The War of the Lance t2-3

by Margaret Weis

  "This is what I'm to use to forge the dragonlances?" asked Theros, and he stared into the pool with a very a grim expression.

  "Yes, lad," said Flint, and he sighed.

  "Dragonmetal. Magical silver."

  Theros bent down and picked up something from a pile of somethings lying on the floor. It was a lance, and it gleamed in the light of the silver pool, and it certainly seemed very fine to me. He held it in his hand and it was well-balanced and the light glinted off its sharp spearlike point. Suddenly, Theros's big arm muscle bunched up and he threw the lance, hard as he could, straight in to the rock wall.

  The lance broke.

  "You didn't see that!" Fizban gasped and clapped his hand over my eyes, but, of course, it was too late, which he must have realized, cause he let me look again after I started squirming.

  "There's your magical dragonlances 1" Theros snarled, glaring at the pieces of the shattered lance.

  He squatted down at the edge of the pool, his big arms hanging between his knees and his head bowed low. He looked defeated, finished, beaten. I had never seen Theros look that way, not even when the draconians had cut off his arm and he was near dying.

  "Steel," he said. "Fair quality. Certainly not the best. Look how it shattered. Plain ordinary steel." Standing up, he walked over and picked up the pieces of the broken lance. "I'll have to tell the others, of course."

  Flint looked at him and wiped his hand over his face and beard, the way he does when he's thinking pretty hard and pretty deep. Going over to Theros, the dwarf laid a hand on the big man's arm.

  "No, you won't, lad," he said. "You'll go on making more of these. You'll use your silver arm and say they're made of dragonmetal. And you won't say a word about the steel."

  Theros stared at him, startled. Then he frowned. "I can't lie to them."

  "You won't be," Flint said, and he had That Look on his face.

  I knew That Look. It was like a mountain had plunked down right in the middle of the path you want to walk on. (I heard that actually happened, during the Cataclysm.) You can say what you like to it, but the mountain won't move. And when the mountain won't move it has That Look on its face.

  I said to Theros, under my breath, you might as well give up right now, because you'll never budge him.

  Flint was going on. "We'll take these lances to the knights and we'll say, 'Here, lads, Paladine has sent these to you. He hasn't forgotten you. He's fighting here with you, right now.' And the faith will fill their hearts and that faith will flow into their arms and into their bright eyes and when they throw those lances it will be the strength of that faith and the power of their arms and the vision of their bright eyes that will guide these lances into the evil dragons' dark hearts. And who's to say that this isn't magic, perhaps the greatest magic of all?"

  "But it isn't true," argued Theros, glowering.

  "And how do you know what is true and what is not?" Flint demanded, glowering right back, though he only came up to Theros's waist. "Here you stand, alive and well with the silver arm, when you should — if you want truth — be lying dead and moldering in the ground with worms eating you.

  "And here we are, inside the Silver Dragon Mountain, brought here by that beautiful creature who gave up everything, even love itself, for the sake of us all, and broke her oath and doomed herself, when — if you want truth — she could have magicked us all away and never said a word.

  "Now I'll tell you what we're going to do, Theros Ironfeld," Flint went on, the stubborn look on his face getting stubborner. He rolled up his sleeves and hitched up his pants. "We're going to get to work, you and I. And we're going to make these dragonlances. And we're going to let the truth each man and woman carries in his or her own heart be the magic that guides it."

  Well, at this point Fizban got the snuffles. He was dabbing his eyes with the end of his beard. I guess I wasn't much better. We both stood there and snuffled together and shared a handkerchief that I happened to have with me and by the time we were over the snuffles Flint and Theros had gone away.

  "What do we do now?" I asked. "Do we go help Flint and Theros?"

  "A lot of help you'd be," Fizban snapped. "Probably fall into the dragonmetal well. No," he said, after chewing on the end of his beard, which must have been quite salty from his tears, "I think I know how to break the enchantment."

  "You do?" I was truly glad.

  "We've got to grab a couple of those lances." He pointed to the pile of lances lying by the pool.

  "But those don't work," I reminded him. "Theros said they don't."

  "What do you use these for?" Fizban demanded, grabbing hold of my ears and giving them a tug that brought water to my eyes. "Doorknobs? Weren't you listening?"

  Well, of course, I had been. I'd heard every word and if some of it wasn't exactly clear that wasn't my fault and I don't know why he had to go and pull my ears nearly off my head, especially after he'd already almost broken my nose and burned off my eyebrows.

  "If you ask Theros nicely I'm sure he'd lend you a couple of lances," I said, rubbing my ears and trying not to be mad. After all, Fizban had gotten me caught in an enchantment and, while it was a dull and boring enchantment, it was an enchantment nonetheless and I felt I owed him something. "Especially since they don't work."

  "No, no!" Fizban muttered, and his eyes sparkled in quite a cunning and sneaky manner. "We won't bother Theros. He's over firing up the forge. You and I'll just sneak in and borrow a lance or two. He'll never notice."

  Now if there's one thing I'm good at, it's borrowing. You won't find a better borrower than me, except maybe Uncle Trapspringer, but that's another story.

  Fizban and I sneaked out of the shadows where we'd been hiding and crept quiet as mice over to where the lances lay by the shining pool of silver. Once I got close to the lances, I had to admit they were beautiful things, whether they worked or not. I wanted one very badly and I was glad Fizban had decided he wanted one, too. I was a bit uncertain, at first, as to how we were going to make off with them, for they were long and big and heavy, and I couldn't very well stuff one in my pouch.

  "I'll carry the butt-end," said Fizban, "and you carry the spear-end. Balance it on our shoulders, like this."

  I saw that would work, though I couldn't quite balance my end on my shoulders, since Fizban's shoulders are higher than mine. But I held my end up in the air and Fizban managed the butt-end. We lifted up two of the lances and ran off with them.

  And while we were running, Fizban said some more of those spider-foot words and the next thing I knew I was running straight into…

  You guessed it. Huma's Tomb.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Oh, now, really!" I began, quite put out. But I didn't get the rest of my sentence finished, which was probably just as well, since it would have most likely made Fizban angry and he might have sent my topknot to join my eyebrows.

  The reason I didn't get the rest of my sentence finished was that we weren't alone in Huma's Tomb anymore. A knight was there. A knight in full battle armor and he was kneeling beside the bier in the silver moonlight, with tears rolling down his cheeks.

  "Thank you, Paladine!" he was saying, over and over again in a tone that made me feel I'd like to go off somewhere and be very, very quiet for a long time.

  But the lances were growing extremely heavy, and I'm afraid I dropped my end, which caused Fizban to overbalance and nearly tumble over backward, and he dropped his butt-end. Which meant we both dropped the middles. The lances fell to the stone floor with quite a remarkable-sounding clatter.

  The knight nearly leapt out of his armor. Jumping to his feet, he drew his sword and whipped right around and glared at us.

  He had taken off his helmet to pray. He was older, about thirty, I guess. His hair was dark red and he wore it in two long braids. His eyes were green as the vallenwood leaves in Solace, where I live when I'm not out adventuring or residing in jails. Only his eyes didn't look green as leaves just at the moment. They looked hard and
cold as the ice in Ice Wall.

  I don't know what the knight expected — maybe a dragon or at least a draconian, or possibly a goblin or two. What he obviously didn't expect was Fizban and me.

  The knight's face, when he saw us, slipped from fierce into muddled and puzzled, but it hardened again right off.

  "A wizard," he said in the same tone of voice he might have said "ogre dung." "And a kender." (I won't tell you what THAT sounded like!) "What are you two doing here? How dare you defile this sacred place?"

  He was getting himself all worked up and waving his sword around in a way that was quite careless and might have hurt somebody — namely me, because I was suddenly closest, Fizban having reached out and pulled me in front of him.

  "Now wait just a minute, Sir Knight," said Fizban, quite bravely, I thought, especially since he was using me for a shield, and my small body wouldn't have done much to stop that knight's sharp sword, "we're not defiling anything. We came in here to pay our respects, same as you, only Huma was out. Not in, you see," the wizard added, gesturing vaguely to the empty bier. "So we… er… decided to wait a bit, give him a chance to come back."

  The knight stared at us for quite a long time. He would have stroked his moustaches, I thought, like Sturm did when he was thinking hard, except that this knight didn't have any moustaches, yet. Only the beginnings of some, like he was just starting to grow them out. He lowered the sword a little, little bit.

  "You are a white-robed wizard?" he asked.

  Fizban held out his sleeve. "White as snow." Actually it wasn't, having been draggled through the mud and spotted with blood from my nose and slobber from both of us and ashes from the burning tree and some soot we'd picked up in the dragonlance forge.

  Fizban's robes didn't impress the knight. He raised his sword again and his face was extremely grim. "I don't trust wizards of any color robe. And I don't like kender."

  Well, I was just about to express my opinion of knights, which I thought might help him — (Tanis says we should come to know our own faults, to be better persons) — but Fizban grabbed hold of my topknot and lifted me up like you pick up a rabbit by the ears and shuffled me off to one side.

  "How did you find this sacred place, Sir Knight?" Fizban asked, and I saw his eyes go cunning and shrewd like they do sometimes when they're not vague and confused.

  "I was led here by the light of the fire of two burning trees and a celestial shower of white and purple stars…" The knight's voice faded to an awed breath.

  Fizban smirked at me. "And you said I wasn't much of a wizard!"

  The knight appeared dazed. He lowered his sword again. "You did that? You led me here purposefully?"

  "Well, of course," said Fizban. "Knew you were coming all along."

  I was about to explain to the knight about my singed eyebrows and even offer to show him where they'd been, in case he was interested, but Fizban accidently trod on my foot at that moment.

  You wouldn't think one old man, especially one who looks as frail and skinny as Fizban, could be so heavy, but he was. And I couldn't make him understand that he was standing on my foot — he kept shushing me and telling me to have respect for my elders and that kender should be seen and not heard and maybe not even seen — and by the time I managed to pull my foot out from under his, he and the knight were talking about something else.

  "Tell me exactly what happened," Fizban was saying. "Very important, from a wizard's standpoint."

  "You might tell us your name, too," I suggested.

  "I am Owen of the House of Glendower," said the knight but that was all he would tell us. He was still holding his sword and still staring at Fizban as if trying to decide whether to clap him heartily on the shoulder or clout him a good one on the headbone.

  "I'm Tasslehoff Burroot," I said, holding out my hand politely, "and I have a house myself, in Solace, only it doesn't have a name. And maybe I don't even have a house anymore now," I added, remembering what I'd seen of Solace the last time I was there and growing kind of sad at the thought.

  The knight raised his eyebrows (HE had eyebrows) and was staring at me now.

  "But that's all right," I said, thinking Owen Glendower might be feeling sorry for me because my house had most likely been burned down by dragons. "Tika said I could come live with her, if I ever see Tika again," I added, and that made me sadder still, because I hadn't seen Tika in a long time either.

  "You came all the way from Solace?" asked Owen Glendower, and he sounded no end astonished.

  "Some of us came a lot farther than that," Fizban said solemnly, only the knight didn't hear him, which was probably just as well.

  "Yes, we came from Solace," I explained. "A large group of us, only some of us aren't with us anymore. There was Tanis and Raistlin and Caramon and Tika, only we lost them in Tarsis, and that left Sturm and Elistan and Derek Crownguard and they went to — "

  "Derek Crownguard!" Owen gasped. "You traveled with Derek Crownguard?"

  "I'm not finished," I said, eyeing him sternly. "And it isn't polite to interrupt. Tanis says so. Inside there's Laurana and Flint and Theros — "

  "But it's Sir Derek I'm searching for," said the knight, completely ignoring me. (I'm not certain but I believe that ignoring people is against their knightly code, though Sturm often ignored me, now that I come to think of it. But Tanis says that if ignoring kender isn't in the Measure it should be.)

  "I'm a courier from Lord Gunthar and I've been sent to find Sir Derek — "

  "You've just missed him," I said, and tried to look sad about it, though I wasn't, not in the least. "He went off with the dragon orb."

  "The what?" Owen stared at me.

  "Dragon HERB," said Fizban, giving me a tug on the topknot that made tears come to my eyes. "Similar to wolf-bane. Only different."

  Well, I had no idea what he was talking about, but it wasn't important anyway and I could see Owen was getting a bit impatient. So I went on.

  "I don't know why you were looking for him. Derek Crownguard is NOT a nice person," I informed him.

  "Describe him to me," said Owen.

  "Don't you know him?" I asked, amazed. "How can you find him if you don't know him?"

  "Just describe him, kender," growled the knight.

  "Tasslehoff Burrfoot," I reminded him. Obviously he'd forgotten. "Well, Derek's mad at most everyone all the time and he's not at all polite and I don't think he has much common sense either, if you want my opinion."

  Well, as it turned out, Owen didn't want my opinion; what he wanted was a description of what Derek looked like, not what he acted like, so I gave him that, too. My description seemed to please him, only it was hard to tell, because he was so confused.

  "Yes, that's Derek Crownguard," he said. "You've described him perfectly. You must be telling the truth."

  He thought another moment, then looked at Huma's bier, to see if it might help, and it looked very peaceful and beautiful in the moonlight. (If you are wondering why there was moonlight when there should have been fog, keep listening and I'll explain later on when the moonlight has its proper turn.)

  "I was sent to find Derek Crownguard," Owen said, talking slowly, as if he might decide to stop any moment and take back everything he'd just said. "I have… dispatches for him. But I lost his trail, and I prayed to Paladine to help me find it again. That night, in a dream, I was told to seek Huma's resting place. I didn't know where it was — no one knows. But I was told that if I studied Solinari, on a cloudless night, I would see a map on the moon's surface. The next night, I did so. I saw what appeared to be a map of my homeland, Southern Ergoth. I have walked these mountains and valleys thirty years, yet I never knew this place existed. I followed Solinari's guidance, but then fog overtook me. I could no longer see the moon.

  "The path led into a valley inside the mountains and vanished. I could not find my way out and have wandered about for days, perhaps. I'm not sure how long: time has lost all meaning to me. Then I saw a fire, burning in the distance.
I followed it, thinking that I should at least find someone to guide me back to the trail. Then it went out and I was lost again. Then another fire and then clouds of purple stars and then I discovered this holy place, Huma's Tomb. And you."

  Looking at us, he shook his head and I could tell we weren't exactly what he'd been praying to Paladine to find.

  "But, if my Lord Crownguard left with the dragon orb, what are you two doing here?" he asked, after he'd stared at us longer than was really polite. "Why did you stay behind?"

  "We're under an enchantment," I said. "Isn't it exciting? Well, to be honest, not all that exciting. Actually it's been pretty boring, not to mention cold and icky and damp. The Dark Queen has put us under a spell, you see. And we can't get out of here because every time we leave we keep coming back. And we have to get out of here because we're on a Very Important Mission to… to… "

  I stopped because I wasn't quite sure what our Important Mission was.

  "Lord Gunthar. Important mission to Lord Gunthar," said Fizban. "Must see him right away. Most urgent."

  "You're under black enchantment?" Owen pulled back from us both, raised his sword, and laid his hand on Huma's bier.

  "Well, now. As to the enchantment part." Fizban scratched his head. "It could be that I exagger — "

  "Oh, yes!" I averred. (I'm fond of that word, averred.) "The Dark Queen is most dreadfully afraid of Fizban, here. He's a great and powerful wizard."

  Fizban blushed and took off his hat and twirled it around in his hands. "I do my best," he said modestly.

  "Why did you send for me?" Owen asked, and he still seemed suspicious.

  Fizban appeared somewhat at a loss. "Well, I… you see… that is…"

  "I know! I know!" I cried, standing on my tiptoes and raising my hand in the air. Of course, anyone who's ever been a child knows the reason, but maybe knights were never children or maybe he didn't have a mother to tell him stories like my mother told me. "Only a true knight can break our enchantment!"