“I think we’re under attack,” Caramon said in awe.
Tanis had come to the same conclusion. “Scatter!” he yelled, swearing under his breath. Down below them, an entire division of draconians watched the aerial battle with intense interest. The last thing he had wanted to do was call attention to the group, now some crazy old man was ruining everything.
The four dragons, hearing Tanis’s command, broke instantly from formation—but not soon enough. A brilliant fireball burst right in their midst, sending the dragons reeling in the sky.
Momentarily blinded by the brilliant light, Tanis dropped the reins and threw his arms around the creature’s neck as it went rolling about out of control.
Then he heard a familiar voice.
“That got ’em! Wonderful spell, Fireball—”
“Fizban!” Tanis groaned.
Blinking his eyes, he fought desperately to bring his dragon under control. But it seemed the beast knew how to handle himself better than the inexperienced rider, for the brass soon righted himself. Now that Tanis could see, he flashed a glance around at the others. They appeared unhurt, but they were scattered all over the sky. The old man and his dragon were pursuing Caramon—the old man had his hand outstretched, apparently all set to cast another devastating spell. Caramon was yelling and gesturing—he, too, had recognized the befuddled old mage.
Racing toward Fizban from behind came Flint and Tasslehoff, the kender shrieking in glee and waving his hands, Flint hanging on for dear life. The dwarf looked positively green.
But Fizban was intent upon his prey. Tanis heard the old man shout several words and extend his hand. Lightning shot from his fingertips. Fortunately his aim was off. The lightning streaked past Caramon’s head, forcing the big man to duck but otherwise not injuring him.
Tanis swore an oath so vile he startled himself. Kicking his dragon in the flanks, he pointed at the old man.
“Attack!” he commanded the dragon. “Don’t hurt him, just drive him out of here.”
To his amazement, the brass refused. Shaking his head, the dragon began to circle, and it suddenly occurred to Tanis that the creature intended to land!
“What? Are you mad?” Tanis swore at the dragon. “You’re taking us down into the dragonarmies!”
The dragon seemed deaf, and now Tanis saw that all the other brass dragons were circling, preparing to land.
In vain Tanis pleaded with his dragon. Berem, sitting behind Tika, clutched the woman so desperately she could barely breathe. The Everman’s eyes were on the draconians, who were swarming over the plains toward where the dragons were going to land. Caramon was flailing about wildly, trying to avoid the lightning bolts that zapped all around him. Flint had even come to life, tugging frantically at his dragon’s reins, roaring in anger, while Tas was still yelling wildly at Fizban. The old man followed after them all, herding the brass dragons before him like sheep.
They landed near the foothills of the Khalkist Mountains. Looking quickly across the plains, Tanis could see draconians swarming toward them.
We might bluff our way out of this, Tanis thought feverishly, though their disguises had been intended only to get them into Kalaman, not deceive a party of suspicious draconians. However, it was worth a shot. If only Berem would remember to stay in the background and keep quiet.
But before Tanis could say a word, Berem leaped from the back of his dragon and took off, running frantically into the foothills. Tanis could see the draconians pointing at him, yelling.
So much for keeping in the background. Tanis swore again. The bluff might still work... they could always claim a prisoner was trying to escape. No, he realized in despair, the draconians would simply chase after Berem and catch him. According to what Kitiara had told him, all the draconians in Krynn had descriptions of Berem.
“In the name of the Abyss!” Tanis forced himself to calm down and think logically, but the situation was fast getting out of control. “Caramon! Go after Berem. Flint, you—No, Tasslehoff, get back here! Damn it! Tika, go after Tas. No, on second thought, stay with me. You, too, Flint—”
“But Tasslehoff’s gone after that crazy old—”
“And if we’re lucky, the ground will open and swallow them both!” Tanis glanced back over his shoulder and swore savagely. Berem—driven by fear—was clambering over rocks and scrub bushes with the lightness of a mountain goat, while Caramon—hampered by the dragon armor and his own arsenal of weapons—slipped down two feet for every foot he gained.
Looking back across the Plains, Tanis could see the draconians clearly. Sunlight gleamed off their armor and their swords and spears. Perhaps there was still a chance, if the brass dragons would attack—
But just as he started to order them into battle, the old man came running up from where he had landed his ancient gold dragon. “Shoo!” said the old man to the brass dragons. “Shoo—get away! Go back to wherever you came from!”
“No! Wait!” Tanis nearly tore out his beard in frustration, watching as the old man ran among the brass dragons, waving his arms like a farmer’s wife driving her chickens to shelter.
Then the half-elf stopped swearing for—to his astonishment—the brass dragons prostrated themselves fiat on the ground before the old man in his mouse-colored robes. Then, lifting their wings, they soared gracefully into the air.
In a rage, forgetting he was dressed in captured dragonarmy armor, Tanis ran across the trampled grass toward the old man, following Tas. Hearing them coming, Fizban turned around to face them.
“I’ve a good mind to wash your mouth out with soap,” the old mage snapped, glowering at Tanis. “You’re my prisoners now, so just come along quietly or you’ll taste my magic—”
“Fizban!” cried Tasslehoff, throwing his arms around the old man.
The old mage peered down at the kender hugging him, then staggered backwards in amazement.
“It’s Tassle—Tassle—” he stammered.
“Burrfoot,” Tas said backing off and bowing politely. “Tasslehoff Burrfoot.”
“Great Huma’s ghost!” Fizban exclaimed.
“This is Tanis Half-Elven. And that is Flint Fireforge. You remember him?” Tasslehoff continued, waving a small hand at the dwarf.
“Uh, yes, quite,” Fizban muttered, his face flushing.
“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-err-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?”