9

Victory.

‘Let me give you a boost,’ Tas said helpfully.

‘I . . . no! Wait!’ Flint yelled. But it did no good. The energetic kender had already grabbed hold of the dwarf’s boot and heaved, propelling Flint head first right into the hard-muscled body of the young bronze dragon. Hands flailing wildly, Flint caught hold of the harness on the dragon’s neck and hung on for dear life, revolving slowly in the air like a sack on a hook.

‘What are you doing?’ Tas asked in disgust, gazing up at Flint. ‘This is no time to play! Here, let me help—’

‘Stop it! Let go!’ roared Flint, kicking at Tasslehoff’s hands. ‘Get back! Get back, I say!’

‘Get up yourself, then,’ Tas said, hurt, backing up.

Puffing and red-faced, the dwarf dropped to the ground. ‘I’ll get on in my own good time!’ he said, glaring at the kender. ‘Without help from you!’

‘Well, you better do it quickly!’ Tas shouted, waving his arms. ‘Because the others are already mounted!’

The dwarf cast a glance back at the big bronze dragon and folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. ‘I’ve got to give this some thought—’

‘Oh, come on, Flint!’ Tas begged. ‘You’re only stalling. I want to fly! Please, Flint, hurry!’ The kender brightened. ‘I could go by myself . . .’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ The dwarf snorted. ‘The war’s finally turning in our favor. Send a kender up on a dragon and that’d be the end. We could just hand the Highlord the keys to the city. Laurana said the only way you’d fly is with me—’

‘Then get on!’ Tas yelled shrilly. ‘Or the war will be over! I’ll be a grandfather before you move from that spot!’

‘You a grandfather,’ Flint grumbled, glancing once more at the dragon, who was staring at him with a very unfriendly eye—or so the dwarf imagined. ‘Why, the day you’re a grandfather is the day my beard will fall out—’

Khirsah, the dragon, gazed down at the two with amused impatience. A young dragon—as dragons count their time on Krynn—Khirsah agreed with the kender: it was time to fly, time to fight. He had been one of the first to answer the Call that went out to all the gold and silver, bronze and brass dragons. The fire of battle burned hot within him.

Yet, young as he was, the bronze dragon held a great reverence and respect for the elders of the world. Though vastly older than the dwarf in years, Khirsah saw in Flint one who had led a long, full, rich life; one worthy of respect. But, Khirsah thought with a sigh, if I don’t do something, the kender’s right—the battle will be over!

‘Pardon me, Respected Sire,’ Khirsah interrupted, using a term of high respect among dwarves, ‘may I be of assistance?’

Startled, Flint whirled around to see who spoke.

The dragon bowed its great head. ‘Honored and Respected Sire,’ Khirsah said again, in dwarven.

Amazed, Flint stumbled backwards, tripping over Tasslehoff and sending the kender tumbling to the ground in a heap.

The dragon snaked forth his huge head and, gently taking hold of the kender’s fur vest in his great teeth, lifted him to his feet like a newborn kitten.

‘Well, I-I don’t know,’ stammered Flint, flushing in pleased embarrassment at being thus addressed by a dragon. ‘You might . . . and then again you might not.’ Recovering his dignity, the dwarf was determined not to act overawed. ‘I’ve done this a lot, mind you. Riding dragons is nothing new to me. It’s just, well, just that I’ve—’

‘You’ve never ridden a dragon before in your life!’ Tasslehoff said indignantly. ‘And—ouch!’

‘Just that I’ve had more important things on my mind lately,’ Flint said loudly, punching Tas in the ribs, ‘and it may take me a while to get the hang of it again.’

‘Certainly, Sire,’ Khirsah said without the ghost of a smile. ‘May I call you Flint?’

‘You may,’ said the dwarf gruffly.

‘And I’m Tasslehoff Burrfoot,’ said the kender, extending his small hand. ‘Flint never goes anywhere without me. Oh, I guess you haven’t any hand to shake with. Never mind. What’s your name?’

‘My name to mortals is Fireflash.’ The dragon gracefully bowed his head. ‘And now. Sir Flint, if you will instruct your squire, the kender—’

‘Squire!’ Tas repeated, shocked. But the dragon ignored him.

‘Instruct your squire to come up here; I will help him prepare the saddle and the lance for you.’

Flint stroked his beard thoughtfully. Then, he made a grand gesture.

‘You, squire,’ he said to Tas, who was staring at him with his mouth open, ‘get up there and do as you’re told.’

‘I—you—we—’ Tas stuttered. But the kender never finished what he had been about to say because the dragon had lifted him off the ground again. Teeth clamped firmly in the kender’s fur vest, Khirsah raised him up and plopped him back onto the saddle that was strapped to the dragon’s bronze body.

So enchanted was Tas with the idea of actually being atop a dragon that he hushed up, which is just what Khirsah had intended.

‘Now, Tasslehoff Burrfoot,’ said the dragon, ‘you were trying to boost your master up into the saddle backwards. The correct position is the one you are in now. The metal lance mounting must be on the front right side of the rider, sitting squarely forward of my right wing joint and above my right fore-shoulder. Do you see?’

‘Yes, I see!’ called Tas in high excitement.

‘The shield, which you see on the ground, will protect you from most forms of dragonbreath—’

‘Whoa!’ shouted the dwarf, crossing his arms and looking stubborn once more. ‘What do you mean most forms? And how am I supposed to fly and hold a lance and a shield all at the same time? Not to mention the fact that the blasted shield’s bigger than me and the kender put together—’

‘I thought you had done this before. Sir Flint!’ Tas yelled.

The dwarf’s face went red with rage and he let out a bellow, but Khirsah cut in smoothly.

‘Sir Flint probably isn’t accustomed to this newer model. Squire Burrfoot. The shield fits over the lance. The lance itself fits through that hole and the shield rests on the saddle and slides from side to side on the track. When attacked, you simply duck behind it.’

‘Hand me the shield. Sir Flint!’ the kender yelled.

Grumbling, the dwarf stumped over to where the huge shield lay on the ground. Groaning with the weight, he managed to lift it up and haul it over to the dragon’s side. With the dragon’s help, the dwarf and the kender between them managed to get the shield mounted. Then Flint went back for the dragonlance. Lugging it back, he thrust the tip of the lance up to Tas, who caught hold of it and—after nearly losing his balance and tumbling overboard—pushed the lance through the hole in the shield. When the pivot locked into position, the lance was counterbalanced and swung lightly and easily, guided by the kender’s small hand.

‘This is great!’ Tas said, experimenting. ‘Wham! There goes one dragon! Wham! There goes another. I—oh!’ Tas stood up on the dragon’s back, balanced lightly as the lance itself. ‘Flint! Hurry! They’re getting ready to leave. I can see Laurana! She’s riding that big silver dragon and she’s flying this way, checking the line. They’re going to be signaling in a minute! Hurry, Flint!’ Tas began jumping up and down in excitement.

‘First, Sir Flint,’ said Khirsah, ‘you must put on the padded vest. There . . . that’s right. Put the strap through that buckle. No, not that one. The other—there, you have it.’

‘You look like a woolly mammoth I saw once.’ Tas giggled. ‘Did I ever tell you that story? I—’

‘Confound it!’ Flint roared, barely able to walk, engulfed in the heavy, fur-lined vest. ‘This is no time for any of your harebrained stories.’ The dwarf came nose-tip to nose-tip with the dragon. ‘Very well, beast! How do I get up? And mind you— don’t you dare lay a tooth on me!’

‘Certainly not, Sire,’ Khirsah said in deep respect. Bowing his head, the dragon extended one bronze wing full length upon the ground.

‘Well, that’s more like it!’ Flint said. Smoothing his beard with pride, he shot a smug glance at the stunned kender. Then, solemnly mounting the dragon’s wing, Flint ascended, regally taking his place at the front of the saddle.

‘There’s the signal!’ Tas shrieked, leaping back into the saddle behind Flint. Kicking his heels against the dragon’s flanks, he yelled, ‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’

‘Not so fast,’ said Flint, coolly testing the workings of the dragonlance. ‘Hey! How do I steer?’

‘You indicate which direction you want me to turn by pulling on the reins,’ Khirsah said, watching for the signal. There it was.

‘Ah, I see,’ said Flint, reaching down. ‘After all, I am in charge— ulp!’

‘Certainly, Sire!’ Khirsah leaped into the air, spreading his great wings to catch the rising currents of air that floated up the face of the small cliff they stood upon.

‘Wait, the reins—’ Flint cried, grasping at them as they slid out of his reach.

Smiling to himself, Khirsah pretended not to hear.

The good dragons and the knights who rode them were gathered on the rolling foothills east of the Vingaard Mountains. Here, the chill winter winds had given way to warm breezes from the north, melting the frost from the ground. The rich smell of growth and renewal perfumed the air as the dragons rose in flashing arcs to take their places in formation.

It was a sight that took the breath away. Tasslehoff knew he would remember it forever—and maybe even beyond that. Bronze and silver, brass and copper wings flared in the morning light. The Greater Dragonlances, mounted on the saddles, glittered in the sun. The knights’ armor shone brilliantly. The Kingfisher flag with its golden thread sparkled against the blue sky.

The past few weeks had been glorious. As Flint said, it seemed the tide of war was finally flowing in their direction.

The Golden General, as Laurana came to be called by her troops, had forged an army seemingly out of nothing. The Palanthians, caught up in the excitement, rallied to her cause. She won the respect of the Knights of Solamnia with her bold ideas and firm, decisive actions. Laurana’s ground forces surged out of Palanthas, flowing across the plain, pressing the unorganized armies of the Dragon Highlord, known as the Dark Lady, into panic-stricken flight.

Now, with victory after victory behind them and the dragonarmies fleeing before them, the men considered the war as good as won.

But Laurana knew better. They had yet to fight the dragons of the Highlord. Where these were and why they had not fought before was something Laurana and her officers couldn’t, figure out. Day after day, she held the knights and their mounts in readiness, prepared to take to the air.

And now that day had come. The dragons had been sighted—flights of blues and reds reportedly heading westward to stop the insolent general and her rag-tag army.

In a shimmering chain of silver and bronze, the Dragons of Whitestone, as they were called, soared across the Solamnic Plain. Although all the dragon-mounted knights had been trained in flight as much as time allowed (with the exception of the dwarf who steadfastly refused), this world of wispy, lowhanging clouds and rushing air was still new and foreign to them.

Their banners whipped about wildly. The foot soldiers beneath them seemed no more than bugs crawling across the grasslands. To some of the knights, flying was an exhilarating experience. To others, it was a test of every bit of courage they possessed.

But always before them, leading them in spirit and by example, flew Laurana upon the great silver dragon her brother had ridden from the Dragon Isles. The sunlight itself was not more golden than the hair that streamed out from beneath her helm. She had become a symbol to them like the dragonlance itself— slender and delicate, fair and deadly. They would have followed her to the Gates of the Abyss itself.

Tasslehoff, peering over Flint’s shoulder, could see Laurana ahead of them. She rode at the head of the line, sometimes looking back to make certain everyone was keeping up, sometimes bending down to consult with her silver mount. She seemed to have things well under control, so Tas decided he could relax and enjoy the ride. It was truly one of the most wondrous experiences of his life. Tears streaked his windblown face as he stared down in absolute joy.

The map-loving kender had found the perfect map.

Below him was spread—in tiny, perfect detail—rivers and trees, hills and valleys, towns and farms. More than anything in the world, Tas wished he could capture the sight and keep it forever.

Why not? he wondered suddenly. Clinging to the saddle with his knees and thighs, the kender let go of Flint and began rummaging around in his pouches. Dragging out a sheet of parchment, he rested it firmly against the dwarf’s back and began to draw on it with a piece of charcoal.

‘Quit wiggling!’ he shouted at Flint, who was still trying to grab the reins.

‘What’re you doing, you doorknob?’ the dwarf yelled, pawing frantically at Tas behind his back like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

‘I’m making a map!’ Tas yelled in ecstasy. ‘The perfect map! I’ll be famous. Look! There are our own troops, like little ants. And there’s Vingaard Keep! Stop moving! You made me mess up.’

Groaning, Flint gave up trying to either grasp the reins or brush away the kender. He decided he better concentrate on keeping a firm grip on both the dragon and his breakfast. He had made the mistake of looking down. Now he stared straight ahead, shivering, his body rigid. The hair from the mane of a griffon that decorated his helm whipped about his face wildly in the rushing wind. Birds wheeled in the skies beneath him. Flint decided then and there that dragons were going on his list with boats and horses as Things to Avoid at All Costs.

‘Oh!’ Tas gasped in excitement. ‘There are the dragonarmies! It’s a battle! And I can see the whole thing!’ The kender leaned over in the saddle, peering down. Now and again, through the rushing eddies of air, he thought he could hear the clash of armor and cries and shouts. ‘Say, could we fly a bit closer? I—whoops! Oh, no! My map!’

Khirsah had made a sudden, swooping dive. The force ripped the parchment from Tas’s hands. Forlornly he watched it flutter away from him like a leaf. But he hadn’t time to feel sad, for suddenly he felt Flint’s body go even more rigid than before.

‘What? What is it?’ Tas yelled.

Flint was shouting something and pointing. Tas tried desperately to see and hear, but at that moment they flew into a lowhanging cloud and the kender couldn’t see his nose in front of his face, as the gully dwarves said.

Then Khirsah emerged from the cloudbank and Tas saw.

‘Oh my!’ said the kender in awe. Below them, bearing down on the small ant-like troops of men, flew line after line of dragons. Their red and blue leathery wings spread like evil banners as they dove down upon the helpless armies of the Golden General.

Tasslehoff could see the solid lines of men waver and break as the terrible dragonfear swept over them. But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide on the broad grasslands. This is why the dragons had waited, Tas realized, sick with the thought of the fire and lightning breath exploding among the unprotected troops.

‘We’ve got to stop them—oof!’

Khirsah wheeled so suddenly that Tas nearly swallowed his tongue. The sky flipped over on its side and for an instant the kender had the most interesting sensation of falling up. More by instinct than conscious thought, Tas grabbed hold of Flint’s belt, remembering suddenly that he was supposed to have strapped himself in as Flint had done. Well, he would do so next time.

If there was a next time. The wind roared around him, the ground spun below him as the dragon spiraled downward. Kenders were fond of new experiences—and this was certainly one of the most exciting—but Tas did wish the ground wasn’t rushing up to meet them quite so fast!

‘I didn’t mean we had to stop them right now!’ Tas shouted to Flint. Glancing up—or was it down?—he could see the other dragons far above them, no, below them. Things were getting all muddled. Now the dragons were behind them! They were out here in front! Alone! What was Flint doing?

‘Not so fast! Slow this thing down!’ he yelled at Flint. ‘You’ve gotten ahead of everybody! Even Laurana!’

The dwarf would have liked nothing better than to slow the dragon down. That last swoop had tossed the reins within his reach and now he was tugging with all his might, shouting ‘Whoa, beast, whoa!’ which he dimly remembered was supposed to work with horses. But it wasn’t working with the dragon.

It was no comfort to the terrified dwarf to notice that he wasn’t the only one having trouble managing the dragons. Behind him, the delicate line of bronze and silver broke as if by some silent signal, as the dragons veered off into small groups—flights—of twos and threes.

Frantically the knights jerked on the reins, endeavoring to pull the dragons back into straight and orderly cavalry rows. But the dragons knew better—the sky was their domain. Fighting in the air was far different from fighting on the ground. They would show these horse-riders how to fight on dragonback.

Spinning gracefully, Khirsah dove into another cloud, and Tas instantly lost all sense of up or down as the thick fog enveloped him. Then the sunlit sky exploded before his eyes as the dragon burst out. Now he knew which way was up and which was down. Down was, in fact, getting uncomfortably close!

Then Flint roared. Startled, Tas looked up and saw that they were heading straight into a flight of blue dragons who—intent upon pursuing a group of panic-stricken foot soldiers—hadn’t seen them yet.

‘The lance! The lance!’ Tas shouted.

Flint grappled with the lance, but he didn’t have time to adjust it or set it properly against his shoulder. Not that it mattered. The blue dragons still hadn’t seen them. Gliding out of the cloud, Khirsah fell in behind them. Then, like a bronze flame, the young dragon flashed over the group of blues, aiming for their leader—a big blue dragon with a blue-helmed rider. Diving swiftly and silently, Khirsah struck the lead dragon with all four murderously sharp talons.

The force of the impact threw Flint forward in his harness. Tas landed on top of him, flattening the dwarf. Frantically, Flint struggled to sit up, but Tas had one arm wrapped around him tightly. Beating the dwarf on the helm with the other, Tas was shouting encouragement to the dragon.

‘That was great! Hit him again!’ shrieked the kender, wild with excitement, pounding Flint on the head.

Swearing loudly in dwarven, Flint flung Tas off him. At that moment, Khirsah soared upwards, darting into another cloud before the flight of blues could react to his attack.

Khirsah waited for an instant, perhaps to give his shaken riders time to pull themselves together. Flint sat up and Tas clasped his arms around the dwarf tightly. He thought Flint looked strange, sort of gray-colored and oddly preoccupied. But then this certainly wasn’t a normal experience, Tas reminded himself. Before he could ask Flint if he felt all right, Khirsah dove out of the cloud once more.

Tas could see the blue dragons below them. The lead dragon had pulled up in mid-air, hovering on his great wings. The blue was shaken and wounded slightly; there was blood on the rear flanks where Khirsah’s sharp talons had punctured the dragon’s tough, scaly hide. The dragon and his blue-helmed rider were both scanning the skies, searching for their attacker. Suddenly the rider pointed.

Risking a quick glance behind him, Tas caught his breath. The sight was magnificent. Bronze and silver flashed in the sun as the Whitestone Dragons broke out of the cloud cover and descended screaming upon the flight of blues. Instantly the flight broke as the blues fought to gain altitude and keep their pursuers from attacking them from behind. Here and there battles broke out. Lightning cracked and flared, nearly blinding the kender, as a great bronze dragon to his right screamed in pain and fell from the air, its head blackened and burning. Tas saw its rider helplessly grasping the reins, his mouth opened in a scream the kender could see but not hear as dragon and rider plunged to the ground below.

Tas stared at the ground rushing closer and closer and wondered in a dreamlike haze what it would be like to smash into the grass. But he didn’t have time to wonder long, because suddenly Khirsah let out a roar.

The blue leader spotted Khirsah and heard his ringing challenge. Ignoring the other dragons fighting in the skies around him, the blue leader and his rider flew up to continue their duel with the bronze.

‘Now it is your turn, dwarf! Set the lance!’ Khirsah yelled. Lifting his great wings, the bronze soared up and up, gaining altitude for maneuvering and also giving the dwarf time to prepare.

‘I’ll hold the reins!’ Tas shouted.

But the kender couldn’t tell if Flint heard him or not. The dwarf’s face was rigid and he was moving slowly and mechanically. Wild with impatience, Tas could do nothing but hang onto the reins and watch while Flint fumbled with gray fingers until he finally managed to fix the hilt of the lance beneath his shoulder and brace it as he had been taught. Then he just stared straight ahead, his face empty of all expression.

Khirsah continued rising, then leveled off, and Tas looked around, wondering where their enemies were. He had completely lost sight of the blue and its rider. Then Khirsah suddenly leaped upwards and Tas gasped. There was their enemy—right ahead of them!

He saw the blue open his hideous fanged mouth. Remembering the lightning, Tas ducked behind the shield. Then he saw that Flint was still sitting straight-backed, staring grimly out over the shield at the approaching dragon! Reaching around Flint’s waist, Tas grabbed hold of the dwarf’s beard and yanked his head downward, behind the shield.

Lightning flared and crackled around them. The instant booming thunder nearly knocked both kender and dwarf senseless. Khirsah roared in pain but held true upon his course.

The dragons struck, head-on, the dragonlance speared its victim.

For an instant all Tas could see were blurs of blue and red. The world spun round and round. Once a dragon’s hideous, fiery eyes stared at him balefully. Claws flashed. Khirsah shrieked, the blue screamed. Wings beat upon the air. The ground spiraled round and round as the struggling dragons fell.

Why doesn’t Fireflash let go? Tas thought frantically. Then he could see—

We’re locked together! Tasslehoff realized numbly.

The dragonlance had missed its mark. Striking the wingbone joint of the blue dragon, the lance had bent into his shoulder and was now lodged tight. Desperately the blue fought to free himself, but Khirsah, now filled with battle rage, lashed out at the blue with his sharp fangs and ripping taloned front feet.

Intent upon their own battle, both dragons had completely forgotten their riders. Tas had forgotten the other rider, too, until—glancing up helplessly—he saw the blue helmed dragon officer clinging precariously to his saddle only a few feet away.

Then sky and ground became a blur once more as the dragons whirled and fought. Tas watched in a haze as the blue helm of the officer fell from his head, the officer’s blonde hair whipped in the wind. His eyes were cold and bright and not the least afraid. He stared straight into Tasslehoff’s eyes.

He looks familiar, thought Tas with an odd sort of detachment, as if this were happening to some other kender while he watched. Where could I have seen him before? Thoughts of Sturm came to his mind.

The dragon officer freed himself from his harness and stood up in the stirrups. One arm—his right arm—hung limply at his side, but his other hand was reaching forward—

Everything became very clear to Tas suddenly. He knew exactly what the officer intended to do. It was as if the man spoke to him, telling him his plans.

‘Flint!’ cried Tas frantically. ‘Release the lance! Release it!’

But the dwarf held onto the lance fast, that strange far-away look on his face. The dragons fought and clawed and bit in mid-air; the blue twisting, trying to free himself from the lance as well as fend off its attacker. Tas saw the blue’s rider shout something, and the blue broke off its attack for an instant, holding himself steady in the air.

With remarkable agility, the officer leaped from one dragon to the other. Grasping Khirsah around the neck with his good arm, the dragon officer pulled himself upright, his strong legs and thighs clamping themselves firmly onto the struggling dragon’s neck.

Khirsah paid the human no attention. His thoughts were fixed totally on his enemy.

The officer cast one quick glance back at the kender and the dwarf behind him and saw that neither was likely to be a threat—strapped, as they must be—into place. Coolly the officer drew his longsword and, leaning down, began to slash at the bronze dragon’s harness straps where they crossed across the beast’s chest, ahead of the great wings.

‘Flint!’ pleaded Tas. ‘Release the lance! Look!’ The kender shook the dwarf. ‘If that officer cuts through the harness, our saddle will fall off! The lance will fall off! We’ll fall off!’

Flint turned his head slowly, suddenly understanding. Still moving with agonizing slowness, his shaking hand fumbled at the mechanism that would release the lance and free the dragons from their deadly embrace. But would it be in time?

Tas saw the longsword flash in the air. He saw one of the harness straps sag and flutter free. There wasn’t time to think or plan. While Flint grappled with the release, Tas—rising up precariously—wrapped the reins around his waist. Then, hanging onto the edge of the saddle, the kender crawled around the dwarf until he was in front of him. Here he lay down flat along the dragon’s neck and, wrapping his legs around the dragon’s spiny mane, he wormed his way forward and came up silently behind the officer.

The man wasn’t paying any attention to the riders behind him, assuming both were safely locked in their harnesses. Intent upon his work—the harness was nearly free—he never knew what hit him.

Rising up, Tasslehoff leaped onto the officer’s back. Startled, scrabbling wildly to keep himself balanced, the officer let his sword fall as he clung desperately to the dragon’s neck.

Snarling in rage, the officer tried to see what had struck him when suddenly everything went dark! Small arms wrapped themselves around his head, blinding him. Frantically the officer let go of his hold on the dragon in an effort to free himself of what seemed to his enraged mind to be a creature with six legs and arms—all of them dinging to him with a buglike tenacity. But he felt himself start to slide off the dragon and was forced to grab hold of the mane.

‘Flint! Release the lance! Flint . . .’ Tas didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. The ground was rushing up to meet him as the weakened dragons toppled from the skies. He couldn’t think. White flashes of light burst in his head as he clung with all his strength to the officer, who was still struggling beneath him.

Then a great metallic bang sounded.

The lance released. The dragons were freed.

Spreading his wings, Khirsah pulled out of his spinning dive and leveled off. The sky and ground resumed their proper, correct positions. Tears streamed down Tas’s cheeks. He hadn’t been frightened, he told himself, sobbing. But nothing had ever looked so beautiful as that blue, blue sky—back up where it should be!

‘Are you all right, Fireflash?’ Tas yelled.

The bronze nodded wearily.

‘I’ve got a prisoner,’ Tas called, suddenly realizing that fact himself. Slowly he let go of the man, who shook his head dizzily, half-choked.

‘I guess you’re not going anywhere,’ Tas muttered. Sliding off the man’s back, the kender crawled down the mane toward the dragon’s shoulders. Tas saw the officer look up into the skies, and clench his fist in bitter rage as he watched his dragons being slowly driven from the skies by Laurana and her forces. In particular, the officer’s gaze fixed on Laurana—and suddenly Tas knew where he had seen him before.

The kender caught his breath. ‘You better take us down to the ground, Fireflash!’ he cried, his hands shaking. ‘Hurry!’

The dragon arched his head to look around at his riders, and Tas saw that one eye was swollen shut. There were scorch and burn marks all along one side of the bronze head, and blood dripped from a torn nostril. Tas glanced around for the blue. He was nowhere to be seen.

Looking back at the officer, Tas suddenly felt wonderful. It occurred to him what he had done.

‘Hey!’ he yelled in elation, turning around to Flint. ‘We did it! We fought a dragon and I captured a prisoner! Singlehanded!’

Flint nodded slowly. Turning back, Tas watched as the ground rose up to meet him, and the kender thought it had never looked so . . . so wonderfully groundlike before!

Khirsah landed. The foot soldiers gathered around them, yelling and cheering. Someone led the officer away—Tas was not sorry to see him go; noticing that the officer gave him a sharp, penetrating look before he was led off. But then the kender forgot him as he glanced up at Flint.

The dwarf was slumped over the saddle, his face old and tired-looking, his lips blue.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But you’re holding your chest. Are you wounded?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Then why are you holding your chest?’

Flint scowled. ‘I suppose I’ll have no peace until I answer you. Well, if you must know, it’s that confounded lance! And whoever designed this stupid vest was a bigger ninny that you are! The shaft of the lance drove right into my collarbone. I’ll be black and blue for a week. And as for your prisoner, it’s a wonder you weren’t both killed, you rattlebrain! Captured, humpf! More like an accident, if you ask me. And I’ll tell you something else! I’m never getting on another one of those great beasts as long as I live!’

Flint shut his lips with an angry snap, glaring at the kender so fiercely that Tas turned around and walked quickly away, knowing that when Flint was in that kind of mood, it was best to leave him alone to cool off. He’d feel better after lunch.

It wasn’t until that night, when Tasslehoff was curled up next to Khirsah, resting comfortably against the dragon’s great bronze flank, that he remembered Flint had been clutching the left side of his chest.

The lance had been on the old dwarf’s right.