Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (54 page)

“Wait!” Tanis said suddenly. “Fizban—er—Paladine, were you ever in the Inn of the Last Home, in Solace?”

“An inn? In Solace?” The old man paused, stroking his beard. “An inn … there are so many. But I seem to recall spicy potatoes.… That’s it!” The old man peered around at Tanis, his eyes glinting. “I used to tell stories there, to the children. Quite an exciting place, that inn. I remember one night—a beautiful young woman came in. A barbarian she was, with golden hair. Sang a song about a blue crystal staff that touched off a riot.”

“That was you, shouting for the guards!” Tanis exclaimed. “You got us into this!”

“I set the stage, lad,” Fizban said cunningly. “I didn’t give you a script. The dialogue has been all yours.” Glancing at Laurana, then back to Tanis, he shook his head. “Must say I could have improved it a bit here and there, but then—never mind.” Turning away once more, he began yelling at the dragon. “Wake up, you lazy, flea-bitten beast!”

“Flea-bitten!” Pyrite’s eyes flared open. “Why, you decrepit old mage! You couldn’t turn water into ice in the dead of winter!”

“Oh, can’t I?” Fizban shouted in a towering rage, poking at the dragon with his staff. “Well, I’ll show you.” Fishing out a battered spellbook, he began flipping pages. “Fireball … Fireball … I know it’s in here somewhere.”

Absentmindedly, still muttering, the old mage climbed up onto the dragon’s back.

“Are you quite ready?!” the ancient dragon asked in icy tones, then—without waiting for an answer—spread his creaking wings. Flapping them painfully to ease the stiffness, he prepared to take off.

“Wait! My hat!” Fizban cried wildly.

Too late. Wings beating furiously, the dragon rose unsteadily into the air. After wobbling, hanging precariously over the edge of the cliff, Pyrite caught the night breeze and soared into the night sky.

“Stop! You crazed—”

“Fizban!” Tas cried.

“My hat!” wailed the mage.

“Fizban!” Tas shouted again. “It’s—”

But the two had flown out of hearing. Soon they were nothing more than dwindling sparks of gold, the dragon’s scales glittering in Solinari’s light.

“It’s on your head,” the kender murmured with a sigh.

The companions watched in silence, then turned away.

“Give me a hand with this, will you, Caramon?” Tanis asked. Unbuckling the dragonarmor, he sent it spinning, piece by piece, over the edge of the ridge. “What about yours?”

“I think I’ll keep mine a while longer. We’ve still a long journey ahead of us, and the way will be difficult and dangerous.” Caramon waved a hand toward the flaming city. “Raistlin was right. The dragonmen won’t stop their evil just because their Queen is gone.”

“Where will you go?” Tanis asked, breathing deeply. The night air was soft and warm, fragrant with the promise of new growth.

Thankful to be rid of the hated armor, he sat down wearily beneath a grove of trees that stood upon the ridge overlooking the Temple. Laurana came to sit near him, but not beside him. Her knees were drawn up beneath her chin, her eyes thoughtful as she gazed out over the plains.

“Tika and I have been talking about that,” Caramon said, the two of them sitting down beside Tanis. He and Tika glanced at each other, neither seeming willing to speak. After a moment, Caramon cleared his throat. “We’re going back to Solace, Tanis. And I—I guess this means we’ll be splitting up since—” He paused, unable to continue.

“We know you’ll be returning to Kalaman,” Tika added softly, with a glance at Laurana. “We talked of going with you. After all, there’s that big citadel floating around still, plus all these renegade dragonmen. And we’d like to see Riverwind and Goldmoon and Gilthanas again. But—”

“I want to go home, Tanis,” Caramon said heavily. “I know it’s not going to be easy going back, seeing Solace burned, destroyed,” he added, forestalling Tanis’s objections, “but I’ve thought about Alhana and the elves, what they have to go back to in Silvanesti. I’m thankful my home isn’t like that, a twisted nightmare. They’ll need me in Solace, Tanis, to help rebuild. They’ll need my strength. I—I’m used to … being needed.…”

Tika laid her cheek on his arm, he gently tousled her hair. Tanis nodded in understanding. He would like to see Solace again, but it wasn’t home. Not any more. Not without Flint and Sturm and … and others.

“What about you, Tas?” Tanis asked the kender with a smile as he came trudging up to the group, lugging a water-skin he had filled at a nearby creek. “Will you come back to Kalaman with us?”

Tas flushed. “No, Tanis,” he said uncomfortably. “You see, since I’m this close, I thought I’d pay a visit to my homeland. We killed a Dragon Highlord, Tanis”—Tas lifted his chin proudly—“all by ourselves. People will treat us with respect now. Our leader, Kronin, will most likely become a hero in Krynnish lore.”

Tanis scratched his beard to hide his smile, refraining from telling Tas that the Highlord the kenders had killed had been the bloated, cowardly Fewmaster Toede.

“I think
one
kender will become a hero,” Laurana said seriously. “He will be the kender who broke the dragon orb, the kender who fought at the siege of the High Clerist’s Tower, the kender who captured Bakaris, the kender who risked everything to rescue a friend from the Queen of Darkness.”

“Who’s that?” Tas asked eagerly, then, “Oh!” Suddenly realizing who Laurana meant, Tas flushed pink to the tips of his ears and sat down with a thud, quite overcome.

Caramon and Tika settled back against a tree trunk, both faces, for the moment, filled with peace and tranquility. Tanis, watching them, envied them, wondering if such peace would ever be his. He turned to Laurana, who was sitting straight now, gazing beyond into the flaming sky, her thoughts far away.

“Laurana,” Tanis said unsteadily, his voice faltering as her beautiful face turned to his, “Laurana, you gave this to me once”—he held the golden ring in his palm—“before either of us knew what true love or commitment meant. It now means a great deal to me, Laurana. In the dream, this ring brought me back from the darkness of the nightmare, just as your love saved me from the darkness in my own soul.” He paused, feeling a sharp pang of regret even as he talked. “I’d like to keep it, Laurana, if you still want me to have it. And I would like to give you one to wear, to match it.”

Laurana stared at the ring long moments without speaking, then she lifted it from Tanis’s palm and—with a sudden motion—threw it over the ridge. Tanis gasped, half-starting to his feet. The ring flashed in Lunitari’s red light, then it vanished into the darkness.

“I guess that’s my answer,” Tanis said. “I can’t blame you.”

Laurana turned back to him, her face calm. “When I gave you that ring, Tanis, it was the first love of an undisciplined heart. You were right to return it to me, I see that now. I had to grow up, to learn what real love was. I have been through flame and darkness, Tanis. I have killed dragons. I have wept over the body of one I loved.” She sighed. “I was a leader. I had responsibilities. Flint told me that. But I threw it all away. I fell into Kitiara’s trap. I realized—too late—how shallow my
love really was. Riverwind’s and Goldmoon’s steadfast love brought hope to the world. Our petty love came near to destroying it.”

“Laurana,” Tanis began, his heart aching.

Her hand closed over his.

“Hush, just a moment more,” she whispered. “I love you, Tanis. I love you now because I understand you. I love you for the light and the darkness within you. That is why I threw the ring away. Perhaps someday our love will be a foundation strong enough to build upon. Perhaps someday I will give you another ring and I will accept yours. But it will not be a ring of ivy leaves, Tanis.”

“No,” he said, smiling. Reaching out, he put his hand on her shoulder, to draw her near. Shaking her head, she started to resist. “It will be a ring made half of gold and half of steel.” Tanis clasped her more firmly.

Laurana looked into his eyes, then she smiled and yielded to him, sinking back to rest beside him, her head on his shoulder.

“Perhaps I’ll shave,” said Tanis, scratching his beard.

“Don’t,” murmured Laurana, drawing Tanis’s cloak around her shoulders. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

All that night the companions kept watch together beneath the trees, waiting for the dawn. Weary and wounded, they could not sleep, they knew the danger had not ended.

From their vantage point, they could see bands of draconians fleeing the Temple confines. Freed from their leaders, the draconians would soon turn to robbery and murder to ensure their own survival. There were Dragon Highlords still. Though no one mentioned her name, the companions each knew one had almost certainly managed to survive the chaos boiling around the Temple. And perhaps there would be other evils to contend with, evils more powerful and terrifying than the friends dared imagine.

But for now there were a few moments of peace, and they were loath to end them. For with the dawn would come farewells.

No one spoke, not even Tasslehoff. There was no need for words between them. All had been said or was waiting to be said. They would not spoil what went before, nor hurry what was to come. They asked Time to stop for a little while to let them rest. And, perhaps, it did.

Just before dawn, when only a hint of the sun’s coming shone pale in the eastern sky, the Temple of Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, exploded. The ground shivered with the blast. The light was brilliant, blinding, like the birth of a new sun.

Their eyes dazzled by the flaring light, they could not see clearly. But they had the impression that the sparkling shards of the Temple were rising into the sky, being swept upward by a vast heavenly whirlwind. Brighter and brighter the shards gleamed as they hurtled into the starry darkness, until they shone as radiantly as the stars themelves.

And then they
were
stars. One by one, each piece of the shattered Temple took its proper place in the sky, filling the two black voids Raistlin had seen last autumn, when he looked up from the boat in Crystalmir Lake.

Once again, the constellations glittered in the sky.

Once again, the Valiant Warrior—Paladine, the Platinum Dragon—took his place in one half of the night sky while opposite him appeared the Queen of Darkness—Takhisis, the Five-Headed, Many-Colored Dragon. And so they resumed their endless wheeling, one always watchful of the other, as they revolved eternally around Gilean, God of Neutrality, the Scales of Balance.

T
here were none to welcome him as he entered the city. He came in the dead of a still, black night; the only moon in the sky being one his eyes alone could see. He had sent away the green dragon, to await his commands. He did not pass through the city gates; no guard witnessed his arrival.

He had no need to come through the gates. Boundaries meant for ordinary mortals no longer concerned him. Unseen, unknown, he walked the silent, sleeping streets.

And yet, there was one who was aware of his presence. Inside the great library, Astinus, intent as ever upon his work, stopped writing and lifted his head. His pen remained poised for an instant over the paper, then—with a shrug—he resumed work on his chronicles once more.

The man walked the dark streets rapidly, leaning upon a staff that was decorated at the top with a crystal ball clutched in the golden, disembodied claw of a dragon. The crystal was dark. He needed no light to brighten the way. He knew where he was going. He had walked it in his mind for long centuries. Black robes rustled softly around his ankles as he strode forward; his golden eyes, gleaming from the depths of his black hood, seemed the only sparks of light in the slumbering city.

He did not stop when he reached the center of town. He did not even glance at the abandoned buildings with their dark windows gaping like the eyesockets in a skull. His steps did not falter as he passed among the chill shadows of the tall oak trees, though these shadows alone had been enough to terrify a kender. The fleshless guardian hands that reached out to grasp him fell to dust at his feet, and he trod upon them without care.

The tall Tower came in sight, black against the black sky like a window cut into darkness. And here, finally, the black-robed man came to a halt. Standing before the gates, he looked up at the Tower; his eyes taking in everything, coolly appraising the crumbling minarets and the polished marble that glistened in the cold, piercing light of the stars. He nodded slowly, in satisfaction.

The golden eyes lowered their gaze to the gates of the Tower, to the horrible fluttering robes that hung from those gates.

No ordinary mortal could have stood before those terrible, shrouded gates without going mad from the nameless terror.
No ordinary mortal could have walked unscathed through the guardian oaks.

But Raistlin stood there. He stood there calmly, without fear. Lifting his thin hand, he grasped hold of the shredded black robes still stained with the blood of their wearer, and tore them from the gates.

A chill penetrating wail of outrage screamed up from the depths of the Abyss. So loud and horrifying was it that all the citizens of Palanthas woke shuddering from even the deepest sleep and lay in their beds, paralyzed by fear, waiting for the end of the world. The guards on the city walls could move neither hand nor foot. Shutting their eyes, they cowered in shadows, awaiting death. Babies whimpered in fear, dogs cringed and slunk beneath beds, cats’ eyes gleamed.

The shriek sounded again, and a pale hand reached out from the Tower gates. A ghastly face, twisted in fury, floated in the dank air.

Raistlin did not move.

The hand drew near, the face promised him the tortures of the Abyss, where he would be dragged for his great folly in daring the curse of the Tower. The skeletal hand touched Raistlin’s heart. Then, trembling, it halted.

“Know this,” said Raistlin calmly, looking up at the Tower, pitching his voice so that it could be heard by those within. “I am the master of past and present! My coming was foretold. For me, the gates will open.”

The skeletal hand shrank back and, with a slow sweeping motion of invitation, parted the darkness. The gates swung open upon silent hinges.