their bright eyes that will guide these lances into the evil
dragons’ dark hearts. And who’s to say that this isn’t
magic, perhaps the greatest magic of all?”
“But it isn’t true,” argued Theros, glowering.
“And how do you know what is true and what is not?”
Flint demanded, glowering right back, though he only
came up to Theros’s waist. “Here you stand, alive and well
with the silver arm, when you should – if you want truth –
be lying dead and moldering in the ground with worms
eating you.
“And here we are, inside the Silver Dragon Mountain,
brought here by that beautiful creature who gave up
everything, even love itself, for the sake of us all, and
broke her oath and doomed herself, when – if you want
truth – she could have magicked us all away and never
said a word.
“Now I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, Theros
Ironfeld,” Flint went on, the stubborn look on his face
getting stubborner. He rolled up his sleeves and hitched
up his pants. “We’re going to get to work, you and I. And
we’re going to make these dragonlances. And we’re going
to let the truth each man and woman carries in his or her
own heart be the magic that guides it.”
Well, at this point Fizban got the snuffles. He was
dabbing his eyes with the end of his beard. I guess I
wasn’t much better. We both stood there and snuffled
together and shared a handkerchief that I happened to
have with me and by the time we were over the snuffles
Flint and Theros had gone away.
“What do we do now?” I asked. “Do we go help Flint
and Theros?”
“A lot of help you’d be,” Fizban snapped. “Probably
fall into the dragonmetal well. No,” he said, after chewing
on the end of his beard, which must have been quite salty
from his tears, “I think I know how to break the
enchantment.”
“You do?” I was truly glad.
“We’ve got to grab a couple of those lances.” He
pointed to the pile of lances lying by the pool.
“But those don’t work,” I reminded him. “Theros said
they don’t.”
“What do you use these for?” Fizban demanded,
grabbing hold of my ears and giving them a tug that
brought water to my eyes. “Doorknobs? Weren’t you
listening?”
Well, of course, I had been. I’d heard every word and
if some of it wasn’t exactly clear that wasn’t my fault and I
don’t know why he had to go and pull my ears nearly off
my head, especially after he’d already almost broken my
nose and burned off my eyebrows.
“If you ask Theros nicely I’m sure he’d lend you a
couple of lances,” I said, rubbing my ears and trying not to
be mad. After all, Fizban had gotten me caught in an
enchantment and, while it was a dull and boring
enchantment, it was an enchantment nonetheless and I felt
I owed him something. “Especially since they don’t work.”
“No, no!” Fizban muttered, and his eyes sparkled in
quite a cunning and sneaky manner. “We won’t bother
Theros. He’s over firing up the forge. You and I’ll just
sneak in and borrow a lance or two. He’ll never notice.”
Now if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s borrowing.
You won’t find a better borrower than me, except maybe
Uncle Trapspringer, but that’s another story.
Fizban and I sneaked out of the shadows where we’d
been hiding and crept quiet as mice over to where the
lances lay by the shining pool of silver. Once I got close to
the lances, I had to admit they were beautiful things,
whether they worked or not. I wanted one very badly and I
was glad Fizban had decided he wanted one, too. I was a
bit uncertain, at first, as to how we were going to make off
with them, for they were long and big and heavy, and I
couldn’t very well stuff one in my pouch.
“I’ll carry the butt-end,” said Fizban, “and you carry
the spear-end. Balance it on our shoulders, like this.”
I saw that would work, though I couldn’t quite balance