Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

“You haven’t been destroyed, Tanis,” Riverwind said. Gripping the half-elf’s shoulders in his strong hands, the stern-faced Plainsman forced Tanis to face him. “You did not fall victim to your passion, as did the mage. If you had, you would have stayed with Kitiara. You left her, Tanis—”

“I left her,” Tanis said bitterly. “I sneaked out like a thief! I should have confronted her. I should have told her the truth about myself! She would have killed me then, but you would have been safe. You and the others could have escaped. How much easier my death would have been— But I didn’t have the courage. Now I’ve brought us to this,” the half-elf said, wrenching himself free of Riverwind’s grip. “I have failed—not only myself, but all of you.”

He glanced around the deck. Berem still stood at the helm, gripping the useless wheel in his hands, that strange look of resignation on his face. Maquesta still fought to save her ship, shrieking commands above the wind’s howl and the deep-throated roaring that issued from the depths of the maelstrom. But her crew, stunned by terror, no longer obeyed. Some wept. Some cursed. Most made no sound, but stared in horrid fascination at the gigantic swirl that was pulling them inexorably into the vast darkness of the deep. Tanis felt Riverwind’s hand once again touch his shoulder. Almost angrily, he tried to withdraw, but the Plainsman was firm.

“Tanis, my brother, you made your choice to walk this road in the Inn of the Last Home in Solace, when you came to Goldmoon’s aid. In my pride, I would have refused your help, and both she and I would have died. Because you could not turn from us in our need, we brought the knowledge of the ancient gods into the world. We brought healing. We brought hope. Remember what the Forestmaster told us? We do not grieve for those who fulfill their purpose in life. We have fulfilled our purpose, my friend. Who knows how many lives we have touched? Who knows but that this hope will lead to a great victory? For us, it seems, the battle has ended. So be it. We lay down our swords, only that others may pick them up and fight on.”

“Your words are pretty, Plainsman,” Tanis snapped, “but tell me truthfully. Can you look on death and not feel bitterness? You have everything to live for—Goldmoon, the children not yet born to you—”

A swift spasm of pain crossed Riverwind’s face. He turned his head to hide it, but Tanis, watching him closely, saw the pain and suddenly understood. So he was destroying that, too! The half-elf shut his eyes in despair.

“Goldmoon and I weren’t going to tell you. You had enough to worry about.” Riverwind sighed. “Our baby would have been born in the autumn,” he murmured, “in the time when the leaves on the vallenwoods turn red and golden as they were when Goldmoon and I came into Solace that day, carrying the blue crystal staff. That day the knight, Sturm Brightblade, found us and brought us to the Inn of the Last Home—”

Tanis began to sob, deep racking sobs that tore through his body like knives. Riverwind put his arms around his friend and held him tightly.

“The vallenwoods we know are dead now, Tanis,” he continued in a hushed voice. “We could have shown the child only burned and rotted stumps. But now the child will see the vallenwoods as the gods meant them to be, in a land where the trees live forever. Do not grieve, my friend, my brother. You helped bring knowledge of the gods back to the people. You must have faith in those gods.”

Gently Tanis pushed Riverwind away. He could not meet the Plainsman’s eyes. Looking into his own soul, Tanis saw it twist and writhe like the tortured trees of Silvanesti. Faith? He had no faith. What were the gods to him? He had made the decisions. He had thrown away everything he ever had of value in his life—his elven homeland, Laurana’s love. He had come close to throwing away friendship, too. Only Riverwind’s strong loyalty—a loyalty that was badly misplaced—kept the Plainsman from denouncing him.

Suicide is forbidden to the elves. They consider it blasphemy, the gift of life being the most precious of all gifts. But Tanis stared into the blood-red sea with anticipation and longing.

Let death come swiftly, he prayed. Let these bloodstained waters close over my head. Let me hide in their depths. And if there are gods, if you are listening to me, I ask only one thing: keep the knowledge of my shame from Laurana. I have brought pain to too many...

But even as his soul breathed this prayer he hoped would be his last upon Krynn, a shadow darker than the storm clouds fell across him. Tanis heard Riverwind cry out and Goldmoon scream, but their voices were lost in the roar of the water as the ship began to sink into the heart of the maelstrom. Dully, Tanis looked up to see the fiery red eyes of a blue dragon shining through the black swirling clouds. Upon the dragon’s back was Kitiara.

Unwilling to give up the prize that would win them glorious victory. Kit and Skie had fought their way through the storm, and now the dragon—wicked talons extended—dove straight for Berem. The man’s feet might have been nailed to the deck. In dream-like helplessness he stared at the diving dragon.

Jolted to action, Tanis flung himself across the heaving deck as the blood-red water swirled around him. He hit Berem full in the stomach, knocking the man backward just as a wave broke over them. Tanis grabbed hold of something; he wasn’t sure what, and clung to the deck as it canted away beneath him. Then the ship righted itself. When he looked up, Berem was gone. Above him, he heard the dragon shriek in anger.

And then Kitiara was shouting above the storm, pointing at Tanis. Skie’s fiery gaze turned on him. Raising his arm as if he could ward off the dragon, Tanis looked up into the enraged eyes of the beast that was fighting madly to control his flight in the whipping winds.

This is life, the half-elf found himself thinking, seeing the dragon’s claws above him. This is life! To live, to be carried out of this horror! For an instant Tanis felt himself suspended in mid-air as the bottom dropped out of his world. He was conscious only of shaking his head wildly, screaming incoherently. The dragon and the water hit him at the same time. All he could see was blood...

Tika crouched beside Caramon, her fear of death lost in her concern for him. But Caramon wasn’t even aware of her presence. He stared out into the darkness, tears coursing down his face, his hands clenched into fists, repeating two words over and over in a silent litany.

In agonizing dreamlike slowness, the ship balanced on the edge of the swirling water, as if the very wood of the vessel itself hesitated in fear. Maquesta joined her frail ship in its final desperate struggle for life, lending her own inner strength, trying to change the laws of nature by force of will alone. But it was useless. With a final, heartbreaking shudder, the Perechon slipped over the edge into the swirling, roaring darkness.

Timber cracked. Masts fell. Men were flung, screaming, from the listing decks as the blood-red blackness sucked the Perechon down into its gaping maw.

After all was gone, two words lingered like a benediction.

“My brother...”

Astinus of Palanthas sat in his study. His hand guided the quill pen he held in firm, even strokes. The bold, crisp writing flowing from that pen could be read clearly, even at a distance. Astinus filled a sheet of parchment quickly, rarely pausing to think. Watching him, one had the impression that his thoughts flowed from his head straight into the pen and out onto the paper, so rapidly did he write. The flow was interrupted only when he dipped the quill in ink, but this, too, had become such an automatic motion to Astinus that it interrupted him as little as the dotting of an “i” or the crossing of a “t.”