eyes, and Tanis placed the small object in her hands. "Now, this is something Flint has taught me: let your hands know what it is you hold before your eyes tell you. Our eyes, as we have lately learned, can too easily deceive us."

  Wren let her fingers discover the wings first, then the carefully rounded back, the beak, and finally the deftly carved tail feathers. "A bird!" she cried. "A wren?"

  A little breeze sighed, then wandered away.

  Yet when she opened her eyes and saw the small carving, Wren wore a small, puzzled frown. "But… it FELT like a wren. I don't understand."

  Neither did Tanis. Nor did Flint. It was Tas, finally, who spoke.

  "Flint! That's wonderful! That's the nicest miniature I've ever seen! When did you carve it?"

  "I didn't," Flint said shortly. "I had nothing to do with this piece." He peered hard at the little carving and shook his head. It was Wren in every perfect detail, her soft hair pulled back low on her neck as it was now, her serene smile shown in lips and eyes, her hands quietly folded at her waist.

  Flint shivered and looked across the room. Though he could not be sure, he thought he saw Raistlin smile from the hearth's shadow.

  "Wanna Bet?"

  Margaret Weis,Tracy Hickman

  Foreword

  (or Afterword, as the case may be)

  "A fine mage you are little brother," muttered Tanin, standing on the dock, watching the ship sail away. "You should have known all along there was something strange about that dwarf!"

  "Me?" Palin retorted. "YOU were the one that got us mixed up in the whole thing to begin with! 'Adventures always start in such places as this', " the young magic-user said, mimicking his older brother's voice.

  "Hey, guys," began Sturm in mollifying tones.

  "Oh, shut up!" Both brothers turned to face him. "It was YOU who took that stupid bet!"

  The three brothers stood glaring at each other; the salt breeze blowing the red curling hair of the two elder into their eyes and whipping the white robes of the younger about his thin legs.

  A ringing shout, sounding over the dancing waters, interrupted them.

  "Farewell, lads! Farewell! It was a nice try. Perhaps we'll do it again some day!"

  "Over my dead body!" all three brothers muttered fervently, raising their hands and waving halfheartedly, sickly grins on their faces.

  "That's ONE thing we can all agree on," said Sturm, beginning to chuckle. "And I know another." The brothers turned thankfully away from the sight of the sailing vessel lumbering through the waters.

  "And that is…?"

  "That we never tell another living soul about this, as long as we live!" Sturm's voice was low. The other two brothers glanced about at the spectators standing on the docks. They were looking at the ship, laughing. Several, glancing at the brothers, pointed at them with stifled giggles.

  Grinning ruefully, Tanin held his right hand out in front of him. Sturm placed his right hand on his brother's, and Palin put his right hand over the other two.

  "Agreed," each said solemnly.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dougan Redhammer

  "Adventures always start in such places as this," said Tanin, regarding the inn with a satisfied air.

  "You can't be serious!" Palin said, horrified. "I wouldn't stable my horse in this filthy place, let alone stay here myself!"

  "Actually," reported Sturm, rounding the corner of the building after an inspection tour, "the stables are clean compared to the inn, and they smell a damn sight better. I say we sleep there and send the horses inside."

  The inn, located on the docks of the seaside town of Sancrist, was every bit as mean and ill-favored in appearance as those few patrons the young men saw slouching into it. The windows facing the docks were small as though staring out to sea too long had given them a perpetual squint. Light from inside could barely filterthrough the dirt. The building itself was weather- and sand blasted and crouched in the shadows at the end of the alley like a cutpurse waiting for his next victim. Even the name, The Spliced Jib, had an ominous sound.

  "I expected Little Brother to complain," Tanin remarked sourly, dismounting and glaring at Sturm over the pommel of his saddle. "He misses his white linen sheets and mama tucking him in at night. But I expected better of you, Sturm Majere."

  "Oh, I've no objection," Sturm said easily, sliding off his horse and beginning to untie his pack. "I was just making an observation. We don't have much choice anyway," he added, withdrawing
a small leather pouch and shaking it. Where there should have been the ring of steel coins, there was only a dismal clunk. "No linen sheets tonight, Palin," he said, grinning at his younger brother, who remained seated disconsolately upon his horse. "Think of tomorrow night, though — staying at Castle Uth Wistan, the guests of Lord Gunthar. Not only white linen but probably rose petals strewn about the bed as well."

  "I don't expect white linen," Palin returned, nettled. "In fact, bed sheets at all would be a pleasant change! And I'd prefer sleeping in a bed where the mattress wasn't alive!" Irritably, he scratched himself under the white robes.

  "A warrior must get used to such things," Tanin said in his worldly wise Elder Brother voice that made Palin long to toss him in the horse trough. "If you are attacked by nothing worse than bedbugs on your first quest, you may count yourself lucky."

  "Quest?" Palin muttered bitterly, sliding down off his horse. "Accompanying you and Sturm to Castle Uth Wistan so that you can join the knighthood. This isn't a quest! It's been like a kender outing, and both you and Father knew it would be when you decided I could go! Why, the most danger we've been in since we left home was from that serving wench who tried to cut off Sturm's ears with a butcher knife!"

  "It was a mistake anyone could make," Sturm muttered, flushing. "I keep telling you! — I intended to grab her mugs. She was what you might call a buxom girl and, when she leaned over me, holding the tray, I wasn't exactly paying attention to what I was doing — »

  "Oh, you were paying attention, all right!" Palin said grimly. "Even when she came at you with a knife, we had to drag you out of there! And your eyes were the size of your shield."

  "Well, at least I'm interested in such things," Sturm said irritably. "Not like some people I could mention, who seem to think themselves too good — »

  "I have high standards!" retorted Palin. "I don't tumble for every 'buxom' blonde who jiggles in my direction — »

  "Stop it, both of you!" Tanin ordered tiredly. "Sturm, take the horses around and see that they're brushed down and fed. Palin, come with me."