Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (37 page)

“The dragon orb!” Laurana said suddenly.

“Yes.” Silvara’s fists clenched in misery. “I knew then I had to make a decision. You had the orb, but you also had the lance. The lance and the orb coming to me! Both, together! It was a sign, I thought, but I didn’t know what to do. I decided to bring the orb here and keep it safe forever. Then, as we traveled, I realized the knights would never allow it to remain here. There would be trouble. So, when I saw my chance, I sent it away.” Her shoulders sagged. “That was apparently the wrong decision. But how was I to know?”

“Why?” Theros asked severely. “What does the orb do? Is it evil? Have you sent those knights to their doom?”

“Great evil,” Silvara murmured. “Great good. Who can
say? Even
I
do not understand the dragon orbs. They were forged long ago by the most powerful of magic-users.”

“But the book Tas read said they could be used to control dragons!” Flint stated. “He read it with some kind of glasses. Glasses of true seeing, he called ’em. He said they don’t lie—”

“No,” said Silvara sadly. “That is true. It is too true, as I fear you friends may discover to their bitter regret.”

The companions, fear closing around them, sat together in silence broken only by Gilthanas’s choking sobs. The torches sent shadows dodging and dancing around the quiet tomb like undead spirits. Laurana remembered Huma and the Silver Dragon. She thought of that final, terrible battle—the skies filled with dragons, the land erupting in flame and in blood.

“Why have you brought us here, then?” Laurana asked Silvara quietly. “Why not just let us all take the orb away?”

“Can I tell them? Do I have the strength?” Silvara whispered to an unseen spirit.

She sat quietly for a long time, her face expressionless, her hands twisting in her lap. Her eyes closed, her head bowed, her lips moved. She covered her face with her hands and sat quite still. Then, shuddering, she made her decision.

Rising to her feet, Silvara walked over to Laurana’s pack. Kneeling down, she slowly and carefully unwrapped the broken shaft of wood that the companions had carried such a long and weary distance. Silvara stood, her face once more filled with peace. But now there was also pride and strength. For the first time, Laurana began to believe this girl was something as powerful and magnificent as a dragon. Walking proudly, her silver hair glistening in the torchlight, Silvara walked over to stand before Theros Ironfeld.

“To Theros of the Silver Arm,” she said, “I give the power to forge the dragonlance.”

BOOK 3

S
hadows crept across the dusty tables of the Pig and Whistle tavern. The sea breeze off the Bay of Balifor made a shrill whistling sound as it blew through the ill-fitting front windows, that distinctive whistle giving the inn the last part of its name. Any guesses as to how the tavern got the first part ended on sight of the innkeeper. A jovial, kind-hearted man, William Sweetwater had been cursed at birth (so town legend went) when a wandering pig overturned the baby’s cradle, so frightening young William that the mark of the pig was forever imprinted on his face.

This unfortunate resemblance had certainly not impaired William’s temper, however. A sailor by trade until he had retired to fulfill a lifelong ambition of keeping an inn, there was not a more respected or well-liked man in Port Balifor than William Sweetwater. No one laughed more heartily at pig
jokes than did William. He could even grunt quite realistically and often did pig imitations for the amusement of his customers. (But no one ever—after the untimely death of Peg-Leg Al—called William by the name “Piggy.”)

William rarely grunted for his customers these days. The atmosphere of the Pig and Whistle was dark and gloomy. The few old customers that came sat huddled together, talking in low voices. For Port Balifor was an occupied town—overrun by the armies of the highlords, whose ships had recently sailed into the Bay, disgorging troops of the hideous dragonmen.

The people of Port Balifor—mostly humans—felt extremely sorry for themselves. They had no knowledge of what was going on in the outside world, of course, or they would have counted their blessings. No dragons came to burn their town. The draconians generally left the citizens alone. The Dragon Highlords were not particularly interested in the eastern part of the Ansalon continent. The land was sparsely populated: a few poor, scattered communities of humans and Kendermore, the homeland of the kenders. A flight of dragons could have leveled the countryside, but the Dragon Highlords were concentrating their strength in the north and the west. As long as the ports remained opened, the Highlords had no need to devastate the lands of Balifor and Goodlund.

Although not many old customers came to the Pig and Whistle, business had improved for William Sweetwater. The draconian and goblin troops of the Highlord were well paid, and their one weakness was strong drink. But William had not opened his tavern for money. He loved the companionship of old friends and new. He did
not
enjoy the companionship of the Highlord’s troops. When they came in, his old customers left. Therefore, William promptly raised his prices for draconians to three times higher than in any other inn in town. He also watered the ale. Consequently, his bar was nearly deserted except for a few old friends. This arrangement suited William fine.

He was talking to a few of these friends—sailors mostly, with brown, weathered skin and no teeth—on the evening that the strangers entered his tavern. William glared at them suspiciously for a moment, as did his friends. But, seeing road-weary travelers and not the Highlord’s soldiers, he greeted them cordially and showed them to a table in the corner.

The strangers ordered ale all around—except for a red-robed man who ordered nothing but hot water. Then, after a subdued discussion centering around a worn leather purse and the number of coins therein, they asked William to bring them bread and cheese.

“They’re not from these parts,” William said to his friends in a low voice as he drew the ale from a special keg he kept beneath the bar (not the keg for draconians). “And poor as a sailor after a week ashore, if I make my guess.”

“Refugees,” said his friend, eyeing them speculatively.

“Odd mixture, though,” added the other sailor. “Yon red-bearded fellow’s a half-elf, if ever I saw one. And the big one’s got weapons enough to take on the Highlord’s whole army.”

“I’ll wager he’s stuck a few of them with that sword, too,” William grunted. “They’re on the run from something, I’ll bet. Look at the way that bearded fellow keeps his eyes on the door. Well, we can’t help them fight the Highlord, but I’ll see they don’t want for anything.” He went to serve them.

“Put your money away,” William said gruffly, plunking down not only bread and cheese but also a tray full of cold meats as well. He shoved the coins away. “You’re in trouble of some kind, that’s plain as this pig’s snout upon my face.”

One of the women smiled at him. She was the most beautiful woman William had ever seen. Her silver-gold hair gleamed from beneath a fur hood, her blue eyes were like the ocean on a calm day. When she smiled at him, William felt the warmth of fine brandy run through his body. But a stern-faced, dark-haired man next to her shoved the coins back to the innkeeper.

“We’ll not accept charity,” the tall, fur-cloaked man said.

“We won’t?” asked the big man wistfully, staring at the smoked meat with longing eyes.

“Riverwind,” the woman remonstrated, putting a gentle hand on his arm. The half-elf, too, seemed about to interpose when the red-robed man, who had ordered the hot water, reached out and picked up a coin from the table.

Balancing the coin on the back of his bony, metallic-colored hand, the man suddenly and effortlessly sent it dancing along his knuckles. William’s eyes opened wide. His two friends at the bar came closer to see better. The coin flickered in and out of the red-robed man’s fingers, spinning and jumping. It
vanished high in the air, only to reappear above the mage’s head in the form of six coins, spinning around his hood. With a gesture, he sent them to spin around William’s head. The sailors watched in open-mouthed wonder.

“Take one for your trouble,” said the mage in a whisper.

Hesitantly, William tried to grab the coins that whirled past his eyes, but his hand went right through them! Suddenly all six coins disappeared. One only remained now, resting in the palm of the red-robed mage.

“I give you this in payment,” the mage said with a sly smile, “but be careful. It may burn a hole in your pocket.”

William accepted the coin gingerly. Holding it between two fingers, he gazed at it suspiciously. Then the coin burst into flame! With a startled yelp, William dropped it to the floor, stomping on it with his foot. His two friends burst out laughing. Picking up the coin, William discovered it to be perfectly cold and undamaged.

“That’s worth the meat!” the innkeeper said, grinning.

“And a night’s lodgings,” added his friend, the sailor, slapping down a handful of coins.

“I believe,” said Raistlin softly, glancing around at the others, “that we have solved our problems.”

Thus was born The Red Wizard and His Wonderful Illusions, a traveling road show that is still talked of today as far south as Port Balifor and as far north as the Ruins.

The very next night the red-robed mage began to perform his tricks to an admiring audience of William’s friends. The word spread rapidly. After the mage had performed in the Pig and Whistle for about a week, Riverwind—at first opposed to the whole idea—was forced to admit that Raistlin’s act seemed likely to solve not only their financial problems but other, more pressing problems as well.

The shortage of money was the most urgent. The companions might have been able to live off the land—even in the winter, both Riverwind and Tanis being skilled hunters. But they needed money to buy passage on a ship to take them to Sancrist. Once they had the money, they needed to be able to travel freely through enemy-occupied lands.

In his youth, Raistlin had often used his considerable talents at sleight of hand to earn bread for himself and his
brother. Although this was frowned on by his master, who threatened to expel the young mage from his school, Raistlin had become quite successful. Now his growing powers in magic gave him a range not possible before. He literally kept his audiences spellbound with tricks and phantasms.

At Raistlin’s command, white-winged ships sailed up and down the bar at the Pig and Whistle, birds flew out of soup tureens, while dragons peered through the windows, breathing fire upon the startled guests. In the grand finale, the mage—resplendent in red robes sewn by Tika—appeared to be totally consumed in raging flames, only to walk in through the front door moments later (to tumultuous applause) and calmly drink a glass of white wine to the health of the guests.

Within a week, the Pig and Whistle did more business than William had done in a year. Better still—as far as he was concerned—his friends were able to forget their troubles. Soon, however, unwanted guests began to arrive. At first, he had been angered by the appearance of draconians and goblins in the crowd, but Tanis placated him, and William grudgingly permitted them to watch.

Tanis was, in fact, pleased to see them. It worked out well from the half-elf’s point of view and solved their second problem. If the Highlord’s troops enjoyed the show and spread the word, the companions could travel the countryside unmolested.

It was their plan—after consulting with William—to make for Flotsam, a city north of Port Balifor, located on the Blood Sea of Istar. Here they hoped to find a ship. No one in Port Balifor would give them passage, William explained. All the local shipowners were in the employ of (or their vessels had been confiscated by) the Dragon Highlords. But Flotsam was a known haven for those more interested in money than politics.

The companions stayed at the Pig and Whistle for a month. William provided free room and board and even allowed them to keep all the money they made. Though Riverwind protested this generosity, William stated firmly that all he cared about was seeing his old customers come back.