But Silvara blocked the entrance to the tomb. He might try to sneak past her...Tas shook his head. Too risky.
The hole! He brightened. He’d wanted to examine it more carefully anyway. He just hoped the lid was still off.
The kender tiptoed around the bier until he came to the altar. There was the hole, still gaping open. Theros lay beside it, sound asleep, his head pillowed upon his silver arm. Glancing back at Silvara, Tas sneaked silently to the edge.
It would certainly be a better place to hide than where he was now. There were no stairs, but he could see handholds on the wall. A deft kender—such as himself—should have no trouble at all climbing down. Perhaps it led outside. Suddenly Tas heard a noise behind him. Silvara sighing and stirring...
Without another thought, Tas lowered himself silently into the hole and began his descent. The walls were slick with moisture and moss, the handholds were spaced far apart. Built for humans, he thought irritably. No one ever considered little people!
He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the gems until he was practically on top of them.
‘Reorx’s beard!’ he swore. (He was fond of this oath, having borrowed it from Flint.) Six beautiful jewels—each as big around as his hand—were spaced in a horizontal ring around the walls of the shaft. They were covered with moss, but Tas could tell at a glance how valuable they were.
‘Now why would anyone put such wonderful jewels down here?’ he asked aloud. ‘I’ll bet it was some thief. If I can pry them loose, I’ll return them to their rightful owner.’ His hand closed over a jewel.
A tremendous blast of wind filled the shaft, pulling the kender off the wall as easily as a winter gale rips a leaf off a tree. Falling, Tas looked back up, watching the light at the top of the shaft grow smaller and smaller. He wondered briefly just how big the Hammer of Reorx was, and then he stopped falling.
For a moment, the wind tumbled him end over end. Then it switched directions, blowing him sideways. I’m not going to the other side of the world after all, he thought sadly. Sighing, he sailed along through another tunnel. Then he suddenly felt himself start to rise! A great wind was wafting him up the shaft! It was an unusual sensation, quite exhilarating. Instinctively, he spread his arms to see if he could touch the sides of whatever it was he was in. As he spread his arms, he noticed that he rose faster, borne gently upward on swift currents of air.
Perhaps I’m dead, Tas thought. I’m dead and now I’m lighter than air. How can I tell? Putting his arms down, he felt frantically for his pouches. He wasn’t certain—the kender had very vague ideas as to the afterlife—but he had a feeling they wouldn’t let him take his things with him. No, everything was there. Tas breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a gulp when he discovered himself slowing down and even starting to fall!
What? he thought wildly, then realized he had pulled both his arms in close to his body. Hurriedly he thrust his arms out again and, sure enough, he began to rise. Convinced that he wasn’t dead, he gave himself up to enjoying the flight.
Fluttering his hands, the kender rolled over on his back in midair, and stared up to see where he was going.
Ah, there was a light far above him, growing brighter and brighter. Now he could see that he was in a shaft, but it was much longer than the shaft he had tumbled down.
‘Wait until Flint hears about this!’ he said wistfully. Then he caught a glimpse of six jewels, like the ones he’d seen in the other shaft. The rushing wind began to lessen.
Just as he decided that he could really enjoy taking up flying as a way of life, Tas reached the top of the shaft. The air currents held him even with the stone floor of a torch-lit chamber. Tas waited a moment to see if he might start flying again, and he even flapped his arms a bit to help, but nothing happened. Apparently his flight had ended.
I might as well explore while I’m up here, the kender thought with a sigh. Jumping out of the air currents, he landed lightly on the stone floor, then began to look around.
Several torches flared on the walls, illuminating the chamber with a bright white radiance. This room was certainly much larger than the tomb! He was standing at the bottom of a great curving staircase. The huge flagstones of each step—as well as all the other stones in the room—were pure white, much different from the black stone of the tomb. The staircase curved to the right, leading up to what appeared to be another level of the chamber. Above him, he could see a railing overlooking the stairs, apparently there was some sort of balcony up there. Nearly breaking his neck trying to see, Tas thought he could make out swirls and splotches of bright colors shining in the torchlight from the opposite wall.
Who lit the torches, he wondered? What is this place? Part of Huma’s tomb? Or did I fly up into the Dragon Mountain? Who lives here? Those torches didn’t light themselves!
At that thought—just to be safe—Tas reached into his tunic and drew out his little knife. Holding it in his hand, he climbed the grand stairs and came out onto the balcony. It was a huge chamber, but he could see little of it in the flickering torchlight. Gigantic pillars supported the massive ceiling overhead. Another great staircase rose from this balcony level to yet another floor. Tas turned around, leaning against the railing to look at the walls behind him.
‘Reorx’s beard!’ he said softly. ‘Look at that!’
That was a painting. A mural, to be more precise. It began opposite where Tas was standing, at the head of the stairs, and extended on around the balcony in foot after foot of shimmering color. The kender was not much interested in artwork, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing anything quite so beautiful. Or had he? Somehow, it seemed familiar. Yes, the more he looked at it, the more he thought he’d seen it before.
Tas studied the painting, trying to remember. On the wall directly across from him was pictured a horrible scene of dragons of every color and description descending upon the land. Towns blazed in flames—like Tarsis—buildings crumbled, people were fleeing. It was a terrible sight, and the kender hurried past it.
He continued walking along the balcony, his eyes on the painting. He had just reached the central portion of the mural when he gasped.
‘The Dragon Mountain! That’s it—there, on the wall!’ he whispered to himself and was startled to hear his whisper come echoing back to him. Glancing around hastily, he crept closer to the other edge of the balcony. Leaning over the rail, he stared closely at the painting. It indeed showed the Dragon Mountain, where he was now. Only this showed a view of the mountain as if some giant sword had chopped it completely in half vertically!
‘How wonderful!’ The map-loving kender sighed. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It is a map! And that’s where I am! I’ve gone up into the mountain.’ He looked around the room in sudden realization. ‘I’m in the throat of the dragon. That’s why this room is such a funny shape.’ He turned back to the map. ‘There’s the painting on the wall and there’s the balcony I’m standing on. And the pillars...’ He turned completely around. ‘Yes, there’s the grand staircase.’ He turned back. ‘It leads up into the head! And there’s how I came up. Some sort of wind chamber. But who built this...and why?’
Tasslehoff continued on around the balcony, hoping to find a clue in the painting. On the right-hand side of the gallery, another battle was portrayed. But this one didn’t fill him with horror. There were red dragons, and black, and blue, and white—breathing fire and ice—but fighting them were other dragons, dragons of silver and of gold...
‘I remember!’ shouted Tasslehoff.
The kender begin jumping up and down, yelling like a wild thing. ‘I remember! I remember! It was in Pax Tharkas. Fizban showed me. There are good dragons in the world. They’ll help us fight the evil ones! We just have to find them. And there are the dragonlances!’