IN THE INN OF THE RED DRAGON …
“Do not fear, knight. The lives of those you leave in our care are safe … if any are safe.… Farewell, my friends,” Raistlin hissed, his strange hourglass eyes gleaming. “And a long farewell it will be. Some of us are not destined to meet again in this world!” With that, he bowed and, gathering his red robes around him, began to climb the stairs.
Trust Raistlin to exist with a flourish, Tanis thought irritably, but there was no more time for talk. The sound of booted feet was nearing the door.
“Go on!” he ordered Caramon. “If he’s right, there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
The world grows more dangerous, and now the heroes have been separated. This dark prediction and even darker dreams haunt them as they search for the mysterious dragon orbs and the legendary dragonlance.
DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES
Volume Two
DRAGONS OF WINTER NIGHT
©1985 TSR, Inc.
Cover Copyright ©2000 Wizards of the Coast LLC
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. WIZARDS OF THE COAST, DRAGONLANCE, DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D, their respective logos and ADVANCED DUNGEONS & DRAGONS are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.
All Wizards of the Coast characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Cover art by Matt Stawicki
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-65605
eISBN: 978-0-7869-5438-4
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v3.1
To my parents, Dr. and Mrs. Harold R. Hickman,
who taught me what true honor is—Tracy Raye Hickman
To my parents, Frances and George Weis, who gave
me a gift more precious than life—the love of books—Margaret Weis
We gratefully acknowledge the help of the authors of the
Advanced Dungeons & Dragons® Dragonlance®
role-playing adventure game modules:
Douglas Niles, Dragons of Ice; Jeff Grubb, Dragons of Light; and
Laura Hickman, co-author, Dragons of War.
Finally, to Michael: Est Sularus oth Mithas.
Contents
Cover
Map
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Song of the Nine Heroes
The Hammer
Book 1 Chapter 1 - White–winged ships. Hope lies across the Plains of Dust.
Chapter 2 - Between master and dragon. Dismal journey.
Chapter 3 - Tarsis the Beautiful.
Chapter 4 - Arrested! The heroes are separated. An ominous farewell.
Chapter 5 - The riot. Tas disappears. Alhana Starbreeze.
Chapter 6 - Knights of Solamnia. Tasslehoff’s glasses of true seeing.
Chapter 7 - “—not destined to meet again in this world.”
Chapter 8 - Escape from Tarsis. The story of the dragon orbs.
Chapter 9 - Silvanesti. Entering the dream.
Chapter 10 - Waking dreams. Future visions.
Chapter 11 - The dream ends. The nightmare begins.
Chapter 12 - Visions shared. The death of Lorac.
Book 2 Chapter 1 - The flight from Ice Wall.
Chapter 2 - The White Dragon. Captured!
Chapter 3 - The Speaker of the Suns. Laurana’s decision.
Chapter 4 - River of the Dead. The legend of the Silver Dragon.
Chapter 5 - Silvara.
Chapter 6 - Pursuit. A desperate plan.
Chapter 7 - Dark journey.
Chapter 8 - The Tomb of Huma.
Chapter 9 - The kender’s startling discovery.
Chapter 10 - Silvara’s secret.
Book 3 Chapter 1 - The Red Wizard and His Wonderful Illusions!
Chapter 2 - The Knights Trials.
Chapter 3 - The dragon orb. Caramon’s pledge.
Chapter 4 - Yuletide guests.
Chapter 5 - Gnomeflingers.
Chapter 6 - The Council of Whitestone. An important person.
Chapter 7 - An unexpected journey.
Chapter 8 - The Perechon. Memories of long ago.
Chapter 9 - Tanis captured.
Chapter 10 - The High Clerist’s Tower. The knighting.
Chapter 11 - A kender’s curiosity. The Knights ride forth.
Chapter 12 - Death on the plains. Tasslehoff’s discovery.
Chapter 13 - The sun rises. Darkness descends.
Chapter 14 - Dragon orb. Dragonlance.
The Funeral
About the Authors
The winter winds raged outside, but within the caverns of the mountain dwarves beneath the Kharolis Mountains, the fury of the storm was not felt. As the Thane called for silence among the assembled dwarves and humans, a dwarven bard stepped forward to do homage to the companions.
Song of the Nine Heroes
From the north came danger, as we knew it would:
In the vanguard of winter, a dragon’s dance
Unraveled the land, until out of the forest,
Out of the plains they came, from the mothering earth,
The sky unreckoned before them.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
One from a garden of stone arising,
From dwarf-halls, from weather and wisdom,
Where the heart and mind ride unquestioned
In the untapped vein of the hand.
In his fathering arms, the spirit gathered.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
One from a haven of breezes descending,
Light in the handling air,
To the waving meadows, the kender’s country,
Where the grain out of smallness arises itself
To grow green and golden and green again.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
The next from the plains, the long land’s keeping,
Nurtured in distance, horizons of nothing.
Bearing a staff she came, and a burden
Of mercy and light converged in her hand:
Bearing the wounds of the world, she came.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
The next from the plains, in the moon’s shadow,
Through custom, through ritual, trailing the moon
Where her phases, her wax and her wane, controlled
The tide of his blood, and his warrior’s hand
Ascended through hierarchies of space into light.
/> Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
One within absences, known by departures,
The dark swordswoman at the heart of fire:
Her glories the space between words,
The cradlesong recollected in age,
Recalled at the edge of awakening and thought.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
One in the heart of honor, formed by the sword,
By the centuries’ flight of the kingfisher over the land,
By Solamnia ruined and risen, rising again
When the heart ascends into duty.
As it dances, the sword is forever an heirloom.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
The next in a simple light a brother to darkness,
Letting the sword hand try all subtleties,
Even the intricate webs of the heart. His thoughts
Are pools disrupted in changing wind—
He cannot see their bottom.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
The next the leader, half-elven, betrayed
As the twining blood pulls asunder the land,
The forests, the worlds of elves and men.
Called into bravery, but fearing for love,
And fearing that, called into both, he does nothing.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
The last from the darkness, breathing the night
Where the abstract stars hide a nest of words,
Where the body endures the wound of numbers,
Surrendered to knowledge, until, unable to bless,
His blessing falls on the low, the benighted.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
Joined by others they were in the telling:
A graceless girl, graced beyond graces;
A princess of seeds and saplings, called to the forest;
An ancient weaver of accidents;
Nor can we say who the story will gather.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
From the north came danger, as we knew it would:
In encampments of winter, the dragon’s sleep
Has settled the land, but out of the forest,
Out of the plains they come, from the mothering earth
Defining the sky before them.
Nine they were, under the three moons,
Under the autumn twilight:
As the world declined, they arose
Into the heart of the story.
The Hammer
The Hammer of Kharas!”
The great Hall of Audience of the King of the Mountain Dwarves echoed with the triumphal announcement. It was followed by wild cheering, the deep booming voices of the dwarves mingling with the slightly higher-pitched shouts of the humans as the huge doors at the rear of the Hall were thrown open and Elistan, cleric of Paladine, entered.
Although the bowl-shaped Hall was large, even by dwarven standards, it was crammed to capacity. Nearly all of the eight hundred refugees from Pax Tharkas lined the walls, while the dwarves packed onto the carved stone benches below.
Elistan appeared at the foot of a long central aisle, the giant warhammer held reverently in his hands. The shouts increased at the sight of the cleric of Paladine in his white robes, the sound booming against the great vault of the ceiling and reverberating through the hall until it seemed that the ground shook with the vibrations.
Tanis winced as the noise made his head throb. He was stifled in the crowd. He didn’t like being underground anyway and, although the ceiling was so high that the top soared beyond the blazing torchlight and disappeared into shadow, the half-elf felt enclosed, trapped.
“I’ll be glad when this is over,” he muttered to Sturm, standing next to him.
Sturm, always melancholy, seemed even darker and more brooding than usual. “I don’t approve of this, Tanis,” he muttered, folding his arms across the bright metal of his antique breastplate.
“I know,” said Tanis irritably. “You’ve said it—not once, but several times. It’s too late now. There’s nothing to be done but make the best of it.”
The end of his sentence was lost in another resounding cheer as Elistan raised the Hammer above his head, showing it to the crowd before beginning the walk down the aisle. Tanis put his hand on his forehead. He was growing dizzy as the cool underground cavern heated up from the mass of bodies.
Elistan started to walk down the aisle. Rising to greet him on a dais in the center of the Hall was Hornfel, Thane of the Hylar dwarves. Spaced behind the dwarf were seven carved stone thrones, all of them now empty. Hornfel stood before the seventh throne—the most magnificent, the throne for the King of Thorbardin. Long empty, it would be occupied once more, as Hornfel accepted the Hammer of Kharas. The return of this ancient relic was a singular triumph for Hornfel. Since his thanedom was now in possession of the coveted Hammer, he could unite the rival dwarven thanes under his leadership.
“We fought to recover that Hammer,” Sturm said slowly, his eyes upon the gleaming weapon. “The legendary Hammer of Kharas. Used to forge the dragonlances. Lost for hundreds of years, found again, and lost once more. And now given to the dwarves!” he said in disgust.
“It was given to the dwarves once before,” Tanis reminded him wearily, feeling sweat trickle down his forehead. “Have Flint tell you the tale, if you’ve forgotten. At any rate, it is truly theirs now.” Elistan had arrived at the foot of the stone dais where the Thane, dressed in the heavy robes and massive gold chains dwarves loved, awaited him. Elistan knelt at the foot of the dais, a politic gesture, for otherwise the tall, muscular cleric would stand face-to-face with the dwarf, despite the fact that the dais was a good three feet off the ground. The dwarves cheered mightily at this. The humans were, Tanis noticed, more subdued, some muttering among themselves, not liking the sight of their leader abasing himself.
“Accept this gift of our people—” Elistan’s words were lost in another cheer from the dwarves.
“Gift!” Sturm snorted. “Ransom is nearer the mark.”
“In return for which,” Elistan continued when he could be heard, “we thank the dwarves for their generous gift of a place to live within their kingdom.”
“For the right to be sealed in a tomb …” Sturm muttered.
“And we pledge our support to the dwarves if the war should come upon us!” Elistan shouted.
Cheering resounded throughout the chamber, increasing as Thane Hornfel bent to receive the Hammer. The dwarves stamped and whistled, most climbing up on the stone benches.
Tanis began to feel nauseated. He glanced around. They would never be missed. Hornfel would speak; so would each of the other six Thanes, not to mention the members of the Highseekers Council. The half-elf touched Sturm on the arm, motioning to the knight to follow him. The two walked silently from the Hall, bending low to get through a narrow archway. Although still underground in the massive dwarven city, at least they were away from the noise, out in the cool night air.
“Are you all right?” Sturm asked, noticing Tanis�
�s pallor beneath his beard. The half-elf gulped draughts of cool air.
“I am now,” Tanis said, flushing in shame at his weakness. “It was the heat … and the noise.”
“Well, we’ll be out of here soon,” Sturm said. “Depending, of course, on whether or not the Council of Highseekers votes to let us go to Tarsis.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt how they’ll vote,” Tanis said, shrugging. “Elistan is clearly in control, now that he’s led the people to a place of safety. None of the Highseekers dares oppose him—at least to his face. No, my friend, within a month’s time perhaps, we’ll be setting sail in one of the white-winged ships of Tarsis the Beautiful.”
“Without the Hammer of Kharas,” Sturm added bitterly. Softly, he began to quote. “ ‘And so it was told that the Knights took the golden Hammer, the Hammer blessed by the great god Paladine and given to the One of the Silver Arm so that he might forge the Dragonlance of Huma, Dragonbane, and gave the Hammer to the dwarf they called Kharas, or Knight, for his extraordinary valor and honor in battle. And he kept Kharas for his name. And the Hammer of Kharas passed into the dwarven kingdom with assurances from the dwarves that it should be brought forth again at need—”
“It has been brought forth,” Tanis said, struggling to contain his rising anger. He had heard that quotation entirely too many times!
“It has been brought forth and will be left behind!” Sturm bit the words. “We might have taken it to Solamnia, used it to forge our own dragonlances—”
“And you would be another Huma, riding to glory, the Dragonlance in your hand!” Tanis’s control snapped. “Meanwhile you’d let eight hundred people die—”
“No, I would not have let them die!” Sturm shouted in a towering rage. “The first clue we have to the dragonlances and you sell it for—”
Both men stopped arguing abruptly, suddenly aware of a shadow creeping from the darker shadows surrounding them.
“Shirak,” whispered a voice, and a bright light flared, gleaming from a crystal ball clutched in the golden, disembodied claw of a dragon atop a plain, wooden staff. The light illuminated the red robes of a magic-user. The young mage walked toward the two, leaning upon his staff, coughing slightly. The light from his staff shone upon a skeletal face, with glistening metallic gold skin drawn tightly over fine bones. His eyes gleamed golden.
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