Margaret Weis - Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Fear such as Tanis had never imagined shriveled his stomach. His heart throbbed painfully; he couldn't catch his breath. He could only stare in horror and awe and marvel at the creature's deadly beauty. The dragon circled higher and higher into the night sky. Then, just as Tanis felt the paralyzing fear start to recede, just as he began to fumble for his bow and arrows, the dragon spoke.

One word she said-a word in the language of magic-and a thick, terrible darkness fell from the sky, blinding them all. Tanis instantly lost all grasp on where he was. He only knew there was a dragon above him about to attack. He was powerless to defend himself. All he could do was crouch down, crawl among the rubble, and try desperately to hide.

Deprived of his sense of sight, the half-elf concentrated on his sense of hearing. The shrieking noise had stopped as the darkness fell. Tanis could hear the slow, gentle flap of the dragon's leathery wings and knew it was circling above them, rising gradually. Then he couldn't hear even the flapping anymore; the wings had quit beating. He visualized a great, black bird of prey, hovering alone, waiting.

Then there was a very gentle rustling sound, the sound of leaves shivering as the wind rises before a storm. The sound grew louder and louder until it was the rushing of wind when the storm hits, and then it was the shrieking of the hurricane. Tanis pressed his body close against the crumbled well and covered his head with his arms.

The dragon was attacking.

She could not see through the darkness she had cast, but Khisanth knew that the intruders were still in the courtyard below. Her minions, the draconians, had warned her that a group walked the land, carrying the blue crystal staff. Lord Verminaard wanted that staff, wanted it kept safe with her, never to be seen in human lands. But she had lost it, and Lord Verminaard had not been pleased. She had to get it back. Therefore, Khisanth had waited an instant before casting her darkness spell, studying the intruders carefully, searching for the staff. Unaware that already it had passed beyond her sight, she was pleased. She had only to destroy.

The attacking dragon dropped from the sky, her leathery wings curving back like the blade of a black dagger. She dove straight for the well, where she had seen the intruders running for their lives. Knowing that they would be paralyzed by dragonfear, Khisanth was certain she could kill them all with one pass. She opened her fanged mouth.

Tanis heard the dragon coming nearer. The great rushing sound grew louder and louder, then stopped for an instant. He could hear huge tendons creaking, lifting and spreading giant wings. Then he heard a great gasping sound as of air being drawn into a gaping throat, then a strange sound that reminded him of steam escaping from a boiling kettle. Something liquid splashed near him. He could hear rocks splitting and cracking and bubbling. Drops of the liquid splashed on his hand, and he gasped as a searing pain penetrated his being.

Then Tanis heard a scream. It was a deep-voiced scream, a man's scream-Riverwind. So terrible, so agonized was the scream that Tanis dug his fingernails into his palms to keep from adding his own voice to that horrible wail and revealing himself to the dragon. The screaming seemed to go on and on and then it died into a moan. Tanis felt the rush of a large body swoosh past him in the darkness. The stones he pressed his body against shook. Then the tremor of the dragon's passage sank lower and lower into the depths of the well. Finally the ground was still.

There was silence.

Tanis drew a painful breath and opened his eyes. The darkness was gone. The stars shone; the moons glowed in the sky. For a moment the half-elf could do nothing but breathe and breathe again, trying to calm his shaking body. Then he was on his feet, running toward a dark form lying in the stone courtyard.

Tanis was the first to reach the Plainsman's body. He took one look, then choked and turned away.

What remained of Riverwind no longer resembled anything human. The man's flesh had been seared from his body. The white of bone was clearly visible where skin and muscle had melted from his arms. His eyes ran like jelly down the fleshless, cadaverous cheeks. His mouth gaped open in a silent scream. His ribcage lay exposed, hunks of flesh and charred cloth clinging to the bones. But-most horrible-the flesh on his torso had been burned away, leaving the organs exposed, pulsing red in the garish red moonlight.

Tanis sank down, vomiting. The half-elf had seen men die on his sword. He had seen them hacked to pieces by trolls. But this… this was horribly different, and Tanis knew the memory of this would haunt him forever. A strong arm gripped him by the shoulders, offering silent comfort and sympathy and understanding. The nausea passed. Tanis sat back and breathed. He wiped his mouth and nose, then tried to force himself to swallow, gagging painfully.

"You all right?" Caramon asked with concern.

Tanis nodded, unable to speak. Then he turned at the sound of Stunn's voice.

"May the true gods have mercy! Tanis, he's still alive! I saw his hand move!" Sturm choked. He could say no more.

Tanis rose to his feet and walked shakily toward the body. One of the charred and blackened hands had risen from the stones, plucking horribly at the air.

"End it!" Tanis said hoarsely, his throat raw from bile. "End it! Sturm-"

The knight had already drawn his sword. Kissing the hilt, he raised the blade to the sky and stood before Riverwind's body. He closed his eyes and mentally withdrew into an old world where death in battle had been glorious and fine. Slowly and solemnly, he began to recite the ancient Solamnic Death Chant. As he spoke the words that laid hold of the warrior's soul and transported it to realms of peace beyond, he reversed the blade of the sword and held it poised above Riverwind's chest.

The knight's voice sank.

Tanis felt the peace of the gods wash over him like cool, cleansing water, easing his grief and submerging the horror. Caramon, beside him, wept silently. As they watched, moon-light flashed on the sword blade.

Then a clear voice spoke. "Stop. Bring him to me."

Both Tanis and Caramon sprang up to stand in front of the man's tortured body, knowing that Goldmoon must be spared this hideous sight. Sturm, lost in tradition, came back to reality with a start and reversed his killing stroke. Goldmoon stood, a tall, slender shadow silhouetted against the golden, moonlit doors of the temple. Tanis started to speak, but he felt suddenly the cold hand of the mage grip his arm. Shivering, he jerked away from Raistlin's touch.

"Do as she says," the mage hissed. "Carry him to her."

Tanis's face contorted with fury at the sight of Raistlin's expressionless face, uncaring eyes.

"Take him to her," Raistlin said coldly. "It is not for us to choose death for this man. That is for the gods."

Tanis stared at Raistlin. Not the quiver of an eyelid betrayed his feelings-if the mage had any feelings. Their eyes met and, as always, Tanis felt that the mage saw more than was visible to him. Suddenly Tanis hated Raistlin, hated him with a passion that shocked the half-elf, hated him for not feeling this pain, hated him and envied him at the same time.