Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (22 page)

T
he old dwarf lay dying.

His limbs would no longer support him. His bowels and stomach twisted together like snakes. Waves of nausea broke over him. He could not even raise his head from his bunk. He stared above him at an oil lamp swinging slowly overhead. The lamp’s light seemed to be getting dimmer. This is it, thought the dwarf. The end. The darkness is creeping over my eyes.…

He heard a noise near him, a creaking of wooden planks as if someone were very quietly stealing up on him. Feebly, Flint managed to turn his head.

“Who is it?” he croaked.

“Tasslehoff,” whispered a solicitous voice. Flint sighed and reached out a gnarled hand. Tas’s hand closed over his own.

“Ah, lad. I’m glad you’ve come in time to say farewell,”
said the dwarf weakly. “I’m dying, lad. I’m going to Reorx—”

“What?” asked Tas, leaning closer.

“Reorx,” repeated the dwarf irritably. “I’m going to the arms of Reorx.”

“No, we’re not,” said Tas. “We’re going to Sancrist. Unless you mean an inn. I’ll ask Sturm. The Reorx Arms. Hmmm—”

“Reorx, the God of the Dwarves, you doorknob!” Flint roared.

“Oh,” said Tas after a moment. “
That
Reorx.”

“Listen, lad,” Flint said more calmly, determined to leave no hard feelings behind. “I want you to have my helm. The one you brought me in Xak Tsaroth, with the griffon’s mane.”

“Do you really?” Tas asked, impressed. “That’s awfully nice of you, Flint, but what will you do for a helm?”

“Ah, lad, I won’t need a helm where I’m going.”

“You might in Sancrist,” Tas said dubiously. “Derek thinks the Dragon Highlords are preparing to launch a full-scaled attack, and I think a helm could come in handy—”

“I’m not talking about Sancrist!” Flint snarled, struggling to sit up. “I won’t need a helm because I’m dying!”

“I nearly died once,” Tas said solemnly. Setting a steaming bowl on a table, he settled back comfortably in a chair to relate his story. “It was that time in Tarsis when the dragon knocked the building down on top of me. Elistan said I was nearly a goner. Actually those weren’t his exact words, but he said it was only through the inter … interces … oh well, inter-something-or-other of the gods that I’m here today.”

Flint gave a mighty groan and fell back limply on his bunk. “Is it too much to ask,” he said to the lamp swinging above his head, “that I be allowed to die in peace? Not surrounded by kenders!” This last was practically a shriek.

“Oh, come now. You’re not dying, you know,” Tas said. “You’re only seasick.”

“I’m dying,” the dwarf said stubbornly. “I’ve been infected with a serious disease and now I’m dying. And on your heads be it. You dragged me onto this confounded boat—”

“Ship,” interrupted Tas.

“Boat!” repeated Flint furiously. “You dragged me onto this confounded boat, then left me to perish of some terrible disease in a rat infested bedroom—”

“We could have left you back in Ice Wall, you know, with the walrus-men and—” Tasslehoff stopped.

Flint was once again struggling to sit up, but this time there was a wild look in his eyes. The kender rose to his feet and began edging his way toward the door. “Uh, I guess I better be going. I just came down here to—uh—see if you wanted anything to eat. The ship’s cook made something he calls green pea soup—”

Laurana, huddled out of the wind on the foredeck, started as she heard the most frightful roaring sound come from below decks, followed by the cracking of smashed crockery. She glanced at Sturm, who was standing near her. The knight smiled.

“Flint,” he said.

“Yes,” Laurana said, worried. “Perhaps I should—”

She was interrupted by the appearance of Tasslehoff dripping with green pea soup.

“I think Flint’s feeling better,” Tasslehoff said solemnly. “But he’s not quite ready to eat anything yet.”

The journey from Ice Wall had been swift. Their small ship fairly flew through the sea waters, carried north by the currents and the strong, cold prevailing winds.

The companions had traveled to Ice Wall where, according to Tasslehoff, a dragon orb was kept in Ice Wall Castle. They found the orb and defeated its evil guardian, Feal-thas—a powerful Dragonlord. Escaping the destruction of the castle with the help of the Ice Barbarians, they were now on a ship bound for Sancrist. Although the precious dragon orb was stowed safely in a chest below decks, the horrors of their journey to Ice Wall still tormented their dreams at night.

But the nightmares of Ice Wall were nothing compared to that strange and vivid dream they had experienced well over a month ago. None of them referred to it, but Laurana occasionally saw a look of fear and loneliness, unusual to Sturm, that made her think he might be recalling the dream as well.

Other than that, the party was in good spirits—except the dwarf, who had been hauled on the ship bodily and was promptly seasick. The journey to Ice Wall had been an undoubted victory. Along with the dragon orb, they carried away with them the broken shaft of an ancient weapon, believed to be a dragonlance. And they carried something more
important, though they did not realize it at the time they found it.…

The companions, accompanied by Derek Crownguard and the other two young knights who had joined them at Tarsis, had been searching Ice Wall castle for the dragon orb. The search had not gone well. Time and again they had fought off the evil walrus-men, winter wolves, and bears. The companions began to think they might have come here for nothing, but Tas swore that the book he read in Tarsis said there was an orb located here. So they kept looking.

It was during their search that they came upon a startling sight—a huge dragon, over forty feet long, its skin a shimmering silver, completely encased in a wall of ice. The dragon’s wings were spread, poised for flight. The dragon’s expression was fierce, but his head was noble, and he did not inspire them with the fear and loathing they remembered experiencing around the red dragons. Instead, they felt a great, overwhelming sorrow for this magnificent creature.

But strangest to them was the fact that this dragon had a rider! They had seen the Dragon Highlords ride their dragons, but this man appeared by his ancient armor to have been a Knight of Solamnia! Held tightly in his gloved hand was the broken shaft of what must have been a large lance.

“Why would a Knight of Solamnia be riding a dragon?” Laurana asked, thinking of the Dragon Highlords.

“There have been knights who turned to evil,” Lord Derek Crownguard said harshly. “Though it shames me to admit it.”

“I get no feeling of evil here,” Elistan said. “Only a great sorrow. I wonder how they died. I see no wounds—”

“This seems familiar,” Tasslehoff interrupted, frowning. “Like a picture. A knight riding a silver dragon. I’ve seen—”

“Bah!” Flint snorted. “You’ve seen furry elephant—”

“I’m serious,” Tas protested.

“Where was it, Tas?” Laurana asked gently, seeing a hurt expression on the kender’s face. “Can you remember?”

“I think …” Tasslehoff’s eyes lost their focus. “It puts me in mind of Pax Tharkas and Fizban.…”

“Fizban!” Flint exploded. “That old mage was crazier than Raistlin, if that’s possible.”

“I don’t know what Tas is talking about,” Sturm said,
gazing up at the dragon and its rider thoughtfully. “But I remember my mother telling me that Huma rode upon a Silver Dragon, carrying the Dragonlance, in his final battle.”

“And I remember my mother telling me to leave sweet-cakes for the white-robed Old One who came to our castle at Yuletime,” scoffed Derek. “No, this is undoubtedly some renegade Knight, enslaved by evil.”

Derek and the other two young knights turned to go, but the rest lingered, staring up at the figure on the dragon.

“You’re right, Sturm. That’s a dragonlance,” Tas said wistfully. “I don’t know how I know, but I’m sure of it.”

“Did you see it in the book in Tarsis?” Sturm asked, exchanging glances with Laurana, each of them thinking that the kender’s seriousness was unusual, even frightening.

Tas shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said in a small voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe we should take it with us,” Laurana suggested uneasily. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“Come along, Brightblade!” Derek’s voice came back to them, echoing sternly. “The Thanoi may have lost us for the moment, but they’ll discover our trail before long.”

“How can we get it?” Sturm asked, ignoring Derek’s order. “It’s encased in ice at least three feet thick!”

“I can,” Gilthanas said.

Jumping up onto the huge cliff of ice that had formed around the dragon and its rider, the elf found a handhold and began to inch his way up the monument. From the dragon’s frozen wing, he was able to crawl along on his hands and knees until he came to the lance, clutched in the rider’s hand. Gilthanas pressed his hand against the ice wall covering the lance and spoke the strange, spidery language of magic.

A red glow spread from the elf’s hand to the ice, melting it away rapidly. Within moments, he was able to reach his hand through the hole to grasp the lance. But it was held fast in the dead knight’s hand.

Gilthanas tugged and even tried to pry the frozen fingers of the hand loose. Finally he could stand the cold of the ice no longer and dropped, shivering, back down to the ground. “There’s no way,” he said. “He’s got it gripped tight.”

“Break the fingers—” suggested Tas helpfully.

Sturm silenced the kender with a furious look. “I will not have his body desecrated,” he snapped. “Maybe we can slide the lance out of his hand. I’ll try—”

“No good,” Gilthanas told his sister as they watched Sturm climb up the side of the ice. “It’s as if the lance has become part of the hand. I—” The elf stopped.

As Sturm put his hand through the hole in the ice and took hold of the lance, the ice-bound figure of the knight seemed to move suddenly, just slightly. Its stiff and frozen hand relaxed its grip on the shattered lance. Sturm nearly fell in his amazement, and, letting go of the weapon hurriedly, he backed away along the dragon’s ice-coated wing.

“He’s giving it to you,” cried Laurana. “Go ahead, Sturm! Take it! Don’t you see, he’s giving it to another knight.”

“Which I’m not,” Sturm said bitterly. “But perhaps that’s indicative, perhaps it is evil—” Hesitantly, he slid back to the hole and grasped the lance once more. The stiff hand of the dead knight released its grip. Taking hold of the broken weapon, Sturm carefully brought it out of the ice. He jumped back to the ground and stood staring at the ancient shaft.

“That was wonderful!” Tas said in awe. “Flint, did you see the corpse come alive?”

“No!” snapped the dwarf. “And neither did you. Let’s get out of here,” he added, shivering.

Then Derek appeared. “I gave you an order, Sturm Brightblade! What’s the delay?” Derek’s face darkened with anger as he saw the lance.

“I asked him to get it for me,” Laurana said, her voice as cool as the wall of ice behind her. Taking the lance, she began to wrap it swiftly in a fur cloak from her pack.

Derek regarded her angrily for a moment, then bowed stiffly and turned on his heel.

“Dead knights, live knights, I don’t know who’s worse,” Flint grumbled, grabbing Tas and dragging him along after Derek.

“What if it is a weapon of evil?” Sturm asked Laurana in a low voice as they traveled the icy corridors of the castle.

Laurana looked back one final time at the dead knight mounted on the dragon. The cold pale sun of the southland was setting, its light casting watery shadows across the corpses, giving them a sinister aspect. Even as she watched, she thought she saw the body slump lifelessly.

“Do you believe the story of Huma?” Laurana asked softly.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Sturm said, bitterness hardening his voice. “Everything used to be black and white for me, all things clear-cut and well-defined. I believed in the story of Huma. My mother taught it to me as the truth. Then I went to Solamnia.” He paused, as if unwilling to continue. Finally, seeing Laurana’s face filled with interest and compassion, he swallowed and went on. “I never told anyone this, not even Tanis. When I returned to my homeland, I found that the Knighthood was not the order of honorable, self-sacrificing men my mother had described. It was rife with political intrigue. The best of the men were like Derek, honorable, but strict and unbending, with little use for those they consider beneath them. The worst—” He shook his head. “When I spoke of Huma, they laughed. An itinerant knight, they called him. According to their story, he was cast out of the order for disobeying its laws. Huma roamed the countryside, they said, endearing himself to peasants, who thus began to create legends about him.”

“But did he really exist?” Laurana persisted, saddened by the sorrow in Sturm’s face.

“Oh, yes. Of that there can be no doubt. The records that survived the Cataclysm list his name among the lower orders of the knights. But the story of the Silver Dragon, the Final Battle, even the Dragonlance itself—no one believes anymore. Like Derek says, there is no proof. The tomb of Huma, according to the legend, was a towering structure—one of the wonders of the world. But you can find no one who has ever seen it. All we have are children’s stories, as Raistlin would say.” Sturm put his hand to his face, covering his eyes, and gave a deep, shuddering sigh.