Dragons of Spring Dawning by Weis, Margaret

“L-let’s g-get out-t of h-here . . .” stammered the dwarf through blue lips.

“W-we’re j-just s-standing in a sh-shadow of a building.” Tas nearly bit his tongue. “W-when we g-get in the s-s-sunshine, it’ll war-warm up.”

“No f-fire on K-K-Krynn will w-warm t-this!” Flint snapped visciously, stomping on the ground to get the circulation started in his feet.

“J-just a f-few m-more f-feet. . . .” Tas kept going along gamely, even though his knees knocked together. But he went alone. Turning around, he saw that Flint seemed paralyzed, unable to move. His head was bowed, his beard quivered.

I should go back, Tas thought, but he couldn’t. The curiosity that did more than anything in the world to reduce the kender population kept drawing him forward.

Tas came to the edge of the grove of oak trees and-here- his heart almost failed him. Kender are normally immune to the sensation of fear, so only a kender could have come even this far. But now Tas found himself a prey to the most unreasoning terror he had ever experienced. And whatever was causing it was located within that grove of oak trees.

They’re ordinary trees, Tas said to himself, shivering. I’ve talked to spectres in Darken Wood. I’ve faced three or four dragons. I broke a dragon orb. Just an ordinary grove of trees. I was prisoner in a wizard’s castle. I saw a demon from the Abyss. Just a grove of ordinary trees.

Slowly, talking to himself, Tasslehoff inched his way through the oak trees. He didn’t go far, not even past the row of trees that formed the outer perimeter of the grove, because now he could see into the heart of the grove.

Tasslehoff gulped, turned, and ran.

At the sight of the kender running back toward him, Flint knew it was All Over. Something Awful was going to crash out of that grove of trees. The dwarf whirled so rapidly he tripped over his feet and fell sprawling to the pavement. Running up to him, Tas grabbed Flint’s belt and pulled him up. Then the two dashed madly down the street, the dwarf running for his very life. He could almost hear gigantic footsteps thudding along behind him. He did not dare turn around. Visions of a slobbering monster drove him on until his heart seemed about to burst from his body. Finally they reached the end of the street.

It was warm. The sun shone.

They could hear the voices of real live people drifting from the crowded streets beyond. Flint stopped, exhausted, gasping for breath. Glancing fearfully back down the street, he was surprised to see it was still empty.

“What was it?” he managed to ask when he could speak past the thudding of his heart.

The kender’s face was pale as death. “A-a t-tower . . .” Tas gulped, puffing.

Flint’s eyes opened wide. “A tower?” the dwarf repeated. “I ran all that way-nearly killing myself-and I was running from a tower! I don’t suppose”- Flint’s bushy eyebrows came together alarmingly-“that the tower was chasing you?”

“N-no,” Tas admitted. “It-it just stood there. But it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” the kender avowed solemnly, shuddering.

“That would be the Tower of High Sorcery,” the Lord of Palanthas told Laurana that evening as they sat in the map room of the beautiful palace on the hill overlooking the city. “No wonder your little friend was terrified. I’m surprised he got as far as the Shoikan Oak Grove.”

“He’s a kender,” Laurana replied, smiling.

“Ah, yes. Well, that explains it. Now that’s something I hadn’t considered, you know. Hiring kender to do the work around the Tower. We have to pay the most outrageous prices to get men to go into those buildings once a year and keep them in good repair. But then”-the Lord appeared downcast-“I don’t suppose the townspeople would be at all pleased to see a sizeable number of kender in the city.”

Amothus, Lord of Palanthas, padded across the polished marble floor of the map room, his hands clasped behind his robes of state. Laurana walked next to him, trying to keep from tripping over the hem of the long, flowing gown the Palanthians had insisted she wear. They had been quite charming about the dress, offering it as a gift. But she knew they were horrified to see a Princess of the Qualinesti parading around in bloodstained, battle-scarred armor. Laurana had no choice but to accept it; she could not afford to offend the Palanthians whom she was counting on for help. But she felt naked and fragile and defenseless without her sword at her side and the steel around her body.