This entertaining state of affairs lasted an extremely long so long that Tas began to get a bit bored by it all. A person can stare into impenetrable darkness only so long before he thinks he might like a change. Even tumbling about in time and space (if that’s what they were doing, Tas wasn’t at all sure at point) grows old after you’ve been doing it a long while. Eventually you decide that being stepped on by a giant is to having a gnome shrieking continuously in your ear (remarkable lung capacity, gnomes) and nearly pinching your hand off at the wrist. This state of affairs continued for a good long while until Tasslehoff and Conundrum slammed down, bump, into something that was soft and squishy and smelled strongly of mud and pine needles. The fall was not a gentle one and knocked the boredom out of the kender and the shrieks out of the gnome.
Tasslehoff lay on his back, making gasping attempts to catch what would probably be the last few breaths he would ever take. He looked up, expecting to see Chaos’s enormous foot poised above him. Tas had just a few seconds in which to explain matters to Conundrum, who was about to be inadvertently squished.
“We’re going to die a hero’s death,” said Tasslehoff with his first mouthful of air.
“What?” Conundrum shrieked with his first mouthful of air.
“We’re going to die a hero’s death,” Tasslehoff repeated.
Then he suddenly realized that they weren’t.
Absorbed in preparing both himself and the gnome for an imminent demise, Tasslehoff had not taken a close look at their surroundings. He assumed that all he would be seeing was the ugly underside of Chaos’s foot. Now that he had time to notice, he saw above him not a foot, but the dripping needles of a pine tree in a rain storm.
Tasslehoff felt his head to see if he had received a severe bump, for he knew from past experience that severe bumps to the head can cause you to see the most remarkable things, although those were generally starbursts, not dripping pine needles. He could find no signs of a bump, however.
Hearing Conundrum drawing in another large breath, undoubtedly preparatory to letting loose another ear-piercing shriek, Tasslehoff raised his hand in a commanding gesture.
“Hush,” he whispered tensely, “I thought I heard something.” Now, if truth be told, Tasslehoff had not heard something. Well, he had. He’d heard the rain falling off the pine needles, but he hadn’t heard anything dire, which is what his tone implied. He’d only pretended that in order to shut off the gnome’s shrieks. Unfortunately, as is often the way with transgressors, he was immediately punished for his sin, for the moment he pretended to hear something dire, he did hear something dire—the clash of steel on steel, followed by a crackling blast.
In Tas’s experience as a hero, only two things made sounds like that: swords beating against swords and fireballs exploding against just about anything.
The next thing he heard was more shrieking, only this time it was not, blessedly, Conundrum. The shrieking was some distance away and had the distinct sound of dying goblin to it, a notion that was reinforced by the sickening smell of burnt goblin hair. The shrieking ended summarily, then came a crashing, as of large bodies running through a forest of dripping wet pine needles. Thinking these might be more goblins and realizing that this was an inopportune time to be running into goblins, especially those who have just been fireball-blasted, Tasslehoff squirmed his way on his belly underneath a sheltering, low-hanging pine bough and dragged Conundrum in after him.
“Where are we?” Conundrum demanded, lifting up his head out of the mud in which they were lying. “How did we get here? When are we going back?”
All perfectly sound, logical questions. Trust a gnome, thought Tas, to go right to the heart of the matter.
“I’m sorry,” said Tas, peering out through the wet pine needles, trying to see what was going on. The crashing sounds were growing louder, which meant they were coming closer. “But I don’t know. Any of it.”
Conundrum gaped. His chin fell so far it came back up with mud on it. “What do you mean you don’t know?” he gasped, swelling with indignation. “You brought us here.”
“No,” said Tas with dignity, “I didn’t. This brought us here.” He indicated the Device of Time Journeying that he was holding in his hand. “When it wasn’t supposed to.” Seeing Conundrum sucking in another huge breath, Tas fixed the gnome with a withering stare.
“So I guess you didn’t fix it, after all.”
The breath wheezed out of Conundrum. He stared at the device, muttered something about missing schematics and lack of internal directives, and held out his mud-covered hand. “Give it to me. I’ll take a look at it.”
“No, thank you,” said Tasslehoff, shoving the device into a pouch and closing the flap. “I think I should hold onto it. Now hush!” Turning back to stare out from under the pine bough, Tas put his fingers to his lips. “Don’t let on we’re here.”
Contrary to most gnomes, who never see anything outside of the inside of Mount Nevermind, Conundrum was a well-traveled gnome who’d had his share of adventures, most of which he hadn’t enjoyed in the slightest. Nasty, bothersome things, adventures. Interrupted a fellow’s work. But he had learned an important lesson—the best way to survive adventures was to lie hidden in some dark and uncomfortable place and keep your mouth shut. This he was good at doing. Conundrum was so good at hiding that when Tasslehoff, who was not at all good at this sort of thing, started to get up with a glad and joyful cry to go to meet two humans who had just run out of the forest, the gnome grabbed hold of the kender with a strength borne of terror and dragged him back down.
“What in the name of all that’s combustible do you think you’re doing?” Conundrum gasped.
“They’re not burnt goblins, like I first thought,” Tas argued, pointing. “That man is a Solamnic Knight. I can tell by his armor. And the other man is a mage. I can tell by his robes. I’m just going to go say hello and introduce myself.”
“If there is one thing that I have learned in my travels,” said Conundrum in a smothered whisper,
“it is that you never introduce yourself to anyone carrying a sword or wearing wizard’s robes. Let them go their way, and you go your way.”
“Did you say something?” said the strange mage, turning to his companion.
“No,” said the Knight, raising his sword and looking keenly about.
“Well, somebody did,” said the mage grimly. “I distinctly heard voices.”
“I can’t hear anything for the sound of my own heart beating.” The Knight paused, listening, then shook his head. “No, I can’t hear a thing. What did it sound like? Goblins?”
“No,” the mage said, peering into the shadows.
The man was a Solamnic by his looks, for he had long, blond hair that he wore braided to keep out of his way. His eyes were blue, keen, and intense. He wore robes that might have started out red but were now so stained with mud, charred with smoke, and smeared with blood that their color was indistinguishable in the gray light of the rainy day. A glint of golden trim could be seen at the cuffs and on the hem.
“Look at that!” gasped Tasslehoff, agog with amazement, “He’s carrying Raistlin’s staff!”
“Oddly enough,” the mage was saying, “it sounded like a kender.” Tasslehoff clapped his hand over his mouth. Conundrum shook his head bleakly.
“What would a kender be doing here in the middle of a battle field?” asked the Knight with a smile.
“What does a kender do anywhere?” the mage returned archly, “except cause trouble for those who have the misfortune to encounter him.”
“How true,” sighed Conundrum gloomily.
“How rude,” muttered Tasslehoff. “Maybe I won’t go introduce myself to them, after all.”