first."
    Sturm  lowered  his  voice.  "The  dragon  may   believe  the
  tree-men  will  not come  back, but  I don't  want to  take the

 chance  of  being  besieged  in  here  again.  Besides Cupelix
 will  -"  He  closed  his  mouth when  he saw  Kitiara coming.
 "We'll  speak  later,"  Sturm  finished.  Stutts  nodded  and
 strolled back  to the  Cloudmaster, his  thumbs hooked  in his
 vest  pockets. Kitiara  paid no  attention to  his exaggerated
 nonchalance.
   Kitiara dropped down beside Sturm. "Does it hurt
 much'"
   "Only when I dance," he said uncharacteristically.
   She  snorted.  'You'll live,"  she said.  She poked  around the
 bandaged area and added, "Probably won't even have a
 limp. What made you charge into those  tree-men? You
 weren't carrying a shield or wearing leg armor."
   "I  saw you  go down,"  he said.  "I was  going to  help you."
   Kitiara was silent for a moment. "Thank you."
   Sturm  gingerly  eased himself  onto his  good side  and sat
 up. "That's better! I was getting a headache lying like that."
   'You  know  what  the  most  unforgivable  thing  is,  don't
 you?  That  you  and I,  two fighters  soundly trained  in the
 warrior arts, should fall to a bunch of  savages and  be saved
 by a band of nutty gnomes using pants full of dirt as flails!"
 Kitiara started to laugh. All the tensions and suspicions sur-
 faced  and  flew  away in  her laughter.  Tears welled  in her
 eyes, and she couldn't stop.
   "Little  Fitter's  pants," Sturm  said, feeling  the guffaws
 building deep inside. "Little Fitter's pants disguised  as the
 claws of a red  dragon!" Kitiara  nodded helplessly,  her face
 contorted   with  hysterical   mirth.  Great   rolling  laughs
 boomed  out  of  Sturm.  His  shaking  jounced  painfully  his
 tightly wrapped  wound, but  he couldn't  stop. When  he tried
 to speak, all he could gasp was "Trouser Flail!" before erupt-
 ing into fresh gales.
   Kitiara leaned against  him, forcing  herself to  breathe in
 the  too-short  intervals   between  new   merry  convulsions.
 Her  head  rested  on  Sturm's  shoulder;  she  draped  an arm
 around his neck.
   Above  them,  Cupelix  perched  in  a  shadowed  corner  of
 the  tower,  a  shaft  of amber  sunlight falling  across the
 enfolding  tips  of  his  leathery  wings.  Illuminated  from
 behind, the brass dragon's skin shone like gold.

 * * *                           * *

    Despite his earlier protests, when Kitiara had brought
 Sturm a bowl  of venison  stew that Cupelix  had made,  he ate
 without a second glance. There was something more; he
 accepted  her  offer  to  make  a  backres out of her fur  cloak
 and  blanket.  Ordinarily, Sturm  would have  stoically reject-
 ed such treatment.
  The  gnomes  ate  heartily,  as usual,  under the  gentle glow
 of  the  four  Micones  who  remained behind  when the  bulk of
 them  went out  to chase  the Lunitarians  away. The  ants hung
 overhead by their forelegs like  grotesque paper  lanterns, the
 ominous barbed stingers  the only  threatening aspect  of their
 otherwise benign posture.
  "The  new  parts  showed  no  sign  of  cracking  or fatigue,"
 Flash said,  ladling gravy  over his  roast. "If  we can  get a
 decent charge of  lightning, I  don't see  why we  couldn't fly
 home right away." He tried to set the metal  ladle back  in its
 bowl,  but  it  clung  to his  magnetic hands.  Cutwood plucked
 it off for him.
  "You  know," Sighter  said, stirring  his pudding  idly, "with
 the proper angle of flight, we could very likely fly  from here
 to  one  of  the  other  moons." This  option was  greeted with
 thunderous  silence.  "Solinari  or  the  dark  moon.  What  do
 you think?"
  Birdcall  answered  for  all of  them. He  put two  fingers to
 his lips and made a very rude noise.
  Sighter grumbled, "No need to be insulting."
  "The important  thing is  to return  to Mt.  Nevermind and
 announce  our  success,"  said  Stutts.  "Aerial  navigation is
 now  a  fact,  and  the  gnomish  people  must  not   delay  in
 exploring all the possibilities it presents."
  Sturm,  reclining  on  the  floor by  the dinner  table, spoke
 up: "What possibilities do you foresee?"
  "Exploring  and  mapping  can  be  done  easily from  the air.
 These would  be a  boon to  navigation. All  the heavy  work of
 transport  now  done by  ships could  be more  efficiently done
 in the skies. I can see a time when great aerial galleons, with
 six or eight pairs of wings,  ply trade  routes in  the clouds,
 bringing  goods  to  and  from   every  corner   of  Krynn...."

 Stutts got quite lost in the grandness of his conception.
   "Then there's war," said Sighter ominously.
   "What war?" asked Kitiara.
 "Any  war.  There's  always  a  war  someplace,   isn't  there?
    Can  you see  the cavalry  of the  clouds, swooping  down to
 destroy  field  and farm,  town, temple,  and castle  alike? It
 would be easy, yes, very easy to fling down  fire and  stone on
 the  heads  of  the  foe.  In  the  workshops of  Mt. Nevermind
 there are stranger things still. Weapons  that require  no mag-
 ic power to destroy the entire world."
 His  morose  vision  quelled   all  conversation.   Then,  from
 above,  Cupelix  said,  "It  sounds  as  though you  gnomes are
 planning  to  create  your  own  race  of dragons  - mechanical
 dragons,  completely  obedient  to  their  master's  hand.  All
 those  things  Master  Sighter  describes  happened  a thousand
 or more years ago, when dragons served in the great wars."
 "Perhaps  we  shouldn't  share  the  secret  of  aerial naviga-
 tion," Fitter said hesitantly.
 "Knowledge  must  be  shared,"   Stutts  declared.   "There  is
 no evil in pure knowledge. It's how it's put to use that deter-
 mines what good or ill comes of it."
 "Knowledge  is  power,"  said  the  dragon,  catching Kitiara's
 eye. She buried her nose  in her  cup. When  it was  empty, she
 set it down on the table with a loud thump.
 "We're  forgetting  one  important  thing,"  she  said,  wiping
 her lips  on the  back of  her hand.  "We owe  a debt  here. We
 oughtn't leave without paying it."
   "Debt?" said Cutwood. "To whom?"
   "Our  host,"  Kitiara  replied.  "The  excellent  dragon, Cupe-
 lix." The gnomes broke into polite applause.
   "Thank you, you're very kind," said the dragon.
   "We  would  long  ago  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of the
 Lunitarians, had it not been for the intervention  of Cupelix,"
 Kitiara  went  on.  "Now  we're  safe,   the  flying   ship  is
 repaired, and we have a debt to pay. How shall we do it?"
   "Would you care for some fresh water?" asked ъainspot.
   "Kind,  but  unnecessary,"  said  the  dragon.  "The  Micones
 bring me water from the cavern depths."
   "Do  you  have  any  machines  to  be repaired?"  asked Flash
 thoughtfully.

 "None whatsoever."
 The  remaining  gnomes  all  tried  suggestions,  which  the
 dragon  politely  dismissed  as  unneeded  or  inapplicable.
 "What can we do?" said Wingover, frustrated.
 Cupelix launched into  a compressed  description of  his sit-
 uation inside the  obelisk, and  how he  very much  wanted to
 escape it. The gnomes just looked up at him and blinked.
 "Is that all?" said ъoperig.
 "Nothing else?" added Birdcall by translation.
 "Just this one simple task," answered the dragon.
 Sturm  pushed  himself up  to a  seated position,  mindful of
 the pressure this put on his injured  leg. "Have  you consid-
 ered, dragon, that a higher  power intended  for you  to live
 out  your  life within  these walls?  Would we  be committing
 an act of impiety by releasing you?"
 "The  gods  raised these  walls and  brought these  many eggs
 here, but in all the thousands of years I've been resident in
 the obelisk, no god, demigod, or spirit has deigned to reveal
 any such divine plan to  me," said  Cupelix. He  shifted from
 one massive foot to the other.  "You seem  to think  my being
 kept here like a rooster in a coop is a good thing; can you
 not see it as I do, that I am in fact a prisoner? Is it an evil
 deed to free an innocent captive?"
 "What  will  happen  to all  the dragon  eggs if  you leave?"
 asked ъoperig.
 "The  Micones  will  tend  them  and  guard the  caverns for-
 ever.  No egg  will hatch  without deliberate  inducement. At
 this point, I am totally superfluous."
 "I  say  we  help  him,"  said  Kitiara with  conviction. She
 leaned forward to the table  and gave  each gnome  a piercing
 look.  "Who  can honestly  say the  dragon hasn't  earned our
 help?"
 All was silent until Sturm said, "I will agree if  the dragon
 answers one question: What will he do once he is free?"
 "ъevel in my liberty, of course. I shall travel thereafter,
 wherever the winds of heaven carry me."
 Sturm folded his arms. "To Krynn?" he said sharply.
 "Why not? Is there a fairer land betwixt here and the
 stars?"
 "Dragons were driven out of Krynn long ago because

 their  power  was  used  to  scheme and  control the  affairs of
 mortals. You cannot return to Krynn," Sturm said.
   "Cupelix  is  not  an  evil dragon,"  Kitiara argued.  "Do you
 think he could live so  long on  the moon  of neutral  magic and
 not be moderated by its influence?"
   "And what if,"  Sturm said  slowly, "Cupelix  is no  danger to
 Krynn. He is still  a dragon.  My ancestors  fought and  died to
 rid  our  world  of  dragons. How  can I  dishonor them  by aid-
 ing a dragon - even a benign one - to return?"
   Kitiara stood so suddenly that her  chair fell  over. "Suffer-
 ing  gods!  Who  do  you  think  you  are,   Sturm  Brightblade?
 My  ancestors  fought in  the Dragon  Wars, too.  It was  a dif-
 ferent  time  and  different circumstances."  She turned  to the
 gnomes. "I put it  to you.  Shall we  repay the  dragon's hospi-
 tality with indifference? Will we fill our bellies with his food
 and drink, fix the  ship with  his help,  and depart  without so
 much as attempting to help him be free?"
   She had them now. All nine little faces,  paler in  the short,
 faint  days  of  Lunitari,  were  rapt  with  attention. Kitiara
 raised her hand  to the  silent Cupelix,  who contrived  to look
 forlorn and  desolate atop  his marble  perch. "Put  yourself in
 his place," she said grandly.
   "Which one of us?" asked Cutwood.
   "It  doesn't matter  - any  or all  of you.  Think of  how you'd
 feel, spending all your life inside this  tower, unable  to even
 walk outdoors. And consider that  a dragon's  life is  not fifty
 years,  or  two  hundred  years,  but  twenty  times   two  hun-
 dred!  How  would  you  feel,  imprisoned  in  a  lonely  tower,
 with no one to talk to and no tools either?"
   ъoperig and Fitter gasped. "No tools?"
   'Yes, and no wood or metal to work with. No gears or
 valves or pulleys."
   "Horrible!" said Flash. Birdcall seconded him with a
 steady descending note.
   "And  we  -  you  -  have  the chance  to correct  this wrong.
 You  have  the  inventive  powers  to devise  some way  to allow
 Cupelix to fly free. Will you do it?" she asked.
   Wingover leaped to his feet. "We will! We will!" ъainspot
 and Fitter wept for the injustice inflicted on the dragon,
 while  Stutts  and  Sighter  were  already bombarding  each oth-

 er  with  first  schemes  to  open the  obelisk. Wingover  got up
 on  his chair  and then  on the  table, pointing  dramatically to
 the wingless hull of the Cloudmaster.
   "To the ship!" he cried. "We must make plans!"
   "Yes, yes, the tools are there," said Cutwood.
   "And parchment and pencils!"
   "Chemicals and crucibles!"
   "ъope and rigging!"
   "ъaisins!"
   The  gnomes  surged  away from  the table,  a tiny  tide of
 boisterous  idealism  and  ramshackle  ingenuity.   When  the
 last  gnome  had  disappeared  up  the ramp,  Kitiara turned,
 smiling, to Sturm.
   "Very clever," he said at last. "You did that well."
   "Did what?" she replied guilelessly.
   "We   both  know   how  impulsive   the  gnomes   are.  Between
 your  passionate call  for freedom  and the  prospect of  a major
 engineering project, the obelisk hasn't got a chance."
   "I  hope  you're  right,"  said  Cupelix.  It  was  uncanny how
 easy  it  was  to  forget him  when he  stayed quiet  above their
 line of  sight. Sturm  frowned. "Don't  be so  suspicious!" chid-
 ed  the  dragon. "If  my intentions  were black,  do you  think I
 would  have  resorted  to  banquets  and  cajoling?  My  Micones
 could  have  held  the  ship  indefinitely  until  you  agreed to
 help, or I could have left you to the tree-men."
   "No  one  ever  said  you were  evil, Cupelix,"  Sturm persist-
 ed.  "Subtle,  you  are,  and  very  much concerned  with getting
 your  way.  If  you  could  have  gotten  out  of your  prison by
 sacrificing  Kit,  myself,  or  the  gnomes,  I  don't  think you
 would have dallied long in giving us up."
     Cupelix spread his wings and coiled his legs to spring into
 the air. "Be at ease, Master Brightblade. No one need be sac-
 rificed. We shall all see Krynn again, I promise."

                     Chapter 25

                     Gnomeplans

  The   gnomes   divied   into   two   groups.   The   first
 group, which  consisted of  Stutts, Flash,  Wingover, Sighter,
 and  Birdcall,  was  to  study  the  problem of  breaching the
 walls of the obelisk. The other four gnomes had as  their task
 the  safe  removal  of  the contents  of the  tower, including
 Cupelix himself, the Cloudmaster, Sturm, and Kitiara.
  The  Micones  returned  with  the  night  half  gone,  and on
 the dragon's orders, leveled out the dirt rampart they'd piled
 up some days  before. Because  there were  more than  fifty of
 the powerful giants at work, the land around  the base  of the
 obelisk  was  soon  smooth  and  passable  again.  Kitiara and
 the  Breaching  Group  (as they  called themselves)  went out-
 side to survey the structure.
    "The walls at ground level are marble no less than eleven

  feet  thick,"  Stutts  reported,  reading  off  his calculations.
  "With the best steel picks and mattocks, it  would take  a dig-
  ging gang days and days to hack through all that rock."
    "And   furthermore,"   said  Sighter,   "my  analysis   of  the
  stone  shows  it  to  be  extremely hard,  much harder,  in fact,
  than regular marble. It's glazed."
    "Glazed?  Hmm."  Kitiara  looked  to  the  obelisk's  high pin-
  nacle.  A  flickering  red  aura  wavered  about  the   top.  She
  reminded  the  gnomes  of  the  violent  discharges  they'd  seen
  when  the  sun  came  up.  "All  that  energy,  must  have  hard-
  ened the stone," she said.
    Stutts  reached  to  touch  the  cold  stone. Between  the wide
  courses  was  a  band  of  shiny  black,  colder  even  than  the
  scarlet marble. "Metal," he mused. "Metal for mortar."
    "ъeally?" said Flash. "What sort of metal is it?"
    Stutts  scraped  at  the  six-inch-wide  band  with  his thumb-
  nail. The color did not scratch off. "It's soft," he said. "Lead,
  perhaps?"
    Sighter  and  Birdcall  examined  the  mortar,   too.  Birdcall
  confirmed with a twitter that the metal was indeed lead.
    "Pretty solid," said Wingover, slapping the wall.
    "I have an idea," Kitiara announced. The gnomes looked
  at her as if she'd said she  was growing  another head.  "Well, I
  do. Here it is: I've seen lots of castle waills fall  to besieging
  armies, and they are often  as thick,  if not  as hard,  as these
  walls.  The  besiegers  brought  them  down  by  tunneling  under
  the foundations and undermining the wall."
    Consternation  spread  on  the  faces  in the  Breaching Party.
  "Why, that's bloody simple," Stutts declared.
    "Why didn't we think of that?" asked Flash.
    "All  we  have  to  do is  dig away  the sand!"  said Wingover.
    They  fell  on  their  knees  and  crimson dirt  flew. Kitiara,
  shaking  her  head, went  inside to  the ship.  Sturm was  on his
  feet,  leaning  on  a  crutch  that  Cutwood  had  fashioned  for
  him.  He  was  keeping  aloof  from  the  preparations,   but  he
  asked what the gnomes had decided to do.
    "We're  digging  now,"   Kitiara  remarked.   She  appropriated
  a  wrecking  bar from  the store  of tools  and returned  to the
  frantic diggers. Sturm hobbled after her.
    The  gnomes  carved  out  a  crater   deeper  than   their  own

 height  in a  very short  time. Below  grade, the  foundation of
 the  obelisk  showed no  alteration from  the structure  above -
 more   massive   marble   blocks   joined  with   lead.  Kitiara
 cleared  them out  of the  hole and  swung the  iron bar  at the
 stone.
   "Wait," said Wingover, "that's solid -"
   She drew the  bar back  in a  deep arc  and struck  the foun-
 dation  with all  her extra  strength. There  was a  crack, like
 the breaking of a great tree branch, and a  single chip  of mar-
 ble flew off. It landed  at Sturm's  feet, a  lost petal  from a
 stone rose. He stooped awkwardly to pick it up.
   "Look at the bar!" said Flash.
   Kitiara  held  up the  inch-thick rod.  The flat  prying edge
 had  mushroomed  out  from  the  blow,  and  the  whole  bar was
 bent in a  graceful curve.  Kitiara braced  the bar  against her
 knee and tried  to straighten  it, but  only succeeded  in bend-
 ing it the opposite way. She tossed it aside in disgust.
   "I tried to tell you,"  Wingover said  as Kitiara  climbed out
 of the hole. "The base of  the tower  rests on  the roof  of the
 cavern. It's solid stone."
   "There  are  holes  through it,"  said Sighter.  "The Micones'
 holes.  We  went  through  them  ourselves,  to  visit  the  egg
 chamber."
   "Mining  won't  work,"  Stutts  said  sadly.  "We're  no  more
 able to bore through the foundation than the upper walls."
   Kitiara  clambered  out  of  the  hole  and  dusted   off  her
 hands  and  leggings.  Her  breath  showed  white  in  the night
 air. "It's up to you gnomes now."
   The  little  men  faced  each  other  for  a  few  minutes and
 talked in their lightning patter. Finally, Stutts poked his face
 out and said, "We'll have to consult with our colleagues."
   "Do you have a plan?" asked Sturm.
   "The rudiments of one, but we need the wisdom of our
 fellows inside." The gnomes trooped off.
   Sturm pushed the wrecking bar around with his toe.
 "That much strength is hard to control,  isn't it'!"  When Kiti-
 ara didn't answer,  he went  on. "Are  you getting  stronger all
 the  time,  Kit?  Is  that  why you  move as  if the  world were
 made of glass?"
     She snatched up the iron bar and, holding it in one hand,

 steadily bent  the rod  into a  right angle  - using  only her
 thumb!  She  dropped  the  bar  and  said,  "Is that  what you
 wanted to see?"

 * * * * *

   Cupelix  and the  humans sat  attentively on  one side  of the
 obelisk  -  which is  to say,  Sturm and  Kitiara sat  on crates
 while  the  dragon  sat  on  his  ledge  above them.  The gnomes
 sat  on  a  bench  facing  them.  Cutwood   had  rigged   up  an
 easel,  which  was  shrouded  with a  loose cloth.  Stutts stood
 by the easel, a long, pointed stick in his hand.
   "Lady,  gentleman,   and  beast,"   he  began.   The  dragon's
 gusty  sigh  sent  Stutts's  beard  whipping over  his shoulder.
 "Lady,  gentleman,  and  dragon,"  Stutts  said  smoothly,  "may
 I  present  the Obelisk  Escape Auger,  Mark I. He  whisked the
 cloth  away,  revealing  a  large sheet  of parchment  tacked to
 the  easel.  A  fantastic-looking  device  was  drawn  in  brown
 ink.  Supported  by  a  massive  timbe