Heroes And Fools totfa-2

by Margaret Weis

  It is difficult to write. I have never been under such a malady as covers me now. A melancholy has crept into my body and spirit, and tears fall from my eyes. I was a fool to come here.

  Day??

  I am more lucid now, though not by much. I found a curious thing by my side when I awoke this morning. It was a note, written in the common language. I have no idea how long it has been sitting beside me. Twig must have written it, though she is still unconscious and very pale. Perhaps she woke up while I was asleep, too.

  The note says:

  A strange note. I tucked it into my diary. Twig must have been raving when she wrote it. I wish I could sleep. The voices of the shadow wights still whisper inside my head, and their words grow louder every moment. It is too much to try to get the deepswimmer going. I will shake free of this evil influence, this awful sadness that grips me, and start the deepswimmer tomorrow. We have already begun floating away from Enstar toward the open sea.

  Day??

  I must go. There is nothing left to live for. Twig has not awakened. I fear she may die of poisoning from the painkilling plants. It is my fault. I leave her my relic, all the relics that remain. Her body will be safe. She has a warrior’s heart, and the shadow wights will never claim her for oblivion so long as she wears the dragonlances. Me, alas, whose soul was bled by foolishness within and darkness without, the shadows can have.

  Day1

  Wow! What a great story! Wish I knew who wrote this. It must have been a present for me, since I’m in the story, but I have no idea who would have done it. Someone’s got a great imagination.

  I must have really tied one on a few days ago, because I have no idea what I am doing inside this weird boat. I must have borrowed it to take it out for a cruise or something. My head is killing me; this must be the worst hangover ever. No more redberry wine for me, that’s for sure. I looked outside through the portholes, and there’s nothing anywhere but water. I think I remember running around on an island looking for stuff, and there were monsters that looked like empty things inside busted buildings, but that’s about it. What a tragedy! Here I’ve probably had an adventure, and I can’t remember it. It would be a great story to tell back in Merwick.

  I’ve been keeping myself busy reading a manual I found on how this boat thing works, and I think I know what to do. I think I remember seeing this boat thing at Fenshal amp; Sons. Maybe if I take it back, they won’t be mad at me, and I can show them some of the great maps I found inside here. One of them looks like a map of the whole world of Krynn! It’s incredible! I bet I could buy a fleet with that map, but of course I won’t because it is much too interesting to part with, like these five spearhead necklaces I found around my neck. I wonder if they’re really dragonlances. I seem to remember hearing somewhere that they were. Wouldn’t that be a hoot!

  I’m going to get cleaned up. I smell like a barn floor, and my mouth tastes like one, too. Then I’m going to figure out this boat, and then I’m gone. I want to see the world of Krynn, explore it and master it, live free as the gulls on the high seas, just like whoever wrote the stuff in this storybook said he wanted to do. I might make up my own story and write it down here, too, and maybe it would get published and I would become famous. It would be nice to do something that everyone could remember me by.

  To Convince the Righteous of the Right

  Margaret Weis, Don Perrin

  The snowstorm blew itself out. For the first time in two days, the sun shone. The sun was pale and thin, as if it were a parchment sun set against a gray flannel sky, but it was a sun, and it was warm.

  Seeing the sun sparkle on the snow like scales from a silver dragon, the troop of draconians left the shelter of the trees and, moving as a single body-a single, well-disciplined body-the draconians passed from the shadows into the wintry light. Weak though it was, the sunlight was welcome to the draconians. They flapped their wings to rid themselves of the horrible white fluffy stuff, they lifted their faces to the sunshine, basked in its warmth. Blood that had been sluggish as frozen swamp water began to flow again. One soldier tossed a snowball at another, and war was declared. Soon snowballs filled the air thicker than snowflakes, the draconians hooting and shouting.

  Concerned at this breach of discipline, the officers looked worriedly at their commander, but Kang only grinned and waved a clawed hand. Let the men enjoy themselves for a few moments at least. They’d had little enough to enjoy these past few weeks.

  The only draconians not involved in the snowball fight were those wearing the fur-lined knapsacks containing the treasure, the most valuable treasure ever to come to the draconians, a treasure that would be the salvation of their dying race. Small squeaks and the occasional squall could be heard coming from the knapsacks; a snout thrust out of the flap of one, snuffling the air. The baby female draconians felt the warmth of the sun. Perhaps, hearing the laughter, they wanted to join in the fun, but Kang worried that even with the sunshine, the air was still too chilly to allow the babies out in the open.

  The babies were growing, they’d doubled in size during the five months since the draconians had rescued them from Mount Celebundin. The draconians and Kang in particular were extraordinarily protective of the little ones. The young were rarely permitted to leave their snug womblike knapsacks. The babies were intensely curious, they had no sense of danger or self-preservation, they viewed everyone as a friend. The one day he had permitted the young to be set loose, he’d regretted it.

  Once outside the protective confines of the knapsacks, the young stood on wobbly legs, looked at everything with their bright eyes, and immediately took off in forty different directions. Kang was astonished. He had no idea little draconians could move that fast. Within seconds, the babies were into everything-rummaging through the rations, leaving slashing claw marks on the waterskins, tumbling headfirst into the creek. One sought to make acquaintance with a skunk with disastrous, odiferous consequences. Another baby cut her foot on a spear and wailed as if she had been impaled, sending the adult draconians into a panic until they eventually discovered that the wound was completely superficial.

  After that the worst happened. They took a count, discovered one of the babies missing. The entire army turned the woods upside down searching for the young female. They found her at last, curled up sound asleep beneath an overturned shield. By the end of the day, Kang felt as though he had aged a hundred years. It had been the worst day of his life, and that counted innumerable battles against humans, dwarves, and elves. Compared to looking after these children, a fight with a mighty gold dragon seemed an idyllic respite. He vowed that from then on, the babies would be kept under close confinement and careful watch.

  For the sixth hundredth and seventy-first time, Kang wondered if he’d made the right decision, taking the babies on this long journey. For the sixth hundred and seventy-second time, his inner self came back wearily with, “What else could you do? You couldn’t stay in the valley. You tried to live peacefully among the other races, and it didn’t work. Best to find a place of your own, far from the rest of civilization where you can retire from the world and its lunacy, make a home, raise your families.”

  Squatting on his haunches in the snow, Kang reached for the map pouch. He pulled out a well-worn map, hunched over it, studied it.

  “I doubt if the city’s moved, sir,” said Gloth, peering over his shoulder. “Nope, there it is.” He pointed a claw.

  “Right where it was yesterday. And the day before yesterday. And the day before that-”

  “Very funny,” Kang growled. He spread his wings, so that Gloth couldn’t see, and gazed at the map.

  It had been drawn by dwarves, and he had to admit that the little creeps could do two things well in this world: make dwarf spirits and draw maps. He located the dot that marked the draconians’ destination, their future, their hopes. A ruined city, abandoned, probably for good reason, for it was near Neraka, the former capital of the evil empire of Queen Takhisis. The dwarves reported that the cit
y was filled with all sorts of terrible beings: undead, ghouls, skeletal warriors, perhaps even kender. What terrified dwarves, though, might not be so terrifying to draconians.

  Whoever chased out the current inhabitants would have a ready-made city. All it would take would be a little fixing up, and Kang and his engineers were experts in that. The dot had taken on such importance that it seemed to glow every time he looked at it. He had known the trail would be difficult, for it led through the Khalkist Mountains, but he had not expected the snows, which were early for this time of year. Kang leaned back, flexed his wings.

  A buzz like an angry wasp-except that no self-respecting wasp would be out in this weather-ripped through the map. Had Kang been leaning forward, as he had been just a split second earlier, the arrow would have torn through a wing, come to rest in his skull. As it was, Gloth was staring stupidly at an arrow lodged in his thick, muscular thigh.

  “Take cover!” Kang shouted. “We’re under attack!”

  The draconians acted with alacrity, their playful fight forgotten. Those carrying the young sought the shelter of the woods, their comrades fanning out to cover them. More arrows sliced through the winter air, some finding their marks to judge by the yells.

  “You bozaks! Stay clear of the young!” Kang shouted.

  The bodies of all draconians are lethal to their killers. The baaz turn to stone, entrapping the weapon that had killed them. Others turn to pools of acid. When a bozak draconian dies, he effects revenge on his killer. His bones explode, killing or maiming anything in the vicinity. The draconians entrusted with the babies were baaz, who changed to stone.

  Kang reached out, jerked the arrow from Cloth’s leg. A trickle of blood followed, but due to the draconian’s scales, the arrow had done little damage. The story would have been different if that arrow had found its target- Kang’s skull. He and the wounded Gloth sought shelter in the trees.

  Kang studied the bloody arrow closely and swore bitterly. “Slith!” he yelled, hunkering down. “Where’s Slith?”

  “Here, sir!” Slith came sliding and slipping through the snow.

  “Who’s attacking us?” Kang demanded.

  “Goblins, sir,” said Slith, looking apologetic.

  “I thought you said we’d left those bastards behind!”

  “I thought we had, sir,” said Slith. “We left their lands two days ago! Sir,” he said, lowering his voice, and dropping down beside his leader, “have you ever known those lazy slugs to leave their warm caves and track an enemy through the snow when he’s no longer a threat?”

  “We never were a threat!” Kang protested. “I can understand the goblins wanting to protect their own territory, but we told them we were just passing through, and we passed through!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Slith respectfully. “That’s what I mean. Going back to my original question about the goblins, have you known them to be this persistent, sir?”

  “No,” Kang admitted gloomily. He looked at the arrow he was still carrying, shook it as though it were personally responsible for nearly skewering him. “I haven’t seen goblins carry well-crafted arrows like this before.”

  As if to emphasize his words, another arrow whistled through the tree branches, thunked into the bole of a tree next to where Kang was crouching. An explosion, far off in the woods, told him that one of the bozaks had departed this world.

  “You men keep your heads down!” Kang bellowed. He looked worriedly around for the soldiers carrying the young, hoped they’d found adequate cover.

  “These aren’t ordinary goblins, sir,” Slith stated, as he and Kang helped the hobbling Gloth limp farther back among the trees. “I think we have proof now, that these goblins are acting on orders. Someone wants us dead, sir.”

  “Now there’s a surprise!” Kang grunted. “I don’t have fingers and toes enough to count everyone who wants us dead.”

  “Goblins aren’t usually among that number, sir,” Slith argued. “Goblins are usually on our side. Those who hire them are on our side, if you take my meaning, sir. The cursed Solamnics wouldn’t be likely to fund goblin assassins.”

  “Which means that someone on our side wants us dead.” Kang was thoughtful. This introduced a totally new aspect to the situation. “But why?” He answered his own question. “The females.”

  “We’re a threat to someone, sir. We know that Queen Takhisis-I spit on her name and her memory”-Slith matched his words with the action-”intended us to die out once we were no longer of any use to her. She feared us, and now it seems that even though she’s gone, others fear us, too.”

  “But who?” Kang demanded impatiently, studying the arrow he was still carrying, like a talisman. “Who even knows about the babies?”

  “Those dwarves know, sir, and they’re certainly not above selling the information.”

  “Right,” Kang muttered. “I forgot about them, drat their hairy hides. I wonder-”

  “Where’s the commander?” a voice was shouting.

  Draconians hissed and pointed. Whenever a dracon-ian moved, an arrow zipped his direction.

  Kang raised up quickly. “Here!” he shouted. An arrow struck his back, lodged in his chain mail armor. Slith plucked it out, broke it in two, and cast it into the snow. Kang hunkered back down.

  “Sir!” A draconian slid through the snow, halted beside Kang, bringing a storm of arrows in their direction. The draconians flattened themselves into the snow, waited for the onslaught to pass. “Sir!” the draconian continued, “we’ve found a large stone building. It’s outside the tree cover, in the middle of the plains, about a mile away! It’s right out in the open, sir, but the building’s good and solid.”

  “Excellent!” Kang was about to tell his troops to move out.

  “There’s only one problem, sir.”

  “What’s that?” Kang asked impatiently.

  “It’s a Temple of Paladine, sir.”

  A temple of Paladine. Their most implacable enemy. The great god of the righteous on Krynn. In the old days, no draconian would have dared set a claw inside a temple of Paladine. The wrath of the god would have fried the meat from his bones.

  “Paladine’s gone,” said Kang. “From what we hear, he fled the world five months ago along with our cowardly queen.”

  “What if we heard wrong, sir?” Gloth asked. He had packed his wound with snow, and the bleeding had stopped.

  “We’ll have to chance it,” Kang said. “Slith, you go on ahead, check things out. Take Support Squadron with you.”

  He could hear shouts, sounds of fighting. The goblins had given up shooting at them from afar and were now attacking.

  “Yes, sir!” Slith was up and gone before the archers had a chance to target him.

  “Fall back by squadrons,” Kang shouted. “Support Squadron first. Gloth, can you hold the line?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gloth said and began to issue commands.

  The wind howled through the sparse copse of trees, kicking up snow from the ground that stung the eyes and half-blinded them. The sound of fighting was far away, but that was a trick of the winter wind. His soldiers, the dra-conians of the First Dragonarmy Field Engineer Regiment, were only five hundred yards away through the sparse tree cover.

  Runners went scrambling across the snow to relay the orders he had just given. Kang hurried to the rear to take a look at the temple himself. He paused in the shelter of the trees, gazed across the plains to the building that would serve as their redoubt. The forward companies were doing an excellent job of keeping the goblins occupied. No arrows back here, not yet-but it would be only a matter of time.

  The temple was large with two levels, few windows and those were lead-lined stained glass. A dome surmounted it. The building was made of marble that gleamed whiter than the snow. A wall surrounded the temple. Behind the temple and along the wall were several outbuildings. Kang could just barely see their red-tiled roofs.

  The snow wasn’t nearly as deep on the plains as it was in the forest. The win
d swept the frozen ground clean, sent the snow piling up in drifts in front of the temple wall.

  He watched as Slith cautiously approached the temple’s holy grounds, which could be just as dangerous to the draconians as goblin arrows. Nothing and no one attacked him. Kang could see no signs of guards on the walls. Slith kicked in the front gate.

  Support Squadron, nearly seventy strong, came up behind Kang. He raised a hand, ordered a halt. Support Squadron had been tasked with keeping the young female draconians safe. Every one of them had sworn a blood oath to defend to the death the babies they carried. Fulkth, the Chief Engineer and commander of the squadron, came to stand beside Kang.

  “Looks good,” he said.

  “It’s a Temple of Paladine,” Kang returned.

  Fulkth’s long tongue flicked out between his teeth. “Must be nigh unto six hundred goblins on our tail, sir.”

  Kang snorted, said nothing. Slith came out of the front, began waving his arm back and forth, the signal that all was well.

  “Go!” Kang ordered and Support Squadron moved out, heading for the temple at a run. They passed Slith, who was returning to make his report.

  “You think we can hold there, Slith?” Kang asked.

  “Yes, sir. Support Squadron can fortify the doors and windows. That brick wall is good and solid. It’ll give pause to the goblins. They’ll think twice before they try coming over the wall after us.”

  “Just like they thought twice about tracking us through the snow,” Kang muttered. “I’m sorry, Slith. It’s not your fault. I’m in a bad mood, that’s all.”

  “I know how you feel, sir,” Slith said. He gave a shiver, his scales clicked. Normally, the dragon heritage of the draconians would protect them from the cold, but if the temperature dropped too low, the draconians couldn’t adjust to it and faced the possibility of freezing to death.

  The temperature was dropping.