“I guess we’re in,” Tas said ruefully, sitting up and looking doubtfully at the Dewar, who were staring back in silence. The guards’ heavy boots could be heard, stumping back up the corridor, accompanied by shouted obscenities and threats from the surrounding cells.
“Hello,” Tas said, smiling in friendly fashion, but not offering to shake hands. “I’m Tasslehoff Burrfoot and this is my friend, Gnimsh, and it looks like we’re going to be cellmates, doesn’t it now? So, what’s your names? Er, now, I say, that isn’t very nice... :”
Tas drew himself up, glaring sternly at one of the Dewar, who had risen to his feet and was approaching them.
A tall dwarf, his face was nearly invisible beneath a thick matting of tangled hair and beard. He grinned suddenly. There was a flash of steel and a large knife appeared in his hand. Shuffling forward, he advanced upon the kender, who retreated as far as possible into a corner, dragging Gnimsh with him.
“Whoarethesepeople?” Gnimsh squeaked in alarm, having finally taken note of their dismal surroundings.
Before Tas could answer, the Dewar had the kender by the neck and was holding the knife to his throat.
This is it! Tas thought with regret. I’m dead this time for sure. Flint will get a chuckle out of this one!
But the dark dwarf’s knife inched right past Tas’s face. Reaching his shoulder, the dark dwarf expertly cut through the straps of Tas’s pouches, sending them and their contents tumbling to the floor.
Instantly, chaos broke out in the cell as the Dewar leaped for them. The dwarf with the knife grabbed as many as he could, slashing and hacking at his fellows, trying to drive them back. Everything vanished within seconds.
Clutching the kender’s belongings, the Dewar immediately sat down and began rummaging through them. The dark dwarf with the knife had managed to make the richest haul. Clutching his booty to his chest, he returned to a place against the back of the cell, where he and his friends immediately began to shake the contents of the pouches onto the floor.
Gasping in relief, Tas sank down to the cold, stone floor. But it was a worried sigh of relief, nonetheless, for Tas figured that when the pouches had lost their appeal, the Dewar would get the bright idea of searching them next.
“And we’ll certainly be a lot easier to search if we’re corpses,” he muttered to himself. That led, however, to a sudden thought.
“Gnimsh!” he whispered urgently. “The magical device! Where is it?”
Gnimsh, blinking, patted one pocket in his leather apron and shook his head. Patting another, he pulled out a T-square and a bit of charcoal. He examined these carefully for a moment then, seeing that neither was the magical device, stuffed them back into his pockets. Tas was seriously considering throttling him when, with a triumphant smile, the gnome reached into his boot and pulled out the magical device.
During their last incarceration, Gnimsh had managed to make the device collapse again. Now it had resumed the size and shape of a rather ordinary, nondescript pendant instead of the intricate and beautiful sceptre that it resembled when fully extended.
“Keep it hidden!” Tas warned. Glancing at the Dewar, he saw that they were absorbed in fighting over what they’d found in his pouches. “Gnimsh,” he whispered, “this thing worked to get us out of the Abyss and you said it was cali-calo-caliwhatever’d to go straight to Caramon, since he was the one Par-Salian gave it to. Now, I really don’t want it to take us anywhere in time again, but do you think it would work for, say, just a short hop? If Caramon is general of that army, he can’t be far from here.”
“That’s a great idea!” Gnimsh’s eyes began to shine. “Just a minute, let me think...”
But they were too late. Tas felt a touch on his shoulder. His heart leaping into his throat, the kender whirled around with what he hoped was the Grim Expression of a Hardened Killer on his face. Apparently it was, for the Dewar who had touched him stumbled back in terror, hurriedly flinging his hands up for protection.
Noting that this was a youngish-appearing dwarf with a halfway sane look in his eye, Tasslehoff sighed and relaxed, while the Dewar, seeing that the kender wasn’t going to eat him alive, quit shaking and looked at him hopefully.
“What is it?” Tas asked in dwarven. “What do you want?”
“Come. You come.” The Dewar made a beckoning gesture. Then, seeing Tas frown, he pointed, then beckoned again, hedging back farther into the cell.
Tas rose cautiously to his feet. “Stay here, Gnimsh,” he said. But the gnome wasn’t listening. Muttering happily to himself, Gnimsh was occupied with twisting and turning little something’s on the device.
Curious, Tas crept after the Dewar. Maybe this fellow had discovered the way out. Maybe he’d been digging a tunnel...
The Dewar, still motioning, led the kender to the center of the cell. Here, he stopped and pointed. “Help?” he said hopefully.
Tas, looking down, didn’t see a tunnel. What he saw was a Dewar lying on a blanket. The dwarf’s face was covered with sweat, his hair and beard were soaking wet. His eyes were closed and his body jerked and twitched spasmodically. At the sight, Tas began to shiver. He glanced around the cell. Then, his gaze coming back to the young Dewar, he regretfully shook his head.
“No,” Tas said gently, “I’m sorry. There’s... nothing I can do. I-I’m sorry.” He shrugged helplessly.
The Dewar seemed to understand, for he sank back down beside the sick dwarf, his head bowed disconsolately.
Tas crept back to where Gnimsh was sitting, feeling all numb inside. Slumping down into the corner, he stared into the dark cell, seeing and hearing what he should have seen and heard right away—the wild, incoherent ramblings, cries of pain, cries for water and, here and there, the awful silence of those who lay very, very still.
“Gnimsh,” Tas said quietly, “these dwarves are sick. Really sick. I’ve seen it before in days to come. These dwarves have the plague.”
Gnimsh’s eyes widened. He almost dropped the magical device.
“Gnimsh,” said Tas, trying to speak calmly, “we’ve got to get out of here fast! The way I see it, the only choices we have down here are dying by knifepoint—which, while undoubtedly interesting, does have its drawbacks, or dying rather slowly and boringly of the plague.”
“I think it will work,” Gnimsh said, dubiously eyeing the magical device. “Of course, it might take us right back to the Abyss—”
“Not really a bad place,” Tas said, slowly rising to his feet and helping Gnimsh to his. “Takes a bit getting used to, and I don’t suppose they’d be wildly happy to see us again, but I think it’s definitely worth a try.”
“Very well, just let me make an adjustment—”
“Do not touch it!”
The familiar voice came from the shadows and was so stern and commanding that Gnimsh froze in his tracks, his hand clutching the device.
“Raistlin!” cried Tas, staring about wildly. “Raistlin! We’re here! We’re here!”
“I know where you are,” the archmage said coldly, materializing out of the smoky air to stand before them in the cell.
His sudden appearance brought gasps and screams and cries from the Dewar. The one in the corner with the knife snaked to his feet and lunged forward.
“Raistlin, look ou—” Tas shrieked.
Raistlin turned. He did not speak. He did not raise his hand. He simply stared at the dark dwarf. The Dewar s face went ashen. Dropping the knife from nerveless fingers, he shrank back and attempted to hide himself in the shadows. Before turning back to the kender, Raistlin cast a glance around the cell. Silence fell instantly. Even those who were delirious hushed.
Satisfied, Raistlin turned back to Tas.
“—out,” Tas finished lamely. Then the kender’s face brightened. He clapped his hands. “Oh, Raistlin! It’s so good to see you! You’re looking really well, too. Especially for having a er—sword stuck in your—uh—Well, never mind that. And you came to rescue us, didn’t you? That’s splendid! I—”