Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (28 page)

“It’s not that big,” Silvara murmured, staring perplexed at Laurana. “Only about so—” She made a gesture with her hands roughly the shape of a child’s ball.

“No,” Laurana said, frowning. “You have not seen it. It is nearly two feet in diameter. That’s why I had you wear that long cape.”

Silvara stared at her in wonder. Laurana shrugged. “Well, we can’t stand here arguing. We’ll figure something out when the time comes.”

The two crept down the hallway, silently as kender, until they came to the bedroom.

Holding her breath, fearing that even her heartbeat was too loud, Laurana pressed on the door. It opened with a creaking sound that made her grit her teeth. Next to her, Silvara shivered in fear. A figure in the bed stirred and turned over—her mother. Laurana saw her father, even in his sleep, put out his hand to pat her reassuringly. Tears dimmed Laurana’s eyes. Tightening her lips resolutely, she gripped Silvara’s hand and slipped inside the room.

The chest stood at the end of her father’s bed. It was locked, but the companions all carried a copy of the small silver key. Swiftly Laurana unlocked the chest and lifted the lid. Then she nearly dropped it in her amazement. The dragon orb was there, still glowing with the soft white and blue light. But it wasn’t the same orb! Or if it was, it had shrunk! As Silvara said, it was now no more than the size of a child’s playing ball! Laurana reached in to take it. It was still heavy, but she could lift it easily. Gingerly grasping it, her hand shaking,
she raised it from the box and handed it to Silvara. The Wilder elf immediately hid it beneath her cloak. Laurana picked up the wood shaft of the broken dragonlance, wondering, as she did so, why she bothered taking the broken old weapon.

I’ll take it because the knight handed it to Sturm, she thought. He wanted him to have it.

At the bottom of the chest lay Tanis’s sword, Wyrmslayer, given him by Kith-Kanan. Laurana looked from the sword to the dragonlance. I can’t carry both, she thought, and started to put the lance back. But Silvara grabbed her.

“What are you doing?” Her mouth formed the words, her eyes flashed. “Take it! Take it, too!”

Laurana stared at the girl in amazement. Then, hastily, she retrieved the lance, concealed it beneath her cloak, and carefully shut the chest, leaving the sword inside. Just as the lid left her cold fingers, her father rolled over in his bed, half-sitting up.

“What? Who is there?” he asked, starting to shake off his sleep in his alarm.

Laurana felt Silvara trembling and clutched the girl’s hand reassuringly, warning her to be silent.

“It is I, Father,” she said in a faint voice. “Laurana. I—I wanted to—to tell you I am sorry, Father. And I ask you to forgive me.”

“Ah, Laurana.” The Speaker lay back down on his pillows, closing his eyes. “I forgive you, my daughter. Now return to your bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Laurana waited until his breathing became quiet and regular. Then she led Silvara from the room, gripping the dragonlance firmly beneath her cloak.

“Who goes there?” softly called a human voice in elven.

“Who asks?” replied a clear elven voice.

“Gilthanas? Is that you?”

“Theros! My friend!” The young elflord stepped swiftly from the shadows to embrace the human blacksmith. For a moment Gilthanas was so overcome he could not speak. Then, startled, he pushed back from the smith’s bearlike hug. “Theros! You have two arms! But the draconians in Solace cut off your right arm! You would have died, if Goldmoon hadn’t healed you.”

“Do you remember what that pig of a Fewmaster told me?” Theros asked in his rich, deep voice, whispering softly. “ ‘The only way you’ll get a new arm, smith, is to forge it yourself!’ Well, I did just that! The story of my adventures to find the Silver Arm I wear now is a long one—”

“And not for telling now,” grumbled another voice behind him. “Unless you want to ask a couple of thousand elves to hear it with us.”

“So you managed to escape, Gilthanas,” said Derek’s voice out of the shadows. “Did you bring the dragon orb?”

“I did not
escape
,” Gilthanas returned coldly. “I left my father’s house to accompany my sister and Silvara, her maid, through the darkness. Taking the orb is my sister’s idea, not mine. There is still time to reconsider this madness, Laurana.” Gilthanas turned to her. “Return the orb. Don’t let Porthios’s hasty words drive away your common sense. If we keep the orb here, we can use it to defend our people. We can find out how it works, we have magic-users among us.”

“Let’s just turn ourselves over to the guards now! Then we can get some sleep where it’s warm!” Flint’s words came out in explosive puffs of frost.

“Either sound the alarm now, elf, or let us go. At least give us time before you betray us,” Derek said.

“I have no intention of betraying you,” Gilthanas stated angrily. Ignoring the others, he turned once more to his sister. “Laurana?”

“I am determined on this course of action,” she answered slowly. “I have thought about it and I believe we are doing the right thing. So does Elistan. Silvara will guide us through the mountains—”

“I, too, know the mountains,” Theros spoke up. “I have had little to do here but wander them. And you’ll need me to get you past the guards.”

“Then we are resolved.”

“Very well.” Gilthanas sighed. “I am coming with you. If I stayed behind, Porthios would always suspect me of complicity.”

“Fine,” snapped Flint. “Can we escape now? Or do we need to wake up anyone else?”

“This way,” Theros said. “The guards are accustomed to my late night rambles. Stay in the shadows, and let
me
do the talking.” Reaching down, he caught hold of Tasslehoff by the
collar of his heavy fur coat and lifted the kender off the ground to look him right in the eye. “That means you, little thief,” the big smith said sternly.

“Yes, Theros,” the kender replied meekly, squirming in the man’s silver hand until the smith set him down. Somewhat shaken, Tas readjusted his pouches and tried to regain his injured dignity.

The companions followed the tall, dark-skinned smith along the outskirts of the silent elven encampment, moving as quietly as possible for two armor-clad knights and a dwarf. To Laurana, they sounded as loud as a wedding party. She bit her lip to keep silent as the knights clanked and rattled in the darkness, while Flint fell over every tree root and splashed through every puddle.

But the elves lay wrapped in their complacency like a soft, fleecy blanket. They had safely fled the danger. None believed it would find them again. And so they slept as the companions escaped into the night.

Silvara, carrying the dragon orb, felt the cold crystal grow warm as she held it near her body, felt it stir and pulse with life.

“What am I to do?” she whispered to herself distractedly in Kaganesti, stumbling almost blindly through the darkness. “This came to
me
! Why? I don’t understand? What am I to do?”

T
he night was still and cold. Storm clouds blotted out the light of the moons and stars. There was no rain, no wind, just an oppressive sense of waiting. Laurana felt that all of nature was alert, wary, fearful. And behind her, the elves slept, cocooned in a web of their own petty fears and hatreds. What horrible winged creature would burst from that cocoon, she wondered.

The companions had little trouble slipping past the elven guards. Recognizing Theros, the guards stood and chatted amiably with him, while the others crept through the woods around them. They reached the river in the first chill light of dawn.

“And how are we to get across?” the dwarf asked, staring out at the water gloomily. “I don’t think much of boats, but they beat swimming.”

“That should not be a problem.” Theros turned to Laurana and said, “Ask your little friend,” nodding at Silvara.

Startled, Laurana looked at the Wilder elf, as did the others. Silvara, embarrassed at so many eyes upon her, flushed deeply, bowing he head. “Kargai Sargaron is right,” she murmured. “Wait here, within the shadows of the trees.”

She left them and ran lightly to the riverbank with a wild, free grace, enchanting to watch. Laurana noticed that Gilthanas’s gaze, in particular, lingered upon the Wilder elf.

Silvara put her fingers to her lips and whistled like the call of a bird. She waited a moment, then repeated the whistle three times. Within minutes, her call was answered, echoing across the water from the opposite bank of the river.

Satisfied, Silvara returned to the group. Laurana saw that, though Silvara spoke to Theros, the girl’s eyes were drawn to Gilthanas. Finding him staring at her, she blushed and looked quickly back at Theros.

“Kargai Sargaron,” she said hurriedly, “my people are coming, but you should be with me to meet them and explain things.” Silvara’s blue eyes—Laurana could see them clearly in the morning light—went to Sturm and Derek. The Wilder elf shook her head slightly. “They will not be happy about bringing these humans to our land, nor these elves either, I am afraid,” she said, with an apologetic glance at Laurana and Gilthanas.

“I will talk to them,” Theros said. Gazing across the lake, he gestured. “Here they come now.”

Laurana saw two black shapes sliding across the sky-gray river. The Kaganesti must keep watch there constantly, she realized. They recognized Silvara’s call. Odd—for a slave to have such freedom. If escape was this easy, why did Silvara stay among the Silvanesti? It didn’t make any sense … unless escape was not her purpose.

“What does ‘Kargai Sargaron’ mean?” she asked Theros abruptly.

“He of the Silver Arm,” Theros answered, smiling.

“They seem to trust you.”

“Yes. I told you I spend a good part of my time wandering. That is not quite true. I spend much time among Silvara’s people.” The smith’s dusky face creased in a scowl. “Meaning no disrespect, elflady, but you have no idea what hardships
your people are causing these wild ones: shooting the game or driving it away, enslaving the young with gold and silver and steel.” Theros heaved an angry sigh. “I have done what I could. I showed them how to forge hunting weapons and tools. But the winter will be long and hard, I fear. Already, game is becoming scarce. If it comes to starving or killing their elven kin—”

“Maybe if I stayed,” Laurana murmured, “I could help—” Then she realized that was ridiculous. What could she do? She wasn’t even accepted by her own people!

“You can’t be in all places at the same time,” Sturm said. “The elves must solve their problems, Laurana. You are doing the right thing.”

“I know,” she said, sighing. She turned her head, looking behind her, toward the Qualinesti camp. “I was just like them, Sturm,” she said, shivering. “My beautiful tiny world had revolved around me for so long that I thought I was the center of the universe. I ran after Tanis because I was certain I could make him love me. Why shouldn’t he? Everyone else did. And then I discovered the world didn’t revolve around me. It didn’t even care about me! I saw suffering and death. I was forced to kill”—she stared down at her hands—“or be killed. I saw real love. Love like Riverwind’s and Goldmoon’s, love that was willing to sacrifice everything—even life itself. I felt very petty and very small. And now that’s how my people seem to me. Petty and small. I used to think they were perfect, but now I understand how Tanis felt—and why he left.”

The boats of the Kaganesti had reached the shore. Silvara and Theros walked down to talk to the elves who paddled them. At a gesture from Theros, the companions stepped out of the shadows of the trees and stood upon the bank—hands well away from their weapons—so the Kaganesti could see them. At first, it seemed hopeless. The elves chattered in their strange, uncouth version of elven which Laurana had difficulty following. Apparently they refused outright to have anything to do with the group.

Then horn calls sounded from the woods behind them. Gilthanas and Laurana looked at each other in alarm. Theros, glancing back, stabbed his silver finger at the group urgently, then thumped himself on the chest—apparently pledging his word to answer for the companions. The horns sounded
again. Silvara added her own pleas. Finally, the Kaganesti agreed, although with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

The companions hurried down to the water, all of them aware now that their absence had been discovered and that pursuit had started. One by one, they all stepped carefully into the boats that were no more than hollowed-out trunks of trees. All, that is, except Flint, who groaned and cast himself down on the ground, shaking his head and muttering in dwarven. Sturm eyed him in concern, fearing a repetition of the incident at Crystalmir when the dwarf had flatly refused to set foot in a boat. It was Tasslehoff, however, who tugged and pulled and finally dragged the grumbling dwarf to his feet.

“We’ll make a sailor of you yet,” the kender said cheerfully, prodding Flint in the back with his hoopak.

“You will not! And quit sticking me with that thing!” the dwarf snarled. Reaching the edge of the water, he stopped, nervously fumbling with a piece of wood. Tas hopped into a boat and stood waiting expectantly, his hand outstretched.