“And Tika … and that’s Caramon up there … oh, well, you can’t see him now. Then there’s Berem. We picked him up in Kalaman and, oh—Fizban!—he’s got a green gem—ugh, ouch, Tanis, that hurt!”
Clearing his throat, Fizban cast a bleak look around.
“You’re—uh—not with the—er—uh—dragonarmies?”
“No,” said Tanis grimly, “we’re not! Or at least we weren’t.” He gestured behind them. “That’s likely to change any moment now, though.”
“Not with the dragonarmies at all?” Fizban pursued hopefully. “You’re sure you haven’t converted? Been tortured? Brainwashed?”
“No, damn it!” Tanis yanked off his helm. “I’m Tanis Half-Elven, remember—”
Fizban beamed. “Tanis Half-Elven! So pleased to see you again, sir.” Grabbing Tanis’s hand, he shook it heartily.
“Confound it!” Tanis snapped in exasperation, snatching his hand out of the old man’s grip.
“But you were riding dragons!”
“Those were good dragons!” Tanis shouted. “They’ve come back!”
“No one told me!” The old man gasped indignantly.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Tanis continued, ignoring the interruption. “You’ve blown us out of the skies! Sent back our only means to get to Neraka—”
“Oh, I know what I’ve done,” Fizban mumbled. He glanced back over his shoulder. “My, my. Those fellows seem to be gaining. Mustn’t be caught by them. Well, what are we doing standing around?” He glared at Tanis. “Some leader you are! I suppose I’ll have to take charge.… Where’s my hat?”
“About five miles back,” stated Pyrite with a great yawn.
“You still here?” Fizban said, glaring at the gold dragon in annoyance.
“Where else would I be?” the dragon asked gloomily.
“I told you to go with the others!”
“I didn’t want to.” Pyrite snorted. A bit of fire flared from his nose, making it twitch. This was followed by a tremendous sneeze. Sniffing, the dragon continued peevishly. “No respect for age, those brass dragons. They talk constantly! And giggle. Gets on my nerves, that silly giggle.…”
“Well, you’ll just have to go back by yourself then!” Fizban stalked up to stare the dragon in its bleary eye. “We’re going on a long journey into dangerous country—”
“We’re going?” Tanis cried. “Look, old man, Fizban, whatever your name is, why don’t you and your—uh—friend here go back. You’re right. It’s going to be a long, dangerous journey. Longer, now, that we’ve lost our dragons and—”
“Tanis … “said Tika warningly, her eyes on the draconians.
“Into the hills quick,” Tanis said, drawing a deep breath, trying to control his fear and his anger. “Go on, Tika. You and Flint. Tas—” He grabbed the kender.
“No, Tanis! We can’t leave him here!” Tas wailed.
“Tas” Tanis said in a voice that warned the kender the half-elf had plainly had enough and wasn’t going to stand for anything further. Apparently the old man understood the same thing.
“I’ve got to go with these folks,” he said to the dragon. “They need me. You can’t go back on your own. You’ll just have to sallyforth—”
“Polymorph!” the dragon said indignantly. “The word is ‘polymorph!’ You never get that right—”
“Whatever!” the old man yelled. “Quickly! We’ll take you with us.”
“Very well,” the dragon said. “I could use the rest.”
“I don’t think,” Tanis began, wondering what they would do with a large gold dragon, but it was too late.
While Tas watched, fascinated, and Tanis fumed in impatience, the dragon spoke a few words in the strange language of magic. There was a bright flash and then, suddenly, the dragon vanished.
“What? Where?” Tasslehoff looked all around.
Fizban leaned over to pick up something out of the grass.
“Get moving! Now!” Tanis hustled Tas and the old man into the foothills, following after Tika and Flint.
“Here,” Fizban said to Tas as they ran. “Hold out your hand.”
Tas did as instructed. Then the kender caught his breath in awe. He would have come to a dead stop to examine it, except Tanis caught him by the arm and dragged him forward.
In the palm of Tas’s hand gleamed a tiny golden figure of a dragon, carved in exquisite detail. Tas imagined he could even see the scars on the wings. Two small red jewels glittered in the eyes, then—as Tas watched—the jewels winked out as golden eyelids closed over them.
“Oh, Fizban, it—it’s—beautiful! Can I truly keep it?” Tas yelled over his shoulder to the old man, who was puffing along behind.
“Sure, my boy!” Fizban beamed. “At least until this adventure’s ended.”
“Or it ends us,” Tanis muttered, climbing rapidly over the rocks. The draconians were drawing nearer and nearer.
2
The golden span.
Up and up into the hills they climbed, the draconians in pursuit of the group, who now appeared to them to be spies.
The group had lost the trail Caramon used chasing after Berem, but could not take time to search for it. They were considerably startled, therefore, when they suddenly came across Caramon, sitting calmly on a boulder, Berem—unconscious—stretched out beside him.
“What happened?” Tanis asked, breathing heavily, exhausted after the long climb.
“I caught up with him, finally.” Caramon shook his head. “And he put up a fight. He’s strong for an old guy, Tanis. I had to clunk him. I’m afraid I was a bit too hard, though,” he added, staring down at the comatose figure remorsefully.
“Great!” Tanis was too tired even to swear.
“I’ll handle this,” Tika said, reaching into a leather pouch.
“The draconians are coming up past that last big rock,” Flint reported as he stumbled into view. The dwarf seemed about done in. He collapsed onto a rock, mopping his sweating face with the end of his beard.
“Tika—” Tanis began.
“Found it!” she said triumphantly, pulling out a small vial. Kneeling down beside Berem, she took the stopper from the vial and waved it under his nose. The unconscious man drew a breath, then immediately began to cough.
Tika slapped him on the cheeks. “On your feet!” she said in her barmaid voice. “Unless you want the draconians to catch you.”
Berem’s eyes flew open in alarm. Clutching his head, he sat up dizzily. Caramon helped him stand.
“That’s wonderful, Tika!” Tas said in excitement. “Let me—” Before she could stop him, Tas grabbed the vial and held it up to his own nose, inhaling deeply.
“Eeee Ahhhh!” The kender gagged, staggering back into Fizban, who had come up the path after Flint. “Ugh! Tika! That’s … awful!” He could barely speak. “What is it?”
“Some concoction of Otik’s,” Tika said, grinning. “All of us barmaids carried it. Came in handy in lots of instances, if you take my meaning.” Her smile slipped. “Poor Otik,” she said softly. “I wonder what’s become of him. And the Inn—”
“No time for that now, Tika,” Tanis said impatiently. “We’ve got to go. On your feet, old man!” This to Fizban, who was just sitting down comfortably.
“I’ve got a spell,” Fizban protested as Tas tugged and prodded him up. “Take care of those pests instantly. Poof!”
“No!” Tanis said. “Absolutely not. With my luck, you’d turn them all into trolls.”
“I wonder if I could …” Fizban’s face brightened.
The afternoon sun was just beginning to slide down the rim of the sky when the trail they had been following ever higher into the mountains suddenly branched off into two different directions. One led into the mountain peaks, the other seemed to wind around the side. There might be a pass among the peaks, Tanis thought; a pass they could defend, if necessary.
But before he could say a word, Fizban started off on the trail that wound around
the mountain. “This way,” the old mage announced, leaning on his staff as he tottered forward.
“But—” Tanis started to protest.
“Come on, come on. This way!” said Fizban insistently, turning around and glaring at them from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “That way leads to a dead end—in more ways than one. I know. I’ve been here before. This leads around the side of a mountain to a great gorge. Bridge over the gorge. We can get across, then fight the draconians when they try to come after us.”
Tanis scowled, unwilling to trust the crazy old mage.
“It is a good plan, Tanis,” Caramon said slowly. “It’s obvious we’re going to have to fight them sometime.” He pointed to the draconians climbing up the mountain trails after them.
Tanis glanced around. They were all exhausted. Tika’s face was pale, her eyes glazed. She leaned on Caramon, who had even left his spears back on the trail to lighten his burden.
Tasslehoff grinned at Tanis cheerfully. But the kender was panting like a small dog and he was limping on one foot.
Berem looked the same as always, sullen and frightened. It was Flint that worried Tanis most. The dwarf had not said a word during their flight. He had kept up with them without faltering, but his lips were blue and his breath came in short gasps. Every once in a while—when he thought no one was looking—Tanis had seen him put his hand over his chest or rub his left arm as if it pained him.
“Very well.” The half-elf decided. “Go on, old mage. Though I’m probably going to regret this,” he added, under his breath as the rest hurried along after Fizban.
Near sundown, the companions came to a halt. They stood on a small rocky ledge about three-quarters of the way up the side of the mountain. Before them was a deep, narrow gorge. Far below they could see a river winding its way through the bottom of the gorge like a glistening snake.
It must be a four-hundred-foot drop, Tanis calculated. The trail they stood on hugged the side of the mountain, with a sheer cliff on one side and nothing but air on the other. There was only one way across the gorge.
“And that bridge,” said Flint—the first words he had spoken in hours, “is older than I am … and in worse shape.”
“That bridge has stood for years!” Fizban said indignantly. “Why, it survived the Cataclysm!”
“I believe it,” Caramon said sincerely.
“At least it’s not too long,” Tika tried to sound hopeful, though her voice faltered.
The bridge across the narrow gorge was of a unique construction. Huge vallenwood limbs were driven into the sides of the mountain on either side of the gorge. These limbs formed an X-shape that supported the wooden plank platform. Long ago, the structure must have been an architectural marvel. But now the wooden planks were rotted and splitting. If there had been a railing, it had long since fallen down into the chasm below. Even as they watched, the timbers creaked and shuddered in the chill wind of evening.
Then, behind them, they heard the sound of guttural voices and the clash of steel on rock.
“So much for going back,” Caramon muttered. “We should cross over one by one.”
“No time,” Tanis said, rising to his feet. “We can only hope the gods are with us. And—I hate to admit it—but Fizban’s right. Once we get across, we can stop the draconians easily. They’ll be excellent targets, stuck out there on that bridge. I’ll go first. Keep behind me, single-file. Caramon, you’re rear guard. Berem, stay behind me.”
Moving as swiftly as he dared, Tanis set foot on the bridge. He could feel the planks quiver and shake. Far below, the river flowed swiftly between the canyon walls; sharp rocks jutted up from its white, foaming surface. Tanis caught his breath and looked away quickly.
“Don’t look down,” he said to the others, feeling a chill emptiness where his stomach had been. For an instant he couldn’t move, then, getting a grip on himself, he edged his way forward. Berem came right behind him, fear of the dragonmen completely obliterating any other terrors the Everman might have experienced.
After Berem came Tasslehoff, walking lightly with kender skill, peering over the edge in wonder. Then the terrified Flint, supported by Fizban. Finally Tika and Caramon set foot on the shivering planks, keeping nervous watch behind them.
Tanis was nearly halfway across when part of the platform gave way, the rotten wood splintering beneath his feet.
Acting instinctively, in a paroxysm of terror, he clutched desperately at the planking and caught hold of the edge. But the rotten wood crumbled in his grasp. His fingers slipped and—
—a hand closed over his wrist.
“Berem!” Tanis gasped.
“Hold on!” He forced himself to hang limply, knowing that any movement on his part would only make Berem’s hold on him harder to maintain.
“Pull him up!” he heard Caramon roar, then, “Don’t anybody move! The whole thing’s liable to give way!”
His face tight with the strain, sweat beading on his forehead, Berem pulled. Tanis saw the muscles on the man’s arm bulge, the veins nearly burst from the skin. With what seemed like agonizing slowness, Berem dragged the half-elf up over the edge of the broken bridge. Here Tanis collapsed. Shaking with fright, he lay clinging to the wood, shivering.
Then he heard Tika cry out. Raising his head, he realized with grim amusement that he had probably just gained his life only to lose it. About thirty draconians appeared on the trail behind them. Tanis turned to look across the gaping hole in the center of the bridge. The other side of the platform was still standing. He might jump across the huge hole to safety, and so might Berem and Caramon—but not Tas, not Flint, not Tika, or the old mage.
“Excellent targets, you said,” Caramon murmured, drawing his sword.
“Cast a spell, Old One!” Tasslehoff said suddenly.
“What?” Fizban blinked.
“A spell!” Tas cried, pointing at the draconians, who—seeing the companions trapped on the bridge—hurried up to finish them off.
“Tas, we’re in enough trouble,” Tanis began, the bridge creaking beneath his feet. Moving warily, Caramon stationed himself squarely in front of them, facing the draconians.
Fitting an arrow to his bowstring, Tanis fired. A draconian clutched its chest and fell, shrieking, off the cliff. The half-elf fired again and hit again. The draconians in the center of the line hesitated, milling about in confusion. There was no cover, no way to escape the half-elf’s deadly barrage. The draconians in the front of the line surged forward toward the bridge.
At that moment, Fizban began to cast his spell.
Hearing the old mage chant, Tanis felt his heart sink. Then he reminded himself bitterly that they really couldn’t be in a worse position. Berem, next to him, was watching the draconians with a stoic composure that Tanis found startling until he remembered that Berem didn’t fear death; he would always return to life. Tanis fired again and another draconian howled in pain. So intent was he on his targets, that he forgot Fizban until he heard Berem gasp in astonishment. Glancing up, Tanis saw Berem staring into the sky. Following Berem’s gaze, the half-elf was so astonished he nearly dropped his bow.
Descending from the clouds, glittering brightly in the dying rays of the sun, was a long golden bridge span. Guided by motions of the old mage’s hand, the golden span dropped down out of the heavens to close the gap in the bridge.
Tanis came to his senses. Looking around, he saw that—for the moment—the draconians were also transfixed, staring at the golden span with glittering reptilian eyes.
“Hurry!” Tanis yelled. Gripping Berem by the arm, he dragged the Everman after him and jumped up onto the span as it hovered just about a foot above the gap. Berem followed, stumbling up clumsily. Even as they stood on it, the span kept dropping, slowing a bit under Fizban’s guidance.
The span was still about eight inches above the platform when Tasslehoff, shrieking wildly, leaped onto it, pulling the awestruck dwarf up after him. The draconians—suddenly realizing their prey was go
ing to escape—howled in rage and surged onto the wooden bridge. Tanis stood on the golden span, near its end, firing his arrows at the lead draconians. Caramon remained behind, driving them back with his sword.
“Get on across!” Tanis ordered Tika as she hopped onto the span beside him. “Stay beside Berem. Keep an eye on him. You, too, Flint, go with her. Go on!” he snarled viciously.
“I’ll stay with you, Tanis,” Tasslehoff offered.
Casting a backward glance at Caramon, Tika reluctantly obeyed orders, grabbing hold of Berem and shoving him along before her. Seeing the draconians coming, he needed little urging. Together they dashed across the span onto the remaining half of the wooden bridge. It creaked alarmingly beneath their weight. Tanis only hoped it would hold, but he couldn’t spare a glance. Apparently it was, for he heard Flint’s thick boots clumping across it.
“We made it!” Tika yelled from the side of the canyon.
“Caramon!” Tanis shouted, firing another arrow, trying to keep his footing on the golden span.
“Go ahead!” Fizban snapped at Caramon irritably. “I’m concentrating. I have to set the span down in the right place. A few more centimeters to the left, I think—”
“Tasslehoff, go on across!” Tanis ordered.
“I’m not leaving Fizban!” said the kender stubbornly as Caramon stepped up onto the golden span. The draconians, seeing the big warrior leaving, surged forward again. Tanis fired arrows as fast as he could; one draconian lay on the bridge in a pool of green blood, another toppled over the edge. But the half-elf was growing tired. Worse, he was running out of arrows. And the draconians kept coming. Caramon came to a stop beside Tanis on the span.
“Hurry, Fizban!” pleaded Tasslehoff, wringing his hands.
“There!” Fizban said in satisfaction. “Perfect fit. And the gnomes said I was no engineer.”
Just as he spoke, the golden span carrying Tanis, Caramon, and Tasslehoff dropped firmly into place between the two sections of the broken bridge.
And at that moment, the other half of the wooden bridge—the half still standing, the half that led to safety on the other side of the canyon—creaked, crumbled, and fell into the canyon.
Dragons of Spring Dawning Page 25