Such was his story telling power.
I traveled across Krynn, telling my own tales in little villages and towns with barely a tear being shed or a laugh being loosed. I thought myself a dismal failure. But then I came to Flotsam. There were no storytellers among the kender, dwarves, and gnomes. When they heard me tell my tales, it was as if the first dragon had taken wing. Their eyes opened wide, and they listened and stared with awestruck fascination.
Once, soon after arriving in Flotsam, I told a story in a tannery to a small group of kender in exchange for a meal. The tanner was crying by the end of my tale. One of his friends took me home to feed me. As I ate, he told me that the tanner's daughter had died during the last new moon. The father did not cry at the funeral, yet he clearly loved his little girl. 'Why,' he asked me, 'could the tanner weep for the people in my story and not for his daughter?'
I wanted to say that I was such a wonderful storyteller that I could make a stone cry. But I didn't. I had no answer — until now. I remember that Jawbone once said that stories are the windows of life. They let everyone peek inside to see that they are not alone in their suffering. It's that knowledge that gives them hope when their world is bleak, makes them laugh when they see their own folly, makes them cry when tears are the only answer. Without that window, he said, the greatest emotions are sometimes never touched, never felt, and never shared.
Oh, how I wished Jawbone could have been there to see the huge crowd in the Paw's Mark Inn chanting my name. He would have been proud of me. I had opened a lot of windows.
I was brought before the Dragon Highlord. She had long, slender legs that were only partially hidden by her armor. And there were tantalizing glimpses of flesh above her breastplate. But it was her face, with blazing green eyes and high cheekbones, that riveted me in place. She was the kind of woman storytellers usually make the love interest of their tales. Perhaps that's the difference between stories and reality.
As I waited on my knees in front of her, the Highlord whispered something to one of her generals. All I heard was the name Tanis and an order to ready the dragons to attack a ship that had just left the harbor. She obviously wasn't planning on spending much time on my case.
'How do you plead?' she demanded, finally turning her attention toward me.
'Plead?' I asked. 'How can I plead when I don't know the charge?'
Her full lips opened into a mirthless smile that revealed sharp, white teeth.
'The charge,' she said with surprising gentleness, 'is treason.' Still smiling, she continued. 'We need the kender, dwarves, and gnomes working day and night if we are to conquer Krynn. But now they shirk their jobs to come and hear you prattle on about nonsense. Your silly stories have turned them into hapless dreamers who stare into space and ignore their work.'
'Please,' I began, answering her smile with one of my own. 'You must understand that telling stories is no crime. The imagination is part of the soul. Without it, my audience might as well be animals.'
At that, the Highlord laughed. 'Animals. Exactly. That's what those races are. And that's what they shall remain. Work animals. Now, how do you plead?'
I didn't know what to say. It is true I hated the tyranny of the dragonarmy, but I had never regarded my story telling as treason. 'Not guilty,' I said.
'In the interest of justice,' announced the Highlord as she rose to a standing position, 'I have always given the people of this court a chance to defend themselves.' The smile reappeared. 'But I am the final judge of truth and falsehood. And you, Spinner Kenro, are guilty as charged.'
I began to rise from my knees to protest, but two soldiers clamped their hands on my shoulders and held me down.
'I sentence Spinner Kenro to death by hanging,' she proclaimed. 'The sentence shall be carried out tomorrow morning at dawn. Be sure that his fate is known throughout the city. Our 'citizens' ' — she sneered — 'must learn what happens to those who lose themselves in dreams.'
While awaiting my execution, I was thrown into a cell with a young half-elf named Davin. He was quiet and didn't speak a word. But I did.
I told him my story.
While I was telling him who I was, what I was, and what was to become of me, something miraculous was happening out beyond the prison walls.
Quinby Cull, that fearless kender, bravely crossed over into the dwarf section of the city and sought out Vigre Arch.
'Did you hear about Spinner's sentence?' he demanded of the dwarf. Before Vigre could answer, Quinby declared, 'We've got to help our friend. If he dies, there will be no more stories.'
Vigre Arch dug his boot heel into the hardpacked ground before he finally said, 'You know how I feel about humans. They aren't worth the skin they're packed into. You just can't trust them. But,' he added, looking Quinby straight in the eye, 'Spinner is different. He isn't like the other humans. And he certainly isn't like those dragonarmy soldiers. I like him just as much as you do. Maybe more.'
Quinby sniffed. 'That's ridiculous,' he said. 'I like Spinner more than you, and he likes me best of everyone.'
'Does not,' said the dwarf.
'Does so,' countered the kender.
'Does not,' said the dwarf.
'Does so,' insisted the kender.
This debate might have gone on all night had not Barsh, the gnome, suddenly arrived in a rush.
'Spinner is to be hanged at dawn!' declared the gnome.
Quinby and Vigre stopped their argument and soberly nodded their heads. 'We know,' said Vigre.
'It's terrible,' exclaimed Barsh. 'If the Highlord kills him, there will be no more beautiful females who bring the dead back to life with a kiss, no more exciting chases through walls of fire, and no more great heroes who fight and die for freedom. How dull everything will be if he is killed.'
Vigre Arch looked at these two creatures, the kender and the gnome, both of whom he and his people had never much liked. But just then he felt a kinship with them that stirred his heart. They had a common bond in their love of Spinner Kenro. And maybe that was enough to help them unite the way those three orphans in Spinner's story should have done. Vigre smiled to himself. It struck him as a funny coincidence that Spinner's story was so similar to their present dilemma. But he shrugged it off. There were more important matters at hand.
'What if we tried to rescue Spinner?' suggested the dwarf.
'What?' asked Barsh, not quite believing his ears.
'He said, 'What if we tried to rescue Spinner?', ' repeated the kender helpfully.
'I heard him,' said Barsh.
'Then why did you ask, 'What?',' questioned the kender.
Vigre Arch sighed deeply. Sometimes there was just no talking to kender.
'Never mind all that,' piped up Barsh. 'We've only got until dawn before they hang Spinner. Between now and then we have to find a way to break into the prison, free him, and spirit him to safety before the Dragon Highlord and her soldiers can stop us. Once he's free, we'll protect him and hide him so he can always tell us his stories.'
'The Highlord won't like it,' said Vigre.
'Since when do you care what the Highlord thinks?' asked Quinby.
The dwarf had to grin. 'I never really have.'
'Me neither,' said Quinby.
'The same goes for me,' added Barsh. 'The Highlord is no friend of mine. But Spinner is. And I say we save him tonight!'
The three of them agreed that Spinner had to be saved. They shook hands on it and went immediately to work on a plan.
It fell to Barsh and his gnomes to quickly create a device that would help them scale the prison walls and
