‘Confound it!’ snarled a voice below the kender. ‘Can’t a person get some sleep? What is all this racket? You’re making noise enough to wake the dead!’
Tasslehoff whirled around in alarm, his knife in his hand. He could have sworn he was alone up here. But no. Rising up off a stone bench that stood in a shadowy area out of the torchlight was a dark, robed figure. It shook itself, stretched, then got up and began to climb the stairs, moving swiftly toward the kender. Tas could not have gotten away, even if he had wanted to, and the kender found himself intensely curious about who was up here. He opened his mouth to ask this strange creature what it was and why it had chosen the throat of a Dragon Mountain to nap in, when the figure emerged into the light. It was an old man. It was—
Tasslehoff’s knife clattered to the floor. The kender sagged back against the railing. For the first, last, and only time in his life, Tasslehoff Burrfoot was struck speechless.
‘F-F-F...’ Nothing came out of his throat, only a croak.
‘Well, what is it? Speak up!’ snapped the old man, looming over him. ‘You were making enough noise a minute ago. What’s the matter? Something go down the wrong way?’
‘F-F-F...’ stuttered Tas weakly.
‘Ah, poor boy. Afflicted, eh? Speech impediment. Sad, sad. Here—’The old man fumbled in his robes, opening numerous pouches while Tasslehoff stood trembling before him.
‘There,’ the figure said. Drawing forth a coin, he put it in the kender’s numb palm and closed his small, lifeless fingers over it. ‘Now, run along. Find a cleric...’
‘Fizban!’ Tasslehoff was finally able to gasp.
‘Where?’ The old man whirled around. Raising his staff, he peered fearfully into the darkness. Then something seemed to occur to him. Turning back around, he asked Tas in a loud whisper, ‘I say, are you sure you saw this Fizban? Isn’t he dead?’
‘I know I thought so...’ Tas said miserably.
‘Then he shouldn’t be wandering around, scaring people!’ the old man declared angrily. ‘I’ll have a talk with him. Hey, you!’ he began to shout.
Tas reached out a trembling hand and tugged at the old man’s robe. ‘I—I’m not sure, b-but I think you’re Fizban.’
‘No, really?’ the old man said, taken aback. ‘I was feeling a bit under the weather this morning, but I had no idea it was as bad as all that.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘So I’m dead. Done for. Bought the farm. Kicked the bucket.’ He staggered to a bench and plopped down. ‘Was it a nice funeral?’ he asked. ‘Did lots of people come? Was there a twenty-one gun salute? I always wanted a twenty-one gun salute.’
‘I—uh,’ Tas stammered, wondering what a gun was. ‘Well, it was...more of a...memorial service you might say. You see, we—uh—couldn’t find your—how shall I put this?’
‘Remains?’ the old man said helpfully.
‘Uh...remains.’ Tas flushed. ‘We looked, but there were all these chicken feathers...and a dark elf...and Tanis said we were lucky to have escaped alive...’
‘Chicken feathers!’ said the old man indignantly. ‘What have chicken feathers got to do with my funeral?’
‘We—uh—you and me and Sestun. Do you remember Sestun, the gully dwarf? Well, there was that great, huge chain in Pax Tharkas. And that big red dragon. We were hanging onto the chain and the dragon breathed fire on it and the chain broke and we were falling’—Tas was warming up to his story; it had become one of his favorites—‘and I knew it was all over. We were going to die. There must have been a seventy-foot drop (this increased every time Tas told the tale) and you were beneath me and I heard you chanting a spell—’
‘Yes, I’m quite a good magician, you know.’
‘Uh, right,’ Tas stammered, then continued hurriedly. ‘You chanted this spell, Featherfall or something like that. Anyway, you only said the first word, “feather” and suddenly’—the kender spread his hands, a look of awe on his face as he remembered what happened then—‘there were millions and millions and millions of chicken feathers...’
‘So what happened next?’ the old man demanded, poking Tas.
‘Oh, uh, that’s where it gets a bit—uh—muddled,’ Tas said. ‘I heard a scream and a thump. Well, it was more like a splatter actually, and I f-f-figured the splatter was you.’
‘Me?’ the old man shouted. ‘Splatter!’ He glared at the kender furiously. ‘I never in my life splattered!’
‘Then Sestun and I tumbled down into the chicken feathers, along with the chain. I looked—I really did.’ Tas’s eyes filled with tears as he remembered his heartbroken search for the old man’s body. ‘But there were too many feathers...and there was this terrible commotion outside where the dragons were fighting. Sestun and I made it to the door, and then we found Tanis, and I wanted to go back to look for you some more, but Tanis said no...’
‘So you left me buried under a mound of chicken feathers?’
‘It was an awfully nice memorial service,’ Tas faltered. ‘Goldmoon spoke, and Elistan. You didn’t meet Elistan, but you remember Goldmoon, don’t you? And Tanis?’
‘Goldmoon...’ the old man murmured. ‘Ah, yes. Pretty girl. Big, stern-looking chap in love with her.’
‘Riverwind!’ said Tas in excitement. ‘And Raistlin?’
‘Skinny fellow. Damn good magician,’ the old man said solemnly, ‘but he’ll never amount to anything if he doesn’t do something about that cough.’
‘You are Fizban!’ Tas said. Jumping up gleefully, he threw his arms around the old man and hugged him tight.
‘There, there,’ Fizban said, embarrassed, patting Tas on the back. ‘That’s quite enough. You’ll crumple my robes. Don’t sniffle. Can’t abide it. Need a hankie?’
‘No, I’ve got one—’
‘Now, that’s better. Oh, I say, I believe that handkerchief’s mine. Those are my initials—’
‘Is it? You must have dropped it.’
‘I remember you now!’ the old man said loudly. ‘You’re Tassle—Tassle-something-or-other.’
‘Tasslehoff. Tasslehoff Burrfoot,’ the kender replied.
‘And I’m—’ The old man stopped. ‘What did you say the name was?’
‘Fizban.’
‘Fizban. Yes...’ The old man pondered a moment, then he shook his head. ‘I sure thought he was dead...’
10
Silvara’s secret.
‘How did you survive?’ Tas asked; pulling some dried fruit from a pouch to share with Fizban.
The old man appeared wistful. ‘I really didn’t think I did,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I haven t the vaguest notion. But, come to think of it, I haven’t been able to eat a chicken since. Now’—he stared at the kender shrewdly—‘what are you doing here?’
‘I came with same of my friends. The rest are wandering around somewhere, if they’re still alive.’ He sniffed again.
‘They are. Don’t worry.’ Fizban patted him on the back.
‘Do you think so?’ Tas brightened. ‘Well, anyway, we’re here with Silvara—’
‘Silvara!’ The old man leaped to his feet, his white hair flying out wildly. The vague look faded from his face.
‘Where is she?’ the old man demanded sternly. ‘And your friends, where are they?’
‘D-downstairs,’ stammered Tas, startled at the old man’s transformation. ‘Silvara cast a spell on them!’
‘Ah, she did, did she?’ the old man muttered. ‘We’ll see about that. Come on.’ He started off along the balcony, walking so rapidly, Tas had to run to keep up.
‘Where’d you say they were?’ the old man asked, stopping near the stairs. ‘Be specific,’ he snapped.
‘Uh—the tomb! Huma’s tomb! I think it’s Huma’s tomb. That’s what Silvara said.’