Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (11 page)

come to pay their respects to the dead by swilling ale and munch-

ing cold chicken forgot their suppers and their games. Gasping in

wonder, they crowded around the fence, nearly overrunning the

Knights.

"They buried someone alive in there!" a girl screamed. -

The crowd surged forward.

"Keep back!" Gerard shouted, drawing his sword. "This is

holy ground! Any who desecrates it will be arrested! Randolph,

go and get reinforcements! We need to clear this area."

"I suppose it could be a ghost," his fellow Knight speculated,

his eyes glowing with awe. "A ghost of one of the fallen Heroes

come back to warn us of dire peril."

Gerard snorted. "You've been listening to too many bards'

tales! It's nothing more than one of these filthy little vermin who's

got himself inside there and can't get out. I have the key to the

fence, but I have no idea how to open the tomb."

The banging on the door was growing louder.

The Knight cast Gerard a disgusted glance. "I will go fetch the

provost. He'll know what to do."

Randolph pelted off, holding his sword to his side to keep it

from clanking against his armor.

"Get away! Move aside!" Gerard ordered in firm tones.

He drew out the key and, putting his back against the gate,

keeping his face to the crowd, he fumbled around behind his back

until he managed to fit the key into the lock. Hearing it click, he

opened the gate, much to the delight of the crowd, several of

whom endeavored to push through. Gerard walloped the boldest

with the flat of his sword, drove them back a few moments, time

enough for him to hastily dodge inside the fence gate and slam it

shut behind him.

The crowd of humans and kender pressed in around the

fence. Children poked their heads through the bars, promptly got

their heads stuck, and began to wail. Some climbed the bars in a

futile attempt to crawl over, while others thrust their hands and

arms and legs inside for no logical reason that Gerard could see,

which only went to prove what he'd long suspected-that his

fellow mortals were ninnies.

The Knight made certain the gate was locked and secure and

then walked over to the tomb, intending to post himself at the

entrance until the Provost came with some means of breaking

the seal.

He was climbing the marble and obsidian stairs when he

heard the voice say cheerfully, "Oh, never mind. I've got it!"

A loud snick, as of a lock being tripped, and the doors to the

tomb began to slowly creak open.

The crowd gasped in thrilled horror and crowded nearer the

fence, each trying to get the best view possible of the Knight

being ripped apart by hordes of skeletal warriors.

A figure emerged from the tomb. It was dusty, dirty, its hair

windswept, its clothes in disarray and singed, its pouches rather

mangled and worse for wear. But it wasn't a skeleton. It wasn't a

blood-sucking vampire or an emaciated ghoul.

It was a kender.

The crowd groaned in disappointment.

The kender peered out into the bright sunlight and blinked,

half-blinded. "Hullo," he said. "I'm-" The kender paused to

sneeze. "Sorry. It's extremely dusty in there. Someone should really

do something about that. Do you have a handkerchief? I seem to

have mislaid mine. Well, it actually belonged to Tanis, but I don't

suppose he'll be wanting it back now that he's dead. Where am I?"

"Under arrest," said Gerard. Laying firm hands upon the

kender, the Knight hauled him down the stairs.

Understandably disappointed that they weren't going to wit-

ness a battle between the Knight and the undead, the crowd re-

turned to their picnics and playing goblin ball.

"I recognize this place," said the kender, staring about instead

of watching where he was going and consequently tripping

himself. "I'm in Solace. Good! That's where I meant to come. My

name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot, and I'm here to speak at the funeral

of Caramon Majere, so if you could just take me to the Inn

quickly, I really do have to get back. You see, there's this giant foot

about to come down-blam! right on top of me, and that's some-

thing I don't want to miss, and now then-"

Gerard put the key into the gate lock, turned it and opened

the gate. He gave the kender a shove that sent him sprawling.

"The only place you're going is off to jail. You've done enough

mischief already."

The kender picked himself up cheerfully, not at all angry or

disconcerted. "Awfully nice of you to find me a place to spend the

night. Not that I'll be here that long. I've come to speak. . ." He

paused. "Did I mention that I was Tasslehoff Burrfoot?"

Gerard grunted, not interested. He took firm hold of the

kender and stood waiting with him until someone came to take

the little bastard off his hands.

"The Tasslehoff," said the kender.

Gerard cast a weary glance out over the crowd and shouted,

"Everyone named Tasslehoff Burrfoot raise his hand!"

Thirty-seven hands shot up in the air and two dogs barked:

"Oh, my!" said the kender clearly taken aback.

"You can see why I'm not impressed," said Gerard and searched

hopefully for some sign that relief was on the way.

"I don't suppose it would matter if I told you that I was the

original Tasslehoff . . . No, I guess not." The kender sighed and

stood fidgeting in the hot sun. His hand, strictly out of boredom,

found its way into Gerard's money pouch, but Gerard was pre-

pared for that and gave the kender a swift and nasty crack across

the knuckles.

The kender sucked his bruised hand. "What's all this?" He

looked around at the people larking and frolicking upon the

lawn. "What are these people doing here? Why aren't they at-

tending Caramon's funeral? It's the biggest event Solace has

ever seen!"

"Probably because Caramon Majere is not dead yet" said

Gerard caustically. "Where is that good-for-nothing provost?"

"Not dead?" The kender stared. "Are you sure?"

"I had breakfast with him myself this very morning," Gerard

replied.

"Oh, no!" The kender gave a heartbroken wail and slapped him-

self on the forehead. "I've gone and goofed it up again! And I don't

suppose that now I've got time to try it a third time. What with the

giant foot and all." He began to rummage about in his pouch. "Still,

I guess I had better try. Now, where did I put that device--"

Gerard glowered around as he tightened his grip on the collar

of the kender's dusty jacket. The thirty-seven kender named

Tasslehoff had all come over to meet number thirty-eight.

"The rest of you, clear out!" Gerard waved his hand as if he

were shooing chickens.

Naturally, the kender ignored him. Though extremely disap-

pointed that Tasslehoff hadn't turned out to be a shambling

zombie, the kender were interested to hear where he'd been, what

he'd seen and what he had in his pouches.

"Want some Midyear Day's cake?" asked a pretty female

kender.

"Why, thank you. This is quite good. I-" The kender's eyes

opened wide. He tried to say something, couldn't speak for the

cake in his mouth, and ended up half choking himself. His fellow

kender obligingly pounded him on the back. He bolted the cake,

coughed, and gasped out, "What day is this?"

"Midyear's Day!" cried everyone.

"Then I haven't missed it!" the kender shouted triumphantly.

"In fact, this is better than I could have hoped! I'll get to tell Cara-

mon what I'm going to say at his funeral tomorrow! He'll proba-

bly find it extremely interesting."

The kender looked up into the sky. Spotting the position of the

sun, which was about half-way down, heading for the horizon, he

said, "Oh, dear. I don't have all that much time. If you'll just

excuse me, I had best be running."

And run he did, leaving Gerard standing flat-footed on the

grassy lawn, a kender jacket in his hand.

Gerard spent one baffled moment wondering how the imp

had managed to wriggle out of his jacket, yet still retain all his

pouches, which were jouncing and bouncing as he ran, spilling

their contents to the delight of the thirty-seven Tassleho£fs. Con-

cluding that this was a phenomenon that, much like the depar-

ture of the gods, he would never understand, Gerard was about

to run after the errant kender, when he remembered that he could

not leave his post unguarded.

At this juncture, the provost came into sight, accompanied by

an entire detail of Solamnic Knights solemnly arrayed in their

best armor to welcome back the returning Heroes, for this is what

they had understood they were going to be meeting.

" Just a kender, sir," Gerard explained. "Somehow he man-

aged to get himself locked inside the tomb. He let himself out. He

got away from me, but I think I know where he's headed."

The provost, a stout man who loved his ale, turned very red

in the face. The Knights looked extremely foolish-the kender

were now dancing around them in a circle-and all looked very

black at Gerard, whom they clearly blamed for the entire incident.

"Let them," Gerard muttered, and dashed off after his prisoner.

The kender had a good head start. He was quick and nimble

and accustomed to fleeing pursuit. Gerard was strong and a swift

runner, but he was encumbered by his heavy, ceremonial armor,

which clanked and rattled and jabbed him uncomfortably in sev-

eral tender areas. He would likely have never even caught sight

of the felon had not the kender stopped at several junctures to

look around in amazement, demanding loudly to know, "Where

did this come from?" staring at a newly built garrison, and, a little

farther on, "What are all these doing here?" This in reference to

the refugee housing. And "Who put that there?" This to a large

sign posted by the town fathers proclaiming that Solace was a

town in good standing and had paid its tribute to the dragon and

was therefore a safe place to visit.

The kender seemed extremely disconcerted by the sign. He

stood before it, eyeing it severely. "That can't stay there," he said

loudly. "It will block the path of the funeral procession."

Gerard thought he had him at this point, but the kender gave

a bound and a leap and dashed off again. Gerard was forced to

halt to catch his breath. Running in the heavy armor in the heat

caused his head to swim and sent little shooting stars bursting

across his vision. He was close to the Inn, however, and he had

the grim satisfaction of seeing the kender dash up the stairs and

through the front door.

"Good," Gerard thought grimly. "I have him."

Removing his helm, he tossed it to the ground, and leaned

back against the signpost until his breathing returned to normal,

while he watched the stairs to make certain the kender didn't

depart. Acting completely against regulations, Gerard divested

himself of the pieces of armor that were chafing him the worst,

wrapped them in his cloak, and stashed the bundle in a dark

corner of the Inn's woodshed. He then walked over to the com-

munity water barrel and plunged the gourd deep into the water.

The barrel stood in a shady spot beneath one of the vallen-

woods. The water was cool and sweet. Gerard kept one eye on

the door of the Inn and, lifting the dipper, dumped the water

over his head.

The water trickled down his neck and breast, wonderfully

refreshing. He took a long drink, slicked back his hair, wiped his

face, picked up his helm and, tucking it beneath his arm, made

the long ascent up the stairs to the Inn. He could hear the

kender's voice quite clearly. Judging by his formal tones and un-

naturally deep voice, the kender appeared to be making a

speech.

"Caramon Majere was a very great hero. He fought dragons

and undead and goblins and hobgoblins and ogres and draconi-

ans and lots of others I can't remember. He traveled back in time

with this very device-right here, this very device-' II The

kender resumed normal speech for a moment to say, I'Then I

show the crowd the device, Caramon. I'd show you that part, but

I can't quite seem to find it right now. Don't worry, I won't let

anyone touch it. Now, where was I?"

A pause and the sound of paper rustling.

Gerard continued climbing the stairs. He had never truly no-

ticed just how many stairs there were before. His legs, already

aching and stiff from running, burned, his breath came short. He

wished he'd taken off all his armor. He was chagrined to see how

far he'd let himself go. His formerly strong athlete's body was

soft as a maiden's. He stopped on the landing to rest and heard

the kender launch back into his speech.

"Caramon Majere traveled back in time. He saved Lady

Crysania from the Abyss.' She'll be here, Caramon. She'll fly

here on the back of a silver dragon. Goldmoon will be here, too,

and Riverwind will come and their beautiful daughters and Sil-

vanoshei, the king of the United Elven Nations, will be here,