Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (14 page)

“No,” the red male replied thoughtfully, his fiery eyes on the figure of the Dragon Highlord dwindling in the distance. “I will not cross
that
one!”

“Your thanks are not necessary, or even wanted,” Alhana Starbreeze cut off Tanis’s halting, exhausted words in mid-sentence. The companions rode through the slashing rain on the backs of three griffons, clutching their feathered necks with their hands, peering apprehensively down at the dying city falling rapidly away beneath them.

“And you may not wish to extend them after you hear me out,” Alhana stated coldly, glancing at Tanis, riding behind her. “I rescued you for my own purposes. I need warriors to help me find my father. We fly to Silvanesti.”

“But that’s impossible!” Tanis gasped. “We must meet our friends! Fly to the hills. We
can’t
go to Silvanesti, Alhana. There’s too much at stake! If we can find these dragon orbs, we have a chance to destroy these foul creatures and end this war.
Then
we can go to Silvanesti—”

“
Now
we are going to Silvanesti,” Alhana retorted. “You have no choice in the matter, Half-Elven. My griffons obey my command and mine alone. They would tear you apart, as they did those dragonmen, if I gave the order.”

“Someday the elves will wake up and find they are members of a vast family,” Tanis said, his voice shaking with anger. “No longer can they be treated as the spoiled elder child who is given everything while the rest of us wait for the crumbs.”

“What gifts we received from the gods we earned. You humans and
half-
humans”—the scorn in her voice cut like a dagger—“had these same gifts and threw them away in your greed for more. We are capable of fighting for our own survival without your help. As to your survival, that matters little to us.”

“You seem willing enough to accept our help now!”

“For which you will be well-rewarded,” Alhana returned.

“There is not steel nor jewels enough in Silvanesti to pay us—”

“You seek the dragon orbs,” Alhana interrupted. “I know where one is located. It is in Silvanesti.”

Tanis blinked. For a moment, he could think of nothing to say, but the mention of the dragon orb brought back thoughts of his friend. “Where’s Sturm?” he asked Alhana. “The last I saw him, he was with you.”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “We parted. He was going to the Inn, to find you. I called my griffons to me.”

“Why didn’t you let him take you to Silvanesti if you needed warriors?”

“That is none of your concern.” Alhana turned her back to Tanis, who sat wordlessly, too tired to think clearly. Then he heard a voice shouting at him, barely distinguishable through the feathery rustle of the griffon’s mighty wings.

It was Caramon. The warrior was shouting and pointing behind them. What now? Tanis thought wearily.

They had left behind the smoke and the storm clouds that covered Tarsis, flying out into the clear night sky. The stars gleamed above them, their sparkling lights shining as cold as diamonds, emphasizing the gaping black holes in the night sky where the two constellations had wheeled in their track above the world. The moons, silver and red, had set, but Tanis did not need their light to recognize the dark shapes blotting out the shining stars.

“Dragons,” he said to Alhana. “Following us.”

Tanis could never afterward clearly remember the nightmare flight from Tarsis. It was hours of chill, biting wind that
made even death by a dragon’s flaming breath seem appealing. It was hours of panic, staring behind to see the dark shapes gaining on them, staring until his eyes watered and the tears froze on his cheeks, yet unable to turn away. It was stopping at dusk, worn out from fear and fatigue, to sleep in a cave on a high rock cliff. It was waking at dawn only to see—as they soared through the air again, the dark, winged shapes still behind them.

Few living creatures can outfly the eagle-winged griffon. But the dragons—blue dragons, the first they had ever seen—were always on the horizon, always pursuing, allowing no rest during the day, forcing the companions into hiding at night when the exhausted griffons must sleep. There was little food, only quith-pa, a dried-fruit type of iron ration that sustains the body, but does little to ease hunger—which Alhana carried and shared. But even Caramon was too weary and dispirited to eat much.

The only thing Tanis remembered vividly occurred on the second night of their journey. He was telling the small group huddled around a fire in a damp and cheerless cave about the kender’s discovery in the library at Tarsis. At the mention of the dragon orbs, Raistlin’s eyes glittered, his thin face lit from within by an eager, intense glow.

“Dragon orbs?” he repeated softly.

“I thought you might know of them,” Tanis said. “What are they?”

Raistlin did not answer immediately. Wrapped in both his own and his brother’s cloak, he lay as near the fire as possible, and still his frail body shook with the chill. The mage’s golden eyes stared at Alhana, who sat somewhat apart from the group, deigning to share the cave but not the conversation. Now, however, it seemed she half-turned her head, listening.

“You said there is a dragon orb in Silvanesti,” the mage whispered, glancing at Tanis. “Surely I am not the one to ask.”

“I know little about it,” Alhana said, turning her pale face to the firelight. “We keep it as a relic of bygone days, more a curiosity than anything else. Who believed humans would once again wake this evil and bring the dragons back to Krynn?”

Before Raistlin could answer, Riverwind spoke angrily. “You have no proof it was humans!”

Alhana swept the Plainsman an imperious glance. She did not reply, considering it beneath her to argue with a barbarian.

Tanis sighed. The Plainsman had little use for elves. It had taken long days before he had come to trust Tanis, longer for Gilthanas and Laurana. Now, just as Riverwind seemed to be able to overcome his inherited prejudices, Alhana with her equal prejudices had inflicted new wounds.

“Very well, Raistlin,” Tanis said quietly, “tell us what you know of the dragon orbs.”

“Bring my drink, Caramon,” the mage ordered. Bringing the cup of hot water as commanded, Caramon set it before his brother. Raistlin propped himself up on one elbow and mixed herbs into the water. The strange, acrid odor filled the air. Raistlin, grimacing, sipped the bitter mixture as he talked.

“During the Age of Dreams, when those of my order were respected and revered upon Krynn, there were five Towers of High Sorcery.” The mage’s voice sank, as if recalling painful memories. His brother sat staring at the rock floor of the cave, his face grave. Tanis, seeing the shadow fall across both twins, wondered again what had happened within the Tower of High Sorcery to change their lives so drastically. It was useless to ask, he knew. Both had been forbidden to discuss it.

Raistlin paused a moment before he continued, then drew a deep breath. “When the Second Dragon Wars came, the highest of my order met together in the greatest of the Towers—the Tower of Palanthas—and created the dragon orbs.”

Raistlin’s eyes grew unfocused, his whispering voice ceased a moment. When he spoke next, it was as if recounting a moment he was reliving in his mind. Even his voice changed, becoming stronger, deeper, clearer. He no longer coughed. Caramon looked at him in astonishment.

“Those of the White Robes entered the chamber at the top of the Tower first, as the silver moon, Solinari, rose. Then Lunitari appeared in the sky, dripping with blood, and those of the Red Robes entered. Finally the black disk, Nuitari, a hole of darkness among the stars, could be seen by those who sought it, and the Black Robes walked into the chamber.

“It was a strange moment in history, when all enmity between the Robes was suppressed. It would come but one more time in the world, when the wizards joined together in the Lost Battles, but that time could not be foreseen. It was enough to
know that, for now, the great evil must be destroyed. For at last we had seen that evil was intent on destroying
all
the magic of the world, so that only its own would survive! Some there were among the Black Robes, who might have tried to ally with this great power”—Tanis saw Raistlin’s eyes burn—“but soon realized they would not be masters of it, only its slaves. And so the dragon orbs were born, on a night when all three moons were full in the sky.”

“
Three
moons?” Tanis asked softly, but Raistlin did not hear him and continued to speak in the voice not his own.

“Great and powerful magic was worked that night—so powerful that few could withstand it and they collapsed, their physical and mental strength drained. But that morning, five dragon orbs stood upon pedestals, glistening with light, dark with shadows. All but one were taken from Palanthas and carried, in great peril, to each of the other four Towers. Here they helped rid the world of the Queen of Darkness.”

The feverish gleam faded from Raistlin’s eyes. His shoulders slumped, his voice sank, and he began to cough, violently. The others stared at him in breathless silence.

Finally Tanis cleared his throat. “What do you mean, three moons?”

Raistlin looked up dully. “Three moons?” he whispered. “I know nothing of three moons. What were we discussing?”

“Dragon orbs. You told us how they were created. How did you—” Tanis stopped, seeing Raistlin sink onto his pallet.

“I have told you nothing,” Raistlin said irritably. “What are you talking about?”

Tanis glanced at the others. Riverwind shook his head. Caramon bit his lip and looked away, his face drawn with worry.

“We were speaking of the dragon orbs,” Goldmoon said. “You were going to tell us what you knew of them.”

Raistlin wiped blood from his mouth. “I do not know much,” he said wearily, shrugging. “The dragon orbs were created by the high mages. Only the most powerful of my order could use them. It was said that great evil would come to those not strong in magic who tried to command the orbs. Beyond that, I know nothing. All knowledge of the dragon orbs perished during the Lost Battles. Two, it was said, were destroyed in the Fall of the Towers of High Sorcery, destroyed
rather than let the rabble have them. Knowledge of the other three died with their wizards.” His voice died. Sinking back onto his pallet, exhausted, he fell asleep.

“The Lost Battles, three moons, Raistlin talking with a strange voice. None of this makes sense,” Tanis muttered.

“I don’t believe any of it!” Riverwind said coldly. He shook out their furs, preparing to sleep.

Tanis was starting to follow his example when he saw Alhana creep from the shadows of the cave and come to stand next to Raistlin. Staring down at the sleeping mage, her hands twisted together.

“Strong in magic!” she whispered in a voice filled with fear. “My father!”

Tanis looked at her in sudden understanding.

“You don’t think your father tried to use the orb?”

“I am afraid,” Alhana whispered, wringing her hands. “He said he alone could fight the evil and keep it from our land. He must have meant—” Swiftly she bent down near Raistlin. “Wake him!” she commanded, her black eyes flaring. “I must know! Wake him and make him tell me what the danger is!”

Caramon pulled her back, gently but firmly. Alhana glared at him, her beautiful face twisted in fear and rage, and it seemed for a moment as if she might strike him, but Tanis reached her side and caught hold of her hand.

“Lady Alhana,” he said calmly, “it would do no good to wake him. He has told us everything
he
knows. As for that other voice, he obviously remembers nothing about what it said.”

“I’ve seen it happen to Raist before,” Caramon said in low tones, “as if he becomes someone else. But it always leaves him exhausted and he never remembers.”

Alhana jerked her hand away from Tanis’s, her face resuming its cold, pure, marble stillness. She whirled and walked to the front of the cave. Catching hold of the blanket Riverwind had hung to hide the fire’s light, she nearly tore it down as she flung it aside and stalked outdoors.

“I’ll stand first watch,” Tanis told Caramon. “You get some sleep.”

“I’ll stay up with Raist awhile,” the big man said, spreading out his pallet next to his frail twin’s. Tanis followed Alhana outside.

The griffons slept soundly, their heads buried on the soft feathers of their necks, taloned front feet clutching the cliff edge securely. For a moment he could not find Alhana in the darkness, then he saw her, leaning against a huge boulder, weeping bitterly, her head buried in her arms.

The proud Silvanesti woman would never forgive him if he saw her weak and vulnerable. Tanis ducked back behind the blanket.

“I’ll stand watch!” he called out loudly before he walked outside again. Lifting the blanket, he saw, without seeming to, Alhana start up and wipe her hands hurriedly across her face. She turned her back to him, and he walked slowly toward her, giving her time to pull herself together.

“The cave was stifling,” she said in a low voice. “I could not bear it. I had to come out for a breath of air.”

“I have first watch,” Tanis said. He paused, then added, “You seem afraid your father might have tried to use this dragon orb. Surely he would know its history. If I remember what I know of your people, he was a magic-user.”

“He knew where the orb came from,” Alhana said, her voice quivering before she could regain control. “The young mage was right when he spoke of the Lost Battles and the destruction of the Towers. But he was wrong when he said the other three orbs were lost. One was brought to Silvanesti by my father for safe-keeping.”

“What
were
the Lost Battles?” Tanis asked, leaning on the rocks next to Alhana.

“Is no lore at all kept in Qualinost?” she returned, regarding Tanis with scorn. “What barbarians you have become since mingling with humans!”

“Say the fault is my own,” Tanis said, “that I did not pay enough heed to the Loremaster.”

Alhana glanced at him, suspecting him of being sarcastic. Seeing his serious face and not particularly wanting him to leave her alone, she decided to answer his question. “As Istar rose during the Age of Might to greater and greater glories, the Kingpriest of Istar and his clerics became increasingly jealous of the magic-users’ power. The clerics no longer saw the need for magic in the world, fearing it—of course—as something they could not control. Magic-users themselves, although respected, were never widely trusted, even those wearing the white robes.
It was a simple matter for the priests to stir the people against the wizards. As times grew more and more evil, the priests placed the blame upon the magic-users. The Towers of High Sorcery, where the magicians must pass their final, grueling tests, were where the powers of the mages rested. The Towers became natural targets. Mobs attacked them, and it was as your young friend said: for only the second time in their history, the Robes came together to defend their last bastions of strength.”