Dragons of Spring Dawning by Weis, Margaret

“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.