‘Reorx, the God of the Dwarves, you doorknob!’ Flint roared.
‘Oh,’ said Tas after a moment. ‘That Reorx.’
‘Listen, lad,’ Flint said more calmly, determined to leave no hard feelings behind. ‘I want you to have my helm. The one you brought me in Xak Tsaroth, with the griffon’s mane.’
‘Do you really?’ Tas asked, impressed. ‘That’s awfully nice of you, Flint, but what will you do for a helm?’
‘Ah, lad, I won’t need a helm where I’m going.’
‘You might in Sancrist,’ Tas said dubiously. ‘Derek thinks the Dragon Highlords are preparing to launch a full-scaled attack, and I think a helm could come in handy—’
‘I’m not talking about Sancrist!’ Flint snarled, struggling to sit up. ‘I won’t need a helm because I’m dying!’
‘I nearly died once,’ Tas said solemnly. Setting a steaming bowl on a table, he settled back comfortably in a chair to relate his story. ‘It was that time in Tarsis when the dragon knocked the building down on top of me. Elistan said I was nearly a goner. Actually those weren’t his exact words, but he said it was only through the inter...interces...oh well, intersomething-or-other of the gods that I’m here today.’
Flint gave a mighty groan and fell back limply on his bunk. ‘Is it too much to ask,’ he said to the lamp swinging above his head, ‘that I be allowed to die in peace? Not surrounded by kenders!’ This last was practically a shriek.
‘Oh, come now. You’re not dying, you know,’ Tas said. ‘You’re only seasick.’
‘I’m dying,’ the dwarf said stubbornly. ‘I’ve been infected with a serious disease and now I’m dying. And on your heads be it. You dragged me onto this confounded boat—’
‘Ship,’ interrupted Tas.
‘Boat!’ repeated Flint furiously. ‘You dragged me onto this confounded boat, then left me to perish of some terrible disease in a rat-infested bedroom—’
‘We could have left you back in Ice Wall, you know, with the walrus-men and—’ Tasslehoff stopped.
Flint was once again struggling to sit up, but this time there was a wild look in his eyes. The kender rose to his feet and began edging his way toward the door. ‘Uh, I guess I better be going. I just came down here to—uh—see if you wanted anything to eat. The ship’s cook made something he calls green pea soup—’
Laurana, huddled out of the wind on the foredeck, started as she heard the most frightful roaring sound come from below decks, followed by the cracking of smashed crockery. She glanced at Sturm, who was standing near her. The knight smiled.
‘Flint,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Laurana said, worried. ‘Perhaps I should—’
She was interrupted by the appearance of Tasslehoff dripping with green pea soup.
‘I think Flint’s feeling better,’ Tasslehoff said solemnly. ‘But he’s not quite ready to eat anything yet.’
The journey from Ice Wall had been swift. Their small ship fairly flew through the sea waters, carried north by the currents and the strong, cold prevailing winds.
The companions had traveled to Ice Wall where, according to Tasslehoff, a dragon orb was kept in Ice Wall Castle. They found the orb and defeated its evil guardian, Feal-thas—a powerful Dragonlord. Escaping the destruction of the castle with the help of the Ice Barbarians, they were now on a ship bound for Sancrist. Although the precious dragon orb was stowed safely in a chest below decks, the horrors of their journey to Ice Wall still tormented their dreams at night.
But the nightmares of Ice Wall were nothing compared to that strange and vivid dream they had experienced well over a month ago. None of them referred to it, but Laurana occasionally saw a look of fear and loneliness—unusual to Sturm—that made her think he might be recalling the dream as well.
Other than that, the party was in good spirits—except the dwarf, who had been hauled on the ship bodily and was promptly seasick. The journey to Ice Wall had been an undoubted victory. Along with the dragon orb, they carried away with them the broken shaft of an ancient weapon, believed to be a dragonlance. And they carried something more important, though they did not realize it at the time they found it...
The companions, accompanied by Derek Crownguard and the other two young knights who had joined them at Tarsis, had been searching Ice Wall castle for the dragon orb. The search had not gone well. Time and again they had fought off the evil walrus-men, winter wolves, and bears. The companions began to think they may have come here for nothing, but Tas swore that the book he read in Tarsis said there was an orb located here. So they kept looking.
It was during their search that they came upon a startling sight—a huge dragon, over forty feet long, its skin a shimmering silver, completely encased in a wall of ice. The dragon’s wings were spread, poised for flight. The dragon’s expression was fierce, but his head was noble, and he did not inspire them with the fear and loathing they remembered experiencing around the red dragons. Instead, they felt a great, overwhelming sorrow for this magnificent creature.
But strangest to them was the fact that this dragon had a rider! They had seen the Dragon Highlords ride their dragons, but this man appeared by his ancient armor to have been a Knight of Solamnia! Held tightly in his gloved hand was the broken shaft of what must have been a large lance.
‘Why would a Knight of Solamnia be riding a dragon?’ Laurana asked, thinking of the Dragon Highlords.
‘There have been knights who turned to evil,’ Lord Derek Crownguard said harshly. ‘Though it shames me to admit it.’
‘I get no feeling of evil here,’ Elistan said. ‘Only a great sorrow. I wonder how they died. I see no wounds—’
‘This seems familiar,’ Tasslehoff interrupted, frowning. ‘Like a picture. A knight riding a silver dragon. I’ve seen—’
‘Bah!’ Flint snorted. ‘You’ve seen furry elephants—’
‘I’m serious,’ Tas protested.
‘Where was it, Tas?’ Laurana asked gently, seeing a hurt expression on the kender’s face. ‘Can you remember?’
‘I think...’ Tasslehoff’s eyes lost their focus. ‘It puts me in mind of Pax Tharkas and Fizban...’
‘Fizban!’ Flint exploded. ‘That old mage was crazier than Raistlin, if that’s possible.’
‘I don’t know what Tas is talking about,’ Sturm said, gazing up at the dragon and its rider thoughtfully. ‘But I remember my mother telling me that Huma rode upon a Silver Dragon, carrying the Dragonlance, in his final battle.’
‘And I remember my mother telling me to leave sweetcakes for the white-robed Old One who came to our castle at Yuletime,’ scoffed Derek. ‘No, this is undoubtedly some renegade Knight, enslaved by evil.’
Derek and the other two young knights turned to go, but the rest lingered, staring up at the figure on the dragon.
‘You’re right, Sturm. That’s a dragonlance,’ Tas said wistfully. ‘I don’t know how I know, but I’m sure of it.’
‘Did you see it in the book in Tarsis?’ Sturm asked, exchanging glances with Laurana, each of them thinking that the kender’s seriousness was unusual, even frightening.
Tas shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Maybe we should take it with us,’ Laurana suggested uneasily. ‘It couldn’t hurt.’
‘Come along, Brightblade!’ Derek’s voice came back to them, echoing sternly. ‘The Thanoi may have lost us for the moment, but they’ll discover our trail before long.’
‘How can we get it?’ Sturm asked, ignoring Derek’s order. ‘It’s encased in ice at least three feet thick!’
‘I can,’ Gilthanas said.
Jumping up onto the huge cliff of ice that had formed around the dragon and its rider, the elf found a handhold and began to inch his way up the monument. From the dragon’s frozen wing, he was able to crawl along on his hands and knees until he came to the lance, clutched in the rider’s hand. Gilthanas pressed his hand against the ice wall covering the lance and spoke the strange, spidery language of magic.