Damaris’s chin rose haughtily, and Phineas scowled. Vinsint was abruptly swept away by the sea of kender, many of whom wanted to get reacquainted, having been helped through the grove by him over the years.
Tasslehoff turned to Trapspringer, his face a puzzled mask. “I’d like to know where these kender came from myself,” he said. “Especially you, Uncle.”
“And hello to you, too, Nephew. You’re looking well!” the elder Furrfoot exclaimed, clasping Tasslehoff to him in an embrace.
After returning the hug, Tasslehoff drew back. “Uncle Trapspringer, what are you doing here at the Tower of High Sorcery? Is this where you’re being held prisoner? I’m supposed to marry some silly little minx, but I’ll do it happily if it means you’ll be set free.”
“Uh, Tasslehoff,” Trapspringer interrupted, coughing uncomfortably as Damaris elbowed her way through the crowd to them, “I’d like you to meet your birthmate. Damaris Metwinger, this is Tasslehoff Burrfoot.”
The surprises were mounting up so fast that Tasslehoff didn’t notice Damaris’s angry glare. “Pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
The blonde kender pushed him away angrily. “Silly little minx, eh? I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Krynn!” With that, she stormed off and was swallowed up by the swirling mass of flesh filling the room.
Tasslehoff’s eyebrows arched. “She’s pretty enough, but a bit hot-tempered, isn’t she? What is she doing here, anyway? Is she being held prisoner, too?”
Trapspringer quickly recounted the events of the last several weeks, drawing Phineas from the teeming crowd for an introduction. The human, who had been trying to make his way to the stairs, eyed Tasslehoff from top to bottom. “So you’re the one we’ve all been chasing after,” he grunted. “Well, I’m glad I lived long enough to finally meet you, even if there wasn’t any payoff.” Phineas abruptly began elbowing his way toward the stairs, leaving Tas to puzzle over his strange comments.
“Now, Nephew,” Trapspringer said, “why don’t you tell me why you’re here, instead of in Kendermore?”
The question reminded Tasslehoff of Denzil, and the kender hastily scanned the room for the half-orc. Denzil stood less than three feet from the mist-shrouded portal, hemmed in by milling kender, his back pressed against the wall. Tasslehoff could see from the look in Denzil’s eyes that the half-orc was still trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Tasslehoff was about to warn his uncle about the assassin when one of the large kender silenced the chattering in the room with a piercing whistle.
“Who’s got the treasure box?” boomed the speaker, none other than Harkul Gelfig. “I was pulled through that tunnel so fast I wasn’t able to retrieve it.” He looked around expectantly at the tightly packed throng. All movement stopped. “No one?” the kender squealed. “Everyone just marched out and left such a valuable box behind?” An embarrassed silence enveloped the room.
Hearing the word “treasure” seemed to have a rallying effect on Denzil. He snapped out of his stunned fog. At last, the object of his hunt was within his reach. Never one to hesitate, the half-ore pushed and punched his way through the kender until he stood before the pulsing, multicolored portal. Casting one more look around the room, he stepped into the purple and green clouds that marked the gateway and disappeared.
“Say, is he going back to get the box?” asked one of the kender in the crowd. “Who is he, anyway?”
Before Tasslehoff could answer either question, a terrific gust of wind blasted out of the portal, sending the kender smashing into each other in an even more tightly packed clump on the far side of the chamber.
Once again, purple mist boiled out of the glowing rectangle on the wall. But the mist darkened and grew sinister, and felt cold to the touch. The kender crowded away from it where they could and cringed where they could not. Black lightning streaked through the void, accompanied by vague sounds that resembled nothing so much as shrieks and groans of torment. Everything in the room was charged with electricity. The long strands of hair from Tasslehoff’s topknot stood out from each other, and everyone was outlined with a ghostly yellow glow. Then lightning crackled across the compartment and struck the far wall, but it did not dissipate. The bolt hung in midair, and was joined by another, and another, all splitting and writhing in a dance of impossible symmetries.
Suddenly, with a great gust of hot wind, gobs of the purple mist pulled together and took shape, forming themselves into the likeness of a human visage, a woman’s face. Its complexion was white, the lips thin and gray. The sharply ridged nose and harsh cheekbones gave the face a disturbing severity. The eyes were yellow and cold, and darted from person to person like a snake’s tongue beneath razor-thin brows.
The head weaved from side to side and bobbed slightly atop the vortex of purple mist that trailed back to the portal. Webs of lightning played around it and enclosed it.
“Great Reorx!” whispered Trapspringer. “What is that?”
The face continued hovering, but its tail of purple-and-green-streaked mist reeled out of the wall as if drawn by some magical vacuum. The mist piled up in great heaps beneath the head, twitching and flicking like the tail of some nightmarish reptile. The mounds of mist reeked of sulfur and ammonia.
“I’m not sure,” Tasslehoff whispered slowly to his uncle, unable to remove his eyes from the horror growing in front of him. He covered his nose with his sleeve, then added, “It’s almost beginning to look like the dragon I rode back at Rosloviggen.”
“You rode a dragon?” asked Trapspringer, suddenly heedless of the horror confronting him. “Good show! That’s more impressive than even some of my adventures. Promise to tell me all about it?”
“Now is not a good time to discuss this,” sang Phineas, his voice and eyes crowded with fear. “I suggest we run before this thing, whatever it may be, completes its genesis.” Acting on his own suggestion, Phineas tried forcing his way through the mass of kender, but they were all far heavier than he and transfixed by the sight developing before them.
Then from behind him, Tas heard a loud “ping!” followed by the sound of cracking wood. “I found the lever again!” cried Damaris, poking her head up from behind the desk. “It wasn’t made very well, either,” she said critically. “I think I may have broken it,” she confessed, holding up the fractured end of a thin, smooth piece of wood.
A strangled cry erupted from the creature in the mist. The woman’s face turned stormy and thrashed about as if in pain. Suddenly the face disappeared and was replaced by five dragon heads on a single neck, snarling and spitting fire. But the heads dissipated into mist as quickly as they had formed, and the mist was sucked back through the glowing passage from which it had poured. Lightning bolts unweaved themselves and glowing outlines disappeared. The portal faded until the outlines of the wall bricks were visible again, and finally the room looked as if nothing had happened. Even the dust and cobwebs on the blank section of wall were undisturbed.
Still standing behind the desk, Damaris blushed furiously. “Oh, dear, did I do that?” she squeaked.
* * * * *
Abruptly dragged back to the Abyss, the Dark Queen’s fury surpassed anything she had felt in the three and a half centuries since the Cataclysm.
She had been so close!
Centuries of banishment could have ended this day. Takhisis’s throne flamed bright crimson, its internal fires fanned by her hatred. Columns split and walls cracked open as she vented her anger. A new layer of rubble was added to her throne room as a reminder of yet another frustrated attempt to return to the world she held in such contempt.
She had been there!
And then a kender who did not even know what it was doing had closed the gate! All five of her dragon heads spat flames and acid and ice. Her domain withstood the onslaught only because she willed it so. Without her will, it would crumble to dust and ash.
Then, all ten of the Dark Queen’s leathery eyelids drooped in an expression of pure evil.
She was struck with an idea. She was foiled this day, but she could still exact revenge. Those kender—better yet, all kender—would suffer for slamming the door in her face. Though she could not physically appear on the Prime Material Plane, she was not powerless there. Plagues were beyond her control, but she held considerable influence over Nuitari, the moon that could be seen only by creatures aligned with evil. Thus she could affect Krynn’s weather.…
* * * * *
“I’d say that about hangs it,” puffed Harkul Gelfig, out of breath from the exertion of kneeling in the small space behind the desk, his massive stomach doubled and tripled over. “You broke it, all right, girlie.” He glared at Damaris. “Now I can’t get back to retrieve my treasure box unless we fix this lever.”
Damaris’s face was stormy, her hands were on her hips. “Don’t bother thanking me for driving away only the most evil, awful, icky-looking frightosaurus that was materializing right here. Or for rescuing everyone from Garfigtown—”
“Gelfigburg!”
“Whatever.” Seeing Tasslehoff’s and Trapspringer’s questioning looks over her last claim, Damaris added humbly, “Of course, Burrfoot helped a little. However, let me point out that had I not run off to the Ruins to escape marriage, Trapspringer would not have been here to recognize his nephew when he popped through the dimensional curtain, and you—” she poked Harkul’s massive chest “—wouldn’t have found a way to keep the portal open.” Damaris finished her tirade out of breath but with her nose held high.
“I’d like to point out that it was my idea to come looking for Damaris in the first place,” Phineas sniffed. His jacket was stained with chocolate and candied cherry juice, his hair still standing on end from its brush with static electricity.
“They’re both right,” Trapspringer concluded, stepping between Damaris and Gelfig. “But there’s an even bigger problem here. Tasslehoff’s friend, that big, nasty-looking fellow, is trapped in Gelfigburg. With the lever broken, we can’t activate the gate to get him back out. And frankly, after what just happened, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to play around with this thing too much more.”
But to Trapspringer’s surprise, his nephew looked delighted. “Don’t worry about that. His name is Denzil and he isn’t my friend at all. He was going to kill me, in fact, or at least break all of my bones and then pull my arms off. He did kill a friend of mine, a dwarf named Gisella.”
“But why?” Trapspringer asked.
Tasslehoff’s face went blank, making his creaseless face look even younger. “I think it had something to do with a map you gave me before I left on my Wanderlust. Denzil believed there was a fabulous treasure here, and he thought the directions on my map would lead him to it.”
“There isn’t any treasure,” scoffed Phineas, pointing at Gelfig. “This architect of obesity managed to squander it all making licorice roads and chocolate tulips.”
“That depends on your perspective,” Gelfig huffed. “Many would consider Gelfigburg a utopia.”
But Phineas was already thinking about something else that Tasslehoff had mentioned. The human snapped his fingers and his face brightened in sudden understanding. “Denzil! I knew I recognized that man from somewhere! We’re so smashed together in here, and he was on the other side of the room, so I couldn’t get a really good look at him. That’s why he disappeared so quickly from my office!”
“You’re sounding unhinged again,” remarked Damaris. “You’re not making a bit of sense.”
“But I am! That man—”
“He’s a half-orc,” Tas corrected him.
Phineas’s eyebrows lifted and he nodded. “That would explain the snout. Anyway, minutes before you picked me up for our expedition out here,” he said, addressing Trapspringer, “this oddball character—now I find out he’s a half-orc—showed up in my office, bleeding like a stuck pig from a gash in his side.” Phineas quickly related the rest of the story, including Denzil’s sudden disappearance from his office.
“That also explains why I didn’t find my half of the map where I’d left it. Denzil must have looked at it while he was recuperating after his stitches, and that’s how he found out about the treasure. He obviously decided to track Tasslehoff down for his map with the directions.”
Trapspringer was watching Phineas closely. “That’s why you offered to find Damaris, too, isn’t it? You wanted the treasure, just like this Denzil.”
Phineas drew back. “Don’t make me sound so evil! I didn’t kill anyone over it—quite the opposite, since I was almost killed myself several times. And let me point out that I didn’t get any treasure, either,” he finished, wagging his finger in Trapspringer’s face.
“Well, there’s no point in lingering around here,” Damaris pronounced abruptly. “Coming, Trapspringer?” she called, looking up demurely from under her lashes.
Trapspringer’s head snapped up. The room was emptying quickly. Looking toward the door, he saw the last dozen or so of the kender squeezing through the narrow exit.
The elder kender’s facial creases multiplied with a lovesick grin. “I’m right behind you,” he sang, setting off for the stairs.
Hurrying after him, Tasslehoff touched his uncle’s shoulder. “My fiancee may not think much of me, but she seems to like you well enough,” he said ingenuously. “You’ll have to tell me more about this place where Denzil is trapped. Made entirely of candy, you said? I hope it’s all anice licorice. I hate anice licorice!”
I couldn’t agree more, Phineas thought, following them out the door.
* * * * *
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be wanting lunch,” said Vinsint when they reached the bottom of the long staircase. Without waiting for a response, the ogre easily plowed a path through the dozens of stout kender in his small room and began pawing through crates of food. He looked up uneasily. “I’m not sure I have enough to feed the whole lot of you. My, you’re all awfully large for kender, aren’t you? You’re all as round as balls.” He shrugged his massive, muscled shoulders. “I’ll just have to make do. We’ll have a rousing pick-up sticks tournament afterward.” The ogre began humming happily to himself.
Tasslehoff looked at the door to the tunnel that led outside. It was covered in chains.
“I’m not going to stay here one night,” muttered Phineas under his breath.
“I have an idea,” Tasslehoff announced, making his way to the ogre’s side. He stopped the ogre momentarily with a hand on his thick arm. “Look, Vinsint, we appreciate your offer, but we really must be going. It’s nothing personal, mind you, but many of us have not been home to Kendermore in some time.”
Tasslehoff paused and took a deep breath. “Which brings me to my next point. Why don’t you come with us? You say you get really lonely here. Kendermore is a big, exciting place, and things never get dull there!” He nudged the ogre. “What do you say?”
“Oh, I could never go to a big city like Kendermore,” Vinsint argued, shaking his head. From his tone, though, Tasslehoff could tell that the ogre was at least mildly intrigued. “I wouldn’t fit in there any better than I did in my own home city of Ogrebond.”
“Don’t be silly!” Tasslehoff laughed. “Kendermore isn’t like Ogrebond. We’re much more, uh, democratic. Why, we even had a gynosphinx as mayor once. Even you could be the mayor someday!”
Vinsint smiled, showing his crooked, missing teeth. “Mayor? You really think so? I’ve always thought I’d make a good politician.…”
Trapspringer stepped up. “I’m certain you would,” he said, “though I understand that the position is filled at the moment,” he added, catching the eye of Mayor Metwinger’s daughter. “Come on along, Vinsint. What have you to lose? If you don’t like it, you can always come back here.”
Vinsint fidgeted with barely contained excitement. “I have been feeling a little bored lately.… But who is going to help kender through the grove?”
A twinkle came to Traspringer’s eyes as he remembered the grove, and he gave the blond
kender a sidelong glance. “You know, the grove’s enchantment can have some positive effects, too,” he said wistfully. “In any event, kender will have an interesting time there, which is really all they seek.”
The ogre bit his lip. “OK, I’ll do it!” Vinsint shuffled over to the chains on the door and yanked them down without removing their locks. “I won’t be needing these anymore.” The locks fell heavily to the floor, and Vinsint swung the door wide. “Come on! I know a tunnel that will deposit us on the other side of the grove!” The ogre bounded through the door in excitement.
Fast on his heels, Tasslehoff, Trapspringer, Damaris, and Phineas made sure they got to the tunnel before the other, slower-moving kender. Ahead of them, Vinsint took a right turn and waited for them, waving them on. In minutes, they saw dim light at the end of the tunnel.
It was still morning when they emerged from Vinsint’s secret passage, covered by thick branches at the edge of the Ruins. They were not prepared for what they saw.
The land was engulfed by a thunder and wind storm the likes of which none of them had ever seen. Stout trees bent in the wind. Stone blocks could be heard tumbling and crashing even above the roar of the wind. Thunderclaps cut through the heavy air. And though the air held the moist, earthy scent of rain, none fell from the sky.
It was the sky that was the most alarming of all. Daytime looked almost like night, the angry black and purple sky cut by jagged streaks of wicked white lightning. The sun was an undistinguished, dull glow straight overhead.
Harkul Gelfig, chocolatier who founded and lived in the time-warped Gelfigburg for more than three-hundred years, pushed past them as he emerged from the tunnel. His bulky form was tossed about by the wind, so he clung to the trunk of a stout tree. “My, they sure let this place fall into disrepair,” he said, clicking his tongue in dismay as he surveyed the nearby ruined buildings. “In my time, this was a beautiful city, which sprang up around the Tower of High Sorcery. Goodness, the weather certainly is fierce, isn’t it? Is this usual?
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