“Indeed.” Rolling over on his side, Khirsah extended one huge leathery wing up into the smoky air and examined it closely. It was cut and bleeding, but had not been torn. He proceeded to examine the other wing in similar fashion while Tas watched, enchanted.
“I think I would like to be a dragon,” he said with a sigh.
“Of course.” Khirsah slowly twisted his bronze body over to stand upon his taloned feet, first extracting his long tail from the rubble of a building it had crushed. “We are the chosen of the gods. Our life spans are so long that the lives of the elves seem as brief as the burning of a candle to us, while the lives of humans and you kender are but as falling stars. Our breath is death, our magic so powerful that only the greatest wizards outrank us.”
“I know,” said Tasslehoff, trying to conceal his impatience. “Now, are you certain everything works?”
Khirsah himself concealed a smile. “Yes, Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” the dragon said gravely, flexing his wings, “everything, um... works, as you put it.” He shook his head. “I am feeling a little groggy, that is all. And so, since you have saved my life, I—”
“Twice.”
“Twice,” the dragon amended, “I am bound to perform a service for you. What do you ask of me?”
“Take me up to the flying citadel!” Tas said, all prepared to climb up on the dragons back. He felt himself being hoisted in the air by his shirt collar which was hooked in one of Khirsah’s huge claws. “Oh, thanks for the lift. Though I could have made it on my own—”
But he was not being placed upon the dragon’s back. Rather he found himself confronting Khirsah eye to eye.
“That would be extremely dangerous—if not fatal—for you, kender,” Khirsah said sternly. “I cannot allow it. Let me take you to the Knights of Solamnia, who are in the High Clerist’s Tower—”
“I’ve been to the High Clerist’s Tower!” Tas wailed. “I must get to the flying citadel! You see, uh, you see—Tanis Half-Elven! You know him? He’s up there, right now, and, uh—He left me here to get some important, uh, information for him and”—Tas finished in a rush—“I’ve got it and now I’ve got to get to him with it.”
“Give me the information,” Khirsah said. “I will convey it to him.”
“N—no, no, that—uh—won’t work at all,” Tas stammered, thinking frantically. “It—it’s—uh—in kenderspeak! And and it can’t be translated into—er—Common. You don’t speak—uh—kenderspeak, do you, Fireflash?”
“Of course,” the dragon was about to say. But, looking into Tasslehoff’s hopeful eyes, Khirsah snorted. “Of course not!” he said scornfully. Slowly, carefully, he deposited the kender on his back, between his wings. “I will take you to Tanis Half Elven, if that is your wish. There is no dragonsaddle, since we are not fighting using mounted riders, so hold onto my mane tightly.”
“Yes, Fireflash,” Tas shouted gleefully, settling his pouches about him and gripping the dragon’s bronze mane with both small hands. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Say, Fireflash,” he cried, “you won’t be doing any adventuresome things up there—like rolling over upside down or diving straight for the ground—will you? Because, while they certainly are entertaining, it might be rather uncomfortable for me since I’m not strapped in or anything...”
“No,” Khirsah replied, smiling. “I will take you there as swiftly as possible so that I may return to the battle.”
“Ready when you are!” Tas shouted, kicking Khirsah’s flanks with his heels as the bronze dragon leaped into the air. Catching the wind currents, he rose up into the sky and soared over the city of Palanthas.
It was not a pleasant ride. Looking down, Tas caught his breath. Almost all of New City was in flames. Since it had been evacuated, the draconians swept through it unchallenged, systematically looting and burning. The good dragons had been able to keep the blue and black dragons from completely destroying Old City—as they had destroyed Tarsis—and the city’s defenders were holding their own against the draconians. But Lord Soth’s charge had been costly. Tas could see, from his lofty vantage point, the bodies of knights and their horses scattered about the streets like tin soldiers smashed by a vengeful child. And, while he watched, he could see Soth riding on unchecked, his warriors butchering any living thing that crossed their path, the banshees’ frightful wail rising above the cries of the dying.
Tas swallowed painfully. “Oh, dear,” he whispered, “suppose this is my fault! I don’t really know, after all. Caramon never got to read any farther in the book! I just supposed No,” Tas answered himself firmly, “if I hadn’t save Tanis, then Caramon would have died in the Grove. I did what I had to do and, since it’s such a muddle, I won’t think about it, ever again.”
To take his mind off his problems—and the horrible things he could see happening on the ground below—Tas looked around, peering through the smoke, to see what was happening in the skies. Catching a glimpse of movement behind him, he saw a large blue dragon rising up from the streets near Shoikan Grove. “Kitiara’s dragon!” Tas murmured, recognizing the splendid, deadly Skie. But the dragon had no rider, Kitiara was nowhere to be seen.
“Fireflash!” Tas called out warningly, twisting around to watch the blue dragon, who had spotted them and was changing his direction to speed toward them.
“I am aware of him,” Khirsah said coolly, glancing toward Skie. “Do not worry, we are near your destination. I will deposit you, kender, then return to deal with my enemy.”
Turning, Tas saw that they were indeed very near the flying citadel. All thoughts of Kitiara and blue dragons went right out of his head. The citadel was even more wonderful up close than from down below. He could see quite clearly the huge, jagged chunks of rock hanging beneath it—what had once been the bedrock on which it was built.
Magical clouds boiled about it, keeping it afloat, lightning sizzled and crackled among the towers. Studying the citadel itself, Tas saw giant cracks snaking up the sides of the stone fortress—structural damage resulting from the tremendous force necessary to rip the building from the bones of the earth. Light gleamed from the windows of the citadel’s three tall towers and from the open portcullis in front, but Tas could see no outward signs of life. He had no doubt, however, that there would be all kinds of life inside!
“Where would you like to go?” Khirsah asked, a note of impatience in his voice.
“Anywhere’s fine, thank you,” Tas replied politely, understanding that the dragon was eager to get back to battle.
“I don’t think the main entrance would be advisable,” said the dragon, swerving suddenly in his flight. Banking sharply, he circled around the citadel. “I will take you to the back.”
Tas would have said “thank you” again but his stomach had, for some unaccountable reason, suddenly taken a plunge for the ground while his heart leaped into his throat as the dragons circling motion turned them both sideways in the air. Then Khirsah leveled out and, swooping downward, landed smoothly in a deserted courtyard. Occupied for the moment with getting his insides sorted out, Tas was barely able to slide off the dragons back and leap down into the shadows without worrying about the social amenities.
Once on the solid ground (well, sort of solid ground), however, the kender felt immensely more himself.
“Good-bye, Fireflash!” he called, waving his small hand. “Thank you! Good luck!”
But if the bronze heard him, he did not answer. Khirsah was climbing rapidly, gaining air space. Zooming up after him came Skie, his red eyes glowing with hatred. With a shrug and a small sigh, Tas left them to their battle. Turning around, he studied his surroundings.