Маргарет Уэйс: Dragons of Spring Dawning

“Tanis!” cried Laurana suddenly. “Air! Night air!”

Wearily, summoning the last of their strength, the two made their way through the winding corridor until they came to a door swinging open on its hinges. There was a reddish blood stain on the floor and—

“Tas’s pouches!” Tanis murmured. Kneeling down, he sorted through the kender’s treasures that lay scattered all over the floor. Then his heart sank. Grieving, he shook his head.

Laurana knelt beside him, her hand closed over his.

“At least he was here, Tanis. He got this far. Maybe he escaped.”

“He would never have left his treasures,” Tanis said. Sinking down on the shaking floor, the half-elf stared outside into Neraka. “Look,” he said to Laurana harshly, pointing. “This is the end, just as it was the end for the kender. Look!” he demanded angrily, seeing her face settling into its stubborn calm, seeing her refusing to admit defeat.

Laurana looked.

The cool breeze on her face seemed a mockery to her now, for it brought only smells of smoke and blood and the anguished cries of the dying. Orange flames lit the sky where wheeling dragons fought and died as their Highlords sought to escape or strove for mastery. The night air blazed with the crackling of lightning bolts and burned with flame. Draconians roamed the streets, killing anything that moved, slaughtering each other in their frenzy.

“So evil turns upon itself,” Laurana whispered, laying her head on Tanis’s shoulder, watching the terrible spectacle in awe.

“What was that?” he asked wearily.

“Something Elistan used to say,” she replied. The Temple shook around them.

“Elistan!” Tanis laughed bitterly. “Where are his gods now? Watching from their castles among the stars, enjoying the show? The Dark Queen is gone, the Temple destroyed. And here we are—trapped. We wouldn’t live three minutes out there—”

Then his breath caught in his throat. Gently he pushed Laurana away from him as he leaned over, his hand searching through Tasslehoff’s scattered treasures. Hurriedly he swept aside a shining piece of broken blue crystal, a splinter of vallenwood, an emerald, a small white chicken feather, a withered black rose, a dragon’s tooth, and a piece of wood carved with dwarven skill to resemble the kender. Among all of these was a golden object, sparkling in the flaming light of the fire and destruction outside.

Picking it up, Tanis’s eyes filled with tears. He held it tightly in his hand, feeling the sharp edges bite into his flesh.

“What is it?” asked Laurana, not understanding, her voice choked with fear.

“Forgive me, Paladine,” Tanis whispered. Drawing Laurana close beside him, he held his hand out, opening his palm.

There in his hand lay a finely carved, delicate ring, made of golden, clinging ivy leaves. And wrapped around the ring, still bound in his magical sleep, was a golden dragon.

“We’re outside the city gates,” Caramon muttered to his twin in a low voice, his eyes on the draconians who were looking at him expectantly. “You stay with Tika and Tas. I’m going back to find Tanis. I’ll take this lot with me—”

“No, my brother,” Raistlin said softly, his golden eyes glittering in Lunitari’s red light. “You cannot help Tanis. His fate is in his own hands.” The mage glanced up at the flaming, dragon-filled skies. “You are still in danger yourself, as are those dependent upon you.”

Tika stood wearily beside Caramon, her face drawn with pain. And though Tasslehoff grinned as cheerfully as ever, his face was pale and there was an expression of wistful sorrow in his eyes that had never been seen in the eyes of a kender before. Caramon’s face grew grim as he looked at them.

“Fine,” he said. “But where do we go from here?”

Raising his arm, Raistlin pointed. The black robes shimmered, his hand stood out starkly against the night sky, pale and thin, like bare bone.

“Upon that ridge shines a light—”

They all turned to look, even the draconians. Far across the barren plain Caramon could see the dark shadow of a hill rising from the moonlit wasteland. Upon its summit gleamed a pure white light, shining brightly, steadfast as a star.

“One waits for you there,” Raistlin said.

“Who? Tanis?” Caramon said eagerly.

Raistlin glanced at Tasslehoff. The kender’s face had not turned from the light, he gazed at it fixedly.

“Fizban...” he whispered.

“Yes,” Raistlin replied. “And now I must go.”

“What?” Caramon faltered. “But—come with me... us... you must! To see Fizban—”

“A meeting between us would not be pleasant.” Raistlin shook his head, the folds of his black hood moving around him.

“And what about them?” Caramon gestured at the draconians.

With a sigh, Raistlin faced the draconians. Lifting his hand, he spoke a few strange words. The draconians backed up, expressions of fear and horror twisting their reptilian faces. Caramon cried out, just as lightning sizzled from Raistlin’s fingertips. Screaming in agony, the draconians burst into flame and fell, writhing, to the ground. Their bodies turned to stone as death took them.

“You didn’t need to do that, Raistlin,” Tika said, her voice trembling. “They would have left us alone.”

“The war’s over,” Caramon added sternly.

“Is it?” Raistlin asked sarcastically, removing a small black bag from one of his hidden pockets. “It is weak, sentimental twaddle like that, my brother, which assures the war’s continuation. These"—he pointed at the statue-like bodies—“are not of Krynn. They were created using the blackest of black rites. I know. I have witnessed their creation. They would not have ‘left you alone.’ ” His voice grew shrill, mimicking Tika’s.

Caramon flushed. He tried to speak, but Raistlin coldly ignored him and finally the big man fell silent, seeing his brother lost in his magic.

Once more Raistlin held the dragon orb in his hand. Closing his eyes, Raistlin began to chant softly. Colors swirled within the crystal, then it began to glow with a brilliant, radiant beam of light.

Raistlin opened his eyes, scanning the skies, waiting. He did not wait long. Within moments, the moons and stars were obliterated by a gigantic shadow. Tika fell back in alarm. Caramon put his arm around her comfortingly, though his body trembled and his hand went to his sword.

“A dragon!” said Tasslehoff in awe. “But it’s huge. I’ve never seen one so big ... or have I?” He blinked. “It seems familiar, somehow.”

“You have,” Raistlin said coolly, replacing the darkening crystal orb back in his black pouch, “in the dream. This is Cyan Bloodbane, the dragon who tormented poor Lorac, the Elven King.”

“Why is he here?” Caramon gasped.

“He comes at my command,” Raistlin replied. “He has come to take me home.”

The dragon circled lower and lower, its gigantic wingspan spreading chilling darkness. Even Tasslehoff (though he later refused to admit it) found himself clinging to Caramon, shivering, as the monstrous green dragon settled to the ground.

For a moment Cyan glanced at the pitiful group of humans huddled together. His red eyes flared, his tongue flickered from between slavering jaws as he stared at them with hatred. Then—constrained by a will more powerful than his own— Cyan’s gaze was wrenched away, coming to rest in resentment and anger upon the black-robed mage.

At a gesture from Raistlin, the dragon’s great head lowered until it rested in the sand.

Leaning wearily upon the Staff of Magius, Raistlin walked over to Cyan Bloodbane and climbed up the huge, snaking neck.