Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

“Can I describe the temple, except to say it is a building of darkness and of flame? Tall pillars, carved out of the burning rock, soar into the sulphurous caverns. By secret ways, known only to the priests of Takhisis themselves, we traveled, descending lower and lower. You ask who helped us? I cannot say, for her life would be forfeit. I will add only that some god must have been watching over us.”

Here Silvara interrupts to murmur, “Paladine,” but Gilthanas brushes that aside with a gesture.

“We came to the very bottom chambers and here we found the eggs of the good dragons. At first it seemed all was well. I had ... a plan. It matters little now, but I saw how we might have been able to rescue the eggs. As I said, it matters little. Chamber after chamber we passed, and the shining eggs, the eggs tinged with silver, gold, and bronze lay gleaming in the fire’s light. And then . . .”

The elflord pauses. His face, already paler than death, grows more pallid still. Fearing he might faint, I beckon to one of the Aesthetics to bring him wine. On taking a sip, he rallies and keeps on talking. But I can tell by the far-off look in his eyes that he sees the remembered horror of what he witnessed. As for Silvara—I will write of her in its place.

Gilthanas continues:

“We came to a chamber and found there... not eggs . . . nothing but the shells... shattered, broken. Silvara cried out in anger, and I feared we might be discovered. Neither of us knew what this portended, but we both felt a chill in our blood that not even the heat of the volcano could warm.”

Gilthanas pauses. Silvara begins to sob, very softly. He looks at her and I see—for the first time—love and compassion in his eyes.

“Take her out,” he tells one of the Aesthetics. “She must rest.”

The Aesthetics lead her gently from the room. Gilthanas licks lips that are cracked and dry, then speaks softly.

“What happened next will haunt me, even after death. Nightly I dream of it. I have not slept since but that I waken, screaming.

“Silvara and I stood before the chamber with the shattered eggs, staring at it, wondering... when we heard the sound of chanting coming from the flame-lit corridor.

“‘The words of magic!’ Silvara said.

“Cautiously we crept nearer, both of us frightened, yet drawn by some horrid fascination. Closer and closer we came—and then we could see...”

He shuts his eyes, he sobs. Laurana lays her hand on his arm, her eyes soft with mute sympathy. Gilthanas regains control and goes on.

“Inside a cavern room, at the bottom of the volcano, stands an altar to Takhisis. What it may have been carved to represent, I could not tell, for it was so covered with green blood and black slime that it seemed a horrid growth springing from the rock. Around the altar were robed figures—dark clerics of Takhisis and magic-users wearing the Black Robes. Silvara and I watched in awe as a dark-robed cleric brought forth a shining golden dragon egg and placed it upon that foul altar. Joining hands, the Black Robed magic-users and the dark clerics began a chant. The words burned the mind. Silvara and I clung to each other, fearing we would be driven mad by the evil we could feel but could not understand.

“And then . . . then the golden egg upon the altar began to darken. As we watched, it turned to a hideous green and then to black. Silvara began to tremble.

“The blackened egg upon the altar cracked open . . . and a larva-like creature emerged from the shell. It was loathsome and corrupt to look upon, and I retched at the sight. My only thought was to flee this horror, but Silvara realized what was happening and she refused to leave. Together we watched as the larva split its slime-covered skin and from its body came the evil forms of...draconians.”

There is a gasp of shock at this statement. Gilthanas’s head sinks into his hands. He cannot continue. Laurana puts her arms around him, comforting him, and he holds onto her hands. Finally he draws a shuddering breath.

“Silvara and I... were nearly discovered. We escaped Sanction—with help once again—and, more dead than alive, we traveled paths unknown to man or elf to the ancient haven of the good dragons.”

Gilthanas sighs. A look of peace comes to his face.

“Compared to the horrors we had endured, this was like sweet rest after a night of feverish nightmares. It was difficult to imagine, amid the beauty of the place, that what we had seen really occurred. And when Silvara told the dragons what was happening to their eggs, they refused at first to believe it. Some even accused Silvara of making it up to try to win their aid. But, deep within their hearts, all knew she spoke truly, and so—at last—they admitted that they had been deceived and that the Oath was no longer binding.

“The good dragons have come to aid us now. They are flying to all parts of the land, offering their help. They have returned to the Monument of the Dragon, to aid in forging the dragonlances just as they came to Huma’s aid long ago. And they have brought with them the Greater Lances that can be mounted on the dragons themselves, as we saw in the paintings. Now we may ride the dragons into battle and challenge the Dragon Highlords in the sky.”

Gilthanas adds more, a few minor details that I need not record here. Then his sister leads him from the library to the palace, where he and Silvara may find what rest they can. I fear it will be long before the terror fades for them, if it ever does. Like so much that is beautiful in the world, it may be that their love will fall beneath the darkness that spreads its foul wings over Krynn.

Thus ends the writing of Astinus of Palanthas on the Oath of the Dragons. A footnote reveals that further details of the journey of Gilthanas and Silvara into Sanction, their adventures there, and the tragic history of their love were recorded by Astinus at a later date and may be found in subsequent volumes of his Chronicles.

Laurana sat late at night, writing up her orders for the morrow. Only a day had passed since the arrival of Gilthanas and the silver dragons, but already her plans for pressing the beleaguered enemy were taking shape. Within a few days more, she would lead flights of dragons with mounted riders, wielding the new dragonlances, into battle.

She hoped to secure Vingaard Keep first, freeing the prisoners and slaves held there. Then she planned to push on south and east, driving the dragonarmies before her. Finally she would catch them between the hammer of her troops and the anvil of the Dargaard Mountains that divided Solamnia from Estwilde, If she could retake Kalaman and its harbor, she could cut the supply lines the dragonarmy depended on for its survival on this part of the continent.

So intent was Laurana on her plans that she ignored the ringing challenge of the guard outside her door, nor did she hear the answer. The door opened, but, assuming it was one of her aides, she did not look up from her work until she had completed detailing her orders.

Only when the person who entered took the liberty of sitting down in a chair across from her did Laurana glance up, startled.

“Oh,” she said, flushing, “Gilthanas, forgive me. I was so involved.... I thought you were... but, never mind. How are you feeling? I was worried—”

“I’m all right, Laurana,” Gilthanas said abruptly. “I was just more tired than I realized and I-I haven’t slept very well since Sanction.” Falling silent, he sat staring at the maps she had spread on her table. Absently he picked up a freshly sharpened quill pen and began to smooth the feather with his fingers.

“What is it, Gilthanas?” Laurana asked softly.

Her brother looked up at her and smiled sadly. “You know me too well,” he said. “I never could hide anything from you, not even when we were children.”