The old man rambled on long past the time the caravan stopped at the rising of the sun.
4
Rescue. Fizban's magic
Raistlin suffered in body, Sturm suffered in mind, but perhaps the one who experienced the keenest suffering during the companions' four-day imprisonment was Tasslehoff.
The cruelest form of torture one can inflict on a kender is to lock him up. Of course, it is also widely believed that the crudest form of torture one can inflict on any other species is to lock them up with a kender. After three days of Tasslehoff s incessant chatter, pranks, and practical jokes, the companions would have willingly traded the kender for a peaceful hour of being stretched on the rack-at least that's what Flint said.
Finally, after even Goldmoon lost her temper and nearly slapped him, Tanis sent Tasslehoff to the back of the cart. His legs hanging over the edge, the kender pressed his face against the iron bars and thought he would die of misery. He had never been so bored in his entire life.
Things got interesting with the discovery of Fizban, but the old man's amusement value wore thin when Tanis made Tas return the old magician's pouches. And so, driven to the point of desperation, Tasslehoff latched onto a new diversion.
Sestun, the gully dwarf.
The companions generally regarded Sestun with amused pity. The gully dwarf was the object of Toede's ridicule and mistreatment. He ran the Fewmaster's errands all night long, carrying messages from Toede at the front of the caravan to the hobgoblin captain at the rear, lugging food up to the Fewmaster from the supply cart; feeding and watering the Fewmaster's pony, and any other nasty jobs the Fewmaster could devise. Toede knocked him flat at least three times a day, the draconians tormented him, and the hobgoblins stole his food. Even the elk kicked at him whenever he trotted past. The gully dwarf bore it all with such a grimly defiant spirit that it won him the sympathy of the companions.
Sestun began to stay near the companions when not busy. Tanis, eager for information about Pax Tharkas, asked him about his homeland and how he came to work for the Fewmaster. The story took over a day for Sestun to relate and another day for the companions to piece together, since he started in the middle and plunged headlong into the beginning.
What it amounted to, eventually, wasn't much help. Sestun was among a large group of gully dwarves living in the hills around Pax Tharkas when Lord Verminaard and his draconians captured the iron mines which he needed to make steel weapons for his troops.
"Big fire-all day, all night. Bad smell." Sestun wrinkled his nose. "Pound rock. All day, all night. I get good job in kitchen"-his face brightened a moment-"fix hot soup. Very hot." His face fell. "Spill soup. Hot soup heat up armor real fast. Lord Verminaard sleep on back for week." He sighed. "I go with Fewmaster. Me volunteer."
"Maybe we can shut the mines down," Caramon suggested.
"That's a thought," Tanis mused. "How many draconians does Lord Verminaard have guarding the mines?"
"Two!" Sestun said, holding up ten grubby fingers.
Tanis sighed, remembering where they had heard that before.
Sestun looked at him hopefully. "There be only two dragons, too."
"Two dragons!" Tanis said incredulously.
"Not more than two."
Caramon groaned and settled back. The warrior had been giving dragon fighting serious thought ever since Xak Tsaroth. He and Sturm had reviewed every tale about Huma, the only known dragon fighter the knight could remember. Unfortunately, no one had ever taken the legends of Huma seriously before (except the Solamnic Knights, for which they were ridiculed), so much of Huma's tale had been distorted by time or forgotten.
"A knight of truth and power, who called down the gods themselves and forged the mighty Dragonlance," Caramon murmured now, glancing at Sturm, who lay asleep on the straw-covered floor of their prison.
"Dragonlance?" muttered Fizban, waking with a snort. "Dragonlance? Who said anything about the Dragonlance?"
"My brother," Raistlin whispered, smiling bitterly. "Quoting the Canticle. It seems he and the knight have taken a fancy to children's stories that have come to haunt them."
"Good story, Huma and the Dragonlance," said the old man, stroking his beard.
"Story-that's all it is." Caramon yawned and scratched his chest. "Who knows if it's real or if the Dragonlance was real or if even Huma was real."
"We know the dragons are real," Raistlin murmured.
"Huma was real," Fizban said softly. "And so was the Dragonlance." The old man's face grew sad.
"Was it?" Caramon sat up. "Can you describe it?"
"Of course!" Fizban sniffed disdainfully.
Everyone was listening now. Fizban was, in fact, a bit disconcerted by his audience.
"It was a weapon similiar to-no, it wasn't. Actually it was-no, it wasn't that either. It was closer to… almost a… rather it was, sort of a-lance, that's it! A lance!" He nodded earnestly. "And it was quite good against dragons."
"I'm taking a nap," Caramon grumbled.
Tanis smiled and shook his head. Sitting back against the bars, he wearily closed his eyes. Soon everyone except Raistlin and Tasslehoff fell into a fitful sleep. The kender, wide awake and bored, looked at Raistlin hopefully. Sometimes, if Raistlin was in a good mood, he would tell stories about magic-users of old. But the mage, wrapped in his red robes, was staring curiously at Fizban. The old man sat on a bench, snoring gently, his head bobbing up and down as the cart jounced over the road. Raistlin's golden eyes narrowed to gleaming slits as though he had been struck by a new and disturbing thought. After a moment, he pulled his hood up over his head and leaned back, his face lost in the shadows.
Tasslehoff sighed. Then, glancing around, he saw Sestun walking near the cage. The kender brightened. Here, he knew, was an appreciative audience for his stories.
Tasslehoff, calling him over, began to relate one of his own personal favorites. The two moons sank. The prisoners slept. The hobgoblins trailed along behind, half-asleep, talking about making camp soon. Fewmaster Toede rode up ahead, dreaming about promotion. Behind the Fewmaster, the draconians muttered among themselves in their harsh language, casting baleful glances at Toede when he wasn't looking.
Tasslehoff sat, swinging his legs over the side of the cage, talking to Sestun."The kender noticed without seeming to that Gilthanaswas only pretending to sleep. Tas saw the elf's eyes open and glance quickly around when he thought no one was watching. This intrigued Tas immensely. It seemed almost as if Gilthanas was watching or waiting for something. The kender lost the thread of his story.
"And so I… uh… grabbed a rock from my pouch, threw it and-thunk-hit the wizard right on the head," Tas finished hurriedly. "The demon grabbed the wizard by the foot and dragged him down into the depths of the Abyss."
"But first demon thank you," prompted Sestun who had heard this story-with variations-twice before. "You forgot."
"Did I?" Tas asked, keeping an eye on Gilthanas. "Well, yes, the demon thanked me and took away the magic ring he'd given me. If it wasn't dark, you could see the outline the ring burned on my finger."
"Sun uping. Morning soon. I see then," the gully dwarf said eagerly.
It was still dark, but a faint light in the east hinted that soon the sun would be rising on the fourth day of their journey.
Suddenly Tas heard a bird call in the woods. Several answered it. What odd-sounding birds, Tas thought. Never heard their like before. But then he'd never been this far south before. He knew where they were from one of his many maps.
They had passed over the only bridge across the White-rage River and were heading south toward Pax Tharkas, which was marked on the kender's map as the site of the famed Thadarkan iron mines. The land began to rise, and thick forests of aspens appeared to the west. The draconians and hobgoblins kept eyeing the forests and their pace picked up. Concealed within these woods was Qualinesti, the ancient elvenhome.