Маргарет Уэйс - Dragons of Spring Dawning

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—”

“Shh” 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.

“Lord Soth,” murmured Kitiara. “Make your decision quickly, Tanis.”

“My decision was made a long time ago, Kitiara,” Tanis said calmly. Stepping in front of Laurana, he shielded her as best as he could with his own body. “Lord Soth will have to kill me to reach her, Kit. And even though I know my death will not stop him—or you—from killing her when I have fallen, with my last breath, I will pray to Paladine to protect her soul. The gods owe me one. Somehow I know that this—my final prayer— will be granted.”

Behind him, Tanis felt Laurana lay her head against his back, he heard her sob softly and his heart eased, for there was not fear in her sob, but only love and compassion and grief for him.

Kitiara hesitated. They could see Lord Soth coming down the shattered corridor, his orange eyes flickering pinpoints of light in the darkness. Then she laid her bloodstained hand upon Tanis’s arm. “Go!” she commanded harshly. “Run quickly, back down the corridor. At the end is a door in the wall. You can feel it. It will lead you down into the dungeons. From there you can escape.”

Tanis stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment.