Flint met Tanis's eyes with alarm.
The half-elf snapped his fingers. "I've got it! Find a long branch; we'll hold it out to him and tug him to shore." Gray head bobbing in agreement, the stout dwarf joined Tanis in the hasty search for a long, sturdy branch.
For his part, Tasslehoff was not exactly "goofing around," but he was not particularly unhappy with his state of affairs either. Drifting along on the bobbing, shifting ice reminded him of the times he'd gone door-riding, a much-beloved winter sport for the fearless race of kender. Back in his hometown of Kendermore, on the first day of any measurable snowfall, kender young and old would pry the doors off their homes and ride them, standing up, down snowy hillsides. More adventurous kender were fond of door-riding down snow-covered staircases, as many of the buildings in Kendermore were roofless or missing walls, allowing for good interior snow cover. The heartiest kender were even known to shoosh off multistory buildings with sloping roofs. This practice was discouraged because so many passers-by- not to mention the door riders-were knocked unconscious or injured and neighboring structures were inevitable damaged.
The memory of watching a childhood friend, topknot flapping behind him as he sailed off a building, wrung a sigh of nostalgia from Tasslehoff. He had not been home for door riding or anything else in years. And this floe, though vaguely similar, moved quite a bit slower than a waxed door on a steep incline.
"Tasslehoff, grab the branch and we'll pull you to shore," called Flint. Tas saw the dwarf crouched a little downstream on the left bank, extending a long, slender branch to him. Tanis stood behind the dwarf, ready to lend his muscle to the task.
"Hurry up before you float past me!" said Flint. "Besides, I can't hold this branch up forever!"
Tas crawled to the edge of the floe and extended his hand as far as he dared, but several feet still separated him from the limb. Straining, he stretched his fingers for the thin tip of the branch. The current drove his floe nearer. If he could only get his fingers on the tip… He turned his head to the side to extend his reach, watching out of the corner of his eye for his chance.
He felt smooth bark against his fingertips! Excited, Tas wrapped his hand around the branch and held on. Flint and Tanis cheered.
"Don't let go, Tas," said Flint, starting to pull the branch toward himself, hand over hand.
"I won't!"
Suddenly, the land under the dwarf's straining form gave way with a shuddering crack and broke loose from the shore. The unexpected jolt caused the dwarf to yank on the branch. Old and dried from a winter on the forest floor, the limb snapped into two unequal, jagged parts. Tas, unprepared for the sudden extra weight, dropped the branch into the stream, where it disappeared between the two floes. Flint managed to retain his grip, but unfortunately he was left with just a useless four-inch stub.
Pointing, Tanis cried out from shore, "Flint, the falls!"
Floating helplessly downstream with the kender now, the dwarf looked ahead of Tas at the approaching falls. He could hear water crashing below. "It's no use!" he cried, throwing down his broken branch in disgust. No good ever came from water, he thought bitterly.
Tanis cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered above the noise of the pounding water to both dwarf and kender standing on the ice. "Flint, Tasslehoff, lie on your stomachs and hold on to the edges of the ice!" The half-elf knew it was only a slim chance to keep them from getting dashed on the rocks, but slim was better than none.
"What?" cried Tas, turning a pointed ear toward Tanis on the snowy shore.
"I said-Oh, see here!" Tanis threw himself on his stomach and splayed his arms out to demonstrate.
The falls were just ten feet away.
Flint was already down on the ice when Tasslehoff suddenly got the message. He flopped onto his stomach, arms and legs spread-eagled, when he saw something hovering behind Tanis's head. He squinted in puzzlement. Flame? Enormous gouts of flame! Why was Tanis on fire?
Then Tasslehoff saw something that even he had a hard time accepting: three short, humanoid creatures 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 you?" Tasslehoff asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Are those really wings, or just fire? I don't suppose if you were on fire you'd have the time to go around rescuing people from ice floes, would you?
"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.