Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (32 page)

“I will take the orb to Sancrist,” Derek said, “and I will go alone. Sturm should go with your group. You’ll need a fighter.”

“We have fighters,” Laurana said. “Theros, my brother, the dwarf. I, myself, have seen my share of battle—”

“And me,” piped Tasslehoff.

“And the kender,” Laurana added grimly. “Besides, it will not come to bloodshed.” Her eyes saw Sturm’s troubled face and wondered what he was thinking. Her voice softened. “The decision is up to Sturm, of course. He must do as he believes best, but I think he should accompany Derek.”

“I agree,” muttered Flint. “After all, we’re not the ones who are going to be in danger. We’ll be safer without the dragon orb. It’s the orb the elves want.”

“Yes,” agreed Silvara, her voice soft. “We’ll be safer without the orb. It is you who will be in danger.”

“Then my way is clear,” Sturm said. “I will go with Derek.”

“And if I order you to stay behind?” Derek demanded.

“You have no authority over me,” Sturm said, his brown eyes dark. “Have you forgotten? I am not a knight.”

There was a painful, profound silence. Derek stared at Sturm intently.

“No,” he said, “and if I have my way, you never will be!”

Sturm flinched, as if Derek had struck him a physical blow. Then he stood up, sighing heavily.

Derek had already begun to gather his gear. Sturm moved more slowly, picking up his bedroll with thoughtful deliberation. Laurana pulled herself to her feet and went to Sturm.

“Here,” she said, reaching into her pack. “You’ll need food—”

“You could come with us,” Sturm said in low tones as she divided up their supplies. “Tanis knows we were going to Sancrist. He will come there, too, if possible.”

“You’re right,” Laurana said, her eyes brightening. “Perhaps that would be a good idea—” Then her eyes went to Silvara. The Wilder elf held the dragon orb, still shrouded in its cloak. Silvara’s eyes were closed, almost as if she were communing with some unseen spirit. Sighing, Laurana shook her head. “No, I’ve got to stay with her, Sturm,” she said softly. “Something’s not right. I don’t understand—” she broke off, unable to articulate her thoughts. “What about Derek?” she asked instead. “Why is he so insistent on going alone? The dwarf’s right about the danger. If the elves capture you, without us, they won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Sturm’s face was drawn, bitter. “Can you ask? Lord Derek Crownguard returns alone out of horrifying dangers, bearing with him the coveted dragon orb—” Sturm shrugged.

“But there’s so much at stake,” Laurana protested.

“You’re right, Laurana,” Sturm said harshly. “There’s a lot at stake. More than you know—the leadership of the Knights of Solamnia. I can’t explain it now.…”

“Come along, Brightblade, if you’re coming!” Derek snarled.

Sturm took the food, stowing it in his pack. “Farewell, Laurana,” he said, bowing to her with the quiet gallantry that marked all his actions.

“Farewell, Sturm, my friend,” she whispered, putting her arms around the knight.

He held her closely, then kissed her gently on the forehead.

“We will give the orb to the wise men to study. The Council of Whitestone will meet soon,” he said. “The elves will be invited to attend, since they are advisory members. You must come to Sancrist as soon as possible, Laurana. Your presence will be needed.”

“I’ll be there, the gods willing,” Laurana said, her eyes going to Silvara, who was handing Derek the dragon orb. An expression of inexpressible relief flitted over Silvara’s face when Derek turned to go.

Sturm said good-bye, then he plunged into the snow after Derek. The companions saw a flash of light as his shield caught the sun.

Suddenly Laurana took a step forward. “Wait!” she cried. “I’ve got to stop them. They should take the dragonlance, too.”

“No!” Silvara shouted, running to block Laurana’s path.

Angrily, Laurana reached out to shove the girl aside, then she saw Silvara’s face and her hand stopped.

“What are you doing, Silvara?” Laurana asked. “Why did you send them off? Why were you so eager to split us up? Why give them the orb and not the lance—”

Silvara didn’t answer. She simply shrugged and stared at Laurana with eyes bluer than midnight. Laurana felt her will being drained by those blue, blue eyes. She was reminded terrifyingly of Raistlin.

Gilthanas, too, stared at Silvara with a perplexed and worried expression. Theros stood grim and stern, glancing at Laurana as if beginning to share her doubts. But they were not able to move. They were completely under Silvara’s control—yet what had she done to them? They could only stand and stare at the Wilder elf as she walked calmly over to where Laurana had wearily let fall her pack. Bending down, Silvara unwrapped the broken piece of splintered wood. Then she raised it in the air.

Sunlight flashed on Silvara’s silver hair, mimicking the flash from Sturm’s shield.

“The dragonlance stays with me,” Silvara said. Glancing swiftly around the spellbound group, she added, “As do you.”

B
ehind them, the snow rumbled and toppled over the side of the mountain. Cascading down in white sheets, blocking and choking the pass, it obliterated their presence. The echoes of Gilthanas’s magical thunder still resounded in the air, or perhaps it was the booming of the rocks as they bounded down the slopes. They could not be certain.

The companions, led by Silvara, traveled the trails east slowly and cautiously, walking where it was rocky, avoiding the snowy patches if at all possible. They walked through each other’s footsteps so that the pursuing elves would never know for certain how many were in their party. They were so careful, in fact, that Laurana grew worried.

“Remember, we want them to find
us
,” she said to Silvara as they crept across the top of a rocky defile.

“Do not be upset. They will have no trouble finding us,” answered Silvara.

“What makes you so certain?” Laurana started to ask, then she slipped and fell to her hands and knees. Gilthanas helped her stand. Grimacing with pain, she stared at Silvara in silence. None of them, including Theros, trusted the sudden change that had come over the Wilder elf since their parting with the knights. But they had no choice except to follow her.

“Because they know our destination,” Silvara answered. “You were clever to think I left a sign to them in the cave. I did. Fortunately, you did not find it. Below those sticks you so kindly scattered for me I had drawn a crude map. When they find it, they will think I drew it to show you our destination. You made it look most realistic, Laurana.” Her voice was defiant until she met Gilthanas’s eyes.

The elflord turned away from her, his face grave. Silvara faltered. Her voice became pleading. “I did it for a reason, a good reason. I knew then, when I saw the tracks, we would have to split up. You must believe me!”

“What about the dragon orb? What were you doing with it?” Laurana demanded.

“N-nothing,” Silvara stammered. “You must trust me!”

“I don’t see why,” Laurana returned coldly.

“I have done you no harm—” Silvara began.

“Unless you have sent the knights and the dragon orb into a deathtrap!” Laurana cried.

“No!” Silvara wrung her hands. “I haven’t! Believe me. They will be safe. That has been my plan all along. Nothing must happen to the dragon orb. Above all, it must not fall into the hands of the elves. That is why I sent it away. That is why I helped you escape!” She glanced around, seeming to sniff the air like an animal. “Come! We have lingered too long.”

“If we go with you at all!” Gilthanas said harshly. “What do you know about the dragon orb?”

“Don’t ask me!” Silvara’s voice was suddenly deep and filled with sadness. Her blue eyes stared into Gilthanas’s with such love that he could not bear to face her. He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. Silvara caught hold of his arm. “Please,
shalori
, beloved, trust me! Remember what we talked about, at the pool. You said you had to do these things—defy your people, become an outcast, because of what you believed
in your heart. I said that I understood, that I had to do the same. Didn’t you believe me?”

Gilthanas stood a moment, his head bowed. “I believed you,” he said softly. Reaching out, he pulled her to him, kissing her silver hair. “We’ll go with you. Come on, Laurana.” Arms around each other, the two trudged off through the snow.

Laurana looked blankly at the others. They avoided her eyes. Then Theros came up to her.

“I’ve lived in this world nearly fifty years, young woman,” he said gently. “Not long to you elves, I know. But we humans live those years, we don’t just let them drift by. And I’ll tell you this—that girl loves your brother as truly as I’ve ever seen woman love man. And he loves her. Such love cannot come to evil. For the sake of their love alone, I’d follow them into a dragon’s den.”

The smith walked after the two.

“For the sake of my cold feet, I’d follow them into a dragon’s den, if he’d warm my toes!” Flint stamped on the ground. “Come on, let’s go.” Grabbing the kender, he dragged Tas along after the blacksmith.

Laurana remained standing, alone. That she would follow was settled. She had no choice. She wanted to trust Theros’s words. One time, she would have believed the world ran that way. But now she knew much she had believed in was false. Why not love?

All she could see in her mind were the swirling colors of the dragon orb.

The companions traveled east, into the gloom of gathering night. Descending from the high mountain pass, they found the air easier to breathe. The frozen rocks gave way to scraggly pines, then the forests closed in around them once more. Silvara confidently led them at last into a fog-shrouded valley.

The Wilder elf no longer seemed to care about covering their tracks. All that concerned her now was speed. She pushed the group on, as if racing the sun across the sky. When night fell, they sank into the tree-rimmed darkness, too tired even to eat. But Silvara allowed them only a few hours of restless, aching sleep. When the moons rose, the silver and the red, nearing their fullness now, she urged the companions on.

When anyone questioned, wearily, why they hurried, she only answered, “They are near. They are very near.”

Each assumed she meant the elves, though Laurana had long ago lost the feeling of dark shapes trailing them.

Dawn broke, but the light was filtered through fog so thick Tasslehoff thought he might grab a handful and store it in one of his pouches. The companions walked close together, even holding hands to avoid being separated. The air grew warmer. They shed their wet and heavy cloaks as they stumbled along a trail that seemed to materialize beneath their feet, out of the fog. Silvara walked before them. The faint light shining from her silver hair was their only guide.

Finally the ground grew level at their feet, the trees cleared, and they walked on smooth grass, brown with winter. Although none of them could see more than a few feet in the gray fog, they had the impression they were in a wide clearing.

“This is Foghaven Vale,” Silvara replied in answer to their questions. “Long years ago, before the Cataclysm, it was one of the most beautiful places upon Krynn … so my people say.”

“It might still be beautiful,” Flint grumbled, “if we could see it through this confounded mist.”

“No,” said Silvara sadly. “Like much else in this world, the beauty of Foghaven has vanished. Once the fortress of Foghaven floated above the mist as if floating on a cloud. The rising sun colored the mists pink in the morning, burned them off at midday so that the soaring spires of the fortress could be seen for miles. In the evening, the fog returned to cover the fortress like a blanket. By night, the silver and the red moons shone on the mists with a shimmering light. Pilgrims came, from all parts of Krynn—” Silvara stopped abruptly. “We will make camp here tonight.”

“What pilgrims?” Laurana asked, letting her pack fall.

Silvara shrugged. “I do not know,” she said, averting her face. “It is only a legend of my people. Perhaps it is not even true. Certainly no one comes here now.”

She’s lying, thought Laurana, but she said nothing. She was too tired to care. And even Silvara’s low, gentle voice seemed unnaturally loud and jarring in the eerie stillness. The companions spread their blankets in silence. They ate in silence, too, nibbling without appetite on the dried fruit in their packs. Even the kender was subdued. The fog was oppressive,
weighing them down. The only thing they could hear was a steady drip, drip, drip of water plopping onto the mat of dead leaves on the forest floor below.

“Sleep now,” said Silvara softly, spreading her blanket near Gilthanas’s, “for when the silver moon has neared its zenith, we must leave.”

“What difference will that make?” The kender yawned. “We can’t see it anyway.”

“Nonetheless, we must go. I will wake you.”

“When we return from Sancrist—after the Council of Whitestone—we can be married,” Gilthanas said softly to Silvara as they lay together, wrapped in his blanket.

The girl stirred in his arms. He felt her soft hair rub against his cheek. But she did not answer.