Just as Tanis realized he could not take another step, he heard a voice call his name. Lifting his aching head, he saw Laurana standing in front of him, her elven sword in her hand. The heaviness seemingly had no effect on her at all, for she ran to him with a glad cry.
“Tanthalas! You’re all right! I’ve been waiting—”
She broke off, her eyes on the woman clasped in Tanis’s arm.
“Who—” Laurana started to ask, then suddenly, somehow she knew. This was the human woman, Kitiara. The woman Tanis loved. Laurana’s face went white, then red.
“Laurana—” Tanis began, feeling confusion and guilt sweep over him, hating himself for causing her pain.
“Tanis! Sturm!” Kitiara cried, pointing.
Startled by the fear in her voice, all of them turned, staring down the green-lit marble corridor.
“Drakus Tsaro, deghnyah!” Sturm intoned in Solamnic.
At the end of the corridor loomed a gigantic green dragon. His name was Cyan Bloodbane, and he was one of the largest dragons on Krynn. Only the Great Red herself was larger. Snaking his head through a doorway, he blotted out the blinding green light with his hulking body. Cyan smelled steel and human flesh and elven blood. He peered with fiery eyes at the group.
They could not move. Overcome with the dragon fear, they could only stand and stare as the dragon crashed through the doorway, shattering the marble wall as easily as if it had been baked mud. His mouth gaping wide, Cyan moved down the corridor.
There was nothing they could do. Their weapons dangled from hands gone nerveless. Their thoughts were of death. But, even as the dragon neared, a dark shadowy figure crept from the deeper shadows of an unseen doorway and came to stand before them, facing them.
“Raistlin!” Sturm said quietly. “By all the gods, you will pay for your brother’s life!”
Forgetting the dragon, remembering only Caramon’s lifeless body, the knight sprang toward the mage, his sword raised. Raistlin just stared at him coldly.
“Kill me, knight, and you doom yourself and the others to death, for through my magic—and my magic alone—will you be able to defeat Cyan Bloodbane!”
“Hold, Sturm!” Though his soul was filled with loathing, Tanis knew the mage was right. He could feel Raistlin’s power radiate through the black robes. “We need his help.”
“No,” Sturm said, shaking his head and backing away as Raistlin neared the group. “I said before—I will not rely on his protection. Not now. Farewell, Tanis.”
Before any of them could stop him, Sturm walked past Raistlin toward Cyan Bloodbane. The great dragon’s head wove back and forth in eager anticipation of this first challenge to his power since he had conquered Silvanesti.
Tanis clutched Raistlin. “Do something!”
“The knight is in my way. Whatever spell I cast will destroy him, too,” Raistlin answered.
“Sturm!” Tanis shouted, his voice echoing mournfully.
The knight hesitated. He was listening, but not to Tanis’s voice. What he heard was the clear, clarion call of a trumpet, its music cold as the air from the snow-covered mountains of his homeland. Pure and crisp, the trumpet call rose bravely above the darkness and death and despair to pierce his heart.
Sturm answered the trumpet’s call with a glad battle cry. He raised his sword—the sword of his father, its antique blade twined with the kingfisher and the rose. Silver moonlight streaming through a broken window caught the sword in a pure-white radiance that shredded the noxious green air.
Again the trumpet sounded, and again Sturm answered, but this time his voice faltered, for the trumpet call he heard had changed tone. No longer sweet and pure, it was braying and harsh and shrill.
No! thought Sturm in horror as he neared the dragon. Those were the horns of the enemy! He had been lured into a trap! Around him now he could see draconian soldiers, creeping from behind the dragon, laughing cruelly at his gullibility.
Sturm stopped, gripping his sword in a hand that was sweating inside its glove. The dragon loomed above him, a creature undefeatable, surrounded by masses of its troops, slavering and licking its jowls with its curled tongue.
Fear knotted Sturm’s stomach; his skin grew cold and clammy. The horn call sounded a third time, terrible and evil. It was all over. It had all been for nothing. Death, ignominious defeat awaited him. Despair descending, he looked around fearfully. Where was Tanis? He needed Tanis, but he could not find him. Desperately he repeated the code of the knights, My Honor Is My Life, but the words sounded hollow and meaningless in his ears. He was not a knight. What did the Code mean to him? He had been living a lie! Sturm’s sword arm wavered, then dropped; his sword fell from his hand and he sank to his knees, shivering and weeping like a child, hiding his head from the terror before him.
With one swipe of his shining talons, Cyan Bloodbane ended Sturm’s life, impaling the knight’s body upon a blood-stained claw. Disdainfully, Cyan shook the wretched human to the floor while the draconians swept shrieking toward the knight’s still-living body, intent upon hacking it to pieces.
But they found their way blocked. A bright figure, shining silver in the moonlight, ran to the knight’s body. Reaching down swiftly, Laurana lifted Sturm’s sword. Then, straightening, she faced the draconians.
“Touch him and you will die,” she said through her tears.
“Laurana!” Tanis screamed and tried to run forward to help her. But draconians sprang at him. He slashed at them desperately, trying to reach the elfmaid. Just when he had won through, he heard Kitiara call his name. Whirling, he saw her being beaten back by four draconians. The half-elf stopped in agony, hesitating, and at that moment Laurana fell across Sturm’s body, her own body pierced by draconian swords.
“No! Laurana!” Tanis shouted. Starting to go to her, he heard Kitiara cry out again. He stopped, turning. Clutching at his head, he stood irresolute and helpless, forced to watch as Kitiara fell beneath the enemy.
The half-elf sobbed in frenzy, feeling himself begin to sink into madness, longing for death to end this pain. He clutched the magic sword of Kith-Kanan and rushed toward the dragon, his one thought to kill and be killed.
But Raistlin blocked his path, standing in front of the dragon like a black obelisk.
Tanis fell to the floor, knowing his death was fixed. Clasping the small golden ring firmly in his hand, he waited to die.
Then he heard the mage chanting strange and powerful words. He heard the dragon roar in rage. The two were battling, but Tanis didn’t care. With eyes closed fast, he blotted out the sounds around him, blotted out life. Only one thing remained real. The golden ring he held tightly in his hand.
Suddenly Tanis became acutely conscious of the ring pressing into his palm: the metal was cool, its edges rough. He could feel the golden twisted ivy leaves bite into his flesh.
Tanis closed his hand, squeezing the ring. The gold bit into his flesh, bit deeply. Pain … real pain …
I am dreaming!
Tanis opened his eyes. Solinari’s silver moonlight flooded the Tower, mingled with the red beams of Lunitari. He was lying on a cold, marble floor. His hand was clasped tightly, so tightly that pain had wakened him. Pain! The ring. The dream! Remembering the dream, Tanis sat up in terror and looked around. But the hall was empty except for one other person. Raistlin slumped against a wall, coughing.
The half-elf staggered to his feet and walked shakily toward Raistlin. As he drew nearer, he could see blood on the mage’s lips. The blood gleamed red in Lunitari’s light—as red as the robes that covered Raistlin’s frail, shivering body.
The dream.
Tanis opened his hand. It was empty.
11
The dream ends.
The nightmare begins.
The half-elf stared around the hallway. It was as empty as his hand. The bodies of his friends were gone. The dragon was gone. Wind blew through a shattered wall, fluttering Raistlin’s red robes about him, scattering dead aspen leaves along the floor.
The half-elf walked over to Raistlin, catching the young mage in his arms as he collapsed.
“Where are they?” Tanis asked, shaking Raistlin. “Laurana? Sturm? And the others, your brother? Are they dead?” He glanced around. “And the dragon—”
“The dragon is gone. The orb sent the dragon away when it realized it could not defeat me.” Pushing himself from Tanis’s grasp, Raistlin stood alone, huddled against the marble wall. “It could not defeat me as I was. A child could defeat me now,” he said bitterly. “As for the others”—he shrugged—“I do not know.” He turned his strange eyes on Tanis. “You lived, half-elf, because your love was strong. I lived because of my ambition. We clung to reality in the midst of the nightmare. Who can say with the others?”
“Caramon’s alive, then,” Tanis said. “Because of his love. With his last breath, he begged me to spare your life. Tell me, mage, was this future you say we saw irreversible?”
“Why ask?” Raistlin said wearily. “Would you kill me, Tanis? Now?”
“I don’t know,” Tanis said softly, thinking of Caramon’s dying words. “Perhaps.”
Raistlin smiled bitterly. “Save your energy,” he said. “The future changes as we stand here, else we are the game pieces of the gods, not their heirs, as we have been promised. But”—the mage pushed himself away from the wall—“this is far from over. We must find Lorac, and the dragon orb.”
Raistlin shuffled down the hall, leaning heavily upon the Staff of Magius, its crystal lighting the darkness now that the green light had died.
Green light. Tanis stood in the hallway, lost in confusion, trying to wake up, trying to separate the dream from reality—for the dream seemed much more real than any of this did now. He stared at the shattered wall. Surely there had been a dragon? And a blinding green light at the end of the corridor? But the hallway was dark. Night had fallen. It had been morning when they started. The moons had not been up, yet now they were full. How many nights had passed? How many days?
Then Tanis heard a booming voice at other end of the corridor, near the doorway.
“Raist!”
The mage stopped, his shoulder slumped. Then he turned slowly. “My brother,” he whispered.
Caramon—alive and apparently uninjured—stood in the doorway, outlined against the starry night. He stared at his twin.
Then Tanis heard Raistlin sigh softly.
“I am tired, Caramon.” The mage coughed, then drew a wheezing breath. “And there is still much to be done before this nightmare is ended, before the three moons set.” Raistlin extended his thin arm. “I need your help, brother.”
Tanis heard Caramon heave a shuddering sob. The big man ran into the room, his sword clanking at his thigh. Reaching his brother, he put his arm around him.
Raistlin leaned on Caramon’s strong arm. Together, the twins walked down the cold hallway and through the shattered wall toward the room where Tanis had seen the green light and the dragon. His heart heavy with foreboding, Tanis followed them.
The three entered the audience room of the Tower of the Stars. Tanis looked at it curiously. He had heard of its beauty all his life. The Tower of the Sun in Qualinost had been built in remembrance of this Tower—the Tower of the Stars. The two were alike, yet not alike. One was filled with light, one filled with darkness. He stared around. The Tower soared above him in marble spirals that shimmered with a pearly radiance. It had been built to collect moonlight, as the Tower of the Sun collected sunlight. Windows carved into the Tower were faceted with gems that caught and magnified the light of the two moons, Solinari and Lunitari, making red and silver moonbeams dance in the chamber. But now the gems were broken. The moonlight that filtered in was distorted, the silver turning to the pale white of a corpse, the red to blood.
Tanis, shivering, looked straight up to the top. In Qualinost, there were murals on the ceiling, portraying the sun, the constellations, and the two moons. But here there was nothing but a carved hole in the top of the Tower. Through the hole, he could see only empty blackness. The stars did not shine. It was as if a perfectly round, black sphere had appeared in the starry darkness. Before he could ponder what this portended, he heard Raistlin speak softly, and he turned.
There, in the shadows at the front of the audience chamber was Alhana’s father, Lorac, the elfking. His shrunken and cadaverous body almost disappeared in a huge stone throne, fancifully carved with birds and animals. It must once have been beautiful, but now the animals’ heads were skulls.
Lorac sat motionless, his head thrown back, his mouth wide in a silent scream. His hand rested upon a round crystal globe.
“Is he alive?” Tanis asked in horror.
“Yes,” Raistlin answered, “undoubtedly to his sorrow.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He is living a nightmare,” Raistlin answered, pointing to Lorac’s hand. “There is the dragon orb. Apparently he tried to take control of it. He was not strong enough, so the orb seized control of him. The orb called Cyan Bloodbane here to guard Silvanesti, and the dragon decided to destroy it by whispering nightmares into Lorac’s ear. Lorac’s belief in the nightmare was so strong, his empathy with his land so great, that the nightmare became reality. Thus, it was his dream we were living when we entered. His dream—and our own. For we too came under the dragon’s control when we stepped into Silvanesti.”
“You knew we faced this!” Tanis accused, grabbing Raistlin by the shoulder and spinning him around. “You knew what we were walking into, there on the shores of the river—”
“Tanis,” Caramon said warningly, removing the half-elf’s hand. “Leave him alone.”
“Perhaps,” Raistlin said, rubbing his shoulder, his eyes narrow. “Perhaps not. I need not reveal my knowledge or its source to you!”
Before he could reply, Tanis heard a moan. It sounded as if it came from the base of the throne. Casting Raistlin an angry glance, Tanis turned quickly from him and stared into the shadows. Warily he approached, his sword drawn.
“Alhana!” The elfmaid crouched at her father’s feet, her head in his lap, weeping. She did not seem to hear Tanis. He went to her. “Alhana,” he said gently.
She looked up at him without recognition.
“Alhana,” he said again.
She blinked, then shuddered, and grabbed hold of his hand as if clutching at reality.
“Half—Elven!” she whispered.
“How did you get here? What happened?”
“I heard the mage say it was a dream,” Alhana answered, shivering at the memory, “and I—I refused to believe in the dream. I woke, but only to find the nightmare was real! My beautiful land filled with horrors!” She hid her face in her hands. Tanis knelt beside her and held her close.
“I made my way here. It took—days. Through the nightmare.” She gripped Tanis tightly. “When I entered the Tower, the dragon caught me. He brought me here, to my father, thinking to make Lorac murder me. But not even in his nightmare could my father harm his own child. So Cyan tortured him with visions, of what he would do to me.”
“And you? You saw them, too?” Tanis whispered, stroking the woman’s long, dark hair with a soothing hand.
After a moment, Alhana spoke. “It wasn’t so bad. I knew it was nothing but a dream. But to my poor father it was reality—” She began to sob.
The half-elf motioned to Caramon. “Take Alhana to a room where she can lie down. We’ll do what we can for her father.”
“I will be all right, my brother,” Raistlin said in answer to Caramon’s look of concern. “Do as Tanis says.”
“Come, Alhana,” Tanis urged her, helping her stand. She staggered with weariness. “Is there a place you can rest? You’ll need your strength.”
At first she started to argue, then she realized how weak she was. “Take me to my father’s room,” she said. “I’ll show you the way.” Caramon put his arm around her, and slowly they began to walk from the chamber.
Tanis turned back to Lorac. Raistlin sto
od before the elf king. Tanis heard the mage speaking softly to himself.
“What is it?” the half-elf said quietly. “Is he dead?”
“Who?” Raistlin started, blinking. He saw Tanis looking at Lorac. “Oh, Lorac? No, I do not believe so. Not yet.”
Tanis realized the mage had been staring at the dragon orb.
“Is the orb still in control?” Tanis asked nervously, his eyes on the object they had gone through so much to find.
The dragon orb was a huge globe of crystal, at least twenty-four inches across. It sat upon a stand of gold that had been carved in hideous, twisted designs, mirroring the twisted, tormented life of Silvanesti. Though the orb must have been the source of the brilliant green light, there was now only a faint, iridescent, pulsing glow at its heart.
Raistlin’s hands hovered over the globe, but, Tanis noted, he was careful not to touch it as he chanted the spidery words of magic. A faint aura of red began to surround the globe. Tanis backed away.
“Do not fear,” Raistlin whispered, watching as the aura died. “It is my spell. The globe is enchanted—still. Its magic has not died with the passing of the dragon, as I thought possible. It is still in control, however.”
“Control of Lorac?”
“Control of itself. It has released Lorac.”
“Did you do this?” Tanis murmured. “Did you defeat it?”
“The orb is not defeated!” Raistlin said sharply. “With help, I was able to defeat the dragon. Realizing Cyan Bloodbane was losing, the orb sent him away. It let go of Lorac because it could no longer use him. But the orb is still very powerful.”
“Raistlin, tell me—”
“I have no more to say, Tanis.” The young mage coughed. “I must conserve my energy.”
Whose help had Raistlin received? What else did he know of this orb? Tanis opened his mouth to pursue the subject, then he saw Raistlin’s golden eyes flicker. The half-elf fell silent.
Dragons of Winter Night Page 14