wearing plain tunics, trousers, and boots, each sporting wings of flame on his back. Tas blinked twice and looked again. They were still there.
'Hey!' the kender cried excitedly, jumping to his feet and hopping up and down on the floe as he pointed. 'Tanis, Flint, look behind you! There's a-yow!'
Tasslehoff's words were literally cut off as he bit his tongue in painful surprise. Powerful, small hands caught him up by the armpits and lifted him off the floe, just as it crested the brink of the waterfall. Looking down past his dangling feet, the kender watched the slab of ice smash into shards on the rocks below, then disappear in the churning water. He felt himself lifted higher and higher, until he rose above the treetops. His narrow escape from death was nearly forgotten in his exuberance over flying.
Finally Tasslehoff looked up. There he saw a pinched little face with almond-shaped eyes beneath coppery, curly hair and delicately pointed ears. Tas's eyes traveled in rapt fascination to the fluttering, crackling wings of flame over the fellow's narrow, fine-boned shoulders.
'What are
'I was once on fire,' he continued. 'Actually, my little sister lit my shoe on fire. It didn't help me to fly, though I must say I ran mighty fast to get it put out. But that's not the same thing at all, is it?' Tasslehoff waited for a response from the ruddy-complected creature, but it said nothing. His face was a mask of concentration as he flew with his burden toward some unknown destination.
'Can't speak the Common tongue, eh?' Tas concluded. 'That's OK. Not every race is intelligent enough to master it. I'm not sure how we'll communicate, though. Say, I speak a bit of Troglodyte-I'm nearly fluent,' the kender said proudly, 'though I'm sure I couldn't read a word of it.' He frowned. 'Actually, I don't believe Troglodyte can be written down.'
The creature's expression grew more pinched than before. 'I speak and read six languages, as do all phaethons,' he said stiffly at last, 'though the clicks and whistles that pass for language among the pathetic race of troglodytes isn't one of them.' With that, the phaethon snapped his mouth firmly shut.
'Where are we going?' Tas asked innocently. He noticed that not far away another winged creature carried Tanis above the treetops, and below them, two were lugging the hefty dwarf, who seemed to be struggling- rather foolishly, in Tasslehoff's opinion-against their grip. Tasslehoff's phaethon would not be goaded or offended into revealing any more information.
Flying under someone else's power certainly isn't as convenient as flying yourself, thought Tas, comparing this trip to the ones he had taken as a bird. His vision was less sharp as a kender than it had been as a sparrow, though he was more familiar with the operation of this equipment. One thing was sure-almost anything could see better than a fly.
They were heading higher into the mountains, up toward where the snow was deep and the trees were sparse. An icy breeze whistled past Tas's ears, making him think of a frost giant's breath. It mingled with the sound of fanned flames, like cloth snapping in a strong wind.
Tasslehoff's armpits were beginning to ache and chafe from the friction of his weight in the phaethon's hands. He twisted slightly to relieve the pressure, but the winged creature only tightened his grip more painfully and frowned down at the kender.
After what seemed like forever to the impatient kender, they approached the mountainside. Tasslehoff expected them to cruise up, decelerate, and land in a clearing, but the phaethon showed no sign of slowing his descent. He raced toward the craggy mountainside at a speed even the fearless kender found daunting. Where could they possibly land? There was nothing but sharp crags of rock here, as far as Tas could see. Did the phaethon mean to smash him against the rocks? Tas discounted that possibility because the creature could have dropped him long ago, or left him on the ice for that matter. Finally Tas could contain himself no longer.
'Look out, you son of a goatsucker bird! You're going to slam us right into the rock!'
At the very last second, the phaethon swooped up and over the craggy mountain peak. Cresting the far side, they were greeted with a panorama like none Tasslehoff had ever seen. Spread before them, poking through tufts of white and gray clouds, were hundreds of spires of orange-brown rock. Tas looked down and saw a lush, green valley far below, neatly farmed in rows, winding past the bases of the towers of stone. Vegetation climbed the sides of the towers, reaching to within one hundred feet of the tops of each. There, each natural minaret flared out abruptly into a hollow onion shape, with openings-windows and doors, Tas presumed-carved into the round surfaces.
Tas's phaethon soared past quite a number of spires until he reached one that was larger than most. It was set in a noticeable kink in a cliff of the surrounding mountains. Slowing the beating of his wings, the phaethon hovered, carefully negotiating an arched doorway with his awkward cargo. Finally angling his wings, the phaethon lowered Tas until his feet touched ground inside the doorway. The phaethon followed.
'Wow! What a ride! This is incredible! Do you live up here? Are those really clouds, or just fog? How far is it to the ground?' Without waiting for answers, Tas immediately began inspecting his surroundings.
He stood in a small antechamber in the shape of a half-circle. The walls were entirely covered with simple text carvings and bas-relief images of what Tas interpreted as wingless phaethons working at various tasks: planting, tilling, toting water, harvesting crops, and a complete range of village crafts.
Two doorways pierced the flat side of the antechamber; both doors were propped open. One led to a large, open room with a fireplace set into the rounded outside wall; a low fire burned on the hearth and stone crocks and wooden chairs and stools were set before it. To the left was a bank of short cupboards that followed the curve of the wall. The second doorway led to a smaller chamber where several fluffy, feather pallets were laid out symmetrically on the floor.
Tasslehoff stepped into the room with the fireplace. The walls of that room were also covered with carvings, but these were violent scenes of phaethons borne on their flaming wings and battling hideous creatures, the likes of which Tas had never seen or heard described.
'Wait here,' said the phaethon. He stepped through the outer doorway and into emptiness, disappearing from Tas's view. The kender leaped to one of the small windows and watched, amazed again, as flames in the form of wings burst from the plummeting phaethon's back and it soared away in a heart-stopping dive. Tas watched until the winged man disappeared in the clouds among the spires.
Wait here. Where can I go? the kender thought ironically. Outside was nothing but air and clouds. The only way to reach the ground was to jump, and that would be messy. Elbows propped on the sill, he gazed across the green valley-or what he could see of it through the drifting vapor-hundreds, maybe even thousands, of feet below.
Behind him, Tas suddenly heard the hiss of flames licking at air, followed by soft footsteps. Wheeling about, he saw that four unfamiliar phaethons had joined him. One was a female in loose pantaloons and tunic, a colorful sash wound round her waist. Apparently she was the mother of the young girl with long, curly red hair who stood behind her. The girl peeked around her mother's leg shyly at Tas. The third phaethon, obviously the father, was an adult male, standing in front of the others in a protective stance. He was dressed like the one who had carried Tas here, but he looked older; his skin was ruddier and more wind-burned and weathered. He held a stout staff in both hands and wore a heavy knife at his belt.
The fourth phaethon, if in fact that is what it was, looked to be the oldest of them all by far. He paid little heed to the others or to Tasslehoff, but instead seated himself serenely before the low-burning hearth. Like the other phaethons Tas had seen, this one's hair was short and wavy, but it was pure white, not red. His heavily lined face was the color of copper and his eyes were jet black with no discernible pupils.
'What are you?' the father asked bluntly.
'I'm a kender, of course.' Tas stepped forward eagerly and extended his hand. 'Tasslehoff Burrfoot, at your service. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. For instance, I've never heard of phaethons before.' He peered at them all closely. 'You look quite a bit like short half-elves. Is that how you think of yourselves, or do you prefer to think of half-elves as tall phaethons?' Suddenly Tas remembered something.
'Speaking of half-elves, where are my friends? Aren't they coming?' He ran to the window again and peered out. 'Gosh, I got so caught up in flying over the mountains that I forgot all about them. Some of your people grabbed them from the stream in the nick of time, too- thank you, by the way.' He giggled. 'It took two of them to carry Flint.'
