Test of the Twins: Legends, Volume Three (Dragonlance Legends)

by Tracy Hickman

  A bronze dragon lay on its back in the middle of the street. It was covered with blood, its wings, spread over the block, had crushed several buildings, its tail lay across several more. Its eyes were closed, there were scorch marks up and down its flanks, and it didn’t appear to be breathing.

  “Now this,” said Tas irritably, staring at the dragon, “was not what I had in mind!”

  At that moment, however, the dragon stirred. One eye flickered open and seemed to regard the kender with dazed recollection.

  “Fireflash!” Tas gasped, running up one of the huge legs to look the wounded dragon in the eye. “I was looking for you! Are—are you hurt badly?”

  The young dragon seemed about to try to reply when a dark shadow covered both of them. Khirsah’s eyes flared open, he gave a soft snarl and tried feebly to raise his head, but the effort seemed beyond him. Looking up, Tas saw a large black dragon swooping toward them, apparently intent on finishing off his victim.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Tas muttered. “This is my bronze! Fizban sent him to me. Now, how does one fight a dragon?”

  Stories of Huma came to the kender’s mind, but they weren’t much help, since he didn’t have a dragonlance, or even a sword. Pulling out his small knife, he looked at it hopefully, then shook his head and shoved it back in his belt. Well, he’d have to do the best he could.

  “Fireflash,” he instructed the dragon as he clamored up on the creature’s broad, scaled stomach. “You just lie there and keep quiet, all right? Yes, I know all about how you want to die honorably, fighting your enemy. I had a friend who was a Knight of Solamnia. But right now we can’t afford to be honorable. I have two other friends who are alive right now but who maybe won’t be if you can’t help me get to them. Besides, I saved your life once already this morning, although that’s probably not too obvious at the moment, and you owe me this.”

  Whether Khirsah understood and was obeying orders or had simply lost consciousness, Tas couldn’t be certain. Anyway, he didn’t have time to worry about it. Standing on top of the dragon’s stomach, he reached deep into one of his pouches to see what he had that might help and out came Tanis’s silver bracelet.

  “You wouldn’t think he’d be so careless with this,” Tas muttered to himself as he put it on his arm. “He must have dropped it when he was tending to Caramon. Lucky I picked it up. Now—” Raising his arm, he pointed at the black dragon, who was hovering above, its jaws gaping open, ready to spew its deadly acid on its victim.

  “Just hold it!” the kender shouted. “This dragon corpse is mine! I found it. Well … it found me, so to speak. Nearly squashed me into the ground. So just clear out and don’t ruin it with that nasty breath of yours!”

  The black dragon paused, puzzled, staring down. She had, often enough, given over a prize or two to draconians and goblins, but never—that she could recollect—to a kender. She, too, had been injured in the battle and was feeling rather light-headed from loss of blood and a clout on the nose, but something told her this wasn’t right. She couldn’t recollect ever having met an evil kender. She had to admit, however, that there might be a first time. This one did wear a bracelet of undoubtedly black magic, whose power she could feel blocking her spells.

  “Do you know what I can get for dragon’s teeth in Sanction these days?” the kender shouted. “To say nothing of the claws. I know a wizard paying thirty steel pieces for one claw alone!”

  The black dragon scowled. This was a stupid conversation. She was hurting and angry. Deciding to simply destroy this irritating kender along with her enemy, she opened her mouth … when she was suddenly struck from behind by another bronze. Shrieking in fury, the black forgot her prey as she fought for her life, clawing frantically to gain air space, the bronze following.

  Heaving a vast sigh, Tas sat down on Khirsah’s stomach.

  “I thought we were gone for sure there,” the kender muttered, pulling off the silver bracelet and stuffing it back into his pouch. He felt the dragon stir beneath him, drawing a deep breath. Sliding down the dragon’s scaly side, Tas landed on the ground.

  “Fireflash? Are—are you very much hurt?” How did one heal a dragon anyway? “I—I could go look for a cleric, though I suppose they’re all pretty busy right now, what with the battle going on and everything—”

  “No, kender,” said Khirsah in a deep voice, “that will not be necessary.” Opening his eyes, the dragon shook his great head and craned his long neck to look around. “You saved my life,” he said, staring at the kender in some confusion.

  “Twice,” Tas pointed out cheerfully. “First there was this morning with Lord Soth. My friend, Caramon—you don’t know him—has this book that tells what will happen in the future—or rather what won’t happen in the future, now that we’re changing it. Anyway, you and Tanis would have fought Lord Soth and you both would have died only I stole the bracelet so now you didn’t. Die, that is.”

  “Indeed.” Rolling over on his side, Khirsah extended one huge leathery wing up into the smoky air and examined it closely. It was cut and bleeding, but had not been torn. He proceeded to examine the other wing in similar fashion while Tas watched, enchanted.

  “I think I would like to be a dragon,” he said with a sigh.

  “Of course.” Khirsah slowly twisted his bronze body over to stand upon his taloned feet, first extracting his long tail from the rubble of a building it had crushed. “We are the chosen of the gods. Our life spans are so long that the lives of the elves seem as brief as the burning of a candle to us, while the lives of humans and you kender are but as falling stars. Our breath is death, our magic so powerful that only the greatest wizards outrank us.”

  “I know,” said Tasslehoff, trying to conceal his impatience. “Now, are you certain everything works?”

  Khirsah himself concealed a smile. “Yes, Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” the dragon said gravely, flexing his wings, “everything, um … works, as you put it.” He shook his head. “I am feeling a little groggy, that is all. And so, since you have saved my life, I—”

  “Twice.”

  “Twice,” the dragon amended, “I am bound to perform a service for you. What do you ask of me?”

  “Take me up to the flying citadel!” Tas said, all prepared to climb up on the dragon’s back. He felt himself being hoisted in the air by his shirt collar which was hooked in one of Khirsah’s huge claws. “Oh, thanks for the lift. Though I could have made it on my own—”

  But he was not being placed upon the dragon’s back. Rather he found himself confronting Khirsah eye to eye.

  “That would be extremely dangerous—if not fatal—for you, kender,” Khirsah said sternly. “I cannot allow it. Let me take you to the Knights of Solamnia, who are in the High Clerist’s Tower—”

  “I’ve been to the High Clerist’s Tower!” Tas wailed. “I must get to the flying citadel! You see, uh, you see—Tanis Half-Elven! You know him? He’s up there, right now, and, uh—He left me here to get some important, uh, information for him and”—Tas finished in a rush—“I’ve got it and now I’ve got to get to him with it.”

  “Give me the information,” Khirsah said. “I will convey it to him.”

  “N-no, no, that—uh—won’t work at all,” Tas stammered, thinking frantically. “It—it’s—uh—in kenderspeak! And—and it can’t be translated into—er—Common. You don’t speak—uh—kenderspeak, do you, Fireflash?”

  “Of course,” the dragon was about to say. But, looking into Tasslehoff’s hopeful eyes, Khirsah snorted. “Of course not!” he said scornfully. Slowly, carefully, he deposited the kender on his back, between his wings. “I will take you to Tanis Half-Elven, if that is your wish. There is no dragonsaddle, since we are not fighting using mounted riders, so hold onto my mane tightly.”

  “Yes, Fireflash,” Tas shouted gleefully, settling his pouches about him and gripping the dragon’s bronze mane with both small hands. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Say, Fireflash,” he cried, “you won’t be doing a
ny adventuresome things up there—like rolling over upside down or diving straight for the ground—will you? Because, while they certainly are entertaining, it might be rather uncomfortable for me since I’m not strapped in or anything.…”

  “No,” Khirsah replied, smiling. “I will take you there as swiftly as possible so that I may return to the battle.”

  “Ready when you are!” Tas shouted, kicking Khirsah’s flanks with his heels as the bronze dragon leaped into the air. Catching the wind currents, he rose up into the sky and soared over the city of Palanthas.

  It was not a pleasant ride. Looking down, Tas caught his breath. Almost all of New City was in flames. Since it had been evacuated, the draconians swept through it unchallenged, systematically looting and burning. The good dragons had been able to keep the blue and black dragons from completely destroying Old City—as they had destroyed Tarsis—and the city’s defenders were holding their own against the draconians. But Lord Soth’s charge had been costly. Tas could see, from his lofty vantage point, the bodies of knights and their horses scattered about the streets like tin soldiers smashed by a vengeful child. And, while he watched, he could see Soth riding on unchecked, his warriors butchering any living thing that crossed their path, the banshees’ frightful wail rising above the cries of the dying.

  Tas swallowed painfully. “Oh, dear,” he whispered, “suppose this is my fault! I don’t really know, after all. Caramon never got to read any farther in the book! I just supposed—No,” Tas answered himself firmly, “if I hadn’t save Tanis, then Caramon would have died in the Grove. I did what I had to do and, since it’s such a muddle, I won’t think about it, ever again.”

  To take his mind off his problems—and the horrible things he could see happening on the ground below—Tas looked around, peering through the smoke, to see what was happening in the skies. Catching a glimpse of movement behind him, he saw a large blue dragon rising up from the streets near Shoikan Grove. “Kitiara’s dragon!” Tas murmured, recognizing the splendid, deadly Skie. But the dragon had no rider, Kitiara was nowhere to be seen.

  “Fireflash!” Tas called out warningly, twisting around to watch the blue dragon, who had spotted them and was changing his direction to speed toward them.

  “I am aware of him,” Khirsah said coolly, glancing toward Skie. “Do not worry, we are near your destination. I will deposit you, kender, then return to deal with my enemy.”

  Turning, Tas saw that they were indeed very near the flying citadel. All thoughts of Kitiara and blue dragons went right out of his head. The citadel was even more wonderful up close than from down below. He could see quite clearly the huge, jagged chunks of rock hanging beneath it—what had once been the bedrock on which it was built.

  Magical clouds boiled about it, keeping it afloat, lightning sizzled and crackled among the towers. Studying the citadel itself, Tas saw giant cracks snaking up the sides of the stone fortress—structural damage resulting from the tremendous force necessary to rip the building from the bones of the earth. Light gleamed from the windows of the citadel’s three tall towers and from the open portcullis in front, but Tas could see no outward signs of life. He had no doubt, however, that there would be all kinds of life inside!

  “Where would you like to go?” Khirsah asked, a note of impatience in his voice.

  “Anywhere’s fine, thank you,” Tas replied politely, understanding that the dragon was eager to get back to battle.

  “I don’t think the main entrance would be advisable,” said the dragon, swerving suddenly in his flight. Banking sharply, he circled around the citadel. “I will take you to the back.”

  Tas would have said “thank you” again but his stomach had, for some unaccountable reason, suddenly taken a plunge for the ground while his heart leaped into his throat as the dragon’s circling motion turned them both sideways in the air. Then Khirsah leveled out and, swooping downward, landed smoothly in a deserted courtyard. Occupied for the moment with getting his insides sorted out, Tas was barely able to slide off the dragon’s back and leap down into the shadows without worrying about the social amenities.

  Once on the solid ground (well, sort of solid ground), however, the kender felt immensely more himself.

  “Good-bye, Fireflash!” he called, waving his small hand. “Thank you! Good luck!”

  But if the bronze heard him, he did not answer. Khirsah was climbing rapidly, gaining air space. Zooming up after him came Skie, his red eyes glowing with hatred. With a shrug and a small sigh, Tas left them to their battle. Turning around, he studied his surroundings.

  He was standing at the back of the fortress upon half of a courtyard, the other half having apparently been left behind when the citadel was dragged from the ground. Noticing that he was, in fact, uncomfortably near the edge of the broken stone flagging, Tas hurried toward the wall of the fortress itself. He moved softly, keeping to the shadows with the unconsciously adept stealth that kender are born possessing.

  Pausing, he looked around. There was a back door leading into the courtyard, but it was a huge, wooden door, banded with iron bars. And, while it did have a most interesting looking lock that Tas’s finger itched to try, the kender figured, with a sigh, that it probably had a very interesting looking guard standing on the other side as well. He’d do much better creeping in a window, and there happened to be a lighted window, right above him.

  Way above him.

  “Drat!” Tas muttered. The window was at least six feet off the ground. Glancing about, Tas found a chunk of broken rock and, with much pushing and shoving, managed to maneuver it over beneath the window. Climbing up on it, he peered cautiously inside.

  Two draconians lay in a heap of stone upon the floor, their heads smashed. Another draconian lay dead near them, its head completely severed from its body. Other than the corpses, there was no one or nothing else in the room. Standing on tiptoe, Tas poked his head inside, listening. Not too far away, he could hear the sounds of metal clashing and harsh shouts and yells and, once, a tremendous roar.

  “Caramon!” said Tas. Crawling through the window, he leaped down onto the floor, pleased to notice that, as yet, the citadel was holding perfectly still and didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Listening again, he could hear the familiar roaring grow louder, mingled with Tanis’s swearing. “How nice of them,” Tas said, nodding in satisfaction as he crept across the room. “They’re waiting for me.”

  Emerging into a corridor with blank stone walls, Tas paused a moment to get his bearings. The sounds of battle were above him. Peering down the torchlit hall, Tas saw a staircase and headed in that direction. As a precaution, he drew his little knife, but he met no one. The corridor was empty and so were the narrow, steep stairs.

  “Humpf,” Tas muttered, “certainly a much safer place to be than the city, right now. I must remember to mention that to Tanis. Speaking of whom, where can he and Caramon be and how do I get there?”

  After climbing almost straight upward for about ten minutes, Tas stopped, staring up into the torchlit darkness. He was, he realized, ascending a narrow stair sandwiched between the inner and outer walls of one of the citadel’s towers. He could still hear the battle raging—now it sounded like Tanis and Caramon were right on the other side of the wall from him—but he couldn’t see any way to get through to them. Frustrated—and with tired legs—he stopped to think.

  I can either go back down and try another way, he reasoned, or I can keep going. Back down—while easier on the feet—is likely to be more crowded. And there must be a door up here somewhere, or else why have a stair?

  That line of logic appealing to him, Tas decided to keep going up, even though it meant that the sounds of battle seemed to be below him now instead of above him. Suddenly, just as he was beginning to think that a drunken dwarf with a warped sense of humor had built this stupid staircase, he arrived at the top and found his door.

  “Ah, a lock!” he said, rubbing his hands. He hadn’t had a chance to pick one in a long time, and he was
afraid he might be getting rusty. Examining the lock with a practiced eye, he gingerly and delicately placed his hand upon the door handle. Much to his disappointment, it opened easily.

  “Oh, well,” he said with a sigh, “I don’t have my lockpicking tools anyway.” Cautiously pushing on the door, he peeped out. There was nothing but a wooden railing in front of him. Tas shoved the door open a bit more and stepped through it to find himself standing on a narrow balcony that ran around the inside of the tower.

  The sounds of fighting were much clearer, reverberating loudly against the stone. Hurrying across the wooden floor of the balcony, Tas leaned over the edge of the railing, peering down below at the source of the sounds of wood smashing and swords clanging and cries and thuds.

  “Hullo, Tanis. Hullo, Caramon!” he called in excitement. “Hey, have you figured out how to fly this thing yet?”

  CHAPTER

  4

  rapped on another balcony several flights below the one Tas leaned over, Tanis and Caramon were fighting for their lives on the opposite side of the tower from where the kender was standing. What appeared to be a small army of draconians and goblins were crammed on the stairs below them.

  The two warriors had barricaded themselves behind a huge wooden bench which they had dragged across the head of the stairs. Behind them was a door, and it looked to Tas as if they had climbed up the stairs toward the door in an effort to escape but had been stopped before they could get out.

  Caramon, his arms covered with green blood up to his elbows, was bashing heads with a hunk of wood he had ripped loose from the balcony—a more effective weapon than a sword when fighting these creatures whose bodies turned to stone. Tanis’s sword was notched—he had been using it as a club—and he was bleeding from several cuts through the slashed chain mail on his arms, and there was a large dent in his breastplate. As far as Tas could tell from his first fevered glance, matters appeared to be at a stalemate. The draconians couldn’t get close enough to the bench to haul it out of the way or climb over it. But, the moment Caramon and Tanis left their position, it would be overrun.