Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (24 page)

“The white dragons don’t breathe flame!” Laurana said in awe. “They breathe ice! Elistan! Your prayers were answered!”

“Bah! It might as well be flame,” the captain said, shaking his head and rubbing his jaw. “Ice’ll freeze us up solid.”

“A dragon breathing ice!” Tas said wistfully. “I wish I could see!”

“What will happen?” Laurana asked, as the ship slowly righted itself, creaking and groaning.

“We’re helpless,” the captain snarled. “The riggin’ll snap beneath the weight of the ice, dragging the sails down. The mast’ll break like a tree in an ice storm. With no steerage, the current will smash her upon the rocks, and that’ll be an end of her. There’s not a damn thing we can do!”

“We could try to shoot her as she flies past,” Gilthanas said. But Sturm shook his head, pushing on the hatch.

“There must be a foot of ice on top of this,” the knight reported. “We’re sealed in.”

This is how the dragon will get the orb, Laurana thought miserably. She’ll drive the ship aground, kill us, then recover the orb where there’s no danger of it sinking into the ocean.

“Another blast like that will send us to the bottom,” the captain predicted, but there was not another blast like the first. The next blast was more gentle, and all of them realized the dragon was using her breath to blow them to shore.

It was an excellent plan, and one of which Sleet was rather proud. She skimmed after the ship, letting the current and the tide carry it to shore, giving it a little puff now and then. It was only when she saw the jagged rocks sticking up out of the moonlit water that the dragon suddenly saw the flaw in her scheme. Then the moon’s light was gone, swept away by the storm clouds, and the dragon could see nothing. It was darker than her Queen’s soul.

The dragon cursed the storm clouds, so well suited to the purposes of the Dragon Highlords in the north. But the clouds worked against her as they blotted out the two moons. Sleet could hear the rending and cracking sounds of splintering wood as the ship struck the rocks. She could even hear the cries and shouts of the sailors—but she couldn’t see! Diving low over the water, she hoped to encase the miserable creatures in ice until daylight. Then she heard another, more frightening sound in the darkness—the twanging of bow strings.

An arrow whistled past her head. Another tore through the fragile membrane of her wing. Shrieking in pain, Sleet pulled up from her steep dive. There must be elves down there, she realized in a fury! More arrows zinged past her. Cursed, night-seeing elves! With their elvensight, they would find her an easy target, especially crippled in one wing.

Feeling her strength ebb, the dragon decided to return to Ice Wall. She was tired from flying all day, and the arrow wound hurt abominably. True, she would have to report another failure to the Dark Queen, but—as she came to think of it—it wasn’t such a failure after all. She had kept the dragon
orb from reaching Sancrist, and she had demolished the ship. She knew the location of the orb. The Queen, with her vast network of spies on Ergoth, could easily recover it.

Mollified, the white dragon fluttered south, traveling slowly. By morning she had reached her vast glacier home. Following her report, which was moderately well-received, Sleet was able to slip into her cavern of ice and nurse her injured wing back to health.

“She’s gone!” said Gilthanas in astonishment.

“Of course,” said Derek wearily as he helped salvage what supplies they could from the wrecked ship. “Her vision cannot match your elfsight. Besides, you hit her once.”

“Laurana’s shot, not mine,” Gilthanas said, smiling at his sister, who stood on shore, her bow in her hand.

Derek sniffed doubtfully. Carefully setting down the box he carried, the knight started back out into the water. A figure looming out of the darkness stopped him.

“No use, Derek,” Sturm said. “The ship sank.”

Sturm carried Flint on his back. Seeing Sturm stagger with weariness, Laurana ran back into the water to help him. Between them, they got the dwarf to shore and stretched him on the sand. Out to sea, the sounds of cracking timber had ceased, replaced now by the endless breaking of the waves.

Then there was a splashing sound, Tasslehoff waded ashore after them, his teeth chattering, but his grin as wide as ever. He was followed by the captain, being helped by Elistan.

“What about the bodies of my men?” Derek demanded the moment he saw the captain. “Where are they?”

“We had more important things to carry,” Elistan said sternly. “Things needed for the living, such as food and weapons.”

“Many another good man has found his final home beneath the waves. Yours won’t be the first—nor the last—I suppose, more’s the pity,” the captain added.

Derek seemed about to speak, but the captain, grief and exhaustion in his eyes, said, “I’ve left six of my own men there this night, sir. Unlike yours, they were alive when we started this voyage. To say nothing of the fact that my ship and my livelihood lies down there, too. I wouldn’t consider adding anything further, if you take my meaning. Sir.”

“I am sorry for your loss, captain,” Derek answered stiffly. “And I commend you and your crew for all you tried to do.”

The captain muttered something and stood looking aimlessly around the beach, as if lost.

“We sent your men north along the shore, Captain,” Laurana said, pointing. “There’s shelter there, within those trees.”

As if to verify her words, a bright light flared, the light of a huge bonfire.

“Fools!” Derek swore bitterly. “They’ll have the dragon back on us.”

“It’s either that or catch our deaths of cold,” the captain said bitterly over his shoulder. “Take your choice, Sir Knight. It matters little to me.” He disappeared into the darkness.

Sturm stretched and groaned, trying to ease chilled, cramped muscles. Flint lay huddled in misery, shaking so the buckles on his armor jangled. Laurana, leaning down to tuck her cloak around him, realized suddenly how cold she was.

In the excitement of trying to escape the ship and fighting the dragon, she had forgotten the chill. She couldn’t even remember, in fact, any details of her escape. She remembered reaching the beach, seeing the dragon diving on them. She remembered fumbling for her bow with numb, shaking fingers. She wondered how anyone had presence of mind to save anything—

“The dragon orb!” she said fearfully.

“Here, in this chest,” Derek answered. “Along with the lance and that elvish sword you call Wyrmslayer. And now, I suppose, we should take advantage of the fire—”

“I think not.” A strange voice spoke out of the darkness as lighted torches flared around them, blinding them.

The companions started and immediately drew their weapons, gathering around the helpless dwarf. But Laurana, after an instant’s fright, peered into the faces in the torchlight.

“Hold!” she cried. “These are our people! These are elves!”

“Silvanesti!” Gilthanas said heartily. Dropping his bow to the ground, he walked forward toward the elf who had spoken. “We have journeyed long through darkness,” he said in elven, his hands outstretched. “Well met, my broth—”

He never finished his ancient greeting. The leader of the elven party stepped forward and slammed the end of his staff across Gilthanas’s face, knocking him to the sand, unconscious.

Sturm and Derek immediately raised their swords, standing back to back. Steel flashed among the elves.

“Stop!” Laurana shouted in elven. Kneeling by her brother, she threw back the hood of her cloak so that the light fell upon her face. “We are your cousins. Qualinesti! These humans are Knights of Solamnia!”

“We know well enough who you are!” The elven leader spit the words, “Qualinesti spies! And we do not find it unusual that you travel in the company of humans. Your blood has long been polluted. Take them,” he said, motioning to his men. “If they don’t come peacefully, do what you must. And find out what they mean by this dragon orb they mentioned.”

The elves stepped forward.

“No!” Derek cried, jumping to stand before the chest. “Sturm, they must not have the orb!”

Sturm had already given the Knight’s salute to an enemy and was advancing, sword drawn.

“It appears they will fight. So be it,” the leader of the elves said, raising his weapon.

“I tell you, this is madness!” Laurana cried angrily. She threw herself between the flashing swordblades. The elves halted uncertainly. Sturm grabbed hold of her to drag her back, but she jerked free of his restraining hand.

“Goblins and draconians, in all their hideous evil, do not sink to fighting among themselves”—her voice shook with rage—“while we elves, the ancient embodiment of good, try to kill each other! Look!” She lifted the lid of the chest with one hand and threw it open. “In here we have the hope of the world! A dragon orb, taken at great peril from Ice Wall. Our ship lies wrecked in the waters out there. We drove away the dragon that sought to recover this orb. And, after all this, we find our greatest peril among our own people! If this is true, if we have sunk so low, then kill us now, and I swear, not one person in this group will try to stop you.”

Sturm, not understanding elven, watched for a moment, then saw the elves lower their weapons. “Well, whatever she said, it seems to have worked.” Reluctantly, he sheathed his weapon. Derek, after a moment’s hesitation, lowered his sword, but he did not put it back in its scabbard.

“We will consider your story,” the elven leader began, speaking haltingly in Common. Then he stopped as shouts
and cries were heard from down the beach. The companions saw dark shadows converge on the campfire. The elf glanced that direction, waited a moment until all had quieted, then turned back to the group. He looked particularly at Laurana, who was bending over her brother. “We may have acted in haste, but when you have lived here long, you will come to understand.”

“I will never understand this!” Laurana said, tears choking her voice.

An elf appeared out of the darkness. “Humans, sir.” Laurana heard him report in elven. “Sailors by their appearance. They say their ship was attacked by a dragon and wrecked on the rocks.”

“Verification?”

“We found bits of wreckage floating ashore. We can search in the morning. The humans are wet and miserable and half-drowned. They offered no resistance. I don’t think they’ve lied.”

The elven leader turned to Laurana. “Your story appears to be true,” he said, speaking once more in Common. “My men report that the humans they captured are sailors. Do not worry about them. We will take them prisoner, of course. We cannot have humans wandering around this island with all our other problems. But we will care for them well. We are not goblins,” he added bitterly. “I regret striking your friend—”

“Brother,” Laurana replied. “And younger son of the Speaker of the Suns. I am Lauralanthalasa, and this is Gilthanas. We are of the royal house of Qualinesti.”

It seemed to her that the elf paled at this news, but he regained his composure immediately. “Your brother will be well tended. I will send for a healer—”

“We do not need your healer!” Laurana said. “This man”—she gestured toward Elistan—“is a cleric of Paladine. He will aid my brother—”

“A human?” the elf asked sternly.

“Yes, human!” Laurana cried impatiently. “Elves struck my brother down! I turn to humans to heal him. Elistan—”

The cleric started forward, but, at a sign from their leader, several elves quickly grabbed him and pinned his arms behind him. Sturm started to go to his aid, but Elistan stopped him with a look, glancing at Laurana meaningfully. Sturm fell
back, understanding Elistan’s silent warning. Their lives depended on her.

“Let him go!” Laurana demanded. “Let him treat my brother!”

“I find this news of a cleric of Paladine impossible to believe, Lady Laurana,” the elf leader said. “All know the clerics vanished from Krynn when the gods turned their faces from us. I do not know who this charlatan is, or how he has tricked you into believing him, but we will not allow him to lay his human hands upon an elf!”

“Even an elf who is an enemy?” she cried furiously.

“Even if the elf had killed my own father,” the elf said grimly. “And now, Lady Laurana, I must speak to you privately and try to explain what is transpiring on Southern Ergoth.”

Seeing Laurana hesitate, Elistan spoke, “Go on, my dear. You are the only one who can save us now. I will stay near Gilthanas.”

“Very well,” Laurana said, rising to her feet. Her face pale, she walked apart with the elven leader.

“I don’t like this,” Derek said, scowling. “She told them of the dragon orb, which she should not have done.”

“They heard us talking about it,” Sturm said wearily.

“Yes, but she told them where it was! I don’t trust her, or her people. Who knows what kind of deals they are making?” Derek added.

“That does it!” grated a voice.

Both men turned in astonishment to see Flint staggering to his feet. His teeth still chattered, but a cold light glinted in his eyes as he looked at Derek. “I—I’ve had a-about enough of y-you, S-Sir High and M-Mighty.” The dwarf gritted his teeth to stop shivering long enough to speak.

Sturm started to intervene, but the dwarf shoved him aside to confront Derek. It was a ludicrous sight, and one Sturm often remembered with a smile, storing it up to share with Tanis. The dwarf, his long white beard wet and scraggly, water dripping from his clothes to form puddles at his feet, stood nearly level with Derek’s belt buckle, scolding the tall, proud Solamnic knight as he might have scolded Tasslehoff.

“You knights have lived encased in metal so long it’s shaken your brains to mush!” The dwarf snorted. “If you ever
had any brains to begin with, which I doubt. I’ve seen that girl grow from a wee bit of a thing to the beautiful woman she is now. And I tell you there isn’t a more courageous, nobler person on Krynn. What’s got you is that she just saved your hide. And you can’t handle that!”

Derek’s face flushed dark in the torchlight.

“I need neither dwarves nor elves defending me—” Derek began angrily when Laurana came running back, her eyes glittering.