d  the valley,  overpowering even
 the first crackle of the morning discharge.
   From  under  Kitiara's  arm,  Flash  twisted  around  to  see.
 "The blocks are giving way!" he cheered.
   The  grinding  sound  arrested  their  mad   flight.  Everyone
 stopped, turned, and stared.
   Bolts of blue lightning sizzled from  the obelisk's  peak, not
 to the distant cliffs that defined the valley, but into  the dry
 red  soil  a  hundred  yards  from  the  monument's   base.  The
 obelisk  leaned  appreciably,  and  whole  courses   of  stained
 marble  tumbled  to  the  ground.  It seemed  for a  moment that
 the  tower might  withstand the  loss of  those blocks,  but the
 weight  of  the  upper  reaches  was  too  much  for  the under-
 mined  base.  The   five-hundred-foot  obelisk   slowly,  grace-
 fully,  leaned  over.  Stones  shattered  under  the  unbearable
 pressure. The top broke  apart in  midfall, the  stones separat-
 ing  with  the  tumult   of  a   hundred  thunderstorms"."Blocks
 twelve feet long, six feet high, and three feet thick hurtled to
 the  ground,  gouging  out deep  craters in  the soft  turf. The
 obelisk lay down like  a falling  tree, pieces  weighing several
 tons  bounced  off  each  other,  breaking,  crushing,  and com-
 ing to rest at last, as though  too tired  to leap  any farther.
 The  great  pyramid  capstone  crashed   with  blue   and  white
 sparkles  dancing  around it.  Will-o'-the-wisps rose  above the
 swelling cloud  of dust  and vanished,  silent witnesses  to the
 mighty structure's fall.
   There was silence. The rumble died away.
   "My," said Stutts solemnly.
   "It worked," said Wingover.
   "Did it ever work," said ъainspot.
   Suddenly,  Kitiara  gave  out  a  loud,  long  whoop  of  tri-
 umph.  "Yaaahaaah!"  she  cried,  leaping up  into the  air. "We
 did it! We did it!"
   Sturm  found  himself  grinning from  ear to  ear, but  as the
 members  of  the  little  party moved  slowly toward  the fallen
 giant, an  awed silence  settled over  them. Large  blocks stood
 upright,  buried to  a third  of their  length. Sturm  looked on
 and marveled. The  shape of  the obelisk  proper could  still be
 recognized as a heavier concentration of broken masonry.
   Sturm  climbed to  a pile  of blocks  near the  erstwhile base

 of the obelisk. The dust thrown up by  the collapse  had risen,
 making a dull red ring in the sky. He had an odd thought:
 Would stargazers on Krynn be able to see the  ring of  dust? It
 was miles and miles across, and darker  than the  surface soil.
 Would  the  astronomers  see  it,   theorize  about   it,  make
 learned discourses on the cause and meaning of it?
   Everyone  gathered  at  the  base.  A  dome  of   blocks  had
 fallen over  the hole  in the  obelisk floor,  and only  a very
 small  person could  wriggle through  the resulting  gap. Kiti-
 ara called for Fitter.
   "Go in and call to the dragon,"  she said.  "See if  he's all
 right. I can't get him to answer."
   "Yes, ma'am."  Fitter scampered  into the  arch of  stone. In
 answer to his call, they all heard a telepathic Success!
   "He's alive," Stutts said.
   "We'll have to clear these stones away," Sturm said.
   Get clear, little Fitter; I'm coming out!
   Fitter  crawled  out,  and  the mortals  drew back.  The mass
 of blocks  flew apart,  and Cupelix  emerged. His  massive face
 was split  by a  wide smile.  Huge teeth  gleamed dully  in the
 light as he flung back his head and expanded his chest.
   "ъejoice, mortal friends! I am free!" he cried.
   "You  had  no  trouble  shifting  those blocks,"  Kitiara said.
   "None  at  all,  my  dear  Kit. When  the structure  was bro-
 ken,  so  was  its protective  spell." Cupelix  inhaled deeply,
 sucking in the tepid air in dragon-sized gulps. "It is sweet is
 it not, the first breath of freedom?
   No one was sure what to do next.  "I suppose,"  said Stutts
 reflectively,  "we ought  to prepare  to depart  ourselves." He
 folded his hands over his round belly.  "That is,  assuming the
 Cloudmaster can rise on its ethereal air alone."
   "I'm  confident," Kitiara  said. Sturm  shot her  a question-
 ing look. She winked  and smiled  just like  the old  Kit, then
 moved away, toward the top end of the wreckage.
   Without  warning,  Cupelix  unfurled   his  wings   to  their
 fullest extent. Never in the close confines of the  obelisk had
 he been able to spread  his wings  in all  their glory.  Now he
 groaned  with  pleasure  at  the  stretching  of  his  leathery
 wings. Cupelix  launched himself  in the  air with  one spring,
 and flapped  leisurely, luxuriously,  gaining height  with each

  pass over the site of his deliverance. He rolled, stalled, hov-
  ered,  wings  bellying full  and emptying  in rapid  sweeps. He
  climbed  so  high  that he  was a  golden dot  in the  sky, and
  dived  with  such  wild  abandon  that  it  seemed  certain  he
  would crash into the obelisk's ruins.
    Sturm  turned  his  gaze  from  the  joyous dragon  and real-
  ized that  everyone had  left him.  Kitiara had  nearly reached
  the top of  the ruins  and the  gnomes were  scattered through-
  out  the debris,  measuring, arguing,  and enjoying  their tri-
  umph immensely.
    Kitiara  found,  amidst  the  rubble,  the  wonderful  tapes-
  tries she had seen in  Cupelix's private  aerie. They  were tom
  to shreds,  but here  and there  whole portions  were identifi-
  able.  Cupelix  hadn't  bothered to  save the  moldering tapes-
  tries,  and  she  wondered  why.  She  found  a patch  from the
  Assembly  of  the  Gods tapestry,  the patch  with the  face of
  the Dark Queen  on it.  The woven  face was  nearly as  wide as
  Kitiara was tall, but she rolled  the fragment  up and  tied it
  around her waist as a belt. She felt she had to save it.
    "Care for a ride?" said Cupelix.
    Kitiara looked up. The dragon hovered above her, the
  sweep of his wings sending dust swirling around the ruins.
    Kitiara  thought  a  brief  moment,  then said  warily, "Yes.
  But no acrobatics."
    "Certainly  not."  Cupelix's  mouth  was wide  in one  of his
  unnerving grins.
    He landed and Kitiara mounted his neck. She took hold
  of the brass plates and said, "ъeady."
    He launched  them straight  up, and  Kitiara felt  the breath
  snatched  from  her  body.  With  slow,  lazy  sweeps   of  his
  wings, Cupelix circled the ruins and  the flying  ship. Kitiara
  again felt the exhilaration she'd  experienced those  first few
  minutes  on  the  Cloudmaster,  when  the  whole  of  Krynn had
  been  spread  out  below  her.  With  the  wind   whipping  her
  short hair, Kitiara  grinned down  at Sturm's  astonished face.
  "Hai,  Sturm  Brightblade!  Hai-yah!"  She  waved  one  hand at
  him. "You should try this!"
    The gnomes set up a cheer as Cupelix banked into a steep
  climb. Sturm watched the dragon soar away with Kitiara.
  He felt a strange uneasiness. He wasn't  afraid for  Kit. There

 was  something  about  the  image  of a  human riding  on the
 back of a dragon that chilled him deep inside.
   "Well, I'm glad they're enjoying themselves,"  Sighter said
 sourly. "But can we get underway, ourselves?"
   Sturm waved to  Kitiara and  called for  her to  come down.
 After several mock diving attacks at the rubble,  the gnomes,
 and  Sturm,  Cupelix  landed  and   Kitiara  jumped   to  the
 ground.
   "Thank you, dragon," she  said. Her  face was  flushed. She
 pounded  Sturm  on the  shoulder and  said, "Well,  let's get
 going. No need to stand around here all day."
   The  humans  and the  gnomes trekked  to the  tethered fly-
 ing ship. In a moment of creative vandalism, Flash  and Bird-
 call had agreed to sever the useless wings  and tail,  so the
 ship presented  an austere,  clipped appearance.  Kitiara was
 smiling and humming a marching song.
   "Pick up your feet, soldier," she said,  linking an  arm in
 Sturm s.
   "What are you  so pleased  about?" he  said. "The  ship may
 not take flight."
   "Believe that we will fly, and we will."
   "I'll think lightheaded if it will help." She laughed at his
 morose tone.
   The ship was reloaded with what food and water the
 gnomes  collected,  and  a  few  items  for  emergency  use -
 spare lumber,  tools, nails,  and so  forth. Sturm  bent down
 and saw that the keel was firmly set in the red dirt.
   The gnomes  filed up  the ramp.  Sturm and  Kitiara paused,
 each with one foot at the ramp, the other on the soil  of the
 red moon.
   "Will anyone  ever believe  we were  here?" he  asked, tak-
 ing in the panorama."It all seems like a wild dream."
   "What difference does it make?" Kiiiara replied. "We
 know what we've done and where we've  been; even  if we
 never tell another soul, we'll know."
   They  walked  up  the ramp  and hauled  it up  behind them.
 When  the  hatch  was  secure,  Sturm  went  up  to  the main
 deck. Kitiara disappeared into the hold.
   Cupelix  swooped  in,  beat  his  wings  hard  and alighted
 gently beside the  Cloudmaster. "Glorious,  my friends!  I am

 reborn - no, born for  the first  time! Freed  of the  stone sar-
 cophagus in which I dwelt, I am a new dragon.
   "Henceforth,  I  am no  longer Cupelix,  but Pteriol,  the Fly-
 er!"
   "Pleased to meet you, Pteriol," said Fitter.
   "We'd  best  be  off,"  interrupted  Sturm.  "While  it's still
 light."
   'Yes, yes," said Stutts. "Listen, all of you; each fellow is to
 stand  by  the  mooring  ropes. When  I give  the word,  slip the
 knots and let us rise."
   "Tell  them  to  pull  in  the ropes.  They're all  we've got,"
 advised ъoperig.
   "And  pull  in  the  ropes!"  Stutts  said.  "Everyone  ready?"
 The  gnomes  piped  their  readiness.  "Very  good.   All  hands,
 slip your ropes!"
   They  managed  to  get  most  of  the lines  loose at  the same
 time,  though  ъainspot  at  the  stern  had  a  hard   knot  and
 lagged  behind.  The  ship  rolled  sideways,  the   hull  planks
 groaning.
   "We're too heavy!" Wingover shouted.
   The  distinct  sound  of  splitting  wood  erupted  below their
 feet.  The  starboard  side  rose,  throwing  everyone  to  port.
 Sturm  banged  the  back  of  his  head  against the  deck house.
 Then,  with  an  ear-piercing  crack,  the   Cloudmaster  righted
 itself and lifted into the air.
   "Halloo!" called Pteriol. "You've lost something!"
   Sturm and the gnomes filled the rail. They were rising
 very slowly, but from a height of  fifty feet,  they could  see a
 wide  section  of  the  hull planking  and a  mass of  dark metal
 on the ground.
   "The engine!" Flash cried. Birdcall uttered a hawkish
 scream of dismay.
          They rushed from the ladder down to the hold. Near the
 deck hatch, Flash fell into the  arms of  Kitiara. She  was whis-
 tling a Solacian dance tune.
   "Quickly!"   said   the   excited   gnome.   "We've   lost  the
 engine! We must go back and get it!"
   Kitiara stopped whistling. "No," she said.
   "No? No?"
   "I don't know anything about aerial navigation, but I do

 know this ship was too heavy to get off the ground. So I
 arranged for the extra weight to stay behind."
   "How'd you do that?" Sturm asked.
   "Sawed through the hull around the engine," she said.
   "It's not fair! It's not right!" Flash said,  blinking through
 angry tears. Birdcall made similar noises.
   Sturm  patted  the  two  on  their shoulders.  "It may  not be
 fair, but it was the only thing to do," he said gently. "You can
 always build another engine once you get back to Sancrist."
   Stutts  and  Wingover  squeezed   past  Kitiara   and  started
 down the ladder. "We'd  better inspect  the hole,"  said Stutts.
 "The   hull   may   be  seriously   weakened.  Not   to  mention
 drafty."
   Drafty was an understatement. A yawning hole, twelve
 feet by eight feet, showed where the lightning-powered
 engine had been.
   "My,"  said  Stutts,  peering  down  at  the  receding ground.
 They  were already  a hundred  feet up.  "This is  rather inter-
 esting.  We  should  have  built  a  window  into the  bottom of
 the ship from the first."
   "Keep  that  in  mind," Sturm  said, who  kept well  back from
 the hole. "We'll have  to patch  this somehow,  if only  to keep
 ourselves  from  tumbling  out."  He  wasn't  too  surprised  by
 Kitiara's deed. It was typical of her: quick, direct, and  a bit
 ruthless. Still, they were off the ground at last.
 Pteriol's brass scales glistened as he passed under the ship.
 The dragon circled in  a rising  spiral, wings  flapping slowly.
 The   Cloudmaster   moved  very   slowly  westward,   away  from
 the fallen obelisk.
     Wingover stepped forward until his toes were off the edge
 of  the  hull  timbers.  He  pushed back  the swath  of bandages
 that  shrouded  his  head.  His  disturbing  black  eyes focused
 on something far below.
   "What is that?" he asked, pointing at the distant ground.
   "I can't see anything," Stutts said.
   "There's someone down there walking."
   "A tree-man?" suggested Sturm. "It is daylight."
   "Too small. It walks differently, more like -" Wingover
 scrubbed his eyes with his small fists. "No! It can't be!
   "What, what?"

 "It looks like a gnome - like Bellcrank!"
 Sturm frowned. "Bellcrank is dead."
 "I know! I know! But it looks  just like  him. His  ears have
 this  funny  shape."  Wingover  brushed  his  own  ears. "But
 now he's red all over!"
 There  was a  shout from  the upper  deck. Sighter  had spot-
 ted the walking figure with his spyglass. Sturm,  Stutts, and
 Wingover  hurried  up.  The  astronomer gnome  identified the
 figure as Bellcrank, too.
 Fitter shivered. "Is it a ghost?" he asked plaintively.
 "Hardly,"  Sighter  responded.  "It  just  stumbled   on  the
 turf."
 "Then  he's alive!"  said Cutwood.  "We have  to go  back for
 him!" Flash, ъoperig, and Birdcall all seconded  this notion.
 Stutts cleared his throat to get their attention.
 "We can't go  back," he  said sadly.  "We've no  control over
 direction or altitude." ъainspot began  to sniffle,  and Cut-
 wood dabbed his eyes on his sleeve.
 "Isn't there anything we can do?" Sturm asked.
 Just then, Pteriol flashed by the port side,  banked steeply,
 and rolled over the top of  the bag.  Everyone on  the Cloud-
 master felt his telepathic whoops of delight.
 "The  dragon!  The  dragon  can  fetch him!"  said ъainspot.
 "He might," said Kitiara.
 "You're his favorite. You ask him," said Cutwood.
 The  brass  form arrowed  past the  starboard rail,  the wind
 from his wings stirring the drifting ship  into a  slow eddy.
 "Hai, dragon. Cupelix! Suffering gods, I mean Pteriol!" Kiti-
 ara  yelled.  The  dragon  swept  under  the stern  and raced
 along the underside of the ship.
 "He  can't  hear me,"  she said,  peeved. "Big,  dumb brute."
 "He's  drunk   with  freedom,"   Sturm  said.   "Can't  blame
 him, after all the centuries he spent in that obelisk."
 "We're losing Bellcrank!"  Fitter cried  as the  ship floated
 over the valley cliff walls.
 The  tiny  red  figure  shrank  from  even  Wingover's power-
 ful sight and  was lost  in the  scarlet terrain.  The gnomes
 watched,  wordless,  as  the   Cloudmaster  drew   away  from
 their  lost friend.  Amid quiet  weeping, Cutwood  broke away
 and went below  deck. He  returned shortly  with a  hammer, a

 saw, and a pair of pliers. He threw these items overboard.
   "Why did you do that I" Sturm said.
   Cutwood turned his  round pink  face up  to the  taller man.
 "Bellcrank will need tools," he said.
   Sighter, Stutts, and Wingover left the rail. Flash and Bird-
 call  lingered  a  while  longer,  then  they,  too, departed.
 ъoperig  pulled  Fitter  away.  ъainspot  and  Cutwood stayed,
 even as the valley fell farther and farther behind.
   "It's  so hard  to believe,"  ъainspot said.  "Bellcrank was
 dead. We buried him."
   "Perhaps there's some truth to what the dragon  said," Kiti-
 ara  offered.  Cutwood asked  what she  meant. "He  said noth-
 ing ever died on Lunitari."
   "You  mean  that  wasn't  Bellcrank  down there,  just some-
 thing that looked like him?"
   "I  don't  know, I'm  no cleric  or philosopher,"  she said.
 "The  dead  have  been  known  to  walk,  even on  Krynn. With
 all  the  magic  rampant  on  Lunitari,  it  doesn't  seem too
 strange that Bellcrank should return."
   No one could  answer her.  Kitiara turned  up the  collar of
 her  cloak  and  went  below,  leaving  ъainspot  and  Cutwood
 alone at the rail.

 * * * * *

   They  flew  over  many  of  the  places  they'd  crossed  on
 foot - the field of stones (alive with growth by daylight) and
 the oreless range of hills. From above, the short-lived jungle
 had  a disquieting  appearance. The  plants writhed  and undu-
 lated, like swells in a wind-tossed sea. Even that grew boring
 after a  while, and  Sturm went  below to  see what  was being
 done to the hole in the ship's belly.
   He  almost  choked  when  he  saw   what  the   gnomes  were
 doing.  Cutwood  and  Fitter  were lying  on their  bellies on
 thin lengths of planking stretched across the  gap. Less-than-
 inch-thick  wood  was  all  that  stood  between  them  and  a
 long, long fall. ъainspot and Flash passed them  other, short-
 er  pieces  of  wood  to nail  crosswise. In  this knockabout,
 trial-and-error style, the gnomes were repairing the hole.
         From the stern, Kitiara looked down at the red moon.

  Three  hours aloft,  and the  land had  fallen away  far enough
  to lose its surface features. Now it was just a rolling bolt of
  red  velvet,  no  more  real  than the  permanent black  of the
  sky. Cupelix  (for Kitiara  scoffed at  the dragon's  new name)
  was  behind  and  slightly  below  them. The  continuous effort
  of flying  was tiring  him out,  and he  no longer  swooped and
  danced  through  the  air.  Now  it  was  long,   slow,  steady
  work.
    How do you do it?
    "How do I do what?" said Kitiara.
    How do you in the ship fly so effortlessly?
    "The ethereal air holds us up," she said. "That's all I know.
  Shall I fetch Stutts, so he can explain?"
    No. Gnomish explanations give me a headache.
    She  laughed.  "Me,  too." A  thin veil  fell between  the ship
  and the flying dragon. "Clouds,"  said Kitiara.  "We're getting
  pretty high."
    My chest aches. I am not used to so much exertion.
    "It's a long way to Krynn."
    How long?
    "Many  days,  at  this  rate.  Maybe  weeks. Did  you think
  Krynn was just over the horizon?"
    There is not much sympathy in your tone, my dear.
    "You're  not  master  of  your own  world anymore.  Take this
  as a lesson in discipline."
    You are a hard woman.
    "Life's hard," said Kitiara. She turned away from the rail.
  The  air  was  growing  steadily  colder  and thinner,  and she
  needed  to  don  her  gloves.  In the  former dining  room (now
  without table or benches) Kitiara slipped  into her  boots. She
  did  up  her  leggings  and  drew the  string tight  around her
  calves. The old knot passed  by in  the drawstring.  She'd lost
  weight.  No  matter, she  thought; I've  traded ten  pounds for
  the strength of ten men.
    Kitiara  tied  a  bow  in  the  drawstring.  Distracted,  she
  pulled  too  hard and  one end  fell out,  making a  hard knot.
  She stared at the result, puzzled - not  for mistying  the bow,
  but because she hadn't snapped the string like a cobweb.
    No  one  was  around.  Kitiara  grasped  the woven  silk cord
  in both hands and pulled harder. It did not b