“Flint,” he panted, grasping the dwarf’s arm. “It’s no use. Nothing could live in that furnace! We’ve got to get back to the others-”
“Let go of me!” Flint roared so furiously that Sturm let go in amazement. The dwarf ran for the burning dragon again. Sturm heaved a sigh and ran after him, his eyes beginning to water in the smoke.
“Tasslehoff Burrfoot!” Flint called. “You idiotic kender! Where are you?”
There was no answer.
“Tasslehoff!” Flint screamed. “If you wreck this escape, I’ll murder you. So help me-” Tears of frustration and grief and anger and smoke coursed down the dwarf’s cheeks.
The heat was overwhelming. It seared Sturm’s lungs, and the knight knew they couldn’t breathe much more of this or they would perish themselves. He took hold of the dwarf firmly, intending to knock him out if necessary, when suddenly he saw movement near the edge of the blaze. He rubbed his eyes and looked closer.
The dragon lay on the ground, the head still connected to the blazing body by a long wicker neck. The head had not caught fire yet, but flames were starting to eat into the wicker neck. The head would soon be ablaze, too. Sturm saw the movement again.
“Flint! Look!” Sturm ran toward the head, the dwarf pounding along behind. Two small legs encased in bright blue pants were sticking out of the dragon’s mouth, kicking feebly.
“Tas!” Sturm yelled. “Get out! The head’s going to burn!”
“I can’t! I’m stuck!” came a muffled voice.
Sturm stared at the head, frantically trying to figure out how to free the kender, while Flint just grabbed hold of Tas’s legs and pulled.
“Ouch! Stop!” yelled Tas.
“No good,” the dwarf puffed. “He’s stuck fast.”
The inferno crept up the dragon’s neck.
Sturm drew his sword. “I may cut off his head,” he muttered to Flint, “but it’s his only chance.” Estimating the size of the kender, guessing where his head would be, and hoping his hands weren’t stretched out over his head, Sturm lifted his sword above the dragon’s neck.
Flint closed his eyes.
The knight took a deep breath and brought his blade crash ing down on the dragon, severing the head from the neck. There was a cry from the kender inside but whether from pain or astonishment Sturm couldn’t tell.
“Pull!” he yelled at the dwarf.
Flint grabbed hold of the wicker head and pulled it away from the blazing neck. Suddenly a tall, dark shape loomed out of the smoke. Sturm whipped around, sword ready, then saw it was Riverwind.
“What are yo-” The Plainsman stared at the dragon’s head. Perhaps Flint and Sturm had gone mad.
“The kender’s stuck in there!” Sturm yelled. “We can’t take the head apart out here, surrounded by draconians! We’ve got to-”
His words were lost in a roar of flame, but Riverwind finally saw the blue legs sticking out of the dragon’s mouth. He grabbed hold of one side of the dragon’s head, thrusting his hands in one of the eyesockets. Sturm got hold of the other, and together they lifted the head-kender inside-and began running through the camp. Those few draconians they encountered took one look at the terrifying apparition and fled.
“C’mon, Raist,” Caramon said solicitously, his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “You’ve got to try and stand. We have to be ready to move out of here. How do you feel?”
“How do I ever feel?” whispered Raistlin bitterly. “Help me up. There! Now leave me in peace for a moment.” He leaned against a tree, shivering but standing.
“Sure, Raist,” Caramon said, hurt, backing off. Goldmoon glanced at Raistlin in disgust, remembering Caramon’s grief when he thought his brother was dying. She turned away to watch for the others, staring through the gathering smoke.
Tanis appeared first, running so fast he crashed into Caramon. The big warrior caught him in his huge arms, breaking the half-elf’s forward momentum and keeping him on his feet.
“Thanks!” Tanis gasped. He leaned over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. “Where are the others?”
“Weren’t they with you?” Caramon frowned.
“We got separated.” Tanis drew in huge gulps of air, then coughed as the smoke flew down his lungs.