Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (48 page)

Yes! A deep sense of thankfulness and relief flooded his pain-racked body. He
could
see jewels sparkling in the distance, shining in the blackness with a light it seemed even this heavy darkness could not quench.

It was just a short distance ahead of them, not more than a hundred feet. Relaxing his grip on Berem, Caramon thought, Perhaps this is a way out, for me, at least. Let Berem join this ghostly sister of his. All I want is a way out, a way to get back to Tika and Tas.

His confidence returning, Caramon strode forward. A matter of minutes and it would be over … for good … or for …

“Shirak,”
spoke a voice.

A bright light flared.

Caramon’s heart ceased to beat for an instant. Slowly, slowly he lifted his head to look into that bright light, and there he saw two golden, glittering, hourglass eyes staring at him from the depths of a black hood.

The breath left his body in a sigh that was like the sigh of a dying man.

The blaring trumpets ceased, a measure of calm returned to the Hall of Audience. Once more, the eyes of everyone in the Hall—including the Dark Queen—turned to the drama on the platform.

Gripping the Crown in his hand, Tanis rose to his feet. He had no idea what the horn calls portended, what doom might
be about to fall. He only knew that he must play the game out to its end, bitter as that may be.

Laurana … she was his one thought. Wherever Berem and Caramon and the others were, they were beyond his help. Tanis’s eyes fixed on the silver-armored figure standing on the snake-headed platform below him. Almost by accident, his gaze flicked to Kitiara, standing beside Laurana, her face hidden behind the hideous dragonmask. She made a gesture.

Tanis felt more than heard movement behind him, like a chill wind brushing his skin. Whirling, he saw Lord Soth coming toward him, death burning in the orange eyes.

Tanis backed up, the Crown in his hand, knowing he could not fight this opponent from beyond the grave.

“Stop!” he shouted, holding the Crown poised above the floor of the Hall of Audience. “Stop him, Kitiara, or with my last dying strength I will hurl this into the crowd.”

Soth laughed soundlessly, advancing upon him, the skeletal hand that could kill by a touch alone outstretched.

“What ‘dying strength’?” the death knight asked softly. “My magic will shrivel your body to dust, the Crown will fall at my feet.”

“Lord Soth,” rang out a clear voice from the platform from the center of the Hall, “halt. Let him who won the Crown bring it to me!”

Soth hesitated. His hand still reaching for Tanis, his flaming eyes turned their vacant gaze upon Kitiara, questioning.

Removing the dragonhelm from her head, Kitiara looked only at Tanis. He could see her brown eyes gleaming and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“You will bring me the Crown, won’t you, Tanis?” Kitiara called.

Tanis swallowed. “Yes,” he said, licking his dry lips, “I will bring you the Crown.”

“My guards!” Kitiara ordered, waving them forward. “An escort. Anyone who touches him will die by my hand. Lord Soth, see that he reaches me safely.”

Tanis glanced at Lord Soth, who slowly lowered his deadly hand. “He is your master, still, my lady,” Tanis thought he heard the death knight whisper with a sneer.

Then Soth fell into step beside him, the ghostly chill emanating from the knight nearly congealing Tanis’s blood. Together
they descended the stairs, an odd pair—the pallid knight in the blackened armor, the half-elf clutching the blood-stained Crown in his hand.

Ariakas’s officers, who had been standing at the foot of the stairs, weapons drawn, fell back, some reluctantly. As Tanis reached the marble floor and passed by them, many gave him black looks. He saw the flash of a dagger in one hand, an unspoken promise in the dark eyes.

Their own swords drawn, Kitiara’s guards fell in around him, but it was Lord Soth’s deathly aura that obtained safe passage for him through the crowded floor. Tanis began to sweat beneath his armor. So this is power, he realized. Whoever has the Crown, rules, but that could all end in the dead of night with one thrust of an assassin’s dagger!

Tanis kept walking, and soon he and Lord Soth reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform shaped like the head of the hooded snake. At the top stood Kitiara, beautiful in triumph. Tanis climbed the spurlike stairs alone, leaving Soth standing at the bottom, his orange eyes burning in their hollow sockets. As Tanis reached the top of the platform, the top of the snake’s head, he could see Laurana, standing behind Kitiara. Laurana’s face was pale, cool, composed. She glanced at him—and at the blood-stained Crown—then turned her head away. He had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. It didn’t matter. He would explain.…

Running over to him, Kitiara grasped him in her arms. Cheers resounded in the Hall.

“Tanis!” she breathed. “Truly you and I were meant to rule together! You were wonderful, magnificent! I will give you anything … anything—”

“Laurana?” Tanis asked coldly, under the cover of the noise. His slightly slanted eyes, the eyes that gave away his heritage, stared down into Kitiara’s brown eyes.

Kit flicked a glance at the elfwoman, whose gaze was so fixed, whose skin was so pale she might have been a corpse.

“If you want her.” Kitiara shrugged, then drew closer, her voice for him alone. “But you will have me, Tanis. By day we will command armies, rule the world. The nights, Tanis! They will be ours alone, yours and mine.” Her breath came fast, her hands reached up to stroke his bearded face. “Place the Crown on my head, beloved.”

Tanis stared down into the brown eyes, he saw them filled with warmth and passion and excitement. He could feel Kitiara’s body pressed against his, trembling, eager. Around him, the troops were shouting madly, the noise swelling like a wave. Slowly Tanis raised the hand that held the Crown of Power, slowly he lifted it—not to Kitiara’s head, but to his own.

“No, Kitiara,” he shouted so that all could hear. “One of us will rule by day
and
by night—me.”

There was laughter in the Hall, mixed with angry rumblings. Kitiara’s eyes widened in shock, then swiftly narrowed.

“Don’t try it,” Tanis said, catching her hand as she reached for the knife at her belt. Holding her fast, he looked down at her. “I’m going to leave the Hall now,” he said softly, speaking for her ears alone, “with Laurana. You and your troops will escort us out of here. When we are safely outside this evil place, I will give you the Crown. Betray me, and you will never hold it. Do you understand?”

Kitiara’s lips twisted in a sneer. “So
she
is truly all you care about?” she whispered caustically.

“Truly,” Tanis replied. Gripping her arm harder, he saw pain in her eyes. “I swear this on the souls of two I loved dearly—Sturm Brightblade and Flint Fireforge. Do you believe me?”

“I believe you,” Kitiara said in bitter anger. Looking up at him, reluctant admiration flared once more in her eyes. “You could have had so much …”

Tanis released her without a word. Turning, he walked over to Laurana, who was standing with her back to them, gazing sightlessly above the crowd. Tanis gripped her arm. “Come with me,” he commanded coldly. The noise of the crowd rose up around him, while above him, he was aware of the dark shadowy figure of the Queen, watching the flux of power intently, waiting to see who would emerge strongest.

Laurana did not flinch at his touch. She did not react at all. Moving her head slowly, the honey-blonde hair falling in a tangled mass around her shoulders, she looked at him. The green eyes were without recognition, expressionless. He saw nothing in them, not fear, not anger.

It will be all right, he told her silently, his heart aching. I will explain—

There was a flash of silver, a blur of golden hair. Something struck Tanis hard in the chest. He staggered backward, grasping for Laurana as he stumbled. But he could not hold her.

Shoving him aside, Laurana sprang at Kitiara, her hand grabbing for the sword Kit wore at her side. Her move caught the human woman completely by surprise. Kit struggled briefly, fiercely, but Laurana already had her hands upon the hilt. With a smooth movement, she yanked Kit’s sword from the scabbard and jabbed the sword hilt into Kitiara’s face, knocking her to the platform. Turning, Laurana ran to the edge.

“Laurana, stop!” Tanis shouted. Jumping forward to catch her, he suddenly felt the point of her sword at his throat.

“Don’t move, Tanthalasa,” Laurana ordered. Her green eyes were dilated with excitement, she held the sword point with unwavering steadiness. “Or you will die. I will kill you, if I have to.”

Tanis took a step forward. The sharp blade pierced his skin. Helpless, he stopped. Laurana smiled sadly.

“You see, Tanis? I’m not the love-sick child you knew. I’m not my father’s daughter, living in my father’s court. I’m not even the Golden General. I am Laurana. And I will live or die on my own without your help.”

“Laurana, listen to me!” Tanis pleaded, taking another step toward her, reaching up to thrust aside the sword blade that cut into his skin.

He saw Laurana’s lips press together tightly, her green eyes glinted. Then, sighing, she slowly lowered the the sword blade to his armor-plated chest. Tanis smiled. Laurana shrugged and, with a swift thrust, shoved him backward off the platform.

Arms flailing wildly in the air, the half-elf tumbled to the floor below. As he fell, he saw Laurana—sword in hand—jump off after him, landing lightly on her feet.

He hit the floor heavily, knocking the breath from his body. The Crown of Power rolled from his head with a clatter and went skittering across the polished granite floor. Above him, he could hear Kitiara shriek in rage.

“Laurana!” He gasped without breath to shout, looking for her frantically. He saw a flash of silver.…

“The Crown! Bring me the Crown!” Kitiara’s voice dinned in his ears.

But she was not the only one shouting. All around the Hall of Audience, the Highlords were on their feet, ordering their troops forward. The dragons sprang into the air. The Dark Queen’s five-headed body filled the Hall with shadow, exulting in this test of strength that would provide her with the strongest commanders—the survivors.

Clawed draconian feet, booted goblin feet, steel-shod human feet trampled over Tanis. Struggling to stand, fighting desperately to keep from being crushed, he tried to follow that silver flash. He saw it once, then it was gone, lost in the melee. A twisted face appeared in front of him, dark eyes flashed. A spear butt smashed into his side.

Groaning, Tanis collapsed to the floor as chaos erupted in the Hall of Audience.

R
aistlin! It was a thought, not spoken. Caramon tried to talk, but no sound came from his throat. “Yes, my brother,” said Raistlin, answering his brother’s thoughts, as usual. “It is I—the last guardian—the one you must pass to reach your goal, the one Her Dark Majesty commanded be present if the trumpets should sound.” Raistlin smiled derisively. “And I might have known it would be you who foolishly tripped my spelltrap.…”

“Raist,” Caramon began and choked.

For a moment he could not speak. Worn out from fear and pain and loss of blood, shivering in the cold water, Caramon found this almost too much to bear. It would be easier to let the dark waters close over his head, let the sharp teeth of the young dragons tear his flesh. The pain could not be nearly so bad. Then he felt Berem stir beside him. The man was staring
at Raistlin vaguely, not understanding. He tugged on Caramon’s arm.

“Jasla calls. We must go.”

With a sob, Caramon tore his arm away from the man’s grasp. Berem glared at him angrily, then turned and started ahead on his own.

“No, my friend, no one’s going anywhere.”

Raistlin raised his thin hand and Berem came to a sudden, staggering stop. The Everman lifted his gaze to the gleaming golden eyes of the mage, standing above him on a rock ledge. Whimpering, wringing his hands, Berem gazed ahead longingly at the jeweled column. But he could not move. A great and terrible force stood blocking his path, as surely as the mage stood upon the rock.

Caramon blinked back sudden tears. Feeling his brother’s power, he fought against despair. There was nothing he could do … except try and kill Raistlin. His soul shriveled in horror. No, he would die himself first!

Suddenly Caramon raised his head. So be it. If I must die, I’ll die fighting—as I had always intended.

Even if it means dying by my own brother’s hand.

Slowly Caramon’s gaze met that of his twin.

“You wear the Black Robes now?” he asked through parched lips. “I can’t see … in this light.…”

“Yes, my brother,” Raistlin replied, raising the Staff of Magius to let the silver light shine upon him. Robes of softest velvet fell from his thin shoulders, shimmering black beneath the light, seeming darker than the eternal night that surrounded them.

Shivering as he thought of what he must do, Caramon continued, “And your voice, it’s stronger, different. Like you … and yet not like you …”