Tasselhoff's Importance!

Book I-Dragon Lance: Autumn Twilght (Frist Dragonlance Book)

"Who goes there?" Tanis called. "Elven wanderer, turn from your course and leave the dwarf behind. We are the poor souls Flint Fireforge left on the barroom floor. Did we die in combat?"

The spirit voice soared to new heights, as did the whining, whirring sound accompanying it.

No! We died of shame, cursed by the ghost of the grape for not being able to out drink a hill dwarf."

Flint's beard was quivering with rage, and Tanis, bursting out laughing, was forced to grab the angry dwarf's shoulders to keep him from charging headlong into the brush.

"Damn the eye's of the elves!" The spectral voice turned merry. "And the beards of the dwarves!"

"Wouldn't you know it?" Flint groaned. "Tasslehoff Burrfoot!"

There was a faint rustle in the underbrush, then a small figure stood in the path. It was a kender, one of a race of people considered by many on Krynn to be as much a nuisance as mosquitoes. Small-boned, the kender rarely grew over four feet tall. This particular kender was about Flint's height, but his slight build and perpetually childlike face made him seem smaller. He wore bright blue leggings that stood out in sharp contrast to his furred vest and plain, home-spun tunic. His eyes glinted with mischief and fun; hie smile seemed to reach the tip of his pointed ears. He dipped his head in a mock bow, allowing a long tassel of brown hair - his pride and joy - to flip forward over his nose. Then he straightened up laughing, laughing. The metallic glean Tanis's quick eyes had spotted came from the buckles of one of the numerous packs strapped around his shoulders and waist.

Tas grinned up at them, leaning on his hoopak staff. It was this staff that had created the eerie noise. Tanis should have recognized it at once, having seen the kender scare off many would-be attackers by whirling his staff in the air, producing that screaming shine. A kender invention, the hoopak's bottom end was copper-clad and sharply pointed; the top was forked and held a leather sling. The staff itself was made out of a single piece of supple willow wood. Although scorned by every other race on Krynn, the hoopak was more than a useful tool or weapon to a kender - it was his symbol. "New roads demand a hoopak," was saying among kender kind. It was always followed immediately by another of their sayings: "No road is ever old."

Tasslehoff suddenly ran forward, his arms open wide.

"Flint!" The kender threw his arms around the dwarf and hugged him. Flint' embarrassed, returned the embrace reluctantly, then quickly stepped back. Tasslehoff grinned then looked up at the half-elf.

"Who's this?" He gasped. "Tanis! I didn't recognize you with a beard!" He held out his short arms.

"No, thanks," said Tanis grinning. He waved the kender away. "I want to keep my money pouch."

With a sudden look of alarm, Flint felt under his tunic. "You rascal!" He roared and leaped at the kender, who was doubled oover laughing. The two went down in the dust.

This is the Concil of Whit Stone, where everyone has come together to figure out how to over come this evil, but unforniaty a fight breaks out between the races and Tasselhoff is the only one that can put a stop to this senceless bickering. The only way, is to speak quickly and act.

You've never taken us kender very seriously, you know," Tas began, his voice sounding too loud and shrill in his own ears, "and I can't say I blame you much. We don't have a strong sense of responsibility, I guess, and we are probably too curious for our own good - but, I ask you, how are you going to find out anything if your not curious?"

Tas could see the Speaker's face turn to steel, even Lord Gunthar was scowling. The kender edged near the dragon orb.

"We cause a lot of trouble, I suppose, without meaning to, and occasionally some of us do happen to acquire certain things which aren't ours. But one thing the kender know is -"

Tasslehoff broke into a run. Quick and lithe as a mouse, he slipped easily through the hands that tried to catch him, reaching the dragon orb within a matter of seconds. Faces blurred around him, mouths opened, shrieking and yelling at him. But they were to late.

In one swift, smooth moment, Tasslehoff hurled the dragon orb at the huge, gleaming Whitestone.

The round, gleaming crystal - it's insides swirling in agitation - hung suspended in the air for long, long seconds. Tas wondered if the orb had the power to halt its flight. But it was just a fevered impression in the kender's mind.

The dragon orb struck the rock and shattered, bursting into a thousand sparkling pieces. For an instant, a ball of milky white smoke hung in the air, as if trying desperately to hold itself together. Then the warm, springlike breeze of the glade caught it and swept it apart.

There was intense, awful silence.

The kender stood, looking calmly down at the shattered dragon orb.

"We know," he said in a small voice that dropped into the silence like a tiny drop of rain, "we should be fighting dragons. Not each other."