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 break.

Little Red Man

On high the air was as clean and sharp as an elvem sword. Without the constant beating of wings, there was no sensation of movement aboard the Cloudmaster. Quite to the contrary, it seemed as if the sun, stars, and Lunitari itself were moving, while the ship stood anchored in the sky. The effect of this mode of flight was curiously timeless. Only the wind-up clock in the wheelhouse showed that time was passing at all.

After they had been airborne almost five hours, Lunitari was far enough below them to resemble a sphere again. Of

Krynn there was no sign, and that worried the travelers.

Sighter assured them that their home world would appear as Lunitari turned on its course through the heavens. "We have a better than even chance of reaching Krynn," he said severely. "As the largest body in the heavens, it naturally has the greatest attraction for us, just as it attracts a greater amount of sunlight than Lunitari. Still, we must be wary and release the proper amount of ethereal air when the pro pitious moment comes, so that we can descend homeward."

The strange, motionless flight bothered Sturm, so he kept below deck. There the hull and deck creaked as a proper ship should, and it comforted him. He'd always been fond of sailing ships.

The patch over the hole in the hull was finished, but it was not the finest example of the shipwright's art. Planks and laths and blocks of wood were nailed and mortised over the gap wherever they could fit. The gnomes strolled across the patch without a care, but Sturm did not trust it to support his weight. He prowled on past the patch to the forward end of the ship, which at sea would have been the forecastle.

The hull there was barren of gear, and all the interior parti tions had long since been ripped away. There was nothing forward at all but beams and planking. It was like being inside the skeleton of some great beast, all bones and no flesh.

Sturm ascended the fore ladder into the wheelhouse.

There was no wheel, for there was no tail to be turned by a wheel. All the finely wrought brass fixtures had been ripped out for scrap or merely to lighten the ship. Only Stutts's chair remained, though its plump velvet cushions were gone.

Kitiara was there, sitting on the deck, gazing out the win dows at nothing.

"Are you ill, Kit?"

"Do I look ill?"

"No." Sturm sat down on the deck opposite her.

Kitiara looked away, toying with the drawstring of her leggings. "Sturm, are you still having visions?"

"No, not for some time."

"Do you remember them?" she asked.

"Of course I do."

"What was the first one?"

"Why, it was the – when I saw -" A perplexed look came over Sturm's face. "Something about my father?" His high forehead became a mass of wrinkles as he tried to recall what he'd seen.

"What about the last one?" Kitiara asked.

He shook his head. "There was a sorcerer – I think."

"We've lost it," Kitiara said softly. "The effect the natural magic of Lunitari had on each of us. You've forgotten the substance of your visions. I'm losing my strength. Here

– look." She took out her dagger and planted her thumbs on the back of the blade. Fingers knotting, Kitiara slowly bent the slim steel blade to a blunt angle.

"You seem very strong to me," said Sturm.

"Yesterday I could've folded this blade in half with two fingers." She tossed the bent dagger aside.

"We're better off without the powers," Sturm said.

"That's easy for you to say! I like being strong – powerful!"

"Mighty fighters live and die in every generation, the past ones forgotten by the present, the present destined to vanish in the memories of the future. Virtue, not ferocity or cun ning, are what make a fighter a hero, Kit."

Kitiara straightened her stooped shoulders and said reso lutely, "You're wrong, Sturm. Only success is remembered.

Nothing else matters but success."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the wheelhouse door flew open and a blast of icy air rushed in. Cutwood, swathed to the top of his pink bald head in flannel rags and quilting, posed dramatically in the doorway, one stubby arm flung out, pointing astern.

"The dragon!" he said. "Cupelix is faltering!"

The whole crew was assembled aft. When Sturm and Kiti- ara joined them, the concentration of weight made the ship tip steeply back. Stutts said, "Spread out! We can't all stand in the same p-p-place!"

Wingover shook his head. "You stuttered," he said.

"Never mind that now," said Kitiara.

Cupelix was far back and nearly fifty feet below the rising

Cloudmaster. He was holding his wings out in glide posi tion, flapping only once every few seconds. His long neck was arched down, his head low. The dragon's large hind legs, normally held tightly against his belly when in flight, likewise dangled limply.

"Cupelix! Cupelix, can you hear me?" Kitiara called through cupped hands.

Yes, my dear.

"You can make it, beast. Do you hear me? You can make it!"

No. Done in… too weak. The dragon's tail dropped, making him waver.

"Flap, damn you! Don't give up. Remember, you're a brass dragon!" she cried. "This is your chance, Cupelix!

Your chance to come to Krynn."

Can't fly… not meant to be, dear Kit.

Sturm called, "Is there anything we can do?"

Tell others, I live. Tell others to visit Lunitari.

"We will," shouted Rainspot.

Bring books. Bring philosophers. Bring – His thought trailed off. Cupelix was flapping weakly now.

Kitiara grabbed Wingover by his collar. "Why can't he fly? Why does he keep going down?" she demanded.

"The air is too thin. His wings aren't big enough to sup port him this high," said the wide-eyed gnome. Sturm broke her grip and put Wingover back on his feet. The gnome exhaled gustily. "Cloudmaster was able to stay aloft because we had two sets of wings and the ethereal air bag to hold us up. The dragon has neither."

Farewell.

Kitiara flung herself at the rail. The crimson orb of Luni tari looked no bigger than a dinner plate. Against the light colored moon, the dark figure of the dragon moved, an agonized silhouette. Cupelix, the ill-named Pteriol, was going down. Wingover gave his colleagues a running com mentary on the dragon's failing flight. The massive muscles in the dragon's back writhed in ferocious cramps. His wings spasmed, sending him into a heart-stopping plummet. With great effort and much obvious pain, he regained his balance and slowed his descent. Trailing behind him in the wind was a steady swirl of brass scales, torn off by his terrible exer tions.