Dragons of Spring Dawning

by Margaret Weis

  “I—I don’t think I can, Tika,” Tas whimpered, staring at the lock in horror.

  “Tas,” said Tika swiftly and grimly, backing up to talk to him without taking her eyes off her enemies, “we can’t let ourselves be captured! They know about Berem! They’ll try to make us tell what we know about him, Tas! And you know what they’ll do to us to make us talk—”

  “You’re right!” said Tas miserably. “I’ll try.”

  You’ve got the courage to walk it, Fizban had told him. Taking a deep breath, Tasslehoff pulled a thin wire out of one of his pouches. After all, he told his shaking hands sternly, what is death to a kender but the greatest adventure of all? And then there’s Flint out there, by himself. Probably getting into all sorts of scrapes … His hands now quite steady, Tas inserted the wire carefully into the lock and set to work.

  Suddenly there was a harsh roar behind him; he heard Tika shout and the sound of steel clashing against steel.

  Tas dared a quick look. Tika had never learned the art of swordsmanship, but she was a skilled barroom brawler. Hacking and slashing with the blade, she kicked and gouged and bit and battered. The fury and ferocity of her attack drove the draconians back a pace. All of them were slashed and bleeding; one wallowed in green blood on the floor, its arm hanging uselessly.

  But she couldn’t hold them off much longer. Tas turned back to his work, but now his hands trembled, the slender tool slipped out of his clammy grasp. The trick was to spring the lock without springing the trap. He could see the trap—a tiny needle held in place by a coiled spring.

  Stop it! he ordered himself. Was this any way for a kender to act? He inserted the wire again carefully, his hands steady once more. Suddenly, just as he almost had it, he was jostled from behind.

  “Hey,” he shouted irritably at Tika, turning around. “Be a little more careful—” He stopped short. The dream! He had said those exact words. And—as in the dream—he saw Tika, lying at his feet, blood flowing into her red curls.

  “No!” Tas shrieked in rage. The wire slipped, his hand struck the lock.

  There was a click as the lock opened. And with the click came another small sound, a brittle sound, barely heard; a sound like “snick.” The trap was sprung.

  Wide-eyed, Tas stared at the tiny spot of blood on his finger, then at the small golden needle protruding from the lock. The draconians had him now, grasping him by the shoulder. Tas ignored them. It didn’t matter anyway. There was a stinging pain in his finger and soon the pain would spread up his arm and throughout his body.

  When it reaches my heart, I won’t feel it anymore, he told himself dreamily. I won’t feel anything.

  Then he heard horns, blaring horns, brass horns. He had heard those horns before. Where? That’s right. It was in Tarsis, right before the dragons came.

  And then the draconians that had been hanging on to him were gone, running frantically back down the corridor.

  “Must be some sort of general alarm,” Tas thought, noticing with interest that his legs wouldn’t hold him up anymore. He slid down to the floor, down beside Tika. Reaching out a shaking hand, he gently stroked her pretty red curls, now matted with blood. Her face was white, her eyes closed.

  “I’m sorry, Tika,” Tas said, his throat constricting. The pain was spreading quickly, his fingers and feet had gone numb. He couldn’t move them. “I’m sorry, Caramon. I tried, I truly tried—” Weeping quietly, Tas sat back against the door and waited for the darkness.

  Tanis could not move and—for a moment, hearing Laurana’s heartbroken sob—he had no wish to move. If anything, he begged a merciful god to strike him dead as he knelt before the Dark Queen. But the gods granted him no such favor. The shadow lifted as the Queen’s attention shifted elsewhere, away from him. Tanis struggled to his feet, his face flushed with shame. He could not look at Laurana, he dared not even meet Kitiara’s eyes, knowing well the scorn he would see in their brown depths.

  But Kitiara had more important matters on her mind. This was her moment of glory. Her plans were coming together. Thrusting out her hand, she caught Tanis in her strong grip as he was about to come forward to offer himself as escort to Laurana. Coldly, she shoved him backward and moved to stand in front of him.

  “Finally, I wish to reward a servant of my own who helped me capture the elfwoman. Lord Soth has asked that he be granted the soul of this Lauralanthalasa, that he might thus gain his revenge over the elfwoman who—long ago—cast the curse upon him. If he be doomed to live in eternal darkness, then he asks that this elfwoman share his life within death.”

  “No!” Laurana raised her head, fear and horror penetrating her numb senses. “No,” she repeated in a strangled voice.

  Taking a step backward, she looked about her wildly for some escape, but it was impossible. Below her, the floor writhed with draconians, staring up at her eagerly. Choking in despair, she glanced once at Tanis. His face was dark and forbidding; he was not looking at her, but stared with burning eyes at the human woman. Already regretting her wretched outburst, Laurana determined that she would die before she gave way to any further weakness in front of either of them, ever again. Drawing herself up proudly, she lifted her head, in control once more.

  Tanis did not even see Laurana. Kitiara’s words beat like blood in his head, clouding his vision and his thoughts. Furious, he took a step forward to stand near Kitiara. “You betrayed me!” he choked. “This was not part of the plan!”

  “Hush!” ordered Kit in a low voice. “Or you will destroy everything!”

  “What—”

  “Shut up!” Kitiara snapped viciously.

  Your gift pleases me well, Lord Kitiara. The dark voice penetrated Tanis’s anger. I grant your requests. The elfwoman’s soul will be given to Lord Soth, and we accept the half-elf into our service. In recognition of this, he will lay his sword at the feet of Lord Ariakas.

  “Well, go on!” demanded Kitiara coldly, her eyes on Tanis. The eyes of everyone in the room were on the half-elf.

  His mind swam. “What?” he muttered. “You didn’t tell me this! What do I do?”

  “Ascend the platform and lay your sword at Ariakas’s feet,” Kitiara answered swiftly, escorting him to the edge of the platform. “He will pick it up and return it to you, then you will be an officer in the dragonarmies. It is ritual, nothing more. But it buys me time.”

  “Time for what? What do you have planned?” Tanis asked harshly, his foot on the stair leading down. He caught hold of her arm. “You should have told me—”

  “The less you know the better, Tanis.” Kitiara smiled charmingly, for the sake of those watching. There was some nervous laughter, a few crude jokes at what appeared to be a lover’s parting. But Tanis saw no answering smile in Kit’s brown eyes. “Remember who stands next to me upon this platform,” Kitiara whispered. Caressing the hilt of her sword, Kit gave Laurana a meaningful glance. “Do nothing rash.” Turning away from him, she walked back to stand beside Laurana.

  Trembling in fear and rage, his thoughts whirling in confusion, Tanis stumbled down the stairs leading from the snake’s-head platform. The noise of the assembly rolled around him like the crash of oceans. Light flashed off spearpoints, the torch flames blurred in his vision. He set his foot upon the floor and began to walk toward Ariakas’s platform without any clear idea of where he was or what he was doing. Moving by reflex alone, he made his way across the marble floor.

  The faces of the draconians who made up Ariakas’s guard of honor floated around him like a hideous nightmare. He saw them as disembodied heads, rows of gleaming teeth, and flicking tongues. They parted before him, the stairs materialized at his feet as if rising out of fog.

  Lifting his head, he stared up bleakly. At the top stood Lord Ariakas; a huge man, majestic, armed with power. All the light in the room seemed to be drawn into the Crown upon his head. Its brilliance dazzled the eyes, and Tanis blinked, blinded, as he began to climb the steps, his hand on his sword.

  Had Kitiara betr
ayed him? Would she keep her promise? Tanis doubted it. Bitterly he cursed himself. Once more he had fallen under her spell. Once more he had played the fool, trusting her. And now she held all the gamepieces. There was nothing he could do … or was there?

  An idea came to Tanis so suddenly he stopped, one foot on one step, the other on the step below.

  Idiot! Keep walking, he commanded, feeling everyone staring at him. Forcing himself to retain some outward semblance of calm, Tanis climbed up another step and another. As he drew closer and closer to Lord Ariakas, the plan became clearer and clearer.

  Whoever holds the Crown, rules! The words rang in Tanis’s mind.

  Kill Ariakas, take the Crown! It will be simple! Tanis’s gaze flashed around the alcove feverishly. No guards stood beside Ariakas, of course. No one but Highlords were allowed on the platforms. But he didn’t even have guards on the stairs as did the other Highlords. Apparently the man was so arrogant, so secure in his power, he had dispensed with them.

  Tanis’s thoughts raced. Kitiara will trade her soul for that Crown And as long as I hold it, she will be mine to command! I can save Laurana … we can escape together! Once we are safely out of here, I can explain things to Laurana, I can explain everything! I’ll draw my sword, but instead of placing it at Lord Ariakas’s feet, I will run it through him! Once the Crown is in my hand, no one will dare touch me!

  Tanis found himself shaking with excitement. With an effort, he forced himself to calm down. He could not look at Ariakas, fearing the man might see his desperate plan in his eyes.

  He kept his gaze upon the stairs, therefore, and he knew he was near Lord Ariakas only when he saw five steps remained between himself and the top of the platform. Tanis’s hand twitched upon the sword. Feeling himself under control, he raised his gaze to look into the man’s face and, for an instant, was almost unnerved at the evil revealed there. It was a face made passionless by ambition, a face that had seen the deaths of thousands of innocents as the means only to an end.

  Ariakas had been watching Tanis with a bored expression, a smile of amused contempt on his face. Then he lost interest in the half-elf completely, having other matters to worry about. Tanis saw the man’s gaze go to Kitiara, pondering. Ariakas had the look of a player leaning across a gameboard, contemplating his next move, trying to guess what his opponent intends.

  Filled with revulsion and hatred, Tanis began to slide the blade of his sword from its scabbard. Even if he failed in his attempt to save Laurana, even if they both died within these walls, at least he would accomplish some good in the world by killing the Commander of the Dragonarmies.

  But as he heard Tanis draw his sword, Ariakas’s eyes flashed back to the half-elf once again. Their black stare penetrated Tanis’s soul. He felt the man’s tremendous power overwhelm him, hitting him like a blast of heat from a furnace. And then realization struck Tanis a blow almost physical in its impact, nearly causing him to stagger on the stairs.

  That aura of power surrounding him … Ariakas was a magic-user!

  Blind stupid fool! Tanis cursed himself. For now, as he drew nearer, he saw a shimmering wall surrounding the Lord. Of course, that’s why there were no guards! Among this crowd, Ariakas would trust no one. He would use his own magic to guard himself!

  And he was on his guard, now. That much Tanis could read clearly in the cold, passionless eyes.

  The half-elf’s shoulders slumped. He was defeated.

  And then, “Strike, Tanis! Do not fear his magic! I will aid you!”

  The voice was no more than a whisper, yet so clear and so intense, Tanis could practically feel hot breath touch his ear. His hair raised on the back of his neck, a shudder convulsed his body.

  Shivering, he glanced hastily around. There was no one near him, no one except Ariakas! He was only three steps away, scowling, obviously anxious for this ceremony to come to an end. Seeing Tanis hesitate, Ariakas made a peremptory motion for the half-elf to lay his sword at his feet.

  Who had spoken? Suddenly Tanis’s eyes were caught by the sight of a figure standing near the Queen of Darkness. Robed in black, it had escaped his notice before. Now he stared at it, thinking it seemed familiar. Had the voice come from that figure? If so, the figure made no sign or movement. What should he do? he wondered frantically.

  “Strike, Tanis!” whispered once more in his brain. “Swiftly!”

  Sweating, his hand shaking, Tanis slowly drew his sword. He was level with Ariakas now. The shimmering wall of the Lord’s magic surrounded him like a rainbow glittering off sparkling water.

  I have no choice, Tanis said to himself. If it is a trap, so be it. I choose this way to die.

  Feigning to kneel, holding his sword hilt-first to lay it upon the marble platform, Tanis suddenly reversed his stroke. Turning it into a killing blow, he lunged for Ariakas’s heart.

  Tanis expected to die. Gritting his teeth as he struck, he braced himself for the magic shield to wither him like a tree struck by lightning.

  And lightning did strike, but not him! To his amazement, the rainbow wall exploded, his sword penetrated. He felt it hit solid flesh. A fierce cry of pain and outrage nearly deafened him.

  Ariakas staggered backward as the sword blade slid into his chest. A lesser man would have died from that blow, but Ariakas’s strength and anger held Death at bay. His face twisted in hatred, he struck Tanis across the face, sending him reeling to the floor of the platform.

  Pain burst in Tanis’s head. Dimly, he saw his sword fall beside him, red with blood. For a moment, he thought he was going to lose consciousness and that would mean his death, his death and Laurana’s. Groggily he shook his head to clear it. He must hang on! He must gain the Crown! Looking up, he saw Ariakas looming above him, hands lifted, prepared to cast a spell that would end Tanis’s life.

  Tanis could do nothing. He had no protection against the magic and somehow he knew that his unseen helper would help no more. It had already achieved what it desired.

  But powerful as Ariakas was, there was a greater power he could not conquer. He choked, his mind wavered, the words of his magic spell were lost in a terrible pain. Looking down, he saw his own blood stain the purple robes, the stain grew larger and larger with each passing moment as his life poured from his severed heart. Death was coming to claim him. He could stave it off no longer. Desperately Ariakas battled the darkness, crying out at the last to his Dark Queen for help.

  But she abandoned weaklings. As she had watched Ariakas strike down his father, so she watched Ariakas himself fall, her name the last sound to pass his lips.

  There was uneasy silence in the Hall of Audience as Ariakas’s body tumbled to the floor. The Crown of Power fell from his head with a clatter and lay within a tangle of blood and thick, black hair.

  Who would claim it?

  There was a piercing scream. Kitiara called out a name, called to someone.

  Tanis could not understand. He didn’t care anyway. He stretched out his hand for the Crown.

  Suddenly a figure in black armor materialized before him.

  Lord Soth!

  Fighting down a feeling of sheer panic and terror, Tanis kept his mind focused on one thing. The Crown was only inches beyond his fingers. Desperately he lunged for it. Thankfully he felt the cold metal bite into his flesh just as another hand, a skeletal hand, made a grab for it, too.

  It was his! Soth’s burning eyes flared. The skeletal hand reached out to wrest the prize away. Tanis could hear Kitiara’s voice, shrieking incoherent commands.

  But as he lifted the blood-stained piece of metal above his head, as his eyes fixed unafraid upon Lord Soth, the hushed silence in the Hall was split by the sound of horns, harsh blaring horns.

  Lord Soth’s hand paused in mid-air, Kitiara’s voice fell suddenly silent.

  There was a subdued, ominous murmur from the crowd. For an instant, Tanis’s pain-clouded mind thought the horns might be sounding in his honor. But then, turning his head to peer dimly into the Hall, he saw fa
ces glancing around in alarm. Everyone—even Kitiara—looked at the Dark Queen.

  Her Dark Majesty’s shadowy eyes had been on Tanis, but now their gaze was abstracted. Her shadow grew and intensified, spreading through the Hall like a dark cloud. Reacting to some unspoken command, draconians wearing her black insignia ran from their posts around the edge of the Hall and disappeared through the doors. The black-robed figure Tanis had seen standing beside the Queen vanished.

  And still the horns blared. Holding the Crown in his hand, Tanis stared down at it numbly. Twice before, the harsh blaring of the horns had brought death and destruction. What was the terrible portent of the dread music this time?

  10

  “Whoever wears the Crown, rules.”

  So loud and startling was the sound of the horns that Caramon nearly lost his footing on the wet stone. Reacting instinctively, Berem caught him. Both men stared around them in alarm as the blaring trumpet calls dinned loudly in the small chamber. Above them—up the stairs—they could hear answering trumpet calls.

  “The arch! It was trapped!” Caramon repeated. “Well, that’s done it. Every living thing in the Temple knows we’re here, wherever here is! I hope to the gods you know what you’re doing!”

  “Jasla calls—” Berem repeated. His momentary alarm at the blaring trumpets dissipating, he continued forward, tugging Caramon along behind him.

  Holding the torch aloft, not knowing what else to do or where else to go, Caramon followed. They were in a cavern apparently cut through the rock by flowing water. The archway led to stone stairs and these stairs, Caramon saw, led straight down into a black, swiftly flowing stream. He flashed the torch around, hoping that there might be a path along the edge of the stream. But there was nothing, at least within the perimeter of his torchlight.