“What happened?” The dwarf moaned, his hand on his head.
“You fell off the bridge and hit your head on a log,” Tas said glibly.
“I did?” Flint looked suspicious. “I don’t remember that. I remember one of those draconian things coming at me and I remember falling into the water-”
Well, you did, so don’t argue,” Tas said hurriedly, getting to his feet. “Can you walk?”
“Of course I can walk,” the dwarf snapped. He stood up, a little wobbly, but erect. “Where is everybody?”
“The draconians captured them and carried them off.”
“All of them?” Flints mouth fell open. “Just like that?”
“These draconians were magic-users,” Tas said impatiently, anxious to get started. “They cast spells, I guess. They didn’t hurt them, except for Raistlin. I think they did something terrible to him. I saw him as they passed. He looked awful. But he’s the only one.” The kender tugged on the dwarf’s wet sleeve. “Let’s go-we’ve got to follow them.”
“Yeah, sure,” Flint mumbled, looking around. Then he put his hand on head again. “Where’s my helm?”
“At the bottom of the swamp,” Tas said in exasperation. “Do you want to go in after it?”
The dwarf gave the murky water a horrified glance, shivered, and turned away hurriedly. He put his hand to his head again and felt a large bump. “I sure don’t remember hitting my head,” he muttered. Then a sudden thought struck him. He felt around his back wildly. “My axe!” he cried.
“Hush!” Tas scolded. “At least you’re alive. Now we’ve got to rescue the others.”
“And how do you propose to do that without any weapons except that overgrown slingshot?” Flint grumbled, stumping along after the fast-moving kender.
“We’ll think of something,” Tas said confidently, though he felt as if his heart were getting tangled up his feet, it had sunk so low.
The kender picked up the draconians’ trail without any trouble. It was obviously an old and well-used trail; it looked as though hundreds of draconian feet had tramped along it. Tasslehoff, examining the tracks, suddenly realized that they might be walking into a large camp of the monsters. He shrugged. No use worrying about such minor details.
Unfortunately, Flint didn’t share the same philosophy. “There’s a whole damn army up there!” the dwarf gasped, grabbing the kender by the shoulder.
“Yes, well-” Tas paused to consider the situation. He brightened. “That’s all the better. The more of them there are, the less chance they’ll have of seeing us.” He started off again. Flint frowned. There was something wrong with that logic, but right now he couldn’t figure out what, and he was too wet and chilled to argue. Besides, he was thinking the same thing the kender was; the only other choice they had was to escape into the swamp themselves and leave their friends in the hands of the draconians. And that was no choice at all.
They walked another half hour. The sun sank into the mist, giving it a blood-red tinge, and night fell swiftly in the mirky swamp.
Soon they saw a blazing light ahead of them. They left the trail and sneaked into the brush. The kender moved silently as a mouse; the dwarf stepped on sticks that snapped beneath his feet, ran into trees, and blundered through the brush. Fortunately, the draconian camp was celebrating and probably wouldn’t have heard an army of dwarves approaching. Flint and Tas knelt just beyond the firelight and watched. The dwarf suddenly grabbed the kender with such violence that he nearly pulled him over.
“Great Reorx!” Flint swore, pointing. “A dragon!”
Tas was too stunned to say anything. He and the dwarf watched in amazed horror as the draconians danced and prostrated themselves before a giant black dragon. The creature lurked inside the remaining half shell of a crumbled domed ruin. Its head was higher than the treetops, its wings span was enormous. One of the draconians, wearing robes, bent before the dragon, gesturing to the staff as it lay on the ground with the captured weapons.
“There’s something strange about that dragon,” Tas whispered after watching for a few moments.
“Like they’re not supposed to exist?”