Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Kender,Gully Dwarves,and Gnomes

Tales

Volume 2

KENDER, GULLY DWARVES, and GNOMES

Edited by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

featuring "Wanna Bet?"

by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman

Interior Art by STEVE FABIAN

PENGUIN BOOKS

Foreword

"Tas? Tasslehoff Burrfoot!" we shout sternly, peering

down the road. "Come back with our magical time-traveling

device, you doorknob of a kender!"

"I'll come out," shouts Tas, "if you tell me some more

stories!"

"Promise?" we ask, peering behind bushes and into

ravines.

"Oh, yes. I promise!" says Tas cheerfully. "Just let me

get comfortable." There is a tremendous sound of rustling

and tree-branch cracking. Then, "All right, I'm ready. Go

ahead. I love stories, you know. Did I ever tell you about

the time I saved Sturm's life - "

Tas goes on to tell US the first story in this new

anthology set in the world of Krynn. "Snowsong," by

Nancy Varian Berberick, relates an early adventure of the

companions. Sturm and Tanis, lost in a blizzard, have only

one hope of being rescued - Tasslehoff Burrfoot!

"The Wizard's Spectacles," by Morris Simon, is a "what-

if" story. Tas always SAID he found the Glasses of Arcanist

in the dwarven kingdom. But what if ...

A storyteller tells his tales not wisely but too well in

"The Storyteller," by Barbara Siegel and Scott Siegel.

"There's a lesson you could learn from that!" we yell to

Tas, but he ignores us and goes on to relate "A Shaggy

Dog's Tail," by Danny Peary. It is a kender favorite,

undoubtedly passed down from generation to generation

although Tas, of course, swears that he knew EVERYONE

involved PERSONALLY!

Next, we hear the TRUE story of the demise of Lord

Toede in "Lord Toede's Disastrous Hunt," by Harold Bakst.

The minotaur race is the subject of "Definitions of Honor,"

by Rick Knaak. A young knight of Solamnia rides to the

rescue of a village, only to discover that his enemy

threatens more than his life.

"Hearth Cat and Winter Wren," by Nancy Varian

Berberick, tells another of the Companions' early

adventures in which a young Raistlin uses his ingenuity to

fight a powerful, evil wizard.

"All right, Tas!" we call. "Will you come out now? We

really MUST be going!"

"Those were truly wonderful stories," yells the kender

shrilly from his hiding place. "But I want to hear more

about Palin and his brothers. You remember. You told me

the story last time about how Raistlin gave Palin his magic

staff. What happens next?"

Settling ourselves down on a sun-warmed, comfortable

boulder, we relate "Wanna Bet?", Palin's very first

adventure as a young mage. And certainly NOT the type of

heroic quest the brothers expected!

Still sitting on the boulder, we are somewhat startled to

be suddenly confronted by a gnome, who thrusts a

manuscript at us. "Here, you! Tell the TRUE story about the

so-called Heroes of the Lance!" the gnome snarls and runs

off. We are truly delighted to present for your enjoyment,

therefore, "Into the Heart of the Story," a "treatise" by

Michael Williams.

"Now, Tas!" we call threateningly.

"Just one more?" he pleads.

"All right, but this is the last!" we add severely. "Dagger-

Flight," by Nick O'Donohoe, is a retelling of the beginning

of DRAGONS OF AUTUMN TWILIGHT as seen from a

weird and deadly viewpoint - that of a sentient dagger!

"Tas, come out now!" we shout. "You promised."

Silence.

"Tas?"

No answer.

Looking at each other, we smile, shrug, and continue on

our way through Krynn. So much for kender promises!

SNOWSONG

Nancy Varian Berberick

Tanis let the hinged lid of the wood bin fall. Its hollow

thud might have been the sound of a tomb's closing. Hope,

cherished for all the long hours of the trek up the mountain,

fell abruptly dead. The wood bin was empty.

A brawling wind shrieked around the gaping walls of the

crude shelter, whirling in through the doorless entry and the

broken roof. The storm had caught Tan-is and his friends

unaware at midday. Far below, in the warmer valleys, the

autumn had not yet withered under winter's icy cloak. But

here in the mountains autumn had suddenly become

nothing more substantial than a memory. Esker was a day

and a half's journey behind them. Haven was a two-day trek

ahead. Their only hope of weathering the storm had been

this shelter, one of the few maintained by the folk of Esker

and Haven as a sanctuary for storm-caught travelers. But

now, with the blizzard raging harder, it seemed that their

hope might be as hollow as the empty wood bin.

Behind him the half-elf could hear Tas poking around the

bleak shelter, his bright kender spirit undaunted by the toll

of the journey. There wasn't much to find. Shards of

crockery lay scattered around the hard-packed dirt floor.

The one narrow table that had been the shelter's only

furnishing was now a heap of broken boards and splintered

wood. After a moment Tanis heard the tuneless notes of the

shepherd's pipe that Tas had been trying to play since he

came by it several weeks ago. The kender had never

succeeded in coaxing anything from the shabby old

instrument that didn't sound like a goat in agony. But he

tried, every chance he got, maintaining - every chance he

got - that the pipe was enchanted. Tanis was certain that the

pipe had as much likelihood of being enchanted as he had

now of getting warm sometime soon.

"Oh, wonderful - the dreaded pipe," Flint growled. "Tas!

Not now!"

As though he hadn't heard, Tas went on piping.

With a weary sigh Tanis turned to see Flint sitting on his

pack, trying with cold-numbed hands to thaw the frozen

snow from his beard. The old dwarf's muttered curses were

a fine testament to the sting of the ice's freezing pull.

Only Sturm was silent. He leaned against the door jamb,

staring out into the blizzard as though taking the measure of

an opponent held, for a time, at bay.

"Sturm?"

The boy turned his back on the waning day. "No wood?"

"None." Tanis shivered, and it had little to do with the

cold. "Flint," he called, "Tas, come here."

Grumbling, Flint rose from his pack.

Tas reluctantly abandoned his pipe and made a curious

foray past the empty wood bin. He'd gamboled through

snow as high as his waist today, been hauled, laughing like

some gleeful snow sprite, out of drifts so deep that only the

pennon of his brown topknot marked the place where he'd

sunk. Still his brown eyes were alight with questions in a

face polished red by the bite of the wind.

"Tanis, there's no wood in the bins," he said. "Where do

they keep it?"

"In the bins - when it's here. There is none, Tas."

"None? What do you suppose happened to it? Do you

think the storm came up so suddenly that they didn't have a

chance to stock the bin? Or do you suppose they're not

stocking the shelters anymore? From the look of this place

no one's been here in a while. THAT would be a shame,

wouldn't it? It's going to be a long, cold night without a

fire."

"Aye," Flint growled. "Maybe not as long as you think."

Behind him Tanis heard Sturm draw a short, sharp

breath. If Tas had romped through the blizzard, Sturm had

forged through with all the earnest determination he could

muster. Each time Tas foundered, Sturm was right beside

Tanis to pull him out. His innate chivalry kept him always

ahead of Flint, blocking the wind's icy sting, breaking a

broader path than he might have for the old dwarf whose

muttering and grumbling would never become a plea for

assistance.

But for all that, Tanis knew, the youth had never seen a

blizzard like this one. He's acquitted himself well, and

more's the pity that I'll have to take him out with me yet

again, the half-elf thought to himself.

A roaring wind drove from the north, wet and bitter with

snow. The climb to this tireless shelter had left Tanis stiff

and aching, numb and clumsy with the cold. He wanted

nothing less than to venture out into the screaming storm

again. But his choices were between sure death in the long

black cold of night and one more trip into the storm. It was

not, in the end, a difficult choice to make.

"It won't come to that, Flint. We're going to have a fire."

Flint's doubt was written in the hard set of his face. Tas

looked from the wood bin to Tanis. "But there's no wood,

Tanis. I don't see how we're going to have a fire without

wood."

Tanis drew a long breath against rising impatience.

"We'll get wood. There was a stand of pine trees along our

way up. No doubt Sturm and I can get enough from there

and be back before nightfall."

Tas brightened then. Now there would be something to

do besides spending a long cold night wondering what it

would feel like to freeze solid. Shrugging closer into the

warmth of his furred vest, he started for the doorway. "I'll

come, too," he announced, confident that his offer would be

gratefully accepted.

"Oh, no." Tanis clamped both hands on the kender's

shoulders and caught him back. "You're staying here with

Flint."

"But, Tanis - "

"No. I mean it, Tas. The snow is drifting too high. This

is something that Sturm and I will do."

"But you'll NEED my help, Tanis. I can carry wood, and

we're going to need a lot of it if we're not to freeze here

tonight."

Tanis glanced at Flint. He thought he might hear a

similar argument from his old friend. He forestalled it with

a grim shake of his head, and Flint, recognizing but not

liking the wisdom of Tanis's decision, nodded agreement.

With a dour sigh Flint went to gather up the splintered

wood that had once been the shelter's table.

"It's something," he muttered. "Sturm, come give me a

hand."

Alone with Tas, Tanis went down on his heels. Mutiny

lurked in Tas's long brown eyes. There was a stubborn set

to his jaw that told Tanis that the only way he'd get the

kender to stay behind would be to give him a charge that he

considered, if not as interesting, at least as important as the

task of gathering fuel for a fire.

"Tas, now listen to me. We don't have many choices.

I've never seen a storm like this one come up so suddenly or

so early. But it's here, and tonight it will be so cold that we

will not survive without a fire."

"I know! That's why - "

"No. Let me finish. I need you to stay here with Flint.

It's going to be a dangerous trip out for wood. The tracks

we made only a short while ago are gone. I'll barely be able

to find the landmarks I need to get back to the pines. I have

to know that you'll both be here if we need you."

"But, Tanis, you'll NEED me to help with the wood-

gathering."

The offer, Tanis knew, was sincere . . . for the moment.

But as clearly as he might see through a stream to the

sparkling sand below, that clearly did he see the

mischievous kender-logic dancing in Tas's brown eyes. Tas

had no fear of the killing cold, the battering winds. The

prospect of the journey back to the pines held only joyous

anticipation and a chance to satisfy some of that

unquenchable curiosity that had brought the kender to the

crumbling edge of many a catastrophe before now.

Well, I'm afraid! he thought. And it won't hurt for Tas to

know why if it keeps him here.

"Tas, the best way to make certain we don't survive this

night is to scatter, all four of us, all over this mountain. That

will be the fastest way to die. We're going to be careful. But

Sturm and I have to be able to depend on you two being

here just in case one of us needs to come back for help.

Understand?"

Tas nodded slowly, trying to ease his disappointment

with the sudden understanding that Tanis was trusting him,

depending on him.

"And I can count on you?"

"Yes, you can count on me," Tas said solemnly.

Privately he thought that staying behind, no matter how

virtuous it made him feel right now, might be just the least

bit boring.

Despite the cold and the bitter wind chasing snow in

through the open doorway, Tanis found a smile for the

kender. "Good. Now why don't you give Flint a hand, and

tell Sturm that we should be leaving."

For a moment it seemed to Tanis that his charge

wouldn't hold. He saw the struggle between what Tas

wanted to do and what he'd promised to do written on his

face as easily as though he were reading one of the kender's

precious maps. But it was a brief war, and in the end, Tas's

promise won out.

Sturm emptied both his and Tanis's packs. He took up

two small hand axes, tested their blades, and prepared to

leave. Tanis, preferring his bow and quiver if danger should

arise, left his sword with Flint.

"I won't need the extra weight, I think," he said, handing

the weapon to the old dwarf.

"Tanis, isn't there another way? I don't like this."

Tanis dropped a hand onto his friend's shoulder. "You'd

be alone if you did like it. Rest easy; it's too cold out there

to keep us gone long. Just keep Tas safe here with you. He

promised, but . . ."

Flint laughed grimly. "Aye, BUT. Don't worry. We'll

both be here when you get back." A high squealing, Tas at

the pipe, tore around the shelter. Flint winced. "Although

whether both of us will yet be sane is another matter."

With grave misdoubt Flint watched Tanis and Sturm leave.

Tas sidled up beside him, standing close to the old dwarf.

He called good luck after them but he didn't think that they

could hear him above the storm's cry.

"Come along, then," Flint growled. "No sense standing

any closer to the wind than we have to. We might as well

find the best kindling from that wood. When those two get

back they'll be fair frozen and needing a fire as quickly as

we can make one."

Tas stood in the breached doorway for a long moment.

The white and screaming storm quickly swallowed all trace

of Sturm and Tanis. Already he had begun to regret his

promise to stay behind.

I could find those trees straight off! he thought. For Tas,

to think was to do. He tucked his pipe into his belt and

stepped out into the blinding storm. The wind caught him

hard, and he laughed from the sheer pleasure of feeling its

bullying push, hearing its thundering roar. He hadn't taken

many steps, however, before two hard hands grabbed him

by the back of his vest and dragged him back inside.

"No, you DON'T!"

"But, Flint - "

The fire in the old dwarf's eyes could have warmed a

company of men. His face, Tas thought, certainly shouldn't

be that interesting shade of red now that he was out of the

wind.

"I only want to go a little way, Flint. I'll come right back,

I promise."

Flint snorted. "The same way you promised Tanis to stay

here in the first place? That lad is a fool to put stock in a

kender's promise." He glared from Tas to the storm raging

without. "But he CAN put stock in mine. I said I'd keep you

here, and here you'll stay."

Tas wondered if there would be a way to get around the old

dwarf standing between him and the doorway. Well, there

might be, he thought, considering a quick run under Flint's

arm. Grinning, he braced for the dash, but then caught the

darkly dangerous look in Flint's eyes and decided against it.

There was, after all, his promise to Tanis, spider-web thin

but still holding after a fashion. And he could, he supposed,

manage to pass the time trying to find the magic in his pipe.

It was going to be, each thought, a very long, cold

afternoon.

Under the sheltering wings of the broad-branched pines

the storm seemed distant, deflected by the thick growing

trunks and the sweep of a rising hill. Deadfalls littered the

little stand. Tanis made right for the heart of the pines

where the snow was a thinner mantle covering the ground

and the fallen trees.

"Gather what you can first," he told Sturm. "It will be

easier if we don't have to cut any wood."

It had taken longer than he had hoped to reach the pines.

Though he could see little difference in the light under the

trees, he knew from some sure instinct that night had fallen.

The driving snow was no longer daytime gray, but brighter.

Only an hour ago the sky had been the color of wet slate.

Now it was an unreflecting, unforgiving black. It FELT like

a night sky for all that Tanis could see no moons, no stars.

The air was as cold and sharp as frozen blades.

They worked as fast as awkward hands would permit,

filling their packs with as much wood as they could carry.

Carefully used it would be enough to keep them from

freezing in the night.

Tanis shoved the last of the wood into his pack, lashed it

tight, and looked around for Sturm. He was a dark figure

hunched against the cold, kneeling over his own pack.

"Ready?" Tanis called.

Sturm looked around. "Aye, if you'll give me a hand

getting this on."

It was the work of a few moments to help Sturm with the

heavily laden pack. "Set?" Tanis asked, watching the boy

brace and find a comfortable balance.

"Set. Your turn."

The half-elf clenched his jaw and bit back a groan as

Sturm settled the burden on his shoulders. "Gods," he

whispered, "if I could wish for anything, it would be that I

were a pack mule strong enough to carry this with ease!"

For the first time that day Sturm smiled, his white teeth

flashing in the gloom beneath the pines. "It is an odd wish,

Tanis. But were it granted, I promise I would lead you

gently."

Tanis laughed and, for a moment, he forgot the cold.

Sturm's smile was like the sun breaking from behind dark

clouds, always welcome for coming so seldom. At the

beginning of the trip Tanis had wondered about the wisdom

of taking the youth along. It had been Flint, to Tanis's

surprise, who had urged that Sturm be included in the party.

"You argue his inexperience," the dwarf had said, "but

I'd like to know how he's to come by any if he spends all his

time in Solace."

It was, Tanis thought at the time, a telling point. But he

had not been swayed until he heard in Flint's careful silence

the echo of memories of another inexperienced youth:

himself. That was no argument against which he might win.

In the end he had been persuaded to include Sturm among

the party. It was, after all, to have been a brief trip, with no

diversions.

And Sturm, to his credit, did not rail against the hardships

of the unlooked-for storm, but accepted the challenge and

deferred, with a solemn and graceful courtesy that

contrasted oddly with his youth, to Tanis's leadership.

Well, we've certainly been diverted now, the half-elf

thought, settling his pack and stamping numb feet in the

snow in a vain effort to urge into sluggish circulation the

blood that surely must be near frozen.

"Come on, Sturm. The sooner we get back, the happier

we'll all be. Tas's promise to stay behind will only hold for

so long. Were you inclined to gamble, I'd wager you

anything you like that though we've a long trudge ahead of

us, it is Flint who is beset with the worse trial."

When they stepped out into the rage of the storm again,

Tanis thought that were wishes to be granted he would

forsake a mule's strong back and ask instead for a dog's

finely developed instinct for finding home. The wind had

erased any tracks they'd made coming into the stand.

Flint glared out into the night, thinking, as Tanis had,

that this was to have been an easy trip. It had been a

journey of only a few days to reach Esker. The wealthy

headman of the village had welcomed them eagerly and

been well pleased with the pair of silver goblets he'd

commissioned the previous summer. The goblets, with their

elegantly shaped stems, gilded interiors, and jeweled cups,

were to be a wedding gift for the man's beloved daughter.

Flint had labored long over their design, obtaining the finest

jewels for their decoration and the purest silver for their

execution. His client had been well pleased with them and

not inclined toward even the ritual dickering over their cost.

Aye, Flint thought now, they were beauties. And like to

cost us our lives.

The weird, atonal wailing of Tas's shepherd's pipe keened

through the shelter, rivaling the whine of the storm,

drawing Flint's nerves tighter with each moment that

passed. It never seemed to find a tune, never seemed to

settle into anything he recognized as even remotely

resembling music.

"Tas!" he snapped. "If you're bound to fuss with that

wretched thing, can't you at least find a tune and play it?"

The piping stopped abruptly. Tas got to his feet and

joined Flint near the door. "I would if I could. But this is the

best I can do."

Before Flint could protest, Tas began to play again. The

awful screech rose in pitch, splintering his temper, never

very strong where Tas was concerned, into shards as sharp

and hard as needles of ice.

"Enough!" he snatched the pipe from Tas's hand. But

before he could fling it across the shelter, the kender leaped

up and caught it back handily.

"No, Flint! My magic pipe!"

"Magic! Don't tell me you're going to start that again.

There's no more magic than music in that thing."

"But there is, Flint. The shepherd told me that I'd find

the magic when I found the music. And I'd find the music

when I wanted it most. I really do want it now, but I don't

seem to be able to find it."

Flint had heard the story before. Though the

circumstances and some finer details varied from one

telling to the next, the core of the tale was always the same:

a shepherd had given Tas the pipe, swearing that it was

enchanted. But he wouldn't tell the kender what the magical

property of the pipe was.

"You will discover its use," he'd supposedly said, "when

you unlock the music. And when it has served you, you

must pass it on, as I have to you, for the magic can be used

only once by each who frees it."

Like as not, Flint thought, the instrument had been

acquired the same way a kender comes by most anything. A

quick, plausible distraction, a subtle movement of the hand,

and a shepherd spends the next hour searching for his pipe.

He probably should have counted himself lucky that half

his flock hadn't vanished as well!

"There's no magic in this," Flint said. "More likely

there's a flaw in the making. Give over now, Tas, and let me

wait in peace."

With a sigh that seemed to come straight from his toes,

Tas went back to where he'd been piping. He dropped onto

the frozen dirt floor and propped his back up against his

pack. In his head he could hear the song he wanted his pipe

to sing. In some places it was soft and wistful. Yet, in

others it was bright, almost playful. It would be a pretty

tune, a song for the snow. Why, he wondered, couldn't the

pipe play the music?

The blizzard raged, shaking the walls of the little shelter.

Night now held the mountain in its freezing grip. It

occurred to Tas that Sturm and Tanis had been gone much

longer than they should have been.

Likely, he thought, drifting with the memory of the tune

he heard but couldn't play, it only SEEMED that the waiting

was long. Probably Tanis and Sturm had only been gone a

few hours at most. It would take them that long to get to

where the trees were, find the wood, and fill their packs. He

was certain, though, that if he'd been with them, it wouldn't

take nearly that long to get back. And three could carry

more wood than two. Tanis's reasons for extracting his

promise seemed less clear to Tas now. He wished he had

gone with them!

It might have been the cold that set him to shivering deep

down in his bones. Or the sudden strange turn that the

storm's song took. Whatever it was, Tas found that his

music had faded and left him.

The wind roared and screamed. The snow, falling more

heavily now than it had in the afternoon, was like a gray

woolen curtain. Frustrated, Tas laid aside his pipe and went

to stand by the door.

"Doesn't the wind sound strange?"

Flint did not answer, but stayed still where he sat,

peering out into the storm.

"Flint?"

"I heard you."

"It sounds like ... I don't know." Tas cocked his head to

listen. "Like wolves howling."

"It's not wolves. It's only the wind."

"I've never heard the wind sound like that. Well, once I

heard it sound ALMOST like wolves. But it was really more

like a dog. Sometimes you hear a dog howling in the night

and you think it's a wolf but it's not because wolves really

do sound different. More ferocious, not so lonesome. This

does sound like wolves, Flint, don't you think? But I've

never heard of wolves hunting in a blizzard unless they

were REALLY starving." Tas frowned, remembering a story

he'd heard once. "There was a village way up in the

mountains in Khur that was attacked by wolves in a

blizzard. I didn't see it. But my father did, and he told me

about it. He said it was really interesting the way the

wolves came down after dark and stalked anything that

looked like good food. And he said it was AMAZING what

wolves consider good food when they're starving - "

"Will you hush! And while you're at it, stop imagining

things that aren't there!" Gritting his teeth against his anger

and the fear that the kender's tale of starving wolves and

blizzards fanned, Flint climbed to his feet. He was stiff and

aching with the cold. "If you must do something, come help

me start a fire."

"With what. Flint?"

"With those old boards and - " Flint thought of the

blocks of wood in his pack. He sighed heavily, regretting

the loss of his whittling wood. "And whatever I have in my

pack."

"All right." But Tas lingered at the doorway. It WAS

wolves howling, he decided firmly, and not the wind. In his

mind's eye he could see them: big, heavy-chested brutes,

gray as a storm sky, eyes bright with hunger, fangs as sharp

as the blade of his own small dagger. They would leap

across the drifts and slink through the hollows, pause to

taste the air with their noses, howl in eerie mourning for

their empty bellies, and lope on again.

His father had also told him that the big gray wolves

could be almost invisible against a snowy sky. Lifting his

head to listen, he thought the howling was closer now. He

wouldn't have to go very far to get just a quick glimpse of

the beasts. Forgetting his promise to Tanis, forgetting the

uncooperative pipe, Tas decided that he simply had to see -

or not see - the wolves.

Checking to be sure that Flint was not watching, Tas

grinned happily and slipped out into the storm.

"Tanis!" He was but an arm's length behind the half-elf

yet Sturm could see Tanis only as a vague, dark shadow. He

hardly heard his own voice, bellow though he did above the

wind's scream, and he knew that Tanis had not heard him at

all. He caught Tanis's arm and pulled him to a halt.

"Listen!" Sturm shouldered his pack to an easier perch

on his back and moved in close. "You're not going to tell

me again about how that's the wind, are you? Those are

wolves!"

They were indeed. The fiction of the wind had been partly

for Sturm's sake, partly for his own. Tanis abandoned it as

useless now. "I know! But we have to push on, Sturm! We

can't let them get between us and the shelter!"

"Run? You want us to run?" The thought of fleeing from

danger sent a spasm of disgust across the youth's face.

Beneath that revulsion, though, was an instinctive fear. It

was not hidden, Tanis saw, as well as Sturm might have

hoped.

Tanis's humorless laughter was caught by the wind and

flung away. "I do! But the best we can do is slog on. There

is no shame in this retreat, Sturm. We're no match for a

pack, and Flint and Tas won't appreciate our courage at all

if they have to consider it while freezing to death."

Though carefully given, it was a reprimand. Sturm

recognized it and took it with considered grace. "I'm not

accustomed to flight, Tanis," he said gravely. "But neither

am I accustomed to abandoning friends. Lead on."

Sturm, Tanis thought, seeking his bearings, you're too

solemn by half for your years! But, aye, I'll lead on ...

And that was another matter. How far had they come?

Tanis could no longer tell. He was storm-blind now, hardly

able to keep his eyes open for the merciless bite of wind-

driven snow and ice. The bitter wind had battered at their

backs when they'd left the shelter. As long as it roared and

screamed in their faces, clawing at their skin, tearing at

their clothing, he could be fairly certain that they were

moving in the right direction. He did not like to think what

might happen should the storm suddenly change direction.

Likely someone would find our bones in spring and

wonder and pity. Putting aside the grim thought, Tan-is

hunched his shoulders and bowed his head before the

storm's blast, protecting his eyes as best he could. His legs

were heavier and harder to move with each step. His neck

and shoulders ached beneath his burden of wood. And the

wolves were howling closer.

It only SEEMS A never-ending journey, he told himself

as he waded through still another drift. Before the night was

much older they would be back at the shelter. Then the

storm could tear across the mountains, then the wolves

could howl until they were hoarse. It wouldn't matter. Tanis

could almost hear Flint scolding and grumbling about two

young fools who couldn't come right back, but must linger

to catch their deaths in the storm. Beneath it all would run

Tas's chattering and incessant, never-ending questions.

Their miserable burdens of fuel would feed a crackling fire

to thaw hands and feet they could no longer feel.

Thinking to share the encouragement with Sturm toiling

silently behind, he turned, squinting into the blinding snow.

"Sturm! Soon!" he shouted.

Sturm looked up. Ice rimned his hair, long streaks of

white scored his face where the cold had bitten. "What?"

"Soon! We're almost - "

It might have been instinct that made Tanis slip

immediately out of his pack and reach for his bow and

quiver. Or it might have been the look of wide-eyed horror

on Sturm's face. He never heard the wolf's roar, or the

slavering snarl of its mate. He only felt the heavy weight

where it caught him behind the knees and drove him with

all the force of its hundred pounds face first into the snow.

His bow was beneath him, his dagger still sheathed at his

belt. Fear raced through him like a hot river. He shoved his

chin tight to his chest and locked his hands behind his head,

Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman - Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

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