Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (51 page)

Placing the pearl upon his own chest, over his heart, Raistlin closed his eyes and began to repeat the words of the spell, chanting the lines six times, making the proper changes in inflection each time. With a thrill of ecstasy, he felt the magic flow through his body, drawing out a part of his own life force, capturing it within the pearl.

The first part of the spell complete, Raistlin held the pearl poised above the kender’s heart. Closing his eyes once more,
he recited the complex spell again, this time backward. Slowly he crushed the pearl in his hand, scattering the iridescent powder over Tasslehoff’s rigid body. Raistlin came to an end. Wearily he opened his eyes and watched in triumph as the lines of pain faded from the kender’s features, leaving them filled with peace.

Tas’s eyes flew open.

“Raistlin! I—plooey!” Tas spit out the green leaf. “Yick! What kind of nasty thing was that? And how did it get into my mouth?” Tas sat up dizzily, then he saw his pouches. “Hey! Who’s been messing with my stuff?” Glancing up at the mage accusingly, his eyes opened wide. “Raistlin! You have on Black Robes! How wonderful! Can I touch them? Oh, all right. You needn’t glare at me like that. It’s just that they look so soft. Say, does this mean you’re truly bad now? Can you do something evil for me, so I can watch? I know! I saw a wizard summon a demon once. Could you do that? Just a small demon? You could send him right back. No?” Tas sighed in disappointment. “Well—hey, Caramon, what are those draconians doing with you? And what’s the matter with Tika? Oh, Caramon, I—”

“Shut up!” Caramon roared. Scowling ferociously at the kender, he pointed at Tas and Tika. “The mage and I were bringing these prisoners to our Highlord when they turned on us. They’re valuable slaves, the girl especially. And the kender is a clever thief. We don’t want to lose them. They’ll fetch a high price in the market in Sanction. Since the Dark Queen’s gone, it’s every man for himself, eh?”

Caramon nudged one of the draconians in the ribs. The creature snarled in agreement, its black reptilian eyes fastened greedily on Tika.

“Thief!” shouted Tas indignantly, his shrill voice ringing through the corridor. “I’m—” He gulped, suddenly falling silent as a supposedly comatose Tika gave him a swift poke in the ribs.

“I’ll help the girl,” Caramon said, glaring at the leering draconian. “You keep an eye on the kender and, you over there, help the mage. His spellcasting has left him weak.”

Bowing with respect before Raistlin, one of the draconians helped him to his feet. “You two”—Caramon was marshaling the rest of his troops—“go before us and see that we
don’t have any trouble reaching the edge of town. Maybe you can come with us to Sanction—” Caramon continued, lifting Tika to her feet. Shaking her head, she pretended to regain consciousness.

The draconians grinned in agreement as one of them grabbed hold of Tas by the collar and shoved him toward the door.

“But my things!” wailed Tas, twisting around.

“Keep moving!” Caramon growled.

“Oh, well,” the kender sighed, his eyes lingering fondly on his precious possessions lying scattered on the bloodstained floor. “This probably isn’t the end of my adventuring. And—after all—empty pockets hold more, as my mother used to say.”

Stumbling along behind the two draconians, Tas looked up into the starry heavens. “I’m sorry, Flint,” he said softly. “Just wait for me a little longer.”

A
s Tanis entered the antechamber, the change was so startling that for a minute it was almost incomprehensible. One moment he had been fighting to stand on his feet in the midst of a mob, the next he was in a cool dark room, similar to the one he and Kitiara and her troops had waited in before entering the Hall of Audience.

Glancing around swiftly, he saw he was alone. Although every instinct urged him to rush out of this room in his frantic search, Tanis forced himself to stop, catch his breath, and wipe away the blood gumming his eye shut. He tried to remember what he had seen of the entry into the Temple. The antechambers that formed a circle around the main Hall of Audience were themselves connected to the front part of the temple by a series of winding corridors. Once, long ago in Istar, these corridors must have been designed in some sort of logical order.
But the distortion of the Temple had twisted them into a meaningless maze. Corridors ended abruptly when he expected them to continue, while those that led nowhere seemingly went on forever.

The ground rocked beneath his feet as dust drifted down from the ceiling. A painting fell from the wall with a crash. Tanis had no idea of where Laurana might be found. He had seen her come in here, that was all.

She had been imprisoned in the Temple, but that was below ground. He wondered if she had been at all cognizant of her surroundings when they brought her in, if she had any idea how to get out. And then Tanis realized that he himself had only a vague idea of where he was. Finding a torch still burning, he grabbed it and flashed it about the room. A tapestry-covered door swung open, hanging on a broken hinge. Peering through it, he saw it led into a dimly lit corridor.

Tanis caught his breath. He knew, now, how to find her!

A breath of air stirred in the hallway, fresh air—pungent with the odors of spring, cool with the blessed peace of night—touched his left cheek. Laurana must have felt that breath, she would guess that it must lead out of the Temple. Quickly Tanis ran down the hallway, ignoring the pain in his head, forcing his weary muscles to respond to his commands.

A group of draconians appeared suddenly in front of him, coming from another room. Remembering he still wore the dragonarmy uniform, Tanis stopped them.

“The elfwoman!” he shouted. “She must not escape. Have you seen her?”

This group hadn’t, apparently, by the tone of the hurried snarls. Nor had the next group Tanis encountered. But two draconians wandering the halls in search of loot had seen her, so they said. They pointed vaguely in the direction Tanis was already heading. His spirits rose.

By now, the fighting within the Hall had ended. The Dragon Highlords who survived had made good their escapes and were now among their own forces stationed outside the Temple walls. Some fought. Some retreated, waiting to see who came out on top. Two questions were on everyone’s mind. The first—would the dragons remain in the world or would they vanish with their Queen as they had following the Second Dragon War?

And, second—if the dragons remained, who would be their master?

Tanis found himself pondering these questions confusedly as he ran through the halls, sometimes taking wrong turns and cursing bitterly as he confronted a solid wall and was forced to retrace his steps to where he could once again feel the air upon his face.

But eventually he grew too tired to ponder anything. Exhaustion and pain were taking their toll. His legs grew heavy, it was an effort to take a step. His head throbbed, the cut over his eye began to bleed again. The ground shook continually beneath his feet. Statues toppled from their bases, stones fell from the ceiling, showering him with clouds of dust.

He began to lose hope. Even though he was certain he was traveling in the only direction she could possibly have taken, the few draconians he passed now had not seen her. What could have happened? Was she—No, he wouldn’t think of that. He kept going, conscious either of the fragrant breath of air on his face or of smoke billowing past him.

The torches had started fires. The Temple was beginning to burn.

Then, while negotiating a narrow corridor and climbing over a pile of rubble, Tanis heard a sound. He stopped, holding his breath. Yes, there it was again—just ahead. Peering through the smoke and dust, he gripped his sword in his hand. The last group of draconians he had met were drunk and eager to kill. A lone human officer had seemed like fair game, until one of them remembered having seen Tanis with the Dark Lady. But the next time he might not be so lucky.

Before him, the corridor lay in ruins, part of the ceiling having caved in. It was intensely dark—the torch he held provided the only light—and Tanis wrestled with the need for light and the fear of being seen by it. Finally he decided to risk keeping it burning. He would never find Laurana if he had to wander around this place in the darkness.

He would have to trust to his disguise once again.

“Who goes there?” he roared out in a harsh voice, shining his torchlight boldly into the ruined hallway.

He caught a glimpse of flashing armor and a figure running, but it ran away from him, not toward him. Odd for a draconian … his weary brain seemed to be stumbling along
about three paces behind him. He could see the figure plainly now, lithe and slender and running much too quickly.…

“Laurana!” he shouted, then in elven,
“Quisalas!”

Cursing the broken columns and marble blocks in his path, Tanis stumbled and ran and stumbled and fell and forced his aching body to obey him until he caught up with her. Grasping her by the arm, he dragged her to a stop, then could only hold onto her tightly as he slumped against a wall.

Each breath he took was fiery pain. He was so dizzy he thought for a moment he might pass out. But he grasped her with a deathlike grip, holding her with his eyes as well as his hand.

Now he knew why the draconians hadn’t seen her. She had stripped off the silver armor, covering it with draconian armor she had taken from a dead warrior. For a moment she could only stare at Tanis. She had not recognized him at first, and had nearly run him through with her sword. The only thing that had stopped her was the elven word,
quisalas
, beloved. That, and the intense look of anguish and suffering on his pale face.

“Laurana,” Tanis gasped in a voice as shattered as Raistlin’s had once been, “don’t leave me. Wait … listen to me, please!”

With a twist of her arm, Laurana broke free of his grip. But she did not leave him. She started to speak, but another shudder of the building silenced her. As dust and debris poured down around them, Tanis pulled Laurana close, shielding her. They clung to each other fearfully, and then it was over. But they were left in darkness. Tanis had dropped the torch.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Are you injured?” Laurana asked coldly, trying to free herself from his grasp once more. “If so, I can help you. If not, then I suggest we forego any further farewells. Whatever—”

“Laurana,” Tanis said softly, breathing heavily, “I don’t ask you to understand—
I
don’t understand. I don’t ask for forgiveness—I can’t even forgive myself. I could tell you that I love you, that I have always loved you. But that wouldn’t be true, for love must come from within one who loves himself, and right now I can’t bear to see my own reflection. All I can tell you, Laurana, is that—”

“Shhh!” Laurana whispered, putting her hand over Tanis’s mouth. “I heard something.”

For long moments they stood, pressed together in the darkness, listening. At first they could hear nothing but the sound of their own breathing. They could see nothing, not even each other, as close as they were. Then torchlight flared, blinding them, and a voice spoke.

“Tell Laurana what, Tanis?” said Kitiara in a pleasant voice. “Go on.”

A naked sword gleamed in her hand. Wet blood—both red and green—glistened on the blade. Her face was white with stone dust, a trickle of blood ran down her chin from a cut on her lip. Her eyes were shadowed with weariness, but her smile was still as charming as ever. Sheathing her bloody sword, she wiped her hands upon her tattered cloak, then ran them absently through her curly hair.

Tanis’s eyes closed in exhaustion. His face seemed to age; he looked very human. Pain and exhaustion, grief and guilt would forever leave their mark on the eternal elven youthfulness. He could feel Laurana stiffen, her hand move to her sword.

“Let her go, Kitiara,” Tanis said quietly, gripping Laurana firmly. “Keep your promise and I’ll keep mine. Let me take her outside the walls. Then I’ll come back—”

“I really believe you would,” Kitiara remarked, staring at him in amused wonder. “Hasn’t it occurred to you yet, Half-Elf, that I could kiss you and kill you without drawing a deep breath in between? No, I don’t suppose it has. I might kill you right now, in fact, simply because I know it would be the worst thing I could do to the elfwoman.” She held the flaming torch near Laurana. “There—look at her face!” Kitiara sneered. “What a weak and debilitating thing love is!”

Kitiara’s hand tousled her hair again. Shrugging, she glanced around. “But I haven’t time. Things are moving. Great things. The Dark Queen has fallen. Another will rise to take her place. What about it, Tanis? I have already begun to establish my authority over the other Dragon Highlords.” Kitiara patted her sword hilt. “Mine will be a vast empire. We could rule toge—”

She broke off abruptly, her gaze shifting down the corridor from which she had just come. Although Tanis could neither see nor hear what had attracted her attention, he felt a bone-numbing chill spread through the hallway. Laurana gripped
him suddenly, fear overwhelming her, and Tanis knew who approached even before he saw the orange eyes flicker above the ghostly armor.