Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

“Is it Father?” Laurana asked fearfully. “Have you heard something—”

“No, I’ve heard nothing about our people,” Gilthanas said, “except what I told you—that they have allied with the humans and are working together to drive the dragonarmies from the Ergoth Isles and from Sancrist.”

“It was all because of Alhana,” Laurana murmured. “She convinced them that they could no longer live apart from the world. She even convinced Porthios...”

“I gather she has convinced him of more than that?” Gilthanas asked without looking at his sister. He began to poke holes in the parchment with the point of the quill.

“There has been talk of a marriage,” Laurana said slowly. “If so, I am certain it would be a marriage of convenience only—to unite our people. I cannot imagine Porthios has it in his heart to love anyone, even a woman as beautiful as Alhana. As for the elven princess herself—”

Gilthanas sighed. “Her heart is buried in the High Clerist’s Tower with Sturm.”

“How did you know?” Laurana looked at him, astonished.

“I saw them together in Tarsis,” Gilthanas said. “I saw his face—and I saw hers. I knew about the Starjewel, too. Since he obviously wanted to keep it secret, I did not betray him. He was a fine man,” Gilthanas added gently. “I am proud to have known him, and I never thought I would say that of a human.”

Laurana swallowed, brushing her hand across her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered huskily, “but that wasn’t what you came to tell me.”

“No,” Gilthanas said, “although perhaps it leads into it.” For a moment he sat in silence, as if making up his mind. Then he drew a breath. “Laurana, something happened in Sanction that I did not tell Astinus. I won’t tell anyone else, ever, if you ask me not to—”

“Why me?” Laurana said, turning pale. Her hand trembling, she laid down her pen.

Gilthanas seemed not to have heard her. He stared fixedly at the map as he spoke. “When-when we were escaping from Sanction, we had to go back to the palace of Lord Ariakas, I cannot tell you more than that, for to do so would betray the one who saved our lives many times and who lives in danger there still, doing what she can to save as many of her people as possible.

“The night we were there, in hiding, waiting to escape, we overheard a conversation between Lord Ariakas and one of his Highlords. It was a woman, Laurana"—Gilthanas looked up at her now—“a human woman named Kitiara.”

Laurana said nothing. Her face was deathly white, her eyes large and colorless in the lamplight.

Gilthanas sighed, then leaned near her and placed his hand on hers. Her flesh was so cold, she might have been a corpse, and he saw, then, that she knew what he was about to say.

“I remembered what you told me before we left Qualinesti, that this was the human woman Tanis Half-Elven loved—sister to Caramon and Raistlin. I recognized her from what I had heard the brothers say about her. I would have recognized her anyway-she and Raistlin, particularly, bear a family resemblance. She-she was talking of Tanis, Laurana.” Gilthanas stopped, wondering whether or not he could go on. Laurana sat perfectly still, her face a mask of ice.

“Forgive me for causing you pain, Laurana, but you must know,” Gilthanas said at last. “Kitiara laughed about Tanis with this Lord Ariakas and said"—Gilthanas flushed—“I cannot repeat what she said. But they are lovers, Laurana, that much I can tell you. She made it graphically clear. She asked Ariakas’s permission to have Tanis promoted to the rank of general in the dragonarmy ... in return for some sort of information he was going to provide—something about a Green Gemstone Man—”

“Stop,” Laurana said without a voice.

“I’m sorry, Laurana!” Gilthanas squeezed her hand, his face filled with sorrow. “I know how much you love him. I-I understand now what it is like to-to love someone that much.” He closed his eyes, his head bowed. “I understand what it is like to have that love betrayed...”

“Leave me, Gilthanas,” Laurana whispered.

Patting her hand in silent sympathy, the elflord rose and walked softly from the room, shutting the door behind him.

Laurana sat without moving for long moments. Then, pressing her lips firmly together, she picked up her pen and continued writing where she had left off before her brother entered.

“Let me give you a boost,” Tas said helpfully.

“I... no! Wait!” Flint yelled. But it did no good. The energetic kender had already grabbed hold of the dwarf’s boot and heaved, propelling Flint head first right into the hard-muscled body of the young bronze dragon. Hands flailing wildly, Flint caught hold of the harness on the dragon’s neck and hung on for dear life, revolving slowly in the air like a sack on a hook.

“What are you doing?” Tas asked in disgust, gazing up at Flint. “This is no time to play! Here, let me help—”

“Stop it! Let go!” roared Flint, kicking at Tasslehoff’s hands. “Get back! Get back, I say!”

“Get up yourself, then,” Tas said, hurt, backing up.

Puffing and red-faced, the dwarf dropped to the ground. “I’ll get on in my own good time!” he said, glaring at the kender. “Without help from you!”

“Well, you better do it quickly!” Tas shouted, waving his arms. “Because the others are already mounted!”

The dwarf cast a glance back at the big bronze dragon and folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. “I’ve got to give this some thought—”

“Oh, come on, Flint!” Tas begged. “You’re only stalling. I want to fly! Please, Flint, hurry!” The kender brightened. “I could go by myself...”

“You’ll do no such thing!” The dwarf snorted. “The war’s finally turning in our favor. Send a kender up on a dragon and that’d be the end. We could just hand the Highlord the keys to the city. Laurana said the only way you’d fly is with me—”

“Then get on!” Tas yelled shrilly. “Or the war will be over! I’ll be a grandfather before you move from that spot!”

“You a grandfather,” Flint grumbled, glancing once more at the dragon, who was staring at him with a very unfriendly eye—or so the dwarf imagined. “Why, the day you’re a grandfather is the day my beard will fall out—”

Khirsah, the dragon, gazed down at the two with amused impatience. A young dragon—as dragons count their time on Krynn—Khirsah agreed with the kender: it was time to fly, time to fight. He had been one of the first to answer the Call that went out to all the gold and silver, bronze and brass dragons. The fire of battle burned hot within him.

Yet, young as he was, the bronze dragon held a great reverence and respect for the elders of the world. Though vastly older than the dwarf in years, Khirsah saw in Flint one who had led a long, full, rich life; one worthy of respect. But, Khirsah thought with a sigh, if I don’t do something, the kender’s right—the battle will be over!

“Pardon me, Respected Sire,” Khirsah interrupted, using a term of high respect among dwarves, “may I be of assistance?”

Startled, Flint whirled around to see who spoke.

The dragon bowed its great head. “Honored and Respected Sire,” Khirsah said again, in dwarven.

Amazed, Flint stumbled backwards, tripping over Tasslehoff and sending the kender tumbling to the ground in a heap.

The dragon snaked forth his huge head and, gently taking hold of the kender’s fur vest in his great teeth, lifted him to his feet like a newborn kitten.

“Well, I—I don’t know,” stammered Flint, flushing in pleased embarrassment at being thus addressed by a dragon. “You might... and then again you might not.” Recovering his dignity, the dwarf was determined not to act overawed. “I’ve done this a lot, mind you. Riding dragons is nothing new to me. It’s just, well, just that I’ve—”