Dragons of Winter Night

by Margaret Weis

  Perhaps I am being too suspicious of the girl, and for no reason, Laurana thought with a sigh as she hurried out of the cave. Then about half-way up the trail, she stopped so abruptly that Theros, walking rear-guard, slammed into her. He caught her arm, steadying her.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Y-yes,” Laurana answered, only half-hearing him.

  “You look pale. Did you see something?”

  “No. I’m fine,” Laurana said hurriedly, and she started up the rocky cliff again, slipping in the snow. What a fool she’d been!

  What fools they’d all been! Once again, she could see clearly in her mind’s eye Silvara rising to her feet, dropping her cloak over the dragon orb. The dragon orb that was shining with a strange light!

  She started to ask Silvara about the orb when suddenly her thoughts were scattered. An arrow zinged through the air and thudded into a tree near Derek’s head.

  “Elves! Brightblade, attack!” the knight cried, drawing his sword.

  “No!” Laurana ran forward, grabbing his sword arm. “We will not fight! There will be no killing!”

  “You’re mad!” Derek shouted. Angrily breaking loose of Laurana’s grip, he shoved her backward into Sturm.

  Another arrow flew by.

  “She’s right!” Silvara pleaded, hurrying back. “We cannot fight them. We must reach the pass! There we can stop them.”

  Another arrow, nearly spent, struck the chain-mail vest Derek wore over his leather tunic. He brushed it away irritably.

  “They’re not aiming to kill,” Laurana added. “If they were, you would be dead by now. We must run for it. We can’t fight here, anyhow.” She gestured at the thick woods. “We can defend the pass better.”

  “Put your sword away, Derek,” Sturm said, drawing his blade. “Or you’ll fight me first.”

  “You’re a coward, Brightblade!” Derek shouted, his voice shaking with fury. “You’re running from the enemy!”

  “No,” Sturm answered coolly, “I’m running from my friends.” The knight kept his sword drawn. “Get moving, Crownguard, or the elves will find they have arrived too late to take you prisoner.”

  Another arrow flew past, lodging in a tree near Derek. The knight, his face splotched with fury, sheathed his sword and, turning, plunged ahead up the trail. But not before he had cast Sturm a look of such intense enmity that Laurana shuddered.

  “Sturm—” she began, but he only grabbed her by the elbow and hustled her forward too fast to talk. They climbed rapidly. Behind her, she could hear Theros crashing through the snow, occasionally stopping to send a boulder bouncing down after them. Soon it sounded like the entire side of the mountain was sliding down the steep trail, and the arrows ceased.

  “But it’s only temporary,” the smith puffed, catching up with Sturm and Laurana. “That won’t stop them for long.”

  Laurana couldn’t answer. Her lungs were on fire. Blue and gold stars burst before her eyes. She was not the only one suffering. Sturm’s breath rasped in his throat. His grasp on her arm was weak and his hand shook. Even the strong smith was blowing like a winded horse. Rounding a boulder, they found the dwarf on his knees, Tasslehoff trying vainly to lift him.

  “Must … rest …” Laurana said, her throat aching. She started to sit down, but strong hands grabbed her.

  “No!” Silvara said urgently. “Not here! Just a few more feet! Come on! Keep going!”

  The Wilder elf dragged Laurana forward. Dimly she was aware of Sturm helping Flint to his feet, the dwarf groaning and swearing. Between them, Theros and Sturm dragged the dwarf up the trail. Tasslehoff stumbled behind, too tired even to talk.

  Finally they came to the top of the pass. Laurana slumped into the snow, past caring what happened to her. The rest sank down beside her, all except Silvara who was staring below them.

  Where does she get the strength? Laurana thought through a bleak haze of pain. But she was too exhausted to question. At the moment, she was too tired to care whether the elves found her or not. Silvara turned to face them.

  “We must split up,” she said decisively.

  Laurana stared at her, uncomprehending.

  “No,” Gilthanas began, trying without success to get to his feet.

  “Listen to me!” Silvara said urgently, kneeling down. “The elves are too close. They will catch us for certain, then we must either fight or surrender.”

  “Fight,” Derek muttered savagely.

  “There is a better way,” Silvara hissed. “You, knight, must take the dragon orb to Sancrist alone! We will draw off the pursuit.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Everyone stared silently at Silvara, considering this new possibility. Derek lifted his head, his eyes gleaming. Laurana flashed a look of alarm at Sturm.

  “I do not think one person should be charged with such a grave responsibility,” Sturm said, his breath coming haltingly. “Two of us should go—at least.”

  “Meaning yourself, Brightblade?” Derek asked angrily.

  “Yes, of course, Sturm should go,” Laurana said, “if anyone.”

  “I can draw a map through the mountains,” Silvara said eagerly. “The way is not difficult. The outpost of the knights is only a two-day journey from here.”

  “But we can’t fly,” Sturm protested. “What about our tracks? Surely the elves will see we’ve split up.”

  “An avalanche,” Silvara suggested. “Theros throwing the boulders down behind us gave me the idea.” She glanced up. They followed her gaze. Snow-covered peaks towered above them, the snow hanging over the edges.

  “I can cause an avalanche with my magic,” Gilthanas said slowly. “It will obliterate everyone’s tracks.”

  “Not entirely,” cautioned Silvara. “We must allow ours to be found once again—though not too obviously. After all, we want them to follow us.”

  “But where will we go?” asked Laurana. “I don’t intend to wander aimlessly through the wilderness.”

  “I—I know a place.” Silvara faltered, her gaze dropping to the ground. “It is secret, known only to my people. I will take you there.” She clasped her hands together. “Please, we must hurry. There isn’t much time!”

  “I will take the orb to Sancrist,” Derek said, “and I will go alone. Sturm should go with your group. You’ll need a fighter.”

  “We have fighters,” Laurana said. “Theros, my brother, the dwarf. I, myself, have seen my share of battle—”

  “And me,” piped Tasslehoff.

  “And the kender,” Laurana added grimly. “Besides, it will not come to bloodshed.” Her eyes saw Sturm’s troubled face and wondered what he was thinking. Her voice softened. “The decision is up to Sturm, of course. He must do as he believes best, but I think he should accompany Derek.”

  “I agree,” muttered Flint. “After all, we’re not the ones who are going to be in danger. We’ll be safer without the dragon orb. It’s the orb the elves want.”

  “Yes,” agreed Silvara, her voice soft. “We’ll be safer without the orb. It is you who will be in danger.”

  “Then my way is clear,” Sturm said. “I will go with Derek.”

  “And if I order you to stay behind?” Derek demanded.

  “You have no authority over me,” Sturm said, his brown eyes dark. “Have you forgotten? I am not a knight.”

  There was a painful, profound silence. Derek stared at Sturm intently.

  “No,” he said, “and if I have my way, you never will be!”

  Sturm flinched, as if Derek had struck him a physical blow. Then he stood up, sighing heavily.

  Derek had already begun to gather his gear. Sturm moved more slowly, picking up his bedroll with thoughtful deliberation. Laurana pulled herself to her feet and went to Sturm.

  “Here,” she said, reaching into her pack. “You’ll need food—”

  “You could come with us,” Sturm said in low tones as she divided up their supplies. “Tanis knows we were going to Sancrist. He will come there, too, if poss
ible.”

  “You’re right,” Laurana said, her eyes brightening. “Perhaps that would be a good idea—” Then her eyes went to Silvara. The Wilder elf held the dragon orb, still shrouded in its cloak. Silvara’s eyes were closed, almost as if she were communing with some unseen spirit. Sighing, Laurana shook her head. “No, I’ve got to stay with her, Sturm,” she said softly. “Something’s not right. I don’t understand—” she broke off, unable to articulate her thoughts. “What about Derek?” she asked instead. “Why is he so insistent on going alone? The dwarf’s right about the danger. If the elves capture you, without us, they won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  Sturm’s face was drawn, bitter. “Can you ask? Lord Derek Crownguard returns alone out of horrifying dangers, bearing with him the coveted dragon orb—” Sturm shrugged.

  “But there’s so much at stake,” Laurana protested.

  “You’re right, Laurana,” Sturm said harshly. “There’s a lot at stake. More than you know—the leadership of the Knights of Solamnia. I can’t explain it now.…”

  “Come along, Brightblade, if you’re coming!” Derek snarled.

  Sturm took the food, stowing it in his pack. “Farewell, Laurana,” he said, bowing to her with the quiet gallantry that marked all his actions.

  “Farewell, Sturm, my friend,” she whispered, putting her arms around the knight.

  He held her closely, then kissed her gently on the forehead.

  “We will give the orb to the wise men to study. The Council of Whitestone will meet soon,” he said. “The elves will be invited to attend, since they are advisory members. You must come to Sancrist as soon as possible, Laurana. Your presence will be needed.”

  “I’ll be there, the gods willing,” Laurana said, her eyes going to Silvara, who was handing Derek the dragon orb. An expression of inexpressible relief flitted over Silvara’s face when Derek turned to go.

  Sturm said good-bye, then he plunged into the snow after Derek. The companions saw a flash of light as his shield caught the sun.

  Suddenly Laurana took a step forward. “Wait!” she cried. “I’ve got to stop them. They should take the dragonlance, too.”

  “No!” Silvara shouted, running to block Laurana’s path.

  Angrily, Laurana reached out to shove the girl aside, then she saw Silvara’s face and her hand stopped.

  “What are you doing, Silvara?” Laurana asked. “Why did you send them off? Why were you so eager to split us up? Why give them the orb and not the lance—”

  Silvara didn’t answer. She simply shrugged and stared at Laurana with eyes bluer than midnight. Laurana felt her will being drained by those blue, blue eyes. She was reminded terrifyingly of Raistlin.

  Gilthanas, too, stared at Silvara with a perplexed and worried expression. Theros stood grim and stern, glancing at Laurana as if beginning to share her doubts. But they were not able to move. They were completely under Silvara’s control—yet what had she done to them? They could only stand and stare at the Wilder elf as she walked calmly over to where Laurana had wearily let fall her pack. Bending down, Silvara unwrapped the broken piece of splintered wood. Then she raised it in the air.

  Sunlight flashed on Silvara’s silver hair, mimicking the flash from Sturm’s shield.

  “The dragonlance stays with me,” Silvara said. Glancing swiftly around the spellbound group, she added, “As do you.”

  7

  Dark journey.

  Behind them, the snow rumbled and toppled over the side of the mountain. Cascading down in white sheets, blocking and choking the pass, it obliterated their presence. The echoes of Gilthanas’s magical thunder still resounded in the air, or perhaps it was the booming of the rocks as they bounded down the slopes. They could not be certain.

  The companions, led by Silvara, traveled the trails east slowly and cautiously, walking where it was rocky, avoiding the snowy patches if at all possible. They walked through each other’s footsteps so that the pursuing elves would never know for certain how many were in their party. They were so careful, in fact, that Laurana grew worried.

  “Remember, we want them to find us,” she said to Silvara as they crept across the top of a rocky defile.

  “Do not be upset. They will have no trouble finding us,” answered Silvara.

  “What makes you so certain?” Laurana started to ask, then she slipped and fell to her hands and knees. Gilthanas helped her stand. Grimacing with pain, she stared at Silvara in silence. None of them, including Theros, trusted the sudden change that had come over the Wilder elf since their parting with the knights. But they had no choice except to follow her.

  “Because they know our destination,” Silvara answered. “You were clever to think I left a sign to them in the cave. I did. Fortunately, you did not find it. Below those sticks you so kindly scattered for me I had drawn a crude map. When they find it, they will think I drew it to show you our destination. You made it look most realistic, Laurana.” Her voice was defiant until she met Gilthanas’s eyes.

  The elflord turned away from her, his face grave. Silvara faltered. Her voice became pleading. “I did it for a reason, a good reason. I knew then, when I saw the tracks, we would have to split up. You must believe me!”

  “What about the dragon orb? What were you doing with it?” Laurana demanded.

  “N-nothing,” Silvara stammered. “You must trust me!”

  “I don’t see why,” Laurana returned coldly.

  “I have done you no harm—” Silvara began.

  “Unless you have sent the knights and the dragon orb into a deathtrap!” Laurana cried.

  “No!” Silvara wrung her hands. “I haven’t! Believe me. They will be safe. That has been my plan all along. Nothing must happen to the dragon orb. Above all, it must not fall into the hands of the elves. That is why I sent it away. That is why I helped you escape!” She glanced around, seeming to sniff the air like an animal. “Come! We have lingered too long.”

  “If we go with you at all!” Gilthanas said harshly. “What do you know about the dragon orb?”

  “Don’t ask me!” Silvara’s voice was suddenly deep and filled with sadness. Her blue eyes stared into Gilthanas’s with such love that he could not bear to face her. He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. Silvara caught hold of his arm. “Please, shalori, beloved, trust me! Remember what we talked about, at the pool. You said you had to do these things—defy your people, become an outcast, because of what you believed in your heart. I said that I understood, that I had to do the same. Didn’t you believe me?”

  Gilthanas stood a moment, his head bowed. “I believed you,” he said softly. Reaching out, he pulled her to him, kissing her silver hair. “We’ll go with you. Come on, Laurana.” Arms around each other, the two trudged off through the snow.

  Laurana looked blankly at the others. They avoided her eyes. Then Theros came up to her.

  “I’ve lived in this world nearly fifty years, young woman,” he said gently. “Not long to you elves, I know. But we humans live those years, we don’t just let them drift by. And I’ll tell you this—that girl loves your brother as truly as I’ve ever seen woman love man. And he loves her. Such love cannot come to evil. For the sake of their love alone, I’d follow them into a dragon’s den.”

  The smith walked after the two.

  “For the sake of my cold feet, I’d follow them into a dragon’s den, if he’d warm my toes!” Flint stamped on the ground. “Come on, let’s go.” Grabbing the kender, he dragged Tas along after the blacksmith.

  Laurana remained standing, alone. That she would follow was settled. She had no choice. She wanted to trust Theros’s words. One time, she would have believed the world ran that way. But now she knew much she had believed in was false. Why not love?

  All she could see in her mind were the swirling colors of the dragon orb.

  The companions traveled east, into the gloom of gathering night. Descending from the high mountain pass, they found the air easier to breathe. The frozen rocks gave way
to scraggly pines, then the forests closed in around them once more. Silvara confidently led them at last into a fog-shrouded valley.

  The Wilder elf no longer seemed to care about covering their tracks. All that concerned her now was speed. She pushed the group on, as if racing the sun across the sky. When night fell, they sank into the tree-rimmed darkness, too tired even to eat. But Silvara allowed them only a few hours of restless, aching sleep. When the moons rose, the silver and the red, nearing their fullness now, she urged the companions on.

  When anyone questioned, wearily, why they hurried, she only answered, “They are near. They are very near.”

  Each assumed she meant the elves, though Laurana had long ago lost the feeling of dark shapes trailing them.

  Dawn broke, but the light was filtered through fog so thick Tasslehoff thought he might grab a handful and store it in one of his pouches. The companions walked close together, even holding hands to avoid being separated. The air grew warmer. They shed their wet and heavy cloaks as they stumbled along a trail that seemed to materialize beneath their feet, out of the fog. Silvara walked before them. The faint light shining from her silver hair was their only guide.

  Finally the ground grew level at their feet, the trees cleared, and they walked on smooth grass, brown with winter. Although none of them could see more than a few feet in the gray fog, they had the impression they were in a wide clearing.

  “This is Foghaven Vale,” Silvara replied in answer to their questions. “Long years ago, before the Cataclysm, it was one of the most beautiful places upon Krynn … so my people say.”

  “It might still be beautiful,” Flint grumbled, “if we could see it through this confounded mist.”

  “No,” said Silvara sadly. “Like much else in this world, the beauty of Foghaven has vanished. Once the fortress of Foghaven floated above the mist as if floating on a cloud. The rising sun colored the mists pink in the morning, burned them off at midday so that the soaring spires of the fortress could be seen for miles. In the evening, the fog returned to cover the fortress like a blanket. By night, the silver and the red moons shone on the mists with a shimmering light. Pilgrims came, from all parts of Krynn—” Silvara stopped abruptly. “We will make camp here tonight.”