Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (30 page)

A
lthough every muscle in Gilthanas’s body cried for rest and he thought he couldn’t crawl into his bedroll soon enough, the elflord found himself wide awake, staring into the sky. Storm clouds still hung thickly overhead, but a breeze tinged with salt air was blowing from the west, breaking them up. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of stars, and once the red moon flickered in the sky like a candle flame, then was snuffed out by the clouds.

The elf tried to get comfortable, turning and twisting until his bedroll was a shambles, then he had to sit up and untangle himself. Finally he gave up, deciding it was impossible to sleep on the hard, frozen ground.

None of the rest of his companions seemed to be having any problems, he noticed bitterly. Laurana lay sleeping soundly, her cheek resting on her hand as was her habit from childhood.
How strangely she’d been acting lately, Gilthanas thought. But then, he supposed he could hardly blame her. She had given up everything to do what she believed right and take the orb to Sancrist. Their father might have accepted her back into the family once, but now she was an outcast forever.

Gilthanas sighed. What about himself? He’d wanted to keep the orb in Qualin-Mori. He believed his father was right.… Or did he?

Apparently not, since I’m here, Gilthanas told himself. By the gods, his values were getting as muddled as Laurana’s! First, his hatred for Tanis—a hatred he’d nurtured righteously for years—was starting to dwindle away, replaced by admiration, even affection. Next, he’d felt his hatred of other races beginning to die. He’d known few elves as noble or self-sacrificing as the human, Sturm Brightblade. And, though he didn’t like Raistlin, he envied the young mage’s skill. It was something Gilthanas, a dabbler in magic, had never had the patience or the courage to acquire. Finally, he had to admit he even liked the kender and the grumpy old dwarf. But he had never thought he would fall in love with a Wilder elf.

“There!” Gilthanas said aloud. “I’ve admitted it. I love her!” But was it love, he wondered, or simply physical attraction. At that, he grinned, thinking of Silvara with her dirt-streaked face, her filthy hair, her tattered clothes. My soul’s eye must be seeing more clearly than my head, he thought, glancing fondly over at her bedroll.

To his astonishment, he saw it was empty! Startled, Gilthanas looked quickly around the camp. They had not dared light a fire—not only were the Qualinesti after them, but Theros had talked of groups of draconians roaming the land.

Thinking of this, Gilthanas rose to his feet quickly and began to search for Silvara. He moved silently, hoping to avoid the questions of Sturm and Derek, who were standing watch. A sudden chilling thought crossed his mind. Hurriedly, he looked for the dragon orb. But it was still where Silvara had put it. Beside it lay the broken shaft of the dragonlance.

Gilthanas breathed more easily. Then his quick ears caught the sound of water splashing. Listening carefully, he determined it wasn’t a fish or a nightbird diving for its catch in the river. The elflord glanced at Derek and Sturm. The two stood apart from one another on a rock outcropping overlooking the
camp. Gilthanas could hear them arguing with each other in fierce whispers. The elflord crept away from camp, heading toward the sound of softly splashing water.

Gilthanas walked through the dark forest with no more noise than the shadows of night itself would make. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of the river glistening faintly through the trees. Then he came to a place where the water, flowing among the rocks, had become trapped in a small pool. Here Gilthanas stopped, and here his heart almost stopped beating. He had found Silvara.

A dark circle of trees stood starkly outlined against the racing clouds. The silence of the night was broken only by the gentle murmurs of the silver river, which fell over rock steps into the pool, and by the splashing sounds that had caught Gilthanas’s attention. Now he knew what they were.

Silvara was bathing. Oblivious to the chill in the air, the elfmaid was submerged in the water. Her clothes lay scattered on the bank next to a frayed blanket. Only her shoulders and arms were visible to Gilthanas’s elvensight. Her head was thrown back as she washed the long hair that trailed out behind her, floating like a dark cobweb on the darker pool. The elflord held his breath, watching her. He knew he should leave, but he was held fast, entranced.

And then, the clouds parted. Solinari, the silver moon, though only half-full, burned in the night sky with a cold brilliance. The water in the pool turned to molten silver. Silvara rose up out of the pool. The silver water glistened on her skin, gleamed in her silver hair, ran in shining rivulets down her body that was painted in silver moonlight. Her beauty struck Gilthanas’s heart with such intense pain that he gasped.

Silvara started, looking around her terrified. Her wild, abandoned grace added so much to her loveliness that Gilthanas, though he longed to speak to her reassuringly, couldn’t force the words past the pain in his chest.

Silvara ran from the water to the bank where her clothes lay. But she did not touch them. Instead, she reached into a pocket. Grabbing a knife, she turned, ready to defend herself.

Gilthanas could see her body quivering in the silvery moonlight, and he was reminded vividly of a doe he had cornered after a long hunt. The creature’s eyes sparkled with the same fear he now saw in Silvara’s luminous eyes. The Wilder elf
stared around, terrified. Why doesn’t she see me? Gilthanas wondered briefly, feeling her eyes pass over him several times. With the elven sight, he should stand out to her like a—

Suddenly Silvara turned, starting to flee from the danger she could feel, yet could not see.

Gilthanas felt his voice freed. “No! Wait, Silvara! Don’t be frightened. It’s me, Gilthanas.” He spoke in firm, yet hushed tones—as he had spoken to the cornered doe. “You shouldn’t be out alone, it’s dangerous.…”

Silvara paused, standing half in silver light, half in protecting shadows, her muscles tense, ready to spring. Gilthanas followed his huntsman’s instinct, walking slowly, continuing to talk, holding her with his steady voice and his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. I’ll stay with you. I want to talk to you anyway. I want you to listen to me for a moment. I need to talk to you, Silvara. I don’t want to be here alone, either. Don’t leave me, Silvara. So much has left me in this world. Don’t leave.…”

Talking softly, continuously, Gilthanas moved with smooth, deliberate steps toward Silvara until he saw her take a step backward. Raising his hands, he sat down quickly on a boulder at the pool’s edge, keeping the water between them. Silvara stopped, watching him. She made no move to clothe herself, apparently deciding that defense was more important than modesty. She still held the knife poised in her hand.

Gilthanas admired her determination, although he was ashamed for her nakedness. Any well-bred elven woman would have fainted dead away by now. He knew he should avert his eyes, but he was too awed by her beauty. His blood burned. With an effort, he kept talking, not even knowing what he was saying. Only gradually did he become aware that he was speaking the innermost thoughts of his heart.

“Silvara, what am I doing here? My father needs me, my people need me. Yet here I am, breaking the law of my lord. My people are in exile. I find the one thing that might help them—a dragon orb—but now I risk my life taking it from my people to give to humans to aid them in their war! It’s not even my war, it’s not my people’s war.” Gilthanas leaned toward her earnestly, noticing that she had not taken her eyes from him. “Why, Silvara? Why have I brought this dishonor on myself? Why have I done this to my people?”

He held his breath. Silvara glanced into the darkness and the safety of the woods, then looked back at him. She will flee, he thought, his heart pounding. Then, slowly, Silvara lowered her knife. There was such sadness and sorrow in her eyes that, finally, Gilthanas looked away, ashamed of himself.

“Silvara,” he began, choking, “forgive me. I didn’t mean to involve you in my trouble. I don’t understand what it is that I must do. I only know …”

“…  that you must do it,” Silvara finished for him.

Gilthanas looked up. Silvara had covered herself with the frayed blanket. This modest effort served only to fan the flames of his desire. Her silver hair, hanging down past her waist, gleamed in the moonlight. The blanket eclipsed her silver skin.

Gilthanas rose slowly and began to walk along the shore toward her. She still stood at the edge of the forest’s safety. He could still sense her coiled fear. But she had dropped the knife.

“Silvara,” he said, “what I have done is against all elven custom. When my sister told me of her plot to steal the orb, I should have gone directly to my father. I should have sounded the alarm. I should have taken the orb myself—”

Silvara took a step toward him, still clutching the blanket around her. “Why didn’t you?” she asked in a low voice.

Gilthanas was nearing the rock steps at the north end of the pond. The water flowing over them made a silver curtain in the moonlight. “Because I know that my people are wrong. Laurana is right. Sturm is right. Taking the orb to the humans is right! We must fight this war. My people are wrong, their laws, their customs are wrong. I know this—in my heart! But I can’t make my head believe it. It torments me—”

Silvara walked slowly along the pool’s edge. She, too, was nearing the silver curtain of water from the opposite side.

“I understand,” she said softly. “My own … people do not understand what I do or why I do it. But I understand. I know what is right and I believe in it.”

“I envy you, Silvara,” Gilthanas whispered.

Gilthanas stepped to the largest rock, a flat island in the glittering, cascading water. Silvara, her wet hair falling over her like a silver gown, stood but a few feet from him now.

“Silvara,” Gilthanas said, his voice shaking, “there was another reason I left my people. You know what it is.”

He extended his hand, palm up, toward her.

Silvara drew back, shaking her head. Her breath came faster.

Gilthanas took another step nearer. “Silvara, I love you,” he said softly. “You seem so alone, as alone as I am. Please, Silvara, you will never be alone again. I swear it.…”

Hesitantly, Silvara lifted her hand toward his. With a sudden move, Gilthanas grabbed her arm and pulled her across the water. Catching her as she stumbled, he lifted her onto the rock beside him.

Too late the wild doe realized she was trapped. Not by the man’s arms, she could easily have broken free of his embrace. It was her own love for this man that had ensnared her. That his love for her was deep and tender sealed their fate. He was trapped as well.

Gilthanas could feel her body trembling, but he knew now—as he looked into her eyes—that she trembled with passion, not fear. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her tenderly. Silvara still held the blanket clasped around her body with one hand, but he felt her other hand close around his. Her lips were soft and eager. Then, Gilthanas tasted a salty tear on his lips. He drew back, amazed to see her crying.

“Silvara, don’t. I’m sorry—” He released her.

“No!” she whispered, her voice husky. “My tears are not because I am frightened of your love. They are only for myself. You cannot understand.”

Reaching out, she shyly put one hand around his neck and drew him near. And then, as he kissed her, he felt her other hand, the hand that had been clasping the blanket around her body, move up to caress his face.

Silvara’s blanket slipped unnoticed into the stream and was borne away by the silver water.

A
t noon the next day, the companions were forced to abandon the boats, having reached the river’s headwaters, where it flowed down out of the mountains. Here the water was shallow and frothy white from the tumbling rapids ahead. Many Kaganesti boats were drawn up on the bank. Dragging their boats ashore, the companions were met by a group of Kaganesti elves coming out of the woods. They carried with them the bodies of two young elven warriors. Some drew weapons and would have attacked had not Theros Ironfeld and Silvara hurried to talk with them.