Mugs were clanked together in toasts to the Forge, and dwarves slapped each other on the back and swayed in their seats.
“Well, yes,” the draconian evenly intoned. “The Chaos War would have turned out much worse had I not taken some steps to intervene and help mortals. Yes, I will happily accept your gifts.”
The acting mayor instantly brightened and cleared his throat. “The most hic, powerful of all the gods, we knew it would be you who came back to hic, Krynn first. We knew that you would show yourself to your hic, children, the dwarves and kender of Thorbardin. Hie.”
A cheer went up, and the draconian was passed another thick slice of bread with the last of the wonderful honey atop it. The boys would be back from the honeycomb soon with more, he was told.
Maybe I could linger for one dance, he thought. He’d never danced before. How long had it been since he killed the dwarf? It couldn’t have been that long ago, he told himself. The time didn’t matter anymore, did it? The ale was forestalling the transformation. He closed his eyes and savored the last few bites of the boar, felt the meal resting comfortably in his very full stomach. He listened to the band and the bubbling of the fountain, the slurred conversations of his new friends. They were much better company than his own kind, he decided. They loved him.
His expression grew wistful, and he pushed himself away from the table, tucking the doll under his arm and finding that it took a bit of concentration to stand without wobbling. He glanced over his shoulder toward the fountain, and noticed that the paper lanterns were being lit and that the sun was setting. “Yes, I believe hic, I can stay for a dance or two before I must leave to summon Mishakal and Habbakuk, Solanari and the others.”
“But not Takhisis!” cried the kender with two topknots. “Please don’t summon Takhisis!”
There were hisses and softly muttered curses at the mention of the Dark Queen’s name.
“No. Rest assured hic, that I will not be summoning Takhisis.” He grinned inwardly, as it was the first real truth he’d uttered since entering the village.
“Doyoureallyhavetoleave?” asked an elderly kender who was gripping the table to keep from falling over. “SummonthegodsfromNeidarbard!”
The acting mayor pushed away from the table and stood, wobbling from the effects of the ale. “Now, now, good folk of hic, Neidarbard. We have been hic, truly hic, blessed this day. Never before has a god, the god of Krynn, set foot in our hic, fair village. We must not be selfish, and hic, we must not-”
“Help!”
The cry was soft at first, giving Gustin Stoutbeard pause. But it was repeated, growing louder as the dwarf who was screaming it from afar barreled closer to the village. The musicians stopped playing, diners ended their conversations, forks were dropped, ale abandoned. All eyes turned to the panicked dwarf.
He was covered in honey, a gooey mess that plastered his beard and his hair close against his face. His chest was heaving, and he was holding his side from running so hard.
“Help,” he breathed. He gestured behind him and to the south.
The acting mayor quickly waddled to the dwarf’s side. “What’s wrong, hic, Puldar?”
“Uldred, Mesk,” he gasped. “They’re trapped in the giant honeycomb. The bees. You told us to get more honey for Reorx. We thought the great bees were gone from the higher chambers and we climbed in. But. .” He fell to his knees. “Gustin, the bees came, and Uldred plunged deep into the hive. Mesk followed him!”
All eyes shifted from the dwarf to the transformed dra-conian, who was backing away from the table, eyeing the mountains that rose invitingly at the far edge of the village.
“Reorx!” The kender with the twin topknots was practically standing on the table. “The Forge will save Uldred and Mesk!”
“The Forge!”
The sivak backed farther away, staggering a bit.
“You hic, can’t hic, leave now!” The acting mayor waddled toward the sivak, hands flapping and resembling the plump bird again.
“The affairs of the gods are above the affairs of mortals,” the draconian began. “If there will be no dance, I should leave now to hic, summon the other gods.”
“But, it’s Uldred!” A dwarven woman was crying, the one who had served him the delicious boar. “And Mesk! Oh, please save them, Reorx!”
“Save them, and then we’ll dance!” someone shouted.
The acting mayor took the sivak’s thick hand and tugged him toward the southern edge of the village. “Please,” he repeated, sobering a bit with the desperateness of the situation. “It can’t take so long to save hic, two young men, can it? Mishakal would understand, Solanari, too.”
“Where is the honeycomb?” The words came out too fast, a sibilant growl, but the acting mayor in his anxiety paid the tone no heed.
The rotund acting mayor tugged the god along. The entire village was stumbling after them, and murmurs of “Praise Reorx” and “Bless the Forge” filled the air.
“The bees don’t normally bother hic, anyone,” Gustin huffed as they went. “They ignore us, actually, as we don’t harvest that much honey, but Uldred and Mesk must’ve spooked the bees.”
Within moments the throng had passed beyond the last row of colorful houses, ducked under a string of merrily burning parchment lanterns, and now everyone was awkwardly racing toward a scattering of huge trees. There, stretched between two massive, ancient oaks, was a gigantic honeycomb. Even the sivak was astonished by the size of the construction. Nearly a dozen feet off the ground, each chamber was easily five feet across. The entire honeycomb was bigger than the biggest building in Neidarbard. A rope ladder dangled from one of the oaks, and the acting mayor quickly explained that the dwarves and kender climbed it to access the chambers and harvest the honey.
Three giant bees darted in and out of chambers at the top. They were bigger than draft horses, striped in stark bands of yellow and brown, their round eyes darker than a starless sky. Their legs were as wide around as healthy saplings, looking fuzzy with pollen. The buzzing that came from the constant movement of their wings practically drowned out the worried chatter of the townsfolk.
“Save them, please,” Gustin implored.
“Uldred and Mesk. They’re so young,” someone at the front of the crowd added. “You’re a god, the god, you could. .”
The draconian was no longer listening to them or to the incessant buzzing of the giant bees. He was listening to his heart, which had begun to beat louder and louder. He felt his fingers nervously tingling. It was near the time.
Or, the sivak idly wondered, was he feeling heartfelt concern for these young dwarves? They had, after all, been sent to get the honey just for him.
“Please save them, Reorx!”
“How hic, will you. .”
Acting impulsively, the sivak dropped the doll and ran toward the giant honeycomb, stumpy legs all a tingle as they churned over the grass. As he ran, he tried to shrug off the wooziness of the ale and shut out the pounding of his heart. The oak’s shadows stretched out toward him as he closed in, crouched, and, relying on his powerful leg muscles, sprang up into the air. Amid the startled ooohs and gasps of the Neidarbardians, he cleared the lower chambers and grabbed onto the honeycomb.
He thrust the sounds of his heart to the back of his mind and listened intently. Faintly he heard the young dwarves in the comb calling for help, their voices little more than echoes amid the buzzing of the bees, so loud here that it hurt his ears. The sivak clambered up quickly, just as the three giant bees darted down toward him.
The first bee closed in on him, as the sivak clung to the honeycomb, half-paralyzed by amazement. He saw his dwarven visage reflected in its mirrorlike eyes. Beautiful and horrifying and perfectly formed, its head swiveled back and forth, feelers twitching. The gust of wind created by its wings threatened to blow him off. The giant bee flew closer still, eyes fixed on him, and then he acted, slamming his dwarven fist hard against it. The great insect dropped, stunned, to the ground, and the next moved in.