Dragons of Winter Night

1 White-winged ships. Hope lies across the Plains of Dust

Tanis Half-Elven sat in the meeting of the Council of Highseekers and listened, frowning. Though officially the false religion of the Seekers was now dead, the group that made up the political leadership of the eight hundred refugees from Fax Tharkas was still called that.

‘It isn’t that we’re not grateful to the dwarves for allowing us to live here,’ stated Hederick expansively, waving his scarred hand. ‘We are all grateful, I’m certain. Just as we’re grateful to those whose heroism in recovering the Hammer of Kharas made our move here possible.’ Hederick bowed to Tanis, who returned the bow with a brief nod of his head. ‘But we are not dwarves!’

This emphatic statement brought murmurs of approval, causing Hederick to warm to his audience.

‘We humans were never meant to live underground!’ Loud calls of approval and some clapping of hands.

‘We are farmers. We cannot grow food on the side of a mountain! We want lands like the ones we were forced to leave behind. And I say that those who forced us to leave our old homeland should provide us with new!’

‘Does he mean the Dragon Highlords?’ Sturm whispered sarcastically to Tanis. ‘I’m certain they’d be happy to oblige.’

‘The fools ought to be thankful they’re alive!’ Tanis muttered. ‘Look at them, turning to Elistan—as if it were his doing!’ The cleric of Paladine—and leader of the refugees—rose to his feet to answer Hederick.

‘It is because we need new homes,’ Elistan said, his strong baritone resounding through the cavern, ‘that I propose we send a delegation south, to the city of Tarsis the Beautiful.’

Tanis had heard Elistan’s plan before. His mind wandered over the month since he and his companions had returned from Derkin’s Tomb with the sacred Hammer.

The dwarven Thanes, now consolidated under the leadership of Hornfel, were preparing to battle the evil coming from the north. The dwarves did not greatly fear this evil. Their mountain kingdom seemed impregnable. And they had kept the promise they made Tanis in return for the Hammer: the refugees from Pax Tharkas could settle in Southgate, the southernmost part of the mountain kingdom of Thorbardin.

Elistan brought the refugees to Thorbardin. They began trying to rebuild their lives, but the arrangement was not totally satisfactory.

They were safe, to be sure, but the refugees, mostly farmers, were not happy living underground in the huge dwarven caverns. In the spring they could plant crops on the mountainside, but the rocky soil would produce only a bare living. The people wanted to live in the sunshine and fresh air. They did not want to be dependent on the dwarves.

It was Elistan who recalled the ancient legends of Tarsis the Beautiful and its gull-winged ships. But that’s all they were—legends, as Tanis had pointed out when Elistan first mentioned his idea. No one on this part of Ansalon had heard anything about the city of Tarsis since the Cataclysm three hundred years ago. At that time, the dwarves had closed off the mountain kingdom of Thorbardin, effectively shutting off all communication between the south and north, since the only way through the Kharolis Mountains was through Thorbardin.

Tanis listened gloomily as the Council of Highseekers voted unanimously to approve Elistan’s suggestion. They proposed sending a small group of people to Tarsis with instructions to find what ships came into port, where they were bound, and how much it would cost to book passage—or even to buy a ship.

‘And who’s going to lead this group?’ Tanis asked himself silently, though he already knew the answer.

All eyes now turned to him. Before Tanis could speak, Raistlin, who had been listening to all that was said without comment, walked forward to stand before the Council. He stared around at them, his strange eyes glittering golden.

‘You are fools,’ Raistlin said, his whispering voice soft with scorn, ‘and you are living in a fool’s dream. How often must I repeat myself? How often must I remind you of the portent of the stars? What do you say to yourselves when you look into the night sky and see the gaping black holes where the two constellations are missing?’

The Council members shifted in their seats, several exchanging long-suffering glances indicative of boredom.

Raistlin noticed this and continued, his voice growing more and more contemptuous. ‘Yes, I have heard some of you saying that it is nothing more than a natural phenomenon—a thing that happens, perhaps, like the falling of leaves from the trees.’

Several Council members muttered among themselves, nodding. Raistlin watched silently for a moment, his lip curled in derision. Then he spoke once more. ‘I repeat, you are fools. The constellation known as the Queen of Darkness is missing from the sky because the Queen is present here upon Krynn. The Warrior constellation, which represents the ancient God Paladine, as we are told in the Disks of Mishakal, has also returned to Krynn to fight her.’

Raistlin paused. Elistan, who stood among them, was a prophet of Paladine, and many here were converts to this new religion. He could sense the growing anger at what some considered his blasphemy. The idea that gods would become personally involved in the affairs of men! Shocking! But being considered blasphemous had never bothered Raistlin.

His voice rose to a high pitch. ‘Mark well my words! With the Queen of Darkness have come her “shrieking hosts,” as it says in the “Canticle.” And the shrieking hosts are dragons!’ Raistlin drew out the last word into a hiss that, as Flint said, ‘shivered the skin.’

‘We know all this,’ Hederick snapped in impatience. It was past time for the Theocrat’s nightly glass of mulled wine, and his thirst gave him courage to speak. He immediately regretted it, however, when Raistlin’s hourglass eyes seemed to pierce the Theocrat like black arrows. ‘W-what are you driving at?’

‘That peace no longer exists anywhere on Krynn,’ the mage whispered. He waved a frail hand. ‘Find ships, travel where you will. Wherever you go, whenever you look up into the night sky, you will see those gaping black holes. Wherever you go, there will be dragons!’

Raistlin began to cough. His body twisted with the spasms, and he seemed likely to fall, but his twin brother, Caramon, ran forward and caught him in his strong arms.

After Caramon led the mage out of the Council meeting, it seemed as if a dark cloud had been lifted. The Council members shook themselves and laughed—if somewhat shakily—and talked of children’s tales. To think that war had spread to all of Krynn was comic. Why, the war was near an end here in Ansalon already. The Dragon Highlord, Verminaard, had been defeated, his draconian armies driven back.

The Council members stood and stretched and left the chamber to head for the alehouse or their homes.

They forgot they had never asked Tanis if he would lead the group to Tarsis. They simply assumed he would.

Tanis, exchanging grim glances with Sturm, left the cavern. It was his night to stand watch. Even though the dwarves might consider themselves safe in their mountain fortress, Tanis and Sturm insisted that a watch be kept upon the walls leading into Southgate. They had come to respect the Dragon Highlords too much to sleep in peace without it—even underground.

Tanis leaned against the outer wall of Southgate, his face thoughtful and serious. Before him spread a meadow covered by smooth, powdery snow. The night was calm and still. Behind him was the great mass of the Kharolis Mountains. The gate of Southgate was, in fact, a gigantic plug in the side of the mountains. It was part of the dwarven defenses that had kept the world out for three hundred years following the Cataclysm and the destructive Dwarven Wars.

Sixty feet wide at the base and almost half again as high, the gate was operated by a huge mechanism that forced it in and out of the mountain. At least forty feet thick in its center, the gate was as indestructible as any known on Krynn, except for the one matching it in the north. Once shut, they could not be distinguished from the faces of the mountain, such was the craftsmanship of the ancient dwarvenmasons.

Yet, since the arrival of the humans at Southgate, torches had been set about the opening, allowing the men, women, and children access to the outside air—a human need that seemed an unaccountable weakness to the subterranean dwarves.

As Tanis stood there, staring into the woods beyond the meadow and finding no peace in their quiet beauty, Sturm, Elistan, and Laurana joined him. The three had been talking—obviously of him—and fell into an uncomfortable silence.

‘How solemn you are,’ Laurana said to Tanis softly, coming near and putting her hand on his arm. ‘You believe Raistlin is right, don’t you, Tanthal—Tanis?’ Laurana blushed. His human name still came clumsily to her lips, yet she knew him well enough now to understand that his elven name only brought him pain.

Tanis looked down at the small, slender hand on his arm and gently put his own over it. Only a few months earlier the touch of that hand would have irritated him, causing confusion and guilt as he wrestled with love for a human woman against what he told himself was a childhood infatuation with this elfmaiden. But now the touch of Laurana’s hand filled him with warmth and peace, even as it stirred his blood. He pondered these new, disturbing feelings as he responded to her question.

‘I have long found Raistlin’s advice sound,’ he said, knowing how this would upset them. Sure enough, Sturm’s face darkened. Elistan frowned. ‘And I think he is right this time. We have won a battle, but we are a long way from winning the war. We know it is being fought far north, in Solamnia. I think we may safely assume that it is not for the conquest of Abanasinia alone that the forces of darkness are fighting.’

‘But you are only speculating!’ Elistan argued. ‘Do not let the darkness that hangs around the young mage cloud your thinking. He may be right, but that is no reason to give up hope, to give up trying! Tarsis is a large seaport city—at least according to all we know of it. There we’ll find those who can tell us if the war encompasses the world. If so, then surely there still must be havens where we can find peace.’

‘Listen to Elistan, Tanis,’ Laurana said gently. ‘He is wise. When our people left Qualinesti, they did not flee blindly. They traveled to a peaceful haven. My father had a plan, though he dared not reveal it—’

Laurana broke off, startled to see the effect of her speech. Abruptly Tanis snatched his arm from her touch and turned his gaze on Elistan, his eyes filled with anger.

‘Raistlin says hope is the denial of reality,’ Tanis stated coldly. Then, seeing Elistan’s care-worn face regard him with sorrow, the half-elf smiled wearily. ‘I apologize, Elistan. I am tired, that’s all. Forgive me. Your suggestion is good. We’ll travel to Tarsis with hope, if nothing else.’

Elistan nodded and turned to leave. ‘Are you coming, Laurana? I know you are tired, my dear, but we have a great deal to do before I can turn the leadership over to the Council in my absence.’

‘I’ll be with you presently, Elistan,’ Laurana said, flushing. ‘I—I want to speak a moment with Tanis.’

Elistan gave them both an appraising, understanding look, then walked through the darkened gateway with Sturm. Tanis began dousing the torches, preparatory to the closing of the gate. Laurana stood near the entrance, her expression growing cold as it became obvious Tanis was ignoring her.

‘What is the matter with you?’ she said finally. ‘It almost sounds as if you are taking that dark-souled mage’s part against Elistan, one of the best and wisest humans I have ever met!’

‘Don’t judge Raistlin, Laurana,’ Tanis said harshly, thrusting a torch into a bucket of water. The light vanished with a hiss. ‘Things aren’t always black and white, as you elves are inclined to believe. The mage has saved our lives more than once. I have come to rely upon his thinking—which, I admit, I find easier to rely on than blind faith!’

‘You elves!’ Laurana cried. ‘How typically human that sounds! There is more elven in you than you care to admit, Tanthalas! You used to say you didn’t wear the beard to hide your heritage, and I believed you. But now I’m not so certain. I’ve lived around humans long enough to know how they feel about elves! But I’m proud of my heritage. You’re not! You’re ashamed of it. Why? Because of that human woman you’re in love with! What’s her name, Kitiara?’

‘Stop it, Laurana!’ Tanis shouted. Hurling down a torch to the ground, he strode to the elven maiden standing in the doorway. ‘If you want to discuss relationships, what about you and Elistan? He may be a cleric of Paladine, but he’s a man—a fact to which you can, no doubt, testify! All I hear from you,’ he mimicked her voice, ‘is “Elistan is so wise,” “Ask Elistan, he’ll know what to do,” “Listen to Elistan, Tanis—”’

‘How dare you accuse me of your own failings?’ Laurana returned. ‘I love Elistan. I reverence him. He is the wisest man I have known, and the gentlest. He is self-sacrificing—his entire life is wrapped up in serving others. But there is only one man I love, only one man I have ever loved—though now I am beginning to ask myself if perhaps I haven’t made a mistake! You said, in that awful place, the Sla-Mori, that I was behaving like a little girl and I had better grow up. Well, I have grown, Tanis Half-Elven. In these past few bitter months, I have seen suffering and death. I have been afraid as I never knew fear existed! I have learned to fight, and I have dealt death to my enemies. All of that hurt me inside until I’m so numb I can’t feel the pain anymore. But what hurts worse is to see you with clear eyes.’

‘I never claimed to be perfect, Laurana,’ Tanis said quietly.

The silver moon and the red had risen, neither of them full yet, but shining brightly enough for Tanis to see tears in Laurana’s luminous eyes. He reached out his hands to take her in his arms, but she took a step backwards.

‘You may never claim it,’ she said scornfully, ‘but you certainly enjoy allowing us to think it!’

Ignoring his outstretched hands, she grabbed a torch from the wall and walked into the darkness beyond the gate of Thorbardin. Tanis watched her leave, watched the light shine on her honey-colored hair, watched her walk, as graceful as the slender aspens of their elven homeland of Qualinesti.

Tanis stood for a moment, staring after her, scratching the thick, reddish beard that no elf on Krynn could grow. Pondering Laurana’s last statement, he thought, incongruously, of Kitiara. He conjured up pictures in his mind of Kit’s cropped, curly black hair, her crooked smile, her fiery, impetuous temper, and her strong, sensual body—the body of a trained swordswoman, but he discovered to his amazement that now the picture dissolved, pierced by the calm, clear gaze of two slightly slanted, luminous, elven eyes.

Thunder rolled out from the mountain. The shaft that moved the huge stone gate began to turn, grinding the door shut. Tanis, watching it shut, decided he would not go in. ‘Sealed in a tomb.’ He smiled, recalling Sturm’s words, but there was a shiver in his soul as well. He stood for long moments, staring at the door, feeling its weight settle between him and Laurana. The door sealed shut with a dull boom. The face of the mountain was blank, cold, forbidding.

With a sigh, Tanis pulled his cloak about him and started toward the woods. Even sleeping in the snow was better than sleeping underground. He had better get used to it anyway. The Plains of Dust they would be traveling through to reach Tarsis would probably be choked with snow, even this early in the winter.

Thinking of the journey as he walked, Tanis looked up into the night sky. It was beautiful, glittering with stars. But two gaping black holes marred the beauty. Raistlin’s missing constellations.

Holes in the sky. Holes in himself.

After his fight with Laurana, Tanis was almost glad to start on the journey. All the companions had agreed to go. Tanis knew that none of them felt truly at home among the refugees.

Preparations for the journey gave him plenty to think about. He was able to tell himself he didn’t care that Laurana avoided him. And, at the beginning, the journey itself was enjoyable. It seemed as if they were back in the early days of fall instead of the beginning of winter. The sun shone, warming the air. Only Raistlin wore his heaviest cloak.

Conversation as the companions walked through the northern part of the Plains was light-hearted and merry, filled with teasing and bantering and reminding each other of the fun they had shared in earlier, happier days in Solace. No one spoke of the dark and evil things they had seen in the recent past. It was as if, in the contemplation of a brighter future, they willed these things never to have existed.

At night, Elistan explained to them what he was learning of the ancient gods from the Disks of Mishakal, which he carried with him. His stories filled their souls with peace and reinforced their faith. Even Tanis—who had spent a lifetime searching for something to believe in and now that they had found it viewed it with skepticism—felt deep in his soul that he could believe in this if he believed in anything. He wanted to believe in it, but something held him back, and every time he looked at Laurana, he knew what it was. Until he could resolve his own inner turmoil, the raging division between the elven and human inside of him, he would never know peace.

Only Raistlin did not share in the conversations, the merriment, the pranks and jokes, the campfire talks. The mage spent his days studying his spellbook. If interrupted, he would answer with a snarl. After dinner, of which he ate little, he sat by himself, his eyes on the night sky, staring at the two gaping black holes that were mirrored in the mage’s black hourglass-shaped pupils.

It was only after several days that spirits began to flag. The sun was obscured by clouds and the wind blew chill from the north. Snow fell so thickly that one day they could not travel at all but were forced to seek shelter in a cave until the blizzard blew itself out. They set double watch at night, though no one could say exactly why, only that they felt a growing sense of threat and menace. Riverwind stared uneasily at the trail they left in the snow behind them. As Flint said, a blind gully dwarf could follow it. The sense of menace grew, the sense of eyes watching and ears listening.

Yet who could it be, out here in the Plains of Dust where nothing and no one had lived for three hundred years?

2 Between master and dragon. Dismal journey.

The dragon sighed, flexed his huge wings, and lifted his ponderous body from the warm, soothing maters of the hot springs. Ernerging from a billowing cloud of vapor, he braced himself to step into the chill air. The clear winter air stung his delicate nostrils and bit into his throat. Swallowing painfully, he firmly resisted the temptation to return do the warm pools and began to climb to the high rocky ledge above him.

The dragon stamped irritably upon rocks slick with ice from the hot springs’ vapor, which cooled almost instantly in the freezing air. The stones cracked and broke beneath his clawed feet, bounding and tumbling down into the valley below.

Once he slipped, causing him momentarily to lose his balance. Spreading his great wings, he recovered easily, but the incident only served to increase his irritation further.

The morning sun lit the mountain peaks, touching the dragon, causing his blue scales to shimmer golden in the clear light but doing little to warm his blood. The dragon shivered again, stamping his feet upon the chill ground. Winter was not for the blue dragons, nor was travel in this abysmal country. With that thought in mind, as it had been in his mind all the long, bitter night, Skie looked about for his master.

He found the Dragon Highlord standing upon an outcropping of rock, an imposing figure in horned dragonhelm and blue dragon-scale armor. The Highlord, cape whipping in the chill wind, was gazing with intense interest across the great flat plain far below.

‘Come, Lord, return to your tent.’ And let me return to the hot springs, Skie added mentally. ‘This chill wind cuts to the bone. Why are you out here anyway?’

Skie might have supposed the Highlord was reconnoitering, planning the disposition of troops, the attacks of the dragonflights. But that was not the case. The occupation of Tarsis had long been planned—planned, in fact, by another Dragon Highlord, for this land was under the command of the red dragons.

The blue dragons and their Dragon Highlords controlled the north, yet here I stand, in these frigid southlands, Skie thought irritably. And behind me is an entire flight of blue dragons. He turned his head slightly, looking down upon his fellows beating their wings in the early morning, grateful for the hot springs’ warmth which took the chill from their tendons.

Fools, Skie thought scornfully. All they’re waiting for is a signal from the Highlord to attack. To light the skies and burn the cities with their deadly bolts of lightning are all they care about. Their faith in the Dragon Highlord is implicit. As well it might be, Skie admitted—their master had led them to victory after victory in the north, and they had not lost one of their number.

They leave it to me to ask the questions—because I am the Highlord’s mount, because I am closest to the Highlord. Well, so be it. We understand each other, the Highlord and I.

‘We have no reason to be in Tarsis.’ Skie spoke his feelings plainly. He did not fear the Highlord. Unlike many of the dragons in Krynn, who served their masters with grudging reluctance, knowing themselves to be the true rulers, Skie served his master out of respect—and love. ‘The reds don’t want us here, that’s certain. And we’re not needed. That soft city that beckons you so strangely will fall easily. No army. They swallowed the bait and marched off to the frontier.’

‘We are here because my spies tell me they are here—or will be shortly,’ was the Highlord’s answer. The voice was low but carried even over the biting wind.

‘They...they...’ grumbled the dragon, shivering and moving restlessly along the ridge. ‘We leave the war in the north, waste valuable time, lose a fortune in steel. And for what—a handful of itinerant adventurers.’

‘The wealth is nothing to me, you know that. I could buy Tarsis if it pleased me.’ The Dragon Highlord stroked the dragon’s neck with an ice-caked leather glove that creaked with the powerful movements. ‘The war in the north is going well. Lord Ariakas did not mind my leaving. Bakaris is a skilled young commander and knows my armies nearly as well as I do. And do not forget, Skie, these are more than vagabonds. These “itinerant adventurers” killed Verminaard.’

‘Bah! The man had already dug his own grave. He was obsessed, lost sight of the true purpose.’ The dragon flicked a glance at his master. ‘The same might be said of others.’

‘Obsessed? Yes, Verminaard was obsessed, and there are those who should be taking that obsession more seriously. He was a cleric, he knew what damage the knowledge of the true gods, once spread among the people, can do us,’ answered the Highlord. ‘Now, according to reports, the people have a leader in this human called Elistan, who has become a cleric of Paladine. Worshipers of Mishakal bring true healing back to the land. No, Verminaard was farseeing. There is great danger here. We should recognize and move to stop it—not scoff at it.’

The dragon snorted derisively. ‘This priest—Elistan—doesn’t lead the people. He leads eight hundred wretched humans, former slaves of Verminaard’s in Pax Tharkas. Now they’re holed up in Southgate with the mountain dwarves.’ The dragon settled down on the rock, feeling the morning sun finally bringing a modicum of warmth to his scaled skin. ‘Besides, our spies report they are traveling to Tarsis even as we speak. By tonight, this Elistan will be ours and that will be that. So much for the servant of Paladine!’

‘Elistan is of no use to me.’ The Dragon Highlord shrugged without interest. ‘He is not the one I seek.’

‘No?’ Skie raised his head, startled. ‘Who, then?’

‘There are three in whom I have particular interest. But I will provide you with descriptions of all of them’—the Dragon Highlord moved closer to Skie—‘because it is to capture them that we participate in the destruction of Tarsis tomorrow. Here are those whom we seek...’

Tanis strode across the frozen plains, his booted footsteps punching noisily through the crust of wind-swept snow. The sun rose at his back, bringing a great deal of light but little warmth. He clutched his cloak about him and glanced around to make certain no one was lagging behind. The companions’ line stretched out single-file. They trod in each other’s tracks, the heavier, stronger people in front clearing the way for the weaker ones behind them.

Tanis led them. Sturm walked beside him, steadfast and faithful as ever, though still upset over leaving behind the Hammer of Kharas, which had taken on an almost mystical quality for the knight. He appeared more careworn and tired than usual, but he never failed to keep step with Tanis. This was not an easy feat, since the knight insisted on traveling in his full, antique battle armor, the weight of which forced Sturm’s feet deep into the crusted snow.

Behind Sturm and Tanis came Caramon, trudging through the snow like a great bear, his arsenal of weapons clanking around him, carrying his armor and his share of supplies, as well as those of his twin brother, Raistlin, on his back. Just watching Caramon made Tanis weary, for the big warrior was not only walking through the deep snow with ease but was also managing to widen the trail for the others behind him.

Of all of the companions the one Tanis might have felt closest to, since they had been raised together as brothers, was the next, Gilthanas. But Gilthanas was an elflord, younger son of the Speaker of the Suns, ruler of the Qualinesti elves, while Tanis was a bastard and only half elven, product of a brutal rape by a human warrior. Worse, Tanis had dared to find himself attracted—even if in a childish, immature fashion—to Gilthanas’s sister, Laurana. And so, far from being friends, Tanis always had the uneasy impression that Gilthanas might well be pleased to see him dead.

Riverwind and Goldmoon walked together behind the elflord. Cloaked in their furskin capes, the cold was little to the Plainsmen. Certainly the cold was nothing compared to the flame in their hearts. They had been married only a little over a month, and the deep love and compassion each felt for the other, a self-sacrificing love that had led the world to the discovery of the ancient gods, now achieved greater depths as they discovered new ways to express it.

Then came Elistan and Laurana. Elistan and Laurana. Tanis found it odd that, thinking enviously of the happiness of Riverwind and Goldmoon, his eyes should encounter these two. Elistan and Laurana. Always together. Always deeply involved in serious conversation. Elistan, cleric of Paladine, resplendent in white robes that gleamed even against the snow. White-bearded, his hair thinning, he was still an imposing figure. The kind of man who might well attract a young girl. Few men or women could look into Elistan’s ice-blue eyes and not feel stirred, awed in the presence of one who had walked the realms of death and found a new and stronger faith.

With him walked his faithful “assistant,” Laurana. The young elfmaid had run away from her home in Qualinesti to follow Tanis in childish infatuation. She had been forced to grow up rapidly, her eyes opened to the pain and suffering in the world. Knowing that many of the party—Tanis among them—considered her a nuisance, Laurana struggled to prove her worth. With Elistan she found her chance. Daughter to the Speaker of the Suns of the Qualinesti, she had been born and bred to politics. When Elistan was foundering among the rocks of trying to feed and clothe and control eight hundred men, women, and children, it was Laurana who stepped in and eased his burden. She had become indispensable to him, a fact Tanis found difficult to deal with. The half-elf gritted his teeth, letting his glance flick over Laurana to fall on Tika.

The barmaid turned adventuress walked through the snow with Raistlin, having been asked by his brother to stay near the frail mage, since Caramon was needed up front. Neither Tika nor Raistlin seemed happy with this arrangement. The red-robed mage walked along sullenly, his head bowed against the wind. He was often forced to stop, coughing until he nearly fell. At these times, Tika would start to put her arm around him hesitantly, her eyes seeing Caramon’s worry. But Raistlin always pulled away from her with a snarl.

The ancient dwarf came next, bowling along through the snow; the tip of his helm and the tassel ‘from the mane of a griffon’ were all that were visible above the snow. Tanis had tried to tell him that griffons had no manes, that the tassel was horsehair. But Flint, stoutly maintaining that his hatred of horses stemmed from the fact that they made him sneeze violently, believed none of it. Tanis smiled, shaking his head. Flint had insisted on being at the front of the line. It was only after Caramon had pulled him out of three snow drifts that Flint agreed, grumbling, to walk ‘rear guard.’

Skipping along beside Flint was Tasslehoff Burrfoot, his shrill, piping voice audible to Tanis in the front of the line. Tas was regaling the dwarf with a marvelous tale about the time he found a woolly mammoth—whatever that was—being held prisoner by two deranged wizards. Tanis sighed. Tas was getting on his nerves. He had already sternly reprimanded the kender for hitting Sturm in the head with a snowball. But he knew it was useless. Kender lived for adventure and new experiences. Tas was enjoying every minute of this dismal journey.

Yes, they were all there. They were all still following him.

Tanis turned around abruptly, facing south. Why follow me? He asked resentfully. I hardly know where my life is going, yet I’m expected to lead others. I don’t have Sturm’s driving quest to rid the land of dragons, as did his hero Huma. I don’t have Elistan’s holy quest to bring knowledge of the true gods to the people. I don’t even have Raistlin’s burning quest for power.

Sturm nudged him and pointed ahead. A line of small hills stood on the horizon. If the kender’s map was correct, the city of Tarsis lay just beyond them. Tarsis, and white-winged ships, and spires of glittering white. Tarsis the Beautiful.

3 Tarsis the Beautiful

Tanis spread out the kender’s map. They had arrived at the foot of the range of barren and treeless hills which, according to the map, must overlook the city of Tarsis.

‘We don’t dare climb those in daylight,’ Sturm said, drawing his scarf down from his mouth. ‘We’d be visible to everything within a hundred miles.’

‘No,’ Tanis agreed. ‘We’ll make camp here at the base. I’ll climb, though, to get a look at the city.’

‘I don’t like this, not one bit!’ Sturm muttered gloomily.

‘Something’s wrong. Do you want me to go with you?’

Tanis, seeing the weariness in the knight’s face, shook his head, ‘You get the others organized.’ Dressed in a winter traveling cloak of white, he prepared to climb the snow-covered, rock-strewn hills, Ready to start, he felt a cold hand on his arm. He turned and looked into the eyes of the mage.

‘I will come with you,’ Raistlin whispered.

Tanis stared at him in astonishment, then glanced up at the hills. The climb would not be an easy one, and he knew the mage’s dislike of extreme physical exertion. Raistlin saw his glance and understood.

‘My brother will help me,’ he said, beckoning to Caramon, who appeared startled but stood up immediately and came over to stand beside his brother. ‘I would look upon the city of Tarsis the Beautiful.’

Tanis regarded him uneasily, but Raistlin’s face was as impassive and cold as the metal it resembled.

‘Very well,’ the half-elf said, studying Raistlin. ‘But you’ll show up on the face of that mountain like a blood stain. Cover yourself with a white robe.’ The half-elf’s sardonic smile was an almost perfect imitation of Raistlin’s own. ‘Borrow one from Elistan.’

Tanis, standing on the top of the hill overlooking the legendary seaport city of Tarsis the Beautiful, began to swear softly. Wispy clouds of steam floated from his lips with the hot words. Drawing the hood of his heavy cloak over his head, he stared down into the city in bitter disappointment.

Caramon nudged his twin. ‘Raist,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter? I don’t understand.’

Raistlin coughed. ‘Your brains are in your sword-arm, my brother,’ the mage whispered caustically. ‘Look upon Tarsis, legendary seaport city. What do you see?’

‘Well...’ Caramon squinted. ‘It’s one of the biggest cities I’ve seen. And there are ships—just like we heard—’

‘ “The white-winged ships of Tarsis the Beautiful,”’ Raistlin quoted bitterly. ‘You look upon the ships, my brother. Do you notice anything peculiar about them?’

‘They’re not in very good shape. The sails are ragged and—’ Caramon blinked. Then he gasped. ‘There’s no water!’

‘Most observant.’

‘But the kender’s map—’

‘Dated before the Cataclysm,’ Tanis interrupted. ‘Damn it, I should have known! I should have considered this possibility! Tarsis the Beautiful—legendary seaport—now landlocked!’

‘And has been for three hundred years, undoubtedly,’ Raistlin whispered. ‘When the fiery mountain fell from the sky, it created seas—as we saw in Xak Tsaroth—but it also destroyed them. What do we do with the refugees now, Half-Elf’

‘I don’t know,’ Tanis snapped irritably. He stared down at the city, then turned away. ‘It’s no good standing around here. The sea isn’t going to come back just for our benefit.’ He turned away and walked slowly down the cliff.

‘What will we do?’ Caramon asked his brother. ‘We can’t go back to Southgate. I know something or someone was dogging our footsteps.’ He glanced around worriedly. ‘I feel eyes watching—even now.’

Raistlin put his hand through his brother’s arm. For a rare instant, the two looked remarkably alike. Light and darkness were not more different than the twins.

‘You are wise to trust your feelings, my brother,’ Raistlin said softly. ‘Great danger and great evil surround us. I have felt it growing on me since the people arrived in Southgate. I tried to warn them—’ He broke off in a fit of coughing.

‘How do you know’ Caramon asked.

Raistlin shook his head, unable to answer for long moments. Then, when the spasm had passed, he drew a shuddering breath and glanced at his brother irritably. ‘Haven’t you learned yet?’ he said bitterly. ‘I know! Put it at that. I paid for my knowledge in the Towers of High Sorcery. I paid for it with my body and very nearly my reason. I paid for it with—’ Raistlin stopped, looking at his twin.

Caramon was pale and silent as always whenever the Testing was mentioned. He started to say something, choked, then cleared his throat. ‘It’s just that I don’t understand—’

Raistlin sighed and shook his head, withdrawing his arm from his brother’s. Then, leaning on his staff, he began to walk down the hill. ‘Nor will you,’ he murmured. ‘Ever.’

Three hundred years ago, Tarsis the Beautiful was Lordcity of the lands of Abanasinia. From here set sail the white-winged ships for all the known lands of Krynn. Here they returned, bearing all manner of objects, precious and curious, hideous and delicate. The Tarsian marketplace was a thing of wonder. Sailors swaggered the streets, their golden earrings flashing as brightly as their knives. The ships brought exotic peoples from distant lands to sell their wares. Some dressed in gaily colored, flowing silks, bedizened with jewels. They sold spices and teas, oranges and pearls, and bright-colored birds in cages. Others, dressed in crude skins, sold luxuriant furs from strange animals as grotesque as those who hunted them.

Of course, there were buyers at the Tarsian market as well; almost as strange and exotic and dangerous as the sellers. Wizards dressed in robes of white, red, or black strode the bazaars, searching for rare spell components to make their magic. Distrusted even then, they walked through the crowds, isolated and alone. Few spoke even to those wearing the white robes, and no one ever cheated them.

Clerics, too, sought ingredients for their healing potions. For there were clerics in Krynn before the Cataclysm. Some worshiped the gods of good, some the gods of neutrality, some the gods of evil. All had great power. Their prayers, for good or for evil, were answered.

And always, walking among all the strange and exotic peoples gathered in the bazaar of Tarsis the Beautiful, were the Knights of Solamnia: keeping order, guarding the land, living their disciplined lives in strict observance of the Code and the Measure. The Knights were followers of Paladine, and were noted for their pious obedience to the gods.

The walled city of Tarsis had its own army and—so it was said—had never fallen to an invading force. The city was ruled—under the watchful eyes of the Knights—by a Lordfamily and had the good fortune to fall to the care of a family possessing sense, sensitivity, and justice. Tarsis became a center of learning; sages from lands all around came here to share their wisdom. Schools and a great library were established, temples were built to the gods. Young men and women eager for Knowledge came to Tarsis to study.

The early dragon wars had not affected Tarsis. The huge walled city, its formidable army, its fleets of white-winged ships, and its vigilant Knights of Solamnia daunted even the Queen of Darkness. Before she could consolidate her power and strike the Lordcity, Huma drove her dragons from the skies. Thus Tarsis prospered and became, during the Age of Might, one of the wealthiest and proudest cities of Krynn.

And, as with so many other cities in Krynn, with its pride grew its conceit. Tarsis began seeking more and more from the gods: wealth, power, glory. The people worshiped the Kingpriest of Istar who, seeing suffering in the land, demanded of the gods in his arrogance what they had granted Huma in humility. Even the Knights of Solamnia—bound by the strict laws of the Measure, encased in a religion that had become all ritual with little depth—fell under the sway of the mighty Kingpriest.

Then came the Cataclysm—a night of terror, when it rained fire. The ground heaved and cracked as the gods in their righteous anger hurled a mountain of rock down upon Krynn, punishing the Kingpriest of Istar and the people for their pride.

The people turned to the Knights of Solamnia. ‘You who are righteous, help us!’ they cried. ‘Placate the gods!’

But the Knights could do nothing. The fire fell from the heavens, the land split asunder. The seawaters fled, the ships foundered and toppled, the wall of the city crumbled.

When the night of horror ended, Tarsis was landlocked. The white-winged ships lay upon the sand like wounded birds. Dazed and bleeding, the survivors tried to rebuild their city, expecting any moment to see the Knights of Solamnia come marching from their great fortresses in the north, marching from Palanthas, Solanthus, Vingaard Keep, Thelgaard, marching south to Tarsis to help them and protect them once more.

But the Knights did not come. They had their own troubles and could not leave Solamnia. Even if they had been able to march, a new sea split the lands of Abanasinia. The dwarves in their mountain kingdom of Thorbardin shut their gates, refusing admittance to anyone, and so the mountain passes were blocked. The elves withdrew into Qualinesti, nursing their wounds, blaming humans for the catastrophe. Soon, Tarsis lost all contact with the world to the north.

And so, following the Cataclysm, when it became apparent that the city had been abandoned by the Knights, came the Day of Banishment. The lord of the city was placed in an awkward position. He did not truly believe in the corruption of the Knights, but he knew the people needed something or someone to blame. If he sided with the Knights, he would lose control of the city, and so he was forced to close his eyes to angry mobs that attacked the few Knights remaining in Tarsis. They were driven from the city—or murdered.

After a time, order was restored in Tarsis. The lord and his family established a new army. But much was changed. The people believed the ancient gods they had worshiped for so long had turned away from them. They found new gods to worship, even though these new gods rarely answered prayers. All clerical powers that had been present in the land before the Cataclysm were lost. Clerics with false promises and false hopes proliferated. Charlatan healers walked the land, selling their phony cure-alls.

After a time, many of the people drifted away from Tarsis. No longer did sailors walk the marketplace; elves, dwarves, and other races came no more. The people remaining in Tarsis liked it this way. They began to fear and mistrust the outside world. Strangers were not encouraged.

But Tarsis had been a trade center for so long that those people in the outlying countryside who could still reach Tarsis continued to do so. The outer hub of the city was rebuilt. The inner part—the temples, the schools, the great library—was left in ruins. The bazaar was reopened, only now it was a market for farmers and a forum for false clerics preaching new religions. Peace settled over the town like a blanket. Former days of glory were as a dream and might not have even been believed, but for the evidence in the center of town.

Now, of course, Tarsis heard rumors of war, but these were generally discounted, although the Lord did send his army out to guard the plains to the south. If anyone asked why, he said it was a field exercise, nothing mare. These rumors, after all, had come out of the north, and all knew the Knights of Solamnia were trying desperately to reestablish their power. It was, amazing what lengths the traitorous Knights would go to—even spreading stories of the return of dragons!

This was Tarsis the Beautiful, the city the companions entered that morning, just a short time after sunrise.

4 Arrested! The heroes are separated. An ominous farewell.

The few sleepy guards upon the city walls that morning woke up at the sight of the swordbearing, travel-worn group seeking entry. They did not deny them. They did not even question them—much. A redbearded, soft-spoken half-elf, the like of which had not been seen in Tarsis in decades, said they had traveled far and sought shelter. His companions stood quietly behind him, making no threatening gestures. Yawning, the guards directed them to the Red Dragon Inn.

This might have ended the matter. Tarsis, after all, was beginning to see more and more strange characters as rumors of war spread. But the cloak of one of the humans blew aside as he stepped through the gate, and a guard caught a flash of bright armor in the morning sun. The guard saw the hated and reviled symbol of the Knights of Solamnia on the antique breastplate. Scowling, the guard melted into the shadows, slinking after the group as it walked through the streets of the waking town.

The guard watched them enter the Red Dragon. He waited outside in the cold until he was sure they must be in their rooms. Then, slipping inside, he spoke a few words to the innkeeper. The guard peeped inside the common room and, seeing the group seated and apparently settled for some time, ran off to make his report.

‘This is what comes of trusting a kender’s map!’ said the dwarf irritably, shoving away his empty plate and wiping his hand across his mouth. ‘Takes us to a seaport city with no sea!’

‘It’s not my fault,’ Tas protested. ‘I told Tanis when I gave him the map that it dated before the Cataclysm. “Tas,” Tanis said before we left, “do you have a map that shows us how to get to Tarsis?” I said I did and I gave him this one. It shows Thorbardin, the dwarven Kingdom under the Mountain, and Southgate, and here it shows Tarsis, and everything else was right where the map said it was supposed to be. I can’t help it if something happened to the ocean! I—’

‘That’s enough, Tas.’ Tanis sighed. ‘Nobody’s blaming you. It isn’t anybody’s fault. We just let our hopes get too high.’

The kender, his feelings mollified, retrieved his map, rolled it up, and slid it into his mapcase with all his other precious maps of Krynn. Then he put his small chin in his hands and sat staring around the table at his gloomy companions. They began to discuss what to do next, talking half-heartedly.

Tas grew bored. He wanted to explore this city. There were all kinds of unusual sights and sounds—Flint had been forced to practically drag him along as they entered Tarsis. There was a fabulous marketplace with wonderful things just lying around, waiting to be admired. He had even spotted some other kenders, too, and he wanted to talk to them. He was worried about his homeland. Flint kicked him under the table. Sighing, Tas turned his attention back to Tanis.

‘We’ll spend the night here, rest, and learn what we can, then send word back to Southgate,’ Tanis was saying. ‘Perhaps there is another portcity farther south. Some of us might go on and investigate. What do you think, Elistan?’

The cleric pushed away a plate of uneaten food. ‘I suppose it is our only choice,’ he said sadly. ‘But I will return to Southgate. I cannot be away from the people long. You should come with me, too, my dear.’ He laid his hand over Laurana’s. ‘I cannot dispense with your help.’

Laurana smiled at Elistan. Then, her gaze moving to Tanis, the smile vanished as she saw the half-elf scowl.

‘Riverwind and I have discussed this already. We will return with Elistan,’ Goldmoon said. Her silver-gold hair gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window. ‘The people need my healing skills.’

‘Besides which, the bridal couple misses the privacy of their tent,’ Caramon said in an audible undertone. Goldmoon flushed a dusky rose color as her husband smiled.

Sturm glanced at Caramon in disgust and turned to Tanis. ‘I will go with you, my friend,’ he offered.

‘Us, too, of course,’ said Caramon promptly.

Sturm frowned, looking at Raistlin, who sat huddled in his red robes near the fire, drinking the strange herbal concoction that eased his cough. ‘I do not think your brother is fit to travel, Caramon—’ Sturm began.

‘You are suddenly very solicitous of my health, knight,’ Raistlin whispered sarcastically. ‘But, then, it is not my health that concerns you, is it, Sturm Brightblade? It is my growing power. You fear me—’

‘That’s enough!’ said Tanis as Sturm’s face darkened.

‘The mage goes back, or I do,’ Sturm said coldly.

‘Sturm—’ Tanis began.

Tasslehoff took this opportunity to leave the table very quietly. Everyone was focused on the argument between the knight, the half-elf, and the magic-user. Tasslehoff skipped out the front door of the Red Dragon, a name he thought particularly funny. But Tanis had not laughed.

Tas thought about that as he walked along, looking at the new sights in delight. Tanis didn’t laugh at anything anymore. The half-elf was certainly carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, it seemed. Tasslehoff suspected he knew what was wrong with Tanis. The kender took a ring out of one of his pouches and studied it. The ring was golden, of elven make, carved in the form of clinging ivy leaves. He had picked it up in Qualinesti. This time, the ring was not something the kender had ‘acquired.’ It had been thrown at his feet by a heartbroken Laurana after Tanis had returned it to her.

The kender considered all this and decided that splitting up and going off after new adventure was just what everyone needed. He, of course, would go with Tanis and Flint—the kender firmly believed neither could get along without him. But first, he’d get a glimpse of this interesting city.

Tasslehoff reached the end of the street. Glancing back, he could see the Red Dragon Inn. Good. No one was out looking for him yet. He was just about to ask a passing street peddler how to get to the marketplace when he saw something that promised to make this interesting city a whole lot more interesting...

Tanis settled the argument between Sturm and Raistlin, for the time being at least. The mage decided to stay in Tarsis to hunt for the remains of the old library. Caramon and Tika offered to stay with him, while Tanis, Sturm, and Flint (and Tas) would push southward, picking up the brothers on their way back. The rest of the group would take the disappointing news back to Southgate.

That being settled, Tanis went to the innkeeper to pay for their night’s lodging. He was counting out silver coins when he felt a hand touch his arm.

‘I want you to ask to have my room changed to one near Elistan’s,’ Laurana said.

Tanis glanced at her sharply. ‘Why is that?’ he asked, trying to keep the harshness out of his voice.

Laurana sighed. ‘We’re not going to go through this again, are we?’

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ Tanis said coldly, turning away from the grinning innkeeper.

‘For the first time in my life, I’m doing something meaningful and useful,’ Laurana said, catching hold of his arm. ‘And you want me to quit because of same jealous notion you have about me and Elistan—’

‘I am not jealous,’ Tanis retorted, flushing. ‘I told you in Qualinesti that what was between us when we were younger is over now. I—’ He paused, wandering if that were true. Even as he spoke, his soul trembled at her beauty. Yes, that youthful infatuation was gone, but was it being replaced by something else, something stronger and more enduring? And was he losing it? Had he already lost it, through his own indecisiveness and stubbornness? He was acting typically human, the half-elf thought. Refusing that which was in easy reach, only to cry for it when it was gone. He shook his head in confusion.

‘If you’re not jealous, then why don’t you leave me alone and Let me continue my work for Elistan in peace?’ Laurana asked coldly. ‘You—’

‘Hush!’ Tanis held up his hand. Laurana, annoyed, started to talk, but Tanis glared at her so fiercely she fell silent.

Tanis listened. Yes, he’d been right. He could hear clearly now the shrill, high-pitched, screaming whine of the leather sling on the end of Tas’s hoopak staff. It was a peculiar sound, produced by the kender swinging the sling in a circle over his head, and it raised the hair on the back of the neck. It was also a kender signal for danger.

‘Trouble,’ Tanis said softly. ‘Get the others.’ Taking one look at his grim face, Laurana obeyed without question. Tanis turned abruptly to face the innkeeper, who was sidling around the desk. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked sharply.

‘Just leaving to check your rooms, sir,’ the innkeeper said smoothly, and he vanished precipitously into the kitchen. Just then, Tasslehoff burst through the door of the inn.

‘Guards, Tanis! Guards! Coming this way!’

‘Surely they can’t be here because of us,’ Tanis said. He stopped, eyeing the light-fingered kender, struck by a sudden thought. ‘Tas—’

‘It wasn’t me, honest!’ Tas protested. ‘I never even reached the marketplace! I just got to the bottom of the street when I saw a whole troop of guards coming this direction.’

‘What’s this about guards?’ Sturm asked as he entered from the common room. ‘Is this one of the kender’s stories?’

‘No. Listen,’ Tanis said. Everyone hushed. They could hear the tramp of booted feet coming their direction and glanced at each other in apprehension and concern. ‘The innkeeper’s disappeared. I thought we got into the city a bit too easily. I should have expected trouble.’ Tanis scratched his beard, well aware that everyone was looking to him for orders.

‘Laurana, you and Elistan go upstairs. Sturm, you and Gilthanas remain with me. The rest of you go to your rooms. Riverwind, you’re in command. You, Caramon, and Raistlin protect them. Use your magic, Raistlin, if necessary. Flint—’

‘I’m staying with you,’ the dwarf stated firmly.

Tanis smiled and put his hand on Flint’s shoulder. ‘Of course, old friend. I didn’t even think you needed telling.’

Grinning, Flint pulled his battle-axe out of its holder on his back. ‘Take this,’ he said to Caramon. ‘Better you have it than any scurvy, lice-ridden city guards.’

‘That’s a good idea,‘ Tanis said. Unbuckling his swordbelt, he handed Caramon Wyrmslayer, the magical sword given to him by the skeleton of Kith-Kanan, the Elven King.

Gilthanas silently handed over his sword and his elven bow.

‘Yours, too, knight,’ Caramon said, holding out his hand.

Sturm frowned. His antique, two-handed sword and its scabbard were the only legacy he had left of his father, a great Knight of Solamnia, who had vanished after sending his wife and young son into exile. Slowly Sturm unbuckled his swordbelt and handed it to Caramon.

The jovial warrior, seeing the knight’s obvious concern, grew serious. ‘I’ll guard it carefully, you know that, Sturm.’’

‘I know,’ Sturm said, smiling sadly. He glanced up at Raistlin, who was standing on the stairs. ‘Besides, there is always the great worm, Catyrpelius, to protect it, isn’t there, mage?’

Raistlin started at this unexpected reminder of a time in the burned-out city of Solace when he had tricked some hobgoblins into believing Sturm’s sword was cursed. It was the closest to an expression of gratitude that the knight had ever made to the mage. Raistlin smiled briefly.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘There is always the Worm. Do not fear, knight. Your weapon is safe, as are the lives of those you leave in our care...if any are safe...Farewell, my friends,’ he hissed, his strange, hourglass eyes gleaming. ‘And a long farewell it will be. Some of us are not destined to meet again in this world!’ With that, he bowed and, gathering his red robes around him, began to climb the stairs.

Trust Raistlin to exit with a flourish, Tanis thought irritably, hearing booted feet near the door.

‘Go on!’ he ordered. ‘If he’s right, there’s nothing we can do about it now.’

After a hesitant look at Tans, the others did as he ordered, climbing the stairs quickly. Only Laurana cast a fearful glance back at Tanis as Elistan took her arm. Caramon, sword drawn, waited behind until the last was past.

‘Don’t worry,’ the big warrior said uneasily. ‘We’ll be all right. If you’re not back by nightfall—’

‘Don’t come looking for us!’ Tanis said, guessing Caramon’s intention. The half-elf was more disturbed than he cared to admit by Raistlin’s ominous statement. He had known the mage many years and had seen his power grow, even as the shadows seemed to gather more thickly around him. ‘If we’re not back, get Elistan, Goldmoon, and the others back to Southgate.’

Caramon nodded reluctantly, then he walked ponderously up the stairs, his weapons clanking around him.

‘It’s probably just a routine check,’ Sturm said hurriedly in a low voice as the guards could be seen through the window now. ‘They’ll ask us a few questions, then release us. But, they’ve undoubtedly got a description of all of us!’

‘I have a feeling it isn’t routine. Not the way everyone’s vanished. And they’re going to have to settle for some of us,’ Tanis said softly as the guards entered the door, led by the constable and accompanied by the guard from the wall.

‘That’s them!’ the guard cried, pointing. ‘There’s the knight, like I told you. And the bearded elf, the dwarf, and the kender, and an elflord.’

‘Right,’ the constable said briskly. ‘Now, where are the others?’ At his gesture, his guards leveled their hauberks, pointing there at the companions.

‘I don’t understand what all this is about,’ Tanis said mildly. ‘We are strangers in Tarsis, simply passing through on our way south. Is this how you welcome strangers to your city?’

‘We don’t welcome strangers to our city,’ the constable replied. His gaze shifted to Sturm and he sneered. ‘Especially a Knight of Solamnia. If you’re innocent as you say you are, you won’t mind answering some questions from the Lord and his council. Where’s the rest of your party?’

‘My friends are tired and have gone to their rooms to rest. Our journey has been long and tiring. But we do not want to cause trouble. The four of us will come with you and answer your questions. (“Five,” said Tasslehoff indignantly, but everyone ignored him.) There is no need to disturb our companions.’

‘Go get the others,’ the constable ordered his men.

Two guards headed for the stairs, which suddenly burst into flame! Smoke billowed into the room, driving the guards back. Everyone ran for the door. Tanis grabbed Tasslehoff, who was staring with wide-eyed interest, and dragged him outside.

The constable was frantically blowing on his whistle, while several of his men prepared to dash off through the streets, raising the alarm. But the flames died as quickly as they had been born.

‘Eeep—’ The constable choked off his whistle. His face pale, he stepped warily back inside the inn. Tanis, peering over his shoulder, shook his head in awe. There was not a whisper of smoke, not a bit of varnish had so much as peeled. From the top of the stairs, he could hear faintly the sound of Raistlin’s voice. As the constable glanced apprehensively up the stairs, the chanting stopped.

Tanis swallowed, then drew a deep breath. He knew he must be as pale as the constable, and he glanced at Sturm and Flint. Raistlin’s power was growing...

‘The magician must be up there,’ the constable muttered.

‘Very good, Birdwhistle, and how long’d it take you to figure that one out—’ Tas began in a tone of voice Tanis knew meant trouble. He trod upon the kender’s foot, and Tas subsided into silence with a reproachful glance.

Fortunately, the constable didn’t appear to have heard. He glared at Sturm. ‘You’ll come with us peacefully?’

‘Yes,’ answered Sturm. ‘You have my word of honor,’ the knight added, ‘and no matter what you may think of the Knights, you know that my honor is my life.’

The constable’s eyes went to the dark stairway. ‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘Two of you guards stay here at the stair. The rest cover the other exits. Check anyone coming in and out. You all have the descriptions of the strangers?’

The guards nodded, exchanging uneasy glances. The two slated for guard duty inside the inn gave the staircase a frightened look and stood as far from it as possible. Tanis smiled grimly to himself.

The five companions, the kender grinning with excitement, followed the constable out of the building. As they walked into the street, Tanis caught sight of movement at an upstairs window. Looking up, he saw Laurana watching, her face drawn with fear. She raised her hand, he saw her lips form the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ in elven. Raistlin’s words came to his mind and he felt chilled. His heart ached. The thought that he might never see her again made the world seem suddenly bleak and empty and desolate. He realized what Laurana had come to mean to him in these last few dark months when even hope had died as he saw the evil armies of the Dragon Highlords overrun the land. Her steadfast faith, her courage, her unfailing, undying hope! How different from Kitiara!

The guard poked Tanis in the back. ‘Face forward! Quit signaling to those friends of yourn!’ he snarled. The half-elf’s thoughts returned to Kitiara. No, the warrior woman could never have acted so selflessly. She never could have helped the people as Laurana had helped them. Kit would have grown impatient and angry and left them to live or die as they chose. She detested and despised those weaker than herself.

Tanis thought of Kitiara and he thought of Laurana, but he was interested to note that the old painful thrill didn’t knot his soul anymore when he said Kitiara’s name to himself. No, now it was Laurana—the silly little girl who had been no more than a spoiled and irritating child only months before—who made his blood burn and his hands search for excuses to touch her. And now, perhaps, it was too late.

When he reached the end of the street, he glanced back again, hoping to give her some sort of sign. Let her know he understood. Let her know he’d been a fool. Let her know he—

But the curtain was drawn.

5 The riot. Tas disappears. Alhana Starbreeze.

‘Foul knight...’

A rock struck Sturm on the shoulder. The knight flinched, though the stone could have caused him little pain through his armor. Tanis, looking at his pale face and quivering moustaches, knew the pain was deeper than a weapon could inflict.

The crowds grew as the companions were marched through the street and word of their coming spread. Sturm walked with dignity, his head held proudly, ignoring the taunts and jeers. Although their guards shoved the crowd back time and again, they did it half-heartedly and the crowd knew it. More rocks were thrown, as were other objects even less pleasant. Soon all of the companions were cut and bleeding and covered with garbage and filth.

Tanis knew Sturm would never stoop to retaliation, not on this rabble, but the half-elf had to keep a firm grip on Flint. Even then, he was in constant fear the angry dwarf would charge past the guards and start breaking heads. But, in watching Flint, Tanis had forgotten Tasslehoff.

Besides being quite casual in respect to other people’s property, kenders have another unendearing characteristic known as the ‘taunt.’ AII kenders possess this talent to a greater or lesser degree., It is hoses their diminutive race has managed to thrive and survive in a world of knights and warriors, trolls and hobgoblins. The taunt is the ability to insult an enemy and work him into such .a fever pitch of rage that he loses his head and begins fighting wildly and erratically. Tas was a master at the taunt, though he rarely found a need to use it when traveling with his warrior friends. But Tas derided to take full advantage of this opportunity.

He began to shout insults back.

Too late Tanis realized what was happening. In vain he tried to shut him up. Tas was at the front off the line, the half-elf at the back, and there was no way to gag the kender.

Such insults as ‘foul knight’ and ‘elven scum’ lacked imagination, Tas felt. He decided to show these people exactly how much range and scope for variety were available in the Common language. Tasslehoff’s insults were masterpieces of creativity and ingenuity. Unfortunately, they also tended to be extremely personal and occasionally rather crude, delivered with an air of charming innocence.

‘Is that your nose or a disease? Can those fleas crawling on your body do tricks? Was your mother a gully dwarf?’ were only the beginning. Matters went rapidly down hill from there.

The guards began eyeing the angry crowd in alarm, while the constable gave the order to hurry the prisoners’ march. What he had seen as a victory procession exhibiting trophies of conquest appeared to be disintegrating into a full-scale riot.

‘Shut that kender up!’ he yelled furiously.

Tanis tried desperately to reach Tasslehoff, but the struggling guards and the surging crowd made it impossible. Gilthanas was knocked off his feet. Sturm bent over the elf, trying to protect him. Flint was kicking and flailing about in a rage. Tanis had just neared Tasslehoff when he was hit in the face with a tomato and momentarily blinded.

‘Hey, constable, you know what you could do with that whistle? You could—’

Tasslehoff never got a chance to tell the constable what he might do with the whistle, because at that instant a large hand plucked him up out of the center of the melee. A hand clapped itself over Tas’s mouth, while two more pairs of hands gripped the kender’s wildly kicking feet. A sack was popped over his head, and all Tas saw or smelled from that point on was burlap as he felt himself being carried away.

Tanis, wiping tomato from his stinging eyes, heard the sound of booted feet and more shouts and yells. The crowd hooted and jeered, then broke and ran. When he could finally see again, the half-elf glanced around quickly to make certain everyone was all right. Sturm was helping Gilthanas rise, wiping blood from a cut on the elf’s forehead. Flint, swearing fluently, plucked cabbage from his beard.

‘Where’s that blasted kender!’ the dwarf roared. ‘I’ll—’ He stopped and stared, turning this way and that. ‘Where is that blasted kender? Tas? So help me—’

‘Hush!’ Tanis ordered, realizing Tas had managed to escape.

Flint turned purple. ‘Why that little bastard!’ he swore. ‘He was the one got us into this and he left us to—’

‘Shhh!’ Tanis said, glaring at the dwarf.

Flint choked and fell silent.

The constable hustled his prisoners into the Hall of Justice. It was only when they were safely inside the ugly brick building that he realized one of them was missing.

‘Shall we go after him, sir?’ asked a guard.

The constable thought a moment, then shook his head in anger. ‘Don’t waste your time,’ he said bitterly. ‘Do you know what it’s like trying to find a kender who doesn’t want to be found? No. let him go We’ve still got the important ones. Have them wait here while I inform the Council.’

The constable entered a plain wooden door, leaving the companions and their guards standing in a dark, smelly hallway. A tinker lay in a corner, snoring noisily, obviously having taken too much wine. The guards wiped pumpkin rind off their uniforms and grimly divested themselves of carrot tops and other garbage that clung to them. Gilthanas dabbed at the blood on his face. Sturm tried to clean his cloak as best he could.

The constable returned, beckoning from the doorway.

‘Bring them along.’

As the guards shoved their prisoners forward, Tanis managed to get near Sturm. ‘Who’s in charge here?’ he whispered.

‘If we are fortunate, the Lord is still in control of the city,’ the knight replied softly. ‘The Tarsian lords always had the reputation for being noble and honorable.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, what charges do they have against us? We’ve done nothing. At the worst, an armed escort will make us leave the city.’

Tanis shook his head dubiously as he entered the courtroom. It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the dingy chambers that smelled even worse than the hallway. Two of the Tarsian council members held oranges studded with cloves up to their noses.

The six members of the council were seated at the bench, which stood upon a tall platform, three upon either side of their Lord, whose tall chair sat in the center. The Lord glanced up as they entered. His eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of Sturm, and it seemed to Tanis that his face softened. The Lord even nodded in a gesture of polite greeting to the knight. Tanis’s hopes rose. The companions walked forward to stand before the bench. There were no chairs. Supplicants or prisoners before the council stood to present their cases.

‘What is the charge against these men?’ the Lord asked.

The constable gave the companions a baleful glance.

‘Inciting a riot, milord,’ he said.

‘Riot!’ Flint exploded. ‘We had nothing to do with any riot! It was that rattle-brained—’

A figure in long robes crept forward from the shadows to whisper in his Lordship’s ear. None of the companions had noticed the figure as they entered. They noticed it now.

Flint coughed and fell silent, giving Tanis a meaningful, grim look from beneath his thick, white eyebrows. The dwarf shook his head, his shoulders slumped. Tanis sighed wearily. Gilthanas wiped blood from his cut with a shaking hand, his elven features pale with hatred. Only Sturm stood outwardly calm and unmoved as he looked upon the twisted half-man, half-reptilian face of a draconian.

The companions remaining in the Inn sat together in Elistan’s room for at least an hour after the others were taken away by the guards. Caramon remained on guard near the door, his sword drawn. Riverwind kept watch out the window. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of the angry mob and looked at each other with tense, strained faces. Then the noise faded. No one disturbed them. The Inn was deathly quiet.

The morning wore on without incident. The pale, cold sun climbed in the sky, doing little to warm the winter day. Caramon sheathed his sword and yawned. Tika dragged a chair over to sit beside him. Riverwind went to stand watchfully near Goldmoon, who was talking quietly to Elistan, making plans for the refugees.

Only Laurana remained standing by the window, though there was nothing to see. The guards had apparently grown tired of marching up and down the street and now huddled in doorways, trying to keep warm. Behind her, she could hear Tika and Caramon laugh softly together. Laurana glanced around at them. Talking too quietly to be heard, Caramon appeared to be describing a battle. Tika listened intently, her eyes gleaming with admiration.

The young barmaid had received a great deal of practice in fighting on their journey south to find the Hammer of Kharas and, though she would never be truly skilled with a sword, she had developed shield-bashing into an art. She wore her armor casually now. It was still mismatched, but she kept adding to it, scrounging pieces left on battlefields. The sunlight glinted on her chainmail vest, glistened in her red hair. Caramon’s face was animated and relaxed as he talked with the young woman. They did not touch—not with the golden eyes of Caramon’s twin on them—but they leaned very near each other.

Laurana sighed and turned away, feeling very lonely and—thinking of Raistlin’s words—very frightened.

She heard her sigh echoed, but it was not a sigh of regret. It was a sigh of irritation. Turning slightly, she looked down at Raistlin. The mage had closed the spellbook he was trying to read, and moved into the little bit of sunlight that came through the glass. He had to study his spellbook daily. It is the curse of the magi that they must commit their spells to memory time and again, for the words of magic flicker and die like sparks from a fire. Each spell cast saps the mage’s strength, leaving him physically weakened until he is finally exhausted and cannot work any magic at all without rest.

Raistlin’s strength had been growing since the companions’ meeting in Solace, as had his power. He had mastered several new spells taught to him by Fizban, the bumbling old magician who had died in Pax Tharkas. As his power grew, so did the misgivings of his companions. No one had any overt cause to mistrust him—indeed, his magic had saved their lives several times. But there was something disquieting about him—secret, silent, self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.

Absently caressing the night-blue cover of the strange spellbook he had acquired in Xak Tsaroth, Raistlin stared into the street. His golden eyes with their dark, hourglass-shaped pupils glittered coldly.

Although Laurana disliked speaking to the mage, she had to know! What had he meant—a long farewell?

‘What do you see when you look far away like that?’ she asked softly, sitting down next to him, feeling a sudden weakness of fear sweep over her.

‘What do I see?’ he repeated softly. There was great pain and sadness in his voice, not the bitterness she was accustomed to hearing. ‘I see time as it affects all things. Human flesh withers and dies before my eyes. Flowers bloom, only to fade. Trees drop green leaves, never to regain them. In my sight, it is always winter, always night.’

‘And—this was done to you in the Towers of High Sorcery?’ Laurana asked, shocked beyond measure. ‘Why? To what end?’

Raistlin smiled his rare and twisted smile. ‘To remind me of my own mortality. To teach me compassion.’ His voice sank. ‘I was proud and arrogant in my youth. The youngest to take the Test, I was going to show them all!’ His frail fist clenched. ‘Oh, I showed them. They shattered my body and devoured my mind until by the end I was capable of—’ He stopped abruptly, his eyes shifting to Caramon.

‘Of what?’ Laurana asked, fearing to know, yet fascinated.

‘Nothing,’ Raistlin whispered, lowering his eyes. ‘I am forbidden to speak of it.’

Laurana saw his hands tremble. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breath wheezed and he began to cough. Feeling guilty for having inadvertently caused such anguish, she flushed and shook her head, biting her lip. ‘I-I’m sorry to have given you pain. I didn’t mean to.’ Confused, she looked down, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face—a girlish habit.

Raistlin leaned forward almost unconsciously, his hand stretching out, trembling, to touch the wondrous hair that seemed possessed of a life of its own, so vibrant and luxuriant was it. Then, seeing before his eyes his own dying flesh, he withdrew his hand quickly and sank back in his chair, a bitter smile on his lips. For what Laurana did not know, could not know, was that, in looking at her, Raistlin saw the only beauty he would ever see in his lifetime. Young, by elven standards, she was untouched by death or decay, even in the mage’s cursed vision.

Laurana saw nothing of this. She was aware only that he moved slightly. She almost got up and left, but she felt drawn to him now, and he still had not answered her question. ‘I—I meant—can you see the future? Tanis told me your mother was—what do they call it—prescient? I know that Tanis comes to you for advice...’

Raistlin regarded Laurana thoughtfully. ‘The half-elf comes to me for advice, not because I can see the future. I can’t. I am no seer. He comes because I am able to think, which is something most of these other fools seem incapable of doing.’

‘But—what you said. Some of us may not see each other again.’ Laurana looked up at him earnestly. ‘You must have foreseen something! What—I must know! Was it...Tanis?’

Raistlin pondered. When he spoke, it was more to himself than to Laurana. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t even know why I said that. It’s just that—for an instant—I knew—’ He seemed to struggle to remember, then suddenly shrugged.

‘Knew what?’ Laurana persisted.

‘Nothing. My overwrought imagination as the knight would say if he were here. So Tanis told you about my mother,’ he said, changing the subject abruptly.

Laurana, disappointed but hoping to find out more if she kept talking to him, nodded her head. ‘He said she had the gift of foresight. She could look into the future and see images of what would come to pass.’

‘That is true,’ Raistlin whispered, then smiled sardonically. ‘Much good it did her. The first man she married was a handsome warrior from the northland. Their passion died within months, and after that they made life miserable for each other. My mother was fragile of health and given to slipping into strange trances from which she might not wake for hours. They were poor, living off what her husband could earn with his sword. Though he was clearly of noble blood, he never spoke of his family. I do not believe he even told her his real name.’

Raistlin’s eyes narrowed. ‘He told Kitiara, though. I’m sure of it. That is why she traveled north, to find his family.’

‘Kitiara...’ Laurana said in a strained voice. She touched the name as one touches an aching tooth, eager to understand more of this human woman Tanis loved. ‘Then, that man—the noble warrior—was Kitiara’s father?’ she said in a husky voice.

Raistlin regarded her with a penetrating gaze. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘She is my elder half-sister. Older than Caramon and I by about eight years. She is very much like her father, I believe. As beautiful as he was handsome. Resolute and impetuous, warlike, strong and fearless. Her father taught her the only thing he knew—the art of warfare. He began going on longer and longer trips, and one day vanished completely. My mother convinced the Highseekers to declare him legally dead. She then remarried the man who became our father. He was a simple man, a woodcutter by trade. Once again, her farsight did not serve her.’

‘Why?’ Laurana asked gently, caught up in the story, amazed that the usually taciturn mage was so voluble, not knowing that he was drawing more out of her simply by watching her expressive face than he was giving in return.

‘The birth of my brother and I for one thing,’ Raistlin said. Then, overcome by a fit of coughing, he stopped talking and motioned to his brother. ‘Caramon! It is time for my drink,’ he said in the hissing whisper that pierced through the loudest talk. ‘Or have you forgotten me in the pleasure of other company?’

Caramon fell silent in mid-laugh. ‘No, Raist,’ he said guiltily, hurriedly rising from his seat to hang a kettle of water over the fire. Tika, subdued, lowered her head, unwilling to meet the mage’s gaze.

After staring at her a moment, Raistlin turned back to Laurana, who had watched all this with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. He began to speak again as if there had been no interruption. ‘My mother never really recovered from the childbirth. The midwife gave me up for dead, and I would have died, too, if it hadn’t been for Kitiara. Her first battle, she used to say, was against death with me as the prize. She raised us. My mother was incapable of taking care of children, and my father was forced to work day and night simply to keep us fed. He died in an accident when Caramon and I were in our teens. My mother went into one of her trances that day’—Raistlin’s voice dropped—‘and never came out. She died of starvation.’

‘How awful!’ Laurana murmured, shivering.

Raistlin did not speak for long moments, his strange eyes staring out into the chill, gray winter sky. Then his mouth twisted. ‘It taught me a valuable lesson—learn to control the power. Never let it control you!’

Laurana did not seem to have heard him. Her hands in her lap twisted nervously. This was the perfect opportunity to ask the questions she longed to ask, but it would mean giving up a part of her inner self to this man she feared and distrusted. But her curiosity—and her love—were too great. She never realized she was falling into a cunningly baited trap. For Raistlin delighted in discovering the secrets of people’s souls, knowing he might find them useful.

‘What did you do then?’ she asked, swallowing. ‘Did Kit-Kitiara...’ Trying to appear natural, she stumbled over the name and flushed in embarrassment.

Raistlin watched Laurana’s inner struggle with interest. ‘Kitiara was gone by then,’ he answered. ‘She left home when she was fifteen, earning her living by her sword. She is an expert—so Caramon tells me—and had no trouble finding mercenary work. Oh, she returned every so often, to see how we were getting along. When we were older, and more skilled, she took us with her. That was where Caramon and I learned to fight together—I using my magic, my brother his sword. Then, after she met Tanis’—Raistlin’s eyes glittered at Laurana’s discomfiture—‘she traveled with us more often.’

‘Traveled with whom? Where did you go?’

‘There was Sturm Brightblade, already dreaming of knighthood, the kender, Tanis, Caramon, and I. We traveled with Flint, before he retired from metalsmithing. The roads grew so dangerous that Flint gave up traveling. And, by this time, we had all learned as much as we could from our friends. We were growing restless. It was time to separate, Tanis said.’

‘And you did as he said? He was your leader, even then?’ She looked back to remember him as she had known him before he left Qualinost, beardless and lacking the lines of care and worry she saw now on his face. But even then he was withdrawn and brooding, tormented by his feelings of belonging to both races—and to neither. She hadn’t understood him then. Only now, after living in a world of humans, was she beginning to.

‘He has the qualities we are told are essential for leadership. He is quick-thinking, intelligent, creative. But most of us possess these—in greater or lesser degree. Why do the others follow Tanis? Sturm is of noble blood, member of an order whose roots go back to ancient times. Why does he obey a bastard half-elf? And Riverwind? He distrusts all who are not human and half who are. Yet he and Goldmoon both would follow Tanis to the Abyss and back. Why?’

‘I have wondered,’ Laurana began, ‘and I think—’

But Raistlin, ignoring her, answered his own question. ‘Tanis listens to his feelings. He does not suppress them, as does the knight, or hide them, as does the Plainsman. Tanis realizes that sometimes a leader must think with his heart and not his head.’ Raistlin glanced at her. ‘Remember that.’

Laurana blinked, confused for a moment, then, sensing a tone of superiority in the mage which irritated her, she said loftily, ‘I notice you leave out yourself. If you are as intelligent and powerful as you claim, why do you follow Tanis?’

Raistlin’s hourglass eyes were dark and hooded. He stopped talking as Caramon brought his twin a cup and carefully poured water from the kettle. The warrior glanced at Laurana, his face dark, embarrassed and uncomfortable as always whenever his brother went on like this.

Raistlin did not seem to notice. Pulling a pouch from his pack, he sprinkled some green leaves into the hot water. A pungent, acrid smell filled the room. ‘I do not follow him.’ The young mage looked up at Laurana. ‘For the time being, Tanis and I simply happen to be traveling in the same direction.’

‘The Knights of Solamnia are not welcome in our city,’ the Lord said sternly, his face serious. His dark gaze swept the rest of the company. ‘Nor are elves, kender, or dwarves, or those who travel in their company. I understand you also have a magic-user with you, one who wears the red robes. You wear armor. Your weapons are blood-stained and come quickly and readily to your hands. Obviously you are skilled warriors.’

‘Mercenaries, undoubtedly, milord,’ the constable said.

‘We are not mercenaries,’ Sturm said, coming to stand before the bench, his bearing proud and noble. ‘We come out of the northern Plains of Abanasinia. We freed eight hundred men, women, and children from the Dragon Highlord, Verminaard, in Pax Tharkas. Fleeing the wrath of the dragonarmies, we left the people hidden in a valley in the mountains and traveled south, hoping to find ships in the legendary city of Tarsis. We did not know it was landlocked, or we would not have bothered.’

The Lord frowned. ‘You say you came from the north? That is impossible. No one has ever come safely through the mountain kingdom of the dwarves in Thorbardin.’

‘If you know aught of the Knights of Solamnia, you know we would die sooner than tell a lie—even to our enemies,’ Sturm said. ‘We entered the dwarven kingdom and won safe passage by finding and restoring to them the lost Hammer of Kharas.’

The Lord shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the draconian who sat behind him. ‘I do know somewhat of the knights,’ he said reluctantly. ‘And therefore I must believe your story, though it sounds more a child’s bedtime tale than—’

Suddenly the doors banged open and two guards strode in, roughly dragging a prisoner between them. They thrust the companions aside as they flung their prisoner to the floor. The prisoner was a woman. Heavily veiled, she was dressed in long skirts and a heavy cape. She lay for a moment on the floor, as if too tired or defeated to rise. Then, seeming to make a supreme effort of will, she started to push herself up. Obviously no one was going to assist her. The Lord stared at her, his face grim and scowling. The draconian behind him had risen to its feet and was looking down at her with interest. The woman struggled, entangled in her cape and her long, flowing skirts.

Then Sturm was at her side.

The knight had watched in horror, appalled at this callous treatment of a woman. He glanced at Tanis, saw the ever-cautious half-elf shake his head, but the sight of the woman making a gallant effort to rise proved too much for the knight. He took a step forward, and found a hauberk thrust in front of him.

‘Kill me if you will,’ the knight said to the guard, ‘but I am going to the aid of the lady.’

The guard blinked and stepped back, his eyes looking up at the Lord for orders. The Lord shook his head slightly. Tanis, watching closely, held his breath. Then he thought he saw the Lord smile, quickly covering it with his hand.

‘My lady, allow me to assist you,’ Sturm said with the courtly, old-fashioned politeness long lost in the world. His strong hands gently raised her to her feet.

‘You had better leave me, sir knight,’ the woman said, her words barely audible from behind her veil. But at the sound of her voice, Tanis and Gilthanas gasped softly, glancing at each other. ‘You do not know what you do,’ she said. ‘You risk your life—’

‘It is my privilege to do so,’ Sturm said, bowing. Then he stood near her protectively, his eyes on the guards.

‘She is Silvanesti elven!’ Gilthanas whispered to Tanis. ‘Does Sturm know?’

‘Of course not,’ Tanis said softly. ‘How could he? I barely recognized her accent myself.’

‘What could she be doing here? Silvanesti is far away—’

‘I—’ Tanis began, but one of the guards shoved him in the back. He fell silent just as the Lord started to speak.

‘Lady Alhana,’ he said in a cold voice, ‘you were warned to leave this city. I was merciful last time you came before me because you were on a diplomatic mission from your people, and protocol is still honored in Tarsis. I told you then, however, you could expect no help from us and gave you twenty-four hours to depart. Now I find you still here.’ He looked over at the guards. ‘What is the charge?’

‘Trying to buy mercenaries, milord,’ the constable replied. ‘She was picked up in an inn along the Old Waterfront, milord.’ The constable gave Sturm a scathing glance. ‘It was a good thing she didn’t meet up with this lot. Of course, no one in Tarsis would aid an elf.’

‘Alhana,’ Tanis muttered to himself. He edged over to Gilthanas. ‘Why is that name familiar?’

‘Have you been gone from your people so long you do not recognize the name?’ the elf answered softly in elven. ‘There was only one among our Silvanesti cousins called Alhana. Alhana Starbreeze, daughter of the Speaker of the Stars, princess of her people, ruler when her father dies, for she has no brothers.’

‘Alhana!’ Tanis said, memories coming back to him. The elven people were split hundreds of years before, when Kith-Kanan led many of the elves to the land of Qualinesti following the bitter Kinslayer Wars. But the elven leaders still kept in contact in the mysterious manner of the elflords who, it is said, can read messages in the wind and speak the language of the silver moon. Now he remembered Alhana—of all elfmaidens reputed to be the most beautiful, and distant as the silver moon that shone on her birth.

The draconian leaned down to confer with the Lord. Tanis saw the man’s face darken, and it seemed as if he was about to disagree, then he bit his lip and, sighing, nodded his head. The draconian melted back into the shadows once more.

‘You are under arrest, Lady Alhana,’ the Lord said heavily. Sturm took a step nearer the woman as the guards closed in around her. Sturm threw back his head and cast them all a warning glance. So confident and noble did he appear, even unarmed, that the guards hesitated. Still, their Lord had given them an order.

‘You better do something,’ Flint growled. ‘I’m all for chivalry, but there’s a time and a place and this isn’t either!’

‘Have you got any suggestions?’ Tanis snapped.

Flint didn’t answer. There wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do and they knew it. Sturm would die before one of those guards laid a hand on the woman again, even though he had no idea who this woman was. It didn’t matter. Feeling himself torn with frustration and admiration for his friend, Tanis gauged the distance between himself and the nearest guard, knowing he could put at least one out of action. He saw Gilthanas close his eyes, his lips moving. The elf was a magic-user, though he rarely treated it seriously. Seeing the look on Tanis’s face, Flint heaved a sigh and turned toward another guard, lowering his helmeted head like a battering ram.

Then suddenly the Lord spoke, his voice grating. ‘Hold, knight!’ he said with the authority that had been bred in him for generations. Sturm, recognizing this, relaxed, and Tanis breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I will not have blood shed in this Council chamber. The lady has disobeyed a law of the land, laws which, in days gone by, you, sir knight, were sworn to uphold. But I agree, there is no reason to treat her disrespectfully. Guards, you will escort the lady to prison but with the same courtesy you show me. And you, sir knight, will accompany her, since you are so interested in her welfare.’

Tanis nudged Gilthanas who came out of his trance with a start. ‘Truly, as Sturm said, this Lord comes from a noble and honorable line,’ Tanis whispered.

‘I don’t see what you’re so pleased about, Half-elf.’ Flint grunted, overhearing them. ‘First the kender gets us charged with inciting a riot, then he disappears. Now the knight gets us thrown into prison. Next time, remind me to stick with the mage. I know he’s crazed!’

As the guards started to herd their prisoners away from the bench, Alhana appeared to be hunting for something within the folds of her long skirt.

‘I beg a favor, sir knight,’ she said to Sturm. ‘I seem to have dropped something. A trifle but precious. Could you look—’

Sturm knelt swiftly and immediately saw the object where it lay, sparkling, on the floor, hidden by the folds of her dress. It was a pin, shaped like a star, glittering with diamonds. He drew in his breath. A trifle! Its value must be incalculable. No wonder she did not want it found by these worthless guards. Quickly he wrapped his fingers around it, then feigned to look about. Finally, still kneeling, he looked up at the woman.

Sturm caught his breath as the woman removed the hood of her cloak and drew the veil from her face. For the first time, human eyes looked upon the face of Alhana Starbreeze.

Muralasa, the elves called her—Princess of the Night. Her hair, black and soft as the night wind, was held in place by a net as fine as cobweb, twinkling with tiny jewels like stars. Her skin was the pale hue of the silver moon, her eyes the deep, dark purple of the night sky and her lips the color of the red moon’s shadows.

The knight’s first thought was to give thanks to Paladine that he was already on his knees. His second was that death would be a paltry price to pay to serve her, and his third that he must say something, but he seemed to have forgotten the words of any known language.

‘Thank you for searching, noble knight,’ Alhana said softly, staring intently into Sturm’s eyes. ‘As I said, it was a trifle. Please rise. I am very weary and, since it seems we are going to the same place, you could do me a great favor by giving me your assistance.’

‘I am yours to command,’ Sturm said fervently, and he rose to his feet, swiftly tucking the jewel inside his belt. He held out his arm, and Alhana put her slender, white hand on his forearm. His arm trembled at her touch.

It seemed to the knight as if a cloud had covered the light of the stars when she veiled her face again. Sturm saw Tanis fall into line behind them, but so enraptured was the knight with the beautiful face burning in his memory that he stared straight at the half-elf without a flicker of recognition.

Tanis had seen Alhana’s face and felt his own heart stir with her beauty. But he had seen Sturm’s face as well. He had seen that beauty enter the knight’s heart, doing more damage than a goblin’s poisoned arrowtip. For this love must turn to poison, he knew. The Silvanesti were a proud and haughty race. Fearing contamination and the loss of their way of life, they refused to have even the slightest contact with humans. Thus the Kinslayer Wars had been fought.

No, thought Tanis sadly, the silver moon itself was not higher or farther out of Sturm’s reach. The half-elf sighed. This was all they needed.

6 Knights of Solamnia. Tasslehoffs glasses of true seeing.

As the guards led the prisoners from the Hall of Justice, they passed two figures standing outside in the shadows. Both were so swathed in clothing it was difficult to tell to what race they belonged. Hoods covered their heads, their faces were wrapped in cloth. Long robes shrouded their bodies. Even their hands were wrapped in strips of white, like bandages. They spoke together in low tones.

‘See!’ one said in great excitement. ‘There they are. They match the descriptions.’

‘Not all of them,’ said the other dubiously.

‘But the half-elf, the dwarf, the knight! I tell you, it is them! And I know where the others are,’ the figure added smugly. ‘I questioned one of the guards.’

The other, taller figure considered, watching the group being led off down the street. ‘You are right. We should report this to the Highlord at once.’ The shrouded figure turned, then stopped as it saw the other hesitate. ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘But shouldn’t one of us follow? Look at those puny guards. You know the prisoners will try and escape.’

The other laughed unpleasantly. ‘Of course they’ll escape. And we know where they’ll go—to rejoin their friends.’ The shrouded figure squinted up at the afternoon sun. ‘Besides, in a few hours it won’t make any difference.’ The tall figure strode away, the shorter hurrying after.

It was snowing when the companions left the Hall of Justice. This time, the constable knew better than to march his prisoners through the main city streets. He led them into a dark and gloomy alleyway that ran behind the Hall of Justice.

Tanis and Sturm were just exchanging glances, and Gilthanas and Flint were just tensing to attack when the half-elf saw the shadows in the alley begin to move. Three hooded and cloaked figures leaped out in front of the guards, their steel blades gleaming in the bright sunlight.

The constable put his whistle to his lips, but he never made a sound. One of the figures knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his sword, while the other two rushed the guards, who immediately fled. The hooded figures faced the companions.

‘Who are you?’ Tanis asked, astounded at his sudden freedom. The hooded and cloaked figures reminded him of the hooded draconians they had fought outside of Solace. Sturm pulled Alhana behind him.

‘Have we escaped one danger only to find a worse?’ Tanis demanded. ‘Unmask yourselves!’

But one of the hooded men turned to Sturm, his hands raised in the air. ‘Oth Tsarthon e Paran,’ he said.

Sturm gasped. ‘Est Tsarthai en Paranaith,’ he replied, then he turned to Tanis. ‘Knights of Solamnia,’ he said, gesturing at the three men.

‘Knights?’ Tanis asked in astonishment. ‘Why—’

‘There is no time for explanation, Sturm Brightblade,’ one of the knights said in Common, his accent thick. ‘The guards will return soon. Come with us.’

‘Not so fast!’ Flint growled, his feet planted firmly in the street, his hands breaking off the handle of a hauberk so that it suited his short stature. ‘You’ll find time for explanations or I’m not going! How’d you know the knight’s name and how came you to be waiting for us—’

‘Oh, just run him through!’ sang a shrill voice out of the shadows. ‘Leave his body to feed the crows. Not that they’ll bother; there’s few in this world who can stomach dwarf—’

‘Satisfied?’ Tanis turned to Flint, who was red-faced with rage.

‘Someday,’ vowed the dwarf, ‘I’ll kill that kender.’

Whistles sounded from the street behind them. With no more hesitation, the companions followed the knights through twisting, rat-infested alleys. Saying he had business to attend to, Tas disappeared before Tanis could catch hold of him. The half-elf noticed that the knights didn’t seem at all surprised by this, nor did they try to stop Tas. They refused, however, to answer any questions, just kept hurrying the group along until they entered the ruins—the old city of Tarsis the Beautiful.

Here the knights stopped. They had brought the companions to a part of the city where no one ever came now. The streets were broken and empty, reminding Tanis strongly of the ancient city of Xak Tsaroth. Taking Sturm by the arm, the knights led him a short distance from his friends and began to confer in Solamnic, leaving the others to rest.

Tanis, leaning against a building, looked around with interest. What remained standing of the buildings on this street was impressive, much more beautiful than the modern city. He saw that Tarsis the Beautiful must have deserved its name before the Cataclysm. Now nothing but huge blocks of granite lay tumbled about. Vast courtyards were choked and overgrown with weeds turned brown by the biting winter winds.

He walked over to sit down on a bench with Gilthanas, who was talking to Alhana. The elflord introduced him.

‘Alhana Starbreeze, Tanis Half-Elven,’ Gilthanas said. ‘Tanis lived among the Qualinesti for many years. He is the son of my uncle’s wife.’

Alhana drew back the veil from her face and regarded Tanis coldly. Son of my uncle’s wife, was a polite way of saying Tanis was illegitimate, otherwise Gilthanas world have introduced him as the ‘son of my uncle.’ The half-elf flushed, the old pain returning forcibly, hurting as much now as it had fifty years before. He wondered if he would ever be free of it.

Scratching his beard, Tanis said harshly, ‘My mother was raped by human warriors during years of darkness following the Cataclysm. The Speaker kindly took me in following her death and raised me as his own.’

Alhana’s dark eyes grew darker until they were pools of night. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you see a need to apologize for your heritage?’ she asked in a chill voice.

‘N-no...’ Tanis stammered, his face burning. ‘I—’

‘Then do not,’ she said, and she turned away from him to Gilthanas. ‘You asked why I came to Tarsis? I came seeking aid. I must return to Silvanesti to search for my father.’

‘Return to Silvanesti?’ Gilthanas repeated. ‘We—my people did not know the Silvanesti elves had left their ancient homeland. No wonder we lost contact—’

‘Yes,’ Alhana’s voice grew sad. ‘The evil that forced you, our cousins, to leave Qualinesti came to us as well.’ She bowed her head, then looked up, her own voice soft and low. ‘Long we fought this evil. But in the end we were forced to flee or perish utterly. My father sent the people, under my leadership, to Southern Ergoth. He stayed in Silvanesti to fight the evil alone. I opposed this decision, but he said he had the power to prevent the evil from destroying our homeland. With a heavy heart, I led my people to safety and there they remain. But I came back to seek my father, for the days have been long and we have heard no word of him.’

‘But had you no warriors, lady, to accompany you on such a dangerous journey?’ Tanis asked.

Alhana, turning, glanced at Tanis as if amazed that he had intruded upon their conversation. At first she seemed about to refuse to answer him, then—looking longer at his face—she changed her mind. ‘There were many warriors who offered to escort me,’ she said proudly. ‘But when I said I led my people to safety, I spoke rashly. Safety no longer exists in this world. The warriors stayed behind to guard the people. I came to Tarsis hoping to find warriors to travel into Silvanesti with me. I presented myself to the Lord and the Council, as protocol demands—’

Tanis shook his head, frowning darkly. ‘That was stupid,’ he said bluntly. ‘You should have known how they feel about elves—even before the draconians came! You were damn lucky they only ordered you tossed out of the city.’

Alhana’s pale face became—if possible—paler. Her dark eyes glittered. ‘I did as protocol demands,’ she replied, too well bred to show her anger beyond the cool tones of her voice. ‘To do otherwise would have been to come as a barbarian. When the Lord refused to aid me, I told him I intended to seek help on my own. To do less would have not been honorable.’

Flint, who had been able to follow only bits and pieces of the conversation in elven, nudged Tanis. ‘She and the knight will get on perfectly.’ He snorted. ‘Unless their honor gets them killed first.’ Before Tanis could reply, Sturm rejoined the group.

‘Tanis,’ Sturm said in excitement, ‘the knights have found the ancient library! That’s why they’re here. They discovered records in Palanthas saying that in ancient times knowledge of dragons was kept in the library here, at Tarsis. The Knights Council sent them to see if the library still survived.’

Sturm gestured for the knights to come forward. ‘This is Brian Donner, Knight of the Sword,’ he said. ‘Aran Tallbow, Knight of the Crown, and Derek Crownguard, Knight of the Rose.’ The knights bowed.

‘And this is Tanis Half-Elven, our leader,’ Sturm said. The half-elf saw Alhana start and look at him in wonder, glancing at Sturm to see if she had heard correctly.

Sturm introduced Gilthanas and Flint, then he turned to Alhana. ‘Lady Alhana,’ he began, then stopped, embarrassed, realizing he knew nothing more about her.

‘Alhana Starbreeze,’ Gilthanas finished. ‘Daughter of the Speaker of the Stars. Princess of the Silvanesti elves.’

The knights bowed again, lower this time.

‘Accept my heartfelt gratitude for rescuing me,’ Alhana said coolly. Her gaze encompassed all the group but lingered longest on Sturm. Then she turned to Derek, whom she knew from his Order of the Rose to be the leader. ‘Have you discovered the records the Council sent you to find?’

As she spoke, Tanis examined the knights, now unhooded, with interest. He, too, knew enough to know that the Knights Council—the ruling body of the Solamnic knights—had sent the best. In particular he studied Derek, the elder and the highest in rank. Few knights attained the Order of the Rose. The tests were dangerous and difficult, and only knights of pure bloodline could belong.

‘We have found a book, my lady,’ Derek said, ‘written in an ancient language we could not understand. There were pictures of dragons, however, so we were planning to copy it and return to Sancrist where, we hoped, scholars would be able to translate it. But instead we have found one who can read it. The kender—’

‘Tasslehoff!’ Flint exploded.

Tanis’s mouth gaped open. ‘Tasslehoff?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘He can barely read Common. He doesn’t know any ancient languages. The only one among us who might possibly be able to translate an ancient language is Raistlin.’

Derek shrugged. ‘The kender has a pair of glasses he says are “magical glasses of true seeing.” He put them on and he has been able to read the book. It says—’

‘I can imagine what it says!’ Tanis snapped. ‘Stories about automatons and magic rings of teleporting and plants that live off air. Where is he? I’m going to have a little talk with Tasslehoff Burrfoot.’

‘Magical glasses of true seeing,’ Flint grumbled. ‘And I’m a gully dwarf!’

The companions entered a shattered building. Climbing over rubble, they followed Derek’s lead through a low archway. The smell of must and mildew was strong. The darkness was intense after the brightness of the afternoon sun outside and for a moment, everyone was blinded. Then Derek lit a torch, and they saw narrow, winding stairs leading down into more darkness.

‘The library was built below ground,’ Derek explained. ‘Probably the only reason it survived the Cataclysm so well.’

The companions descended the stairs rapidly and soon found themselves inside a huge room. Tanis caught his breath and even Alhana’s eyes widened in the flickering torchlight. The gigantic room was filled from ceiling to floor with tall, wooden shelves, stretching as far as the eye could see. On the shelves were books. Books of all kinds. Books with leather bindings, books bound in wood, books bound in what looked like leaves from some exotic tree. Many were not bound at all but were simply sheaves of parchment, held together with black ribbons. Several shelves had toppled over, spilling the books to the floor until it was ankle-deep in parchment.

‘There must be thousands!’ Tanis said in awe. ‘How did you ever find one among these?’

Derek shook his head. ‘It was not easy,’ he said. ‘Long days we have spent down here, searching. When we discovered it at last, we felt more despair than triumph, for it was obvious that the book cannot be moved. Even as we touched the pages, they crumbled to dust. We feared we would spend long, weary hours copying it. But the kender—’

‘Right, the kender,’ Tanis said grimly. ‘Where is he?’

‘Over here!’ piped a shrill voice.

Tanis peered through the dimly lit room to see a candle burning on a table. Tasslehoff, seated on a high wooden chair, was bent over a thick book. As the companions neared him, they could see a pair of small glasses perched on his nose.

‘All right, Tas,’ Tanis said. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘Get what?’ the kender asked innocently. He saw Tanis’s eyes narrow and put his hand to the small wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Oh, uh, these? I had them in a pouch...and, well, if you must know, I found them in the dwarven kingdom—’

Flint groaned and put his hand over his face.

‘They were just lying on a table!’ Tas protested, seeing Tanis scowl. ‘Honest! There was no one around. I thought perhaps someone misplaced them. I only took them for safekeeping. Good thing, too. Some thief might have come along and stolen them, and they’re very valuable! I meant to return them, but after that we were so busy, what with fighting dark dwarves and draconians and finding the Hammer, and I—sort of—forgot I had them. When I remembered them, we were miles away from the dwarves, on our way to Tarsis, and I didn’t think you’d want me to go back, just to return them, so—’

‘What do they do?’ Tanis interrupted the kender, knowing they’d be here until the day after tomorrow if he didn’t.

‘They’re wonderful,’ Tas said hastily, relieved that Tanis wasn’t going to yell at him. ‘I left them lying on a map one day.’ Tas patted his mapcase. ‘I looked down and what do you suppose? I could read the writing on the map through the glasses! Now, that doesn’t sound very wonderful,’ Tas said hurriedly, seeing Tanis start to frown again, ‘but this was a map written in a language I’d never been able to understand before. So I tried them on all my maps and I could read them, Tanis! Every one! Even the real, real old ones!’

‘And you never mentioned this to us?’ Sturm glared at Tas.

‘Well, the subject just never came up,’ Tas said apologetically. ‘Now, if you had asked me directly—“Tasslehoff, do you have a pair of magical seeing glasses?—” I would have told you the truth straight off. But you never did, Sturm Brightblade, so don’t look at me like that. Anyway, I can read this old book. Let me tell you what I—’

‘How do you know they’re magic and not just some mechanical device of the dwarves?’ Tanis asked, sensing that Tas was hiding something.

Tas gulped. He had been hoping Tanis wouldn’t ask him that question.

‘Uh,’ Tas stammered, ‘I—I guess I did sort of, happened to, uh, mention them to Raistlin one night when you were all busy doing something else. He told me they might be magic. To find out, he said one of those weird spells of his and they—uh—began to glow. That meant they were enchanted. He asked me what they did and I demonstrated and he said they were “glasses of true seeing.” The dwarven magic-users of old made them to read books written in other languages and—’ Tas stopped.

‘And?’ Tanis pursued.

‘And—uh—magic spellbooks.’ Tas’s voice was a whisper.

‘And what else did Raistlin say?’

‘That if I touched his spellbooks or even looked at them sideways, he’d turn me into a cricket and s-swallow m-me whole,’ Tasslehoff stammered. He looked up at Tanis with wide eyes. ‘I believed him, too.’

Tanis shook his head. Trust Raistlin to come up with a threat awful enough to quench the curiosity of a kender. ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

‘No, Tanis,’ Tas said innocently. Actually Raistlin had mentioned something else about the glasses, but Tas hadn’t been able to understand it very well. Something about the glasses seeing things too truly, which didn’t make any sense, so he figured it probably wasn’t worth bringing up. Besides, Tanis was mad enough already.

‘Well, what have you discovered?’ Tanis asked grudgingly.

‘Oh, Tanis, it’s so interesting!’ Tas said, thankful the ordeal was over. He carefully turned a page and, even as he did so, it split and cracked beneath his small fingers. He shook his head sadly. ‘That happens almost every time. But you can see here’—the others leaned around to stare beneath the kender’s finger—‘pictures of dragons. Blue dragons, red dragons, black dragons, green dragons. I didn’t know there were so many. Now, see this thing?’ He turned another page. ‘Oops. Well, you can’t see it now, but it was a huge ball of glass. And—so the book says—if you have one of these glass balls, you can gain control over the dragons and they’ll do what you say!’

‘Glass ball!’ Flint sniffed, then sneezed. ‘Don’t believe him, Tanis. I think the only thing those glasses have done is magnify his tall stories.’

‘I am so telling the truth!’ Tas said indignantly. ‘They’re called dragon orbs, and you can ask Raistlin about them! He must know because, according to this, they were made by the great wizards, long ago.’

‘I believe you,’ Tanis said gravely, seeing that Tasslehoff was really upset. ‘But I’m afraid it won’t do us much good. They were probably all destroyed in the Cataclysm and we wouldn’t know where to look anyway—’

‘Yes, we do,’ Tas said excitedly. ‘There’s a list here, of where they were kept. See—’ He stopped, cocking his head. ‘Shhhh,’ he said, listening. The others fell silent. For a moment they heard nothing, then their ears caught what the kender’s quicker hearing had already detected.

Tanis felt his hands grow cold; the dry, bitter taste of fear filled his mouth. Now he could hear, in the distance, the sound of hundreds of horns braying, horns all of them had heard before. The bellowing, brass horns that heralded the approach of the draconian armies—and the approach of the dragons.

The horns of death.

7 ‘—not destined to meet again in this world.’

The companions had just reached the marketplace when the first flight of dragons struck Tarsis.

The group had separated from the knights, not a pleasant parting. The knights had tried to convince them to escape with them into the hills. When the companions refused, Derek demanded that Tasslehoff accompany them, since the kender alone knew the location of the dragon orbs. Tanis knew Tas would only run away from the knights and was forced to refuse again.

‘Bring the kender, Sturm, and come with us,’ Derek commanded, ignoring Tanis.

‘I cannot, sir,’ Sturm replied, laying his hand on Tanis’s arm. ‘He is my leader, and my first loyalty is to my friends.’

Derek’s voice was cold with anger. ‘If that is your decision,’ he answered, ‘I cannot stop you. But this is a black mark against you, Sturm Brightblade. Remember that you are not a knight. Not yet. Pray that I am not there when the question of your knighthood comes before the Council.’

Sturm became as pale as death. He cast a sideways glance at Tanis, who tried to hide his astonishment at this startling news. But there was no time to think about it. The sound of the horns, screaming discordantly on the chill air, was coming closer and closer each second. The knights and the companions parted; the knights heading for their camp in the hills, the companions returning to town.

They found the townspeople outside their houses, speculating on the strange horn calls, which they had never heard before and did not understand. One Tarsian alone heard and understood. The Lord in the council chamber rose to his feet at the sound. Whirling, he turned upon the smug-looking draconian seated in the shadows behind him.

‘You said we would be spared!’ the Lord said through clenched teeth. ‘We’re still negotiating—’

‘The Dragon Highlord grew weary of negotiation,’ the draconian said, stifling a yawn. ‘And the city will be spared—after it has been taught a lesson, of course.’

The Lord’s head sank into his hands. The other council members, not fully comprehending what was happening, stared at each other in horrified awareness as they saw tears trickle through the Lord’s fingers.

Outside, the red dragons were visible in the skies, hundreds of them. Flying in regimented groups of three to five, their wings glistened flame red in the setting sun. The people of Tarsis knew one thing and one thing only: death flew overhead.

As the dragons swooped low, making their first passes over the town, the dragonfear flowed from them, spreading panic more deadly than fire. The people had one thought in their minds as the shadows of the wings blotted out the dying light of day—escape.

But there was no escape.

After the first pass, knowing now that they would meet no resistance, the dragons struck. One after the other, they circled, then dropped from the sky like red-hot shot, their fiery breath engulfing building after building with flame. The spreading fires created their own windstorms. Choking smoke filled the street, turning twilight into midnight. Ash poured down like black rain. Screams of terror changed to screams of agony as people died in the blazing abyss that was Tarsis.

And as the dragons struck, a sea of fear-crazed humanity surged through the flame-lit streets. Few had any clear idea of where they were going. Some shouted they would be safe in the hills, others ran down by the old waterfront, still others tried to reach the city gates. Above them flew the dragons, burning at their discretion, killing at their leisure.

The human sea broke over Tanis and the companions, crushing them into the street, swirling them apart, smashing them up against buildings. The smoke choked them and stung their eyes, tears blinded them as they fought to control the dragonfear that threatened to destroy their reason.

The heat was so intense that whole buildings blew apart. Tanis caught Gilthanas as the elf was hurled into the side of a building. Holding onto him, the half-elf could only watch helplessly as the rest of his friends were swept away by the mob.

‘Back to the Inn!’ Tanis shouted. ‘Meet at the Inn!’ But whether they heard him or not, he could not say. He could only trust that they would all try to head in that direction.

Sturm caught hold of Alhana in his strong arms, half-carrying, half-dragging her through the death-filled streets. Peering through the ash, he tried to see the others, but it was hopeless. And then began the most desperate battle he had ever fought, striving to keep his feet and support Alhana as time and again the dreadful waves of humanity broke over them.

Then Alhana was ripped from his arms by the shrieking mob, whose booted feet trampled all that lived. Sturm flung himself into the crowd, shoving and bashing with his armored arms and body, and caught Alhana’s wrists. Deathly pale, she was shaking with fright. She hung onto his hands with all her strength, and finally he was able to pull her close. A shadow swept over them. A dragon, screaming cruelly, bore down upon the street that heaved and surged with men, women, and children. Sturm ducked into a doorway, dragging Alhana with him, and shielded her with his body as the dragon swooped low overhead. Flame filled the street; the screams of the dying were heart-rending.

‘Don’t look!’ Sturm whispered to Alhana, pressing her against him, tears streaming down his own face. The dragon passed, and suddenly the streets were horribly, unbearably still. Nothing moved.

‘Let’s go, while we can,’ Sturm said, his voice shaking. Clinging to each other, the two stumbled out of the doorway, their senses numbed, moving only by instinct. Finally, sickened and dizzy from the smell of charred flesh and smoke, they were forced to seek shelter in another doorway.

For a moment, they could do nothing but hold onto each other, thankful for the brief respite, yet haunted by the knowledge that in seconds they must return to the deadly streets.

Alhana rested her head against Sturm’s chest. The ancient, old-fashioned armor felt cool against her skin. Its hard metal surface was reassuring, and beneath it she could feel his heart beat, rapid, steady, and soothing. The arms that held her were strong, hard, well-muscled. His hand stroked her black hair.

Alhana, chaste maiden of a stern and rigid people, had long known when, where, and whom she would marry. He was an elflord, and it was a mark of their understanding that—in all the years since this had been arranged—they had never touched. He had stayed behind with the people, while Alhana returned to find her father. She had strayed into this world of humans, and her senses reeled from the shock. She detested them, yet was fascinated by them. They were so powerful, their emotions raw and untamed. And just when she thought she would hate and despise them forever, one stepped apart from the others.

Alhana looked up into Sturm’s grieved face and saw etched there pride, nobility, strict inflexible discipline constant striving for perfection—perfection unattainable. And thus the deep sorrow in his eyes. Alhana felt herself drawn to this man—this human. Yielding to his strength, comforted by his presence, she felt a sweet, searing warmth steal over her, and suddenly she realized she was in more danger from this fire than from the fire of a thousand dragons.

‘We’d better go,’ Sturm whispered gently, but to his amazement Alhana pushed herself away from him.

‘Here we part,’ she said, her voice cold as the night wind. ‘I must return to my lodging. Thank you for escorting me.’

‘What?’ Sturm said. ‘Go by yourself? That’s madness.’ He reached out and gripped her arm. ‘I cannot allow—’ The wrong thing to do, he realized, feeling her stiffen. She did not move but simply stared at him imperiously until he released her.

‘I have friends of my own,’ she said, ‘as you do. Your loyalty is to them. My loyalty is to mine. We must go our separate ways.’ Her voice faltered at the look of intense pain on Sturm’s face, still wet with tears. For a moment Alhana could not bear it and wondered if she would have the strength to continue. Then she thought of her people—depending on her. She found the strength. ‘I thank you for your kindness and your help, but now I must go, while the streets are empty.’

Sturm stared at her, hurt and puzzled. Then his face hardened. ‘I was happy to be of service, Lady Alhana. But you are still in danger. Allow me to take you to your lodgings, then I will trouble you no more.’

‘That is quite impossible,’ Alhana said, gritting her teeth to keep her jaw set firmly. ‘My lodgings are not far, and my friends wait for me. We have a way out of the city. Forgive me for not taking you, but I am never certain about trusting humans.’

Sturm’s brown eyes flashed. Alhana, standing close, could feel his body tremble. Once more she nearly lost her resolve.

‘I know where you are staying,’ she said, swallowing. ‘The Red Dragon Inn. Perhaps—if I find my friends—we could offer you help—’

‘Do not concern yourself.’ Sturm’s voice echoed her coldness. ‘And do not thank me. I did nothing more than my Code required of me. Farewell,’ he said, and started to walk away.

Then, remembering, he turned back. Drawing the sparkling diamond pin from his belt, he placed it in Alhana’s hand. ‘Here,’ he said. Looking into her dark eyes, he suddenly saw the pain she tried to hide. His voice softened, though he could not understand. ‘I am pleased you trusted me with this gem,’ he said gently, ‘even for a few moments.’

The elfmaid stared at the jewel for an instant, then she began to shake. Her eyes lifted to Sturm’s eyes and she saw in them not scorn, as she expected, but compassion. Once more, she wondered at humans. Alhana dropped her head, unable to meet his gaze, and took his hand in hers. Then she laid the jewel in his palm and closed his fingers over it.

‘Keep this,’ she said softly. ‘When you look at it, think of Alhana Starbreeze and know that, somewhere, she thinks of you.’

Sudden tears flooded the knight’s eyes. He bowed his head, unable to speak. Then, kissing the gem, he placed it carefully back into his belt and he reached out his hands, but Alhana drew back into the doorway, her pale face averted.

‘Please go,’ she said. Sturm stood for a moment, irresolute, but he could not—in honor—refuse to obey her request. The knight turned and plunged back into the nightmarish street.

Alhana watched him from the doorway for a moment, a protective shell hardening around her. ‘Forgive me, Sturm,’ she whispered to herself. Then she stopped. ‘No, do not forgive me,’ she said harshly. ‘Thank me.’

Closing her eyes, she conjured up an image in her mind and sent a message speeding to the outskirts of the city where her friends waited to carry her from this world of humans. Receiving their telepathic answer in reply, Alhana sighed and began anxiously to scan the smoke-filled skies, waiting.

‘Ah,’ said Raistlin calmly as the first horn calls shattered the stillness of the afternoon, ‘I told you so.’

Riverwind cast an irritated glance at the mage, even as he tried to think what to do. It was all very well for Tanis to say protect the group from the town guards, but to protect them from armies of draconians, from dragons! Riverwind’s dark eyes went over the group. Tika rose to her feet, her hand on her sword. The young girl was brave and steady, but unskilled. The Plainsman could still see the scars on her hand where she had cut herself.

‘What is it?’ Elistan asked, looking bewildered.

‘The Dragon Highlord, attacking the city,’ Riverwind answered harshly, trying to think.

He heard a clanking sound. Caramon was getting up, the big warrior appearing calm and unperturbed. Thank goodness for that. Even though Riverwind detested Raistlin, he had to admit that the mage and his warrior brother combined steel and magic effectively. Laurana, too, he saw, appeared cool and resolute, but then she was an elf—Riverwind had never really learned to trust elves.

‘Get out of the city, if we don’t return,’ Tanis had told him. But Tanis hadn’t foreseen this! They would get out of the city only to meet the armies of the Dragon Highlords on the Plains. Riverwind now had an excellent idea who had been watching them as they traveled to this doomed place. He swore to himself in his own language, then—even as the first dragons swept down over the city—he felt Goldmoon’s arm around him. Looking down, he saw her smile—the smile of Chieftain’s Daughter—and he saw the faith in her eyes. Faith in the gods, and faith in him. He relaxed, his brief moment of panic gone.

A shock wave hit the building. They could hear the screams in the streets below, the roaring whoosh of the fires.

‘We’ve got to get off this floor, back to ground level,’ Riverwind said. ‘Caramon, bring the knight’s sword and the other weapons. If Tanis and the others are—’ He stopped. He had been about to say ‘still alive,’ then saw Laurana’s face. ‘If Tanis and the others escape, they’ll return here. We’ll wait for them.’

‘Excellent decision!’ hissed the mage caustically. ‘Especially as we have nowhere else to go!’

Riverwind ignored him. ‘Elistan, take the others downstairs. Caramon and Raistlin, stay with me a moment.’ After they were gone, he said swiftly, ‘Our best chance, the way I see it, is to stay inside, barricade ourselves in the Inn. The streets will be deadly.’

‘How long do you think we can hold out?’ Caramon asked.

Riverwind shook his head. ‘Hours, maybe,’ he said briefly.

The brothers looked at him, each of them thinking about the tortured bodies they had seen in the village of Que-shu, of what they had heard about the destruction of Solace.

‘We cannot be taken alive,’ Raistlin whispered.

Riverwind took a deep breath. ‘We’ll hold out as long as we can,’ he said, his voice shaking slightly, ‘but when we know we can last no longer—’

He stopped, unable to continue, his hand on his knife, thinking of what he must do.

‘There will be no need for that,’ Raistlin said softly. ‘I have herbs. A tiny bit in a glass of wine. Very quick, painless.’

‘Are you certain?’ Riverwind asked.

‘Trust me,’ Raistlin replied. ‘I am skilled in the art. The art of herblore,’ he amended smoothly, seeing the Plainsman shudder.

‘If I am alive,’ Riverwind said softly, ‘I will give her—them—the drink myself. If not—’

‘I understand. You may trust me,’ the mage repeated.

‘What about Laurana?’ Caramon asked. ‘You know elves. She won’t—’

‘Leave it to me,’ Raistlin repeated softly.

The Plainsman stared at the mage, feeling horror creep over him. Raistlin stood before him coolly, his arms folded in the sleeves of his robe, his hood pulled up over his head. Riverwind looked at his dagger, considering the alternative. No, he couldn’t do it. Not that way.

‘Very well,’ he said, swallowing. He paused, dreading to go downstairs and face the others. But the sounds of death in the street were growing louder. Riverwind turned abruptly and left the brothers alone.

‘I will die fighting,’ Caramon said to Raistlin, trying to speak in a matter-of-fact tone. After the first few words, though, the big warrior’s voice broke. ‘Promise me, Raist, you’ll take this stuff if I’m...not there...’

‘There will be no need,’ Raistlin said simply. ‘I have not the strength to survive a battle of this magnitude. I will die within my magic.’

Tanis and Gilthanas fought their way through the crowd, the stronger half-elf holding onto the elf as they shoved and clawed and pushed through the panicked masses. Time and again, they ducked for shelter from the dragons. Gilthanas wrenched his knee, fell into a doorway, and was forced to limp in agony, leaning on Tanis’s shoulder.

The half-elf breathed a prayer of thankfulness when he saw the Red Dragon Inn, a prayer that changed to a curse when he saw the black reptilian forms surging around the front. He dragged Gilthanas, who had been stumbling along blindly, exhausted by pain, back into a recessed doorway.

‘Gilthanas!’ Tanis shouted. ‘The Inn! It’s under attack!’

Gilthanas raised glassy eyes and stared uncomprehendingly. Then, apparently understanding, he sighed and shook his head. ‘Laurana,’ he gasped, and he pushed himself forward, trying to stagger out of the doorway. ‘We’ve got to reach them.’ He collapsed in Tanis’s arms.

‘Stay here,’ the half-elf said, helping him sit down. ‘You’re not capable of moving. I’ll try and get through. I’ll go around the block and come in from the back.’

Tanis ran forward, darting in and out of doorways, hiding in the wreckage. He was about a block from the Inn when he heard a hoarse shout. Turning to look, he saw Flint gesturing wildly. Tanis dashed across the street.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

The dwarf, his face smudged with ash and streaked with tears, knelt beside Tasslehoff. The kender was pinned beneath a beam that had fallen in the street. Tas’s face, looking like the face of a wise child, was ashen, his skin clammy.

‘Blasted, rattle-brained kender,’ Flint moaned. ‘Had to go and let a house fall on him.’ The dwarf’s hands were torn and bleeding from trying to lift a beam that would take three men or one Caramon to get off the kender. Tanis put his hand to Tas’s neck. The lifebeat was very weak.

‘Stay with him!’ Tanis said unnecessarily. ‘I’m going to the Inn. I’ll bring Caramon!’

Flint looked up at him grimly, then glanced over at the Inn. Both could hear the yells of the draconians, see their weapons flash in the glare of the firelight. Occasionally an unnatural light flared from the Inn—Raistlin’s magic. The dwarf shook his head. He knew Tanis was about as capable of returning with Caramon as he was of flying.

But Flint managed to smile. ‘Sure, lad, I’ll stay with him. Farewell, Tanis.’

Tanis swallowed, tried to answer, then gave up and ran on down the street.

Raistlin, coughing until he could barely stand, wiped blood from his lips and drew a small, black leather pouch from the innermost pockets of his robes. He had just one spell left and barely energy enough to cast it. Now, his hands shaking with fatigue, he tried to scatter the contents of the little pouch into a pitcher of wine he had ordered Caramon to bring him before the battle started. But his hand trembled violently, and his coughing spasms doubled him over.

Then he felt another hand grasp his own. Looking up, he saw Laurana. She took the pouch from his frail fingers. Her own hand was stained with the dark green draconian blood.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

‘Ingredients for a spell.’ The mage choked. ‘Pour it into the wine.’

Laurana nodded and poured in the mixture as instructed. It vanished instantly.

‘Don’t drink it,’ the mage warned when the coughing spasm passed.

Laurana looked at him. ‘What is it?’

‘A sleeping potion,’ Raistlin whispered, his eyes glittering.

Laurana smiled wryly. ‘You don’t think we’re going to be able to get to sleep tonight?’

‘Not that kind,’ Raistlin answered, staring at her intently. ‘This one feigns death. The heartbeat slows to almost nothing, the breathing nearly stops, the skin grows cold and pale, the limbs stiffen.’

Laurana’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why—’ she began.

‘To be used as a last resort. The enemy thinks you are dead, leaves you on the field—if you are lucky. If not—’

‘If not?’ she prompted, her face pale.

‘Well, a few have been known to waken on their own funeral pyres,’ Raistlin said coolly. ‘I don’t believe that is likely to happen to us, however.’

Breathing more easily, he sat down, ducking involuntarily as a spent arrow fluttered overhead and fell to the floor behind him. He saw Laurana’s hand tremble then and realized she was not as calm as she was forcing herself to appear.

‘Are you intending that we take this?’ she asked.

‘It will save us from being tortured by draconians.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Trust me,’ the mage said with a slight smile.

Laurana glanced at him and shivered. Absently, she wiped blood-stained fingers on her leather armor. The blood did not come off, but she didn’t notice. An arrow thudded next to her. She didn’t even start, just stared at it dully.

Caramon appeared, stumbling out of the smoke of the burning common room. He was bleeding from an arrow wound in the shoulder, his own red blood mingling oddly with the green blood of his enemy.

‘They’re breaking down the front door,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘Riverwind ordered us back here.’

‘Listen!’ Raistlin warned. ‘That’s not the only place they’re breaking in!’ There was a splintering crash at the door leading from the kitchen to the back alley.

Ready to defend themselves, Caramon and Laurana whirled just as the door shattered. A tall, dark figure entered.

‘Tanis!’ Laurana cried. Sheathing her weapon, she ran toward him.

‘Laurana!’ he breathed. Catching her in his arms, he held her close, nearly sobbing in his relief. Then Caramon flung his huge arms around both of them.

‘How is everyone?’ Tanis asked, when he could talk.

‘So far, so good,’ Caramon said, peering behind Tanis. His face fell when he saw he was alone. ‘Where’s—’

‘Sturm’s lost,’ Tanis said wearily. ‘Flint and Tas are across the street. The kender’s pinned under a beam. Gilthanas is about two blocks away. He’s hurt,’ Tanis told Laurana, ‘not badly, but he couldn’t make it any farther.’

‘Welcome, Tanis,’ Raistlin whispered, coughing. ‘You have come in time to die with us.’

Tanis looked at the pitcher, saw the black pouch lying near it, and stared at Raistlin in sudden shock.

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘We’re not going to die. At least not like th—’ he broke off abruptly. ‘Get everyone together.’

Caramon lumbered off, yelling at the top of his lungs. Riverwind ran in from the common room where he had been firing the enemy’s arrows back at them, his own having run out long ago. The others followed him, smiling hopefully at Tanis.

The sight of their faith in him infuriated the half-elf. Someday, he thought, I’m going to fail them. Maybe I already have. He shook his head angrily.

‘Listen!’ he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the noise of the draconians outside. ‘We can try and escape out the back! Only a small force is attacking the Inn. The main part of the army isn’t in the city yet.’

‘Somebody’s after us,’ Raistlin murmured.

Tanis nodded. ‘So it would appear. We haven’t much time. If we can make it into the hills—’

He suddenly fell silent, raising his head. They all fell silent, listening, recognizing the shrill scream, the creak of giant leather wings, coming nearer and nearer.

‘Take cover!’ Riverwind yelled. But it was too late.

There was a screaming whine and a boom. The Inn, three stories tall and built of stone and wood, shook as if it were made of sand and sticks. The air exploded with dust and debris. Flames erupted outside. Above them, they could hear the sound of wood splitting and breaking, the thud of falling timber. The building began to collapse in on itself.

The companions watched in stunned fascination—paralyzed by the sight of the gigantic ceiling beams shuddering beneath the strain as the roof caved in onto the upper floors.

‘Get out!’ Tanis shouted. ‘The whole place is—’

The beam directly above the half-elf gave a great groan, then split and cracked. Gripping Laurana around the waist, Tanis flung her as far from him as he could and saw Elistan, standing near the front of the Inn, catch her in his arms.

As the huge beam above Tanis gave way with a shuddering snap, he heard the mage shriek strange words. Then he was falling, falling into blackness—and it seemed that the world fell on top of him.

Sturm rounded a corner to see the Inn of the Red Dragon collapse in a cloud of flame and smoke as a dragon soared in the sky above it. The knight’s heart beat wildly with grief and fear.

He ducked into a doorway, hiding in the shadows as some draconians passed him—laughing and talking in their cold, guttural language. Apparently they assumed this job was finished and were seeking other amusement. Three others, he noticed—dressed in blue uniforms, not red—appeared extremely upset at the Inn’s destruction, shaking their fist at the red dragon overhead.

Sturm felt the weakness of despair sweep over him. He sagged against the door, watching the draconians dully, wondering what to do next. Were they all still in there? Perhaps they had escaped. Then his heart gave a painful bound. He saw a flash of white.

‘Elistan!’ he cried, watching the cleric emerge from the rubble, dragging someone with him. The draconians, swords drawn, ran toward the cleric, calling out in Common for him to surrender. Sturm yelled the challenge of a Solamnic knight to an enemy and ran out from his doorway. The draconians whirled about, considerably disconcerted to see the knight.

Sturm became dimly aware that another figure was running with him. Glancing to his side, he saw the flash of firelight off a metal helm and heard the dwarf roaring. Then, from a doorway, he heard words of magic.

Gilthanas, unable to stand without help, had crawled out and was pointing at the draconians, reciting his spell. Flaming darts leaped from his hands. One of the creatures fell over, clutching its burning chest. Flint leaped on another, beating it over the head with a rock, while Sturm felled the other draconian with a blow from his fists. Sturm caught Elistan in his arms as the man staggered forward. The cleric was carrying a woman.

‘Laurana!’ Gilthanas cried from the doorway.

Dazed and sick from the smoke, the elfmaid lifted her glazed eyes. ‘Gilthanas?’ she murmured. Then, looking up, she saw the knight. ‘Sturm,’ she said confusedly, pointing behind her vaguely. ‘Your sword, it’s here. I saw it—’

Sure enough, Sturm saw a flash of silver, barely visible beneath the rubble. His sword, and next to it was Tanis’s sword, the elven blade of Kith-Kanan. Moving aside piles of stone, Sturm reverently lifted the swords that lay like artifacts within a hideous, gigantic cairn. The knight listened for movement, calls, cries. There was only a dreadful silence.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he said slowly, without moving. He looked at Elistan, who was staring back at the wreckage, his face deathly pale. ‘The others?’

‘They were all in there,’ Elistan said in a trembling voice. ‘And the half-elf...’

‘Tanis?’

‘Yes. He came through the back door, just before the dragon hit the Inn. They were all together, in the very center. I was standing beneath a doorway. Tanis saw the beam breaking. He threw Laurana. I caught her, then the ceiling collapsed on top of them. There’s no way they could have—’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Flint said fiercely, leaping into the rubble. Sturm grasped hold of him, yanked him back.

‘Where’s Tas?’ the knight asked the dwarf sternly.

The dwarf’s face fell. ‘Pinned under a beam,’ he said, his face gray with grief and sorrow. He clutched at his hair wildly, knocking off his helm. ‘I’ve got to go back to him. But I can’t leave them—Caramon—’ The dwarf began to cry, tears streaming into his beard. ‘That big, dumb ox! I need him. He can’t do this to me! And Tanis, too!’ The dwarf swore. ‘Damn it, I need them!’

Sturm put his hand on Flint’s shoulder. ‘Go back to Tas. He needs you now. There are draconians roaming the streets. We’ll be all—’

Laurana screamed, a terrifying, pitiful sound that pierced Sturm like a spear. Turning, he caught hold of her just as she started to rush into the debris.

‘Laurana!’ he cried. ‘Look at that! Look at it!’ He shook her in his own anguish. ‘Nothing could be alive in there!’

‘You don’t know that!’ she screamed at him in fury, tearing away from his grasp. Falling onto her hands and knees, she tried to lift one of the blackened stones. ‘Tanis!’ she cried. The stone was so heavy, she could only move it a few inches.

Sturm watched, heartsick, uncertain what to do. Then he had his answer. Horns! Nearer and nearer. Hundreds, thousands of horns. The armies were invading. He looked at Elistan, who nodded in sorrowful understanding. Both men hurried over to Laurana.

‘My dear,’ Elistan began gently, ‘there’s nothing you can do for them. The living need you. Your brother is hurt, so is the kender. The draconians are invading. We must either escape now, and keep fighting these horrible monsters, or waste our lives in useless grief. Tanis gave his life for you, Laurana. Don’t let it be a needless sacrifice.’

Laurana stared up at him, her face black with soot and filth, streaked with tears and blood. She heard the horns, she heard Gilthanas calling, she heard Flint shouting something about Tasslehoff dying, she heard Elistan’s words. And then the rain began, dripping from the skies as the heat of the dragonfire melted the snow, changing it to water.

The rain ran down her face, cooling her feverish skin.

‘Help me, Sturm,’ she whispered through lips almost too numb to shape the words. He put his arm around her. She stood up, dizzy and sick with shock.

‘Laurana!’ her brother called. Elistan was right. The living needed her. She must go to him. Though she would rather lie down on this pile of rocks and die, she must go on. That was what Tanis would do. They needed her. She must go on.

‘Farewell, Tanthalas,’ she whispered.

The rain increased, pouring down gently, as if the gods themselves wept for Tarsis the Beautiful.

Water dripped on his head. It was irritating, cold. Raistlin tried to roll over, out of the way of the water. But he couldn’t move. There was a heavy weight pressing down on top of him. Panicking, he tried desperately to escape. As fear surged through his body, he came fully to consciousness. With knowledge, panic vanished. Raistlin was in control once more and, as he had been taught, he forced himself to relax and study the situation.

He could see nothing. It was intensely dark, so he was forced to rely on his other senses. First, he had to get this weight off. He was being smothered and crushed. Cautiously he moved his arms. There was no pain, nothing appeared broken. Reaching up, he touched a body. Caramon, by the armor—and the smell. He sighed. He might have known. Using all his strength, Raistlin shoved his brother aside and crawled out from under him.

The mage breathed more easily, wiping water from his face. He located his brother’s neck in the darkness and felt for the lifebeat. It was strong, the man’s flesh was warm, his breathing regular. Raistlin lay back down on the floor in relief. At least, wherever he was, he wasn’t alone.

Where was he? Raistlin reconstructed those last few terrifying moments. He remembered the beam splitting and Tanis throwing Laurana out from under it. He remembered casting a spell, the last one he had strength enough to manage. The magic coursed through his body, creating around him and those near him a force capable of shielding them from physical objects. He remembered Caramon hurling himself on top of him, the building collapsing around them, and a falling sensation.

Falling...

Ah, Raistlin understood. We must have crashed through the floor into the Inn’s cellar. Groping around the stone floor, the mage suddenly realized he was soaked through. Finally, however, he found what he had been searching for—the Staff of Magius. Its crystal was unbroken; only dragonfire could damage the Staff given him by Par-Salian in the Towers of High Sorcery.

‘Shirak,’ whispered Raistlin, and the Staff flared into light. Sitting up, he glanced around. Yes, he was right. They were in the cellar of the Inn. Broken bottles of wine spilled their contents onto the floor. Casks of ale were split in two. It wasn’t all water he had been lying in.

The mage flashed the light around the floor. There were Tanis, Riverwind, Goldmoon, and Tika, all huddled near Caramon. They seemed all right, he thought, giving them a quick inspection. Around them lay scattered debris. Half of the beam slanted down through the rubble to rest on the stone floor. Raistlin smiled. A nice bit of work, that spell. Once more they were in his debt.

If we don’t perish from the cold, he reminded himself bitterly. His body was shaking so he could barely hold the staff. He began to cough. This would be the death of him. They had to get out.

‘Tanis,’ he called, reaching out to shake the half-elf.

Tanis lay crumpled at the very edge of Raistlin’s magic, protective circle. He murmured and stirred. Raistlin shook him again. The half-elf cried out, reflexively covering his head with his arm.

‘Tanis, you’re safe,’ Raistlin whispered, coughing. ‘Wake up.’

‘What?’ Tanis sat bolt upright, staring around him. ‘Where—’ Then he remembered. ‘Laurana?’

‘Gone.’ Raistlin shrugged. ‘You threw her out of danger—’

‘Yes...’ Tanis said, sinking back down. ‘And I heard you say words, magic—’

‘That’s why we’re not crushed.’ Raistlin clutched his sopping wet robes around him, shivering, and drew nearer Tanis, who was staring around as if he’d fallen onto a moon.

‘Where in the name of the Abyss—’

‘We’re in the cellar of the Inn,’ the mage said. ‘The floor gave way and dropped us down here,’

Tanis looked up. ‘By all the gods,’ he whispered in awe.

‘Yes,’ Raistlin said, his gaze following Tanis’s. ‘We’re buried alive.’

Beneath the ruins of the Red Dragon Inn, the companions took stock of their situation. It did not look hopeful. Goldmoon treated their injuries, which were not serious, thanks to Raistlin’s spell. But they had no idea how long they had been unconscious or what was happening above them. Worse still, they had no idea how they could escape.

Caramon tried cautiously to move some of the rocks above their heads, but the whole structure creaked and groaned. Raistlin reminded him sharply that he had no energy to cast more spells, and Tanis wearily told the big man to forget it. They sat in the water that was growing deeper all the time.

As Riverwind stated, it seemed to be a matter of what killed them first: lack of air, freezing to death, the Inn falling down on top of them, or drowning.

‘We could shout for help,’ suggested Tika, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘Add draconians to the list, then,’ Raistlin snapped. ‘They’re the only creatures up there liable to hear you.’

Tika’s face flushed, and she brushed her hand quickly across her eyes. Caramon cast a reproachful glance at his brother, then put his arm around Tika and held her close. Raistlin gave them both a look of disgust.

‘I haven’t heard a sound up there,’ Tanis said, puzzled. ‘You’d think the dragons and the armies—’ He stopped, his glance meeting Caramon’s, both soldiers nodding slowly in sudden grim understanding.

‘What?’ asked Goldmoon, looking at them.

‘We’re behind enemy lines,’ Caramon said. ‘The armies of draconians occupy the town. And probably the land for miles and miles around. There’s no way out, and nowhere to go if there were a way out.’

As if to emphasize his words, the companions heard sounds above them. Guttural draconian voices that they had come to know all too well drifted down through to them.

‘I tell you, this is a waste of time,’ whined another voice, goblin by the sound, speaking in Common. ‘There’s no one alive in this mess.’

‘Tell that to the Dragon Highlord, you miserable dog-eaters,’ snarled the draconian. ‘I’m sure his lordship’ll be interested in your opinion. Or rather, his dragon’ll be interested. You have your orders. Now dig, all of you.’

There were sounds of scraping, sounds of stones being dragged aside. Rivulets of dirt and dust started to sift down through the cracks. The big beam shivered slightly but held.

The companions stared at each other, almost holding their breaths, each remembering the strange draconians who had attacked the Inn. ‘Somebody’s after us,’ Raistlin had said.

‘What are we looking for in this rubble?’ croaked a goblin in the goblin tongue. ‘Silver? Jewels?’

Tanis and Caramon, who spoke a little goblin, strained to hear.

‘Naw,’ said the first goblin, who had grumbled about orders. ‘Spies or some such wanted personally by the Dragon Highlord for questioning.’

‘In here?’ the goblin asked in amazement.

‘That’s what I said,’ snarled his companion. ‘You saw how far I got. The lizardmen say they had them trapped in the Inn when the dragon hit it. Said none of them escaped, and so the Highlord figures they must still be here. If you ask me—the dracos screwed up and now we’ve got to pay for their mistakes.’

The sounds of digging and of rock moving grew louder, as did the sound of goblin voices, occasionally punctuated by a sharp order in the guttural voice of the draconians. There must be fifty of them up there! Tanis thought, stunned.

Riverwind quietly lifted his sword out of the water and began wiping it dry. Caramon, his usually cheerful face somber, released Tika and found his sword. Tanis didn’t have a sword, Riverwind tossed him his dagger. Tika started to draw her sword, but Tanis shook his head. They would be fighting in close quarters, and Tika needed lots of room. The half-elf looked questioningly at Raistlin.

The mage shook his head. ‘I will try, Tanis,’ he whispered. ‘But I am very tired. Very tired. And I can’t think, I can’t concentrate.’ He bowed his head, shivering violently in his wet robes. He was exerting all his effort not to cough and give them away, muffling his choking in his sleeve.

One spell will finish him, if he gets that off, Tanis realized. Still, he may be luckier than the rest of us. At least he won’t be taken alive.

The sounds above them grew louder and louder. Goblins are strong, tireless workers. They wanted to finish this job quickly, then get back to looting Tarsis. The companions waited in grim silence below. An almost steady stream of dirt and crushed rock dropped down upon them, along with fresh rainwater. They gripped their weapons. It was only a matter of minutes, maybe, before they were discovered.

Then, suddenly, there were new sounds. They heard the goblins yell in fear, the draconians shout to them, ordering them back to work. But they could hear the sounds of shovels and picks being dropped down onto the rocks above them, then the cursing of the draconians as they tried to stop what was apparently a full-scale goblin revolt.

And above the noise of the shrieking goblins rose a loud, clear, high-pitched call, which was answered by another call farther away. It was like the call of an eagle, soaring above the plains at sunset. But this call was right above them.

There was a scream—a draconian. Then a rending sound—as if the body of the creature were being ripped apart. More screams, the clash of steel being drawn, another call and another answer—this one much nearer.

‘What is that?’ Caramon asked, his eyes wide. ‘It isn’t a dragon. It sounds like—like some gigantic bird of prey!’

‘Whatever it is, it’s tearing the draconians to shreds!’ Goldmoon said in awe as they listened. The screaming sounds stopped abruptly, leaving a silence behind that was almost worse. What new evil replaced the old?

Then came the sound of rocks and stones, mortar and timber being lifted and sent crashing to the streets. Whatever was up there was intent on reaching them!

‘It’s eaten all the draconians,’ whispered Caramon gruffly, ‘and now it’s after us!’

Tika turned deathly white, clutching at Caramon’s arm. Goldmoon gasped softly and even Riverwind appeared to lose some of his stoic composure, staring intently upward.

‘Caramon,’ Raistlin said, shivering, ‘shut up!’

Tanis felt inclined to agree with the mage. ‘We’re all scaring ourselves over noth—’ he began. Suddenly there was a rending crash. Stone and rubble, mortar and timber clattered down around them. They scrambled for cover as a huge, clawed foot plunged through the debris, its talons gleaming in the light of Raistlin’s staff.

Helplessly seeking shelter beneath broken beams or under the casks of ale, the companions watched in wonder as the gigantic claw extricated itself from the rubble and withdrew, leaving behind it a wide, gaping hole.

All was silent. For a few moments, none of the companions dared move. But the silence remained unbroken.

‘This is our chance,’ Tanis whispered loudly. ‘Caramon, see what’s up there.’

But the big warrior was already creeping out of his hiding place, moving across the rubble-strewn floor as best he could. Riverwind followed behind, his sword drawn.

‘Nothing,’ said Caramon, puzzled, peering up.

Tanis, feeling naked without his sword, came over to stand beneath the hole, gazing upward. Then, to his amazement, a dark figure appeared above them, silhouetted against the burning sky. Behind the figure towered a large beast. They could just make out the head of a gigantic eagle, its eyes glittering in the firelight, its wickedly curved beak gleaming in the flames.

The companions shrank back, but it was too late. Obviously the figure had seen them. It stepped nearer. Riverwind thought—too late—of his bow. Caramon pulled Tika close with one hand, holding his sword in his other.

The figure, however, simply knelt down near the edge of the hole, being careful of its footing among the loose stones, and removed the hood covering its head.

‘We meet again, Tanis Half-Elven,’ said a voice as cool and pure and distant as the stars.

8 Escape from Tarsis. The story of the dragon orbs.

Dragons flew on their leathery wings above the gutted city of Tarsis as the draconian armies swarmed in to take possession. The task of the dragons was completed. Soon the Dragon Highlord would call them back, holding them in readiness for the next strike. But for now they could relax, drifting on the super-heated air currents rising from the burning town, picking off the occasional human foolish enough to come out of hiding. The red dragons floated in the sky, keeping in their well-organized flights, gliding and dipping in a wheeling dance of death.

No power on Krynn existed now that could stop them. They knew this and exulted in their victory. But occasionally something would occur to interrupt their dance. One flight leader, for example, received a report of fighting near the wreckage of an inn. A young male red dragon, he led his flight to the site, muttering to himself about the inefficiency of the troop commanders. What could you expect, though, when the Dragon Highlord was a bloated hobgoblin who hadn’t even courage enough to watch the takeover of a soft town like Tarsis?

The male red sighed, recalling the days of glory when Verminaard had led them personally, sitting astride the back of Pyros. He had been a Dragon Highlord! The red shook his head disconsolately. Ah, there was the battle. He could see it clearly now. Ordering his flight to stay airborne, he swooped in low for a better look.

‘I command you! Stop!’

The red halted in his flight, staring upward in astonishment. The voice was strong and clear, and it came from the figure of a Dragon Highlord. But the Dragon Highlord was certainly not Toede! This Dragon Highlord, although heavily cloaked and dressed in the shining mask and dragon-scale armor of the Highlords, was human, to judge by the voice, not hobgoblin. But where had this Highlord come from? And why? For, to the red dragon’s amazement, he saw that the Highlord rode upon a huge blue dragon and was attended by several flights of blues.

‘What is your bidding, Highlord?’ the red asked sternly. ‘And by what right do you stop us, you who have no business in this part of Krynn?’

‘The fate of mankind is my business, whether it be in this part of Krynn or another,’ the Dragon Highlord returned. ‘And the might of my swordarm, gives me all the right I need to command you, gallant red. As for my bidding, I ask that you capture these pitiful humans, do not kill them. They are wanted for questioning. Bring them to me. You will be well rewarded.’

‘Look!’ called a young female red. ‘Griffons!’

The Dragon Highlord gave an exclamation of astonishment and displeasure. The dragons looked down to see three griffons sweeping up out of the smoke. Not quite half the size of a red dragon, griffons were noted for their ferocity. Draconian troops scattered like ashes in the wind before the creatures, whose sharp talons and ripping beaks were tearing the heads from those reptile-men unlucky enough to have been caught in their path.

The red snarled in hatred and prepared to dive, his flight with him, but the Dragon Highlord swooped down in front of him, causing him to pull up.

‘I tell you, they must not be killed!’ the Dragon Highlord said sternly.

‘But they’re escaping!’ the red hissed furiously.

‘Let them,’ the Highlord said coldly. ‘They will not go far. I relieve you of your duty in this. Return to the main body. And if that idiot Toede mentions this, tell him that the secret of how he lost the blue crystal staff did not die with Lord Verminaard. The memory of Fewmaster Toede lives on—in my mind—and will become known to others if he dares to challenge me!’

The Dragon Highlord saluted, then wheeled the large blue dragon in the air to fly swiftly after the griffons, whose tremendous speed had allowed them to escape with their riders well past the city gates. The red watched the blues disappear through the night skies in pursuit.

‘Shouldn’t we give chase as well?’ asked the female red.

‘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.’

‘But how could they be defeated?’ Tanis said incredulously.

‘Can you ask that, knowing what you do of your mage friend? Powerful he is, but he must have rest. Even the strongest must have time to renew their spells, recommit them to memory. Even the eldest of the order—wizards whose might has not been seen on Krynn since—had to sleep and spend hours reading their spellbooks. And then, too, as now, the number of magic-users was small. There are few who dare take the tests in the Towers of High Sorcery, knowing that to fail is to die.’

‘Failure means death?’ Tanis said softly.

‘Yes,’ Alhana replied. ‘Your friend is very brave, to have taken the Test so young. Very brave—or very ambitious. Didn’t he ever tell you?’

‘No,’ Tanis murmured. ‘He never speaks of it. But go on.’

Alhana shrugged. ‘When it became clear that the battle was hopeless, the wizards themselves destroyed two of the Towers. The blasts devastated the countryside for miles around. Only three remained—the Tower of Istar, the Tower of Palanthas, and the Tower of Wayreth. But the terrible destruction of the other two Towers scared the Kingpriest. He granted the wizards in the Towers of Istar and Palanthas safe passage from these cities if they left the Towers undamaged, for the wizards could have destroyed the two cities, as the Kingpriest well knew.

‘And so the mages traveled to the one Tower which was never threatened—the Tower of Wayreth in the Kharolis Mountains. To Wayreth they came to nurse their wounds and to nurture the small spark of magic still left in the world. Those spellbooks they could not take with them—for the number of books was vast and many were bound with spells of protection—were given to the great library at Palanthas, and there they still remain, according to the lore of my people.’

The silver moon had risen, its moonbeams graced their daughter with a beauty that took Tanis’s breath away, even as its coldness pierced his heart.

‘What do you know of a third moon?’ he asked, staring into the night sky, shivering. ‘A black moon...’

‘Little,’ Alhana replied. ‘The magic-user draws power from the moons: the White Robes from Solinari, the Red Robes from Lunitari. There is, according to lore, a moon that gives the Black Robes their power, but only they know its name or how to find it in the sky.’

Raistlin knew its name, Tanis thought, or at least that other voice knew it. But he did not speak this aloud.

‘How did your father get the dragon orb?’

‘My Father, Lorac, was an apprentice,’ Alhana replied softly, turning her face to the silver moon. ‘He traveled to the Tower of High Sorcery at Istar for the Tests, which he took and survived. It was there he first saw the dragon orb.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘I am going to tell you what I have never told anyone, and what he has never told—except to me. I tell you only because you have a right to know what—what to expect.

‘During the Tests, the dragon orb...’—Alhana hesitated, seeming to search for the right words—‘spoke to him, to his mind. It feared some terrible calamity was approaching. “You must not leave me here in Istar,” it told him. “If so, I will perish and the world will be lost.” My father—I suppose you could say he stole the dragon orb, although he saw himself as rescuing it.

‘The Tower of Istar was abandoned. The Kingpriest moved in and used it for his own purposes. Finally the mages left the Tower of Palanthas.’ Alhana shivered. ‘Its story is a terrible one. The Regent of Palanthas, a disciple of the Kingpriest, arrived at the Tower to seal the gates shut—so he said. But all could see his eyes lingering on the beautiful Tower greedily, for legends of the wonders within—both fair and evil—had spread throughout the land.

‘The Wizard of the White closed the Tower’s slender gates of gold and locked them with a silver key. The Regent stretched out his hand, eager for the key, when one of the Black Robes appeared in a window in one of the upper stories.

‘ “The gates will remain closed and the halls empty until the day when the master of both the past and the present returns with power,” he cried. Then the evil mage leaped out, hurling himself down at the gates. As the barbs pierced the black robes, he cast a curse upon the Tower. His blood poured down on the ground, the silver and golden gates withered and twisted and turned to black. The shimmering tower of white and red faded to ice-gray stone, its black minarets crumbling to dust.

‘The Regent and the people fled in terror. To this day, no one has dared enter the Tower of Palanthas—or even approach its gates. It was after the cursing of the Tower that my father brought the dragon orb to Silvanesti.’

‘But surely your father knew something about the orb before he took it,’ Tanis persisted. ‘How to use it—’

‘If so, he did not speak of it,’ Alhana said wearily, ‘for that is all I know. I must rest now. Good-night,’ she said to Tanis without looking at him.

‘Good-night, Lady Alhana,’ Tanis said gently. ‘Rest easily this night. And don’t worry. Your father is wise and has lived through much. I’m certain everything is all right.’

Alhana started to sweep past without a word, then, hearing the sympathy in his voice, she hesitated.

‘Though he passed the Test,’ she said so softly Tanis had to step closer to hear, ‘he was not as powerful in his magic as your young friend is now. And if he thought the dragon orb was our only hope, I fear—’ Her voice broke.

‘The dwarves have a saying.’ Sensing for a moment that the barriers between them had been lowered, Tanis put his arm around Alhana’s slender shoulders and drew her close. ‘ “Trouble borrowed will be paid back with interest compounded on sorrow.” Don’t worry. We’re with you.’

Alhana did not answer. She let herself be comforted for just an instant, then, slipping free of his grasp, walked to the entrance to the cave. There she stopped and looked back.

‘You are worried about your friends,’ she said. ‘Do not be. They escaped the city and are safe. Though the kender was close to death for a time, he survived, and now they travel to Ice Wall in search of a dragon orb.’

‘How do you know this?’ Tanis gasped.

‘I have told you all I can.’ Alhana shook her head.

‘Alhana! How do you know?’ Tanis asked sternly.

Her pale cheeks stained with pink, Alhana murmured, ‘I—I gave the knight a Starjewel. He does not know its power, of course, nor how to use it. I don’t know why I gave it to him, even, except—’

‘Except what?’ Tanis asked, amazed beyond belief.

‘He was so gallant, so brave. He risked his life to help me, and he didn’t even know who I was. He helped me because I was in trouble. And—’ Her eyes glimmered. ‘And he wept, when the dragons killed the people. I’ve never seen an adult weep before. Even when the dragons came and drove us from our home, we did not weep. I think, perhaps, we’ve forgotten how.’

Then, as if realizing she had said too much, she hastily pulled aside the blanket and entered the cave.

‘In the name of the gods!’ Tanis breathed. A Starjewel! What a rare and priceless gift! A gift exchanged by elven lovers forced to part, the jewel creates a bond between souls. Thus linked, they share the innermost emotions of the loved one and can grant strength to each other in times of need. But never before in Tanis’s long life, had the half-elf heard of a Starjewel being given to a human. What would it do to a human? What kind of effect would it have? And Alhana—she could never love a human, never return love. This must be some sort of blind infatuation. She had been frightened, alone. No, this could only end in sorrow, unless something changed drastically among the elves or within Alhana herself.

Even as Tanis’s heart expanded with relief to know Laurana and the others were safe, it contracted with fear and grief for Sturm.

9 Silvanesti. Entering the dream.

The third day, they continued their journey, flying into the sunrise. They had lost the dragons, apparently, although Tika, keeping watch behind, thought she could see black dots upon the horizon. And that afternoon, as the sun was sinking behind them, they neared the river known as Thon-Thalas—Lord’s River—which divided the outside world from Silvanesti.

All of his life, Tanis had heard of the wonder and beauty of the ancient Elven Home, though the elves of Qualinesti spoke of it without regret. They did not miss the lost wonders of Silvanesti, for the wonders themselves became a symbol of the differences that had developed between the elven kin.

The elves in Qualinesti lived in harmony with nature, developing and enhancing its beauty. They built their homes among the aspens, magically gilding the trunks with silver and gold. They built their dwellings of shimmering rose quartz, and invited nature to come dwell with them.

The Silvanesti, however, loved uniqueness and diversity in all objects. Not seeing this uniqueness existing naturally, they reshaped nature to conform to their ideal. They had patience and they had time, for what were centuries to elves whose life spans measured in the hundreds of years? And so they reformed entire forests, pruning and digging, forcing the trees and flowers into fantastic gardens of incredible beauty.

They did not ‘build’ dwellings, but carved and molded the marble rock that existed naturally in their land into such strange and wondrous shapes that—in the years before the races were estranged—dwarven craftsmen traveled thousands of miles to view them, and then could do nothing but weep at the rare beauty. And, it was said, a human who wandered into the gardens of Silvanesti could not leave, but stayed forever—enraptured, caught in a beautiful dream.

All this was known to Tanis only through legend, of course, for none of the Qualinesti had set foot in their ancient home since the Kinslayer wars. No human—it was believed—had been allowed in Silvanesti since a hundred years before that.

‘What about the stories,’ Tanis asked Alhana as they flew above the aspens on the backs of the griffons, ‘the stories of humans trapped by the beauty of Silvanesti, unable to leave? Do my friends dare go to this land?’ Alhana glanced back at him.

‘I knew humans were weak,’ she said coldly ‘but I did not think they were that weak. It is true humans do not come to Silvanesti, but that is because we keep them out. We certainly wouldn’t want to keep any in. If I thought there was danger of that, I would not allow you into my homeland.’

‘Not even Sturm?’ he couldn’t help asking wryly, nettled by her stinging tone.

But he was not prepared for the answer. Alhana twisted to face him, whipping around so fast her long black hair flailed his skin. Her face was so pale with anger, it seemed translucent and he could see the veins pulse beneath her skin. Her dark eyes seemed to swallow him in their black depths.

‘Never speak of that to me!’ she said through clenched teeth and white lips. ‘Never speak of him!’

‘But last night—’ Tanis faltered, astonished, putting his hand to his burning cheek.

‘Last night never happened,’ Alhana said. ‘I was weak, tired, frightened. As I was when...when I met Stur—the knight. I regret speaking of him to you. I regret telling you of the Starjewel.’

‘Do you regret giving it to him?’ Tanis asked.

‘I regret the day I set foot in Tarsis,’ Alhana said in a low, passionate voice. ‘I wish I had never gone there! Never!’ She turned away abruptly, leaving Tanis to dark thoughts.

The companions had just reached the river, within sight of the tall Tower of the Stars, shining like a strand of pearls twisting into the sun, when the griffons suddenly halted their flight. Tanis, glancing ahead, could see no sign of danger. But their griffons continued to descend rapidly.

Indeed, it seemed hard to believe that Silvanesti had been under attack. There were no thin columns of campfire smoke rising into the air, as there would be if the draconians occupied the country. The land was not blackened and ruined. He could see, below him, the green of the aspens gleaming in the sunlight. Here and there, the marble buildings dotted the forest with their white splendor.

‘No!’ Alhana spoke to the griffons in elven. ‘I command you! Keep going! I must reach the Tower!’

But the griffons circled lower and lower, ignoring her.

‘What is it?’ Tanis asked. ‘Why are we stopping? We’re in sight of the Tower. What’s the matter?’ He looked all around. ‘I see nothing to be concerned over.’

‘They refuse to go on,’ Alhana said, her face drawn with worry. ‘They won’t tell me why, only that we must travel on our own from here. I don’t understand this.’

Tanis didn’t like it. Griffons were known as fierce, independent creatures, but once their loyalty was gained, they served their masters with undying devotion. The elven royalty of Silvanesti have always tamed griffons for their use. Though smaller than dragons, the griffons’ lightning speed, sharp talons, tearing beak, and lion-clawed hind feet made them enemies to be respected. There was little they feared on Krynn, so Tanis had heard. These griffons, he remembered, had flown into Tarsis through swarms of dragons without apparent fear.

Yet now the griffons were obviously afraid. They landed on the banks of the river, refusing all of Alhana’s angry, imperious commands to fly farther. Instead, they moodily preened themselves and steadfastedly refused to obey.

Finally there was nothing for the companions to do but climb off the griffons’ backs and unload their supplies. Then the bird-lion creatures, with fierce, apologetic dignity, spread their wings and soared away.

‘Well, that is that,’ said Alhana sharply, ignoring the angry glances she felt cast at her. ‘We shall simply have to walk, that’s all. The way is not far.’

The companions stood stranded upon the riverbank, staring across the sparkling water into the forest beyond. None of them spoke. All of them were tense, alert, searching for trouble. But all they saw were the aspen trees glistening in the last, lingering rays of sunset. The river murmured as it lapped on the shore. Though the aspens were green still, the silence of winter blanketed the land.

‘I thought you said your people fled because they were under siege?’ Tanis said to Alhana finally.

‘If this land is under control of dragons, I’m a gully dwarf!’ Caramon snorted.

‘We were!’ Alhana answered, her eyes scanning the sunlit forest. ‘Dragons filled the skies—as in Tarsis! The dragonmen entered our beloved woods, burning, destroying—’ Her voice died.

Caramon leaned near Riverwind and muttered, ‘Wild goose chase!’

The Plainsman scowled. ‘If it’s nothing more than that, we’ll be fortunate,’ he said, his eyes on the elfmaid. ‘Why did she bring us here? Perhaps it’s a trap.’

Caramon considered this a moment, then glanced uneasily at his brother, who had not spoken or moved or taken his strange eyes from the forest since the griffons left. The big warrior loosened his sword in its scabbard and moved a step nearer Tika. Almost accidentally, it seemed, their two hands clasped. Tika cast a fearful look at Raistlin but held onto Caramon tightly.

The mage just stared fixedly into the wilderness.

‘Tanis!’ Alhana said suddenly, forgetting herself in her joy and putting her hand on his arm. ‘Maybe it worked! Maybe my father defeated them, and we can come home! Oh, Tanis—’ She trembled with excitement. ‘We’ve got to cross the river and find out! Come! The ferry landing’s down around the bend—’

‘Alhana, wait!’ Tanis called, but she was already running along the smooth, grassy bank, her long full skirts fluttering around her ankles. ‘Alhana! Damn it. Caramon and Riverwind, go after her. Goldmoon, try to talk some sense into her.’

Riverwind and Caramon exchanged uneasy glances, but they did as Tanis ordered, running along the riverbank after Alhana. Goldmoon and Tika followed more slowly.

‘Who knows what’s in these woods?’ Tanis muttered. ‘Raistlin—’

The mage did not seem to hear. Tanis moved closer. ‘Raistlin?’ he repeated, seeing the mage’s abstracted stare.

Raistlin stared at him blankly, as if waking from a dream. Then the mage became aware of someone speaking to him. He lowered his eyes.

‘What is it, Raistlin?’ Tanis asked. ‘What do you sense?’

‘Nothing, Tanis,’ the mage replied.

Tanis blinked. ‘Nothing?’ he repeated.

‘It is like an impenetrable fog, a blank wall,’ Raistlin whispered. ‘I see nothing, sense nothing.’

Tanis stared at him intently, and suddenly he knew Raistlin was lying. But why? The mage returned the half-elf’s gaze with equanimity, even a small, twisted smile on his thin lips, as if he knew Tanis didn’t believe him but really didn’t care.

‘Raistlin,’ Tanis said softly, ‘suppose Lorac, the elfking, tried to use the dragon orb—what would happen?’

The mage lifted his eyes to stare into the forest. ‘Do you think that is possible?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Tanis said, ‘from what little Alhana told me, during the Tests in the Tower of High Sorcery at Istar, a dragon orb spoke to Lorac, asking him to rescue it from the impending disaster.’

‘And he obeyed it?’ Raistlin asked, his voice as soft as the murmuring water of the ancient river.

‘Yes. He brought it to Silvanesti.’

‘So this is the dragon orb of Istar,’ Raistlin whispered. His eyes narrowed, and then he sighed, a sigh of longing. ‘I know nothing about the dragon orbs,’ he remarked, coolly, ‘except what I told you. But I know this, Half-Elf—none of us will come out of Silvanesti unscathed, if we come out at all.’

‘What do you mean? What danger is there?’

‘What does it matter what danger I see?’ Raistlin asked, folding his hands in the sleeves of his red robes. ‘We must enter Silvanesti. You know it as well as I. Or will you forego the chance to find a dragon orb?’

‘But if you see danger, tell us! We could at least enter prepared—’ Tanis began angrily.

‘Then prepare,’ Raistlin whispered softly, and he turned away and began to walk slowly along the sandy beach after his brother.

The companions crossed the river just as the last rays of the sun flickered among the leaves of the aspens on the opposite bank. And then the fabled forest of Silvanesti was gradually swamped lay darkness. ‘The shadows of night flowed among the feet of the trees like the dark water flowing beneath the keel of the ferry boat.

Their journey was slow. The ferry—an ornately-carved, flat-bottomed boat connected to both shores by an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys—seemed at first to be in good condition. But once they set foot on board and began to cross the ancient river, they discovered that the ropes were rotting. The boat began to decay before their eyes. The river itself seemed to change. Reddish-brown water seeped through the hull, tainted with the faint swell of blood.

They had just stepped out of the boat on the opposite bank and were unloading their supplies, when the frayed rapes sagged and gave way. The river swept the ferry boat downstream in an instant. Twilight vanished at the same moment, and night swallowed them. Although the sky was clear, without a cloud to mar its dark surface, there were no stars visible. Neither the red nor the silver moon rose. The only light came from the river, which seemed to gleam with an unwholesome brilliance, like a ghoul.

‘Raistlin, your staff,’ Tanis said. His voice echoed too loudly through the silent forest. Even Caramon cringed.

‘Shirak.’ Raistlin spoke the word of command and the crystal globe clutched in the disembodied dragon’s claw flared into light. But it was a cold, pale light. The only thing it seemed to illuminate were the mage’s strange, hourglass eyes.

‘We must enter the woods,’ Raistlin said in a shaking voice. Turning, he stumbled toward the dark wilderness.

No one else spoke or moved. They stood on the bank, fear overtaking them. There was no reason for it, and it was all the more frightening because it was illogical. Fear crept up on them from the ground. Fear flowed through their limbs, turning the bowels to water, sapping the strength of heart and muscle, eating into the brain.

Fear of what? There was nothing, nothing there! Nothing to be afraid of, yet all of them were more terrified of this nothing than they had been of anything before in their lives.

‘Raistlin’s right. We’ve—got to—get into the woods—find shelter...’ Tanis spoke with an effort, his teeth chattering. ‘F-follow Raistlin.’

Shaking, he staggered forward, not knowing if anyone followed, not caring. Behind him, he could hear Tika whimper and Goldmoon trying to pray through lips that would not form words. He heard Caramon shout for his brother to stop and Riverwind cry out in terror, but it didn’t matter. He had to run, get away from here! His only guidance was the light of Raistlin’s staff.

Desperately, he stumbled after the mage into the woods. But when Tanis reached the trees, he found his strength was gone. He was too scared to move. Trembling, he sank down on his knees, then pitched forward, his hands clutching at the ground.

‘Raistlin!’ His throat was torn by a ragged scream.

But the mage could not help. The last thing Tanis saw was the light from Raistlin’s staff falling slowly to the ground, slowly, and more slowly, released by the young mage’s limp, seemingly lifeless hand.

The trees. The beautiful trees of Silvanesti. Trees fashioned and coaxed through centuries into groves of wonder and enchantment. All around Tanis were the trees. But these trees now turned upon their masters, becoming living groves of horror. A noxious green light filtered through the shivering leaves.

Tanis stared about in horror. Many strange and terrible sights he had seen in his life, but nothing like this. This, he thought, might drive him insane. He turned this way and that, frantically, but there was no escape. All around were the trees—the trees of Silvanesti. Hideously changed.

The soul of every tree around him appeared trapped in torment, imprisoned within the trunk. The twisted branches of the tree were the limbs of its spirit, contorted in agony. The grasping roots clawed the ground in hopeless attempts to flee. The sap of the living trees flowed from huge gashes in the trunk. The rustling of its leaves were cries of pain and terror. The trees of Silvanesti wept blood.

Tanis had no idea where he was or how long he had been here. He remembered he had begun walking toward the Tower of the Stars that he could see rising above the branches of the aspens. He had walked and walked, and nothing had stopped him. Then he’d heard the kender shriek in terror, like the scream of some small animal being tortured. Turning, he saw Tasslehoff pointing at the trees. Tanis, staring horrified at the trees, only eventually comprehended that Tasslehoff wasn’t supposed to be here. And there was Sturm, ashen with fear, and Laurana, weeping in despair, and Flint, his eyes wide and staring.

Tanis embraced Laurana, and his arms encompassed flesh and blood, but still he knew she was not there—even as he held her, and the knowledge was terrifying.

Then, as he stood there in the grove that was like a prison of the damned, the horror increased. Animals bounded out from among the tormented trees and fell upon the companions.

Tanis drew his sword to strike back, but the weapon shook in his trembling hand, and he was forced to avert his eyes for the living animals had themselves been twisted and misshapen into hideous aspects of undying death.

Riding among the misshapen beasts were legions of elven warriors, their skull-like features hideous to behold. No eyes glittered in the hollow sockets of their faces, no flesh covered the delicate bones of their hands. They rode among the companions with brightly burning swords that drew living blood. But when any weapon struck them, they disappeared into nothing.

The wounds they inflicted, however, were real. Caramon, battling a wolf with snakes growing out of its body, looked up to see one of the elven warriors bearing down on him, a shining spear in his fleshless hand. He screamed to his brother for help.

Raistlin spoke, ‘Ast kiranann kair Soth-aran/Suh kali Jalaran.’ A ball of flame flashed from the mage’s hands to burst directly upon the elf—without effect. Its spear, driven by incredible force, pierced Caramon’s armor, entering his body, nailing him to the tree behind.

The elven warrior yanked his weapon free from the big man’s shoulder. Caramon slumped to the ground, his life’s blood mingling with the tree’s blood. Raistlin, with a fury that surprised him, drew the silver dagger from the leather thong he wore hidden on his arm and flung it at the elf. The blade pricked its undead spirit and the elven warrior, horse and all, vanished into air. Yet Caramon lay upon the ground, his arm hanging from his body by only a thin strip of flesh.

Goldmoon knelt to heal him, but she stumbled over her prayers, her faith failing her amid the horror.

‘Help me, Mishakal,’ Goldmoon prayed. ‘Help me to help my friend.’

The dreadful wound closed. Though blood still seeped from it, trickling down Caramon’s arm, death loosed its grip on the warrior. Raistlin knelt beside his brother and started to speak to him. Then suddenly the mage fell silent. He stared past Caramon into the trees, his strange eyes widening with disbelief.

‘You!’ Raistlin whispered.

‘Who is it?’ Caramon asked weakly, hearing a thrill of horror and fear in Raistlin’s voice. The big man peered into the green light but could see nothing. ‘Who do you mean?’

But Raistlin, intent upon another conversation, did not answer.

‘I need your aid,’ the mage said sternly. ‘Now, as before.’

Caramon saw his brother stretch out his hand, as though reaching across a great gap, and was consumed with fear without knowing why.

‘No, Raist!’ he cried, clutching at his brother in panic. Raistlin’s hand dropped.

‘Our bargain remains. What? You ask for more?’ Raistlin was silent a moment, then he sighed. ‘Name it!’

For long moments, the mage listened, absorbing. Caramon, watching him with loving anxiety, saw his brother’s thin metallic-tinged face grow deathly pale. Raistlin closed his eyes, swallowing as though drinking his bitter herbal brew. Finally he bowed his head.

‘I accept.’

Caramon cried out in horror as he saw Raistlin’s robes, the red robes that marked his neutrality in the world, begin to deepen to crimson, then darken to a blood red, and then darken more—to black.

‘I accept this,’ Raistlin repeated more calmly, ‘with the understanding that the future can be changed. What must we do?’

He listened. Caramon clutched his arm, moaning in agony.

‘How do we get through to the Tower alive?’ Raistlin asked his unseen instructor. Once more he attended carefully, then nodded. ‘And I will be given what I need? Very well. Farewell then, if such a thing is possible for you on your dark journey.’

Raistlin rose to his feet, his black robes rustling around him. Ignoring Caramon’s sobs and Goldmoon’s terrified gasp as she saw him, the mage went in search of Tanis. He found the half-elf, back against a tree, battling a host of elven warriors.

Calmly, Raistlin reached into his pouch and drew forth a bit of rabbit fur and a small amber rod. Rubbing these together in his left palm, he held forth his right hand and spoke. ‘Ast kiranann kair Gadurm Sotharn/Suh kali Jalaran.’

Bolts of lightning shot from his fingertips, streaking through the green-tinted air, striking the elven warriors. As before, they vanished. Tanis stumbled backwards, exhausted.

Raistlin stood in the center of a clearing of the distorted, tormented trees.

‘Come around me!’ the mage commanded his companions.

Tanis hesitated. Elven warriors hovered on the fringe of the clearing. They surged forward to attack, but Raistlin raised his hand, and they stopped as though crashing against an unseen wall.

‘Come to stand near me.’ The companions were astonished to hear Raistlin speak—for the first time since his Tests—in a normal voice. ‘Hurry,’ he added, ‘they will not attack now. They fear me. But I cannot hold them back long.’

Tanis came forward, his face pale beneath the red beard, blood dribbling from a wound on his head. Goldmoon helped Caramon stagger forward. He clutched his bleeding arm as his face was twisted in pain. Slowly, one by one, the other companions crept forward. Finally, only Sturm stood outside the circle.

‘I always knew it would come to this,’ the knight said slowly. ‘I will die before I place myself under your protection, Raistlin.’

And with that, the knight turned and walked deeper into the forest. Tanis saw the leader of the elven undead make a gesture, detailing some of his ghastly band to follow. The half-elf started after, then stopped as he felt a surprisingly strong hand grip his arm.

‘Let him go,’ the mage said sternly, ‘or we are all lost. I have information to impart and my time is limited. We must make our way through this forest to the Tower of the Stars. We must walk the way of death, for every hideous creature ever conceived in the twisted, tortured dreams of mortals will arise to stop us. But know this—we walk in a dream, Lorac’s nightmare. And our own nightmares as well. Visions of the future can arise to help us—or hinder. Remember, that though our bodies are awake, our minds sleep. Death exists only in our minds—unless we believe otherwise.’

‘Then why can’t we wake up?’ Tanis demanded angrily.

‘Because Lorac’s belief in the dream is too strong and your belief too weak. When you are firmly convinced, beyond doubt, that this is a dream, you will return to reality.’

‘If this is true,’ Tanis said, ‘and you’re convinced it is a dream, why don’t you awaken?’

‘Perhaps,’ Raistlin said, smiling, ‘I choose not to.’

‘I don’t understand!’ Tanis cried in bitter frustration.

‘You will,’ Raistlin predicted grimly, ‘or you will die. In which case, it won’t matter.’

10 Waking dreams. Future visions.

Ignoring the horrified stares of his companions, Raistlin walked to his brother, who stood clutching his bleeding arm.

‘I will take care of him,’ Raistlin said to Goldmoon, putting his own black-robed arm around his twin.

‘No,’ Caramon gasped, ‘you’re not strong en—’ His voice died as he felt his brother’s arm support him.

‘I am strong enough now, Caramon,’ Raistlin said gently, his very gentleness sending a shiver through the warrior’s body. ‘Lean on me, my brother.’

Weak from pain and fear, for the first time in his life Caramon leaned on Raistlin. The mage supported him as, together, they starting walking through the hideous forest.

‘What’s happening, Raist?’ Caramon asked, choking. ‘Why do you wear the Black Robes? And your voice—’

‘Save your breath, my brother,’ Raistlin advised softly.

The two traveled deeper into the forest, and the undead elven warriors stared menacingly at them from the trees. They could see the hatred the dead bear the living, see it flicker in the hollow eye sockets of the undead warriors. But none dared attack the black-robed mage. Caramon felt his life’s blood well thick and warm from between his fingers. As he watched it drip upon the dead, slime-coated leaves beneath his feet, he grew weaker and weaker. He had the fevered impression that the black shadow of himself gained in strength even as he lost it.

Tanis hurried through the forest, searching for Sturm. He found him fighting off a group of shimmering elven warriors.

‘It’s a dream,’ Tanis shouted to Sturm, who stabbed and slashed at the undead creatures. Every time he struck one, it vanished, only to reappear once more. The half-elf drew his sword, running to fight at Sturm’s side.

‘Bah!’ the knight grunted, then gasped in pain as an arrow thudded into his arm. The wound was not deep, because the chain mail protected him, but it bled freely. ‘Is this dreaming?’ Sturm said, yanking out the blood-stained shaft.

Tanis jumped in front of the knight, keeping their foes back until Sturm could stanch the flow of blood.

‘Raistlin told us—’ Tanis began.

‘Raistlin! Hah! Look at his robes, Tanis!’

‘But you’re here! In Silvanesti!’ Tanis protested in confusion. He had the strangest feeling he was arguing with himself. ‘Alhana said you were in Ice Wall!’

The knight shrugged. ‘Perhaps I was sent to help you.’

All right. It’s a dream, Tanis told himself. I will wake up.

But there was no change. The elves were still there, still fighting. Sturm must be right. Raistlin had lied. Just as he had lied before they entered the forest. But why? To what purpose?

Then Tanis knew. The dragon orb!

‘We’ve got to reach the Tower before Raistlin!’ Tanis cried to Sturm. ‘I know what the mage is after!’

The knight could do nothing more than nod. It seemed to Tanis that from then on they did nothing but fight for every inch of ground they gained. Time and again, the two warriors forced the elven undead back, only to be attacked in ever-increasing numbers. Time passed, they knew, but they had no conception of its passing. One moment the sun shone through the stifling green haze. Then night’s shadows hovered over the land like the wings of dragons.

Then, just as the darkness deepened, Sturm and Tanis saw the Tower. Built of marble, the tall Tower glistened white. It stood alone in a clearing, reaching up to the heavens like a skeletal finger clawing up from the grave.

At sight of the Tower, both men began to run. Though weak and exhausted, neither wanted to be in these deadly woods after nightfall. The elven warriors—seeing their prey escaping—screamed in rage and charged after them.

Tanis ran until it seemed his lungs would burst with pain. Sturm ran ahead of him, slashing at the undead who appeared before them, trying to block their path. Just as Tanis neared the Tower, he felt a tree root twist itself around his boot. He pitched headlong onto the ground.

Frantically Tanis fought to free himself, but the root held him fast. Tanis struggled helplessly as an undead elf, his face twisted grotesquely, raised a spear to drive it through Tanis’s body. Suddenly the elf’s eyes widened, the spear fell from nerveless fingers as a sword punctured its transparent body. The elf vanished with a shriek.

Tanis looked up to see who had saved his life. It was a strange warrior, strange—yet familiar. The warrior removed his helm, and Tanis stared into bright brown eyes!

‘Kitiara!’ he gasped in shock. ‘You’re here! How? Why?’

‘I heard you needed some help,’ Kit said, her crooked smile as charming as ever. ‘Seems I was right.’ She reached out her hand. He grasped it, doubting as she pulled him to his feet. But she was flesh and blood. ‘Who’s that ahead? Sturm? Wonderful! Like old times! Shall we go to the Tower?’ she asked Tanis, laughing at the surprise on his face.

Riverwind fought alone, battling legions of undead elven warriors. He knew he could not take much more. Then he heard a clear call. Raising his eyes, he saw Que-shu tribesmen! He cried out joyfully. But, to his horror, he saw them turning their arrows upon him.

‘No!’ he shouted in Que-shu. ‘Don’t you recognize me? I—’

The Que-shu warriors answered only with their bowstrings. Riverwind felt shaft after feathered shaft sink into his body.

‘You brought the blue crystal staff among us!’ they cried. ‘Your fault! The destruction of our village was your fault!’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ he whispered as he slumped to the ground. ‘I didn’t know. Forgive me.’

Tika hacked and slashed her way through elven warriors only to see them turn suddenly into draconians! Their reptile eyes gleamed red, their tongues licked their swords. Fear chilled the barmaid. Stumbling, she bumped into Sturm. Angrily the knight whirled, ordering her out of his way. She staggered back and jostled Flint. The dwarf impatiently shoved her aside.

Blinded by tears, panic-stricken at the sight of the draconians, who sprang back into battle full-grown from their own dead bodies, Tika lost control. In her fear, she stabbed wildly at anything that moved.

Only when she looked up and saw Raistlin standing before her in his black robes did she come to her senses. The mage said nothing, he simply pointed downward. Flint lay dead at her feet, pierced by her own sword.

I led them here, Flint thought. This is my responsibility. I’m the eldest. I’ll get them out.

The dwarf hefted his battle-axe and yelled a challenge to the elven warriors before him. But they just laughed.

Angrily, Flint strode forward—only to find himself walking stiffly. His knee joints were swollen and hurt abominably. His gnarled fingers trembled with a palsy that made him lose his grip on the battle-axe. His breath came short. And then Flint knew why the elves weren’t attacking: they were letting old age finish him.

Even as he realized this, Flint felt his mind begin to wander. His vision blurred. Patting his vest pocket, he wondered where he had put those confounded spectacles. A shape loomed before him, a familiar shape. Was it Tika? Without his glasses, he couldn’t see—

Goldmoon ran among the twisted, tortured trees. Lost and alone, she searched desperately for her friends. Far away, she heard Riverwind calling for her above the ringing clash of swords. Then she heard his call cut off in a bubble of agony. Frantically she dashed forward, fighting her way through the brambles until her hands and face were bleeding. At last she found Riverwind. The warrior lay upon the ground, pierced by many arrows—arrows she recognized!

Running to him, she knelt beside him. ‘Heal him, Mishakal,’ she prayed, as she had prayed so often.

But nothing happened. The color did not return to Riverwind’s ashen face. His eyes remained locked, staring fixedly into the green-tinged sky.

‘Why don’t you answer? Heal him!’ Goldmoon cried to the gods. And then she knew. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘Punish me! I am the one who has doubted. I am the one who has questioned! I saw Tarsis destroyed, children dying in agony! How could you allow that? I try to have faith, but I cannot help doubting when I see such horrors! Do not punish him.’ Weeping, she bent over the lifeless body of her husband. She did not see the elven warriors closing in around her.

Tasslehoff, fascinated by the horrible wonders around him, wandered off the path, and then discovered that—somehow—his friends had managed to lose him. The undead did not bother him. They who fed off fear felt no fear in his small body.

Finally, after roaming here and there for nearly a day, the kender reached the doors to the Tower of the Stars. Here his lighthearted journey came to a sudden halt, for he had found his friends—one of them at least.

Backed up against the closed doors, Tika fought for her life against a host of misshapen, nightmare-begotten foes. Tas saw that if she could get inside the Tower, she would be safe. Dashing forward, his small body flitting easily through the melee, he reached the door and began to examine the lock while Tika held the elves back with her wildly swinging sword.

‘Hurry, Tas!’ she cried breathlessly.

It was an easy lock to open; with such a simplistic trap to protect it, Tas was surprised that the elves even bothered.

‘I should have this lock picked in seconds,’ he announced. Just as he set to work, however, something bumped him from behind, causing him to fumble.

‘Hey!’ he shouted at Tika irritably, turning around. ‘Be a little more careful—’ He stopped short, horrified. Tika lay at his feet, blood flowing into her red curls.

‘No, not Tika!’ Tas whispered. Maybe she was only wounded! Maybe if he got her inside the Tower, someone could help her. Tears dimmed his vision, his hands shook.

I’ve got to hurry, Tas thought frantically. Why won’t this open? It’s so simple! Furious, he tore at the lock.

He felt a small prick in his finger just as the lock clicked. The door to the Tower began to swing open. But Tasslehoff just stared at his finger where a tiny spot of blood glistened. He looked back at the lock where a small, golden needle sparkled. A simple lock, a simple trap. He’d sprung them both. And, as the first effects of the poison surged with a terrible warmness through his body, he looked down to see he was too late. Tika was dead.

Raistlin and his brother made their way through the forest without injury. Caramon watched in growing amazement as Raistlin drove back the evil creatures that assailed them; sometimes with feats of incredible magic, sometimes through the sheer force of his will.

Raistlin was kind and gentle and solicitous. Caramon was forced to stop frequently as the day waned. By twilight, it was all Caramon could do to drag one foot in front of the other, even leaning upon his brother for support. And as Caramon grew ever weaker, Raistlin grew stronger.

Finally, when night’s shadows fell, bringing a merciful end to the tortured green day, the twins reached the Tower. Here they stopped. Caramon was feverish and in pain.

‘I’ve got to rest, Raist,’ he gasped. ‘Put me down.’

‘Certainly, my brother,’ Raistlin said gently. He helped Caramon lean against the pearl wall of the Tower, then regarded his brother with cool, glittering eyes.

‘Farewell, Caramon,’ he said.

Caramon looked at his twin in disbelief. Within the shadows of the trees, the warrior could see the undead elves, who had followed them at a respectful distance, creep closer as they realized the mage who had warded them off was leaving.

‘Raist,’ Caramon said slowly, ‘you can’t leave me here! I can’t fight them. I don’t have the strength! I need you!’

‘Perhaps, but you see, my brother, I no longer need you. I have gained your strength. Now, finally, I am as I was meant to be but for nature’s cruel trick—one whole person.’

As Caramon stared, uncomprehending, Raistlin turned to leave.

‘Raist!’

Caramon’s agonized cry halted him. Raistlin stopped and gazed back at his twin, his golden eyes all that were visible from within the depths of his black hood.

‘How does it feel to be weak and afraid, my brother?’ he asked softly. Turning, Raistlin walked to the Tower entrance where Tika and Tas lay dead. Raistlin stepped over the kender’s body and vanished into the darkness.

Sturm and Tanis and Kitiara, reaching the Tower, saw a body lying on the grass at its base. Phantom shapes of undead elves were starting to surround it, shrieking and yelling, hacking at it with their cold swords.

‘Caramon!’ Tanis cried, heartsick.

‘And where’s his brother?’ Sturm asked with a sidelong glance at Kitiara. ‘Left him to die, no doubt.’

Tanis shook his head as they ran forward to aid the warrior. Wielding their swords, Sturm and Kitiara kept the elves at bay while Tanis knelt beside the mortally wounded warrior.

Caramon lifted his glazed eyes and met Tanis’s, barely recognizing him through the bloody haze that dimmed his vision. He tried desperately to talk.

‘Protect Raistlin, Tanis—’ Caramon choked on his own blood—‘since I won’t be there now. Watch over him.’

‘Watch over Raistlin?’ Tanis repeated furiously. ‘He left you here, to die!’ Tanis held Caramon in his arms.

Caramon closed his eyes wearily. ‘No, you’re wrong, Tanis. I sent him away...’ The warrior’s head slumped forward.

Night’s shadows closed over them. The elves had disappeared. Sturm and Kit came to stand beside the dead warrior.

‘What did I tell you?’ Sturm asked harshly.

‘Poor Caramon,’ Kitiara whispered, bending down near him. ‘Somehow I always guessed it would end this way.’ She was silent for a moment, then spoke softly. ‘So my little Raistlin has become truly powerful,’ she mused, almost to herself.

‘At the cost of your brother’s life!’

Kitiara looked at Tanis as if perplexed at his meaning. Then, shrugging, she glanced down at Caramon, who lay in a pool of his own blood. ‘Poor kid,’ she said softly.

Sturm covered Caramon’s body with his cloak, then they sought the entrance to the Tower.

‘Tanis—’ Sturm said, pointing.

‘Oh, no. Not Tas,’ Tanis murmured. ‘And Tika.’

The kender’s body lay just inside the doorway, his small limbs twisted by convulsions from the poison. Near him lay the barmaid, her red curls matted with blood. Tanis knelt beside them. One of the kender’s packs had opened in his death throes, its contents scattered. Tanis caught sight of a glint of gold. Reaching down, he picked up the ring of elven make, carved in the shape of ivy leaves. His vision blurred, tears filled his eyes as he covered his face with his hands.

‘There’s nothing we can do, Tanis.’ Sturm put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘We’ve got to keep going and put an end to this. If I do nothing else, I’ll live to kill Raistlin.’

Death is in the mind. This is a dream, Tanis repeated. But it was Raistlin’s words he was remembering, and he’d seen what the mage had become.

I will wake up, he thought, bending the full force of his will to believing it was a dream. But when he opened his eyes, the kender’s body still lay on the floor.

Clasping the ring in his hand, Tanis followed Kit and Sturm into a dank, slime-covered, marble hallway. Paintings hung in golden frames upon marble walls. Tall, stained-glass windows let in a lurid, ghastly light. The hallway might have been beautiful once, but now even the paintings on the walls appeared distorted, portraying horrifying visions of death. Gradually, as the three walked, they became aware of a brilliant green light emanating from a room at the end of the corridor.

They could feel a malevolence radiate from that green light, beating upon their faces with the warmth of a perverted sun.

‘The center of the evil,’ Tanis said. Anger filled his heart—anger, grief, and a burning desire for revenge. He started to run forward, but the green-tainted air seemed to press upon him, holding him back until each step was an effort.

Next to him, Kitiara staggered. Tanis put his arm around her, though he could barely find the strength to move himself. Kit’s face was drenched with sweat, the dark hair curled around her damp forehead. Her eyes were wide with fear—the first time Tanis ever saw her afraid. Sturm’s breath came in gasps as the knight struggled forward, weighted down by his armor.

At first, they seemed to make no progress at all. Then slowly, they realized they were inching forward, drawing nearer and nearer the green-lit room. Its bright light was now painful to their eyes, and movement exacted a terrible toll. Exhaustion claimed them, muscles ached, lungs burned.

Just as Tanis realized he could not take another step, he heard a voice call his name. Lifting his aching head, he saw Laurana standing in front of him, her elven sword in her hand. The heaviness seemingly had no effect on her at all, for she ran to him with a glad cry.

‘Tanthalas! You’re all right! I’ve been waiting—’

She broke off, her eyes on the woman clasped in Tanis’s arm.

‘Who—’ Laurana started to ask, then suddenly, somehow she knew. This was the human woman, Kitiara. The woman Tanis loved. Laurana’s face went white, then red.

‘Laurana—’ Tanis began, feeling confusion and guilt sweep over him, hating himself for causing her pain.

‘Tanis! Sturm!’ Kitiara cried, pointing.

Startled by the fear in her voice, all of them turned, staring down the green-lit marble corridor.

‘Drakus Tsaro, deghnyah!’ Sturm intoned in Solamnic.

At the end of the corridor loomed a gigantic green dragon. His name was Cyan Bloodbane, and he was one of the largest dragons on Krynn. Only the Great Red herself was larger. Snaking his head through a doorway, he blotted out the blinding green light with his hulking body. Cyan smelled steel and human flesh and elven blood. He peered with fiery eyes at the group.

They could not move. Overcome with the dragonfear, they could only stand and stare as the dragon crashed through the doorway, shattering the marble wall as easily as if it had been baked mud. His mouth gaping wide, Cyan moved down the corridor.

There was nothing they could do. Their weapons dangled from hands gone nerveless. Their thoughts were of death. But, even as the dragon neared, a dark shadowy figure crept from the deeper shadows of an unseen doorway and came to stand before them, facing them.

‘Raistlin!’ Sturm said quietly. ‘By all the gods, you will pay for your brother’s life!’

Forgetting the dragon, remembering only Caramon’s lifeless body, the knight sprang toward the mage, his sword raised. Raistlin just stared at him coldly.

‘Kill me, knight, and you doom yourself and the others to death, for through my magic—and my magic alone—will you be able to defeat Cyan Bloodbane!’

‘Hold, Sturm!’ Though his soul was filled with loathing, Tanis knew the mage was right. He could feel Raistlin’s power radiate through the black robes. ‘We need his help.’

‘No,’ Sturm said, shaking his head and backing away as Raistlin neared the group. ‘I said before—I will not rely on his protection. Not now. Farewell, Tanis.’

Before any of them could stop him, Sturm walked past Raistlin toward Cyan Bloodbane. The great dragon’s head wove back and forth in eager anticipation of this first challenge to his power since he had conquered Silvanesti.

Tanis clutched Raistlin. ‘Do something!’

‘The knight is in my way. Whatever spell I cast will destroy him, too,’ Raistlin answered.

‘Sturm!’ Tanis shouted, his voice echoing mournfully.

The knight hesitated. He was listening, but not to Tanis’s voice. What he heard was the clear, clarion call of a trumpet, its music cold as the air from the snow-covered mountains of his homeland. Pure and crisp, the trumpet call rose bravely above the darkness and death and despair to pierce his heart.

Sturm answered the trumpet’s call with a glad battle cry. He raised his sword—the sword of his father, its antique blade twined with the kingfisher and the rose. Silver moonlight streaming through a broken window caught the sword in a pure-white radiance that shredded the noxious green air.

Again the trumpet sounded, and again Sturm answered, but this time his voice faltered, for the trumpet call he heard had changed tone. No longer sweet and pure, it was braying and harsh and shrill.

No! thought Sturm in horror as he neared the dragon. Those were the horns of the enemy! He had been lured into a trap! Around him now he could see draconian soldiers, creeping from behind the dragon, laughing cruelly at his gullibility.

Sturm stopped, gripping his sword in a hand that was sweating inside its glove. The dragon loomed above him, a creature undefeatable, surrounded by masses of his troops, slavering and licking his jowls with his curled tongue.

Fear knotted Sturm’s stomach; his skin grew cold and clammy. The horn call sounded a third time, terrible and evil. It was all over. It had all been for nothing. Death, ignominious defeat awaited him. Despair descending, he looked around fearfully. Where was Tanis? He needed Tanis, but he could not find him. Desperately he repeated the code of the knights, My Honor Is My Life, but the words sounded hollow and meaningless in his ears. He was not a knight. What did the Code mean to him? He had been living a lie! Sturm’s swordarm wavered, then dropped; his sword fell from his hand and he sank to his knees, shivering and weeping like a child, hiding his head from the terror before him.

With one swipe of his shining talons, Cyan Bloodbane ended Sturm’s life, impaling the knight’s body upon a blood-stained claw. Disdainfully, Cyan shook the wretched human to the floor while the draconians swept shrieking toward the knight’s still-living body, intent upon hacking it to pieces.

But they found their way blocked. A bright figure, shining silver in the moonlight, ran to the knight’s body. Reaching down swiftly, Laurana lifted Sturm’s sword. Then, straightening, she faced the draconians.

‘Touch him and you will die,’ she said through her tears.

‘Laurana!’ Tanis screamed and tried to run forward to help her. But draconians sprang at him. He slashed at them desperately, trying to reach the elfmaid. Just when he had won through, he heard Kitiara call his name. Whirling, he saw her being beaten back by four draconians. The half-elf stopped in agony, hesitating, and at that moment Laurana fell across Sturm’s body, her own body pierced by draconian swords.

‘No! Laurana!’ Tanis shouted. Starting to go to her, he heard Kitiara cry out again. He stopped, turning. Clutching at his head, he stood irresolute and helpless, forced to watch as Kitiara fell beneath the enemy.

The half-elf sobbed in frenzy, feeling himself begin to sink into madness, longing for death to end this pain. He clutched the magic sword of Kith-Kanan and rushed toward the dragon, his one thought to kill and be killed.

But Raistlin blocked his path, standing in front of the dragon like a black obelisk.

Tanis fell to the floor, knowing his death was fixed. Clasping the small golden ring firmly in his hand, he waited to die.

Then he heard the mage chanting strange and powerful words. He heard the dragon roar in rage. The two were battling, but Tanis didn’t care. With eyes closed fast, he blotted out the sounds around him, blotted out life. Only one thing remained real. The golden ring he held tightly in his hand.

Suddenly Tanis became acutely conscious of the ring pressing into his palm: the metal was cool, its edges rough. He could feel the golden twisted ivy leaves bite into his flesh.

Tanis closed his hand, squeezing the ring. The gold bit into his flesh, bit deeply. Pain...real pain...

I am dreaming!

Tanis opened his eyes. Solinari’s silver moonlight flooded the Tower, mingled with the red beams of Lunitari. He was lying on a cold, marble floor. His hand was clasped tightly, so tightly that pain had wakened him. Pain? The ring. The dream! Remembering the dream, Tanis sat up in terror and looked around. But the hall was empty except for one other person. Raistlin slumped against a wall, coughing.

The half-elf staggered to his feet and walked shakily toward Raistlin. As he drew nearer, he could see blood on the mage’s lips. The blood gleamed red in Lunitari’s light—as red as the robes that covered Raistlin’s frail, shivering body.

The dream.

Tanis opened his hand. It was empty.

11 The Dream ends. The Nightmare begins.

The half-elf stared around the hallway. It was as empty as his hand. The bodies of his friends were gone. The dragon was gone. Wind blew through a shattered wall, fluttering Raistline’s red robes about him, scattering dead aspen leaves along the floor. The half-elf walked over to Raistlin, catching the young mage in his arms as he collapsed.

‘Where are they?’ Tanis asked, shaking Raistlin. ‘Laurana? Sturm? And the others, your brother? Are they dead?’ He glanced around. ‘And the dragon—’

‘The dragon is gone. The orb sent the dragon away when it realized it could not defeat me.’ Pushing himself from Tanis’s grasp, Raistlin stood alone, huddled against the marble wall. ‘It could not defeat me as I was. A child could defeat me now,’ he said bitterly. ‘As for the others’—he shrugged—‘I do not know.’ He turned his strange eyes on Tanis. ‘You lived, half-elf, because your love was strong. I lived because of my ambition. We clung to reality in the midst of the nightmare. Who can say with the others?’

‘Caramon’s alive, then,’ Tanis said. ‘Because of his love. With his last breath, he begged me to spare your life. Tell me, mage, was this future you say we saw irreversible?’

‘Why ask?’ Raistlin said wearily. ‘Would you kill me, Tanis? Now?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tanis said softly, thinking of Caramon’s dying words. ‘Perhaps.’

Raistlin smiled bitterly. ‘Save your energy,’ he said. ‘The future changes as we stand here, else we are the game pieces of the gods, not their heirs, as we have been promised. But’—the mage pushed himself away from the wall—‘this is far from over. We must find Lorac—and the dragon orb.’

Raistlin shuffled down the hall, leaning heavily upon the Staff of Magius, its crystal lighting the darkness now that the green light had died.

Green light. Tanis stood in the hallway, lost in confusion, trying to wake up, trying to separate the dream from reality—for the dream seemed much more real than any of this did now. He stared at the shattered wall. Surely there had been a dragon? And a blinding green light at the end of the corridor? But the hallway was dark. Night had fallen. It had been morning when they started. The moons had not been up, yet now they were full. How many nights had passed? How many days?

Then Tanis heard a booming voice at other end of the corridor, near the doorway.

‘Raist!’

The mage stopped, his shoulder slumped. Then he turned slowly. ‘My brother,’ he whispered.

Caramon—alive and apparently uninjured—stood in the doorway, outlined against the starry night. He stared at his twin.

Then Tanis heard Raistlin sigh softly.

‘I am tired, Caramon.’ The mage coughed, then drew a wheezing breath. ‘And there is still much to be done before this nightmare is ended, before the three moons set.’ Raistlin extended his thin arm. ‘I need your help, brother.’

Tanis heard Caramon heave a shuddering sob. The big man ran into the room, his sword clanking at his thigh. Reaching his brother, he put his arm around him.

Raistlin leaned on Caramon’s strong arm. Together, the twins walked down the cold hallway and through the shattered wall toward the room where Tanis had seen the green light and the dragon. His heart heavy with foreboding, Tanis followed them.

The three entered the audience room of the Tower of the Stars. Tanis looked at it curiously. He had heard of its beauty all his life. The Tower of the Sun in Qualinost had been built in remembrance of this Tower—the Tower of the Stars. The two were alike, yet not alike. One was filled with light, one filled with darkness. He stared around. The Tower soared above him in marble spirals that shimmered with a pearly radiance. It had been built to collect moonlight, as the Tower of the Sun collected sunlight. Windows carved into the Tower were faceted with gems that caught and magnified the light of the two moons, Solinari and Lunitari, making red and silver moonbeams dance in the chamber. But now the gems were broken. The moonlight that filtered in was distorted, the silver turning to the pale white of a corpse, the red to blood.

Tanis, shivering, looked straight up to the top. In Qualinost, there were murals on the ceiling, portraying the sun, the constellations, and the two moons. But here there was nothing but a carved hole in the top of the Tower. Through the hole, he could see only empty blackness. The stars did not shine. It was as if a perfectly round, black sphere had appeared in the starry darkness. Before he could ponder what this portended, he heard Raistlin speak softly, and he turned.

There, in the shadows at the front of the audience chamber was Alhana’s father, Lorac, the elfking. His shrunken and cadaverous body almost disappeared in a huge stone throne, fancifully carved with birds and animals. It must once have been beautiful, but now the animals’ heads were skulls.

Lorac sat motionless, his head thrown back, his mouth wide in a silent scream. His hand rested upon a round crystal globe.

‘Is he alive?’ Tanis asked in horror.

‘Yes,’ Raistlin answered, ‘undoubtedly to his sorrow.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘He is living a nightmare,’ Raistlin answered, pointing to Lorac’s hand. ‘There is the dragon orb. Apparently he tried to take control of it. He was not strong enough, so the orb seized control of him. The orb called Cyan Bloodbane here to guard Silvanesti, and the dragon decided to destroy it by whispering nightmares into Lorac’s ear. Lorac’s belief in the nightmare was so strong, his empathy with his land so great, that the nightmare became reality. Thus, it was his dream we were living when we entered. His dream—and our own. For we too came under the dragon’s control when we stepped into Silvanesti.’

‘You knew we faced this!’ Tanis accused, grabbing Raistlin by the shoulder and spinning him around. ‘You knew what we were walking into, there on the shores of the river—’

‘Tanis,’ Caramon said warningly, removing the half-elf’s hand. ‘Leave him alone.’

‘Perhaps,’ Raistlin said, rubbing his shoulder, his eyes narrow. ‘Perhaps not. I need not reveal my knowledge or its source to you!’

Before he could reply, Tanis heard a moan. It sounded as if it came from the base of the throne. Casting Raistlin an angry glance, Tanis turned quickly from him and stared into the shadows. Warily he approached, his sword drawn.

‘Alhana!’ The elfmaid crouched at her father’s feet, her head in his lap, weeping. She did not seem to hear Tanis. He went to her. ‘Alhana,’ he said gently.

She looked up at him without recognition.

‘Alhana,’ he said again.

She blinked, then shuddered, and grabbed hold of his hand as if clutching at reality.

‘Half-Elven!’ she whispered.

‘How did you get here? What happened?’

‘I heard the mage say it was a dream,’ Alhana answered, shivering at the memory, ‘and I—I refused to believe in the dream. I woke, but only to find the nightmare was real! My beautiful land filled with horrors!’ She hid her face in her hands. Tanis knelt beside her and held her close.

‘I made my way here. It took—days. Through the nightmare.’ She gripped Tanis tightly. ‘When I entered the Tower, the dragon caught me. He brought me here, to my father, thinking to make Lorac murder me. But not even in his nightmare could my father harm his own child. So Cyan tortured him with visions—of what he would do to me.’

‘And you? You saw them, too?’ Tanis whispered, stroking the woman’s long, dark hair with a soothing hand.

After a moment, Alhana spoke. ‘It wasn’t so bad. I knew it was nothing but a dream. But to my poor father it was reality—’ She began to sob.

The half-elf motioned to Caramon. ‘Take Alhana to a room where she can lie down. We’ll do what we can for her father.’

‘I will be all right, my brother,’ Raistlin said in answer to Caramon’s look of concern. ‘Do as Tanis says.’

‘Come, Alhana,’ Tanis urged her, helping her stand. She staggered with weariness. ‘Is there a place you can rest? You’ll need your strength.’

At first she started to argue, then she realized how weak she was. ‘Take me to my father’s room,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you the way.’ Caramon put his arm around her, and slowly they began to walk from the chamber.

Tanis turned back to Lorac. Raistlin stood before the elf king. Tanis heard the mage speaking softly to himself.

‘What is it?’ the half-elf said quietly. ‘Is he dead?’

‘Who?’ Raistlin started, blinking. He saw Tanis looking at Lorac. ‘Oh, Lorac? No, I do not believe so. Not yet.’

Tanis realized the mage had been staring at the dragon orb.

‘Is the orb still in control?’ Tanis asked nervously, his eyes on the object they had gone through so much to find.

The dragon orb was a huge globe of crystal, at least twenty-four inches across. It sat upon a stand of gold that had been carved in hideous, twisted designs, mirroring the twisted, tormented life of Silvanesti. Though the orb must have been the source of the brilliant green light, there was now only a faint, iridescent, pulsing glow at its heart.

Raistlin’s hands hovered over the globe, but, Tanis noted, he was careful not to touch it as he chanted the spidery words of magic. A faint aura of red began to surround the globe. Tanis backed away.

‘Do not fear,’ Raistlin whispered, watching as the aura died. ‘It is my spell. The globe is enchanted—still. Its magic has not died with the passing of the dragon, as I thought possible. It is still in control, however.’

‘Control of Lorac?’

‘Control of itself. It has released Lorac.’

‘Did you do this?’ Tanis murmured. ‘Did you defeat it?’

‘The orb is not defeated!’ Raistlin said sharply. ‘With help, I was able to defeat the dragon. Realizing Cyan Bloodbane was losing, the orb sent him away. It let go of Lorac because it could no longer use him. But the orb is still very powerful.’

‘Raistlin, tell me—’

‘I have no more to say Tanis.’ The young mage coughed. ‘I must conserve my energy.’

Whose help had Raistlin received? What else did he know of this orb? Tanis opened his mouth to pursue the subject, then he saw Raistlin’s golden eyes flicker. The half-elf fell silent.

‘We can free Lorac now,’ Raistlin added. Walking to the elf king, he gently removed Lorac’s hand from the dragon orb, then put his slender fingers to Lorac’s neck. ‘He lives. For the time being. The lifebeat is weak. You may come closer.’

But Tanis, his eyes on the dragon orb, held back. Raistlin glanced at the half-elf, amused, then beckoned.

Reluctantly, Tanis approached. ‘Tell me one more thing—can the orb still be of use to us?’

For long moments, Raistlin was silent. Then, faintly, he replied, ‘Yes, if we dare.’

Lorac drew a shivering breath, then screamed—a thin, wailing scream horrible to hear. His hands—little more than living skeletal claws—twisted and writhed. His eyes were tightly closed. In vain, Tanis tried to calm him. Lorac screamed until he was out of breath, and then he screamed silently.

‘Father!’ Tanis heard Alhana cry. She reappeared in the doorway of the audience chamber and pushed Caramon aside. Running to her father, she grasped his bony hands in hers. Kissing his hands, she wept, pleading for him to be silent.

‘Rest, Father,’ she repeated over and over. ‘The nightmare is ended. The dragon is gone. You can sleep, Father!’

But the man’s screaming continued.

‘In the name of the gods!’ Caramon said as he came up to them, his face pale. ‘I can’t take much of this.’

‘Father!’ Alhana pleaded, calling to him again and again. Slowly her beloved voice penetrated the twisted dreams that lingered on in Lorac’s tortured mind. Slowly his screams died to little more than horrified whimpers. Then, as if fearing what he might see, he opened his eyes.

‘Alhana, my child. Alive!’ He lifted a shaking hand to touch her cheek. ‘It cannot be! I saw you die, Alhana. I saw you die a hundred times, each time more horrifying than the last. He killed you, Alhana. He wanted me to kill you. But I could not. Though I know not why, as I have killed so many.’ Then he caught sight of Tanis. His eyes flared open, shining with hatred.

‘You!’ Lorac snarled, rising from his chair, his gnarled hands clutching the sides of the throne. ‘You, half-elf! I killed you—or tried to. I must protect Silvanesti! I killed you! I killed those with you.’ Then his eyes went to Raistlin. The look of hatred was replaced by one of fear. Trembling, he shrank away from the mage. ‘But you, you I could not kill!’

Lorac’s look of terror changed to confusion. ‘No,’ he cried. ‘You are not he! Your robes are not black! Who are you?’ His eyes went back to Tanis. ‘And you? You are not a threat? What have I done?’ He moaned.

‘Don’t, Father,’ Alhana pleaded, soothing him, stroking his fevered face. ‘You must rest now. The nightmare is ended. Silvanesti is safe.’

Caramon lifted Lorac in his strong arms and carried him to his chambers. Alhana walked next to him, her father’s hand held fast in her own.

Safe, Tanis thought, glancing out the windows at the tormented trees. Although the undead elven warriors no longer stalked the woods, the tortured shapes Lorac had created in his nightmare still lived. The trees, contorted in agony, still wept blood. Who will live here now? Tanis wondered sadly. The elves will not return. Evil things will enter this dark forest and Lorac’s nightmare will become reality.

Thinking of the nightmarish forest, Tanis suddenly wondered where his other friends were. Were they all right? What if they had believed the nightmare—as Raistlin said? Would they have truly died? His heart sinking, he knew he would have to go back into that demented forest and search for them.

Just as the half-elf began to try and force his weary body to action, his friends entered the Tower room.

‘I killed him!’ Tika cried, catching sight of Tanis. Her eyes were wide with grief and terror. ‘No! Don’t touch me, Tanis. You don’t know what I’ve done. I killed Flint! I didn’t mean to, Tanis, I swear!’

As Caramon entered the room, Tika turned to him, sobbing. ‘I killed Flint, Caramon. Don’t come near me!’

‘Hush,’ Caramon said, gently enfolding her in his big arms. ‘It was a dream, Tika. That’s what Raist says. The dwarf was never here. Shhh.’ Stroking Tika’s red curls, he kissed her. Tika clung to him, Caramon clung to her, each finding comfort with the other. Gradually Tika’s sobs lessened.

‘My friend,’ Goldmoon said, reaching out to embrace Tanis.

Seeing the grave, somber expression on her face, the half-elf held her tightly, glancing questioningly at Riverwind. What had each of them dreamed? But the Plainsman only shook his head, his own face pale and grieved.

Then it occurred to Tanis that each must have lived through his or her own dream, and he suddenly remembered Kitiara! How real she had been! And Laurana, dying. Closing his eyes, Tanis laid his head against Goldmoon’s. He felt Riverwind’s strong arms surround them both. Their love blessed him. The horror of the dream began to recede.

And then Tanis had a terrifying thought. Lorac’s dream became reality! Would theirs?

Behind him, Tanis heard Raistlin begin to cough. Clutching his chest, the mage sank down onto the steps leading up to Lorac’s throne. Tanis saw Caramon, still holding Tika, glance at his brother in concern. But Raistlin ignored his brother. Gathering his robes around him, the mage lay down on the cold floor and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

Sighing, Caramon pressed Tika closer. Tanis watched her small shadow become part of Caramon’s larger one as they stood together, their bodies outlined in the distorted silver and red beams of the fractured moonlight.

We all must sleep, Tanis thought, feeling his own eyes burn. Yet how can we? How can we ever sleep again?

12 Visions shared The death of Lorac.

Yet finally they slept. Huddled on the stone floor of the Tower of the Stars, they kept as near each other as possible. While, as they slept, others in lands cold and hostile, lands far from Silvanesti, wakened.

Laurana woke first. Starting up from a deep sleep with a cry, at first she had no idea where she was. She spoke one word—‘Silvanesti!’

Flint, trembling, woke to find that his fingers still moved, the pains in his legs were no worse than usual.

Sturm woke in panic. Shaking with terror, for long moments he could only crouch beneath his blankets, shuddering. Then he heard something outside his tent. Starting up, hand on his sword, he crept forward and threw open the tent flap.

‘Oh!’ Laurana gasped at the sight of his haggard face.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sturm said. ‘I didn’t mean—’ Then he saw she was shaking so she could scarcely hold her candle. ‘What is it?’ he asked, alarmed, drawing her out of the cold.

‘I—I know this sounds silly,’ Laurana said, flushing, ‘but I had the most frightening dream and I couldn’t sleep.’

Shivering, she allowed Sturm to lead her inside the tent. The flame of her candle cast leaping shadows around the tent. Sturm, afraid she might drop it, took it from her.

‘I didn’t mean to wake you, but I heard you call out. And my dream was so real! You were in it—I saw you—’

‘What is Silvanesti like?’ Sturm interrupted abruptly.

Laurana stared at him. ‘But that’s where I dreamed we were! Why did you ask? Unless...you dreamed of Silvanesti, too!’

Sturm wrapped his cloak around him, nodding. ‘I—’ he began, then heard another noise outside the tent. This time, he just opened the tent flap. ‘Come in, Flint,’ he said wearily.

The dwarf stumped inside, his face flushed. He seemed embarrassed to find Laurana there, however, and stammered and stamped until Laurana smiled at him.

‘We know,’ she said. ‘You had a dream. Silvanesti?’

Flint coughed, clearing his throat and wiping his face with his hand. ‘Apparently I’m not the only one?’ he asked, staring narrowly at the other two from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘I suppose you—you want me to tell you what I dreamed?’

‘No!’ Sturm said hurriedly, his face pale. ‘No, I do not want to talk about it—ever!’

‘Nor I,’ Laurana said softly.

Hesitantly, Flint patted her shoulder. ‘I’m glad,’ he said gruffly. ‘I couldn’t talk about mine either. I just wanted to see if it was a dream. It seemed so real I expected to find you both—’

The dwarf stopped. There was a rustling sound outside, then Tasslehoff burst excitedly through the tent flap.

‘Did I hear you talking about a dream? I never dream—at least not that I remember. Kender don’t, much. Oh, I suppose we do. Even animals dream, but—’ He caught Flint’s eye and came hurriedly back to the original subject. ‘Well! I had the most fantastic dream! Trees crying blood. Horrible dead elves going around killing people! Raistlin wearing black robes! It was the most incredible thing! And you were there, Sturm. Laurana and Flint. And everyone died! Well, almost everyone. Raistlin didn’t. And there was a green dragon—’

Tasslehoff stopped. What was wrong with his friends? Their faces were deathly pale, their eyes wide. ‘G-green dragon,’ he stammered. ‘Raistlin, dressed in black. Did I mention that? Q-quite becoming, actually. Red always makes him look kind of jaundiced, if you know what I mean. You don’t. Well, I g-guess I’ll go back to bed. If you don’t want to hear anymore?’ He looked around hopefully. No one answered.

‘Well, g-night,’ he mumbled. Backing out of the tent precipitously, he returned to his bed, shaking his head, puzzled. What was the matter with everyone? It was only a dream—

For long moments, no one spoke. Then Flint sighed.

‘I don’t mind having a nightmare,’ the dwarf said dourly. ‘But I object to sharing it with a kender. How do you suppose we all came to have the same dream? And what does it mean?’

‘A strange land—Silvanesti,’ Laurana said. Taking her candle, she started to leave. Then she looked back. ‘Do you—do you think it was real? Did they die, as we saw?’ Was Tanis with that human woman? she thought, but didn’t ask aloud.

‘We’re here,’ said Sturm. ‘We didn’t die. We can only trust the others didn’t either. And’—he paused—‘this seems funny, but somehow I know they’re all right.’

Laurana looked at the knight intently for a moment, saw his grave face calm after the initial shock and horror had worn off. She felt herself relax. Reaching out, she took Sturm’s strong lean hand in her own and pressed it silently. Then she turned and left, slipping back into the starlit night.

The dwarf rose to his feet. ‘Well, so much for sleep. I’ll take my turn at watch now.’

‘I’ll join you,’ said Sturm, standing and buckling on his swordbelt.

‘I suppose we’ll never know,’ Flint said, ‘why or how we all dreamed the same dream.’

‘I suppose not,’ Sturm agreed.

The dwarf walked out of the tent. Sturm started to follow, then stopped as his eyes caught a glimpse of light. Thinking perhaps that a bit of wick had fallen from Laurana’s candle, he bent down to put it out, only to find instead that the jewel Alhana had given him had slipped from his belt and lay upon the ground. Picking it up, he noticed it was gleaming with its own inner light, something he’d never seen it do before.

‘I suppose not,’ Sturm repeated thoughtfully, turning the jewel over and over in his hand.

Morning dawned in Silvanesti for the first time in many long, horrifying months. But only one saw it. Lorac, watching from his bedchamber window, saw the sun rise above the glistening aspens. The others, worn out, slept soundly.

Alhana had not left her father’s side all night. But exhaustion had overwhelmed her, and she fell asleep sitting in her chair. Lorac saw the pale sunlight light her face. Her long black hair fell across her face like cracks in white marble. Her skin was torn by thorns, caked with dried blood. He saw beauty, but that beauty was marred by arrogance. She was the epitome of her people. Turning back, he looked outside into Silvanesti, but found no comfort there. A green, noxious mist still hung over Silvanesti, as though the ground itself was rotting.

‘This is my doing,’ he said to himself, his eyes lingering on the twisted, tortured trees, the pitiful misshapen beasts that roamed the land, seeking an end to their torment.

For over four hundred years, Lorac had lived in this land. He had watched it take shape and flower beneath his hands and the hands of his people.

There had been times of trouble, too. Lorac was one of the few still living on Krynn to remember the Cataclysm. But the Silvanesti elves had survived it far better than others in the world—being estranged from other races. They knew why the ancient gods left Krynn—they saw the evil in humankind—although they could not explain why the elven clerics vanished as well.

The elves of Silvanesti heard, of course, via the winds and birds and other mysterious ways, of the sufferings of their cousins, the Qualinesti, following the Cataclysm. And, though grieved at the tales of rapine and murder, the Silvanesti asked themselves what could one expect, living among humans? They withdrew into their forest, renouncing the outside world and caring little that the outside world renounced them.

Thus Lorac had found it impossible to understand this new evil sweeping out of the north, threatening his homeland. Why should they bother the Silvanesti? He met with the Dragon Highlords, explaining to them that the Silvanesti would give them no trouble. The elves believed everyone had the right to live upon Krynn, each in his own unique fashion, evil and good. He talked and they listened and, at first, all seemed well. Then the day came when Lorac realized he had been deceived—the day the skies erupted with dragons.

The elves were not, after all, caught unprepared. Lorac had lived too long for that. Ships waited to take the people to safety. Lorac ordered them to depart under his daughter’s command. Then, when he was alone, he descended to the chambers beneath the Tower of the Stars where he had secreted the dragon orb.

Only his daughter and the long-lost elven clerics knew of the orb’s existence. All others in the world believed it destroyed in the Cataclysm. Lorac sat beside it, staring at it for long days. He recalled the warnings of the High Mages, bringing to mind everything he could remember about the orb. Finally, though fully aware that he had no idea how it worked, Lorac decided he had to use it to try and save his land.

He remembered the globe vividly, remembered it burning with a swirling, fascinating green light that pulsed and strengthened as he looked at it. And he remembered knowing, almost from the first seconds he had rested his fingers on the globe, that he had made a terrible mistake. He had neither the strength nor the control to command the magic. But by then, it was too late. The orb had captured him and held him enthralled, and it had been the most hideous part of his nightmare to be constantly reminded that he was dreaming, yet unable to break free.

And now the nightmare had become waking reality. Lorac bowed his head, tasting bitter tears in his mouth. Then he felt gentle hands upon his shoulders.

‘Father, I cannot bear to see you weep. Come away from the window. Come to bed. The land will be beautiful once more in time. You will help to shape it—’

But Alhana could not look out the window without a shudder. Lorac felt her tremble and he smiled sadly.

‘Will our people return, Alhana?’ He stared out into the green that was not the vibrant green of life but that of death and decay.

‘Of course,’ Alhana said quickly.

Lorac patted her hand. ‘A lie, my child? Since when have the elves lied to each other?’

‘I think perhaps we may have always lied to ourselves,’ Alhana murmured, recalling what she had learned of Goldmoon’s teaching. ‘The ancient gods did not abandon Krynn, Father. A cleric of Mishakal the Healer traveled with us and told us of what she had learned. I—I did not want to believe, Father. I was jealous. She is a human, after all, and why should the gods come to the humans with this hope? But I see now, the gods are wise. They came to humans because we elves would not accept them. Through our grief, living in this place of desolation, we will learn—as you and I have learned—that we can no longer live within the world and live apart from the world. The elves will work to rebuild not only this land, but all lands ravaged by the evil.’

Lorac listened. His eyes turned from the tortured landscape to his daughter’s face, pale and radiant as the silver moon, and he reached out his hand to touch her.

‘You will bring them back? Our people?’

‘Yes, Father,’ she promised, taking his cold, fleshless hand in her own and holding it fast. ‘We will work and toil. We will ask forgiveness of the gods. We will go out among the peoples of Krynn and—’ Tears flooded her eyes and choked her voice, for she saw Lorac could no longer hear her. His eyes dimmed, and he began to sink back in the chair.

‘I give myself to the land,’ he whispered. ‘Bury my body in the soil, daughter. As my life brought this curse upon it, so, perhaps, my death will bring its blessing.’

Lorac’s hand slipped from his daughter’s grasp. His lifeless eyes stared out into the tormented land of Silvanesti. But the look of horror on his face faded away, leaving it filled with peace.

And Alhana could not grieve.

That night, the companions prepared to leave Silvanesti. They were to travel under the cover of darkness for much of their journey north, since by now they knew the dragonarmies controlled the lands they must pass through. They had no maps to guide them. They feared trusting ancient maps anymore, after their experience with the landlocked seaport city, Tarsis. But the only maps that could be found in Silvanesti dated back thousands of years. The companions decided to travel north from Silvanesti blindly, with some hope of discovering a seaport where they could find passage to Sancrist.

They traveled lightly, so they could travel swiftly. Besides, there was little to take; the elves had stripped their country bare of food and supplies when they left.

The mage took possession of the dragon orb—a charge no one disputed him. Tanis at first despaired of how they could carry the massive crystal with them—it was nearly two feet in diameter and extraordinarily heavy. But the evening before they left, Alhana came to Raistlin, a small sack in her hand.

‘My father carried the orb in this sack. I always thought it odd, considering the orb’s size, but he said the sack was given to him in the Tower of High Sorcery. Perhaps this will help you.’

The mage reached out his thin hand to grasp it eagerly.

‘Jistrah tagopar Ast moirparann Kini,’ he murmured and watched in satisfaction as the nondescript bag began to glow with a pale pink light.

‘Yes, it is enchanted,’ he whispered. Then he lifted his gaze to Caramon. ‘Go and bring me the orb.’

Caramon’s eyes opened wide in horror. ‘Not for any treasure in this world!’ the big man said with an oath.

‘Bring me the orb!’ Raistlin ordered, staring angrily at his brother, who still shook his head.

‘Oh, don’t be a fool, Caramon!’ Raistlin snapped in exasperation. ‘The orb cannot hurt those who do not attempt to use it. Believe me, my dear brother, you do not have the power to control a cockroach, let alone a dragon orb!’

‘But it might trap me,’ Caramon protested.

‘Bah! It seeks those with—’ Raistlin stopped suddenly.

‘Yes?’ Tanis said quietly. ‘Go on. Who does it seek?’

‘People with intelligence,’ Raistlin snarled. ‘Therefore I believe the members of this party are safe. Bring me the orb, Caramon, or perhaps you want to carry it yourself? Or you, Half-Elf? Or you, cleric of Mishakal?’

Caramon glanced uncomfortably at Tanis, and the half-elf realized that the big man was seeking his approval. It was an odd move for the twin, who had always done what Raistlin commanded without question.

Tanis saw that he wasn’t the only one who noticed Caramon’s mute appeal. Raistlin’s eyes glittered in rage.

Now more than ever, Tanis felt wary of the mage, distrusting Raistlin’s strange and growing power. It’s illogical, he argued with himself. A reaction to a nightmare, nothing more. But that didn’t solve his problem. What should he do about the dragon orb? Actually, he realized ruefully, he had little choice.

‘Raistlin’s the only one with the knowledge and the skill and—let’s face it—the guts to handle that thing,’ Tanis said grudgingly. ‘I say he should take it, unless one of you wants the responsibility?’

No one spoke, though Riverwind shook his head, frowning darkly. Tanis knew the Plainsman would leave the orb—and Raistlin as well—here in Silvanesti if he had the choice.

‘Go ahead, Caramon,’ Tanis said. ‘You’re the only one strong enough to lift it.’

Reluctantly, Caramon went to fetch the orb from its golden stand. His hands shook as he reached out to touch it, but, when he laid his hands upon it, nothing happened. The globe did not change in appearance. Sighing in relief, Caramon lifted the orb, grunting from the weight, and carried it back to his brother, who held the sack open.

‘Drop it in the bag,’ Raistlin ordered.

‘What?’ Caramon’s jaw sagged as he stared from the giant orb to the small bag in the mage’s frail hands. ‘I can’t, Raist! It won’t fit in there! It’ll smash!’

The big man fell silent as Raistlin’s eyes flared golden in the dying light of day.

‘No! Caramon, wait!’ Tanis leaped forward, but this time Caramon did as Raistlin commanded. Slowly, his eyes held fast by his brother’s intense gaze, Caramon dropped the dragon orb.

The orb vanished!

‘What? Where—’ Tanis glared at Raistlin suspiciously.

‘In the sack,’ the mage replied calmly, holding forth the small bag. ‘See for yourself, if you do not trust me.’

Tanis peered into the bag. The orb was inside and it was the true dragon orb, all right. He had no doubt. He could see the swirling mist of green, as though some faint life stirred within. It must have shrunk, he thought in awe, but the orb appeared to be the same size as always, giving Tanis the fearful impression that it was he who had grown.

Shuddering, Tanis stepped back. Raistlin gave the drawstring on the top of the bag a quick jerk, snapping it shut. Then, glancing at them distrustfully, he slipped the bag within his robes, secreting it in one of his numerous hidden pockets, and began to turn away. But Tanis stopped him.

‘Things can never again be the same between us, can they?’ the half-elf asked quietly.

Raistlin looked at him for a moment, and Tanis saw a brief flicker of regret in the young mage’s eyes, a longing for trust and friendship and a return to the days of youth.

‘No,’ Raistlin whispered. ‘But such was the price I paid.’ He began to cough.

‘Price? To whom? For what?’

‘Do not question, Half-Elf.’ The mage’s thin shoulders bent with coughing. Caramon put his strong arm around his brother and Raistlin leaned weakly against his twin. When he recovered from the spasm, he lifted his golden eyes. ‘I cannot tell you the answer, Tanis, because I do not know it myself.’

Then, bowing his head, he let Caramon lead him away to find what rest he could before their journey.

‘I wish you would reconsider and let us assist you in the funeral rites for your father,’ Tanis said to Alhana as she stood in the door of the Tower of the Stars to bid them farewell. ‘A day will not make a difference to us.’

‘Yes, let us,’ Goldmoon entreated earnestly. ‘I know much about this from our people, for our burial customs are similar to yours, if Tanis has told me correctly. I was priestess in my tribe, and I presided over the wrapping of the body in the spiced cloths that will preserve it—’

‘No, my friends,’ Alhana said firmly, her face pale. ‘It was my father’s wish that I—I do this alone.’

This was not quite true, but Alhana knew how shocked these people would be at the sight of her father’s body being consigned to the ground—a custom practiced only by goblins and other evil creatures. The thought appalled her. Involuntarily, her gaze was drawn to the tortured and twisted tree that was to mark his grave, standing over it like some fearful carrion bird. Quickly she looked away, her voice faltered.

‘His tomb is—is long prepared and I have some experience of these things myself. Do not worry about me, please.’

Tanis saw the agony in her face, but he could not refuse to honor her request.

‘We understand,’ Goldmoon said. Then, on impulse, the Que-shu Plainswoman put her arms around the elven princess and held her as she might have held a lost and frightened child. Alhana stiffened at first, then relaxed in Goldmoon’s compassionate embrace.

‘Be at peace,’ Goldmoon whispered, stroking back Alhana’s dark hair from her face. Then the Plainswoman left.

‘After you bury your father, what then?’ Tanis asked as he and Alhana stood alone together on the steps of the Tower.

‘I will return to my people,’ Alhana replied gravely. ‘The griffons will come to me, now that the evil in this land is gone, and they will take me to Ergoth. We will do what we can to help defeat this evil, then we will come home.’

Tanis glanced around Silvanesti. Horrifying as it was in the daytime, its terrors at night were beyond description.

‘I know,’ Alhana said in answer to his unspoken thoughts. ‘This will be our penance.’

Tanis raised his eyebrows skeptically, knowing the fight she had ahead of her to get her people to return. Then he saw the conviction on Alhana’s face. He gave her even odds.

Smiling, he changed the subject. ‘And will you find time to go to Sancrist?’ he asked. ‘The knights would be honored by your presence. Particularly one of them.’

Alhana’s pale face flushed. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, barely speaking above a whisper. ‘I cannot say yet. I have learned many things about myself. But it will take me a long time to make these things a part of me.’ She shook her head, sighing. ‘It may be I can never truly be comfortable with them.’

‘Like learning to love a human?’

Alhana lifted her head, her clear eyes looked into Tanis’s. ‘Would he be happy, Tanis? Away from his homeland, for I must return to Silvanesti? And could I be happy, knowing that I must watch him age and die while I am still in my youth?’

‘I asked myself these same questions, Alhana,’ Tanis said, thinking with pain of the decision he had reached concerning Kitiara. ‘If we deny love that is given to us, if we refuse to give love because we fear the pain of loss, then our lives will be empty, our loss greater.’

‘I wondered, when first we met, why these people follow you, Tanis Half-Elven,’ Alhana said softly. ‘Now I understand. I will consider your words. Farewell, until your life’s journey’s end.’

‘Farewell, Alhana,’ Tanis answered, taking the hand she extended to him. He could find nothing more to say, and so turned and left her.

But he could not help wondering, as he did, that if he was so damn wise, why was his life in such a mess?

Tanis joined the companions at the edge of the forest. For a moment they stood there, reluctant to enter the woods of Silvanesti. Although they knew the evil was gone, the thought of traveling for days among the twisted, tortured forest was a somber one. But they had no choice. Already they felt the sense of urgency that had driven them this far. Time was sifting through the hourglass, and they knew they could not let the sands run out, although they had no idea why.

‘Come, my brother,’ said Raistlin finally. The mage led the way into the woods, the Staff of Magius shedding its pale light as he walked. Caramon followed, with a sigh. One by one the others trailed after. Tanis alone turned to look back.

They would not see the moons tonight. The land was covered with a heavy darkness as if it too mourned Lorac’s death. Alhana stood in the doorway to the Tower of the Stars, her body framed by the Tower, which glimmered in the light of moonrays captured ages ago. Only Alhana’s face was visible in the shadows, like the ghost of the silver moon. Tanis caught a glimpse of movement. She raised her hand and there was a brief, clear flash of pure white light—the Starjewel. And then she was gone.