“There’s no wall, Flint,” Tas told him. “Just keep walking and you’ll be inside a dark hall with statues all lined up in a row.”
“What do you mean there’s no wall? Of course, there’s a wall! Look at it!” As Flint turned to glare at him, Tas whipped off the spectacles and held them behind his back. This was more fun than he’d had in a long time. The wall was there once again. A solid stone wall.
“Whoa!” breathed Tas, awed.
“Quit wasting time,” Flint snapped, “and come over and help me look for the secret door. On the other side of this wall is the Promenade. We walk down it, go up some stairs and then go up some more stairs, and we’re at the entrance to the Ruby Chamber with the Hammer!” He rubbed his hands. “We’re close. Really close! We just have to find some way past this blasted wall!” He went back to tapping at the stone work. Tas held up the spectacles, took one last look, then, secreting them in his pocket, he walked boldly up to the wall, closed his eyes—in case the spectacles might be wrong and he was going to smash his nose—and walked straight into the stones.
He heard Flint bellow, then he heard the bellow get stuck in the dwarf’s windpipe so that it turned into a choke, and then Flint was yelling. “Tas! You rattle-brain! Where did you go?” Tas turned around. He could see Flint quite clearly, but apparently the dwarf couldn’t see him, because Flint was running up and down in front of a stone wall that wasn’t there.
“I’m on the other side,” Tas called. “I told you. There’s no wall. It just looks like there’s a wall. You can walk through it!”
Flint hesitated, dithered a little bit, then he put the hammer back in its harness and set down the lantern on the floor. Holding one hand over his eyes and thrusting the other hand in front of him, he walked forward slowly and gingerly.
Nothing happened. Flint took away his hand from his eyes. He found himself, just as Tas had said, in a long, dark hallway lined with statues of dwarves, each standing in its own niche.
“You forgot the lantern,” said Tas, and he went back to fetch it.
Flint stared at the kender in wonder. “How did you know that wall wasn’t real?”
“It was marked on the map,” Tas said. He handed Flint the lantern. “Where does this corridor lead?”
Flint looked back at the map. “No, it isn’t.”
“Bah!” Tas said. “What do you know about maps? I’m the expert. Are we going down this hall or not?”
Flint looked at the map and scratched his head. He looked back at the wall that wasn’t there, then stared at the kender. Tas smiled at him brightly. Flint frowned, then walked off down the corridor, flashing the light over the statues and muttering to himself, something he tended to do a lot when he was around the kender.
Tasslehoff put his hand into his pocket, patted the spectacles, and sighed with bliss. They were magic! Not even Raistlin had such a wonderful pair of spectacles as this.
Tas meant to keep these marvelous spectacles forever and ever, or at least for the next couple of weeks, which, to a kender, amounts to roughly the same thing.
As Flint walked the Grand Promenade, flashing the lantern light here and there, he forgot Tasslehoff and the mystery of the vanishing stone wall. The Hammer was as good as his. In each niche he passed stood a statue of a dwarven warrior clad in the armor of the time of King Duncan. Moving down the long row, Flint imagined himself surrounded by an honor guard of dwarven soldiers, clad in their ceremonial finery, assembled to pay him homage. He could hear their cheers: Flint Fireforge, the Hammer-Finder! Flint Fireforge, the Unifier! Flint Fireforge, the Bringer of the Dragonlance! Flint Fireforge, High King!
No, Flint decided. He didn’t want to be High King. Being king would mean he’d have to live under the mountain, and he was too fond of fresh air, blue sky, and sunshine to do that. But the other titles sounded fine to him, especially the Bringer of the Dragonlance. He came to the end of the rows of dwarven soldiers and there was Sturm, splendid in his armor, saluting him. Next to him stood Caramon, looking very solemn, and Raistlin, meek and humble in the great dwarf’s presence.
Laurana was there, too, smiling on him and giving him a kiss, and Tika was there, and Otik, promising him a life-time supply of free ale if he would honor the inn with his presence. Tasslehoff popped up, grinning and waving, but Flint banished him. No kender in this dream. He passed Hornfel, who bowed deeply, and came to Tanis, who regarded his old friend with pride. There, at the end of the row, was the flashily dressed dwarf from his dream. The dwarf winked at him.
“Not much time…” said Reorx.
Flint went cold all over. He came to a halt and wiped chill sweat from his brow.
“Serves me right. Daydreaming when I should be keeping an eye out for danger.” He turned around to yell at the kender. “What do you think you’re doing, lolly-gagging about when we’re on an important quest!”
“I’m not lolly-gagging,” Tas protested. “I’m looking for Arman. I don’t think he’s been here. We’d see his footprints in the dust. He probably didn’t know that wall wasn’t a wall.”
“Most likely,” said Flint, feeling a jab of conscience. In his dream of glory, he’d forgotten all about the young dwarf.
“Should we turn around and go back?” Tas asked.
The line of statues came to an end. A short corridor branched off from the promenade to the left. According to the map, this corridor led to one set of stairs that led to a second set of stairs. Hidden stairs. Secret stairs. Young Arman would never find them. He could manage to make his way to the Ruby Tower without climbing up these stairs, but the route was longer and more complicated. Unless, of course, that dwarf claiming to be Kharas showed him the way.
“We’ll find the Hammer first,” Flint decided. “We’ve come this far, after all, and we’re close to where it might be, according to the map. Once we have the Hammer safe, then we’ll search for Arman.”
He hurried down the corridor, with the kender at his heels, and there were the stairs. Flint started climbing, and the aches came back to his leg muscles, and the pain returned to his knees, and there was that annoying shortness of breath in his chest again. He distracted himself by trying to decide what he was going to do with the Hammer once he found it.
He knew what Sturm and Raistlin wanted him to do. He knew what Tanis wanted him to do. What he didn’t know yet was what he, Flint, wanted to do, though the ancient dwarf that called himself Kharas had been pretty near the mark.
Teach them a lesson. Yeah, that sounded good to him, really good. He’d teach them all a lesson—dwarves, Sturm, Raistlin… everyone.
He reached the top of this first flight of stairs and emerged into a very small, very dark, and very empty chamber. Flint held up the lantern and shone it along the wall until he found a narrow archway that had been marked on the map. He peered inside, holding the lantern high. Tasslehoff, peering with him, gave a sigh. “More stairs. I’m getting awfully tired of stairs. Aren’t you, Flint? When they build my tomb, I hope they make it all one level so that I won’t have to climb up and down all the time.”
“Your tomb!” Flint scoffed. “As if anyone would build a tomb for you! You’ll most likely end up in the belly of a bugbear, and if you’re dead you won’t be climbing up and down anything.”
“I might,” said Tas. “I don’t plan to stay dead. That’s boring. I plan to come back as a lich or a wraith or a relevant, or something.”
“Revenant,” Flint corrected.
He was putting off the evil moment when he would have to make his aching legs climb this next staircase which, according to the map, was about three times as long as any of those they had climbed previously.
“Maybe I won’t die at all,” Tasslehoff said, giving the matter some thought. “Maybe everyone will think I’m dead, but I won’t be dead, not really, and I’ll come back and give everyone a big surprise. You’d be surprised, wouldn’t you, Flint?”