Dragons of Spring Dawning by Weis, Margaret

Unfortunately, neither the old man nor his decrepit golden dragon was a sharp observer.

Keeping in the clouds, they sneaked up on the unsuspecting group.

“Whiz down out of here at my command,” the old man said, cackling to himself in high glee over the prospect of a fight. “We’ll attack ‘um from the rear.”

“Where’s Sir Huma?” the gold asked, peering blearily through the cloud.

“Dead,” muttered the old man, concentrating on his spell.

“Dead!” roared the dragon in dismay. “Then we’re too late?”

“Oh, never mind!” snapped the old man irritably. “Ready?”

“Dead,” repeated the dragon sadly. Then his eyes blazed. “But we’ll avenge him!”

“Yes, quite,” said the old man. “Now … at my signal- No! Not yet! You-”

The old man’s words were lost in a rush of wind as the gold dove out of the cloud, plummeting down on the four smaller dragons beneath him like a spear shooting from the sky.

The big dragonarmy officer in the back caught a glimpse of movement above him and glanced up. His eyes widened.

“Tanis!” he yelled in alarm at the officer in the front.

The half-elf turned. Alerted by the sound of Caramon’s voice, he was ready for trouble, but at first he couldn’t see anything. Then Caramon pointed.

Tanis looked up.

“What in the name of the gods-” he breathed.

Streaking down out of the sky, diving straight for them, was a golden dragon. Riding on the dragon was an old man, his white hair flying out behind him (he’d lost his hat), his long white beard blowing back over his shoulders. The dragon’s mouth was bared in a snarl that would have been vicious if it hadn’t been toothless.

“I think we’re under attack,” Caramon said in awe.

Tanis had come to the same conclusion. “Scatter!” he yelled, swearing under his breath. Down below them, an entire division of draconians watched the aerial battle with intense inter-est. The last thing he had wanted to do was call attention to the group, now some crazy old man was ruining everything.

The four dragons, hearing Tanis’s command, broke instantly from formation-but not soon enough. A brilliant fireball burst right in their midst, sending the dragons reeling in the sky.

Momentarily blinded by the brilliant light, Tanis dropped the reins and threw his arms around the creature’s neck as it went rolling about out of control.

Then he heard a familiar voice.

“That got’em! Wonderful spell, Fireball-”

“Fizban!” Tanis groaned.

Blinking his eyes, he fought desperately to bring his dragon under control. But it seemed the beast knew how to handle himself better than the inexperienced rider, for the brass soon righted himself. Now that Tanis could see, he flashed a glance around at the others. They appeared unhurt, but they were scattered all over the sky. The old man and his dragon were pursuing Caramon-the old man had his hand outstretched, apparently all set to cast another devastating spell. Caramon was yelling and gesturing-he, too, had recognized the befuddled old mage.

Racing toward Fizban from behind came Flint and Tasslehoff, the kender shrieking in glee and waving his hands, Flint hanging on for dear life. The dwarf looked positively green.

But Fizban was intent upon his prey. Tanis heard the old man shout several words and extend his hand. Lightning shot from his fingertips. Fortunately his aim was off. The lightning streaked past Caramon’s head, forcing the big man to duck but otherwise not injuring him.

Tanis swore an oath so vile he startled himself. Kicking his dragon in the flanks, he pointed at the old man.

“Attack!” he commanded the dragon. “Don’t hurt him, just drive him out of here.”

To his amazement, the brass refused. Shaking his head, the dragon began to circle, and it suddenly occurred to Tanis that the creature intended to land!

“What? Are you mad?” Tanis swore at the dragon. “You’re taking us down into the dragonarmies!”

The dragon seemed deaf, and now Tanis saw that all the other brass dragons were circling, preparing to land.

In vain Tanis pleaded with his dragon. Berem, sitting behind Tika, clutched the woman so desperately she could barely breathe. The Everman’s eyes were on the draconians, who were swarming over the plains toward where the dragons were going to land. Caramon was flailing about wildly, trying to avoid the lightning bolts that zapped all around him. Flint had even come to life, tugging frantically at his dragon’s reins, roaring in anger, while Tas was still yelling wildly at Fizban. The old man followed after them all, herding the brass dragons before him like sheep.