Roused by the alarm, the citizens of Pigeon Falls were armed for battle with weapons of all varieties, from swords to pitchforks to rolling pins. Fortunately, battle had not yet been joined. Although the captain of the town militia was exhorting his men to charge, most were overcome by dragonfear and were hiding behind buildings, clutching their weapons in shaking hands, and staring open-mouthed and white-faced at the dragon.
The dragon, meanwhile, had just managed to extricate his claw from the second story of the house—bringing down the roof as he did so—and was staring about in growing rage.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot heaved a sigh. He shoved and wriggled his way through the terror-stricken crowd and came to stand alone in the middle of the town square.
The crowd went “oooh” and “aaah,” and the people fell all over themselves backing up to give the kender more room. Someone did mutter, “How did a kender get into town?” but several voices shushed him.
The dragon looked down accusingly at Tasslehoff.
“You didn’t come back.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tas meekly. “I fell asleep. It was a tiring battle. All those skeletal warriors… and all.”
He wasn’t feeling very chipper. It was obvious that the dragon had recovered somewhat and was having second, third, and probably fourth thoughts about Tasslehoff’s story. There is no telling what would have happened if, at that moment, some fool hadn’t fired off one of the catapults. A largish rock sailed through the air and hit the dragon smack in the middle of its forehead.
The dragon reeled and, in that moment, remembered everything.
Thunderbolt (the dragon’s real name) remembered the knights (who had been quite alive at the time) and that blasted white robed wizard invading his snug cave. He recalled the battle and how he’d breathed his deadly lightning breath on the knights and picked them up in his jaws and flung them back to the ground. He recalled gobs of blood and the sweet screams of the dying and the lovely sound of breaking bones. Finally, he recalled the immense satisfaction he felt as skewered that wizard in the gut with a claw. The wizard slumped down the wall. He was bleeding profusely, but he was still conscious, blast him, and he was able to get off a last magic spell—waving his staff and chanting.
Thunderbolt remembered being blinded by white light and then suddenly everything—including time—ground to a halt. When the dragon could see again, he discovered that he was hanging in mid-air, wings extended, jaws open, claws stretched to kill, and he was stuck this way. Suspended, held prisoner in time and space. And the wizard who had cast the foul spell died before he could uncast it.
Years passed. Thunderbolt didn’t know how many. He was frozen in his cave and he couldn’t get free. He might have to hang this way for all eternity. He had nearly given up hope of ever being found when the kender had appeared inside his chamber.
This kender. The one standing right in front of him. The kender who had touched the wizards staff and freed the dragon.
True, Thunderbolt knew, the kender had not done so on purpose. The kender had freed him accidentally. Then he’d lied to the dragon, making up that folderol about being a thief, a kender tale that had led the dazed and headachy and befuddled dragon to try his hand at thieving, with the result that he was now in peril of his life, not to mention looking utterly ridiculous.
Tasslehoff saw the dragon blink with pain. Then the dragon’s eyes opened wide and then narrowed to slits and then the large blue dragon glared down at the kender.
Tas realized in that moment that the dragon’s amnesia was cured. The dragon remembered everything. Tas knew this by the glint in the dragon’s now focused eyes and the barring of his fangs.
“Well, it’s been a good life,” Tasslehoff said to himself, as he waited to be eaten. “Too bad it couldn’t have lasted longer, but that’s the way Otik’s spiced potatoes crumble.”
The dragon lifted a powerful claw…
… and handed Tas a jeweled necklace.
“I found this,” said the dragon. “You must have dropped it.”
Tasslehoff was struck speechless for the first, last, and only time in his life that he could recall at this particular moment. He bent down and picked up the necklace.
“I’ll just be leaving now,” said the dragon.
He shifted his enormous body around, completing the ruin of the guard tower and destroying a few more sections of wall as he attempted to extricate himself. He walked off.
“Cease fire!” the captain of the militia yelled, though no one had fired or was about to fire, except the man at the catapult and, as it turned out, he’d fainted from terror and fallen on top of the triggering mechanism.
Thus ended the attack of the blue dragon on the city of Pigeon Falls.
Thunderbolt returned to his cave. On his way, he smashed every one of the HERE BE DRAGONS signs. By Takhisis, no wonder those confounded knights had discovered him! Might as well list him in the tourist guides!
As he returned to his comfortable cave, Thunderbolt reflected on his actions. He could have eaten the kender, should have eaten the kender. But the kender had saved him from that cruel spell and, besides, Thunderbolt was forced to admit, he had always kind of liked the name George.
So few dragons were named George nowadays.
Tasslehoff Burrfoot was now not only a Hero of the Lance, he was also the Hero of Pigeon Falls. People crowded around him, slapping him on the back. They hoisted him onto their shoulders and carried him through the streets of town. They gave him the key to the city, which he really didn’t need, due to the lock picks, and threw a banquet in his honor.
He was urged to make a speech, which he did.
“Thank you,” he said, “but really all I wanted was to see the pigeons fall.”
Then it was explained to him that it was water falls not pigeon falls that gave the town its name. The falls were named for the pigeons, which Tas thought was pretty lame. He didn’t say so, however. Heroes are always polite.
After his speech, he was hugged by the Lord Mayor’s wife, who was a large-bosomed, stout woman. It was at this point that Tasslehoff remembered there were other cities to see, other caves to visit, other dragons to outwit.
So Tasslehoff Burrfoot, Hero of the Lance and of Pigeon Falls, left this part of Krynn, never to return there again.
If he had, he would have seen new signs posted all around the city—just in case any wandering dragons happened to be passing by.
WARNING TO DRAGONS!
HERE BE KENDER!
And from that day to this, kender have always been welcome in Pigeon Falls.
About
Margaret Weis was born and raised in Independence, Missouri. In 1983, she moved to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, to take a job as book editor at TSR, Inc, producers of the Dungeons & Dragons® roleplaying game.
At TSR, Weis became part of the Dragonlance® design team. In collaboration with Tracy Hickman, she wrote the Dragonlance Chronicles, which has sold over twenty million copies world wide. Weis is also the author of many best-selling series, including the Deathgate Cycle, the Sovereign Stone series, and her new Dragonvarld series for TOR Books.
Weis is also the owner of Sovereign Press, the publisher of the Dragonlance d20™ roleplaying products licensed from Wizards of the Coast, Inc.