“I have failed...”
“Caramon,” came a worried voice.
Caramon stirred.
“Caramon?” Then, “Tanis, he’s coming around!”
“Thank the gods!”
Caramon opened his eyes. Looking up, he stared into the face of the bearded half-elf, who was looking at him with an expression of relief mingled with puzzlement, amazement, and admiration.
“Tanis!” Sitting up groggily, still numb with horror, Caramon gripped his friend in his strong arms, holding him fast, sobbing in relief.
“My friend!” Tanis said, and then was prevented from saying anything more by his own tears choking him.
“Are you all right, Caramon?” Tas asked, hovering near.
The big man drew a shivering breath. “Yes,” he said, putting his head into his shaking hands. “I guess so.”
“That was the bravest thing I have seen any man do,” Tanis said solemnly, leaning back to rest upon his heels as he stared at Caramon. “The bravest... and the stupidest.”
Caramon flushed. “Yeah,” he muttered, “well, you know me.”
“I used to,” Tanis said, scratching his beard. His gaze took in the big man’s splendid physique, his bronze skin, his expression of quiet, firm resolve. “Damn it, Caramon! A month ago, you passed out dead drunk at my feet! Your gut practically dragged the floor! And now—”
“I’ve lived years, Tanis,” Caramon said, slowly getting to his feet with Tas’s help. “That’s all I can tell you. But, what happened? How did I get out of that horrible place?” Glancing behind him, he saw the shadows of the trees far down at the end of the street, and he could not help shuddering.
“I found you,” Tanis said, rising to his feet. “They—those things—were dragging you under. You would have had an uneasy resting place there, my friend.”
“How did you get in?”
“This,” Tanis said, smiling and holding up a silver bracelet.
“It got you in? Then maybe—”
“No, Caramon,” Tanis said, carefully tucking the bracelet back inside his belt with a sidelong glance at Tas, who was looking extremely innocent. “Its magic was barely strong enough to get me to the edge of those cursed woods. I could feel its power dwindling—”
Caramon’s s eager expression faded. “I tried our magical device, too,” he said, looking at Tas. “It doesn’t work either. I didn’t much expect it to. It wouldn’t even get us through the Forest of Wayreth. But I had to try. I-I couldn’t even get it to transform itself! It nearly fell apart in my hands, so I left it alone.” He was silent for a moment, then, his voice shaking with desperation, he burst out, “Tanis, I have to reach the Tower!” His hands clenched into fists. “I can’t explain, but I’ve seen the future, Tanis! I must go into the Portal and stop Raistlin. I’m the only one who can!”
Startled, Tanis laid a calming hand on the big man’s shoulder. “So Tas told me—sort of. But, Caramon, Dalamar’s there... and... how in the name of the gods can you get inside the Portal anyway?”
“Tanis,” Caramon said, looking at his friend with such a serious, firm expression that the half-elf blinked in astonishment, “you cannot understand and there is no time to explain. But you’ve got to believe me. I must get into that Tower!”
“You’re right,” Tanis said, after staring at Caramon in mystified wonder, “I don’t understand. But I’ll help you, if I can, if it’s at all possible.”
Caramon sighed heavily, his head drooping, his shoulders slumping. “Thank you, my friend,” he said simply. “I’ve been so alone through all this. If it hadn’t been for Tas—”
He looked over at the kender, but Tas wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed with rapt attention on the flying citadel, still hovering above the city walls. The battle was raging in the air around it, among the dragons, and on the ground below, as could be seen from the thick columns of smoke rising from the south part of the city, the sounds of screams and cries, the clash of arms, and the clattering of horses’ hooves.
“I’ll bet a person could fly that citadel to the Tower,” Tas said, staring at it with interest. “Whoosh!
Right over the Grove. After all, its magic is evil and the Grove’s magic is evil and it’s pretty big—the citadel, that is, not the Grove. It would probably take a lot of magic to stop it and—”
“Tas!”
The kender turned to find both Caramon and Tanis standing, staring at him.
“What?” he cried in alarm. “I didn’t do it! It’s not my fault—”
“If we could only get up there!” Tanis stared at the citadel.
“The magical device!” Caramon cried in excitement, fishing it out of the inner pocket of the shirt he wore beneath his armor. “This will take us there!”
“Take us where?” Tasslehoff had suddenly realized something was going on. “Take us...”—he followed Tanis’s gaze—“there? There!” The kender’s eyes shone as brightly as stars. “Really? Truly? Into the flying citadel! That’s so wonderful! I’m ready. Let’s go!” His gaze went to the magical device Caramon was holding in his hand. “But that only works for two people, Caramon. How will Tanis get up?”
Caramon cleared his throat uncomfortably, and comprehension dawned upon the kender.
“Oh, no!” Tas wailed. “No!”
“I’m sorry, Tas,” Caramon said, his trembling hands hastily transforming the small, nondescript pendant into the brilliant, bejeweled sceptre, “but we’re going to have a stiff fight on our hands to get inside that thing—”
“You must take me, Caramon!” Tas cried. “It was my idea! I can fight!” Fumbling in his belt, he drew his little knife. “I saved your life! I saved Tanis’s life!”
Seeing by the expression on Caramon’s face that he was going to be stubborn about this, Tas turned to Tanis and threw his arms around him pleadingly. “Take me with you! Maybe the device will work with three people. Or rather two people and a kender. I’m short. It may not notice me! Please!”
“No, Tas,” Tanis said firmly. Prying the kender loose, he moved over to stand next to Caramon.
Raising a warning finger, he cautioned—with a look Tas knew well. “And I mean it this time!”
Tas stood there with an expression so forlorn that Caramon’s heart misgave him. “Tas,” he said softly, kneeling down beside the distraught kender, “you saw what’s going to happen if we fail! I need Tanis with me—I need his strength, his sword. You understand, don’t you?”
Tas tried to smile, but his lower lip quivered. “Yes, Caramon, I understand. I’m sorry”
“And, after all, it was your idea,” Caramon added solemnly, getting to his feet.
While this thought appeared to comfort the kender, it didn’t do a lot for the confidence of the half-elf. “Somehow,” Tanis muttered, “that has me worried.” So did the expression on the kender’s face. “Tas”—Tanis assumed his sternest air as Caramon moved to stand beside him once more—“promise me that you will find somewhere safe and stay there and that you’ll keep out of mischief! Do you promise?”
Tas’s face was the picture of inner turmoil—he bit his lip, his brows knotted together, he twisted his topknot clear up to the top of his head. Then—suddenly—his eyes widened. He smiled, and let go of his hair, which tumbled down his back. “Of course, I promise, Tanis,” he said with expression of such sincere innocence that the half-elf groaned.
But there was nothing he could do about it now. Caramon was already reciting the magical chant and manipulating the device. The last glimpse Tanis had, before he vanished into the swirling mists of magic, was of Tasslehoff standing on one foot, rubbing the back of his leg with the other, and waving goodbye with a cheerful smile.
3
“Fireflash!” said Tasslehoff to himself as soon as Tanis and Caramon had vanished from his sight. Turning, the kender ran down the street toward the southern end of town where the fighting was heaviest. “For,” he reasoned, “that’s where the dragons are probably doing their battling.”