Wanderlust

by Mary Kirchoff

  “That does it. No big bug is going to push me around, today of all days. Move over by the door, Tanis, and get ready to cut it off in case it tries to make a break for it.”

  As Flint closed in, trying to keep one hobnailed boot poised and ready to stomp at all times, Tas had all he could do just concentrating on becoming a kender again. But he managed it with inches to spare. Amidst a whirlwind of color, the tiny crab was transformed into Tasslehoff Burrfoot, lying on his back and laughing so hard he clutched his sides.

  “Ooh, Flint, you should have seen your face when I charged you! It was worth your weight in steel!”

  Flint was hardly amused. He grabbed Tasslehoff by his vest and yanked him onto his wobbly legs. “What’s going on here, kender? What kind of tricks are you up to?”

  “No tricks, Flint. I’m here to get you out.” Tasslehoff smoothed out the rumpled front of his vest and stepped back. “How did you like my entrance?”

  Tanis peered through the window in the door to see whether the guards had noticed the ruckus, but nothing had changed in the outer room. He turned back to Tasslehoff. “What is going on, Tas? How did you do that?”

  “Selana had a potion of poly-something-or-other, and we split it to keep from being recognized.” Tas wiped the last remaining tear of laughter from his eye. “It’s really great. You should try it sometime. I’ve been a bird and a spider and a mouse and all kinds of things.”

  “Where is Selana, anyway?” asked Tanis, peering through the small window in the door again, as if expecting her.

  Tas became more somber. “It’s a long, complicated story, but we were separated and now she’s gone up into the mountains to follow that mage—he has the bracelet. I’d give you the details now, but I don’t know how much longer this potion will last. Let’s get away safely first. I’ll tell you the whole story later, while we’re on our way to rescue Selana.”

  Tanis and Flint nodded. “What’s the plan?” Flint asked.

  “Just watch.” Once again Tas was immersed in swirling lights and turned back into an orange-and-ivory spaniel. He stepped up to the door and began barking, whining, and scratching at the heavy wood.

  In the front room, Duncan and Jules interrupted their game and peered around, looking for the dog. “Sounds like he’s back by the cells, Jules. Go see what the problem is and bring him out here.” The younger guard got up reluctantly, but only after scooping the few remaining copper pieces he had left into a small purse, which he tucked into his belt. With the ring of keys from the wall, he unlocked the iron door and stepped back into the cell area. A moment later he was peering through the cell door and scratching his head.

  “Hey, you two, how did that dog get in there with you?”

  Flint said, “He crawled under the door.” Tanis nodded and Tasslehoff kept right on barking.

  “That’s impossible,” Jules stated flatly. “There’s no way that dog could have gotten in there under the door. The crack isn’t nearly big enough.”

  Flint’s eyes narrowed down to tiny slits, and he waved his hands at the door. “You and I both know the door’s locked, so you tell me how he got in here.”

  Duncan stepped back to join Jules. “How in hell did that dog get in there?” he wondered aloud, peering into the cell.

  “We told you, he crawled under the door,” Tanis repeated.

  Flint added, “Get him out, would you? He’s making an awful racket.”

  “If he crawled in, why doesn’t he just crawl back out?” asked Jules.

  “He’s a dog, not a scholar—maybe he hasn’t thought of it,” Flint snorted. “It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be in here any more than I do. Can’t you let him out so a fella could get a little sleep?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Jules was reaching for the key when Duncan stopped him. The older guard drew his sword and stood opposite the cell door. “Now let him out.”

  Up to this point Tanis and Flint had no real idea what Tasslehoff had in mind, but they knew that the prospect of rushing two armed and armored men was not good. When the door opened, they stood placidly while Tas pranced out into the hall. Jules slammed the door shut and as he locked it, Duncan leaned in close to the window and said, “Enjoy your peace and quiet, boys.”

  While everyone’s attention was focused on the door, Tanis noticed a pale flash of light behind the guards. A quick glance at Flint told the half-elf that his friend had seen it, too.

  When Jules and Duncan turned to walk back to the front room, a pair of shrieks followed by a tremendous growl confirmed what Tanis suspected. He rushed to the door and looked through the window. To the left he saw Jules and Duncan cowering against the last cell door, short swords held shakily in front of them. To the right he saw one of the most frightening sights on Krynn: a monstrous, green, stoop-shouldered, slavering troll. Black hair hung in greasy clumps across its wart-covered face and long, pointed nose. Two bulging eyes glowed like black coals. Spittle dripped from yellow fangs that were too long for the beast’s mouth.

  The nightmare creature extended one immensely long, knobby arm and plucked the key ring from Jules’s white hand. It fumbled with the keys for a moment, two-inch-long black fingernails clacking against the metal. It found what it wanted and unlocked the prisoners’ door. Flint and Tanis slipped into the hall. The troll pointed into the cell and snarled. Immediately the two guards rushed inside. The troll slammed the door behind them and locked it.

  Tanis and Flint darted to the outer room. The troll shambled in after, bending its massive frame nearly double to get through the doorway. Stepping around the corner to get out of sight from the cell, Tas changed once more, this time returning to his normal shape. The iron door was locked and the keys neatly hung on their peg on the wall.

  “Here,” said Tas, scooping up their respective weapons from the floor behind the bench. With a satisfied sigh, Tanis slung his bow over his shoulder. Flint slipped his well-used axe into the loop on his belt and patted it tenderly, as if welcoming it home.

  Tanis crept forward and peered out the front door. “It looks clear. Let’s try not to look as if we just broke out of jail. And Tas, don’t smirk so much.”

  The trio strolled out into the sunshine, hands in pockets. Stepping lively, they crossed the courtyard directly toward the gate in the inner bailey and from there to the outer, main gate. Within minutes, they were safely across the bridge and headed for the mountains.

  Chapter 16

  Winged Creatures of Flame

  “Tasslehoff, you great doorknob!” thundered Flint, clomping downstream along the snowy shoreline, dodging shrubs and boulders and potholes. “What are you doing on that floe? You’re going the wrong way! Get off there and come back here right this minute!”

  “I’d love to,” yelled Tasslehoff over the sound of the rushing water, “but I’m not too clear on how to go about it.” He skipped from side to side on the small slab of ice, peering over the edge, visually measuring the depth of the water and the distance to the shore as he floated down the river.

  As they had followed the river up into the mountains, the landscape had turned gradually from the greening of spring back to the ice and snow of winter. Tasslehoff had gone down to the bank of the river to scoop up a quick drink of water, but the land under his feet had turned out to be snow-covered ice. He discovered that when, with a great creaking and groaning, it had broken away from the shore.

  “It’s too bad I don’t have some of Selana’s poly-waddle—polydoodle—you know, that potion I drank to become a bird. Then I could fly off this thing,” Tas called to them conversationally. “Did I tell you about being a bug and turning into a mouse and falling from the web when that enormous, hairy spider was chasing me?” Tas rubbed his thigh at the memory.

  “It’s ‘polymorph!’ And you’ve told us only about a thousand times,” huffed Flint, puffing with the exertion of trying not to slip in a snowbank while keeping apace with the floating slab of ice. “I mean it, Tasslehoff. Stop goofing around and
get off that thing.”

  “Flint,” called Tanis, springing lightly through calf-high snow after the dwarf, “I don’t believe Tasslehoff is goofing around this time.” Then, speaking quietly to Flint, he added, “He may not realize it either, since he’s afraid of nothing, but he’s in serious trouble.”

  “Great Reorx,” snarled the old dwarf, stopping to cross his arms over his barrel chest, “we should just leave him there, for all the bother he’s been to us.”

  Tanis came to a stop as well and jammed his hands on his hips. “Like when he got us out of jail?” he asked archly.

  Flint scowled. “I was thinking of all the times he took the bracelet, which started this whole nightmare, but I concede he has been occasionally useful,” he said, dipping his head. “Now, what are we going to do?”

  They looked to the kender, whose slab of ice was temporarily caught up on a gathering of dead branches in the middle of the river.

  “I don’t know,” said Tanis, scratching his head, “but we’d better think fast, because the river does get gradually wider farther downstream, and I seem to recall a small waterfall just about at the snow line.”

  Flint met Tanis’s eyes with alarm.

  The half-elf snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Find a long branch; we’ll hold it out to him and tug him to shore.” Gray head bobbing in agreement, the stout dwarf joined Tanis in the hasty search for a long, sturdy branch.

  For his part, Tasslehoff was not exactly “goofing around,” but he was not particularly unhappy with his state of affairs either. Drifting along on the bobbing, shifting ice reminded him of the times he’d gone door-riding, a much-beloved winter sport for the fearless race of kender. Back in his hometown of Kendermore, on the first day of any measurable snowfall, kender young and old would pry the doors off their homes and ride them, standing up, down snowy hillsides. More adventurous kender were fond of door-riding down snow-covered staircases, as many of the buildings in Kendermore were roofless or missing walls, allowing for good interior snow cover. The heartiest kender were even known to shoosh off multistory buildings with sloping roofs. This practice was discouraged because so many passers-by—not to mention the door riders—were knocked unconscious or injured and neighboring structures were inevitable damaged.

  The memory of watching a childhood friend, topknot flapping behind him as he sailed off a building, wrung a sigh of nostalgia from Tasslehoff. He had not been home for door riding or anything else in years. And this floe, though vaguely similar, moved quite a bit slower than a waxed door on a steep incline.

  “Tasslehoff, grab the branch and we’ll pull you to shore,” called Flint. Tas saw the dwarf crouched a little downstream on the left bank, extending a long, slender branch to him. Tanis stood behind the dwarf, ready to lend his muscle to the task.

  “Hurry up before you float past me!” said Flint. “Besides, I can’t hold this branch up forever!”

  Tas crawled to the edge of the floe and extended his hand as far as he dared, but several feet still separated him from the limb. Straining, he stretched his fingers for the thin tip of the branch. The current drove his floe nearer. If he could only get his fingers on the tip.… He turned his head to the side to extend his reach, watching out of the corner of his eye for his chance.

  He felt smooth bark against his fingertips! Excited, Tas wrapped his hand around the branch and held on. Flint and Tanis cheered.

  “Don’t let go, Tas,” said Flint, starting to pull the branch toward himself, hand over hand.

  “I won’t!”

  Suddenly, the land under the dwarf’s straining form gave way with a shuddering crack and broke loose from the shore. The unexpected jolt caused the dwarf to yank on the branch. Old and dried from a winter on the forest floor, the limb snapped into two unequal, jagged parts. Tas, unprepared for the sudden extra weight, dropped the branch into the stream, where it disappeared between the two floes. Flint managed to retain his grip, but unfortunately he was left with just a useless four-inch stub.

  Pointing, Tanis cried out from shore, “Flint, the falls!”

  Floating helplessly downstream with the kender now, the dwarf looked ahead of Tas at the approaching falls. He could hear water crashing below. “It’s no use!” he cried, throwing down his broken branch in disgust. No good ever came from water, he thought bitterly.

  Tanis cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered above the noise of the pounding water to both dwarf and kender standing on the ice. “Flint, Tasslehoff, lie on your stomachs and hold on to the edges of the ice!” The half-elf knew it was only a slim chance to keep them from getting dashed on the rocks, but slim was better than none.

  “What?” cried Tas, turning a pointed ear toward Tanis on the snowy shore.

  “I said—Oh, see here!” Tanis threw himself on his stomach and splayed his arms out to demonstrate.

  The falls were just ten feet away.

  Flint was already down on the ice when Tasslehoff suddenly got the message. He flopped onto his stomach, arms and legs spread-eagled, when he saw something hovering behind Tanis’s head. He squinted in puzzlement. Flame? Enormous gouts of flame! Why was Tanis on fire?

  Then Tasslehoff saw something that even he had a hard time accepting: three short, humanoid creatures wearing plain tunics, trousers, and boots, each sporting wings of flame on his back. Tas blinked twice and looked again. They were still there.

  “Hey!” the kender cried excitedly, jumping to his feet and hopping up and down on the floe as he pointed. “Tanis, Flint, look behind you! There’s a—yow!”

  Tasslehoff’s words were literally cut off as he bit his tongue in painful surprise. Powerful, small hands caught him up by the armpits and lifted him off the floe, just as it crested the brink of the waterfall. Looking down past his dangling feet, the kender watched the slab of ice smash into shards on the rocks below, then disappear in the churning water. He felt himself lifted higher and higher, until he rose above the treetops. His narrow escape from death was nearly forgotten in his exuberance over flying.

  Finally Tasslehoff looked up. There he saw a pinched little face with almond-shaped eyes beneath coppery, curly hair and delicately pointed ears. Tas’s eyes traveled in rapt fascination to the fluttering, crackling wings of flame over the fellow’s narrow, fine-boned shoulders.

  “What are you?” Tasslehoff asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Are those really wings, or just fire? I don’t suppose if you were on fire you’d have the time to go around rescuing people from ice floes, would you?

  “I was once on fire,” he continued. “Actually, my little sister lit my shoe on fire. It didn’t help me to fly, though I must say I ran mighty fast to get it put out. But that’s not the same thing at all, is it?” Tasslehoff waited for a response from the ruddy-complected creature, but it said nothing. His face was a mask of concentration as he flew with his burden toward some unknown destination.

  “Can’t speak the Common tongue, eh?” Tas concluded. “That’s OK. Not every race is intelligent enough to master it. I’m not sure how we’ll communicate, though. Say, I speak a bit of Troglodyte—I’m nearly fluent,” the kender said proudly, “though I’m sure I couldn’t read a word of it.” He frowned. “Actually, I don’t believe Troglodyte can be written down.”

  The creature’s expression grew more pinched than before. “I speak and read six languages, as do all phaethons,” he said stiffly at last, “though the clicks and whistles that pass for language among the pathetic race of troglodytes isn’t one of them.” With that, the phaethon snapped his mouth firmly shut.

  “Where are we going?” Tas asked innocently. He noticed that not far away another winged creature carried Tanis above the treetops, and below them, two were lugging the hefty dwarf, who seemed to be struggling—rather foolishly, in Tasslehoff’s opinion—against their grip. Tasslehoff’s phaethon would not be goaded or offended into revealing any more information.

  Flying under someone else’s power certainly isn’t as convenient as fl
ying yourself, thought Tas, comparing this trip to the ones he had taken as a bird. His vision was less sharp as a kender than it had been as a sparrow, though he was more familiar with the operation of this equipment. One thing was sure—almost anything could see better than a fly.

  They were heading higher into the mountains, up toward where the snow was deep and the trees were sparce. An icy breeze whistled past Tas’s ears, making him think of a frost giant’s breath. It mingled with the sound of fanned flames, like cloth snapping in a strong wind.

  Tasslehoff’s armpits were beginning to ache and chafe from the friction of his weight in the phaethon’s hands. He twisted slightly to relieve the pressure, but the winged creature only tightened his grip more painfully and frowned down at the kender.

  After what seemed like forever to the impatient kender, they approached the mountainside. Tasslehoff expected them to cruise up, decelerate, and land in a clearing, but the phaethon showed no sign of slowing his descent. He raced toward the craggy mountainside at a speed even the fearless kender found daunting. Where could they possibly land? There was nothing but sharp crags of rock here, as far as Tas could see. Did the phaethon mean to smash him against the rocks? Tas discounted that possibility because the creature could have dropped him long ago, or left him on the ice for that matter. Finally Tas could contain himself no longer.

  “Look out, you son of a goatsucker bird! You’re going to slam us right into the rock!”

  At the very last second, the phaethon swooped up and over the craggy mountain peak. Cresting the far side, they were greeted with a panorama like none Tasslehoff had ever seen. Spread before them, poking through tufts of white and gray clouds, were hundreds of spires of orange-brown rock. Tas looked down and saw a lush, green valley far below, neatly farmed in rows, winding past the bases of the towers of stone. Vegetation climbed the sides of the towers, reaching to within one hundred feet of the tops of each. There, each natural minaret flared out abruptly into a hollow onion shape, with openings—windows and doors, Tas presumed—carved into the round surfaces.