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smashed into the draconian's muzzle just in front of its eyes. A scaled
arm lashed out and struck the gnome in the face, throwing him flat on
his back. He banged his head as he fell.
The world exploded in a shower of stars and sparks. Gilbenstock
marveled at it all. It was an impressive display. For some reason,
though, he knew he was not going to like it when the stars went away.
The stars soon left, replaced by the onset of a skull-pounding, vision-
throbbing, record-breaking headache. All was darkness.
"Help me, " Zorlen moaned. "It's clawed me. Help me. "
Dizzy and aching, the gnome rolled over, then got unsteadily to his
hands and knees and crawled toward the human. Zorlen lay on his back,
hands grasping his left thigh. He was bleeding from a dozen places. A
few feet away from him lay another body, a knife sticking up from its
motionless chest.
The dead body was Zorlen.
"Help me, " Zorlen gasped. "I think it broke my leg. "
The gnome hesitated, remembering earlier conversations. It was hard to
think when his head hurt so much. "Are you really Zorlen?" he asked.
"You could be the draconian, couldn't you? I mean, you could have taken
Zorlen's shape when you killed him, and you could be waiting for me to-
"
"You rotten little midget, " hissed Zorlen weakly. "I'm not the damn
draconian. My leg's broken. " He lapsed into a string of curses that
amazed Gilbenstock with their creativity and pithiness.
Head thundering, Gilbenstock managed to get to a wall and pull himself
to his feet. He carefully made his way to Zorlen's side. The human had
fallen silent again, except for his moaning.
"You must be Zorlen, then, " the gnome said. "As someone once told me,
draconians are good actors, but they're not that good. "
"Gods, just shut up and get me out of here. "
"You're going to have to stand up and put your arm around me, " said
the gnome.
Zorlen levered himself up, one hand still grasping his left thigh. His
face twisted with pain. "You're too damn short, " he muttered. "I can't
do it. "
Gilbenstock groaned. He sighed and looked around in the darkness.
"Well, I suppose I could make up some kind of splint for your leg with
the wrench, and maybe I could even improvise some sort of tourniquet,
since I think I remember a lecture about that given by the Guild of
Anatomy, Physiology, and Meat-Packing, and I'm fairly certain I can
avoid the lecturer's mistakes and not have the same thing happen to you
as happened to the tourniquet volunteer, which was quite a pity
considering that-"
Zorlen gritted his teeth and reached out blindly. "Forget it. I can
make it, " he said. "Help me up before the other draconian gets here. "
"It wouldn't take but a moment to assemble the materials for-"
"Up! Up! Where the Abyss are you?"
With terrible slowness on the gnome's part and endless curses on the
human's, Gilbenstock managed to get Zorlen to his feet. After some
experimenting, they were able to devise a sort of three-legged walk;
Zorlen gripped the top of the gnome's head with both hands and hopped
slowly through the tunnel behind his shorter companion. The pressure
made Gilbenstock's neck ache, which aggravated his headache.
Nonetheless, the system seemed to work.
Time became meaningless as they plodded along. There was only their
slow footsteps, the night of the tunnel, and pain. Neither spoke. Years
came and went.
Then light appeared ahead. They were almost at the Iron Dragon.
Zorlen sagged suddenly. Gilbenstock fell, mashing his nose into the
debris-strewn floor. The human collapsed on top of him. It took a few
moments for the gnome to pull himself free and check Zorlen for life.
The man was alive but unconscious. He had lost too much blood.
"Rat poop, " muttered Gilbenstock, using the strongest profanity he
knew. He clutched his aching head and staggered toward the Iron Dragon.
Cross-eyed Squib was pulling debris from the vehicle's wheel
assemblies. He wore his earmuffs and was so totally focused on his job
that he missed the gnome's approach, just as he had missed seeing
Zorlen earlier. When Gilbenstock poked his friend in the side, the
gully dwarf jumped a foot and dropped his pick. "Brave Squib, "
Gilbenstock gasped when the trembling gully dwarf had removed his
earmuffs. "We must flee! We must take the Iron Dragon back to Palanthas
at once. We are in the gravest danger!" He glanced back. "Oh, and we'll
have a passenger. Let's hurry. "
Gilbenstock started up the iron ladder for his cabin, almost falling
twice. His headache made the world seem distant and unreal, like a bad
dream.
Zorlen's overturned crate half blocked the door. Dust still covered
everything. Gilbenstock pushed the crate out the door, then turned to
the controls and activated them for a rapid start-up. If the last
draconian showed up, it would get an unpleasant taste of a triple-
headed rock drill. The thought kept Gilbenstock amused as he flipped
switches and twisted knobs. Nearing the end of the startup sequence, he
automatically reached for a lever mounted in the floor and tugged.
Nothing happened.
The gnome tried again, then stopped everything else he was doing and
threw all of his weight into moving the lever. It didn't budge.
Gilbenstock's hands began to sweat. Zorlen must have accidentally
shoved the crate against the lever, jamming the mechanism. The lever
was the Iron Dragon's Tertiary Back-up Emergency Brake-it locked the
driver bars.
Gilbenstock released the lever and stepped back. His heart stopped.
Even his headache stopped. The Iron Dragon could not move an inch with
the brake jammed. Major repairs were called for; cables would have to
be cut and iron pins sheared off.
But there was nothing he could do about it here. Not a thing.
The Iron Dragon was finished.
The gnome looked around the cabin as if seeing it for the first time.
He knew every bolt, every gear, every blot of paint. He thought of the
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