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finds me out and tries to stop me. Hic. Perhaps, though, I shall have just
one more slice of boar.
The draconian s gaze drifted from face to face between bites of boar
and blueberries. Some of the musicians had finished their meal and were
striking up a sprightly tune. The melody was pleasing to the sivak s ears.
They were all so . . . happy. It was an emotion generally denied him,
abhorred by him, a weak sentiment that had no place in the lives of he and
his fellows. He couldn t recall that he d ever been happy before. He found
himself grinning like everybody else.
Maybe you can stay for the dance tonight! This from a young
dwarven woman in a red gown trimmed with embroidered daisies.
Stay? No. How long had it been since he killed the dwarf? An hour?
Two? He needed to be leaving before he lost hold of this form and his
sivak body returned. That would certainly put an end to the merriment,
and possibly an end to his life, as several of the sturdiest-looking dwarves
carried swords and hammers. Still, he did not feel the tingling that usually
signaled he was soon to shed his form. Perhaps he was wrong about the
time. Perhaps he could tarry. He felt for the cadence of his heart and found
that it seemed to beat in time with the dwarven drums.
For one dance? She politely persisted.
I really should be going. Gods to summon, plagues to end, hie dragons
to deal with, and other important business I must attend to. . . .
Another ale was thrust into his hand and quickly found its way down
his throat. It all tasted so good. There was no tingling, no hint of the
coming reversion to his beloved self. Perhaps there was something in this
wonderful ale that was allowing him to retain this wonderful body
longer even forever.
I want you to have this. An elderly dwarven woman swayed up
behind him, placed a medallion around his neck. My husband mined the
gold it s made of. Gave this to me when we were young and when all the
gods walked on Krynn.
Hic, I want hic, you to have hic, this. Gustin Stoutbeard was
unfastening a badge from his tunic, a dark purple ribbon from which hung
a gold charm hammered in the face of a dwarf. It s a symbol of you. Hic.
Hic. It was cast years ago and given to me by the previous hic, mayor.
The acting mayor turned, his belly bumping into the dra-conian and nearly
knocking him out of his seat. He thrust the pin into the draconian s cape,
where a cloak clasp would hang, not noticing the draconian cringe at being
stabbed by the long sharp object.
And this! A small dwarven child passed her his doll. It s my
favorite.
I can t accept these, the sivak protested. Now I really hic, must be
leaving.
Another mug of ale was placed in front of him. The musicians were
playing a slow tune now, rich with a complicated countermelody that
sometimes drifted off-key. The sivak found himself humming along.
You hic, must hic, accept our gifts! the acting mayor returned. He
looked crestfallen. We revere you above all the hic, gods. Reorx the hic,
Forge, the greatest hic, of Krynn s gods. It was you who hic, tamed Chaos
to form the world, and it was you who created the stars by hic, striking
your hammer against Chaos.
It is true, the sivak admitted, as he ran his thick fingers around the lip
of the tankard. I did indeed create the stars. Hie. My crowning
achievement, I think. Of course, I am also rather proud of the mountains. I
made them with a brush of my hand.
You are the father of dwarves and kender, and we owe you our lives,
said the young kender with two topknots whom he had met when he first
entered the village. You forged the Graygem. Without you, the Chaos
War would have been lost. Krynn would be no more.
Mugs were clanked together in toasts to the Forge, and dwarves
slapped each other on the back and swayed in their seats.
Well, yes, the draconian evenly intoned. The Chaos War would
have turned out much worse had I not taken some steps to intervene and
help mortals. Yes, I will happily accept your gifts.
The acting mayor instantly brightened and cleared his throat. The most
hic, powerful of all the gods, we knew it would be you who came back to
hic, Krynn first. We knew that you would show yourself to your hic,
children, the dwarves and kender of Thorbardin. Hie.
A cheer went up, and the draconian was passed another thick slice of
bread with the last of the wonderful honey atop it. The boys would be
back from the honeycomb soon with more, he was told.
Maybe I could linger for one dance, he thought. He d never danced
before. How long had it been since he killed the dwarf? It couldn t have
been that long ago, he told himself. The time didn t matter anymore, did
it? The ale was forestalling the transformation. He closed his eyes and
savored the last few bites of the boar, felt the meal resting comfortably in
his very full stomach. He listened to the band and the bubbling of the
fountain, the slurred conversations of his new friends. They were much
better company than his own kind, he decided. They loved him.
His expression grew wistful, and he pushed himself away from the
table, tucking the doll under his arm and finding that it took a bit of
concentration to stand without wobbling. He glanced over his shoulder
toward the fountain, and noticed that the paper lanterns were being lit and
that the sun was setting. Yes, I believe hic, I can stay for a dance or two
before I must leave to summon Mishakal and Habbakuk, Solanari and the
others.
But not Takhisis! cried the kender with two topknots. Please don t
summon Takhisis!
There were hisses and softly muttered curses at the mention of the Dark
Queen s name.
No. Rest assured hic, that I will not be summoning Takhisis. He
grinned inwardly, as it was the first real truth he d uttered since entering
the village.
Doyoureallyhavetoleave? asked an elderly kender who was gripping
the table to keep from falling over. SummonthegodsfromNeidarbard!
The acting mayor pushed away from the table and stood, wobbling
from the effects of the ale. Now, now, good folk of hic, Neidarbard. We
have been hic, truly hic, blessed this day. Never before has a god, the god
of Krynn, set foot in our hic, fair village. We must not be selfish, and hic,
we must not
Help!
The cry was soft at first, giving Gustin Stoutbeard pause. But it was
repeated, growing louder as the dwarf who was screaming it from afar
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