And then I used the next breath to shout, “Fizban!
There’s your hat!”
The dragon’s head-whamming had knocked over a
snow bank and there lay Fizban’s hat, looking sort of dirty
and crumpled and nibbled on and not at all magical. I
made a dive for it, brought it up and waved it at him.
“Here it is! Now we can escape! C’mon, Owen!” And I
tugged on the knight’s arm.
WHAM! WHAM! That was the dragon’s head twice.
Owen looked from the shaking wall (We could hear
the dragon shrieking “Spies!” on the other side.) to me, to
the lance, to Fizban.
“What do you know about this, Wizard?” he asked,
and he was pale and breathing kind of funny.
“Maybe the lance is ordinary. Maybe it is blessed.
Maybe it is flawed. Maybe you are the one with the flaw!”
Fizban jabbed a finger at Owen.
The knight flushed deeply, and put his hand to his
shaven moustaches.
WHAM! A crack shivered up the wall and part of a
huge dragon snout that was white as bleached bone shoved
through the crack. But the dragon couldn’t get its whole
mouth through and so it left off and started butting the ice
again. (That ice was much, much stronger than I’d first
thought. Very odd.)
Owen stood holding the dragonlance and staring at it,
hard, as if he was trying to find cracks in it. Well, I could
have told him there wouldn’t be any, because Theros was
a master blacksmith, even if he was working with
ordinary steel, but there wasn’t time. I shoved Fizban’s hat
into the wizard’s hand.
“Quick!” I cried. “Let’s go! C’mon, Owen! Please!”
“Well, Sir Knight?” said Fizban, taking his hat. “Are
you coming with us?”
Owen dropped the dragonlance. He drew his sword.
“You go,” he said. “Take the kender. I will stay.”
“You, ninny!” Fizban snorted. “You can’t fight a
dragon with a sword!”
“Run, Wizard!” Owen snarled. “Leave while you still
can!” He looked at me and his eyes shimmered. “You
have the painting,” he said softly. “Take it to them. Tell
them – ”
Well, I never found out what I was supposed to tell
them because at that moment the dragon’s head punched
right smack through the ice wall.
The cave we were trapped in was smallish compared
to the dragon, and the wyrm could only get its head
inside. Its chin scraped along the floor and its snaky eyes
glared at us horribly. It was so huge and awful and
wonderful that I’m afraid I forgot all about its not being
conducive to long life and mine would have ended then
and there except Fizban grabbed hold of me by the collar
and dragged me against the far wall.
Owen staggered backward, sword in hand, leaving the
dragonlances in the snow. I could tell that the knight was
fairly well floored at the immensity and sheer terribleness
of the dragon. It must have been obvious to him right then
that what Fizban said was right. You can’t fight a dragon
with a sword.
“Work some magic, Wizard!” Owen shouted.
“Distract it!”
“Distract it! Right!” Fizban muttered and, with a great
deal of courage, I thought, the old wizard leaned out from
around me (I was in front of him again) and waved his hat
in the dragon’s general direction.
“Shoo!” he said.
I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but dragons
don’t shoo. In fact, being shooed seems to have an
irritating effect on them. This one’s eyes blazed until the
snow started melting around my shoes. It began to suck in
a deep, deep, deep breath and I knew that when it let that
breath out we’d all be permanently frozen statues down
here beneath the mountain forever and ever.
The wind whistled and snow whirled around us from
the dragon’s sucking up all the air. And then, suddenly, the
dragon went “Ulp!” and got an extremely startled and
amazed look in it eyes.
It had sucked up Fizban’s hat.
Fizban had been waving his hat at the dragon, you see,
and when the dragon started sucking up air it sucked the
hat right out of Fizban’s hand. The hat whipped through