Kender, Gully Dwarves, Gnomes (10 page)

Barsh couldn't believe that he was still alive. And not only was Barsh alive, but his
fellow gnomes

were swarming onto the parapet, overwhelming the small number of dragonarmy soldiers who
had been on watch. “To the gate!” cried Barsh, leading his people along the

battlement to the front of the prison. Even as they worked their way toward the gate,
prison

guards were racing out of their barracks to fight the intruders. If the gnomes couldn't
get the gates opened quickly, they'd be destroyed by the powerful dragonarmy soldiers. It
was only with the help of the kender as reinforcements that they had a chance of holding
out against the fierce soldiers of the Dragon Highlord.

The kender, with Quinby Cull urging them on, had already begun their charge. The Paw's
Mark Inn was just a short distance from the prison, and now the kender were racing like an
angry wind toward the gate.

Quinby could see the battle unfolding up on the parapet. The gnomes were fighting
furiously to reach the gate's pulley system. Quinby knew that if they failed, he and his
kender army would be racing toward death.

He saw gnomes dying. A dragonarmy soldier pierced one of them in the chest with his sword.
Another gnome was thrown over the wall. And still another had his head split open with an
ax. But the gnomes fought on, gallantly pushing the prison guards away from the gate.
Until . . .

“It's opening!” cried Quinby just as he and his army of kender were about to give up hope.
Without having to break their stride, they surged under the rising metal gate and plowed
right into a phalanx of dragon-army soldiers!

“Are we supposed to fight KENDER?!” demanded one of the enemy with contempt in his voice.

Quinby heard the soldier and, filled with fury, he shouted in return, “On this day you
will not only fight kender, you will die at our hands!” The soldier thrust his sword's
point toward Quinby's throat. But the kender nimbly parried, then lunged forward and
stabbed the enemy clean through the heart.

Scores of kender and gnomes witnessed Quinby's bold declaration and even bolder swordplay.
A great cheer went up when the dragonarmy soldier fell. For, in that moment, Quinby Cull
had done more than simply kill one enemy. He had shown that the kender were a force to be
reckoned with. He had given dignity back to his race. And he had shown that a kender could
be a hero!

On the heels of Quinby's dramatic battle, the kender drove the better-armed and
better-trained dragon-army force away from the gate as they fought for control of the
prison grounds.

But the Highlord's soldiers quickly formed a new battle line. Their bowman sent one
withering volley after another into the kender ranks. In their fearless-ness, the kender
didn't let the arrows stop them. Even with bloody shafts sticking in their stomachs,
shoulders, and legs - many of them dying on their feet - the kender troops charged
headlong into the dragonarmy lines. They swung crude swords and knives at the soldiers
until their enemy was finally routed.

It was then that a shockingly small number of dwarves led by Vigre Arch came streaming
through the open gate.

“Where are the rest of your people?” demanded Barsh.

“You promised you would have an army of dwarves,” echoed Quinby. “There are barely a
hundred of you here. What's going on?”

Vigre took a deep breath and told them the bad news.

“Dragonarmy soldiers are coming this way,” he reported. “We saw them from the top of the
ravine. There must be at least two thousand of them marching through the city. We'd all be
trapped in the prison if they got here before Spinner was freed. So I ordered most of our
people to meet the dragonarmy soldiers in the street and fight them there. It was the only
way to stall for time.”

Barsh and Quinby turned pale. A ragtag group of dwarves didn't have a chance against two
thousand crack dragonarmy troops. Vigre's people were going to be slaughtered. They must
have known their fate, yet they were willing to sacrifice their lives for stories they
would never hear. Truly, thought Quinby, this was the stuff of legend. He put his hand on
Vigre's shoulder and said, “If I were a dwarf, I'd be proud on this day. Then again,” he
added, considering, “I'm not a dwarf.”

Vigre looked at the kender trying to decide what Quinby meant.

“No matter what happens,” Quinby went on, oblivious to Vigre's questioning stare, “your
people belong in Spinner's stories. Not all of his stories,” he hastily added. “Just one
of them.”

Vigre gave up trying to figure out the kender's intentions

and simply said, “Spinner could make a fine, though tragic, tale of the battle in the
city. So let's make sure that he lives to tell it. I'll take what's left of our force and
fight our way through the prison till we find our storyteller.”

“But there aren't enough of you,” Quinby declared. “You're going to need help. I'll take
some kender and go with you.”

“And I'll come, too,” volunteered Barsh. “I'll bring a small troop of gnomes along.”

Vigre couldn't refuse. He knew they were right. There was no telling how many of the
Dragon Highlord's soldiers were waiting for them inside the prison's labyrinth of cells.

“Come on,” he said. “Spinner must be wondering what all the noise is about.”

I was, indeed, wondering what all the noise was about. The night had nearly passed, and I
waited for the dawning, resigned to my fate. My cellmate, Davin, had listened to me
throughout the night, offering not a word of his own.

Then I heard shouts and screams filtering down to the depths of the filthy dungeon where I
had been left to languish until my death.

“What's going on?” I called out to a dragonarmy guard who raced past the cell.

He ignored me.

“What do you think is happening?” I asked Davin. He shook his head.

The noise grew louder. It sounded like battle. There was the clash of steel on steel.
There were howls of pain, boots running on stone, and shouts of ... MY NAME!

“Here!” I cried. “I'm here! This way!”

I couldn't believe my own senses. But yes, it was the voice of Quinby Cull calling out to
me! Then I heard Vigre Arch. My mind was reeling when even that clever gnome, Barsh, made
his presence known.

“It's impossible!” I exclaimed. And then I turned to Davin. “Do you hear them, or have I
gone mad? Are my friends really here to save me?”

My cellmate was about to answer, but then, instead, he shouted, “Look out!”

Too late. A prison guard had suddenly appeared at my cell and grabbed me through the bars.
“I'll see you dead before they free you,” he vowed. And then he lifted his

dagger and plunged it toward my chest. Davin was faster than I was. He lunged forward and

grabbed the guard's wrist just before the knife could strike me. He twisted the man's arm
against the iron bars until there was an audible crack. The guard screamed as the knife
clattered to the floor. He ran in terror as Quinby, Vigre, and Barsh led a legion of their
people toward my cell.

“Keys!” crowed Barsh, dangling them happily in the air.

“We took them from an officer at the landing,” explained Vigre. “You're going to be free.”

“We're glad to see you,” said Quinby, standing back from the door with tears of joy in his
eyes.

“YOU'RE glad to see me?” I cried in disbelief. “To be sure, it's the other way around!”

The cell door flew open.

“Come with us,” said Quinby. “We came to save you. Now you and your stories can live
forever!”

Spinner Kenro ended the long tale about himself with a flourish, his voice rising in a
dramatic crescendo. His timing was impeccable. No sooner had he finished than a prison
guard unlocked the cell door. “It's dawn,” said the Highlord's emissary. Spinner took a
deep breath and rose to his feet. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “I half believe my own
stories. There was a part of me that really thought my friends would come and save me. Do
you think I'm foolish, Davin?”

I couldn't answer. I was crying.

Spinner had not slept. He had sat up against a wall, weaving his final story during the
last hours of his life. And I was his only audience.

They hanged Spinner Kenro at daybreak.

Spinner died a great many years ago, but his memory lives on. For that night in the prison
he opened the window of my soul. And though his voice was stilled, his gift was somehow
passed to me. I've told many stories throughout the years as I've traveled across Krynn.
But I never fail to tell this, the one, great, final story exactly as Spinner told it to
me that night in the prison.

Oh, I know what really happened. Quinby, Vigre, and Barsh did try to save Spinner. But
once they made their plans, Quinby forgot all about them - he was true to his

kender soul; out of sight, out of mind. Vigre, ever distrustful of humans, had second
thoughts about the entire enterprise. Meanwhile, Barsh and his gnomes did set about
creating a huge wall-scaling device. The problem was that it was so big that they couldn't
get it out of the building in which they had constructed it. It's still there to this day.

Now, you might say that the truth doesn't make a good tale. But that's not the point.
There is a higher truth than the facts. And that truth reveals itself every time I tell
Spinner's story. For as the years went by, the kender, dwarves, and gnomes of Flotsam grew
to BELIEVE that they had saved Spinner. They have convinced themselves that on one cold,
windswept night they joined together to make history, to reach greatness, to become
heroes. And if they did it once, might they not do it again?

A Shaggy Dog's Tail

by Danny Peary poem by Suzanne Rafer

Word spread like wildfire that Tasslehoff Burrfoot was in Spritzbriar. “I'm just passing
through,” he told the villagers as they rushed home to lock up their valuables. “But if
anyone wants to hear some stories, I might just hang around a bit.” Of course, everyone
knew that as long as anyone would listen to the kender's improbable tales, he wasn't going
anywhere. That's what worried the men and women of Spritzbriar. They knew that while they
were safeguarding those belongings they feared might wind up in the kender's pouches,
their children would slip out doors and wriggle out windows in order to see the
illustrious visitor.

As the boys and girls raced across the grassy field toward Prine Lake at the edge of the
forest, they looked nervously over their shoulders, hoping their absences wouldn't be
discovered until AFTER Tas had spun a few yams. Most had promised their parents to never
again listen to his stories after even the bravest had had nightmares in the wake of his
last visit. But they'd grown tired of those cheery tales told by their mothers and
grandmothers. Because kender weren't frightened of anything, Tas thought nothing of
telling the children about bloody battles in war-torn areas

of Krynn, vicious dragons, hobgoblins, or black-robed magic-users. The children found such
stories well worth risking a night without supper.

The children who gathered at Prine Lake sat on the ground and formed a tight circle around
Tas, with the oldest by his small, wriggling feet. Tas sat proudly under a mammoth
vallenwood, propped like a king on a wooden stool so everyone could see him. He stroked
his hoopak staff and grinned broadly, delighted his audience was so large. If only Flint
could see him now.

While everyone waited impatiently, Tas took a meticulously carved flute from an elegant,
woven-rope, yellow pouch that was strapped around his neck. As he brought it toward his
lips, a young boy named Jespato intercepted his hand.