Dragons of Winter Night

by Margaret Weis

  Laurana knew, suddenly, what she would do. She realized she had been planning it in the back of her mind even as she talked to Elistan.

  This commits me, she thought. There will be no turning back. Stealing the dragon orb, fleeing into the night, into strange and hostile country. And then, there is Gilthanas. We’ve been through too much together for me to leave him behind. But he will be appalled at the idea of stealing the orb and running away. And if he chooses not to go with me, would he betray us?

  Laurana closed her eyes for a moment. She laid her head down wearily on her knees. Tanis, she thought, where are you? What should I do? Why is it up to me? I didn’t want this.

  And then, as she sat there, Laurana remembered seeing weariness and sorrow on Tanis’s face that mirrored her own. Maybe he asked himself these same things. All the times I thought he was so strong, perhaps he really felt as lost and frightened as I do. Certainly he felt abandoned by his people. And we depended on him, whether he wanted us to or not. But he accepted it. He did what he believed was right.

  And so must I.

  Briskly, refusing to allow herself to think any further, Laurana lifted her head and beckoned for Silvara to come near.

  Sturm paced the length of the crude cabin that had been given to them, unable to sleep. The dwarf lay stretched out on a bed, snoring loudly. Across the room, Tasslehoff lay curled in a ball of misery, chained by his foot to the bedpost. Sturm sighed. How much more trouble could they get into?

  The evening had gone from bad to worse. After Laurana had fainted, it had been all Sturm could do to hold back the enraged dwarf. Flint vowed to tear Porthios limb from limb. Derek stated that he considered himself to be a prisoner held by the enemy and, as such, it was his duty to try and escape; then he would bring the Knights down to recover the dragon orb by force. Derek was immediately escorted away by the guards. Just when Sturm got Flint calmed down, an elflord appeared out of nowhere and accused Tasslehoff of stealing his purse.

  Now they were being held under double guard, “guests” of the Speaker of the Suns.

  “Must you pace about like that?” Derek asked coldly.

  “Why? Am I keeping you awake?” snapped Sturm.

  “Of course not. Only fools could sleep under these circumstances. You’re breaking my concen—”

  “Hsst!” Sturm said, raising his hand warningly.

  Derek instantly fell silent. Sturm gestured. The older knight joined Sturm in the center of the room where he was staring up at the ceiling. The log house was rectangular, with one door, two windows, and a firepit in the center of the floor. A hole cut in the roof provided ventilation.

  It was through this hole Sturm heard the odd sound that caught his attention. It was a shuffling, scraping sound. The wooden beams in the ceiling creaked as though something heavy was crawling over it.

  “A wild beast of some sort,” Derek muttered. “And we’re weaponless!”

  “No,” Sturm said, listening closely. “It’s not growling. It’s moving too silently, as if it didn’t want to be heard or seen. What are those guards doing out there?”

  Derek went to the window and peered out. “Sitting around a fire. Two are asleep. They’re not overly concerned about us, are they?” he asked bitterly.

  “Why should they be?” Sturm said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “There’s a couple of thousand elves within the sound of a whisper. What the—”

  Sturm fell back in alarm as the stars he had been watching through the hole were suddenly blotted out by a dark, shapeless mass. Sturm reached down swiftly and grabbed a log from the smoldering fire, holding it by the end like a club.

  “Sturm! Sturm Brightblade!” said the shapeless mass.

  Sturm stared, trying to remember the voice. It was familiar. Thoughts of Solace flooded his mind. “Theros!” he gasped. “Theros Ironfeld! What are you doing here? The last I saw you, you were lying near death in the elven kingdom!”

  The huge blacksmith of Solace struggled down through the opening in the ceiling, bringing part of the roof with him. He landed heavily, waking the dwarf, who sat up and peered, bleary-eyed, at the apparition in the center of the cabin.

  “What—” the dwarf started up, fumbling for his battle-axe which was no longer by his side.

  “Hush!” the smith commanded. “No time for questions. The Lady Laurana sent me to free you. We’re to meet her in the woods beyond the camp. Make haste! We have only a few hours before dawn and we must be across the river by then.” Theros strode over to look at Tasslehoff, who was trying without success to free himself. “Well, master thief, I see someone caught you at last.”

  “I’m not a thief!” Tas said indignantly. “You know me better than that, Theros. That purse was planted on me—”

  The smith chuckled. Taking hold of the chain in his hands, he gave a sudden heave and it split apart. Tasslehoff, however, did not even notice. He was staring at the smith’s arms. One arm, the left, was a dusky black, the color of the smith’s skin. But the other arm, the right, was bright, shining silver!

  “Theros,” Tas said in a strangled voice. “Your arm—”

  “Questions later, little thief,” the smith said sternly. “Now we move swift and now we move silent.”

  “Across the river,” Flint moaned, shaking his head. “More boats. More boats …”

  “I want to see the Speaker,” Laurana told the guard at the door to her father’s suite of rooms.

  “It is late,” the guard said. “The Speaker is sleeping.”

  Laurana drew back her hood. The guard bowed. “Forgive me, Princess. I did not recognize you.”

  He glanced at Silvara suspiciously. “Who is that with you?”

  “My maid. I would not travel at night by myself.”

  “No, of course not,” the guard said hurriedly as he opened the door. “Go ahead. His sleeping room is the third one down the hall on your right.”

  “Thank you,” Laurana answered and brushed past the guard. Silvara, muffled in a voluminous cape, swept softly after her.

  “The chest is in his room, at the foot of his bed,” Laurana whispered to Silvara. “Are you sure you can carry the dragon orb? It is big and very heavy.”

  “It’s not that big,” Silvara murmured, staring perplexed at Laurana. “Only about so—” She made a gesture with her hands roughly the shape of a child’s ball.

  “No,” Laurana said, frowning. “You have not seen it. It is nearly two feet in diameter. That’s why I had you wear that long cape.”

  Silvara stared at her in wonder. Laurana shrugged. “Well, we can’t stand here arguing. We’ll figure something out when the time comes.”

  The two crept down the hallway, silently as kender, until they came to the bedroom.

  Holding her breath, fearing that even her heartbeat was too loud, Laurana pressed on the door. It opened with a creaking sound that made her grit her teeth. Next to her, Silvara shivered in fear. A figure in the bed stirred and turned over—her mother. Laurana saw her father, even in his sleep, put out his hand to pat her reassuringly. Tears dimmed Laurana’s eyes. Tightening her lips resolutely, she gripped Silvara’s hand and slipped inside the room.

  The chest stood at the end of her father’s bed. It was locked, but the companions all carried a copy of the small silver key. Swiftly Laurana unlocked the chest and lifted the lid. Then she nearly dropped it in her amazement. The dragon orb was there, still glowing with the soft white and blue light. But it wasn’t the same orb! Or if it was, it had shrunk! As Silvara said, it was now no more than the size of a child’s playing ball! Laurana reached in to take it. It was still heavy, but she could lift it easily. Gingerly grasping it, her hand shaking, she raised it from the box and handed it to Silvara. The Wilder elf immediately hid it beneath her cloak. Laurana picked up the wood shaft of the broken dragonlance, wondering, as she did so, why she bothered taking the broken old weapon.

  I’ll take it because the knight handed it to Sturm, she thought. He wanted him to have it.
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  At the bottom of the chest lay Tanis’s sword, Wyrmslayer, given him by Kith-Kanan. Laurana looked from the sword to the dragonlance. I can’t carry both, she thought, and started to put the lance back. But Silvara grabbed her.

  “What are you doing?” Her mouth formed the words, her eyes flashed. “Take it! Take it, too!”

  Laurana stared at the girl in amazement. Then, hastily, she retrieved the lance, concealed it beneath her cloak, and carefully shut the chest, leaving the sword inside. Just as the lid left her cold fingers, her father rolled over in his bed, half-sitting up.

  “What? Who is there?” he asked, starting to shake off his sleep in his alarm.

  Laurana felt Silvara trembling and clutched the girl’s hand reassuringly, warning her to be silent.

  “It is I, Father,” she said in a faint voice. “Laurana. I—I wanted to—to tell you I am sorry, Father. And I ask you to forgive me.”

  “Ah, Laurana.” The Speaker lay back down on his pillows, closing his eyes. “I forgive you, my daughter. Now return to your bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Laurana waited until his breathing became quiet and regular. Then she led Silvara from the room, gripping the dragonlance firmly beneath her cloak.

  “Who goes there?” softly called a human voice in elven.

  “Who asks?” replied a clear elven voice.

  “Gilthanas? Is that you?”

  “Theros! My friend!” The young elflord stepped swiftly from the shadows to embrace the human blacksmith. For a moment Gilthanas was so overcome he could not speak. Then, startled, he pushed back from the smith’s bearlike hug. “Theros! You have two arms! But the draconians in Solace cut off your right arm! You would have died, if Goldmoon hadn’t healed you.”

  “Do you remember what that pig of a Fewmaster told me?” Theros asked in his rich, deep voice, whispering softly. “ ‘The only way you’ll get a new arm, smith, is to forge it yourself!’ Well, I did just that! The story of my adventures to find the Silver Arm I wear now is a long one—”

  “And not for telling now,” grumbled another voice behind him. “Unless you want to ask a couple of thousand elves to hear it with us.”

  “So you managed to escape, Gilthanas,” said Derek’s voice out of the shadows. “Did you bring the dragon orb?”

  “I did not escape,” Gilthanas returned coldly. “I left my father’s house to accompany my sister and Silvara, her maid, through the darkness. Taking the orb is my sister’s idea, not mine. There is still time to reconsider this madness, Laurana.” Gilthanas turned to her. “Return the orb. Don’t let Porthios’s hasty words drive away your common sense. If we keep the orb here, we can use it to defend our people. We can find out how it works, we have magic-users among us.”

  “Let’s just turn ourselves over to the guards now! Then we can get some sleep where it’s warm!” Flint’s words came out in explosive puffs of frost.

  “Either sound the alarm now, elf, or let us go. At least give us time before you betray us,” Derek said.

  “I have no intention of betraying you,” Gilthanas stated angrily. Ignoring the others, he turned once more to his sister. “Laurana?”

  “I am determined on this course of action,” she answered slowly. “I have thought about it and I believe we are doing the right thing. So does Elistan. Silvara will guide us through the mountains—”

  “I, too, know the mountains,” Theros spoke up. “I have had little to do here but wander them. And you’ll need me to get you past the guards.”

  “Then we are resolved.”

  “Very well.” Gilthanas sighed. “I am coming with you. If I stayed behind, Porthios would always suspect me of complicity.”

  “Fine,” snapped Flint. “Can we escape now? Or do we need to wake up anyone else?”

  “This way,” Theros said. “The guards are accustomed to my late night rambles. Stay in the shadows, and let me do the talking.” Reaching down, he caught hold of Tasslehoff by the collar of his heavy fur coat and lifted the kender off the ground to look him right in the eye. “That means you, little thief,” the big smith said sternly.

  “Yes, Theros,” the kender replied meekly, squirming in the man’s silver hand until the smith set him down. Somewhat shaken, Tas readjusted his pouches and tried to regain his injured dignity.

  The companions followed the tall, dark-skinned smith along the outskirts of the silent elven encampment, moving as quietly as possible for two armor-clad knights and a dwarf. To Laurana, they sounded as loud as a wedding party. She bit her lip to keep silent as the knights clanked and rattled in the darkness, while Flint fell over every tree root and splashed through every puddle.

  But the elves lay wrapped in their complacency like a soft, fleecy blanket. They had safely fled the danger. None believed it would find them again. And so they slept as the companions escaped into the night.

  Silvara, carrying the dragon orb, felt the cold crystal grow warm as she held it near her body, felt it stir and pulse with life.

  “What am I to do?” she whispered to herself distractedly in Kaganesti, stumbling almost blindly through the darkness. “This came to me! Why? I don’t understand? What am I to do?”

  4

  River of the Dead.

  The legend of the Silver Dragon.

  The night was still and cold. Storm clouds blotted out the light of the moons and stars. There was no rain, no wind, just an oppressive sense of waiting. Laurana felt that all of nature was alert, wary, fearful. And behind her, the elves slept, cocooned in a web of their own petty fears and hatreds. What horrible winged creature would burst from that cocoon, she wondered.

  The companions had little trouble slipping past the elven guards. Recognizing Theros, the guards stood and chatted amiably with him, while the others crept through the woods around them. They reached the river in the first chill light of dawn.

  “And how are we to get across?” the dwarf asked, staring out at the water gloomily. “I don’t think much of boats, but they beat swimming.”

  “That should not be a problem.” Theros turned to Laurana and said, “Ask your little friend,” nodding at Silvara.

  Startled, Laurana looked at the Wilder elf, as did the others. Silvara, embarrassed at so many eyes upon her, flushed deeply, bowing he head. “Kargai Sargaron is right,” she murmured. “Wait here, within the shadows of the trees.”

  She left them and ran lightly to the riverbank with a wild, free grace, enchanting to watch. Laurana noticed that Gilthanas’s gaze, in particular, lingered upon the Wilder elf.

  Silvara put her fingers to her lips and whistled like the call of a bird. She waited a moment, then repeated the whistle three times. Within minutes, her call was answered, echoing across the water from the opposite bank of the river.

  Satisfied, Silvara returned to the group. Laurana saw that, though Silvara spoke to Theros, the girl’s eyes were drawn to Gilthanas. Finding him staring at her, she blushed and looked quickly back at Theros.

  “Kargai Sargaron,” she said hurriedly, “my people are coming, but you should be with me to meet them and explain things.” Silvara’s blue eyes—Laurana could see them clearly in the morning light—went to Sturm and Derek. The Wilder elf shook her head slightly. “They will not be happy about bringing these humans to our land, nor these elves either, I am afraid,” she said, with an apologetic glance at Laurana and Gilthanas.

  “I will talk to them,” Theros said. Gazing across the lake, he gestured. “Here they come now.”

  Laurana saw two black shapes sliding across the sky-gray river. The Kaganesti must keep watch there constantly, she realized. They recognized Silvara’s call. Odd—for a slave to have such freedom. If escape was this easy, why did Silvara stay among the Silvanesti? It didn’t make any sense … unless escape was not her purpose.

  “What does ‘Kargai Sargaron’ mean?” she asked Theros abruptly.

  “He of the Silver Arm,” Theros answered, smiling.

  “They seem to trust you.”


  “Yes. I told you I spend a good part of my time wandering. That is not quite true. I spend much time among Silvara’s people.” The smith’s dusky face creased in a scowl. “Meaning no disrespect, elflady, but you have no idea what hardships your people are causing these wild ones: shooting the game or driving it away, enslaving the young with gold and silver and steel.” Theros heaved an angry sigh. “I have done what I could. I showed them how to forge hunting weapons and tools. But the winter will be long and hard, I fear. Already, game is becoming scarce. If it comes to starving or killing their elven kin—”

  “Maybe if I stayed,” Laurana murmured, “I could help—” Then she realized that was ridiculous. What could she do? She wasn’t even accepted by her own people!

  “You can’t be in all places at the same time,” Sturm said. “The elves must solve their problems, Laurana. You are doing the right thing.”

  “I know,” she said, sighing. She turned her head, looking behind her, toward the Qualinesti camp. “I was just like them, Sturm,” she said, shivering. “My beautiful tiny world had revolved around me for so long that I thought I was the center of the universe. I ran after Tanis because I was certain I could make him love me. Why shouldn’t he? Everyone else did. And then I discovered the world didn’t revolve around me. It didn’t even care about me! I saw suffering and death. I was forced to kill”—she stared down at her hands—“or be killed. I saw real love. Love like Riverwind’s and Goldmoon’s, love that was willing to sacrifice everything—even life itself. I felt very petty and very small. And now that’s how my people seem to me. Petty and small. I used to think they were perfect, but now I understand how Tanis felt—and why he left.”

  The boats of the Kaganesti had reached the shore. Silvara and Theros walked down to talk to the elves who paddled them. At a gesture from Theros, the companions stepped out of the shadows of the trees and stood upon the bank—hands well away from their weapons—so the Kaganesti could see them. At first, it seemed hopeless. The elves chattered in their strange, uncouth version of elven which Laurana had difficulty following. Apparently they refused outright to have anything to do with the group.