As Riverwind stated, it seemed to be a matter of what killed them first: lack of air, freezing to death, the Inn falling down on top of them, or drowning.
“We could shout for help,” suggested Tika, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Add draconians to the list, then,” Raistlin snapped. “They’re the only creatures up there liable to hear you.”
Tika’s face flushed, and she brushed her hand quickly across her eyes. Caramon cast a reproachful glance at his brother, then put his arm around Tika and held her close. Raistlin gave them both a look of disgust.
“I haven’t heard a sound up there,” Tanis said, puzzled. “You’d think the dragons and the armies—” He stopped, his glance meeting Caramon’s, both soldiers nodding slowly in sudden grim understanding.
“What?” asked Goldmoon, looking at them.
“We’re behind enemy lines,” Caramon said. “The armies of draconians occupy the town. And probably the land for miles and miles around. There’s no way out, and nowhere to go if there were a way out.”
As if to emphasize his words, the companions heard sounds above them. Guttural draconian voices that they had come to know all too well drifted down through to them.
“I tell you, this is a waste of time,” whined another voice, goblin by the sound, speaking in Common. “There’s no one alive in this mess.”
“Tell that to the Dragon Highlord, you miserable dog-eaters,” snarled the draconian. “I’m sure his lordship’ll be interested in your opinion. Or rather, his dragon’ll be interested. You have your orders. Now dig, all of you.”
There were sounds of scraping, sounds of stones being dragged aside. Rivulets of dirt and dust started to sift down through the cracks. The big beam shivered slightly but held.
The companions stared at each other, almost holding their breaths, each remembering the strange draconians who had attacked the Inn. “Somebody’s after us,” Raistlin had said.
“What are we looking for in this rubble?” croaked a goblin in the goblin tongue. “Silver? Jewels?”
Tanis and Caramon, who spoke a little goblin, strained to hear.
“Naw,” said the first goblin, who had grumbled about orders. “Spies or some such wanted personally by the Dragon Highlord for questioning.”
“In here?” the goblin asked in amazement.
“That’s what I said,” snarled his companion. “You saw how far I got. The lizardmen say they had them trapped in the Inn when the dragon hit it. Said none of them escaped, and so the Highlord figures they must still be here. If you ask me—the dracos screwed up and now we’ve got to pay for their mistakes.”
The sounds of digging and of rock moving grew louder, as did the sound of goblin voices, occasionally punctuated by a sharp order in the guttural voice of the draconians. There must be fifty of them up there! Tanis thought, stunned.
Riverwind quietly lifted his sword out of the water and began wiping it dry. Caramon, his usually cheerful face somber, released Tika and found his sword. Tanis didn’t have a sword, Riverwind tossed him his dagger. Tika started to draw her sword, but Tanis shook his head. They would be fighting in close quarters, and Tika needed lots of room. The half-elf looked questioningly at Raistlin.
The mage shook his head. “I will try, Tanis,” he whispered. “But I am very tired. Very tired. And I can’t think, I can’t concentrate.” He bowed his head, shivering violently in his wet robes. He was exerting all his effort not to cough and give them away, muffling his choking in his sleeve.
One spell will finish him, if he gets that off, Tanis realized. Still, he may be luckier than the rest of us. At least he won’t be taken alive.
The sounds above them grew louder and louder. Goblins are strong, tireless workers. They wanted to finish this job quickly, then get back to looting Tarsis. The companions waited in grim silence below. An almost steady stream of dirt and crushed rock dropped down upon them, along with fresh rainwater. They gripped their weapons. It was only a matter of minutes, maybe, before they were discovered.
Then, suddenly, there were new sounds. They heard the goblins yell in fear, the draconians shout to them, ordering them back to work. But they could hear the sounds of shovels and picks being dropped down onto the rocks above them, then the cursing of the draconians as they tried to stop what was apparently a full-scale goblin revolt.
And above the noise of the shrieking goblins rose a loud, clear, high pitched call, which was answered by another call farther away. It was like the call of an eagle, soaring above the plains at sunset. But this call was right above them.
There was a scream—a draconian. Then a rending sound—as if the body of the creature were being ripped apart. More screams, the clash of steel being drawn, another call and another answer—this one much nearer.
“What is that?” Caramon asked, his eyes wide. “It isn’t a dragon. It sounds like—like some gigantic bird of prey!”
“Whatever it is, it’s tearing the draconians to shreds!” Goldmoon said in awe as they listened. The screaming sounds stopped abruptly, leaving a silence behind that was almost worse. What new evil replaced the old?
Then came the sound of rocks and stones, mortar and timber being lifted and sent crashing to the streets. Whatever was up there was intent on reaching them!
“It’s eaten all the draconians,” whispered Caramon gruffly, “and now it’s after us!”
Tika turned deathly white, clutching at Caramon’s arm. Goldmoon gasped softly and even Riverwind appeared to lose some of his stoic composure, staring intently upward.
“Caramon,” Raistlin said, shivering, “shut up!”
Tanis felt inclined to agree with the mage. “We’re all scaring ourselves over noth—” he began. Suddenly there was a rending crash. Stone and rubble, mortar and timber clattered down around them. They scrambled for cover as a huge, clawed foot plunged through the debris, its talons gleaming in the light of Raistlin’s staff.
Helplessly seeking shelter beneath broken beams or under the casks of ale, the companions watched in wonder as the gigantic claw extricated itself from the rubble and withdrew, leaving behind it a wide, gaping hole.
All was silent. For a few moments, none of the companions dared move. But the silence remained unbroken.
“This is our chance,” Tanis whispered loudly. “Caramon, see what’s up there.”
But the big warrior was already creeping out of his hiding place, moving across the rubble-strewn floor as best he could. Riverwind followed behind, his sword drawn.
“Nothing,” said Caramon, puzzled, peering up.
Tanis, feeling naked without his sword, came over to stand beneath the hole, gazing upward. Then, to his amazement, a dark figure appeared above them, silhouetted against the burning sky. Behind the figure towered a large beast. They could just make out the head of a gigantic eagle, its eyes glittering in the firelight, its wickedly curved beak gleaming in the flames.
The companions shrank back, but it was too late. Obviously the figure had seen them. It stepped nearer. Riverwind thought—too late—of his bow. Caramon pulled Tika close with one hand, holding his sword in his other.
The figure, however, simply knelt down near the edge of the hole, being careful of its footing among the loose stones, and removed the hood covering its head.
“We meet again, Tanis Half-Elven,” said a voice as cool and pure and distant as the stars.
8
Escape from Tarsis.
The story of the dragon orbs.
Dragons flew on their leathery wings above the gutted city of Tarsis as the draconian armies swarmed in to take possession. The task of the dragons was completed. Soon the Dragon Highlord would call them back, holding them in readiness for the next strike. But for now they could relax, drifting on the super-heated air currents rising from the burning town, picking off the occasional human foolish enough to come out of hiding. The red dragons floated in the sky, keeping in their well-organized flights, gliding and dipping in a wheeling dance of
death.
No power on Krynn existed now that could stop them. They knew this and exulted in their victory. But occasionally something would occur to interrupt their dance. One flight leader, for example, received a report of fighting near the wreckage of an inn. A young male red dragon, he led his flight to the site, muttering to himself about the inefficiency of the troop commanders. What could you expect, though, when the Dragon Highlord was a bloated hobgoblin who hadn’t even courage enough to watch the takeover of a soft town like Tarsis?
The male red sighed, recalling the days of glory when Verminaard had led them personally, sitting astride the back of Pyros. He had been a Dragon Highlord! The red shook his head disconsolately. Ah, there was the battle. He could see it clearly now. Ordering his flight to stay airborne, he swooped in low for a better look.
“I command you! Stop!”
The red halted in his flight, staring upward in astonishment. The voice was strong and clear, and it came from the figure of a Dragon Highlord. But the Dragon Highlord was certainly not Toede! This Dragon Highlord, although heavily cloaked and dressed in the shining mask and dragon-scale armor of the Highlords, was human, to judge by the voice, not hobgoblin. But where had this Highlord come from? And why? For, to the red dragon’s amazement, he saw that the Highlord rode upon a huge blue dragon and was attended by several flights of blues.
“What is your bidding, Highlord?” the red asked sternly. “And by what right do you stop us, you who have no business in this part of Krynn?”
“The fate of mankind is my business, whether it be in this part of Krynn or another,” the Dragon Highlord returned. “And the might of my sword-arm gives me all the right I need to command you, gallant red. As for my bidding, I ask that you capture these pitiful humans, do not kill them. They are wanted for questioning. Bring them to me. You will be well rewarded.”
“Look!” called a young female red. “Griffons!”
The Dragon Highlord gave an exclamation of astonishment and displeasure. The dragons looked down to see three griffons sweeping up out of the smoke. Not quite half the size of a red dragon, griffons were noted for their ferocity. Draconian troops scattered like ashes in the wind before the creatures, whose sharp talons and ripping beaks were tearing the heads from those reptile-men unlucky enough to have been caught in their path.
The red snarled in hatred and prepared to dive, his flight with him, but the Dragon Highlord swooped down in front of him, causing him to pull up.
“I tell you, they must not be killed!” the Dragon Highlord said sternly.
“But they’re escaping!” the red hissed furiously.
“Let them,” the Highlord said coldly. “They will not go far. I relieve you of your duty in this. Return to the main body. And if that idiot Toede mentions this, tell him that the secret of how he lost the blue crystal staff did not die with Lord Verminaard. The memory of Fewmaster Toede lives on—in my mind—and will become known to others if he dares to challenge me!”
The Dragon Highlord saluted, then wheeled the large blue dragon in the air to fly swiftly after the griffons, whose tremendous speed had allowed them to escape with their riders well past the city gates. The red watched the blues disappear through the night skies in pursuit.
“Shouldn’t we give chase as well?” asked the female red.
“No,” the red male replied thoughtfully, his fiery eyes on the figure of the Dragon Highlord dwindling in the distance. “I will not cross that one!”
“Your thanks are not necessary, or even wanted,” Alhana Starbreeze cut off Tanis’s halting, exhausted words in mid-sentence. The companions rode through the slashing rain on the backs of three griffons, clutching their feathered necks with their hands, peering apprehensively down at the dying city falling rapidly away beneath them.
“And you may not wish to extend them after you hear me out,” Alhana stated coldly, glancing at Tanis, riding behind her. “I rescued you for my own purposes. I need warriors to help me find my father. We fly to Silvanesti.”
“But that’s impossible!” Tanis gasped. “We must meet our friends! Fly to the hills. We can’t go to Silvanesti, Alhana. There’s too much at stake! If we can find these dragon orbs, we have a chance to destroy these foul creatures and end this war. Then we can go to Silvanesti—”
“Now we are going to Silvanesti,” Alhana retorted. “You have no choice in the matter, Half-Elven. My griffons obey my command and mine alone. They would tear you apart, as they did those dragonmen, if I gave the order.”
“Someday the elves will wake up and find they are members of a vast family,” Tanis said, his voice shaking with anger. “No longer can they be treated as the spoiled elder child who is given everything while the rest of us wait for the crumbs.”
“What gifts we received from the gods we earned. You humans and half-humans”—the scorn in her voice cut like a dagger—“had these same gifts and threw them away in your greed for more. We are capable of fighting for our own survival without your help. As to your survival, that matters little to us.”
“You seem willing enough to accept our help now!”
“For which you will be well-rewarded,” Alhana returned.
“There is not steel nor jewels enough in Silvanesti to pay us—”
“You seek the dragon orbs,” Alhana interrupted. “I know where one is located. It is in Silvanesti.”
Tanis blinked. For a moment, he could think of nothing to say, but the mention of the dragon orb brought back thoughts of his friend. “Where’s Sturm?” he asked Alhana. “The last I saw him, he was with you.”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “We parted. He was going to the Inn, to find you. I called my griffons to me.”
“Why didn’t you let him take you to Silvanesti if you needed warriors?”
“That is none of your concern.” Alhana turned her back to Tanis, who sat wordlessly, too tired to think clearly. Then he heard a voice shouting at him, barely distinguishable through the feathery rustle of the griffon’s mighty wings.
It was Caramon. The warrior was shouting and pointing behind them. What now? Tanis thought wearily.
They had left behind the smoke and the storm clouds that covered Tarsis, flying out into the clear night sky. The stars gleamed above them, their sparkling lights shining as cold as diamonds, emphasizing the gaping black holes in the night sky where the two constellations had wheeled in their track above the world. The moons, silver and red, had set, but Tanis did not need their light to recognize the dark shapes blotting out the shining stars.
“Dragons,” he said to Alhana. “Following us.”
Tanis could never afterward clearly remember the nightmare flight from Tarsis. It was hours of chill, biting wind that made even death by a dragon’s flaming breath seem appealing. It was hours of panic, staring behind to see the dark shapes gaining on them, staring until his eyes watered and the tears froze on his cheeks, yet unable to turn away. It was stopping at dusk, worn out from fear and fatigue, to sleep in a cave on a high rock cliff. It was waking at dawn only to see—as they soared through the air again, the dark, winged shapes still behind them.
Few living creatures can outfly the eagle-winged griffon. But the dragons—blue dragons, the first they had ever seen—were always on the horizon, always pursuing, allowing no rest during the day, forcing the companions into hiding at night when the exhausted griffons must sleep. There was little food, only quith-pa, a dried-fruit type of iron ration that sustains the body, but does little to ease hunger—which Alhana carried and shared. But even Caramon was too weary and dispirited to eat much.
The only thing Tanis remembered vividly occurred on the second night of their journey. He was telling the small group huddled around a fire in a damp and cheerless cave about the kender’s discovery in the library at Tarsis. At the mention of the dragon orbs, Raistlin’s eyes glittered, his thin face lit from within by an eager, intense glow.
“Dragon orbs?” he repeated softly.
“I thought yo
u might know of them,” Tanis said. “What are they?”
Raistlin did not answer immediately. Wrapped in both his own and his brother’s cloak, he lay as near the fire as possible, and still his frail body shook with the chill. The mage’s golden eyes stared at Alhana, who sat somewhat apart from the group, deigning to share the cave but not the conversation. Now, however, it seemed she half-turned her head, listening.
“You said there is a dragon orb in Silvanesti,” the mage whispered, glancing at Tanis. “Surely I am not the one to ask.”
“I know little about it,” Alhana said, turning her pale face to the firelight. “We keep it as a relic of bygone days, more a curiosity than anything else. Who believed humans would once again wake this evil and bring the dragons back to Krynn?”
Before Raistlin could answer, Riverwind spoke angrily. “You have no proof it was humans!”
Alhana swept the Plainsman an imperious glance. She did not reply, considering it beneath her to argue with a barbarian.
Tanis sighed. The Plainsman had little use for elves. It had taken long days before he had come to trust Tanis, longer for Gilthanas and Laurana. Now, just as Riverwind seemed to be able to overcome his inherited prejudices, Alhana with her equal prejudices had inflicted new wounds.
“Very well, Raistlin,” Tanis said quietly, “tell us what you know of the dragon orbs.”
“Bring my drink, Caramon,” the mage ordered. Bringing the cup of hot water as commanded, Caramon set it before his brother. Raistlin propped himself up on one elbow and mixed herbs into the water. The strange, acrid odor filled the air. Raistlin, grimacing, sipped the bitter mixture as he talked.
“During the Age of Dreams, when those of my order were respected and revered upon Krynn, there were five Towers of High Sorcery.” The mage’s voice sank, as if recalling painful memories. His brother sat staring at the rock floor of the cave, his face grave. Tanis, seeing the shadow fall across both twins, wondered again what had happened within the Tower of High Sorcery to change their lives so drastically. It was useless to ask, he knew. Both had been forbidden to discuss it.
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