Dragons of Winter Night

by Margaret Weis

  One of the guards opened the door, obviously intending to announce someone. But words failed him and, before he could speak, a tall, slender figure dressed in a heavy, hooded fur cloak, pushed past the guard and ran toward the Speaker. Startled, seeing only that the figure was armed with sword and bow, the Speaker shrank back in alarm.

  The figure threw back the hood of her cloak. The Speaker saw honey-colored hair flow down around a woman’s face—a face remarkable even among the elves for its delicate beauty.

  “Father!” she cried, then Laurana was in his arms.

  The return of Gilthanas, long mourned as dead by his people, was the occasion of the greatest celebration to be held by the Qualinesti since the night the companions had been feasted before setting off for the Sla-Mori.

  Gilthanas had recovered sufficiently from his wounds to be able to attend the festivities, a small scar on his cheekbone the only sign of his injury. Laurana and her friends wondered at this, for they had seen the terrible blow inflicted upon him by the Silvanesti elf. But when Laurana mentioned it to her father, the Speaker only shrugged and said that the Kaganesti had befriended druids living in the forests; they had probably learned much in the way of healing arts from them.

  This frustrated Laurana, who knew the rarity of true healing powers on Krynn. She longed to discuss it with Elistan, but the cleric was closeted for hours with her father, who was very soon impressed by the man’s true clerical powers.

  Laurana was pleased to see her father accept Elistan—remembering how the Speaker had treated Goldmoon when she first came to Qualinesti wearing the medallion of Mishakal, Goddess of Healing. But Laurana missed her wise mentor. Though overjoyed at being home, Laurana was beginning to realize that for her, home had changed and would never be the same again.

  Everyone appeared very glad to see her, but they treated her with the same courtesy they gave Derek and Sturm, Flint and Tas. She was an outsider. Even her parents’ manner was cool and distant after their initial emotional welcome. She might not have wondered at this, if they hadn’t been so doting over Gilthanas. Why the difference? Laurana couldn’t understand. It remained to her elder brother, Porthios, to open her eyes.

  The incident began at the feast.

  “You will find our lives much different from our lives in Qualinesti,” her father told her brother that night as they sat at the banquet held indoors in a great log hall built by the Kaganesti. “But you will soon become accustomed to it.” Turning to Laurana, he spoke formally. “I would be glad to have you back in your old place as my scribe, but I know you will be busy with other things around our household.”

  Laurana was startled. She had not intended to stay, of course, but she resented being replaced in what was a daughter’s traditional role in the royal household. She also resented the fact that, though she had talked to her father about taking the orb to Sancrist, he had apparently ignored her.

  “Speaker,” she said slowly, trying to keep the irritation from her voice, “I have told you. We cannot stay. Haven’t you been listening to me and to Elistan? We have discovered the dragon orb! Now we have the means to control dragons and bring an end to this war! We must take the orb to Sancrist—”

  “Stop, Laurana!” her father said sharply, exchanging looks with Porthios. Her brother regarded her sternly. “You know nothing of what you speak, Laurana. The dragon orb is truly a great prize, and so should not be discussed here. As for taking it to Sancrist, that is out of the question.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Derek said, rising and bowing, “but you have no say in the matter. The dragon orb is not yours. I was sent by the Knights Council to recover a dragon orb, if possible. I have succeeded and I intend to take it back as I was ordered. You have no right to stop me.”

  “Haven’t I?” the Speaker’s eyes glittered angrily. “My son, Gilthanas, brought it into this land which we, the Qualinesti, declare to be our homeland in exile. That makes it ours by right.”

  “I never claimed that, Father,” Gilthanas said, flushing as he felt the companions’ eyes turn to him. “It is not mine. It belongs to all of us—”

  Porthios shot his younger brother a furious glance. Gilthanas stammered, then fell silent.

  “If it is anyone’s to claim, it is Laurana’s,” Flint Fireforge spoke up, not at all intimidated by the elves’ glaring stares. “For it was she who killed Feal-thas, the evil elven magic-user.”

  “If it be hers,” the Speaker said in a voice older than his hundreds of years, “then it is mine by right. For she is not of age, what is hers is mine, since I am her father. That is elven law and dwarven law, too, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Flint’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tasslehoff beat him to it.

  “Isn’t that odd?” remarked the kender cheerfully, having missed the serious portent of the conversation. “According to kender law, if there is a kender law, everybody sort of owns everything.” (This was quite true. The kenders’ casual attitude toward the possessions of others extended to their own. Nothing in a kender house remained there long, unless it was nailed to the floor. Some neighbor was certain to wander in, admire it, and absentmindedly walk off with it. A family heirloom among kenders was defined as anything remaining in a house longer than three weeks.)

  No one spoke after that. Flint kicked Tas under the table, and the kender subsided in hurt silence which lasted until he discovered his neighbor, an elvenlord, had been called from the table, leaving his purse behind. Rummaging through the elflord’s possessions kept the kender happily occupied throughout the rest of the meal.

  Flint, who ordinarily would have kept an eye on Tas, did not notice this in his other worries. It was obvious there was going to be trouble. Derek was furious. Only the rigid code of the Knights kept him seated at the table. Laurana sat in silence, not eating. Her face was pale beneath her tanned skin, and she was punching small holes in the finely woven table cloth with her fork. Flint nudged Sturm.

  “We thought getting the dragon orb out of Ice Wall was tough,” the dwarf said in an undertone. “There we only had to escape a crazed wizard and a few walrus-men. Now we’re surrounded by three nations of elves!”

  “We’ll have to reason with them,” Sturm said softly.

  “Reason!” The dwarf snorted. “Two stones would have a better chance of reasoning with each other!”

  That proved to be the case. By the Speaker’s request, the companions remained seated after the other elves left, following dinner. Gilthanas and his sister sat side by side, their faces drawn and worried as Derek stood up before the Speaker to “reason” with him.

  “The orb is ours,” Derek stated coldly. “You have no right to it at all. It certainly does not belong to your daughter or to your son. They traveled with me only by my courtesy, after I rescued them from the destruction of Tarsis. I am happy to have been able to escort them back to their homeland, and I thank you for your hospitality. But I leave tomorrow for Sancrist, taking the orb with me.”

  Porthios stood up to face Derek. “The kender may say the dragon orb is his. It doesn’t matter.” The elflord spoke in a smooth, polite voice that slid through the night air like a knife. “The orb is in elven hands now, and here it will stay. Do you think we are foolish enough to let this prize be taken by humans to cause more trouble in this world?”

  “More trouble!” Derek’s face flushed deep red. “Do you realize the trouble this world is in now? The dragons drove you from your homeland. They are approaching our homeland now! Unlike you, we do not intend to run. We will stand and fight! This orb could be our only hope—”

  “You have my leave to go back to your homeland and be burned to a crisp for all I care,” Porthios returned. “It was you humans who stirred up this ancient evil. It is fitting that you fight it. The Dragon Highlords have what they want from us. They will undoubtedly leave us in peace. Here, on Ergoth, the orb will be kept safe.”

  “Fool!” Derek slammed his fist on the table. “The Dragon Highlords h
ave only one thought and that is to conquer all of Ansalon! That includes this miserable isle! You may be safe here for a time, but if we fall, you will fall, too!”

  “You know he speaks truly, Father,” Laurana said, greatly daring. Elven women did not attend war meetings, much less speak. Laurana was present only because of her unique involvement. Rising to her feet, she faced her brother, who glowered at her disapprovingly. “Porthios, our father told us in Qualinesti that the Dragon Highlord wanted not only our lands but also the extermination of our race! Have you forgotten?”

  “Bah! That was one Dragon Highlord, Verminaard. He is dead—”

  “Yes, because of us,” Laurana shouted angrily, “not you!”

  “Laurana!” The Speaker of the Suns rose to his full height, taller even than his oldest son. His presence towered over them all. “You forget yourself, young woman. You have no right to speak to your elder brother like that. We faced perils of our own in our journey. He remembered his duty and his responsibility, as did Gilthanas. They did not go running off after a half-elven bastard like a brazen, human wh—” The Speaker stopped abruptly.

  Laurana went white to the lips. She swayed, clutching the table for support. Gilthanas rose swiftly, coming to her side, but she pushed him away. “Father,” she said in a voice she did not recognize as her own, “what were you about to say?”

  “Come away, Laurana,” Gilthanas begged. “He didn’t mean it. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  The Speaker said nothing, his face, gray and cold.

  “You were about to say ‘human whore!’ ” Laurana said softly, her words falling like pins on nerves stretched taut.

  “Go to your lodgings, Laurana,” the Speaker ordered in a tight voice.

  “So that is what you think of me,” Laurana whispered, her throat constricting. “That is why everyone stares and stops talking when I come near them. Human whore.”

  “Sister, do as your father commands,” Porthios said. “As for what we think of you—remember, you brought this on yourself. What do you expect? Look at you, Laurana! You are dressed like a man. You proudly wear a sword stained with blood. You talk glibly of your ‘adventures!’ Traveling with men such as these, humans and dwarves! Spending the nights with them. Spending the nights with your half–breed lover. Where is he? Did he tire of you and—”

  The firelight flared before Laurana’s eyes. Its heat swept over her body, to be replaced by a terrible cold. She could see nothing and remembered only a horrifying sensation of falling without being able to catch herself. Voices came at her from a great distance, distorted faces bent over her.

  “Laurana, my daughter …”

  Then nothing.

  “Mistress …”

  “What? Where am I? Who are you? I—I can’t see! Help me!”

  “There, mistress. Take my hand. Shhhh. I am here. I am Silvara. Remember?”

  Laurana felt gentle hands take her own as she sat up.

  “Can you drink this, mistress?”

  A cup was placed to her lips. Laurana sipped at it, tasting clear, cold water. She grasped it and drank eagerly, feeling it cool her fevered blood. Strength returned, she found she could see again. A small candle burned beside her bed. She was in her room, in her father’s house. Her clothes lay on a crude wooden bench, her swordbelt and scabbard stood near, her pack was on the floor. At a table, across from her bed, sat a nursemaid, her head cradled in her arms, fast asleep.

  Laurana turned to Silvara, who, seeing the question in her eyes, put her finger to her lips.

  “Speak softly,” the Wilder elf replied. “Oh, not for that one”—Silvara glanced at the nurse—“she will sleep peacefully for many, many hours before the potion wears off. But there are others in the house who may be wakeful. Do you feel better?”

  “Yes,” Laurana answered, confused. “I don’t remember …”

  “You fainted,” Silvara answered. “I heard them talking about it when they carried you back here. Your father is truly grieved. He never meant to say those things. It is just that you hurt him so terribly—”

  “How did you hear?”

  “I was hiding, in the shadows in the corner there. An easy thing for my people to do. The old nurse said you were fine, you just needed rest, and they left. When she went to fetch a blanket, I put the sleep juice in her tea.”

  “Why?” Laurana asked. Looking at the girl closely, Laurana saw that the Wilder elf must be a beautiful woman—or would be if the layers of grime and filth were washed from her.

  Silvara, aware of Laurana’s scrutiny, flushed in embarrassment. “I—I ran away from the Silvanesti, mistress, when they brought you across the river.”

  “Laurana. Please, child, call me Laurana.”

  “Laurana,” Silvara corrected, blushing. “I—I came to ask you to take you with me when you leave.”

  “Leave?” Laurana said. “I’m not goi—” She stopped.

  “Aren’t you?” Silvara asked gently.

  “I … I don’t know,” Laurana said in confusion.

  “I can help,” Silvara said eagerly. “I know the way through the mountains to reach the Knights’ outpost where the ships with birds’ wings sail. I will help you get away.”

  “Why would you do this for us?” Laurana asked. “I’m sorry, Silvara. I don’t mean to be suspicious—but you don’t know us, and what you’re doing is very dangerous. Surely you could escape more easily on your own.”

  “I know you carry the dragon orb,” Silvara whispered.

  “How do you know about the orb?” Laurana asked, astounded.

  “I heard the Silvanesti talking, after they left you at the river.”

  “And you knew what it was? How?”

  “My … people have stories … about it,” Silvara said, her hands twisting. “I—I know it is important to end this war. Your people and the Silvan elves will go back to their homes and let the Kaganesti live in peace. There is that reason and—” Silvara was silent for a moment, then she spoke so softly Laurana could barely hear her. “You are the first person who ever knew the meaning of my name.”

  Laurana looked at her, puzzled. The girl seemed sincere. But Laurana didn’t believe her. Why would she risk her life to help them? Perhaps she was a Silvanesti spy, sent to get the orb? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things—

  Laurana put her head in her hands, trying to think. Could they trust Silvara, at least enough to get them out of here? They apparently had no choice. If they were going into the mountains, they would have to pass through Kaganesti lands. Silvara’s help would be invaluable.

  “I must talk to Elistan,” Laurana said. “Can you bring him here?”

  “No need, Laurana,” Silvara answered. “He has been waiting outside for you to awaken.”

  “And the others? Where are the rest of my friends?”

  “Lord Gilthanas is within the house of your father, of course—” Was it Laurana’s imagination, or did Silvara’s pale cheek flush when she said that name? “The others have been given ‘guest quarters.’ ”

  “Yes,” said Laurana grimly, “I can imagine.”

  Silvara left her side. Creeping quietly across the floor of the room, she went to the door, opened it, and beckoned.

  “Laurana?”

  “Elistan!” She flung her arms around the cleric. Laying her head on his chest, Laurana shut her eyes, feeling his strong arms embrace her tenderly. Everything will be fine now, she knew. Elistan will take charge. He’ll know what to do.

  “Are you feeling better?” the cleric asked. “Your father—”

  “Yes, I know,” Laurana interrupted him. She felt a dull ache in her heart whenever her father was mentioned. “You must decide what we are to do, Elistan. Silvara has offered to help us escape. We could take the orb and leave tonight.”

  “If that is what you must do, my dear, then you should waste no more time,” Elistan said, sitting by her in a chair.

  Laurana blinked. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of his arm. “Elistan,
what do you mean? You must come with us—”

  “No, Laurana,” Elistan said, grasping her hand tightly in his own. “If you do this, you will have to leave on your own. I have sought help from Paladine, and I must stay here, with the elves. I believe if I stay, I will be able to convince your father that I am a cleric of the true gods. If I leave, he would always believe I am a charlatan, as your brother brands me.”

  “What about the dragon orb?”

  “That is up to you, Laurana. The elves are wrong in this. Hopefully, in time, they will come to see it. But we do not have centuries to talk this over. I think you should take the orb to Sancrist.”

  “Me?” Laurana gasped. “I can’t!”

  “My dear,” Elistan said firmly, “you must realize that if you make this decision, the burden of leadership will be upon you. Sturm and Derek are too caught up in their own quarrel and, besides, they are human. You will be dealing with elves, your own people and the Kaganesti. Gilthanas sides with your father. You are the only one who has a chance to succeed.”

  “But I’m not capable—”

  “You are more capable than you give yourself credit for, Laurana. Perhaps everything you have been through up to now has been preparing you for this. You must waste no more time. Farewell, my dear.” Elistan rose to his feet and laid his hand on her head. “May Paladine’s blessing—and my own—go with you.”

  “Elistan!” Laurana whispered, but the cleric was gone. Silvara quietly shut the door.

  Laurana sank back into her bed, trying to think. Elistan is right, of course. The dragon orb cannot stay here. And if we are going to escape, it must be tonight. But it’s all happening so fast! And it’s all up to me! Can I trust Silvara? But why ask? She’s the only one who can guide us. Then all I have to do is get the orb and the lance and free my friends. I know how to get to the orb and the lance. But my friends—