"Yes, O Master. I will show you on the map. Glendower is here. And then beyond that there are — "
But I didn't hear anymore because I was afraid suddenly that Owen Glendower was going to fall over. His face had gone whiter than the snow and he shook so that his armor rattled.
"My family!" he groaned, and I saw his knees start to buckle.
I can move awfully quietly when I have to and I figured that this was one time I had to. I crept over to him, put my arm around him, and propped him up until he quit shaking.
He was grateful, I think, because he held onto me very tightly, uncomfortably tightly (did I mention he was really strong) and my breath almost left me again before he relaxed and let loose.
By now some blood had come back into his cheeks and he didn't look sick anymore. He looked grim and determined and resolved, and I knew then and there what he was planning to do. It was not conducive to a long life.
The dragon and draconian had gone into a rather heated discussion over which village they should burn and pillage and loot next after Glendower.
I took advantage of the noise they were making to whisper to Owen, "Have you ever seen a dragon?"
He shook his head. He was tightening buckles on his armor and pulling at straps and things and, having seen Sturm do this before a battle, I knew what it meant.
"They're huge," I said, feeling a snuffle coming on, "and extremely big. And enormous. And they have terrible sharp teeth and they're magical. More magical than Fizban. More magical than Raistlin, even, only you don't know him, so I guess that doesn't mean much. And the white dragons can kill you by just breathing on you. I know because I met one in Ice Wall. They can turn you into ice harder than this mountain and kill you dead."
I said all this, but it didn't seem to make any impression on Owen Glendower. He just kept buckling and tightening and his face got more and more cold and determined until I begin to think that it might not make much difference if the white dragon breathed a cone of frost on the knight because he looked already frozen to me.
"Oh, Fizban 1" I'm afraid I may have whimpered a bit here, but I truly didn't want to see Owen turned into part of this mountain. "Make him stop!"
But Fizban was no help. The wizard got that crafty, cunning look on his face that makes me feel squirmy, and he said, real soft, "He can do it. He has the dragonlances!"
Owen lit up. He stood tall and straight and his eyes shone bright green, fueled from inside by a beautiful, awful, radiant light.
"Yes," he said in a reverent voice, like he was praying. "Paladine sent the lances to my hand and then sent me here, to save my family. This is Paladine's work."
Well, I felt like telling him, No, it wasn't Paladine. It was just an old, skinny, and occasionally fuddled wizard who got us into this by falling into a hole. But I didn't. I had more important things on my mind.
Like the dragonlances.
I looked at them lying in the snow, and I could hear Theros's voice in my head. And I looked at Owen, standing so tall and handsome, and I thought about the painting of his wife and child and how sad they'd be if he was dead. Then I thought that if he was dead they'd be dead, too. And I heard Theros's voice again in my head.
Owen reached down and picked up one of the dragonlances and before I could stop it, a yell burst out of me.
"No! Owen! You can't use the dragonlances I" I cried, grabbing hold of his arm and hanging on. "They don't work!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Well, at that moment, a whole lot of things happened at once. I'll try to keep them straight for you, but it was all pretty confusing and I may put some things not in quite the right order.
Owen Glendower stared at me and said, "What?"
Fizban glared at me and snapped, "You fool kender! Keep your mouth shut!"
The draconian probably would have stared at me if it could have seen me through the wall of snow and it said, "I heard that!"
The dragon shifted its big body around (we could hear it scraping against the walls) and said, "So did I! And I smell warm blood! Spies! You, draco! Go warn the others! I'll deal with these!"
Wham!
That was the dragon's head, butting the ice wall that separated us. (Apparently, the wall was much thicker and stronger than I'd first supposed. For which we were all grateful.) The mountain shook and more snow fell down on top of us. The hole at the top grew larger — not that this was much help at the moment, since we couldn't get up there.
Owen Glendower was holding the dragonlance and staring at me. "What do you mean — the lances don't work!"
I looked helplessly at Fizban, who scowled at me so fiercely that I was afraid his eyebrows would slide right off his face and down his nose.
Wham!
That was the dragon's head again.
"I have to tell him, Fizban!" I wailed. And I spoke as quickly as I could because I could see that I wasn't going to have time to go into a lot of detail. "We overheard Theros Ironfeld say to Flint that the lances aren't special or magical or anything — they're plain ordinary steel and when Theros threw one against the wall it broke — I saw it!"
I stopped to suck in a big breath, having used up the one I'd taken to get all that out.
And then I used the next breath to shout, "Fizban! There's your hat!"
The dragon's head-whamming had knocked over a snow bank and there lay Fizban's hat, looking sort of dirty and crumpled and nibbled on and not at all magical. I made a dive for it, brought it up and waved it at him.
"Here it is! Now we can escape! C'mon, Owen!" And I tugged on the knight's arm.
Wham! Wham! That was the dragon's head twice.
Owen looked from the shaking wall (We could hear the dragon shrieking "Spies!" on the other side.) to me, to the lance, to Fizban.
"What do you know about this, Wizard?" he asked, and he was pale and breathing kind of funny.
"Maybe the lance is ordinary. Maybe it is blessed. Maybe it is flawed. Maybe you are the one with the flaw!" Fizban jabbed a finger at Owen.
The knight flushed deeply, and put his hand to his shaven moustaches.
Wham! A crack shivered up the wall and part of a huge dragon snout that was white as bleached bone shoved through the crack. But the dragon couldn't get its whole mouth through and so it left off and started butting the ice again. (That ice was much, much stronger than I'd first thought. Very odd.)
Owen stood holding the dragonlance and staring at it, hard, as if he was trying to find cracks in it. Well, I could have told him there wouldn't be any, because Theros was a master blacksmith, even if he was working with ordinary steel, but there wasn't time. I shoved Fizban's hat into the wizard's hand.
"Quick!" I cried. "Let's go! C'mon, Owen! Please!"
"Well, Sir Knight?" said Fizban, taking his hat. "Are you coming with us?"
Owen dropped the dragonlance. He drew his sword. "You go," he said. "Take the kender. I will stay."
"You, ninny!" Fizban snorted. "You can't fight a dragon with a sword!"
"Run, Wizard!" Owen snarled. "Leave while you still can!" He looked at me and his eyes shimmered. "You have the painting," he said softly. "Take it to them. Tell them — "
Well, I never found out what I was supposed to tell them because at that moment the dragon's head punched right smack through the ice wall.
The cave we were trapped in was smallish compared to the dragon, and the wyrm could only get its head inside. Its chin scraped along the floor and its snaky eyes glared at us horribly. It was so huge and awful and wonderful that I'm afraid I forgot all about its not being conducive to long life and mine would have ended then and there except Fizban grabbed hold of me by the collar and dragged me against the far wall.