Raistlin paused a moment before he continued, then drew a deep breath. “When the Second Dragon Wars came, the highest of my order met together in the greatest of the Towers—the Tower of Palanthas—and created the dragon orbs.”
Raistlin’s eyes grew unfocused, his whispering voice ceased a moment. When he spoke next, it was as if recounting a moment he was reliving in his mind. Even his voice changed, becoming stronger, deeper, clearer. He no longer coughed. Caramon looked at him in astonishment.
“Those of the White Robes entered the chamber at the top of the Tower first, as the silver moon, Solinari, rose. Then Lunitari appeared in the sky, dripping with blood, and those of the Red Robes entered. Finally the black disk, Nuitari, a hole of darkness among the stars, could be seen by those who sought it, and the Black Robes walked into the chamber.
“It was a strange moment in history, when all enmity between the Robes was suppressed. It would come but one more time in the world, when the wizards joined together in the Lost Battles, but that time could not be foreseen. It was enough to know that, for now, the great evil must be destroyed. For at last we had seen that evil was intent on destroying all the magic of the world, so that only its own would survive! Some there were among the Black Robes, who might have tried to ally with this great power”—Tanis saw Raistlin’s eyes burn—“but soon realized they would not be masters of it, only its slaves. And so the dragon orbs were born, on a night when all three moons were full in the sky.”
“Three moons?” Tanis asked softly, but Raistlin did not hear him and continued to speak in the voice not his own.
“Great and powerful magic was worked that night—so powerful that few could withstand it and they collapsed, their physical and mental strength drained. But that morning, five dragon orbs stood upon pedestals, glistening with light, dark with shadows. All but one were taken from Palanthas and carried, in great peril, to each of the other four Towers. Here they helped rid the world of the Queen of Darkness.”
The feverish gleam faded from Raistlin’s eyes. His shoulders slumped, his voice sank, and he began to cough, violently. The others stared at him in breathless silence.
Finally Tanis cleared his throat. “What do you mean, three moons?”
Raistlin looked up dully. “Three moons?” he whispered. “I know nothing of three moons. What were we discussing?”
“Dragon orbs. You told us how they were created. How did you—” Tanis stopped, seeing Raistlin sink onto his pallet.
“I have told you nothing,” Raistlin said irritably. “What are you talking about?”
Tanis glanced at the others. Riverwind shook his head. Caramon bit his lip and looked away, his face drawn with worry.
“We were speaking of the dragon orbs,” Goldmoon said. “You were going to tell us what you knew of them.”
Raistlin wiped blood from his mouth. “I do not know much,” he said wearily, shrugging. “The dragon orbs were created by the high mages. Only the most powerful of my order could use them. It was said that great evil would come to those not strong in magic who tried to command the orbs. Beyond that, I know nothing. All knowledge of the dragon orbs perished during the Lost Battles. Two, it was said, were destroyed in the Fall of the Towers of High Sorcery, destroyed rather than let the rabble have them. Knowledge of the other three died with their wizards.” His voice died. Sinking back onto his pallet, exhausted, he fell asleep.
“The Lost Battles, three moons, Raistlin talking with a strange voice. None of this makes sense,” Tanis muttered.
“I don’t believe any of it!” Riverwind said coldly. He shook out their furs, preparing to sleep.
Tanis was starting to follow his example when he saw Alhana creep from the shadows of the cave and come to stand next to Raistlin. Staring down at the sleeping mage, her hands twisted together.
“Strong in magic!” she whispered in a voice filled with fear. “My father!”
Tanis looked at her in sudden understanding.
“You don’t think your father tried to use the orb?”
“I am afraid,” Alhana whispered, wringing her hands. “He said he alone could fight the evil and keep it from our land. He must have meant—” Swiftly she bent down near Raistlin. “Wake him!” she commanded, her black eyes flaring. “I must know! Wake him and make him tell me what the danger is!”
Caramon pulled her back, gently but firmly. Alhana glared at him, her beautiful face twisted in fear and rage, and it seemed for a moment as if she might strike him, but Tanis reached her side and caught hold of her hand.
“Lady Alhana,” he said calmly, “it would do no good to wake him. He has told us everything he knows. As for that other voice, he obviously remembers nothing about what it said.”
“I’ve seen it happen to Raist before,” Caramon said in low tones, “as if he becomes someone else. But it always leaves him exhausted and he never remembers.”
Alhana jerked her hand away from Tanis’s, her face resuming its cold, pure, marble stillness. She whirled and walked to the front of the cave. Catching hold of the blanket Riverwind had hung to hide the fire’s light, she nearly tore it down as she flung it aside and stalked outdoors.
“I’ll stand first watch,” Tanis told Caramon. “You get some sleep.”
“I’ll stay up with Raist awhile,” the big man said, spreading out his pallet next to his frail twin’s. Tanis followed Alhana outside.
The griffons slept soundly, their heads buried on the soft feathers of their necks, taloned front feet clutching the cliff edge securely. For a moment he could not find Alhana in the darkness, then he saw her, leaning against a huge boulder, weeping bitterly, her head buried in her arms.
The proud Silvanesti woman would never forgive him if he saw her weak and vulnerable. Tanis ducked back behind the blanket.
“I’ll stand watch!” he called out loudly before he walked outside again. Lifting the blanket, he saw, without seeming to, Alhana start up and wipe her hands hurriedly across her face. She turned her back to him, and he walked slowly toward her, giving her time to pull herself together.
“The cave was stifling,” she said in a low voice. “I could not bear it. I had to come out for a breath of air.”
“I have first watch,” Tanis said. He paused, then added, “You seem afraid your father might have tried to use this dragon orb. Surely he would know its history. If I remember what I know of your people, he was a magic-user.”
“He knew where the orb came from,” Alhana said, her voice quivering before she could regain control. “The young mage was right when he spoke of the Lost Battles and the destruction of the Towers. But he was wrong when he said the other three orbs were lost. One was brought to Silvanesti by my father for safe-keeping.”
“What were the Lost Battles?” Tanis asked, leaning on the rocks next to Alhana.
“Is no lore at all kept in Qualinost?” she returned, regarding Tanis with scorn. “What barbarians you have become since mingling with humans!”
“Say the fault is my own,” Tanis said, “that I did not pay enough heed to the Loremaster.”
Alhana glanced at him, suspecting him of being sarcastic. Seeing his serious face and not particularly wanting him to leave her alone, she decided to answer his question. “As Istar rose during the Age of Might to greater and greater glories, the Kingpriest of Istar and his clerics became increasingly jealous of the magic-users’ power. The clerics no longer saw the need for magic in the world, fearing it—of course—as something they could not control. Magic-users themselves, although respected, were never widely trusted, even those wearing the white robes. It was a simple matter for the priests to stir the people against the wizards. As times grew more and more evil, the priests placed the blame upon the magic-users. The Towers of High Sorcery, where the magicians must pass their final, grueling tests, were where the powers of the mages rested. The Towers became natural targets. Mobs attacked them, and it was as your young friend said: for only the second time in their history, the Robes came to
gether to defend their last bastions of strength.”
“But how could they be defeated?” Tanis said incredulously.
“Can you ask that, knowing what you do of your mage friend? Powerful he is, but he must have rest. Even the strongest must have time to renew their spells, recommit them to memory. Even the eldest of the order—wizards whose might has not been seen on Krynn since—had to sleep and spend hours reading their spellbooks. And then, too, as now, the number of magic-users was small. There are few who dare take the tests in the Towers of High Sorcery, knowing that to fail is to die.”
“Failure means death?” Tanis said softly.
“Yes,” Alhana replied. “Your friend is very brave, to have taken the Test so young. Very brave, or very ambitious. Didn’t he ever tell you?”
“No,” Tanis murmured. “He never speaks of it. But go on.”
Alhana shrugged. “When it became clear that the battle was hopeless, the wizards themselves destroyed two of the Towers. The blasts devastated the countryside for miles around. Only three remained—the Tower of Istar, the Tower of Palanthas, and the Tower of Wayreth. But the terrible destruction of the other two Towers scared the Kingpriest. He granted the wizards in the Towers of Istar and Palanthas safe passage from these cities if they left the Towers undamaged, for the wizards could have destroyed the two cities, as the Kingpriest well knew.
“And so the mages traveled to the one Tower which was never threatened—the Tower of Wayreth in the Kharolis Mountains. To Wayreth they came to nurse their wounds and to nurture the small spark of magic still left in the world. Those spellbooks they could not take with them—for the number of books was vast and many were bound with spells of protection—were given to the great library at Palanthas, and there they still remain, according to the lore of my people.”
The silver moon had risen, its moonbeams graced their daughter with a beauty that took Tanis’s breath away, even as its coldness pierced his heart.
“What do you know of a third moon?” he asked, staring into the night sky, shivering. “A black moon …”
“Little,” Alhana replied. “The magic-user draws power from the moons: the White Robes from Solinari, the Red Robes from Lunitari. There is, according to lore, a moon that gives the Black Robes their power, but only they know its name or how to find it in the sky.”
Raistlin knew its name, Tanis thought, or at least that other voice knew it. But he did not speak this aloud.
“How did your father get the dragon orb?”
“My father, Lorac, was an apprentice,” Alhana replied softly, turning her face to the silver moon. “He traveled to the Tower of High Sorcery at Istar for the Tests, which he took and survived. It was there he first saw the dragon orb.” She fell silent for a moment. “I am going to tell you what I have never told anyone, and what he has never told, except to me. I tell you only because you have a right to know what—what to expect.
“During the Tests, the dragon orb …”—Alhana hesitated, seeming to search for the right words—“spoke to him, to his mind. It feared some terrible calamity was approaching. ‘You must not leave me here in Istar,’ it told him. ‘If so, I will perish and the world will be lost.’ My father—I suppose you could say he stole the dragon orb, although he saw himself as rescuing it.
“The Tower of Istar was abandoned. The Kingpriest moved in and used it for his own purposes. Finally the mages left the Tower of Palanthas.” Alhana shivered. “Its story is a terrible one. The Regent of Palanthas, a disciple of the Kingpriest, arrived at the Tower to seal the gates shut—so he said. But all could see his eyes lingering on the beautiful Tower greedily, for legends of the wonders within—both fair and evil—had spread throughout the land.
“The Wizard of the White closed the Tower’s slender gates of gold and locked them with a silver key. The Regent stretched out his hand, eager for the key, when one of the Black Robes appeared in a window in one of the upper stories.
“ ‘The gates will remain closed and the halls empty until the day when the master of both the past and the present returns with power,’ he cried. Then the evil mage leaped out, hurling himself down at the gates. As the barbs pierced the black robes, he cast a curse upon the Tower. His blood poured down on the ground, the silver and golden gates withered and twisted and turned to black. The shimmering tower of white and red faded to ice-gray stone, its black minarets crumbling to dust.
“The Regent and the people fled in terror. To this day, no one has dared enter the Tower of Palanthas—or even approach its gates. It was after the cursing of the Tower that my father brought the dragon orb to Silvanesti.”
“But surely your father knew something about the orb before he took it,” Tanis persisted. “How to use it—”
“If so, he did not speak of it,” Alhana said wearily, “for that is all I know. I must rest now. Good-night,” she said to Tanis without looking at him.
“Good-night, Lady Alhana,” Tanis said gently. “Rest easily this night. And don’t worry. Your father is wise and has lived through much. I’m certain everything is all right.”
Alhana started to sweep past without a word, then, hearing the sympathy in his voice, she hesitated.
“Though he passed the Test,” she said so softly Tanis had to step closer to hear, “he was not as powerful in his magic as your young friend is now. And if he thought the dragon orb was our only hope, I fear—” Her voice broke.
“The dwarves have a saying.” Sensing for a moment that the barriers between them had been lowered, Tanis put his arm around Alhana’s slender shoulders and drew her close. “ ‘Trouble borrowed will be paid back with interest compounded on sorrow.’ Don’t worry. We’re with you.”
Alhana did not answer. She let herself be comforted for just an instant, then, slipping free of his grasp, walked to the entrance of the cave. There she stopped and looked back.
“You are worried about your friends,” she said. “Do not be. They escaped the city and are safe. Though the kender was close to death for a time, he survived, and now they travel to Ice Wall in search of a dragon orb.”
“How do you know this?” Tanis gasped.
“I have told you all I can.” Alhana shook her head.
“Alhana! How do you know?” Tanis asked sternly.
Her pale cheeks stained with pink, Alhana murmured, “I—I gave the knight a Starjewel. He does not know its power, of course, nor how to use it. I don’t know why I gave it to him, even, except—”
“Except what?” Tanis asked, amazed beyond belief.
“He was so gallant, so brave. He risked his life to help me, and he didn’t even know who I was. He helped me because I was in trouble. And—” Her eyes glimmered. “And he wept, when the dragons killed the people. I’ve never seen an adult weep before. Even when the dragons came and drove us from our home, we did not weep. I think, perhaps, we’ve forgotten how.”
Then, as if realizing she had said too much, she hastily pulled aside the blanket and entered the cave.
“In the name of the gods!” Tanis breathed. A Starjewel! What a rare and priceless gift! A gift exchanged by elven lovers forced to part, the jewel creates a bond between souls. Thus linked, they share the innermost emotions of the loved one and can grant strength to each other in times of need. But never before in Tanis’s long life, had the half-elf heard of a Starjewel being given to a human. What would it do to a human? What kind of effect would it have? And Alhana—she could never love a human, never return love. This must be some sort of blind infatuation. She had been frightened, alone. No, this could only end in sorrow, unless something changed drastically among the elves or within Alhana herself.
Even as Tanis’s heart expanded with relief to know Laurana and the others were safe, it contracted with fear and grief for Sturm.
9
Silvanesti. Entering the dream.
The third day, they continued their journey, flying into the sunrise. They had lost the dragons, apparently, although Tika, keeping watch behind, thou
ght she could see black dots upon the horizon. And that afternoon, as the sun was sinking behind them, they neared the river known as Thon-Thalas—Lord’s River—which divided the outside world from Silvanesti.
All of his life, Tanis had heard of the wonder and beauty of the ancient Elven Home, though the elves of Qualinesti spoke of it without regret. They did not miss the lost wonders of Silvanesti, for the wonders themselves became a symbol of the differences that had developed between the elven kin.
The elves in Qualinesti lived in harmony with nature, developing and enhancing its beauty. They built their homes among the aspens, magically gilding the trunks with silver and gold. They built their dwellings of shimmering rose quartz, and invited nature to come dwell with them.
The Silvanesti, however, loved uniqueness and diversity in all objects. Not seeing this uniqueness existing naturally, they reshaped nature to conform to their ideal. They had patience and they had time, for what were centuries to elves whose life spans measured in the hundreds of years? And so they reformed entire forests, pruning and digging, forcing the trees and flowers into fantastic gardens of incredible beauty.
They did not ‘build’ dwellings, but carved and molded the marble rock that existed naturally in their land into such strange and wondrous shapes that—in the years before the races were estranged—dwarven craftsmen traveled thousands of miles to view them, and then could do nothing but weep at the rare beauty. And, it was said, a human who wandered into the gardens of Silvanesti could not leave, but stayed forever, enraptured, caught in a beautiful dream.
All this was known to Tanis only through legend, of course, for none of the Qualinesti had set foot in their ancient home since the Kinslayer wars. No human, it was believed, had been allowed in Silvanesti since a hundred years before that.
“What about the stories,” Tanis asked Alhana as they flew above the aspens on the backs of the griffons, “the stories of humans trapped by the beauty of Silvanesti, unable to leave? Do my friends dare go to this land?”
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