Dragons of Spring Dawning

by Margaret Weis

  Tika laid her cheek on his arm, he gently tousled her hair. Tanis nodded in understanding. He would like to see Solace again, but it wasn’t home. Not any more. Not without Flint and Sturm and … and others.

  “What about you, Tas?” Tanis asked the kender with a smile as he came trudging up to the group, lugging a water-skin he had filled at a nearby creek. “Will you come back to Kalaman with us?”

  Tas flushed. “No, Tanis,” he said uncomfortably. “You see, since I’m this close, I thought I’d pay a visit to my homeland. We killed a Dragon Highlord, Tanis”—Tas lifted his chin proudly—“all by ourselves. People will treat us with respect now. Our leader, Kronin, will most likely become a hero in Krynnish lore.”

  Tanis scratched his beard to hide his smile, refraining from telling Tas that the Highlord the kenders had killed had been the bloated, cowardly Fewmaster Toede.

  “I think one kender will become a hero,” Laurana said seriously. “He will be the kender who broke the dragon orb, the kender who fought at the siege of the High Clerist’s Tower, the kender who captured Bakaris, the kender who risked everything to rescue a friend from the Queen of Darkness.”

  “Who’s that?” Tas asked eagerly, then, “Oh!” Suddenly realizing who Laurana meant, Tas flushed pink to the tips of his ears and sat down with a thud, quite overcome.

  Caramon and Tika settled back against a tree trunk, both faces, for the moment, filled with peace and tranquility. Tanis, watching them, envied them, wondering if such peace would ever be his. He turned to Laurana, who was sitting straight now, gazing beyond into the flaming sky, her thoughts far away.

  “Laurana,” Tanis said unsteadily, his voice faltering as her beautiful face turned to his, “Laurana, you gave this to me once”—he held the golden ring in his palm—“before either of us knew what true love or commitment meant. It now means a great deal to me, Laurana. In the dream, this ring brought me back from the darkness of the nightmare, just as your love saved me from the darkness in my own soul.” He paused, feeling a sharp pang of regret even as he talked. “I’d like to keep it, Laurana, if you still want me to have it. And I would like to give you one to wear, to match it.”

  Laurana stared at the ring long moments without speaking, then she lifted it from Tanis’s palm and—with a sudden motion—threw it over the ridge. Tanis gasped, half-starting to his feet. The ring flashed in Lunitari’s red light, then it vanished into the darkness.

  “I guess that’s my answer,” Tanis said. “I can’t blame you.”

  Laurana turned back to him, her face calm. “When I gave you that ring, Tanis, it was the first love of an undisciplined heart. You were right to return it to me, I see that now. I had to grow up, to learn what real love was. I have been through flame and darkness, Tanis. I have killed dragons. I have wept over the body of one I loved.” She sighed. “I was a leader. I had responsibilities. Flint told me that. But I threw it all away. I fell into Kitiara’s trap. I realized—too late—how shallow my love really was. Riverwind’s and Goldmoon’s steadfast love brought hope to the world. Our petty love came near to destroying it.”

  “Laurana,” Tanis began, his heart aching.

  Her hand closed over his.

  “Hush, just a moment more,” she whispered. “I love you, Tanis. I love you now because I understand you. I love you for the light and the darkness within you. That is why I threw the ring away. Perhaps someday our love will be a foundation strong enough to build upon. Perhaps someday I will give you another ring and I will accept yours. But it will not be a ring of ivy leaves, Tanis.”

  “No,” he said, smiling. Reaching out, he put his hand on her shoulder, to draw her near. Shaking her head, she started to resist. “It will be a ring made half of gold and half of steel.” Tanis clasped her more firmly.

  Laurana looked into his eyes, then she smiled and yielded to him, sinking back to rest beside him, her head on his shoulder.

  “Perhaps I’ll shave,” said Tanis, scratching his beard.

  “Don’t,” murmured Laurana, drawing Tanis’s cloak around her shoulders. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

  All that night the companions kept watch together beneath the trees, waiting for the dawn. Weary and wounded, they could not sleep, they knew the danger had not ended.

  From their vantage point, they could see bands of draconians fleeing the Temple confines. Freed from their leaders, the draconians would soon turn to robbery and murder to ensure their own survival. There were Dragon Highlords still. Though no one mentioned her name, the companions each knew one had almost certainly managed to survive the chaos boiling around the Temple. And perhaps there would be other evils to contend with, evils more powerful and terrifying than the friends dared imagine.

  But for now there were a few moments of peace, and they were loath to end them. For with the dawn would come farewells.

  No one spoke, not even Tasslehoff. There was no need for words between them. All had been said or was waiting to be said. They would not spoil what went before, nor hurry what was to come. They asked Time to stop for a little while to let them rest. And, perhaps, it did.

  Just before dawn, when only a hint of the sun’s coming shone pale in the eastern sky, the Temple of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, exploded. The ground shivered with the blast. The light was brilliant, blinding, like the birth of a new sun.

  Their eyes dazzled by the flaring light, they could not see clearly. But they had the impression that the sparkling shards of the Temple were rising into the sky, being swept upward by a vast heavenly whirlwind. Brighter and brighter the shards gleamed as they hurtled into the starry darkness, until they shone as radiantly as the stars themelves.

  And then they were stars. One by one, each piece of the shattered Temple took its proper place in the sky, filling the two black voids Raistlin had seen last autumn, when he looked up from the boat in Crystalmir Lake.

  Once again, the constellations glittered in the sky.

  Once again, the Valiant Warrior—Paladine, the Platinum Dragon—took his place in one half of the night sky while opposite him appeared the Queen of Darkness—Takhisis, the Five-Headed, Many-Colored Dragon. And so they resumed their endless wheeling, one always watchful of the other, as they revolved eternally around Gilean, God of Neutrality, the Scales of Balance.

  The Homecoming

  T here were none to welcome him as he entered the city. He came in the dead of a still, black night; the only moon in the sky being one his eyes alone could see. He had sent away the green dragon, to await his commands. He did not pass through the city gates; no guard witnessed his arrival.

  He had no need to come through the gates. Boundaries meant for ordinary mortals no longer concerned him. Unseen, unknown, he walked the silent, sleeping streets.

  And yet, there was one who was aware of his presence. Inside the great library, Astinus, intent as ever upon his work, stopped writing and lifted his head. His pen remained poised for an instant over the paper, then—with a shrug—he resumed work on his chronicles once more.

  The man walked the dark streets rapidly, leaning upon a staff that was decorated at the top with a crystal ball clutched in the golden, disembodied claw of a dragon. The crystal was dark. He needed no light to brighten the way. He knew where he was going. He had walked it in his mind for long centuries. Black robes rustled softly around his ankles as he strode forward; his golden eyes, gleaming from the depths of his black hood, seemed the only sparks of light in the slumbering city.

  He did not stop when he reached the center of town. He did not even glance at the abandoned buildings with their dark windows gaping like the eyesockets in a skull. His steps did not falter as he passed among the chill shadows of the tall oak trees, though these shadows alone had been enough to terrify a kender. The fleshless guardian hands that reached out to grasp him fell to dust at his feet, and he trod upon them without care.

  The tall Tower came in sight, black against the black sky like a window cut into darkness. And here, finally, the
black-robed man came to a halt. Standing before the gates, he looked up at the Tower; his eyes taking in everything, coolly appraising the crumbling minarets and the polished marble that glistened in the cold, piercing light of the stars. He nodded slowly, in satisfaction.

  The golden eyes lowered their gaze to the gates of the Tower, to the horrible fluttering robes that hung from those gates.

  No ordinary mortal could have stood before those terrible, shrouded gates without going mad from the nameless terror. No ordinary mortal could have walked unscathed through the guardian oaks.

  But Raistlin stood there. He stood there calmly, without fear. Lifting his thin hand, he grasped hold of the shredded black robes still stained with the blood of their wearer, and tore them from the gates.

  A chill penetrating wail of outrage screamed up from the depths of the Abyss. So loud and horrifying was it that all the citizens of Palanthas woke shuddering from even the deepest sleep and lay in their beds, paralyzed by fear, waiting for the end of the world. The guards on the city walls could move neither hand nor foot. Shutting their eyes, they cowered in shadows, awaiting death. Babies whimpered in fear, dogs cringed and slunk beneath beds, cats’ eyes gleamed.

  The shriek sounded again, and a pale hand reached out from the Tower gates. A ghastly face, twisted in fury, floated in the dank air.

  Raistlin did not move.

  The hand drew near, the face promised him the tortures of the Abyss, where he would be dragged for his great folly in daring the curse of the Tower. The skeletal hand touched Raistlin’s heart. Then, trembling, it halted.

  “Know this,” said Raistlin calmly, looking up at the Tower, pitching his voice so that it could be heard by those within. “I am the master of past and present! My coming was foretold. For me, the gates will open.”

  The skeletal hand shrank back and, with a slow sweeping motion of invitation, parted the darkness. The gates swung open upon silent hinges.

  Raistlin passed through them without a glance at the hand or the pale visage that was lowered in reverence. As he entered, all the black and shapeless, dark and shadowy things dwelling within the Tower bowed in homage.

  Then Raistlin stopped and looked around him.

  “I am home,” he said.

  Peace stole over Palanthas, sleep soothed away fear.

  A dream, the people murmured. Turning over in their beds, they drifted back into slumber, blessed by the darkness which brings rest before the dawn.

  Raistlin’s Farewell

  Caramon, the gods have tricked the world

  In absences, in gifts, and all of us

  Are housed within their cruelties. The wit

  That was our heritage, they lodged in me,

  Enough to see all differences: the light

  In Tika’s eye when she looks elsewhere,

  The tremble in Laurana’s voice when she

  Speaks to Tanis, and the graceful sweep

  Of Goldmoon’s hair at Riverwind’s approach.

  They look at me, and even with your mind

  I could discern the difference. Here I sit,

  A body frail as bird bones.

  In return

  The gods teach us compassion, teach us mercy,

  That compensation. Sometimes they succeed,

  For I have felt the hot spit of injustice

  Turn through those too weak to fight their brothers

  For sustenance or love, and in that feeling

  The pain lulled and diminished to a glow,

  I pitied as you pitied, and in that

  Rose above the weakest of the litter.

  You, my brother, in your thoughtless grace,

  That special world in which the sword arm spins

  The wild arc of ambition and the eye

  Gives flawless guidance to the flawless hand,

  You cannot follow me, cannot observe

  The landscape of cracked mirrors in the soul,

  The aching hollowness in sleight of hand.

  And yet you love me, simple as the rush

  And balance of our blindly mingled blood,

  Or as a hot sword arching through the snow:

  It is the mutual need that puzzles you,

  The deep complexity lodged in the veins.

  Wild in the dance of battle, when you stand,

  A shield before your brother, it is then

  Your nourishment arises from the heart

  Of all my weaknesses.

  When I am gone,

  Where will you find the fullness of your blood?

  Backed in the heart’s loud tunnels?

  I have heard

  The Queen’s soft lullaby, Her serenade

  And call to battle mingling in the night;

  This music calls me to my quiet throne

  Deep in Her senseless kingdom.

  Dragonlords

  Thought to bring the darkness into light,

  Corrupt it with the mornings and the moons—

  In balance is all purity destroyed,

  But in voluptuous darkness lies the truth,

  The final, graceful dance.

  But not for you:

  You cannot follow me into the night,

  Into the maze of sweetness. For you stand

  Cradled by the sun, in solid lands,

  Expecting nothing, having lost your way

  Before the road became unspeakable.

  It is beyond explaining, and the words

  Will make you stumble. Tanis is your friend,

  My little orphan, and he will explain

  Those things he glimpses in the shadow’s path,

  For he knew Kitiara and the shine

  Of the dark moon upon her darkest hair,

  And yet he cannot threaten, for the night

  Breathes in a moist wind on my waiting face.

  About the Authors

  Margaret Weis

  Margaret Weis began her collaboration with Tracy Hickman on the DRAGONLANCE ® series more than sixteen years ago, and a decade and a half later she is the author of numerous DRAGONLANCE novels, the four-volume galactic fantasy Star of the Guardian, and co-author with Don Perrin of The Doom Brigade, Draconian Measures, Knights of the Black Earth, Robot Blues, Hung Out, and Brothers in Arms. She lives in southern Wisconsin.

  Tracy Hickman

  Tracy Hickman started at TSR as a game designer where he helped conceive of the world that became the DRAGONLANCE campaign setting. He has written, in collaboration with Margaret Weis, the DRAGONLANCE novels, the Darksword series, and the Death Gate Cycle. He is the designer of the game setting Starshield and the author of The Immortals. He lives in Utah with his wife, two daughters, and two sons.

  DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D, DRAGONLANCE, WIZARDS OF THE COAST and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries. ©1985, 2000 Wizards of the Coast LLC. Other trademarks are property of their respective owners.