Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (19 page)

T
he 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 Raistlin’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.