Dragons of Winter Night

The story of the companions’ journey to Ice Wall Castle and their defeat of the evil Dragon Highlord, Feal-thas, became legend among the Ice Barbarians who inhabit that desolate land. It is still told by the village cleric on long winter nights when heroic deeds are remembered and songs are sung.

1 The flight from Ice Hall.

The old dwarf lay dying. His limbs would no longer support him. His bowels and stomach twisted together like snakes. Waves of nausea broke over him. He could not even raise his head from his bunk. He stared above him at an oil lamp swinging slowly overhead. The lamp’s light seemed to be getting dimmer. This is it, thought the dwarf. The end. The darkness is creeping over my eyes...

He heard a noise near him, a creaking of wooden planks as if someone were very quietly stealing up on him. Feebly, Flint managed to turn his head.

‘Who is it?’ he croaked.

‘Tasslehoff,’ whispered a solicitous voice. Flint sighed and reached out a gnarled hand. Tas’s hand closed over his own.

‘Ah, lad. I’m glad you’ve come in time to say farewell,’ said the dwarf weakly. ‘I’m dying, lad. I’m going to Reorx—’

‘What?’ asked Tas, leaning closer.

‘Reorx,’ repeated the dwarf irritably. ‘I’m going to the arms of Reorx.’

‘No, we’re not,’ said Tas. ‘We’re going to Sancrist. Unless you mean an inn. I’ll ask Sturm. The Reorx Arms. Hmmm—’

‘Reorx, the God of the Dwarves, you doorknob!’ Flint roared.

‘Oh,’ said Tas after a moment. ‘That Reorx.’

‘Listen, lad,’ Flint said more calmly, determined to leave no hard feelings behind. ‘I want you to have my helm. The one you brought me in Xak Tsaroth, with the griffon’s mane.’

‘Do you really?’ Tas asked, impressed. ‘That’s awfully nice of you, Flint, but what will you do for a helm?’

‘Ah, lad, I won’t need a helm where I’m going.’

‘You might in Sancrist,’ Tas said dubiously. ‘Derek thinks the Dragon Highlords are preparing to launch a full-scaled attack, and I think a helm could come in handy—’

‘I’m not talking about Sancrist!’ Flint snarled, struggling to sit up. ‘I won’t need a helm because I’m dying!’

‘I nearly died once,’ Tas said solemnly. Setting a steaming bowl on a table, he settled back comfortably in a chair to relate his story. ‘It was that time in Tarsis when the dragon knocked the building down on top of me. Elistan said I was nearly a goner. Actually those weren’t his exact words, but he said it was only through the inter...interces...oh well, intersomething-or-other of the gods that I’m here today.’

Flint gave a mighty groan and fell back limply on his bunk. ‘Is it too much to ask,’ he said to the lamp swinging above his head, ‘that I be allowed to die in peace? Not surrounded by kenders!’ This last was practically a shriek.

‘Oh, come now. You’re not dying, you know,’ Tas said. ‘You’re only seasick.’

‘I’m dying,’ the dwarf said stubbornly. ‘I’ve been infected with a serious disease and now I’m dying. And on your heads be it. You dragged me onto this confounded boat—’

‘Ship,’ interrupted Tas.

‘Boat!’ repeated Flint furiously. ‘You dragged me onto this confounded boat, then left me to perish of some terrible disease in a rat-infested bedroom—’

‘We could have left you back in Ice Wall, you know, with the walrus-men and—’ Tasslehoff stopped.

Flint was once again struggling to sit up, but this time there was a wild look in his eyes. The kender rose to his feet and began edging his way toward the door. ‘Uh, I guess I better be going. I just came down here to—uh—see if you wanted anything to eat. The ship’s cook made something he calls green pea soup—’

Laurana, huddled out of the wind on the foredeck, started as she heard the most frightful roaring sound come from below decks, followed by the cracking of smashed crockery. She glanced at Sturm, who was standing near her. The knight smiled.

‘Flint,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Laurana said, worried. ‘Perhaps I should—’

She was interrupted by the appearance of Tasslehoff dripping with green pea soup.

‘I think Flint’s feeling better,’ Tasslehoff said solemnly. ‘But he’s not quite ready to eat anything yet.’

The journey from Ice Wall had been swift. Their small ship fairly flew through the sea waters, carried north by the currents and the strong, cold prevailing winds.

The companions had traveled to Ice Wall where, according to Tasslehoff, a dragon orb was kept in Ice Wall Castle. They found the orb and defeated its evil guardian, Feal-thas—a powerful Dragonlord. Escaping the destruction of the castle with the help of the Ice Barbarians, they were now on a ship bound for Sancrist. Although the precious dragon orb was stowed safely in a chest below decks, the horrors of their journey to Ice Wall still tormented their dreams at night.

But the nightmares of Ice Wall were nothing compared to that strange and vivid dream they had experienced well over a month ago. None of them referred to it, but Laurana occasionally saw a look of fear and loneliness—unusual to Sturm—that made her think he might be recalling the dream as well.

Other than that, the party was in good spirits—except the dwarf, who had been hauled on the ship bodily and was promptly seasick. The journey to Ice Wall had been an undoubted victory. Along with the dragon orb, they carried away with them the broken shaft of an ancient weapon, believed to be a dragonlance. And they carried something more important, though they did not realize it at the time they found it...

The companions, accompanied by Derek Crownguard and the other two young knights who had joined them at Tarsis, had been searching Ice Wall castle for the dragon orb. The search had not gone well. Time and again they had fought off the evil walrus-men, winter wolves, and bears. The companions began to think they may have come here for nothing, but Tas swore that the book he read in Tarsis said there was an orb located here. So they kept looking.

It was during their search that they came upon a startling sight—a huge dragon, over forty feet long, its skin a shimmering silver, completely encased in a wall of ice. The dragon’s wings were spread, poised for flight. The dragon’s expression was fierce, but his head was noble, and he did not inspire them with the fear and loathing they remembered experiencing around the red dragons. Instead, they felt a great, overwhelming sorrow for this magnificent creature.

But strangest to them was the fact that this dragon had a rider! They had seen the Dragon Highlords ride their dragons, but this man appeared by his ancient armor to have been a Knight of Solamnia! Held tightly in his gloved hand was the broken shaft of what must have been a large lance.

‘Why would a Knight of Solamnia be riding a dragon?’ Laurana asked, thinking of the Dragon Highlords.

‘There have been knights who turned to evil,’ Lord Derek Crownguard said harshly. ‘Though it shames me to admit it.’

‘I get no feeling of evil here,’ Elistan said. ‘Only a great sorrow. I wonder how they died. I see no wounds—’

‘This seems familiar,’ Tasslehoff interrupted, frowning. ‘Like a picture. A knight riding a silver dragon. I’ve seen—’

‘Bah!’ Flint snorted. ‘You’ve seen furry elephants—’

‘I’m serious,’ Tas protested.

‘Where was it, Tas?’ Laurana asked gently, seeing a hurt expression on the kender’s face. ‘Can you remember?’

‘I think...’ Tasslehoff’s eyes lost their focus. ‘It puts me in mind of Pax Tharkas and Fizban...’

‘Fizban!’ Flint exploded. ‘That old mage was crazier than Raistlin, if that’s possible.’

‘I don’t know what Tas is talking about,’ Sturm said, gazing up at the dragon and its rider thoughtfully. ‘But I remember my mother telling me that Huma rode upon a Silver Dragon, carrying the Dragonlance, in his final battle.’

‘And I remember my mother telling me to leave sweetcakes for the white-robed Old One who came to our castle at Yuletime,’ scoffed Derek. ‘No, this is undoubtedly some renegade Knight, enslaved by evil.’

Derek and the other two young knights turned to go, but the rest lingered, staring up at the figure on the dragon.

‘You’re right, Sturm. That’s a dragonlance,’ Tas said wistfully. ‘I don’t know how I know, but I’m sure of it.’

‘Did you see it in the book in Tarsis?’ Sturm asked, exchanging glances with Laurana, each of them thinking that the kender’s seriousness was unusual, even frightening.

Tas shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Maybe we should take it with us,’ Laurana suggested uneasily. ‘It couldn’t hurt.’

‘Come along, Brightblade!’ Derek’s voice came back to them, echoing sternly. ‘The Thanoi may have lost us for the moment, but they’ll discover our trail before long.’

‘How can we get it?’ Sturm asked, ignoring Derek’s order. ‘It’s encased in ice at least three feet thick!’

‘I can,’ Gilthanas said.

Jumping up onto the huge cliff of ice that had formed around the dragon and its rider, the elf found a handhold and began to inch his way up the monument. From the dragon’s frozen wing, he was able to crawl along on his hands and knees until he came to the lance, clutched in the rider’s hand. Gilthanas pressed his hand against the ice wall covering the lance and spoke the strange, spidery language of magic.

A red glow spread from the elf’s hand to the ice, melting it away rapidly. Within moments, he was able to reach his hand through the hole to grasp the lance. But it was held fast in the dead knight’s hand.

Gilthanas tugged and even tried to pry the frozen fingers of the hand loose. Finally he could stand the cold of the ice no longer and dropped, shivering, back down to the ground. ‘There’s no way,’ he said. ‘He’s got it gripped tight.’

‘Break the fingers—’ suggested Tas helpfully.

Sturm silenced the kender with a furious look. ‘I will not have his body desecrated,’ he snapped. ‘Maybe we can slide the lance out of his hand. I’ll try—’

‘No good,’ Gilthanas told his sister as they watched Sturm climb up the side of the ice. ‘It’s as if the lance has become part of the hand. I—’ The elf stopped.

As Sturm put his hand through the hole in the ice and took hold of the lance, the ice-bound figure of the knight seemed to move suddenly, just slightly. Its stiff and frozen hand relaxed its grip on the shattered lance. Sturm nearly fell in his amazement, and, letting go of the weapon hurriedly, he backed away along the dragon’s ice-coated wing.

‘He’s giving it to you,’ cried Laurana. ‘Go ahead, Sturm! Take it! Don’t you see—he’s giving it to another knight.’

‘Which I’m not,’ Sturm said bitterly. ‘But perhaps that’s indicative, perhaps it is evil—’ Hesitantly, he slid back to the hole and grasped the lance once more. The stiff hand of the dead knight released its grip. Taking hold of the broken weapon, Sturm carefully brought it out of the ice. He jumped back to the ground and stood staring at the ancient shaft.

‘That was wonderful!’ Tas said in awe. ‘Flint, did you see the corpse come alive?’

‘No!’ snapped the dwarf. ‘And neither did you. Let’s get out of here,’ he added, shivering.

Then Derek appeared. ‘I gave you an order, Sturm Brightblade! What’s the delay?’ Derek’s face darkened with anger as he saw the lance.

‘I asked him to get it for me,’ Laurana said, her voice as cool as the wall of ice behind her. Taking the lance, she began to wrap it swiftly in a fur cloak from her pack.

Derek regarded her angrily for a moment, then bowed stiffly and turned on his heel.

‘Dead knights, live knights, I don’t know who’s worse,’ Flint grumbled, grabbing Tas and dragging him along after Derek.

‘What if it is a weapon of evil?’ Sturm asked Laurana in a low voice as they traveled the icy corridors of the castle.

Laurana looked back one final time at the dead knight mounted on the dragon. The cold pale sun of the southland was setting, its light casting watery shadows across the corpses, giving them a sinister aspect. Even as she watched, she thought she saw the body slump lifelessly.

‘Do you believe the story of Huma?’ Laurana asked softly.

‘I don’t know what to believe anymore,’ Sturm said, bitterness hardening his voice. ‘Everything used to be black and white for me, all things clear-cut and well-defined. I believed in the story of Huma. My mother taught it to me as the truth. Then I went to Solamnia.’ He paused, as if unwilling to continue. Finally, seeing Laurana’s face filled with interest and compassion, he swallowed and went on. ‘I never told anyone this, not even Tanis. When I returned to my homeland, I found that the Knighthood was not the order of honorable, self-sacrificing men my mother had described. It was rife with political intrigue. The best of the men were like Derek, honorable, but strict and unbending, with little use for those they consider beneath them. The worst—’ He shook his head. ‘When I spoke of Huma, they laughed. An itinerant knight, they called him. According to their story, he was cast out of the order for disobeying its laws. Huma roamed the countryside, they said, endearing himself to peasants, who thus began to create legends about him.’

‘But did he really exist?’ Laurana persisted, saddened by the sorrow in Sturm’s face.

‘Oh, yes. Of that there can be no doubt. The records that survived the Cataclysm list his name among the lower orders of the knights. But the story of the Silver Dragon, the Final Battle, even the Dragonlance itself—no one believes anymore. Like Derek says, there is no proof. The tomb of Huma, according to the legend, was a towering structure—one of the wonders of the world. But you can find no one who has ever seen it. All we have are children’s stories, as Raistlin would say.’ Sturm put his hand to his face, covering his eyes, and gave a deep, shuddering sigh.

‘Do you know,’ he said softly, ‘I never thought I’d say it, but I miss Raistlin. I miss all of them. I feel as if a part of me’s been cut off, and that’s how I felt when I was in Solamnia. That’s why I came back, instead of waiting and completing the tests for my knighthood. These people—my friends—were doing more to combat evil in the world than all the Knights lined up in a row. Even Raistlin, in some way I can’t understand. He could tell us what all this means.’ He jerked his thumb back at the ice-encased knight. ‘At least he would believe in it. If he were here. If Tanis were here—’ Sturm could not go on.

‘Yes,’ Laurana said quietly. ‘If Tanis were here—’

Remembering her great sorrow, so much greater than his own, Sturm put his arm around Laurana and held her close. The two stood for a moment, each comforted for their losses by the other’s presence. Then Derek’s voice came sharply back to them, reprimanding them for lagging behind.

And now, the broken lance, wrapped in Laurana’s fur cloak, lay in the chest with the dragon orb and Wyrmslayer, Tanis’s sword, which Laurana and Sturm had carried with them from Tarsis. Beside the chest lay the bodies of the two young knights, who had given their lives in defense of the group, and who were being carried back to be buried in their homeland.

The strong southern wind, blowing swift and cold from the glaciers, propelled the ship across the Sirrion Sea. The captain said that, if the winds held, they might make Sancrist in two days.

‘That way lies Southern Ergoth.’ The captain told Elistan, pointing off to starboard. ‘We’ll be just coming up on the south end of it. This nightfall, you’ll see the Isle of Cristyne. Then, with a fair wind, we’ll be in Sancrist. Strange thing about Southern Ergoth,’ the captain added, glancing at Laurana, ‘it’s filled with elves, they say, though I haven’t been there to know if that’s true.’

‘Elves!’ said Laurana eagerly, coming forward to stand beside the captain, the early morning wind whipping her cloak.

‘Fled their homeland, so I heard,’ the captain continued. ‘Driven off by the dragonarmies.’

‘Perhaps it’s our people!’ Laurana said, clutching at Gilthanas, who stood next to her. She gazed out over the bow of the ship intently, as if she could will the land to appear.

‘Most likely the Silvanesti,’ Gilthanas said. ‘In fact, I think Lady Alhana may have mentioned something about Ergoth. Do you remember, Sturm?’

‘No,’ the knight answered abruptly. Turning and walking over to the port side of the ship, he leaned against the railing, staring out across the pink-tinged sea. Laurana saw him pull something from his belt and run his fingers over it lovingly. There was a bright flash, as it caught the sun’s rays, then he slipped it back into his belt. His head bowed. Laurana started to go to him when suddenly she stopped, catching a glimpse of movement.

‘What kind of strange cloud is that to the south?’

The captain turned immediately, whipping his spyglass out of the pocket of his fur parka and placing it to his eye. ‘Send a man aloft,’ he snapped to his first mate.

Within moments, a sailor was scampering up the rigging. Clinging to the dizzying heights of the mast with one arm, he peered south through the spyglass.

‘Can you make it out?’ the captain called aloft.

‘No, capt’n,’ the man bellowed. ‘If it’s a cloud, it’s like none I’ve seen afore.’

‘I’ll look!’ volunteered Tasslehoff eagerly. The kender began to climb the ropes as skillfully as the sailor. Reaching the mast, he clung to the rigging near the man and stared south.

It certainly seemed to be a cloud. It was huge and white and appeared to be floating above the water. But it was moving much more rapidly than any other cloud in the sky and—

Tasslehoff gasped. ‘Let me borrow that,’ he asked, holding out his hand for the watch’s spyglass. Reluctantly, the man gave it to him. Tas put it to his eye, then he groaned softly. ‘Oh, dear,’ he muttered. Lowering the spyglass, he shut it up with a snap and absently stuffed it into his tunic. The sailor caught him by the collar as he was about to slide down.

‘What?’ Tas said, startled. ‘Oh! Is that yours? Sorry.’ Giving the spyglass a wistful pat, he handed it back to the sailor. Tas slid skillfully down the ropes, landed lightly on the deck, and came running over to Sturm.

‘It’s a dragon,’ he reported breathlessly.

2The White Dragon. Captured!

The dragon’s name was Sleet. She was a white dragon, a species of dragon smaller than other dragons dwelling in Krynn. Born and bred in the arctic regions, these dragons were able to withstand extreme cold, and controlled the ice-bound southern regions of Ansalon.

Because of their smaller size, the white dragons were the swiftest flyers of all dragonkind. The Dragon Highlords often used them for scouting missions. Thus Sleet had been away from her lair in Ice Wall when the companions, entered it in search of the dragon orb. The Dark Queen had received a report that Silvanesti had been invaded by a group of adventurers. They had managed—somehow—to defeat Cyan Bloodbane and were reportedly in possession of a dragon orb.

The Dark Queen guessed they might be traveling across the Plains of Dust, along the Kings Road, which was the most direct overland route to Sancrist where the Knights of Solamnia were reportedly trying to regroup. The Dark Queen ordered Sleet and her flight of white dragons to speed north to the Plains of Dust, now lying under a thick, heavy blanket of packed snow, to find the orb.

Seeing the snow glistening beneath her, Sleet doubted very much if even humans would be foolhardy enough to attempt to cross the wasteland. But she had her orders and she followed them. Scattering her flight, Sleet scoured every inch of land from the borders of Silvanesti on the east to the Kharolis Mountains on the west. A few of her dragons even flew as far north as New Coast, which was held by the blues.

The dragons met to report that they had seen no sign of any living being on the Plains when Sleet received word that danger had marched in the back door while she was out scouting the front.

Furious, Sleet flew back but arrived too late. Feal-thas was dead, the dragon orb missing. But her walrus-men allies, the Thanoi, were able to describe the group who had committed this heinous act. They even pointed out the direction their ship had sailed, although there was only one direction any ship could sail from Ice Wall—north.

Sleet reported the loss of the dragon orb to her Dark Queen, who was intensely angry and frightened. Now there were two orbs missing! Although secure in the knowledge that her force for evil was the strongest in Krynn, the Dark Queen knew with a nagging certainty that the forces of good still walked the land. One of these might prove strong and wise enough to figure out the secret of the orb.

Sleet, therefore, was ordered to find the orb and bring it not back to Ice Wall, but to the Queen herself. Under no circumstances was the dragon to lose it or allow it to be lost. The orbs were intelligent and imbued with a strong sense of survival. Thus they had lived this long when even those who created them were dead.

Sleet sped out over the Sirrion Sea, her strong white wings soon carrying her swiftly to within sight of the ship. But now Sleet was presented with an interesting intellectual problem, and she was not prepared to handle it.

Perhaps because of the inbreeding necessary to create a reptile that can tolerate cold weather, white dragons are the lowest in intelligence among dragonkind. Sleet had never needed to think much on her own. Feal-thas always told her what to do. Consequently, she was considerably perplexed over her current problem as she circled the ship: how could she get the orb?

At first she had just planned to freeze the ship with her icy breath. Then she realized this would simply enclose the orb in a frozen block of wood, making it extremely difficult to remove. There was also every probability the ship would sink before she could tear it apart. And if she did manage to take the ship apart, the orb might sink. The ship was too heavy to lift in her claws and fly to land. Sleet circled the ship and pondered, while down below she could see the pitiful humans racing around like scared mice.

The white dragon considered sending another telepathic message to her Queen, asking for help. But Sleet hesitated to remind the vengeful queen of either her presence or her ignorance. The dragon followed the ship all day, hanging just above it, pondering. Floating easily on the wind currents, she let her dragonfear stir the humans into a frenzy of panic. Then, just as the sun was setting, Sleet had an idea. Without stopping to think, she acted upon it at once.

Tasslehoff’s report of the white dragon following the vessel sent waves of terror through the crew. They armed themselves with cutlasses and grimly prepared to fight the beast as. long as they could, though all knew how such a contest must end. Gilthanas and Laurana, both skillful archers, fit arrows to their bows. Sturm and Derek held shield and sword. Tasslehoff grabbed his hoopak. Flint tried to get out of bed, but he couldn’t even stand up. Elistan was calm, praying to Paladine.

‘I have more faith in my sword than that old man and his god,’ Derek said to Sturm.

‘The Knights have always honored Paladine,’ Sturm said in rebuke.

‘I honor him—his memory,’ Derek said. ‘I find this talk of Paladine’s “return” disturbing, Brightblade. And so will the Council, when they hear of it. You would do well to consider that when the question of your knighthood arises.’

Sturm bit his lip, swallowing his angry retort like bitter medicine.

Long minutes passed. Everyone’s eyes were on the white-winged creature flying above them. But they could do nothing, and so they waited.

And waited. And waited. The dragon did not attack.

She circled above them endlessly, her shadow crossing and crisscrossing the deck with monotonous, chilling regularity. The sailors, who had been prepared to fight without question, soon began to mutter among themselves as the waiting grew unbearable. To make matters worse, the dragon seemed to be sucking up the wind, for the sails fluttered and drooped lifelessly. The ship lost its graceful forward momentum and began to flounder in the water. Storm clouds gathered on the northern horizon and slowly drifted over the water, casting a pall across the bright sea.

Laurana finally lowered her bow and rubbed her aching back and shoulder muscles. Her eyes, dazzled from staring into the sun, were blurred and watery.

‘Put ’em in a lifeboat and cast ’em adrift,’ she overheard one old grizzled sailor suggest to a companion in a voice meant to carry. ‘Perhaps yon great beast will let us go. It’s them she’s after, not us.’

It’s not even us she’s after, Laurana thought uneasily. It’s probably the dragon orb. That’s why she hasn’t attacked. But Laurana couldn’t tell this, even to the captain. The dragon orb must be kept secret.

The afternoon crept on, and still the dragon circled like a horrible seabird. The captain was growing more and more irritable. Not only did he have a dragon to contend with, but the likelihood of mutiny as well. Near dinnertime, he ordered the companions below decks.

Derek and Sturm both refused, and it appeared things might get out of hand when, ‘Land ho, off the starboard bow!’

‘Southern Ergoth,’ the captain said grimly. ‘The current’s carrying us toward the rocks.’ He glanced up at the circling dragon. ‘If a wind doesn’t come soon, we’ll smash up on them.’ At that moment, the dragon quit circling. She hovered a moment, then soared upwards. The sailors cheered, thinking she was flying away. But Laurana knew better, remembering Tarsis.

‘She’s going to dive!’ she cried. ‘She’s going to attack!’

‘Get below!’ Sturm shouted, and the sailors, after one hesitant look skyward, began to scramble for the hatches. The captain ran to the wheel.

‘Get below,’ he ordered the helmsman, taking over.

‘You can’t stay up here!’ Sturm shouted. Leaving the hatch, he ran back to the captain. ‘She’ll kill you!’

‘We’ll founder if I don’t,’ the captain cried angrily.

‘We’ll founder if you’re dead!’ Sturm said. Clenching his fist, he hit the captain in the jaw and dragged him below.

Laurana stumbled down the stairs with Gilthanas behind her. The elflord waited until Sturm brought the unconscious captain down, then he pulled the hatch cover shut.

At that moment, the dragon hit the ship with a blast that nearly sent the vessel under. The ship listed precariously. Everyone, even the most hardened sailor, lost his feet and went skidding into each other in the crowded quarters below deck. Flint rolled onto the floor with a curse.

‘Now’s the time to pray to your god,’ Derek said to Elistan.

‘I am,’ Elistan replied coolly, helping the dwarf up.

Laurana, clinging to a post, waited fearfully for the flaring orange light, the heat, the flames. Instead, there was a sudden sharp and biting cold that took her breath away and chilled her blood. She could hear, above her, rigging snap and crack, the flapping of the sails cease. Then, as she stared upwards, she saw white frost begin to sift down between the cracks in the wooden deck.

‘The white dragons don’t breathe flame!’ Laurana said in awe. ‘They breathe ice! Elistan! Your prayers were answered!’

‘Bah! It might as well be flame,’ the captain said, shaking his head and rubbing his jaw. ‘Ice’ll freeze us up solid.’

‘A dragon breathing ice!’ Tas said wistfully. ‘I wish I could see!’

‘What will happen?’ Laurana asked, as the ship slowly righted itself, creaking and groaning.

‘We’re helpless,’ the captain snarled. ‘The riggin’ll snap beneath the weight of the ice, dragging the sails down. The mast’ll break like a tree in an ice storm. With no steerage, the current will smash her upon the rocks, and that’ll be an end of her. There’s not a damn thing we can do!’

‘We could try to shoot her as she flies past,’ Gilthanas said. But Sturm shook his head, pushing on the hatch.

‘There must be a foot of ice on top of this,’ the knight reported. ‘We’re sealed in.’

This is how the dragon will get the orb, Laurana thought miserably. She’ll drive the ship aground, kill us, then recover the orb where there’s no danger of it sinking into the ocean.

‘Another blast like that will send us to the bottom,’ the captain predicted, but there was not another blast like the first. The next blast was more gentle, and all of them realized the dragon was using her breath to blow them to shore.

It was an excellent plan, and one of which Sleet was rather proud. She skimmed after the ship, letting the current and the tide carry it to shore, giving it a little puff now and then. It was only when she saw the jagged rocks sticking up out of the moonlit water that the dragon suddenly saw the flaw in her scheme. Then the moon’s light was gone, swept away by the storm clouds, and the dragon could see nothing. It was darker than her Queen’s soul.

The dragon cursed the storm clouds, so well suited to the purposes of the Dragon Highlords in the north. But the clouds worked against her as they blotted out the two moons. Sleet could hear the rending and cracking sounds of splintering wood as the ship struck the rocks. She could even hear the cries and shouts of the sailors—but she couldn’t see! Diving low over the water, she hoped to encase the miserable creatures in ice until daylight. Then she heard another, more frightening sound in the darkness—the twanging of bow strings.

An arrow whistled past her head. Another tore through the fragile membrane of her wing. Shrieking in pain, Sleet pulled up from her steep dive. There must be elves down there, she realized in a fury! More arrows zinged past her. Cursed, night-seeing elves! With their elvensight, they would find her an easy target, especially crippled in one wing.

Feeling her strength ebb, the dragon decided to return to Ice Wall. She was tired from flying all day, and the arrow wound hurt abominably. True, she would have to report another failure to the Dark Queen, but—as she came to think of it—it wasn’t such a failure after all. She had kept the dragon orb from reaching Sancrist, and she had demolished the ship. She knew the location of the orb. The Queen, with her vast network of spies on Ergoth, could easily recover it.

Mollified, the white dragon fluttered south, traveling slowly. By morning she had reached her vast glacier home. Following her report, which was moderately well-received, Sleet was able to slip into her cavern of ice and nurse her injured wing back to health.

‘She’s gone!’ said Gilthanas in astonishment.

‘Of course,’ said Derek wearily as he helped salvage what supplies they could from the wrecked ship. ‘Her vision cannot match your elfsight. Besides, you hit her once.’

‘Laurana’s shot, not mine,’ Gilthanas said, smiling at his sister, who stood on shore, her bow in her hand.

Derek sniffed doubtfully. Carefully setting down the box he carried, the knight started back out into the water. A figure looming out of the darkness stopped him.

‘No use, Derek,’ Sturm said. ‘The ship sank.’

Sturm carried Flint on his back. Seeing Sturm stagger with weariness, Laurana ran back into the water to help him. Between them, they got the dwarf to shore and stretched him on the sand. Out to sea, the sounds of cracking timber had ceased, replaced now by the endless breaking of the waves.

Then there was a splashing sound. Tasslehoff waded ashore after them, his teeth chattering, but his grin as wide as ever. He was followed by the captain, being helped by Elistan.

‘What about the bodies of my men?’ Derek demanded the moment he saw the captain. ‘Where are they?’

‘We had more important things to carry,’ Elistan said sternly. ‘Things needed for the living, such as food and weapons.’

‘Many another good man has found his final home beneath the waves. Yours won’t be the first—nor the last—I suppose, more’s the pity,’ the captain added.

Derek seemed about to speak, but the captain, grief and exhaustion in his eyes, said, ‘I’ve left six of my own men there this night, sir. Unlike yours, they were alive when we started this voyage. To say nothing of the fact that my ship and my livelihood lies down there, too. I wouldn’t consider adding anything further, if you take my meaning. Sir.’

‘I am sorry for your loss, captain,’ Derek answered stiffly. ‘And I commend you and your crew for all you tried to do.’

The captain muttered something and stood looking aimlessly around the beach, as if lost.

‘We sent your men north along the shore, captain,’ Laurana said, pointing. ‘There’s shelter there, within those trees.’

As if to verify her words, a bright light flared, the light of a huge bonfire.

‘Fools!’ Derek swore bitterly. ‘They’ll have the dragon back on us.’

‘It’s either that or catch our deaths of cold,’ the captain said bitterly over his shoulder. ‘Take your choice, sir knight. It matters little to me.’ He disappeared into the darkness.

Sturm stretched and groaned, trying to ease chilled, cramped muscles. Flint lay huddled in misery, shaking so the buckles on his armor jangled. Laurana, leaning down to tuck her cloak around him, realized suddenly how cold she was.

In the excitement of trying to escape the ship and fighting the dragon, she had forgotten the chill. She couldn’t even remember, in fact, any details of her escape. She remembered reaching the beach, seeing the dragon diving on them. She remembered fumbling for her bow with numb, shaking fingers. She wondered how anyone had presence of mind to save anything—

‘The dragon orb!’ she said fearfully.

‘Here, in this chest,’ Derek answered. ‘Along with the lance and that elvish sword you call Wyrmslayer. And now, I suppose, we should take advantage of the fire—’

‘I think not.’ A strange voice spoke out of the darkness as lighted torches flared around them, blinding them.

The companions started and immediately drew their weapons, gathering around the helpless dwarf. But Laurana, after an instant’s fright, peered into the faces in the torchlight.

‘Hold!’ she cried. ‘These are our people! These are elves!’

‘Silvanesti!’ Gilthanas said heartily. Dropping his bow to the ground, he walked forward toward the elf who had spoken. ‘We have journeyed long through darkness,’ he said in elven, his hands outstretched. ‘Well met, my broth—’

He never finished his ancient greeting. The leader of the elven party stepped forward and slammed the end of his staff across Gilthanas’s face, knocking him to the sand, unconscious.

Sturm and Derek immediately raised their swords, standing back to back. Steel flashed among the elves.

‘Stop!’ Laurana shouted in elven. Kneeling by her brother, she threw back the hood of her cloak so that the light fell upon her face. ‘We are your cousins. Qualinesti! These humans are Knights of Solamnia!’

‘We know well enough who you are!’ The elven leader spit the words, ‘Qualinesti spies! And we do not find it unusual that you travel in the company of humans. Your blood has long been polluted. Take them,’ he said, motioning to his men. ‘If they don’t come peacefully, do what you must. And find out what they mean by this dragon orb they mentioned.’

The elves stepped forward.

‘No!’ Derek cried, jumping to stand before the chest. ‘Sturm, they must not have the orb!’

Sturm had already given the Knight’s salute to an enemy and was advancing, sword drawn.

‘It appears they will fight. So be it,’ the leader of the elves said, raising his weapon.

‘I tell you, this is madness!’ Laurana cried angrily. She threw herself between the flashing swordblades. The elves halted uncertainly. Sturm grabbed hold of her to drag her back, but she jerked free of his restraining hand.

‘Goblins and draconians, in all their hideous evil, do not sink to fighting among themselves’—her voice shook with rage—‘while we elves, the ancient embodiment of good, try to kill each other! Look!’ She lifted the lid of the chest with one hand and threw it open. ‘In here we have the hope of the world! A dragon orb, taken at great peril from Ice Wall. Our ship lies wrecked in the waters out there. We drove away the dragon that sought to recover this orb. And, after all this, we find our greatest peril among our own people! If this is true, if we have sunk so low, then kill us now, and I swear, not one person in this group will try to stop you.’

Sturm, not understanding elven, watched for a moment, then saw the elves lower their weapons. ‘Well, whatever she said, it seems to have worked.’ Reluctantly, he sheathed his weapon. Derek, after a moment’s hesitation, lowered his sword, but he did not put it back in its scabbard.

‘We will consider your story,’ the elven leader began, speaking haltingly in Common. Then he stopped as shouts and cries were heard from down the beach. The companions saw dark shadows converge on the campfire. The elf glanced that direction, waited a moment until all had quieted, then turned back to the group. He looked particularly at Laurana, who was bending over her brother. ‘We may have acted in haste, but when you have lived here long, you will come to understand.’

‘I will never understand this!’ Laurana said, tears choking her voice.

An elf appeared out of the darkness. ‘Humans, sir.’ Laurana heard him report in elven. ‘Sailors by their appearance. They say their ship was attacked by a dragon and wrecked on the rocks.’

‘Verification?’

‘We found bits of wreckage floating ashore. We can search in the morning. The humans are wet and miserable and half-drowned. They offered no resistance. I don’t think they’ve lied.’

The elven leader turned to Laurana. ‘Your story appears to be true,’ he said, speaking once more in Common. ‘My men report that the humans they captured are sailors. Do not worry about them. We will take them prisoner, of course. We cannot have humans wandering around this island with all our other problems. But we will care for them well. We are not goblins,’ he added bitterly. ‘I regret striking your friend—’

‘Brother,’ Laurana replied. ‘And younger son of the Speaker of the Suns. I am Lauralanthalasa, and this is Gilthanas. We are of the royal house of Qualinesti.’

It seemed to her that the elf paled at this news, but he regained his composure immediately. ‘Your brother will be well tended. I will send for a healer—’

‘We do not need your healer!’ Laurana said. ‘This man’—she gestured toward Elistan—‘is a cleric of Paladine. He will aid my brother—’

‘A human?’ the elf asked sternly.

‘Yes, human!’ Laurana cried impatiently. ‘Elves struck my brother down! I turn to humans to heal him. Elistan—’

The cleric started forward, but, at a sign from their leader, several elves quickly grabbed him and pinned his arms behind him. Sturm started to go to his aid, but Elistan stopped him with a look, glancing at Laurana meaningfully. Sturm fell back, understanding Elistan’s silent warning. Their lives depended on her.

‘Let him go!’ Laurana demanded. ‘Let him treat my brother!’

‘I find this news of a cleric of Paladine impossible to believe, Lady Laurana,’ the elf leader said. ‘All know the clerics vanished from Krynn when the gods turned their faces from us. I do not know who this charlatan is, or how he has tricked you into believing him, but we will not allow him to lay his human hands upon an elf!’

‘Even an elf who is an enemy?’ she cried furiously.

‘Even if the elf had killed my own father,’ the elf said grimly. ‘And now, Lady Laurana, I must speak to you privately and try to explain what is transpiring on Southern Ergoth.’

Seeing Laurana hesitate, Elistan spoke, ‘Go on, my dear. You are the only one who can save us now. I will stay near Gilthanas.’

‘Very well,’ Laurana said, rising to her feet. Her face pale, she walked apart with the elven leader.

‘I don’t like this,’ Derek said, scowling. ‘She told them of the dragon orb, which she should not have done.’

‘They heard us talking about it,’ Sturm said wearily.

‘Yes, but she told them where it was! I don’t trust her—or her people. Who knows what kind of deals they are making?’ Derek added.

‘That does it!’ grated a voice.

Both men turned in astonishment to see Flint staggering to his feet. His teeth still chattered, but a cold light glinted in his eyes as he looked at Derek. ‘I—I’ve had a-about enough of y-you, S-Sir High and M-Mighty.’ The dwarf gritted his teeth to stop shivering long enough to speak.

Sturm started to intervene, but the dwarf shoved him aside to confront Derek. It was a ludicrous sight, and one Sturm often remembered with a smile, storing it up to share with Tanis. The dwarf, his long white beard wet and scraggly, water dripping from his clothes to form puddles at his feet, stood nearly level with Derek’s belt buckle, scolding the tall, proud Solamnic knight as he might have scolded Tasslehoff.

‘You knights have lived encased in metal so long it’s shaken your brains to mush!’ The dwarf snorted. ‘If you ever had any brains to begin with, which I doubt. I’ve seen that girl grow from a wee bit of a thing to the beautiful woman she is now. And I tell you there isn’t a more courageous, nobler person on Krynn. What’s got you is that she just saved your hide. And you can’t handle that!’

Derek’s face flushed dark in the torchlight.

‘I need neither dwarves nor elves defending me—’ Derek began angrily when Laurana came running back, her eyes glittering.

‘As if there is not evil enough,’ she muttered through tight lips, ‘I find it brewing among my own kindred!’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Sturm.

‘The situation stands thus: There are now three races of elves living in Southern Ergoth—’

‘Three races?’ interrupted Tasslehoff, staring at Laurana with interest. ‘What’s the third race? Where’d they come from? Can I see them? I never heard—’

Laurana had had enough. ‘Tas,’ she said, her voice taut. ‘Go stay with Gilthanas. And ask Elistan to come here.’

‘But—’

Sturm gave the kender a shove. ‘Go!’ he ordered.

Wounded, Tasslehoff trailed off disconsolately to where Gilthanas still lay. The kender slumped down in the sand, pouting. Elistan patted him kindly as he went to join the others.

‘The Kaganesti, known as Wilder Elves in the Common tongue, are the third race,’ Laurana continued. ‘They fought with us during the Kinslayer wars. In return for their loyalty, Kith-Kanan gave them the mountains of Ergoth—this was before Qualinesti and Ergoth were split apart by the Cataclysm. I am not surprised you have never heard of the Wilder Elves. They are a secretive people and keep to themselves. Once called the Border Elves, they are ferocious fighters and served Kith-Kanan well, but they have no love for cities. They mingled with Druids and learned their lore. They brought back the ways of the ancient elves. My people consider them barbarians—just as your people consider the Plainsmen barbaric.

‘Some months ago, when the Silvanesti were driven from their ancient homeland, they fled here, seeking permission of the Kaganesti to dwell in Ergoth temporarily. Then came my people, the Qualinesti, from across the sea. And so they met, at last, kindred who had been separated for hundreds of years.’

‘I fail to see the relevance—’ Derek interrupted.

‘You will,’ she said, drawing a deep breath. ‘For your lives depend upon understanding what is happening on this sad isle.’ Her voice broke. Elistan moved near her and put his arm around her comfortingly.

‘All started out peacefully enough. After all, the two exiled cousins had much in common—both driven from their beloved homelands by the evil in the world. They established homes upon the Isle—the Silvanesti upon the western shore, the Qualinesti upon the eastern, separated by a strait known as Thon-Tsalarian, which means the “River of the Dead” in Kaganesti. The Kaganesti live in the hill country north of the river.

‘For a time, there was even some attempt to establish friendships between the Silvanesti and the Qualinesti. And that is where the trouble began. For these elves could not meet, even after hundreds of years, without the old hatreds and misunderstandings beginning to surface.’ Laurana closed her eyes a moment. ‘The River of the Dead could very well be known as Thon-Tsalaroth—“River of Death.”’

‘There now, lass,’ Flint said, touching her hand. ‘The dwarves have known it, too. You saw the way I was treated in Thorbardin—a hill dwarf among mountain dwarves. Of all the hatreds, the ones between families are the cruelest.’

‘There has been no killing yet, but so shocked were the elders at the thought of what might happen—elves killing their own kindred—that they decreed no one may cross the straits on penalty of arrest,’ Laurana continued. ‘And this is where we stand. Neither side trusts the other. There have even been charges of selling out to the Dragon Highlords! Spies have been captured on both sides.’

‘That explains why they attacked us,’ Elistan murmured.

‘What about the Kag—Kag—’ Sturm stammered over the unfamiliar elven word.

‘Kaganesti.’ Laurana sighed wearily. ‘They, who allowed us to share their homeland, have been treated worst of all. The Kaganesti have always been poor in material wealth. Poor, by our standards, though not by theirs. They live in the forests and mountains, taking what they need from the land. They are gatherers, hunters. They raise no crops, they forge no metal. When we arrived, our people appeared rich to them with our golden jewelry and steel weapons. Many of their young people came to the Qualinesti and the Silvanesti, seeking to learn the secrets of making shining gold and silver—and steel.’

Laurana bit her lip, her face hardened. ‘I say it to my shame, that my people have taken advantage of the Wilder Elves’ poverty. The Kaganesti work as slaves among us. And, because of that, the Kaganesti elders grow more savage and warlike as they see their young people taken away and their old way of life threatened.’

‘Laurana!’ called Tasslehoff.

She turned. ‘Look,’ she said to Elistan softly. ‘There is one of them now.’ The cleric followed her gaze to see a lithe young woman—at least he supposed it was a young woman by the long hair; she was dressed in male clothing—kneel down beside Gilthanas and stroke his forehead. The elflord stirred at her touch, groaning in pain. The Kaganesti reached into a pouch at her side and began busily to mix something in a small clay cup.

‘What is she doing?’ Elistan asked.

‘She is apparently the “healer” they sent for,’ Laurana said, watching the girl closely. ‘The Kaganesti are noted for their Druidic skills.’

Wilder elf was a suitable name, Elistan decided, studying the girl intently. He had certainly never seen any intelligent being on Krynn quite so wild-looking. She was dressed in leather breeches tucked into leather boots. A shirt, obviously cast off by some elflord, hung from her shoulders. She was pale and too thin, undernourished. Her matted hair was so filthy it was impossible to distinguish its color. But the hand that touched Gilthanas was slender and shapely. Concern and compassion for him was apparent in her gentle face.

‘Well,’ Sturm said, ‘what are we to do in the midst of all this?’

‘The Silvanesti have agreed to escort us to my people,’ Laurana said, her face flushing. Evidently this had been a point of bitter contention. ‘At first they insisted that we go to their elders, but I said I would go nowhere without first bidding my father greeting and discussing the matter with him. There wasn’t much they could say to that.’ Laurana smiled slightly, though there was a touch of bitterness in her voice. ‘Among all the kindred, a daughter is bound to her father’s house until she comes of age. Keeping me here, against my will, would be viewed as kidnapping and would cause open hostility. Neither side is ready for that.’

‘They are letting us go, though they know we have the dragon orb?’ Derek asked in astonishment.

‘They are not letting us go,’ Laurana said sharply. ‘I said they are escorting us to my people.’

‘But there is a Solamnic outpost to the north,’ Derek argued. ‘We could get a ship there to take us to Sancrist—’

‘You would never live to reach those trees if you tried to escape,’ Flint said, sneezing violently.

‘He is right,’ Laurana said. ‘We must go to the Qualinesti and convince my father to help us get the orb to Sancrist.’ A small dark line appeared between her eyebrows which warned Sturm she didn’t believe that was going to be as easy as it sounded. ‘And now, we’ve been talking long enough. They gave me leave to explain things to you, but they’re getting restless to go. I must see to Gilthanas. Are we agreed?’

Laurana regarded each knight with a look that was not so much seeking approbation as simply waiting for an acknowledgement of her leadership. For a moment, she appeared so like Tanis in the firm set of her jaw and the calm, steady deliberation in her eyes that Sturm smiled. But Derek was not smiling. He was infuriated and frustrated, the more so because he knew there wasn’t a thing he could do.

Finally, however, he snarled a muttered reply that he supposed they must make the best of it and angrily stalked over to pick up the chest. Flint and Sturm followed, the dwarf sneezing until he nearly sneezed himself off his feet.

Laurana walked back to her brother, moving quietly along the sand in her soft leather boots. But the Wilder elf heard her approach. Raising her head, she gave Laurana a fearful look and crept backward as an animal cringes at the sight of man. But Tas, who had been chatting with her in an odd mixture of Common and elven, gently caught hold of the Wilder elf’s arm.

‘Don’t leave,’ said the kender cheerfully. ‘This is the elflord’s sister. Look, Laurana. Gilthanas is coming around. It must be that mud stuff she stuck on his forehead. I could have sworn he’d be out for days.’ Tas stood up. ‘Laurana, this is my friend—what did you say your name was?’

The girl, her eyes on the ground, trembled violently. Her hands picked up bits of sand, then dropped them again. She murmured something none of them could hear.

‘What was it, child?’ Laurana asked in such a sweet and gentle voice that the girl raised her eyes shyly.

‘Silvart,’ she said in a low voice.

‘That means “silver-haired” in the Kaganesti language, does it not?’ Laurana asked. Kneeling down beside Gilthanas, she helped him sit up. Dizzily, he put his hand to his face where the girl had plastered a thick paste over his bleeding cheek.

‘Don’t touch,’ Silvart warned, clasping her hand over Gilthanas’s hand quickly. ‘It will make you well.’ She spoke Common, not crudely, but clearly and concisely.

Gilthanas groaned in pain, shutting his eyes and letting his hand fall. Silvart gazed at him in deep concern. She started to stroke his face, then—glancing swiftly at Laurana—hurriedly withdrew her hand and started to rise.

‘Wait,’ Laurana said. ‘Wait, Silvart.’

The girl froze like a rabbit, staring at Laurana with such fear in her large eyes that Laurana was overcome with shame.

‘Don’t be frightened. I want to thank you for caring for my brother. Tasslehoff is right. I thought his injury was grave indeed, but you have aided him. Please stay with him, if you would.’

Silvart stared at the ground. ‘I will stay with him, mistress, if such is your command.’

‘It is not my command, Silvart,’ Laurana said. ‘It is my wish. And my name is Laurana.’

Silvart lifted her eyes. ‘Then I will stay with him gladly, mis—Laurana, if that is your wish.’ She lowered her head, and they could barely hear her words. ‘My true name, Silvara, means silver-haired. Silvart is what they call me.’ She glanced at the Silvanesti warriors, then her eyes went back to Laurana. ‘Please, I want you to call me Silvara.’

The Silvanesti elves brought over a makeshift litter they had constructed of a blanket and tree limbs. They lifted the elflord—not ungently—onto the litter. Silvara walked beside it. Tasslehoff walked near her, still chattering, pleased to find someone who had not yet heard his stories. Laurana and Elistan walked on the other side of Gilthanas. Laurana held his hand in hers, watching over him tenderly. Behind them came Derek, his face dark and shadowed, the chest with the dragon orb on his shoulder. Behind them marched a guard of Silvanesti elves.

Day was just beginning to dawn, gray and dismal, when they reached the line of trees along the shore. Flint shivered. Twisting his head, he gazed out to sea. ‘What was that Derek said about a—a ship to Sancrist?’

‘I am afraid so,’ Sturm replied. ‘It is also an island.’

‘And we’ve got to go there?’

‘Yes.’

‘To use the dragon orb? We don’t know anything about it!’

‘The Knights will learn,’ Sturm said softly. ‘The future of the world rests on this.’

‘Humpf!’ The dwarf sneezed. Casting a terrified glance at the night-dark waters, he shook his head gloomily. ‘All I know is I’ve been drowned twice, stricken with a deadly disease—’

‘You were seasick.’

‘Stricken with a deadly disease,’ Flint repeated loudly, ‘and sunk. Mark my words, Sturm Brightblade—boats are bad luck to us. We’ve had nothing but trouble since we set foot in that blasted boat on Crystalmir Lake. That was where the crazed magician first saw the constellations had disappeared, and our luck’s gone straight downhill from there. As long as we keep relying on boats, it’s going to go from bad to worse.’

Sturm smiled as he watched the dwarf squish through the sand. But his smile turned to a sigh. I wish it were all that simple, the knight thought.

3 The Speaker of the Suns. Laurana’s decision.

The Speaker of the Suns, leader of the Qualinesti elves, sat in the crude shelter of wood and mud the Kaganesti elves had built for his domicile. He considered it crude—the Kaganesti considered it a marvelously large and well-crafted dwelling, suitable for five or six families. They had, in fact, intended it as such and were shocked when the Speaker declared it barely adequate for his needs and moved in with his wife—alone.

Of course, what the Kaganesti could not know was that the Speaker’s home in exile became the central headquarters for all the business of the Qualinesti. The ceremonial guards assumed exactly the same positions as they had in the sculptured halls of the palace in Qualinost. The Speaker held audience at the same time and in the same courtly manner, save that his ceiling was a mud-covered dome of thatched grass instead of glittering mosaic, his walls wood instead of crystal quartz.

The Speaker sat in state every day, his wife’s sister’s daughter by his side acting as his scribe. He wore the same robes, conducted business with the same cold aplomb. But there were differences. The Speaker had changed dramatically in the past few months. There were none in the Qualinesti who marveled at this, however. The Speaker had sent his younger son on a mission that most considered suicidal. Worse, his beloved daughter had run away to chase after her half-elven lover. The Speaker expected never to see either of these children again.

He could have accepted the loss of his son, Gilthanas. It was, after all, a heroic, noble act. The young man had led a group of adventurers into the mines of Pax Tharkas to free the humans imprisoned there and draw off the dragonarmies threatening Qualinesti. This plan had been a success—an unexpected success. The dragonarmies had been recalled to Pax Tharkas, giving the elves time to escape to the western shores of their land, and from there across the sea to Southern Ergoth.

The Speaker could not, however, accept his daughter’s loss—or her dishonor.

It was the Speaker’s elder son, Porthios, who had coldly explained the matter to him after Laurana had been discovered missing. She had run off after her childhood friend—Tanis Half-Elven. The Speaker was heartsick, consumed with grief. How could she do this? How could she bring disgrace upon their household? A princess of her people chasing after a bastard half-breed!

Laurana’s flight quenched the light of the sun for her father. Fortunately, the need to lead his people gave him the strength to carry on. But there were times when the Speaker asked what was the use? He could retire, turn the throne over to his eldest son. Porthios ran almost everything anyway, deferring to his father in all that was proper, but making most decisions himself. The young elflord, serious beyond his years, was proving an excellent leader, although some considered him too harsh in his dealings with the Silvanesti and the Kaganesti.

The Speaker was among these, which was the main reason he did not turn things over to Porthios. Occasionally he tried to point out to his elder son that moderation and patience won more victories than threats and sword-rattling. But Porthios believed his father to be soft and sentimental. The Silvanesti, with their rigid caste structure, considered the Qualinesti barely part of the elven race and the Kaganesti no part of the elven race at all, viewing them as a subrace of elves, much as gully dwarves were seen as a subrace of the dwarves. Porthios firmly believed, although he did not tell his father, that it must end in bloodshed.

His views were matched on the other side of the Thon-Tsalarian by a stiff-necked, cold-blooded lord named Quinath, who, it was rumored, was the betrothed of the Princess Alhana Starbreeze. Lord Quinath was now leader of the Silvanesti in her unexplained absence, and it was he and Porthios who divided the isle between the two warring nations of elves, disregarding the third race entirely.

The borderlines were patronizingly communicated to the Kaganesti, as one might communicate to a dog that it is not to enter the kitchen. The Kaganesti, notable for their volatile tempers, were outraged to find their land being divided up and parceled out. Already the hunting was growing bad. The animals the Wilder elves depended on for their survival were being wiped out in great numbers to feed the refugees. As Laurana had said, the River of the Dead could, at any moment, run red with blood, and its name change tragically.

And so the Speaker found himself living in an armed camp. But if he grieved over this fact at all, it was lost in such a multitude of griefs that eventually he grew numb. Nothing touched him. He withdrew into his mud home and allowed Porthios to handle more and more.

The Speaker was up early the morning the companions arrived in what was now called Qualin-Mori. He always rose early. Not so much because he had a great deal to do, but because he had already spent most of the night staring at the ceiling. He was jotting down notes for the day’s meetings with the Heads of Household—an unsatisfactory task, since the Heads of Household could do nothing but complain—when he heard a tumult outside his dwelling.

The Speaker’s heart sank. What now? he wondered fearfully. It seemed these alarms came once or twice every day. Porthios had probably caught some hot-blooded Qualinesti and Silvanesti youths raiding or fighting. He kept writing, expecting the tumult to die down. But instead it increased, coming nearer and nearer. The Speaker could only suppose something more serious had happened. And, not for the first time, he wondered what he would do if the elves went to war again.

Dropping the quill pen, he wrapped himself in his robes of state and waited with dread. Outside, he heard the guards snap to attention. He heard Porthios’s voice perform the traditional rights of seeking entry, since it was before hours. The Speaker glanced fearfully at the door that led to his private chambers, fearing his wife might be disturbed. She had been in ill health since their departure from Qualinesti. Trembling, he rose to his feet, assuming the stern and cold look he had become accustomed to putting on as one might put on an article of clothing, and bade them come inside.

One of the guards opened the door, obviously intending to announce someone. But words failed him and, before he could speak, a tall, slender figure dressed in a heavy, hooded fur cloak, pushed past the guard and ran toward the Speaker. Startled, seeing only that the figure was armed with sword and bow, the Speaker shrank back in alarm.

The figure threw back the hood of her cloak. The Speaker saw honey-colored hair flow down around a woman’s face—a face remarkable even among the elves for its delicate beauty.

‘Father!’ she cried, then Laurana was in his arms.

The return of Gilthanas, long mourned as dead by his people, was the occasion of the greatest celebration to be held by the Qualinesti since the night the companions had been feasted before setting off for the Sla-Mori.

Gilthanas had recovered sufficiently from his wounds to be able to attend the festivities, a small scar on his cheekbone the only sign of his injury. Laurana and her friends wondered at this, for they had seen the terrible blow inflicted upon him by the Silvanesti elf. But when Laurana mentioned it to her father, the Speaker only shrugged and said that the Kaganesti had befriended druids living in the forests; they had probably learned much in the way of healing arts from them.

This frustrated Laurana, who knew the rarity of true healing powers on Krynn. She longed to discuss it with Elistan, but the cleric was closeted for hours with her father, who was very soon impressed by the man’s true clerical powers.

Laurana was pleased to see her father accept Elistan—remembering how the Speaker had treated Goldmoon when she first came to Qualinesti wearing the medallion of Mishakal, Goddess of Healing. But Laurana missed her wise mentor. Though overjoyed at being home, Laurana was beginning to realize that for her, home had changed and would never be the same again.

Everyone appeared very glad to see her, but they treated her with the same courtesy they gave Derek and Sturm, Flint and Tas. She was an outsider. Even her parents’ manner was cool and distant after their initial emotional welcome. She might not have wondered at this, if they hadn’t been so doting over Gilthanas. Why the difference? Laurana couldn’t understand. It remained to her elder brother, Porthios, to open her eyes.

The incident began at the feast.

‘You will find our lives much different from our lives in Qualinesti,’ her father told her brother that night as they sat at the banquet held indoors in a great log hall built by the Kaganesti. ‘But you will soon become accustomed to it.’ Turning to Laurana, he spoke formally. ‘I would be glad to have you back in your old place as my scribe, but I know you will be busy with other things around our household.’

Laurana was startled. She had not intended to stay, of course, but she resented being replaced in what was a daughter’s traditional role in the royal household. She also resented the fact that, though she had talked to her father about taking the orb to Sancrist, he had apparently ignored her.

‘Speaker,’ she said slowly, trying to keep the irritation from her voice, ‘I have told you. We cannot stay. Haven’t you been listening to me and to Elistan? We have discovered the dragon orb! Now we have the means to control dragons and bring an end to this war! We must take the orb to Sancrist—’

‘Stop, Laurana!’ her father said sharply, exchanging looks with Porthios. Her brother regarded her sternly. ‘You know nothing of what you speak, Laurana. The dragon orb is truly a great prize, and so should not be discussed here. As for taking it to Sancrist, that is out of the question.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ Derek said, rising and bowing, ‘but you have no say in the matter. The dragon orb is not yours. I was sent by the Knights Council to recover a dragon orb, if possible. I have succeeded and I intend to take it back as I was ordered. You have no right to stop me.’

‘Haven’t I?’ the Speaker’s eyes glittered angrily. ‘My son, Gilthanas, brought it into this land which we, the Qualinesti, declare to be our homeland in exile. That makes it ours by right.’

‘I never claimed that, Father,’ Gilthanas said, flushing as he felt the companions’ eyes turn to him. ‘It is not mine. It belongs to all of us—’

Porthios shot his younger brother a furious glance. Gilthanas stammered, then fell silent.

‘If it is anyone’s to claim, it is Laurana’s,’ Flint Fireforge spoke up, not at all intimidated by the elves’ glaring stares. ‘For it was she who killed Feal-thas, the evil elven magic-user.’

‘If it be hers,’ the Speaker said in a voice older than his hundreds of years, ‘then it is mine by right. For she is not of age—what is hers is mine, since I am her father. That is elven law and dwarven law, too, if I’m not mistaken.’

Flint’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tasslehoff beat him to it.

‘Isn’t that odd?’ remarked the kender cheerfully, having missed the serious portent of the conversation. ‘According to kender law, if there is a kender law, everybody sort of owns everything.’ (This was quite true. The kenders’ casual attitude toward the possessions of others extended to their own. Nothing in a kender house remained there long, unless it was nailed to the floor. Some neighbor was certain to wander in, admire it, and absentmindedly walk off with it. A family heirloom among kenders was defined as anything remaining in a house longer than three weeks.)

No one spoke after that. Flint kicked Tas under the table, and the kender subsided in hurt silence which lasted until he discovered his neighbor, an elvenlord, had been called from the table, leaving his purse behind. Rummaging through the elflord’s possessions kept the kender happily occupied throughout the rest of the meal.

Flint, who ordinarily would have kept an eye on Tas, did not notice this in his other worries. It was obvious there was going to be trouble. Derek was furious. Only the rigid code of the Knights kept him seated at the table. Laurana sat in silence, not eating. Her face was pale beneath her tanned skin, and she was punching small holes in the finely woven table cloth with her fork. Flint nudged Sturm.

‘We thought getting the dragon orb out of Ice Wall was tough,’ the dwarf said in an undertone. ‘There we only had to escape a crazed wizard and a few walrus-men. Now we’re surrounded by three nations of elves!’

‘We’ll have to reason with them,’ Sturm said softly.

‘Reason!’ The dwarf snorted. ‘Two stones would have a better chance of reasoning with each other!’

That proved to be the case. By the Speaker’s request, the companions remained seated after the other elves left, following dinner. Gilthanas and his sister sat side by side, their faces drawn and worried as Derek stood up before the Speaker to ‘reason’ with him.

‘The orb is ours,’ Derek stated coldly. ‘You have no right to it at all. It certainly does not belong to your daughter or to your son. They traveled with me only by my courtesy, after I rescued them from the destruction of Tarsis. I am happy to have been able to escort them back to their homeland, and I thank you for your hospitality. But I leave tomorrow for Sancrist, taking the orb with me.’

Porthios stood up to face Derek. ‘The kender may say the dragon orb is his. It doesn’t matter.’ The elflord spoke in a smooth, polite voice that slid through the night air like a knife. ‘The orb is in elven hands now, and here it will stay. Do you think we are foolish enough to let this prize be taken by humans to cause more trouble in this world?’

‘More trouble!’ Derek’s face flushed deep red. ‘Do you realize the trouble this world is in now? The dragons drove you from your homeland. They are approaching our homeland now! Unlike you, we do not intend to run. We will stand and fight! This orb could be our only hope—’

‘You have my leave to go back to your homeland and be burned to a crisp for all I care,’ Porthios returned. ‘It was you humans who stirred up this ancient evil. It is fitting that you fight it. The Dragon Highlords have what they want from us. They will undoubtedly leave us in peace. Here, on Ergoth, the orb will be kept safe.’

‘Fool!’ Derek slammed his fist on the table. ‘The Dragon Highlords have only one thought and that is to conquer all of Ansalon! That includes this miserable isle! You may be safe here for a time, but if we fall, you will fall, too!’

‘You know he speaks truly, Father,’ Laurana said, greatly daring. Elven women did not attend war meetings, much less speak. Laurana was present only because of her unique involvement. Rising to her feet, she faced her brother, who glowered at her disapprovingly. ‘Porthios, our father told us in Qualinesti that the Dragon Highlord wanted not only our lands but also the extermination our race! Have you forgotten?’

‘Bah! That was one Dragon Highlord, Verminaard. He is dead—’

‘Yes, because of us,’ Laurana shouted angrily, ‘not you!’

‘Laurana!’ The Speaker of the Suns rose to his full height, taller even than his oldest son. His presence towered over them all. ‘You forget yourself, young woman. You have no right to speak to your elder brother like that. We faced perils of our own in our journey. He remembered his duty and his responsibility, as did Gilthanas. They did not go running off after a half-elven bastard like a brazen, human wh—’ The Speaker stopped abruptly.

Laurana went white to the lips. She swayed, clutching the table for support. Gilthanas rose swiftly, coming to her side, but she pushed him away. ‘Father,’ she said in a voice she did not recognize as her own, ‘what were you about to say?’

‘Come away, Laurana,’ Gilthanas begged. ‘He didn’t mean it. We’ll talk in the morning.’

The Speaker said nothing, his face, gray and cold.

‘You were about to say “human whore”!’ Laurana said softly, her words falling like pins on nerves stretched taut.

‘Go to your lodgings, Laurana,’ the Speaker ordered in a tight voice.

‘So that is what you think of me,’ Laurana whispered, her throat constricting. ‘That is why everyone stares and stops talking when I come near them. Human whore.’

‘Sister, do as your father commands,’ Porthios said. ‘As for what we think of you—remember, you brought this on yourself. What do you expect? Look at you, Laurana! You are dressed like a man. You proudly wear a sword stained with blood. You talk glibly of your “adventures!” Traveling with men such as these—humans and dwarves! Spending the nights with them. Spending the nights with your half-breed lover. Where is he? Did he tire of you and—’

The firelight flared before Laurana’s eyes. Its heat swept over her body, to be replaced by a terrible cold. She could see nothing and remembered only a horrifying sensation of falling without being able to catch herself. Voices came at her from a great distance, distorted faces bent over her.

‘Laurana, my daughter...’

Then nothing.

‘Mistress...’

‘What? Where am I? Who are you? I—I can’t see! Help me!’

‘There, mistress. Take my hand. Shhhh. I am here. I am Silvara. Remember?’

Laurana felt gentle hands take her own as she sat up.

‘Can you drink this, mistress?’

A cup was placed to her lips. Laurana sipped at it, tasting clear, cold water. She grasped it and drank eagerly, feeling it cool her fevered blood. Strength returned, she found she could see again. A small candle burned beside her bed. She was in her room, in her father’s house. Her clothes lay on a crude wooden bench, her swordbelt and scabbard stood near, her pack was on the floor. At a table, across from her bed, sat a nursemaid, her head cradled in her arms, fast asleep.

Laurana turned to Silvara, who, seeing the question in her eyes, put her finger to her lips.

‘Speak softly,’ the Wilder elf replied. ‘Oh, not for that one’—Silvara glanced at the nurse—‘she will sleep peacefully for many, many hours before the potion wears off. But there are others in the house who may be wakeful. Do you feel better?’

‘Yes,’ Laurana answered, confused. ‘I don’t remember—’

‘You fainted,’ Silvara answered. ‘I heard them talking about it when they carried you back here. Your father is truly grieved. He never meant to say those things. It is just that you hurt him so terribly—’

‘How did you hear?’

‘I was hiding, in the shadows in the corner there. An easy thing for my people to do. The old nurse said you were fine, you just needed rest, and they left. When she went to fetch a blanket, I put the sleep juice in her tea.’

‘Why?’ Laurana asked. Looking at the girl closely, Laurana saw that the Wilder elf must be a beautiful woman—or would be if the layers of grime and filth were washed from her.

Silvara, aware of Laurana’s scrutiny, flushed in embarrassment. ‘I—I ran away from the Silvanesti, mistress, when they brought you across the river.’

‘Laurana. Please, child, call me Laurana.’

‘Laurana,’ Silvara corrected, blushing. ‘I—I came to ask you to take you with me when you leave.’

‘Leave?’ Laurana said. ‘I’m not goi—’ She stopped.

‘Aren’t you?’ Silvara asked gently.

‘I...I don’t know,’ Laurana said in confusion.

‘I can help,’ Silvara said eagerly. ‘I know the way through the mountains to reach the Knights’ outpost where the ships with birds’ wings sail. I will help you get away.’

‘Why would you do this for us?’ Laurana asked. ‘I’m sorry, Silvara. I don’t mean to be suspicious—but you don’t know us, and what you’re doing is very dangerous. Surely you could escape more easily on your own.’

‘I know you carry the dragon orb,’ Silvara whispered.

‘How do you know about the orb?’ Laurana asked, astounded.

‘I heard the Silvanesti talking, after they left you at the river.’

‘And you knew what it was? How?’

‘My...people have stories...about it,’ Silvara said, her hands twisting. ‘I—I know it is important to end this war. Your people and the Silvan elves will go back to their homes and let the Kaganesti live in peace. There is that reason and—’ Silvara was silent for a moment, then she spoke so softly Laurana could barely hear her. ‘You are the first person who ever knew the meaning of my name.’

Laurana looked at her, puzzled. The girl seemed sincere. But Laurana didn’t believe her. Why would she risk her life to help them? Perhaps she was a Silvanesti spy, sent to get the orb? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things—

Laurana put her head in her hands, trying to think. Could they trust Silvara—at least enough to get them out of here? They apparently had no choice. If they were going into the mountains, they would have to pass through Kaganesti lands. Silvara’s help would be invaluable.

‘I must talk to Elistan,’ Laurana said. ‘Can you bring him here?’

‘No need, Laurana,’ Silvara answered. ‘He has been waiting outside for you to awaken.’

‘And the others? Where are the rest of my friends?’

‘Lord Gilthanas is within the house of your father, of course—’ Was it Laurana’s imagination, or did Silvara’s pale cheek flush when she said that name? ‘The others have been given “guest quarters.”’

‘Yes,’ said Laurana grimly, ‘I can imagine.’

Silvara left her side. Creeping quietly across the floor of the room, she went to the door, opened it, and beckoned.

‘Laurana?’

‘Elistan!’ She flung her arms around the cleric. Laying her head on his chest, Laurana shut her eyes, feeling his strong arms embrace her tenderly. Everything will be fine now, she knew. Elistan will take charge. He’ll know what to do.

‘Are you feeling better?’ the cleric asked. ‘Your father—’

‘Yes, I know,’ Laurana interrupted him. She felt a dull ache in her heart whenever her father was mentioned. ‘You must decide what we are to do, Elistan. Silvara has offered to help us escape. We could take the orb and leave tonight.’

‘If that is what you must do, my dear, then you should waste no more time,’ Elistan said, sitting by her in a chair.

Laurana blinked. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Elistan, what do you mean? You must come with us—’

‘No, Laurana,’ Elistan said, grasping her hand tightly in his own. ‘If you do this, you will have to leave on your own. I have sought help from Paladine, and I must stay here, with the elves. I believe if I stay, I will be able to convince your father that I am a cleric of the true gods. If I leave, he would always believe I am a charlatan, as your brother brands me.’

‘What about the dragon orb?’

‘That is up to you, Laurana. The elves are wrong in this. Hopefully, in time, they will come to see it. But we do not have centuries to talk this over. I think you should take the orb to Sancrist.’

‘Me?’ Laurana gasped. ‘I can’t!’

‘My dear,’ Elistan said firmly, ‘you must realize that if you make this decision, the burden of leadership will be upon you. Sturm and Derek are too caught up in their own quarrel and, besides, they are human. You will be dealing with elves—your own people and the Kaganesti. Gilthanas sides with your father. You are the only one who has a chance to succeed.’

‘But I’m not capable—’

‘You are more capable than you give yourself credit for, Laurana. Perhaps everything you have been through up to now has been preparing you for this. You must waste no more time. Farewell, my dear.’ Elistan rose to his feet and laid his hand on her head. ‘May Paladine’s blessing—and my own—go with you.’

‘Elistan!’ Laurana whispered, but the cleric was gone. Silvara quietly shut the door.

Laurana sank back into her bed, trying to think. Elistan is right, of course. The dragon orb cannot stay here. And if we are going to escape, it must be tonight. But it’s all happening so fast! And it’s all up to me! Can I trust Silvara? But why ask? She’s the only one who can guide us. Then all I have to do is get the orb and the lance and free my friends. I know how to get to the orb and the lance. But my friends—

Laurana knew, suddenly, what she would do. She realized she had been planning it in the back of her mind even as she talked to Elistan.

This commits me, she thought. There will be no turning back. Stealing the dragon orb, fleeing into the night, into strange and hostile country. And then, there is Gilthanas. We’ve been through too much together for me to leave him behind. But he will be appalled at the idea of stealing the orb and running away. And if he chooses not to go with me, would he betray us?

Laurana closed her eyes for a moment. She laid her head down wearily on her knees. Tanis, she thought, where are you? What should I do? Why is it up to me? I didn’t want this.

And then, as she sat there, Laurana remembered seeing weariness and sorrow on Tanis’s face that mirrored her own. Maybe he asked himself these same things. All the times I thought he was so strong, perhaps he really felt as lost and frightened as I do. Certainly he felt abandoned by his people. And we depended on him, whether he wanted us to or not. But he accepted it. He did what he believed was right.

And so must I.

Briskly, refusing to allow herself to think any further, Laurana lifted her head and beckoned for Silvara to come near.

Sturm paced the length of the crude cabin that had been given to them, unable to sleep. The dwarf lay stretched out on a bed, snoring loudly. Across the room, Tasslehoff lay curled in a ball of misery, chained by his foot to the bedpost. Sturm sighed. How much more trouble could they get into?

The evening had gone from bad to worse. After Laurana had fainted, it had been all Sturm could do to hold back the enraged dwarf. Flint vowed to tear Porthios limb from limb. Derek stated that he considered himself to be a prisoner held by the enemy and, as such, it was his duty to try and escape; then he would bring the Knights down to recover the dragon orb by force. Derek was immediately escorted away by the guards. Just when Sturm got Flint calmed down, an elflord appeared out of nowhere and accused Tasslehoff of stealing his purse.

Now they were being held under double guard, ‘guests’ of the Speaker of the Suns.

‘Must you pace about like that?’ Derek asked coldly.

‘Why? Am I keeping you awake?’ snapped Sturm.

‘Of course not. Only fools could sleep under these circumstances. You’re breaking my concen—’

‘Hsst!’ Sturm said, raising his hand warningly.

Derek instantly fell silent. Sturm gestured. The older knight joined Sturm in the center of the room where he was staring up at the ceiling. The log house was rectangular, with one door, two windows, and a firepit in the center of the floor. A hole cut in the roof provided ventilation.

It was through this hole Sturm heard the odd sound that caught his attention. It was a shuffling, scraping sound. The wooden beams in the ceiling creaked as though something heavy was crawling over it.

‘A wild beast of some sort,’ Derek muttered. ‘And we’re weaponless!’

‘No,’ Sturm said, listening closely. ‘It’s not growling. It’s moving too silently, as if it didn’t want to be heard or seen. What are those guards doing out there?’

Derek went to the window and peered out. ‘Sitting around a fire. Two are asleep. They’re not overly concerned about us, are they?’ he asked bitterly.

‘Why should they be?’ Sturm said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. ‘There’s a couple of thousand elves within the sound of a whisper. What the—’

Sturm fell back in alarm as the stars he had been watching through the hole were suddenly blotted out by a dark, shapeless mass. Sturm reached down swiftly and grabbed a log from the smoldering fire, holding it by the end like a club.

‘Sturm! Sturm Brightblade!’ said the shapeless mass.

Sturm stared, trying to remember the voice. It was familiar. Thoughts of Solace flooded his mind. ‘Theros!’ he gasped. ‘Theros Ironfeld! What are you doing here? The last I saw you, you were lying near death in the elven kingdom!’

The huge blacksmith of Solace struggled down through the opening in the ceiling, bringing part of the roof with him. He landed heavily, waking the dwarf, who sat up and peered, bleary-eyed, at the apparition in the center of the cabin.

‘What—’ the dwarf started up, fumbling for his battle-axe which was no longer by his side.

‘Hush!’ the smith commanded. ‘No time for questions. The Lady Laurana sent me to free you. We’re to meet her in the woods beyond the camp. Make haste! We have only a few hours before dawn and we must be across the river by then.’ Theros strode over to look at Tasslehoff, who was trying without success to free himself. ‘Well, master thief, I see someone caught you at last.’

‘I’m not a thief!’ Tas said indignantly. ‘You know me better than that, Theros. That purse was planted on me—’

The smith chuckled. Taking hold of the chain in his hands, he gave a sudden heave and it split apart. Tasslehoff, however, did not even notice. He was staring at the smith’s arms. One arm, the left, was a dusky black, the color of the smith’s skin. But the other arm, the right, was bright, shining silver!

‘Theros,’ Tas said in a strangled voice. ‘Your arm—’

‘Questions later, little thief,’ the smith said sternly. ‘Now we move swift and now we move silent.’

‘Across the river,’ Flint moaned, shaking his head. ‘More boats. More boats...’

‘I want to see the Speaker,’ Laurana told the guard at the door to her father’s suite of rooms.

‘It is late,’ the guard said. ‘The Speaker is sleeping.’

Laurana drew back her hood. The guard bowed. ‘Forgive me, Princess. I did not recognize you.’ He glanced at Silvara suspiciously. ‘Who is that with you?’

‘My maid. I would not travel at night by myself.’

‘No, of course not,’ the guard said hurriedly as he opened the door. ‘Go ahead. His sleeping room is the third one down the hall on your right.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurana answered and brushed past the guard. Silvara, muffled in a voluminous cape, swept softly after her.

‘The chest is in his room, at the foot of his bed,’ Laurana whispered to Silvara. ‘Are you sure you can carry the dragon orb? It is big and very heavy.’

‘It’s not that big,’ Silvara murmured, staring perplexed at Laurana. ‘Only about so—’ She made a gesture with her hands roughly the shape of a child’s ball.

‘No,’ Laurana said, frowning. ‘You have not seen it. It is nearly two feet in diameter. That’s why I had you wear that long cape.’

Silvara stared at her in wonder. Laurana shrugged. ‘Well, we can’t stand here arguing. We’ll figure something out when the time comes.’

The two crept down the hallway, silently as kender, until they came to the bedroom.

Holding her breath, fearing that even her heartbeat was too loud, Laurana pressed on the door. It opened with a creaking sound that made her grit her teeth. Next to her, Silvara shivered in fear. A figure in the bed stirred and turned over—her mother. Laurana saw her father, even in his sleep, put out his hand to pat her reassuringly. Tears dimmed Laurana’s eyes. Tightening her lips resolutely, she gripped Silvara’s hand and slipped inside the room.

The chest stood at the end of her father’s bed. It was locked, but the companions all carried a copy of the small silver key. Swiftly Laurana unlocked the chest and lifted the lid. Then she nearly dropped it in her amazement. The dragon orb was there, still glowing with the soft white and blue light. But it wasn’t the same orb! Or if it was, it had shrunk! As Silvara said, it was now no more than the size of a child’s playing ball! Laurana reached in to take it. It was still heavy, but she could lift it easily. Gingerly grasping it, her hand shaking, she raised it from the box and handed it to Silvara. The Wilder elf immediately hid it beneath her cloak. Laurana picked up the wood shaft of the broken dragonlance, wondering, as she did so, why she bothered taking the broken old weapon.

I’ll take it because the knight handed it to Sturm, she thought. He wanted him to have it.

At the bottom of the chest lay Tanis’s sword, Wyrmslayer, given him by Kith-Kanan. Laurana looked from the sword to the dragonlance. I can’t carry both, she thought, and started to put the lance back. But Silvara grabbed her.

‘What are you doing?’ Her mouth formed the words, her eyes flashed. ‘Take it! Take it, too!’

Laurana stared at the girl in amazement. Then, hastily, she retrieved the lance, concealed it beneath her cloak, and carefully shut the chest, leaving the sword inside. Just as the lid left her cold fingers, her father rolled over in his bed, half-sitting up.

‘What? Who is there?’ he asked, starting to shake off his sleep in his alarm.

Laurana felt Silvara trembling and clutched the girl’s hand reassuringly, warning her to be silent.

‘It is I, Father,’ she said in a faint voice. ‘Laurana. I—I wanted to—to tell you I am sorry, Father. And I ask you to forgive me.’

‘Ah, Laurana.’ The Speaker lay back down on his pillows, closing his eyes. ‘I forgive you, my daughter. Now return to your bed. We’ll talk in the morning.’

Laurana waited until his breathing became quiet and regular. Then she led Silvara from the room, gripping the dragonlance firmly beneath her cloak.

‘Who goes there?’ softly called a human voice in elven.

‘Who asks?’ replied a clear elven voice.

‘Gilthanas? Is that you?’

‘Theros! My friend!’ The young elflord stepped swiftly from the shadows to embrace the human blacksmith. For a moment Gilthanas was so overcome he could not speak. Then, startled, he pushed back from the smith’s bearlike hug. ‘Theros! You have two arms! But the draconians in Solace cut off your right arm! You would have died, if Goldmoon hadn’t healed you.’

‘Do you remember what that pig of a Fewmaster told me?’ Theros asked in his rich, deep voice, whispering softly. ‘ “The only way you’ll get a new arm, smith, is to forge it yourself!” Well, I did just that! The story of my adventures to find the Silver Arm I wear now is a long one—’

‘And not for telling now,’ grumbled another voice behind him. ‘Unless you want to ask a couple of thousand elves to hear it with us.’

‘So you managed to escape, Gilthanas,’ said Derek’s voice out of the shadows. ‘Did you bring the dragon orb?’

‘I did not escape,’ Gilthanas returned coldly. ‘I left my father’s house to accompany my sister and Sil—her maid—through the darkness. Taking the orb is my sister’s idea, not mine. There is still time to reconsider this madness, Laurana.’ Gilthanas turned to her. ‘Return the orb. Don’t let Porthios’s hasty words drive away your common sense. If we keep the orb here, we can use it to defend our people. We can find out how it works, we have magic-users among us.’

‘Let’s just turn ourselves over to the guards now! Then we can get some sleep where it’s warm!’ Flint’s words came out in explosive puffs of frost.

‘Either sound the alarm now, elf, or let us go. At least give us time before you betray us,’ Derek said.

‘I have no intention of betraying you,’ Gilthanas stated angrily. Ignoring the others, he turned once more to his sister. ‘Laurana?’

‘I am determined on this course of action,’ she answered slowly. ‘I have thought about it and I believe we are doing the right thing. So does Elistan. Silvara will guide us through the mountains—’

‘I, too, know the mountains,’ Theros spoke up. ‘I have had little to do here but wander them. And you’ll need me to get you past the guards.’

‘Then we are resolved.’

‘Very well.’ Gilthanas sighed. ‘I am coming with you. If I stayed behind, Porthios would always suspect me of complicity.’

‘Fine,’ snapped Flint. ‘Can we escape now? Or do we need to wake up anyone else?’

‘This way,’ Theros said. ‘The guards are accustomed to my late night rambles. Stay in the shadows, and let me do the talking.’ Reaching down, he caught hold of Tasslehoff by the collar of his heavy fur coat and lifted the kender off the ground to look him right in the eye. ‘That means you, little thief,’ the big smith said sternly.

‘Yes, Theros,’ the kender replied meekly, squirming in the man’s silver hand until the smith set him down. Somewhat shaken, Tas readjusted his pouches and tried to regain his injured dignity.

The companions followed the tall, dark-skinned smith along the outskirts of the silent elven encampment, moving as quietly as possible for two armor-clad knights and a dwarf. To Laurana, they sounded as loud as a wedding party. She bit her lip to keep silent as the knights clanked and rattled in the darkness, while Flint fell over every tree root and splashed through every puddle.

But the elves lay wrapped in their complacency like a soft, fleecy blanket. They had safely fled the danger. None believed it would find them again. And so they slept as the companions escaped into the night.

Silvara, carrying the dragon orb, felt the cold crystal grow warm as she held it near her body, felt it stir and pulse with life.

‘What am I to do?’ she whispered to herself distractedly in Kaganesti, stumbling almost blindly through the darkness. ‘This came to me! Why? I don’t understand? What am I to do?’

4 River of the Dead. The legend of the Silver Dragon.

The night was still and cold. Storm clouds blotted out the light of the moons and stars. There was no rain, no wind, just an oppressive sense of waiting. Laurana felt that all of nature was alert, wary, fearful. And behind her, the elves slept, cocooned in a web of their own petty fears and hatreds. What horrible winged creature would burst from that cocoon, she wondered.

The companions had little trouble slipping past the elven guards. Recognizing Theros, the guards stood and chatted amiably with him, while the others crept through the woods around them. They reached the river in the first chill light of dawn.

‘And how are we to get across?’ the dwarf asked, staring out at the water gloomily. ‘I don’t think much of boats, but they beat swimming.’

‘That should not be a problem.’ Theros turned to Laurana and said, ‘Ask your little friend,’ nodding at Silvara.

Startled, Laurana looked at the Wilder elf, as did the others. Silvara, embarrassed at so many eyes upon her, flushed deeply, bowing her head. ‘Kargai Sargaron is right,’ she murmured. ‘Wait here, within the shadows of the trees.’

She left them and ran lightly to the riverbank with a wild, free grace, enchanting to watch. Laurana noticed that Gilthanas’s gaze, in particular, lingered upon the Wilder elf.

Silvara put her fingers to her lips and whistled like the call of a bird. She waited a moment, then repeated the whistle three times. Within minutes, her call was answered, echoing across the water from the opposite bank of the river.

Satisfied, Silvara returned to the group. Laurana saw that, though Silvara spoke to Theros, the girl’s eyes were drawn to Gilthanas. Finding him staring at her, she blushed and looked quickly back at Theros.

‘Kargai Sargaron,’ she said hurriedly, ‘my people are coming, but you should be with me to meet them and explain things.’ Silvara’s blue eyes—Laurana could see them clearly in the morning light—went to Sturm and Derek. The Wilder elf shook her head slightly. ‘They will not be happy about bringing these humans to our land, nor these elves either, I am afraid,’ she said, with an apologetic glance at Laurana and Gilthanas.

‘I will talk to them,’ Theros said. Gazing across the lake, he gestured. ‘Here they come now.’

Laurana saw two black shapes sliding across the sky-gray river. The Kaganesti must keep watch there constantly, she realized. They recognized Silvara’s call. Odd—for a slave to have such freedom. If escape was this easy, why did Silvara stay among the Silvanesti? It didn’t make any sense...unless escape was not her purpose.

‘What does “Kargai Sargaron” mean?’ she asked Theros abruptly.

‘He of the Silver Arm,’ Theros answered, smiling.

‘They seem to trust you.’

‘Yes. I told you I spend a good part of my time wandering. That is not quite true. I spend much time among Silvara’s people.’ The smith’s dusky face creased in a scowl. ‘Meaning no disrespect, elflady, but you have no idea what hardships your people are causing these wild ones: shooting the game or driving it away, enslaving the young with gold and silver and steel.’ Theros heaved an angry sigh. ‘I have done what I could. I showed them how to forge hunting weapons and tools. But the winter will be long and hard, I fear. Already, game is becoming scarce. If it comes to starving or killing their elven kin—’

‘Maybe if I stayed,’ Laurana murmured, ‘I could help—’ Then she realized that was ridiculous. What could she do? She wasn’t even accepted by her own people!

‘You can’t be in all places at the same time,’ Sturm said. ‘The elves must solve their problems, Laurana. You are doing the right thing.’

‘I know,’ she said, sighing. She turned her head, looking behind her, toward the Qualinesti camp. ‘I was just like them, Sturm,’ she said, shivering. ‘My beautiful tiny world had revolved around me for so long that I thought I was the center of the universe. I ran after Tanis because I was certain I could make him love me. Why shouldn’t he? Everyone else did. And then I discovered the world didn’t revolve around me. It didn’t even care about me! I saw suffering and death. I was forced to kill’—she stared down at her hands—‘or be killed. I saw real love. Love like Riverwind’s and Goldmoon’s, love that was willing to sacrifice everything—even life itself. I felt very petty and very small. And now that’s how my people seem to me. Petty and small. I used to think they were perfect, but now I understand how Tanis felt—and why he left.’

The boats of the Kaganesti had reached the shore. Silvara and Theros walked down to talk to the elves who paddled them. At a gesture from Theros, the companions stepped out of the shadows of the trees and stood upon the bank—hands well away from their weapons—so the Kaganesti could see them. At first, it seemed hopeless. The elves chattered in their strange, uncouth version of elven which Laurana had difficulty following. Apparently they refused outright to have anything to do with the group.

Then horn calls sounded from the woods behind them. Gilthanas and Laurana looked at each other in alarm. Theros, glancing back, stabbed his silver finger at the group urgently, then thumped himself on the chest—apparently pledging his word to answer for the companions. The horns sounded again. Silvara added her own pleas. Finally, the Kaganesti agreed, although with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

The companions hurried down to the water, all of them aware now that their absence had been discovered and that pursuit had started. One by one, they all stepped carefully into the boats that were no more than hollowed-out trunks of trees. All, that is, except Flint, who groaned and cast himself down on the ground, shaking his head and muttering in dwarven. Sturm eyed him in concern, fearing a repetition of the incident at Crystalmir when the dwarf had flatly refused to set foot in a boat. It was Tasslehoff, however, who tugged and pulled and finally dragged the grumbling dwarf to his feet.

‘We’ll make a sailor of you yet,’ the kender said cheerfully, prodding Flint in the back with his hoopak.

‘You will not! And quit sticking me with that thing!’ the dwarf snarled. Reaching the edge of the water, he stopped, nervously fumbling with a piece of wood. Tas hopped into a boat and stood waiting expectantly, his hand outstretched.

‘Confound it, Flint, get in the boat!’ Theros ordered.

‘Just tell me one thing,’ the dwarf said, swallowing. ‘Why do they call it the “River of the Dead”?’

‘You’ll see, soon enough,’ Theros grunted. Reaching out his strong black hand, he plucked the dwarf off the bank and plopped him like a sack of potatoes on to the seat. ‘Shove off,’ the smith told the Wilder elves, who needed no bidding. Their wooden oars were already biting deep into the water.

The log boat caught the current and floated swiftly downstream, heading west. The tree-shrouded banks fairly flew past, and the companions huddled down into the boats as the cold wind stung their faces and took away their breath. They saw no signs of life along the southern shore where the Qualinesti made their home. But Laurana caught glimpses of shadowy, darting figures ducking in and out of the trees on the northern shore. She realized then that the Kaganesti were not as naive as they seemed—they were keeping close watch upon their cousins. She wondered how many of the Kaganesti living as slaves were, in reality, spies. Her eyes went to Silvara.

The current carried them swiftly to a fork in the river where two streams joined together. One flowed from the north, the other—the stream they traveled—flowed into it from the east. Both merged into one wide river, flowing south into the sea. Suddenly Theros pointed.

‘There, dwarf, is your answer,’ he said solemnly.

Drifting down the branch of the river that flowed from the north was another boat. At first, they thought it had slipped its moorings, for they could see no one inside. Then they saw that it rode too low in the water to be empty. The Wilder elves slowed their own boats, steering them into the shallow water, and held them steady, heads bowed in silent respect.

And then Laurana knew.

‘A funeral boat,’ she murmured.

‘Aye,’ said Theros, watching with sad eyes. The boat drifted past, carried near them by the current. Inside they could see the body of a young Wilder elf, a warrior to judge by his crude leather armor. His hands, folded across his chest, clasped an iron sword in cold fingers. A bow and quiver of arrows lay at his side. His eyes were closed in the peaceful sleep from which he would never waken.

‘Now you know why it is called Thon-Tsalarian, the River of the Dead,’ Silvara said in her low, musical voice. ‘For centuries, my people have returned the dead to the sea where we were born. This ancient custom of my people has become a bitter point of contention between the Kaganesti and our cousins.’ Her eyes went to Gilthanas. ‘Your people consider this a desecration of the river. They try to force us to stop.’

‘Someday the body that floats down the river will be Qualinesti, or Silvanesti, with a Kaganesti arrow in his chest,’ Theros predicted. ‘And then there will be war.’

‘I think all the elves will have a much more deadly enemy to face,’ Sturm said, shaking his head. ‘Look!’ He pointed.

At the feet of the dead warrior lay a shield, the shield of the enemy he had died fighting. Recognizing the foul symbol traced on the battered shield, Laurana drew in her breath.

‘Draconian!’

The journey up the Thon-Tsalarian was long and arduous, for the river ran swift and strong. Even Tas was given an oar to help paddle, but he promptly lost it overboard, then nearly went in headfirst trying to retrieve it. Catching hold of Tas by his belt, Derek dragged him back as the Kaganesti indicated by sign language that if he caused any more trouble, they’d throw him out.

Tasslehoff soon grew bored and sat peering over the side, hoping to see a fish.

‘Why, how odd!’ the kender said suddenly. Reaching down, he put his small hand into the water. ‘Look,’ he said in excitement. His hand was coated in fine silver and sparkled in the early morning light. ‘The water glitters! Look, Flint,’ he called to the dwarf in the other boat. ‘Look into the water—’

‘I will not,’ said the dwarf through chattering teeth. Flint rowed grimly, though there was some question as to his effectiveness. He steadfastly refused to look into the water and consequently was out of time with everyone else.

‘You are right, Kenderken,’ Silvara said, smiling. ‘In fact, the Silvanesti named the river Thon-Sargon, which means “Silver Road.” It is too bad you have come here in such dismal weather. When the silver moon rises in its fullness, the river turns to molten silver and is truly beautiful.’

‘Why? What causes it?’ the kender asked, studying his shimmering hand with delight.

‘No one knows, though there is a legend among my people—’ Silvara fell silent abruptly, her face flushed.

‘What legend?’ Gilthanas asked. The elflord sat facing Silvara, who was in the prow of the boat. His paddling was not much better than Flint’s, Gilthanas being much more interested in Silvara’s face than his work. Every time Silvara looked up, she found he was staring at her. She became more confused and flustered as the hours passed.

‘Surely you are not interested,’ she said, gazing out across the silver-gray water, trying to avoid Gilthanas’s gaze. ‘It is a child’s tale about Huma—’

‘Huma!’ Sturm said from where he sat behind Gilthanas, his swift, strong oar strokes making up for the ineptness of both elf and dwarf. ‘Tell us your legend of Huma, Wilder elf.’

‘Yes, tell us your legend,’ Gilthanas repeated smiling.

‘Very well,’ she said, flushing. Clearing her throat, she began. ‘According to the Kaganesti, in the last days of the terrible dragon wars, Huma traveled through the land, seeking to help the people. But he realized—to his sorrow—that he was powerless to stop the desolation and destruction of the dragons. He prayed to the gods for an answer.’ Silvara glanced at Sturm, who nodded his head solemnly.

‘True,’ the knight said. ‘And Paladine answered his prayer, sending the White Stag. But where it led him, none know.’

‘My people know,’ Silvara said softly, ‘because the Stag led Huma, after many trials and dangers, to a quiet grove, here, in the land of Ergoth. In the grove he met a woman, beautiful and virtuous, who eased his pain. Huma fell in love with her and she with him. But she refused his pledges of love for many months. Finally, unable to deny the burning fire within her, the woman returned Huma’s love. Their happiness was like the silver moonlight in a night of terrible darkness.’

Silvara fell silent a moment, her eyes staring far away. Absently she reached down to touch the coarse fabric of the cloak covering the dragon orb which lay at her feet.

‘Go on,’ Gilthanas urged. The elflord had given up all pretext of paddling and sat still, enchanted by Silvara’s beautiful eyes, her musical voice.

Silvara sighed. Dropping the fabric from her hands, she stared out over the water into the shadowy woods. ‘Their joy was brief,’ she said softly. ‘For the woman had a terrible secret—she was not born of woman, but of dragon. Only by her magic did she keep the shape of womankind. But she could no longer lie to Huma. She loved him too much. Fearfully she revealed to Huma what she was, appearing before him one night in her true shape—that of a silver dragon. She hoped he would hate her, even destroy her, for her pain was so great she did not want to live. But, looking at the radiant, magnificent creature before him, the knight saw within her eyes the noble spirit of the woman he loved. Her magic returned her to the shape of woman, and she prayed to Paladine that he give her woman’s shape forever. She would give up her magic and the long life span of the dragons to live in the world with Huma.’

Silvara closed her eyes, her face drawn with pain. Gilthanas, watching her, wondered why she was so affected by this legend. Reaching out, he touched her hand. She started like a wild animal, drawing back so suddenly the boat rocked.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gilthanas said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. What happened? What was Paladine’s answer?’

Silvara drew a deep breath. ‘Paladine granted her wish, with a terrible condition. He showed them both the future. If she remained a dragon, she and Huma would be given the Dragonlance and the power to defeat the evil dragons. If she became mortal, she and Huma would live together as man and wife, but the evil dragons would remain in the land forever. Huma vowed he would give up everything—his knighthood, his honor—to remain with her. But she saw the light die in his eyes as he spoke, and, weeping, she knew the answer she must give. The evil dragons must not be allowed to stay in the world. And the silver river, it is said, was formed from the tears shed by the dragon when Huma left her to find the Dragonlance.’

‘Nice story. Kind of sad,’ said Tasslehoff, yawning. ‘Did old Huma come back? Does the story have a happy ending?’

‘Huma’s story does not end happily,’ Sturm said, frowning at the kender. ‘But he died most gloriously in battle, defeating the leader of the dragons, though he himself had sustained a mortal wound. I have heard, though,’ the knight added thoughtfully, ‘that he rode to battle upon a Silver Dragon.’

‘And we saw a knight on a silver dragon in Ice Wall,’ Tas said brightly. ‘He gave Sturm the—’

The knight gave the kender a swift poke in the back. Too late, Tas remembered that was supposed to be secret.

‘I don’t know about a Silver Dragon,’ Silvara said, shrugging. ‘My people know little about Huma. He was, after all, a human. I think they tell this legend only because it is about the river they love, the river who takes their dead.’

At this point, one of the Kaganesti pointed at Gilthanas and said something sharply to Silvara. Gilthanas looked at her, not understanding. The elfmaid smiled—‘He asks if you are too grand an elflord to paddle, because—if you are—he will allow your lordship to swim.’

Gilthanas grinned at her, his face flushing. Quickly he picked up his paddle and set to work.

Despite all their efforts—and by the end of the day even Tasslehoff was paddling again—the journey upstream was slow and taxing. By the time they made landfall, their muscles ached with the strain, their hands were bloody and blistered. It was all they could do to drag the boats ashore and help hide them.

‘Do you think we’ve thrown off the pursuit?’ Laurana asked Theros wearily.

‘Does that answer your question?’ He pointed downstream.

In the deepening dusk, Laurana could barely make out several dark shapes upon the water. They were still far down river, but it was clear to Laurana that there would be little rest for the companions tonight. One of the Kaganesti, however, spoke to Theros, gesturing downstream. The big smith nodded.

‘Do not worry. We are safe until morning. He says they will have to make landfall as well. None dare travel the river at night. Not even the Kaganesti, and they know every bend and every snag. He says he will make camp here, near the river. Strange creatures walk the forest at night—men with the heads of lizards. Tomorrow we will travel by water as far as we can, but soon we will have to leave the river and take to land.’

‘Ask him if his people will stop the Qualinesti from pursuing us if we enter his land,’ Sturm told Theros.

Theros turned to the Kaganesti elf, speaking the elven tongue clumsily but well enough to be understood. The Kaganesti elf shook his head. He was a wild, savage-looking creature. Laurana could see how her people thought them only one step removed from animals. His face revealed traces of distant human ancestry. Though he had no beard—the elven blood ran too purely in the veins of the Kaganesti to allow that—the elf reminded Laurana vividly of Tanis with his quick, decisive way of speaking, his strong, muscular build, and his emphatic gestures. Overcome with memories, she turned away.

Theros translated. ‘He says that the Qualinesti must follow protocol and ask permission from the elders to enter Kaganesti lands in search of you. The elders will likely grant permission, maybe even offer to help. They don’t want humans in Southern Ergoth any more than their cousins. In fact,’ Theros added slowly, ‘he’s made it plain that the only reason he and his friends are helping us now is to return favors I’ve done in the past and to help Silvara.’

Laurana’s gaze went to the girl. Silvara stood on the riverbank, talking to Gilthanas.

Theros saw Laurana’s face harden. Looking at the Wilder elf and the elflord, he guessed her thoughts.

‘Odd to see jealousy in the face of one who—according to rumor—ran away to become the lover of my friend, Tanis, the half-elf,’ Theros remarked. ‘I thought you were different from your people, Laurana.’

‘It’s not that!’ she said sharply, feeling her skin burn. ‘I’m not Tanis’s lover. Not that it makes any difference. I simply don’t trust the girl. She’s—well—too eager to help us, if that makes any sense.’

‘Your brother might have something to do with that.’

‘He’s an elflord—’ Laurana began angrily. Then, realizing what she had been about to say, she broke off. ‘What do you know of Silvara?’ she asked instead.

‘Little,’ Theros answered, regarding Laurana with a disappointed look that made her unreasonably angry. ‘I know she is highly respected and much loved by her people, especially for her healing skills.’

‘And her spying skills?’ Laurana asked coolly.

‘These people are fighting for their own survival. They do what they must,’ Theros said sternly. ‘That was a fine talk you made back on the beach, Laurana. I almost believed it.’

The blacksmith went to help the Kaganesti hide the boats. Laurana, angry and ashamed, bit her lip in frustration. Was Theros right? Was she jealous of Gilthanas’s attention? Did she consider Silvara unworthy of him? It was how Gilthanas had always considered Tanis, certainly. Was this different?

Listen to your feelings, Raistlin had told her. That was all very well, but first she had to understand her feelings! Hadn’t her love for Tanis taught her anything?

Yes, Laurana decided finally, her mind clearing. She’d meant what she’d said to Theros. If there was something about Silvara she didn’t trust, it had nothing to do with the fact that Gilthanas was attracted to the girl. It was something indefinable. Laurana was sorry Theros had misunderstood her, but she would take Raistlin’s advice and trust her instincts.

She would keep an eye on Silvara.

5 Silvara

Although every muscle in Gilthanas’s body cried for rest and he thought he couldn’t crawl into his bedroll soon enough, the elflord found himself wide awake, staring into the sky. Storm clouds still hung thickly overhead, but a breeze tinged with salt air was blowing from the west, breaking them up. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of stars, and once the red moon flickered in the sky like a candleflame, then was snuffed out by the clouds.

The elf tried to get comfortable, turning and twisting until his bedroll was a shambles, then he had to sit up and untangle himself. Finally he gave up, deciding it was impossible to sleep on the hard, frozen ground.

None of the rest of his companions seemed to be having any problems, he noticed bitterly. Laurana lay sleeping soundly, her cheek resting on her hand as was her habit from childhood. How strangely she’d been acting lately, Gilthanas thought. But then, he supposed he could hardly blame her. She had given up everything to do what she believed right and take the orb to Sancrist. Their father might have accepted her back into the family once, but now she was an outcast forever.

Gilthanas sighed. What about himself? He’d wanted to keep the orb in Qualin-Mori. He believed his father was right...Or did he?

Apparently not, since I’m here, Gilthanas told himself. By the gods, his values were getting as muddled as Laurana’s! First, his hatred for Tanis—a hatred he’d nurtured righteously for years—was starting to dwindle away, replaced by admiration, even affection. Next, he’d felt his hatred of other races beginning to die. He’d known few elves as noble or self-sacrificing as the human, Sturm Brightblade. And, though he didn’t like Raistlin, he envied the young mage’s skill. It was something Gilthanas, a dabbler in magic, had never had the patience or the courage to acquire. Finally, he had to admit he even liked the kender and the grumpy old dwarf. But he had never thought he would fall in love with a Wilder elf.

‘There!’ Gilthanas said aloud. ‘I’ve admitted it. I love her!’ But was it love, he wondered, or simply physical attraction. At that, he grinned, thinking of Silvara with her dirt-streaked face, her filthy hair, her tattered clothes. My soul’s eye must be seeing more clearly than my head, he thought, glancing fondly over at her bedroll.

To his astonishment, he saw it was empty! Startled, Gilthanas looked quickly around the camp. They had not dared light a fire—not only were the Qualinesti after them, but Theros had talked of groups of draconians roaming the land.

Thinking of this, Gilthanas rose to his feet quickly and began to search for Silvara. He moved silently, hoping to avoid the questions of Sturm and Derek, who were standing watch. A sudden chilling thought crossed his mind. Hurriedly, he looked for the dragon orb. But it was still where Silvara had put it. Beside it lay the broken shaft of the dragonlance.

Gilthanas breathed more easily. Then his quick ears caught the sound of water splashing. Listening carefully, he determined it wasn’t a fish or a nightbird diving for its catch in the river. The elflord glanced at Derek and Sturm. The two stood apart from one another on a rock outcropping overlooking the camp. Gilthanas could hear them arguing with each other in fierce whispers. The elflord crept away from camp, heading toward the sound of softly splashing water.

Gilthanas walked through the dark forest with no more noise than the shadows of night itself would make. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of the river glistening faintly through the trees. Then he came to a place where the water, flowing among the rocks, had become trapped in a small pool. Here Gilthanas stopped, and here his heart almost stopped beating. He had found Silvara.

A dark circle of trees stood starkly outlined against the racing clouds. The silence of the night was broken only by the gentle murmurs of the silver river, which fell over rock steps into the pool, and by the splashing sounds that had caught Gilthanas’s attention. Now he knew what they were.

Silvara was bathing. Oblivious to the chill in the air, the elfmaid was submerged in the water. Her clothes lay scattered on the bank next to a frayed blanket. Only her shoulders and arms were visible to Gilthanas’s elvensight. Her head was thrown back as she washed the long hair that trailed out behind her, floating like a dark cobweb on the darker pool. The elflord held his breath, watching her. He knew he should leave, but he was held fast, entranced.

And then, the clouds parted. Solinari, the silver moon, though only half-full, burned in the night sky with a cold brilliance. The water in the pool turned to molten silver. Silvara rose up out of the pool. The silver water glistened on her skin, gleamed in her silver hair, ran in shining rivulets down her body that was painted in silver moonlight. Her beauty struck Gilthanas’s heart with such intense pain that he gasped.

Silvara started, looking around her terrified. Her wild, abandoned grace added so much to her loveliness that Gilthanas, though he longed to speak to her reassuringly, couldn’t force the words past the pain in his chest.

Silvara ran from the water to the bank where her clothes lay. But she did not touch them. Instead, she reached into a pocket. Grabbing a knife, she turned, ready to defend herself.

Gilthanas could see her body quivering in the silvery moonlight, and he was reminded vividly of a doe he had cornered after a long hunt. The creature’s eyes sparkled with the same fear he now saw in Silvara’s luminous eyes. The Wilder elf stared around, terrified. Why doesn’t she see me? Gilthanas wondered briefly, feeling her eyes pass over him several times. With the elvensight, he should stand out to her like a—

Suddenly Silvara turned, starting to flee from the danger she could feel, yet could not see.

Gilthanas felt his voice freed. ‘No! Wait, Silvara! Don’t be frightened. It’s me, Gilthanas.’ He spoke in firm, yet hushed tones—as he had spoken to the cornered doe. ‘You shouldn’t be out alone, it’s dangerous...’

Silvara paused, standing half in silver light, half in protecting shadows, her muscles tense, ready to spring. Gilthanas followed his huntsman’s instinct, walking slowly, continuing to talk, holding her with his steady voice and his eyes.

‘You shouldn’t be out here alone. I’ll stay with you. I want to talk to you anyway. I want you to listen to me for a moment. I need to talk to you, Silvara. I don’t want to be here alone, either. Don’t leave me, Silvara. So much has left me in this world. Don’t leave...’

Talking softly, continuously, Gilthanas moved with smooth, deliberate steps toward Silvara until he saw her take a step backwards. Raising his hands, he sat down quickly on a boulder at the pool’s edge, keeping the water between them. Silvara stopped, watching him. She made no move to clothe herself, apparently deciding that defense was more important than modesty. She still held the knife poised in her hand.

Gilthanas admired her determination, although he was ashamed for her nakedness. Any well-bred elven woman would have fainted dead away by now. He knew he should avert his eyes, but he was too awed by her beauty. His blood burned. With an effort, he kept talking, not even knowing what he was saying. Only gradually did he become aware that he was speaking the innermost thoughts of his heart.

‘Silvara, what am I doing here? My father needs me, my people need me. Yet here I am, breaking the law of my lord. My people are in exile. I find the one thing that might help them—a dragon orb—but now I risk my life taking it from my people to give to humans to aid them in their war! It’s not even my war, it’s not my people’s war.’ Gilthanas leaned toward her earnestly, noticing that she had not taken her eyes from him. ‘Why, Silvara? Why have I brought this dishonor on myself? Why have I done this to my people?’

He held his breath. Silvara glanced into the darkness and the safety of the woods, then looked back at him. She will flee, he thought, his heart pounding. Then, slowly, Silvara lowered her knife. There was such sadness and sorrow in her eyes that, finally, Gilthanas looked away, ashamed of himself.

‘Silvara,’ he began, choking, ‘forgive me. I didn’t mean to involve you in my trouble. I don’t understand what it is that I must do. I only know...’

‘...that you must do it,’ Silvara finished for him.

Gilthanas looked up. Silvara had covered herself with the frayed blanket. This modest effort served only to fan the flames of his desire. Her silver hair, hanging down past her waist, gleamed in the moonlight. The blanket eclipsed her silver skin.

Gilthanas rose slowly and began to walk along the shore toward her. She still stood at the edge of the forest’s safety. He could still sense her coiled fear. But she had dropped the knife.

‘Silvara,’ he said, ‘what I have done is against all elven custom. When my sister told me of her plot to steal the orb, I should have gone directly to my father. I should have sounded the alarm. I should have taken the orb myself—’

Silvara took a step toward him, still clutching the blanket around her. ‘Why didn’t you?’ she asked in a low voice.

Gilthanas was nearing the rock steps at the north end of the pond. The water flowing over them made a silver curtain in the moonlight. ‘Because I know that my people are wrong. Laurana is right. Sturm is right. Taking the orb to the humans is right! We must fight this war. My people are wrong, their laws, their customs are wrong. I know this—in my heart! But I can’t make my head believe it. It torments me—’

Silvara walked slowly along the pool’s edge. She, too, was nearing the silver curtain of water from the opposite side.

‘I understand,’ she said softly. ‘My own...people do not understand what I do or why I do it. But I understand. I know what is right and I believe in it.’

‘I envy you, Silvara,’ Gilthanas whispered.

Gilthanas stepped to the largest rock, a flat island in the glittering, cascading water. Silvara, her wet hair falling over her like a silver gown, stood but a few feet from him now.

‘Silvara,’ Gilthanas said, his voice shaking, ‘there was another reason I left my people. You know what it is.’

He extended his hand, palm up, toward her.

Silvara drew back, shaking her head. Her breath came faster.

Gilthanas took another step nearer. ‘Silvara, I love you,’ he said softly. ‘You seem so alone, as alone as I am. Please, Silvara, you will never be alone again. I swear it...’

Hesitantly, Silvara lifted her hand toward his. With a sudden move, Gilthanas grabbed her arm and pulled her across the water. Catching her as she stumbled, he lifted her onto the rock beside him.

Too late the wild doe realized she was trapped. Not by the man’s arms—she could easily have broken free of his embrace. It was her own love for this man that had ensnared her. That his love for her was deep and tender sealed their fate. He was trapped as well.

Gilthanas could feel her body trembling, but he knew now—as he looked into her eyes—that she trembled with passion, not fear. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her tenderly. Silvara still held the blanket clasped around her body with one hand, but he felt her other hand close around his. Her lips were soft and eager. Then, Gilthanas tasted a salty tear on his lips. He drew back, amazed to see her crying.

‘Silvara, don’t. I’m sorry—’ He released her.

‘No!’ she whispered, her voice husky. ‘My tears are not because I am frightened of your love. They are only for myself. You cannot understand.’

Reaching out, she shyly put one hand around his neck and drew him near. And then, as he kissed her, he felt her other hand—the hand that had been clasping the blanket around her body—move up to caress his face.

Silvara’s blanket slipped unnoticed into the stream and was borne away by the silver water.

6 Pursuit. A desperate plan.

At noon the next day, the companions were forced to abandon the boats, having reached the river’s headwaters, where it flowed down out of the mountains. Here the water was shallow and frothy white from the tumbling rapids ahead. Many Kaganesti boats were drawn up on the bank. Dragging their boats ashore, the companions were met by a group of Kaganesti elves coming out of the woods. They carried with them the bodies of two young elven warriors. Some drew weapons and would have attacked had not Theros Ironfeld and Silvara hurried to talk with them.

The two spoke long with the Kaganesti, while the companions kept an uneasy watch downriver. Though they had been awake before dawn, starting as early as the Kaganesti felt was safe to travel through the swift water, they had, more than once, caught glimpses of the black boats pursuing them.

When Theros returned, his dark face was somber. Silvara’s was flushed with anger.

‘My people will do nothing to help us,’ Silvara reported. ‘They have been attacked by lizardmen twice in the last two days. They blame the coming of this new evil on humans who, they say, brought them here in a white-winged ship—’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Laurana snapped. ‘Theros, didn’t you tell them about these draconians?’

‘I tried,’ the blacksmith stated. ‘But I am afraid the evidence is against you. The Kaganesti saw the white dragon above the ship, but they did not, apparently, see you drive her off. At any rate, they have finally agreed to let us pass through their lands, but they will give us no aid. Silvara and I both pledged our lives for your good conduct.’

‘What are the draconians doing here?’ Laurana asked, memories haunting her. ‘Is it an army? Is Southern Ergoth being invaded? If so, perhaps we should go back—’

‘No, I think not,’ Theros said thoughtfully. ‘If the armies of the Dragon Highlords were ready to take this isle, they would do so with flights of dragons and thousands of troops. These appear to be small patrols sent out to make this bad situation deteriorate further. The Highlords probably hope the elves will save them the trouble of a war by destroying each other first.’

‘The Dragon High Command is not ready to attack Ergoth,’ Derek said. ‘They haven’t got a firm hold on the north yet. But it is only a matter of time. That is why it is imperative we get the dragon orb to Sancrist and call a meeting of the Council of Whitestone to determine what to do with it.’

Gathering their supplies, the companions set out for the high country. Silvara led them along a trail beside the splashing silver river that ran from the hills. They could feel the unfriendly eyes of the Kaganesti follow them out of sight.

The land began rising almost immediately. Theros soon told them they had traveled into regions where he had never been before; it was up to Silvara to guide them. Laurana was not altogether pleased with this situation. She guessed something had happened between her brother and the girl when she saw them share a sweet, secret smile.

Silvara had found time, among her people, to change her clothing. She was now dressed as a Kaganesti woman, in a long leather tunic over leather breeches, covered by a heavy fur cloak. With her hair washed and combed, all of them could see how she had come by her name. Her hair, a strange, metallic silver color, flowed from a peak on her forehead to fall about her shoulders in radiant beauty.

Silvara turned out to be an exceptionally good guide, pushing them along at a rapid pace. She and Gilthanas walked side by side, talking together in elven. Shortly before sundown, they came to a cave.

‘Here we can spend the night,’ Silvara said. ‘We should have left the pursuit behind us. Few know these mountains as well as I do. But we dare not light a fire. Dinner will be cold, I’m afraid.’

Exhausted by the day’s climb, they ate a cheerless meal, then made their beds in the cave. The companions, huddled in their blankets and every piece of clothing they owned, slept fitfully. They set the watch, Laurana and Silvara both insisting on taking turns. The night passed quietly, the only sound they heard was the wind howling among the rocks.

But the next morning Tasslehoff, squeezing out through a crack in the cave’s hidden entrance to take a look around, suddenly hurried back inside. Putting his finger to his lips, Tas motioned them to follow him outdoors. Theros pushed aside the huge boulder they had rolled across the mouth of the cave, and the companions crept after Tas. He led them to a stop not twenty feet from the cave and pointed grimly at the white snow.

On it were footprints, fresh enough that the blowing, drifting snow had not quite covered them. The light, delicate tracks had not sunk deeply into the snow. No one spoke. There was no need. Everyone recognized the crisp, clear outline of elven boots.

‘They must have passed by us in the night,’ Silvara said. ‘But we dare not stay here any longer. Soon they will discover they have lost the trail and will backtrack. We must be gone.’

‘I don’t see that it will make much difference,’ Flint grumbled in disgust. He pointed at their own, highly visible tracks. Then he looked up at the clear, blue sky. ‘We might as well just sit and wait for them. Save them time and save us bother. There’s no way we can hide our trail!’

‘Maybe we cannot hide our trail,’ said Theros, ‘but we can gain some miles on them, perhaps.’

‘Perhaps,’ Derek repeated grimly. Reaching down, he loosened his sword in its scabbard, then he walked back to the cave.

Laurana caught hold of Sturm. ‘It must not come to bloodshed!’ she whispered frantically, alarmed by Derek’s action.

The knight shook his head as they followed the others. ‘We cannot allow your people to stop us from taking the orb to Sancrist.’

‘I know!’ Laurana said softly. Bowing her head, she entered the cave in silent misery.

The rest were ready within moments. Then Derek stood, fuming in the doorway, watching Laurana impatiently.

‘Go ahead,’ she told him, unwilling to let him see her cry. ‘I’ll be along.’

Derek left immediately. Theros, Sturm, and the others trudged out more slowly, glancing uneasily at Laurana.

‘Go ahead.’ She gestured. She needed a moment to be by herself. But all she could think of was Derek’s hand on his sword. ‘No!’ she told herself sternly. ‘I will not fight my people. The day that happens is the day the dragons have won. I will lay down my own sword first—’

She heard movement behind her. Whirling around, her hand going reflexively to her sword, Laurana stopped.

‘Silvara?’ she said in astonishment, seeing the girl in the shadows. ‘I thought you had gone. What are you doing?’

Laurana walked swiftly to where Silvara had been kneeling in the darkness, her hands busy with something on the cavern floor. The Wilder elf rose quickly to her feet.

‘N-nothing,’ Silvara murmured. ‘Just gathering my things.’

Behind Silvara, on the cold floor of the cave, Laurana thought she saw the dragon orb, its crystal surface shining with a strange swirling light. But before she could look more closely, Silvara swiftly dropped her cloak over the orb. As she did so, Laurana noticed she kept standing in front of whatever it was she had been handling on the floor.

‘Come, Laurana,’ Silvara said, ‘we must hurry. I am sorry if I was slow—’

‘In a moment,’ Laurana said sternly. She started to walk past the Wilder elf. Silvara’s hand clutched at her.

‘We must hurry!’ she said, and there was an edge of steel in her low voice. Her grip on Laurana’s arm was painful, even through the thick fur of Laurana’s heavy cloak.

‘Let go of me,’ Laurana said coldly, staring at the girl, her green eyes showing neither fear nor anger. Silvara let fall her hand, lowering her eyes.

Laurana walked to the back of the shallow cave. Looking down, however, she could see nothing that made any sense. There was a tangle of twigs and bark and charred wood, some stones, but that was all. If it was a sign, it was a clumsy one. Laurana kicked at it with her booted foot, scattering the stones and sticks. Then she turned and took Silvara’s arm.

‘There,’ Laurana said, speaking in even, quiet tones. ‘Whatever message you left for your friends will be difficult to read.’

Laurana was prepared for almost any reaction from the girl—anger, shame at being discovered. She even half-expected her to attack. But Silvara began to tremble. Her eyes—as she stared at Laurana—were pleading, almost sorrowful. For a moment, Silvara tried to speak, but she couldn’t. Shaking her head, she jerked away from Laurana’s grasp and ran outside.

‘Hurry up, Laurana!’ Theros called gruffly.

‘I’m coming!’ she answered, glancing back at the debris on the cave floor. She thought of taking a moment longer to investigate further, but she knew she dare not take the time.

Perhaps I am being too suspicious of the girl, and for no reason, Laurana thought with a sigh as she hurried out of the cave. Then about half-way up the trail, she stopped so abruptly that Theros, walking rear-guard, slammed into her. He caught her arm, steadying her.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘Y-yes,’ Laurana answered, only half-hearing him.

‘You look pale. Did you see something?’

‘No. I’m fine,’ Laurana said hurriedly, and she started up the rocky cliff again, slipping in the snow. What a fool she’d been! What fools they’d all been!

Once again, she could see clearly in her mind’s eye Silvara rising to her feet, dropping her cloak over the dragon orb. The dragon orb that was shining with a strange light!

She started to ask Silvara about the orb when suddenly her thoughts were scattered. An arrow zinged through the air and thudded into a tree near Derek’s head.

‘Elves! Brightblade, attack!’ the knight cried, drawing his sword.

‘No!’ Laurana ran forward, grabbing his swordarm. ‘We will not fight! There will be no killing!’

‘You’re mad!’ Derek shouted. Angrily breaking loose of Laurana’s grip, he shoved her backwards into Sturm.

Another arrow flew by.

‘She’s right!’ Silvara pleaded, hurrying back. ‘We cannot fight them. We must reach the pass! There we can stop them.’

Another arrow, nearly spent, struck the chain-mail vest Derek wore over his leather tunic. He brushed it away irritably.

‘They’re not aiming to kill,’ Laurana added. ‘If they were, you would be dead by now. We must run for it. We can’t fight here, anyhow.’ She gestured at the thick woods. ‘We can defend the pass better.’

‘Put your sword away, Derek,’ Sturm said, drawing his blade. ‘Or you’ll fight me first.’

‘You’re a coward, Brightblade!’ Derek shouted, his voice shaking with fury. ‘You’re running from the enemy!’

‘No,’ Sturm answered coolly, ‘I’m running from my friends.’ The knight kept his sword drawn. ‘Get moving, Crownguard, or the elves will find they have arrived too late to take you prisoner.’

Another arrow flew past, lodging in a tree near Derek. The knight, his face splotched with fury, sheathed his sword and, turning, plunged ahead up the trail. But not before he had cast Sturm a look of such intense enmity that Laurana shuddered.

‘Sturm—’ she began, but he only grabbed her by the elbow and hustled her forward too fast to talk. They climbed rapidly. Behind her, she could hear Theros crashing through the snow, occasionally stopping to send a boulder bouncing down after them. Soon it sounded like the entire side of the mountain was sliding down the steep trail, and the arrows ceased.

‘But it’s only temporary,’ the smith puffed, catching up with Sturm and Laurana. ‘That won’t stop them for long.’

Laurana couldn’t answer. Her lungs were on fire. Blue and gold stars burst before her eyes. She was not the only one suffering. Sturm’s breath rasped in his throat. His grasp on her arm was weak and his hand shook. Even the strong smith was blowing like a winded horse. Rounding a boulder, they found the dwarf on his knees, Tasslehoff trying vainly to lift him.

‘Must...rest...’ Laurana said, her throat aching. She started to sit down, but strong hands grabbed her.

‘No!’ Silvara said urgently. ‘Not here! Just a few more feet! Come on! Keep going!’

The Wilder elf dragged Laurana forward. Dimly she was aware of Sturm helping Flint to his feet, the dwarf groaning and swearing. Between them, Theros and Sturm dragged the dwarf up the trail. Tasslehoff stumbled behind, too tired even to talk.

Finally they came to the top of the pass. Laurana slumped into the snow, past caring what happened to her. The rest sank down beside her, all except Silvara who was staring below them.

Where does she get the strength? Laurana thought through a bleak haze of pain. But she was too exhausted to question. At the moment, she was too tired to care whether the elves found her or not. Silvara turned to face them.

‘We must split up,’ she said decisively.

Laurana stared at her, uncomprehending.

‘No,’ Gilthanas began, trying without success to get to his feet.

‘Listen to me!’ Silvara said urgently, kneeling down. ‘The elves are too close. They will catch us for certain, then we must either fight or surrender.’

‘Fight,’ Derek muttered savagely.

‘There is a better way,’ Silvara hissed. ‘You, knight, must take the dragon orb to Sancrist alone! We will draw off the pursuit.’

For a moment no one spoke. Everyone stared silently at Silvara, considering this new possibility. Derek lifted his head, his eyes gleaming. Laurana flashed a look of alarm at Sturm.

‘I do not think one person should be charged with such a grave responsibility,’ Sturm said, his breath coming haltingly.

‘Two of us should go—at least.’

‘Meaning yourself, Brightblade?’ Derek asked angrily.

‘Yes, of course, Sturm should go,’ Laurana said, ‘if anyone.’

‘I can draw a map through the mountains,’ Silvara said eagerly. ‘The way is not difficult. The outpost of the knights is only a two-day journey from here.’

‘But we can’t fly,’ Sturm protested. ‘What about our tracks? Surely the elves will see we’ve split up.’

‘An avalanche,’ Silvara suggested. ‘Theros throwing the boulders down behind us gave me the idea.’ She glanced up. They followed her gaze. Snow-covered peaks towered above them, the snow hanging over the edges.

‘I can cause an avalanche with my magic,’ Gilthanas said slowly. ‘It will obliterate everyone’s tracks.’

‘Not entirely,’ cautioned Silvara. ‘We must allow ours to be found once again—though not too obviously. After all, we want them to follow us.’

‘But where will we go?’ asked Laurana. ‘I don’t intend to wander aimlessly through the wilderness.’

‘I—I know a place.’ Silvara faltered, her gaze dropping to the ground. ‘It is secret, known only to my people. I will take you there.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Please, we must hurry. There isn’t much time!’

‘I will take the orb to Sancrist,’ Derek said, ‘and I will go alone. Sturm should go with your group. You’ll need a fighter.’

‘We have fighters,’ Laurana said. ‘Theros, my brother, the dwarf. I, myself, have seen my share of battle—’

‘And me,’ piped Tasslehoff.

‘And the kender,’ Laurana added grimly. ‘Besides, it will not come to bloodshed.’ Her eyes saw Sturm’s troubled face and wondered what he was thinking. Her voice softened. ‘The decision is up to Sturm, of course. He must do as he believes best, but I think he should accompany Derek.’

‘I agree,’ muttered Flint. ‘After all, we’re not the ones who are going to be in danger. We’ll be safer without the dragon orb. It’s the orb the elves want.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Silvara, her voice soft. ‘We’ll be safer without the orb. It is you who will be in danger.’

‘Then my way is clear,’ Sturm said. ‘I will go with Derek.’

‘And if I order you to stay behind?’ Derek demanded.

‘You have no authority over me,’ Sturm said, his brown eyes dark. ‘Have you forgotten? I am not a knight.’

There was a painful, profound silence. Derek stared at Sturm intently.

‘No,’ he said, ‘and if I have my way, you never will be!’

Sturm flinched, as if Derek had struck him a physical blow. Then he stood up, sighing heavily.

Derek had already begun to gather his gear. Sturm moved more slowly, picking up his bedroll with thoughtful deliberation. Laurana pulled herself to her feet and went to Sturm.

‘Here,’ she said, reaching into her pack. ‘You’ll need food—’

‘You could come with us,’ Sturm said in low tones as she divided up their supplies. ‘Tanis knows we were going to Sancrist. He will come there, too, if possible.’

‘You’re right,’ Laurana said, her eyes brightening. ‘Perhaps that would be a good idea—’ Then her eyes went to Silvara. The Wilder elf held the dragon orb, still shrouded in its cloak. Silvara’s eyes were closed, almost as if she were communing with some unseen spirit. Sighing, Laurana shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got to stay with her, Sturm,’ she said softly. ‘Something’s not right. I don’t understand—’ she broke off, unable to articulate her thoughts. ‘What about Derek?’ she asked instead. ‘Why is he so insistent on going alone? The dwarf’s right about the danger. If the elves capture you, without us, they won’t hesitate to kill you.’

Sturm’s face was drawn, bitter. ‘Can you ask? Lord Derek Crownguard returns alone out of horrifying dangers, bearing with him the coveted dragon orb—’ Sturm shrugged.

‘But there’s so much at stake,’ Laurana protested.

‘You’re right, Laurana,’ Sturm said harshly. ‘There’s a lot at stake. More than you know—the leadership of the Knights of Solamnia. I can’t explain it now...’

‘Come along, Brightblade, if you’re coming!’ Derek snarled.

Sturm took the food, stowing it in his pack. ‘Farewell, Laurana,’ he said, bowing to her with the quiet gallantry that marked all his actions.

‘Farewell, Sturm, my friend,’ she whispered, putting her arms around the knight.

He held her closely, then kissed her gently on the forehead.

‘We will give the orb to the wise men to study. The Council of Whitestone will meet soon,’ he said. ‘The elves will be invited to attend, since they are advisory members. You must come to Sancrist as soon as possible, Laurana. Your presence will be needed.’

‘I’ll be there, the gods willing,’ Laurana said, her eyes going to Silvara, who was handing Derek the dragon orb. An expression of inexpressible relief flitted over Silvara’s face when Derek turned to go.

Sturm said good-bye, then he plunged into the snow after Derek. The companions saw a flash of light as his shield caught the sun.

Suddenly Laurana took a step forward. ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘I’ve got to stop them. They should take the dragonlance, too.’

‘No!’ Silvara shouted, running to block Laurana’s path.

Angrily, Laurana reached out to shove the girl aside, then she saw Silvara’s face and her hand stopped.

‘What are you doing, Silvara?’ Laurana asked. ‘Why did you send them off? Why were you so eager to split us up? Why give them the orb and not the lance—’

Silvara didn’t answer. She simply shrugged and stared at Laurana with eyes bluer than midnight. Laurana felt her will being drained by those blue, blue eyes. She was reminded terrifyingly of Raistlin.

Gilthanas, too, stared at Silvara with a perplexed and worried expression. Theros stood grim and stern, glancing at Laurana as if beginning to share her doubts. But they were not able to move. They were completely under Silvara’s control—yet what had she done to them? They could only stand and stare at the Wilder elf as she walked calmly over to where Laurana had wearily let fall her pack. Bending down, Silvara unwrapped the broken piece of splintered wood. Then she raised it in the air.

Sunlight flashed on Silvara’s silver hair, mimicking the flash from Sturm’s shield.

‘The dragonlance stays with me,’ Silvara said. Glancing swiftly around the spellbound group, she added, ‘As do you.’

7 Dark journey

Behind them, the snow rumbled and toppled over the side of the mountain. Cascading down in white sheets, blocking and choking the pass, it obliterated their presence. The echoes of Gilthanas’s magical thunder still resounded in the air, or perhaps it was the booming of the rocks as they bounded down the slopes. They could not be certain.

The companions, led by Silvara, traveled the trails east slowly and cautiously, walking where it was rocky, avoiding the snowy patches if at all possible. They walked through each other’s footsteps so that the pursuing elves would never know for certain how many were in their party.

They were so careful, in fact, that Laurana grew worried.

‘Remember, we want them to find us,’ she said to Silvara as they crept across the top of a rocky defile.

‘Do not be upset. They will have no trouble finding us,’ answered Silvara.

‘What makes you so certain?’ Laurana started to ask, then she slipped and fell to her hands and knees. Gilthanas helped her stand. Grimacing with pain, she stared at Silvara in silence. None of them, including Theros, trusted the sudden change that had come over the Wilder elf since their parting with the knights. But they had no choice except to follow her.

‘Because they know our destination,’ Silvara answered. ‘You were clever to think I left a sign to them in the cave. I did. Fortunately, you did not find it. Below those sticks you so kindly scattered for me I had drawn a crude map. When they find it, they will think I drew it to show you our destination. You made it look most realistic, Laurana.’ Her voice was defiant until she met Gilthanas’s eyes.

The elflord turned away from her, his face grave. Silvara faltered. Her voice became pleading. ‘I did it for a reason—a good reason. I knew then, when I saw the tracks, we would have to split up. You must believe me!’

‘What about the dragon orb? What were you doing with it?’ Laurana demanded.

‘N-nothing,’ Silvara stammered. ‘You must trust me!’

‘I don’t see why,’ Laurana returned coldly.

‘I have done you no harm—’ Silvara began.

‘Unless you have sent the knights and the dragon orb into a deathtrap!’ Laurana cried.

‘No!’ Silvara wrung her hands. ‘I haven’t! Believe me. They will be safe. That has been my plan all along. Nothing must happen to the dragon orb. Above all, it must not fall into the hands of the elves. That is why I sent it away. That is why I helped you escape!’ She glanced around, seeming to sniff the air like an animal. ‘Come! We have lingered too long.’

‘If we go with you at all!’ Gilthanas said harshly. ‘What do you know about the dragon orb?’

‘Don’t ask me!’ Silvara’s voice was suddenly deep and filled with sadness. Her blue eyes stared into Gilthanas’s with such love that he could not bear to face her. He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. Silvara caught hold of his arm. ‘Please, shalori, beloved, trust me! Remember what we talked about, at the pool. You said you had to do these things—defy your people, become an outcast, because of what you believed in your heart. I said that I understood, that I had to do the same. Didn’t you believe me?’

Gilthanas stood a moment, his head bowed. ‘I believed you,’ he said softly. Reaching out, he pulled her to him, kissing her silver hair. ‘We’ll go with you. Come on, Laurana.’ Arms around each other, the two trudged off through the snow.

Laurana looked blankly at the others. They avoided her eyes. Then Theros came up to her.

‘I’ve lived in this world nearly fifty years, young woman,’ he said gently. ‘Not long to you elves, I know. But we humans live those years—we don’t just let them drift by. And I’ll tell you this—that girl loves your brother as truly as I’ve ever seen woman love man. And he loves her. Such love cannot come to evil. For the sake of their love alone, I’d follow them into a dragons den.’

The smith walked after the two.

‘For the sake of my cold feet, I’d follow them into a dragon’s den, if he’d warm my toes!’ Flint stamped on the ground. ‘Come on, let’s go.’ Grabbing the kender, he dragged Tas along after the blacksmith.

Laurana remained standing, alone. That she would follow was settled. She had no choice. She wanted to trust Theros’s words. One time, she would have believed the world ran that way. But now she knew much she had believed in was false. Why not love?

All she could see in her mind were the swirling colors of the dragon orb.

The companions traveled east, into the gloom of gathering night. Descending from the high mountain pass, they found the air easier to breathe. The frozen rocks gave way to scraggly pines, then the forests closed in around them once more. Silvara confidently led them at last into a fog-shrouded valley.

The Wilder elf no longer seemed to care about covering their tracks. All that concerned her now was speed. She pushed the group on, as if racing the sun across the sky. When night fell, they sank into the tree-rimmed darkness, too tired even to eat. But Silvara allowed them only a few hours of restless, aching sleep. When the moons rose, the silver and the red, nearing their fullness now, she urged the companions on.

When anyone questioned, wearily, why they hurried, she only answered, ‘They are near. They are very near.’

Each assumed she meant the elves, though Laurana had long ago lost the feeling of dark shapes trailing them.

Dawn broke, but the light was filtered through fog so thick Tasslehoff thought he might grab a handful and store it in one of his pouches. The companions walked close together, even holding hands to avoid being separated. The air grew warmer. They shed their wet and heavy cloaks as they stumbled along a trail that seemed to materialize beneath their feet, out of the fog. Silvara walked before them. The faint light shining from her silver hair was their only guide.

Finally the ground grew level at their feet, the trees cleared, and they walked on smooth grass, brown with winter. Although none of them could see more than a few feet in the gray fog, they had the impression they were in a wide clearing.

‘This is Foghaven Vale,’ Silvara replied in answer to their questions. ‘Long years ago, before the Cataclysm, it was one of the most beautiful places upon Krynn...so my people say.’

‘It might still be beautiful,’ Flint grumbled, ‘if we could see it through this confounded mist.’

‘No,’ said Silvara sadly. ‘Like much else in this world, the beauty of Foghaven has vanished. Once the fortress of Foghaven floated above the mist as if floating on a cloud. The rising sun colored the mists pink in the morning, burned them off at midday so that the soaring spires of the fortress could be seen for miles. In the evening, the fog returned to cover the fortress like a blanket. By night, the silver and the red moons shone on the mists with a shimmering light. Pilgrims came, from all parts of Krynn—’ Silvara stopped abruptly. ‘We will make camp here tonight.’

‘What pilgrims?’ Laurana asked, letting her pack fall.

Silvara shrugged. ‘I do not know,’ she said, averting her face. ‘It is only a legend of my people. Perhaps it is not even true. Certainly no one comes here now.’

She’s lying, thought Laurana, but she said nothing. She was too tired to care. And even Silvara’s low, gentle voice seemed unnaturally loud and jarring in the eerie stillness. The companions spread their blankets in silence. They ate in silence, too, nibbling without appetite on the dried fruit in their packs. Even the kender was subdued. The fog was oppressive, weighting them down. The only thing they could hear was a steady drip, drip, drip of water plopping onto the mat of dead leaves on the forest floor below.

‘Sleep now,’ said Silvara softly, spreading her blanket near Gilthanas’s, ‘for when the silver moon has neared its zenith, we must leave.’

‘What difference will that make?’ The kender yawned. ‘We can’t see it anyway.’

‘Nonetheless, we must go. I will wake you.’

‘When we return from Sancrist—after the Council of Whitestone—we can be married,’ Gilthanas said softly to Silvara as they lay together, wrapped in his blanket.

The girl stirred in his arms. He felt her soft hair rub against his cheek. But she did not answer.

‘Don’t worry about my father,’ Gilthanas said, smiling, stroking the beautiful hair that shone even in the darkness. ‘He’ll be stern and grim for a while, but I am the younger brother—no one cares what becomes of me. Porthios will rant and rave and carry on. But we’ll ignore him. We don’t have to live with my people. I’m not sure how I’d fit in with yours, but I could learn. I’m a good shot with a bow. And I’d like our children to grow up in the wilderness, free and happy...what...Silvara—why, you’re crying!’

Gilthanas held her close as she buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing bitterly. ‘There, there,’ he whispered soothingly, smiling in the darkness. Women were such funny creatures. He wondered what he’d said. ‘Hush, Silvara,’ he murmured. ‘It will be all right.’ And Gilthanas fell asleep, dreaming of silverhaired children running in the green woods.

‘It is time. We must leave.’

Laurana felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. Startled, she woke from a vague, frightening dream that she could not remember to find the Wilder elf kneeling above her.

‘I’ll wake the others,’ Silvara said, and disappeared.

Feeling more tired than if she hadn’t slept, Laurana packed her things by reflex and stood waiting, shivering, in the darkness. Next to her, she heard the dwarf groan. The damp air was making his joints ache painfully. This journey had been hard on Flint, Laurana realized. He was, after all, what—almost one hundred and fifty years old? A respectable age for a dwarf. His face had lost some of its color during his illness on the voyage. His lips, barely visible beneath the beard, had a bluish tinge, and occasionally he pressed his hand against his chest. But he always stoutly insisted he was fine and kept up with them on the trail.

‘All set!’ cried Tas. His shrill voice echoed weirdly in the fog, and he had the distinct feeling he’d disturbed something. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, cringing. ‘Gee,’ he muttered to Flint, ‘it’s like being in a temple.’

‘Just shut up and start moving!’ the dwarf snapped.

A torch flared. The companions started at the sudden, blinding light that Silvara held.

‘We must have light,’ she said before any could protest. ‘Do not fear. The vale we are in is sealed shut. Long ago, there were two entrances: one led to human lands where the knights had their outpost, the other led east into the lands of the ogres. Both passes were lost during the Cataclysm. We need have no fear. I have led you by a way known only to myself.’

‘And to your people,’ Laurana reminded her sharply.

‘Yes—my people...’ Silvara said, and Laurana was surprised to see the girl grow pale.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Laurana insisted.

‘You will see. We will be there within the hour.’

The companions glanced at each other, then all of them looked at Laurana.

Damn them! she thought. ‘Don’t look to me for answers!’ she said angrily. ‘What do you want to do? Stay out here, lost in the fog—’

‘I won’t betray you!’ Silvara murmured despondently. ‘Please, just trust me a little further.’

‘Go ahead,’ said Laurana tiredly. ‘We’ll follow.’

The fog seemed to close around them more thickly, until all that kept the darkness at bay was the light of Silvara’s torch.

No one had any idea of the direction they traveled. The landscape did not change. They walked through tall grass. There were no trees. Occasionally a large boulder loomed out of the darkness, but that was all. Of night birds or animals, there was no sign. There was a sense of urgency that increased as they walked until all of them felt it, and they hurried their steps, keeping ever within the light of the torch.

Then, suddenly, without warning, Silvara stopped.

‘We are here,’ she said, and she held the torch aloft.

The torch’s light pierced the fog. They could all see a shadowy something beyond. At first, it was so ghostly materializing out of the fog that the companions could not recognize it.

Silvara drew closer. They followed her, curious, fearful.

Then the silence of the night was broken by bubbling sounds like water boiling in a giant kettle. The fog grew denser, the air was warm and stifling.

‘Hot springs!’ said Theros in sudden understanding. ‘Of course, that explains the constant fog. And this dark shape—’

‘The bridge which leads across them,’ Silvara replied, shining the torchlight upon what they could see was a glistening stone bridge spanning the water boiling in the streams below them, filling the night air with its warm, billowing fog.

‘We’re supposed to cross that!’ Flint exclaimed, staring at the black, boiling water in horror. ‘We’re supposed to cross—’

‘It is called the Bridge of Passage,’ said Silvara.

The dwarf’s only answer was a strangled gulp.

The Bridge of Passage was a long, smooth arch of pure white marble. Along its sides—carved in vivid relief—long columns of knights walked symbolically across the bubbling streams. The span was so high that they could not see the top through the swirling mists. And it was old, so old that Flint, reverently touching the worn rock with his hand, could not recognize the craftsmanship. It was not dwarven, not elven, not human. Who had done such marvelous work?

Then he noticed there were no hand-rails, nothing but the marble span itself, slick and glistening with the mist rising constantly from the bubbling springs beneath.

‘We cannot cross that,’ said Laurana, her voice trembling. ‘And now we are trapped—’

‘We can cross,’ Silvara said. ‘For we have been summoned.’

‘Summoned?’ Laurana repeated in exasperation. ‘By what? Where?’

‘Wait,’ commanded Silvara.

They waited. There was nothing left for them to do. Each stood staring around in the torchlight, but they saw only the mist rising from the streams, heard only the gurgling water.

‘It is the time of Solinari,’ Silvara said suddenly, and—swinging her arm—she hurled her torch into the water.

Darkness swallowed them. Involuntarily, they crept closer together. Silvara seemed to have vanished with the light. Gilthanas called for her, but she did not answer.

Then the mist turned to shimmering silver. They could see once more, and now they could see Silvara, a dark, shadowy outline against the silvery mist. She stood at the foot of the bridge, staring up into the sky. Slowly she raised her hands, and slowly the mists parted. Looking up, the companions saw the mists separate like long, graceful fingers to reveal the silver moon, full and brilliant in the starry sky.

Silvara spoke strange words, and the moonlight poured down upon her, bathing her in its light. The moon’s light shone upon the bubbling waters, making them come alive, dancing with silver. It shone upon the marble bridge, giving life to the knights who spent eternity crossing the stream.

But it was not these beautiful sights that caused the companions to clasp each other with shaking hands or to hold each other closely. The moon’s light on the water did not cause Flint to repeat the name of Reorx in the most reverent prayer he ever uttered, or cause Laurana to lean her head against her brother’s shoulder, her eyes dimmed with sudden tears, or cause Gilthanas to hold her tightly, overwhelmed by a feeling of fear and awe and reverence.

Soaring high above them, so tall its head might have torn a moon from the sky, was the figure of a dragon, carved out of a mountain of rock, shining silver in the moonlight.

‘Where are we?’ Laurana asked in a hushed voice. ‘What is this place?’

‘When you cross the Bridge of Passage, you will stand before the Monument of the Silver Dragon,’ answered Silvara softly. ‘It guards the Tomb of Huma, Knight of Solamnia.’

8 The Tomb of Huma.

In Solinari’s light, the Bridge of Passage across the bubbling streams of Foghaven Vale gleamed like bright pearls threaded on a silver chain.

‘Do not fear,’ Silvara said again. ‘The crossing is difficult only for those who seek to enter the Tomb for evil purposes.’

But the companions remained unconvinced. Fearfully they climbed the few stairs leading them up to bridge itself. Then, hesitantly, they stepped upon the marble arch that rose before them, glistening wet with the steam from the springs. Silvara crossed first, walking lightly and with ease. The rest followed her more cautiously, keeping to the very center of the marble span.

Across from them, on the other side of the bridge, loomed the Monument of the Dragon. Even though they knew they must watch their footing, their eyes seemed constantly drawn up to it. Many times, they were forced to stop and stare in awe, while below them the hot springs boiled and steamed.

‘Why—I bet that water’s so hot you could cook meat in it!’ Tasslehoff said. Lying flat on his stomach, he peered over the edge of the highest part of the arched bridge.

‘I’ll b-bet it c-could c-cook you,’ stuttered the terrified dwarf, crawling across on his hands and knees.

‘Look, Flint! Watch. I’ve got this piece of meat in my pack. I’ll get a string and we’ll lower it in the water—’

‘Get moving!’ Flint roared. Tas sighed and closed his pouch.

‘You’re no fun to take anywhere,’ he complained, and he slid down the other side of the span on the seat of his pants.

But for the rest of the companions, it was a terrifying journey, and all of them sighed in heartfelt relief when they came down off the marble bridge onto the ground below.

None of them had spoken to Silvara as they crossed, their minds being too occupied with getting over the Bridge of Passage alive. But when they reached the other side, Laurana was the first to ask questions.

‘Why have you brought us here?’

‘Do you not trust me yet?’ Silvara asked sadly.

Laurana hesitated. Her gaze went once again to the huge stone dragon, whose head was crowned with stars. The stone mouth was open in a silent cry, and the stone eyes stared fiercely. The stone wings were carved out of the sides of the mountain. A stone claw stretched forth, as massive as the trunks of a hundred vallenwood trees.

‘You send the dragon orb away, then bring us to a monument dedicated to a dragon!’ Laurana said after a moment, her voice quivering. ‘What am I to think? And you bring us to this place you call Huma’s Tomb. We do not even know if Huma lived, or if he was legend. What is to prove this is his resting place? Is his body within?’

‘N-no,’ Silvara faltered. ‘His body disappeared, as did—’

‘As did what?’

‘As did the lance he carried, the Dragonlance he used to destroy the Dragon of All Colors and of None.’ Silvara sighed and lowered her head. ‘Come inside,’ she begged, ‘and rest for the night. In the morning, all will be made clear, I promise.’

‘I don’t think—’ Laurana began.

‘We’re going inside!’ Gilthanas said firmly. ‘You’re behaving like a spoiled child, Laurana! Why would Silvara lead us into danger? Surely, if there was a dragon living here, everyone on Ergoth would know it! It could have destroyed everyone on the island long ago. I sense no evil about this place, only a great and ancient peace. And it’s a perfect hiding place! Soon the elves will receive word that the orb has reached Sancrist safely. They’ll quit searching, and we can leave. Isn’t that right, Silvara? Isn’t that why you brought us here?’

‘Yes,’ Silvara said softly. ‘Th-that was my plan. Now, come, come quickly, while the silver moon still shines. For only then can we enter.’

Gilthanas, his hand holding Silvara’s hand, walked into the shimmering silver fog. Tas skipped ahead of them, his pouches bouncing. Flint and Theros followed more slowly, Laurana more slowly still. Her fears were not eased by Gilthanas’s glib explanation, nor by Silvara’s reluctant agreement. But there was no place else to go and—as she admitted—she was intensely curious.

The grass on the other side of the bridge was smooth and flat with the steamy clouds of moisture, but the ground began to rise as they approached the body of the dragon carved out of the cliff. Suddenly Tasslehoff’s voice floated back to them from the mist where he had run far ahead of the group.

‘Raistlin!’ they heard him cry in a strangled voice. ‘He’s turned into a giant!’

‘The kender’s gone mad,’ Flint said with gloomy satisfaction. ‘I always knew it—’

Running forward, the companions found Tas jumping up and down and pointing. They stood by his side, panting for breath.

‘By the beard of Reorx,’ gasped Flint in awe. ‘It is Raistlin!’

Looming out of the swirling mist, rising nine feet in the air, stood a stone statue carved in a perfect likeness of the young mage. Accurate in every detail, it even captured his cynical, bitter expression and the carven eyes with their hourglass pupils.

‘And there’s Caramon!’ Tas cried.

A few feet away stood another statue, this time shaped like the mage’s warrior twin.

‘And Tanis...’ Laurana whispered fearfully. ‘What evil magic is this?’

‘Not evil,’ Silvara said, ‘unless you bring evil to this place. In that case, you would see the faces of your worst enemies within the stone statues. The horror and fear they generate would not allow you to pass. But you see only your friends, and so you may pass safely.’

‘I wouldn’t exactly count Raistlin among my friends,’ muttered Flint.

‘Nor I,’ Laurana said. Shivering, she walked hesitantly past the cold image of the mage. The mage’s obsidian robes gleamed black in the moons’ light. Laurana remembered vividly the nightmare of Silvanesti, and she shuddered as she entered what she saw now was a ring of stone statues—each of them bearing a striking, almost frightening resemblance to her friends. Within that silent ring of stone stood a small temple.

The simple rectangular building thrust up into the fog from an octagonal base of shining steps. It, too, was made of obsidian, and the black structure glistened wet with the perpetual fog. Each feature stood as if it had been carved only days before; no sign of wear marred the sharp, clean lines of the carving. Its knights, each bearing the dragonlance, still charged huge monsters. Dragons screamed silently in frozen death, pierced by the long, delicate shafts.

‘Inside this temple, they placed Huma’s body,’ Silvara said softly as she led them up the stairs.

Cold bronze doors swung open on silent hinges to Silvara’s touch. The companions stood uncertainly on the stairs that encircled the columned temple. But, as Gilthanas had said, they could sense no evil coming from this place. Laurana remembered vividly the Tomb of the Royal Guard in the Sla-Mori and the terror generated by the undead guards left to keep eternal watch over their dead king, Kith-Kanan. In this temple, however, she felt only sorrow and loss, tempered by the knowledge of a great victory—a battle won at terrible cost, but bringing with it eternal peace and sweet restfulness.

Laurana felt her burden ease, her heart become lighter. Her own sorrow and loss seemed diminished here. She was reminded of her own victories and triumphs. One by one, all the companions entered the tomb. The bronze doors swung shut behind them, leaving them in total darkness.

Then light flared. Silvara held a torch in her hand, apparently taken from the wall. Laurana wondered briefly how she had managed to light it. But the trivial question left her mind as she stood gazing around the tomb in awe.

It was empty except for a bier carved out of obsidian, which stood in the center of the room. Chiseled images of knights supported the bier, but the body of the knight that was supposed to have rested upon it was gone. An ancient shield lay at the foot, and a sword, similar to Sturm’s, lay near the shield. The companions gazed at these artifacts in silence. It seemed a desecration to the sorrowful serenity of the place to speak, and none touched them, not even Tasslehoff.

‘I wish Sturm could be here,’ murmured Laurana, looking around, tears coming to her eyes. ‘This must be Huma’s resting place...yet—’ She couldn’t explain the growing sense of uneasiness that was creeping over her. Not fear, it was more like the sensation she had felt upon entering the vale—a sense of urgency.

Silvara lit more torches along the wall, and the companions walked past the bier, gazing around the tomb curiously. It was not large. The bier stood in the center and stone benches lined the walls, presumably for the mourners to rest upon while paying their respects. At the far end stood a small stone altar. Carved in its surface were the symbols of the orders of the Knights—the crown, the rose, the kingfisher. Dried rose petals and herbs lay scattered on the top, their fragrance still lingering sweetly in the air after hundreds of years. Below the altar, sunk into the stone floor, was a large iron plate.

As Laurana stared curiously at this plate, Theros came over to stand beside her.

‘What do you suppose this is?’ she wondered. ‘A well?’

‘Let’s see,’ grunted the smith. Bending over, he lifted the ring on top of the plate in his huge, silver hand and pulled. At first nothing happened. Theros placed both hands on the ring and heaved with all his strength. The iron plate gave a great groan and slid across the floor with a scraping, squeaking sound that set their teeth on edge.

‘What have you done?’ Silvara, who had been standing near the tomb regarding it sadly, whirled to face them.

Theros stood up in astonishment at the shrill sound of her voice. Laurana involuntarily backed away from the gaping hole in the floor. Both of them stared at Silvara.

‘Do not go near that!’ Silvara warned, her voice shaking. ‘Stand clear! It is dangerous!’

‘How do you know?’ Laurana said coolly, recovering herself. ‘No one’s come here for hundreds of years. Or have they?’

‘No!’ Silvara said, biting her lip. ‘I—I know from the...legends of my people...’

Ignoring the girl, Laurana stepped to the edge of the hole and peered inside. It was dark. Even holding the torch Flint brought her from the wall, she could see nothing down there. A faint musty odor drifted from the hole, but that was all.

‘I don’t think it’s a well,’ said Tas, crowding to see.

‘Stay away from it! Please!’ Silvara begged.

‘She’s right, little thief!’ Theros grabbed Tas and pulled him away from the hole. ‘If you fell in there, you might tumble through to the other side of the world.’

‘Really?’ asked Tasslehoff breathlessly. ‘Would I really fall through to the other side, Theros? I wonder what it would be like? Would there be people there? Like us?’

‘Not like kenders hopefully!’ Flint grumbled. ‘Or they’d all be dead of idiocy by now. Besides, everyone knows that the world rests on the Anvil of Reorx. Those falling to the other side are caught between his hammer blows and the world still being forged. People on the other side indeed!’ He snorted as he watched Theros unsuccessfully try to replace the plate. Tasslehoff was still staring at it curiously. Finally Theros was forced to give up, but he glared at the kender until Tas heaved a sigh and wandered away to the stone bier to stare with longing eyes at the shield and sword.

Flint tugged Laurana’s sleeve.

‘What is it?’ she asked absently, her thoughts elsewhere.

‘I know stonework,’ the dwarf said softly, ‘and there’s something strange about all this.’ He paused, glancing to see if Laurana might laugh. But she was paying serious attention to him. ‘The tomb and the statues built outside are the work of men. It is old...’

‘Old enough to be Huma’s tomb?’ Laurana interrupted.

‘Every bit of it.’ The dwarf nodded emphatically. ‘But yon great beast outside’—he gestured in the direction of the huge stone dragon—‘was never built by the hands of man or elf or dwarf.’

Laurana blinked, uncomprehending.

‘And it is older still,’ the dwarf said, his voice growing husky. ‘So old it makes this’—he waved his hand at the tomb—‘modern.’

Laurana began to understand. Flint, seeing her eyes widen, nodded slowly and solemnly.

‘No hand of any being that walks upon Krynn with two legs carved the side out of that cliff,’ he said.

‘It must have been a creature with awesome strength—’ Laurana murmured. ‘A huge creature—’

‘With wings—’

‘With wings,’ Laurana murmured.

Suddenly she stopped talking, her blood chilled in fear as she heard words being chanted, words she recognized as the strange, spidery language of magic.

‘No!’ Turning, she lifted her hand instinctively to ward off the spell, knowing as she did so that it was futile.

Silvara stood beside the altar, crumbling rose petals in her hand, chanting softly.

Laurana fought the enchanted drowsiness that crept over her. She fell to her knees, cursing herself for a fool, clinging to the stone bench for support. But it did no good. Lifting her sleep-glazed eyes, she saw Theros topple over and Gilthanas slump to the ground. Beside her, the dwarf was snoring even before his head hit the bench.

Laurana heard a clattering sound, the sound of a shield crashing to the floor, then the air was filled with the fragrance of roses.

9 The kender’s startling discovery.

Tasslehoff heard Silvara chanting. Recognizing the words of a magic spell, he reacted instinctively grabbed hold of the shield that lay on the bier, and pulled. The heavy shield fell on top of him, striking the floor with a ringing clang, flattening the kender. The shield covered Tas completely.

He lay still beneath it until he heard Silvara finish her thank. Even then, he waited a few moments to see if he was going to turn into a frog or go up in flames or something interesting like that. He didn’t—rather to his disappointment. He couldn’t even hear Silvara, Finally, growing bored lying in the darkness on the cold stone floor, Tas crept out from beneath the heavy shield with the silence of a falling feather.

All his friends were asleep! So that was the spell she cast. But where was Silvara? Gone somewhere to get a horrible monster to come back and devour them?

Cautiously, Tas raised his head and peered over the bier. To his astonishment, he saw Silvara crouched on the floor, near the tomb entrance. As Tas watched, she rocked back and forth, making small, moaning sounds.

‘How can I go through with it?’ Tas heard her say to herself. ‘I’ve brought them here. Isn’t that enough? No!’ She shook her head in misery. ‘No, I’ve sent the orb away. They don’t know how to use it. I must break the oath. It is as you said, sister—the choice is mine. But it is hard! I love him—’

Sobbing, muttering to herself like one possessed, Silvara buried her face in her knees. The tender-hearted kender had never seen such sorrow, and he longed to go comfort her. Then he realized what she was talking about didn’t sound good. ‘Choice is a hard one, break the oath...’

No, Tas thought, I better find a way out of here before she realizes her spell didn’t work on me.

But Silvara blocked the entrance to the tomb. He might try to sneak past her...Tas shook his head. Too risky.

The hole! He brightened. He’d wanted to examine it more carefully anyway. He just hoped the lid was still off.

The kender tiptoed around the bier until he came to the altar. There was the hole, still gaping open. Theros lay beside it, sound asleep, his head pillowed upon his silver arm. Glancing back at Silvara, Tas sneaked silently to the edge.

It would certainly be a better place to hide than where he was now. There were no stairs, but he could see handholds on the wall. A deft kender—such as himself—should have no trouble at all climbing down. Perhaps it led outside. Suddenly Tas heard a noise behind him. Silvara sighing and stirring...

Without another thought, Tas lowered himself silently into the hole and began his descent. The walls were slick with moisture and moss, the handholds were spaced far apart. Built for humans, he thought irritably. No one ever considered little people!

He was so preoccupied that he didn’t notice the gems until he was practically on top of them.

‘Reorx’s beard!’ he swore. (He was fond of this oath, having borrowed it from Flint.) Six beautiful jewels—each as big around as his hand—were spaced in a horizontal ring around the walls of the shaft. They were covered with moss, but Tas could tell at a glance how valuable they were.

‘Now why would anyone put such wonderful jewels down here?’ he asked aloud. ‘I’ll bet it was some thief. If I can pry them loose, I’ll return them to their rightful owner.’ His hand closed over a jewel.

A tremendous blast of wind filled the shaft, pulling the kender off the wall as easily as a winter gale rips a leaf off a tree. Falling, Tas looked back up, watching the light at the top of the shaft grow smaller and smaller. He wondered briefly just how big the Hammer of Reorx was, and then he stopped falling.

For a moment, the wind tumbled him end over end. Then it switched directions, blowing him sideways. I’m not going to the other side of the world after all, he thought sadly. Sighing, he sailed along through another tunnel. Then he suddenly felt himself start to rise! A great wind was wafting him up the shaft! It was an unusual sensation, quite exhilarating. Instinctively, he spread his arms to see if he could touch the sides of whatever it was he was in. As he spread his arms, he noticed that he rose faster, borne gently upward on swift currents of air.

Perhaps I’m dead, Tas thought. I’m dead and now I’m lighter than air. How can I tell? Putting his arms down, he felt frantically for his pouches. He wasn’t certain—the kender had very vague ideas as to the afterlife—but he had a feeling they wouldn’t let him take his things with him. No, everything was there. Tas breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a gulp when he discovered himself slowing down and even starting to fall!

What? he thought wildly, then realized he had pulled both his arms in close to his body. Hurriedly he thrust his arms out again and, sure enough, he began to rise. Convinced that he wasn’t dead, he gave himself up to enjoying the flight.

Fluttering his hands, the kender rolled over on his back in midair, and stared up to see where he was going.

Ah, there was a light far above him, growing brighter and brighter. Now he could see that he was in a shaft, but it was much longer than the shaft he had tumbled down.

‘Wait until Flint hears about this!’ he said wistfully. Then he caught a glimpse of six jewels, like the ones he’d seen in the other shaft. The rushing wind began to lessen.

Just as he decided that he could really enjoy taking up flying as a way of life, Tas reached the top of the shaft. The air currents held him even with the stone floor of a torch-lit chamber. Tas waited a moment to see if he might start flying again, and he even flapped his arms a bit to help, but nothing happened. Apparently his flight had ended.

I might as well explore while I’m up here, the kender thought with a sigh. Jumping out of the air currents, he landed lightly on the stone floor, then began to look around.

Several torches flared on the walls, illuminating the chamber with a bright white radiance. This room was certainly much larger than the tomb! He was standing at the bottom of a great curving staircase. The huge flagstones of each step—as well as all the other stones in the room—were pure white, much different from the black stone of the tomb. The staircase curved to the right, leading up to what appeared to be another level of the chamber. Above him, he could see a railing overlooking the stairs, apparently there was some sort of balcony up there. Nearly breaking his neck trying to see, Tas thought he could make out swirls and splotches of bright colors shining in the torchlight from the opposite wall.

Who lit the torches, he wondered? What is this place? Part of Huma’s tomb? Or did I fly up into the Dragon Mountain? Who lives here? Those torches didn’t light themselves!

At that thought—just to be safe—Tas reached into his tunic and drew out his little knife. Holding it in his hand, he climbed the grand stairs and came out onto the balcony. It was a huge chamber, but he could see little of it in the flickering torchlight. Gigantic pillars supported the massive ceiling overhead. Another great staircase rose from this balcony level to yet another floor. Tas turned around, leaning against the railing to look at the walls behind him.

‘Reorx’s beard!’ he said softly. ‘Look at that!’

That was a painting. A mural, to be more precise. It began opposite where Tas was standing, at the head of the stairs, and extended on around the balcony in foot after foot of shimmering color. The kender was not much interested in artwork, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing anything quite so beautiful. Or had he? Somehow, it seemed familiar. Yes, the more he looked at it, the more he thought he’d seen it before.

Tas studied the painting, trying to remember. On the wall directly across from him was pictured a horrible scene of dragons of every color and description descending upon the land. Towns blazed in flames—like Tarsis—buildings crumbled, people were fleeing. It was a terrible sight, and the kender hurried past it.

He continued walking along the balcony, his eyes on the painting. He had just reached the central portion of the mural when he gasped.

‘The Dragon Mountain! That’s it—there, on the wall!’ he whispered to himself and was startled to hear his whisper come echoing back to him. Glancing around hastily, he crept closer to the other edge of the balcony. Leaning over the rail, he stared closely at the painting. It indeed showed the Dragon Mountain, where he was now. Only this showed a view of the mountain as if some giant sword had chopped it completely in half vertically!

‘How wonderful!’ The map-loving kender sighed. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It is a map! And that’s where I am! I’ve gone up into the mountain.’ He looked around the room in sudden realization. ‘I’m in the throat of the dragon. That’s why this room is such a funny shape.’ He turned back to the map. ‘There’s the painting on the wall and there’s the balcony I’m standing on. And the pillars...’ He turned completely around. ‘Yes, there’s the grand staircase.’ He turned back. ‘It leads up into the head! And there’s how I came up. Some sort of wind chamber. But who built this...and why?’

Tasslehoff continued on around the balcony, hoping to find a clue in the painting. On the right-hand side of the gallery, another battle was portrayed. But this one didn’t fill him with horror. There were red dragons, and black, and blue, and white—breathing fire and ice—but fighting them were other dragons, dragons of silver and of gold...

‘I remember!’ shouted Tasslehoff.

The kender begin jumping up and down, yelling like a wild thing. ‘I remember! I remember! It was in Pax Tharkas. Fizban showed me. There are good dragons in the world. They’ll help us fight the evil ones! We just have to find them. And there are the dragonlances!’

‘Confound it!’ snarled a voice below the kender. ‘Can’t a person get some sleep? What is all this racket? You’re making noise enough to wake the dead!’

Tasslehoff whirled around in alarm, his knife in his hand. He could have sworn he was alone up here. But no. Rising up off a stone bench that stood in a shadowy area out of the torchlight was a dark, robed figure. It shook itself, stretched, then got up and began to climb the stairs, moving swiftly toward the kender. Tas could not have gotten away, even if he had wanted to, and the kender found himself intensely curious about who was up here. He opened his mouth to ask this strange creature what it was and why it had chosen the throat of a Dragon Mountain to nap in, when the figure emerged into the light. It was an old man. It was—

Tasslehoff’s knife clattered to the floor. The kender sagged back against the railing. For the first, last, and only time in his life, Tasslehoff Burrfoot was struck speechless.

‘F-F-F...’ Nothing came out of his throat, only a croak.

‘Well, what is it? Speak up!’ snapped the old man, looming over him. ‘You were making enough noise a minute ago. What’s the matter? Something go down the wrong way?’

‘F-F-F...’ stuttered Tas weakly.

‘Ah, poor boy. Afflicted, eh? Speech impediment. Sad, sad. Here—’The old man fumbled in his robes, opening numerous pouches while Tasslehoff stood trembling before him.

‘There,’ the figure said. Drawing forth a coin, he put it in the kender’s numb palm and closed his small, lifeless fingers over it. ‘Now, run along. Find a cleric...’

‘Fizban!’ Tasslehoff was finally able to gasp.

‘Where?’ The old man whirled around. Raising his staff, he peered fearfully into the darkness. Then something seemed to occur to him. Turning back around, he asked Tas in a loud whisper, ‘I say, are you sure you saw this Fizban? Isn’t he dead?’

‘I know I thought so...’ Tas said miserably.

‘Then he shouldn’t be wandering around, scaring people!’ the old man declared angrily. ‘I’ll have a talk with him. Hey, you!’ he began to shout.

Tas reached out a trembling hand and tugged at the old man’s robe. ‘I—I’m not sure, b-but I think you’re Fizban.’

‘No, really?’ the old man said, taken aback. ‘I was feeling a bit under the weather this morning, but I had no idea it was as bad as all that.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘So I’m dead. Done for. Bought the farm. Kicked the bucket.’ He staggered to a bench and plopped down. ‘Was it a nice funeral?’ he asked. ‘Did lots of people come? Was there a twenty-one gun salute? I always wanted a twenty-one gun salute.’

‘I—uh,’ Tas stammered, wondering what a gun was. ‘Well, it was...more of a...memorial service you might say. You see, we—uh—couldn’t find your—how shall I put this?’

‘Remains?’ the old man said helpfully.

‘Uh...remains.’ Tas flushed. ‘We looked, but there were all these chicken feathers...and a dark elf...and Tanis said we were lucky to have escaped alive...’

‘Chicken feathers!’ said the old man indignantly. ‘What have chicken feathers got to do with my funeral?’

‘We—uh—you and me and Sestun. Do you remember Sestun, the gully dwarf? Well, there was that great, huge chain in Pax Tharkas. And that big red dragon. We were hanging onto the chain and the dragon breathed fire on it and the chain broke and we were falling’—Tas was warming up to his story; it had become one of his favorites—‘and I knew it was all over. We were going to die. There must have been a seventy-foot drop (this increased every time Tas told the tale) and you were beneath me and I heard you chanting a spell—’

‘Yes, I’m quite a good magician, you know.’

‘Uh, right,’ Tas stammered, then continued hurriedly. ‘You chanted this spell, Featherfall or something like that. Anyway, you only said the first word, “feather” and suddenly’—the kender spread his hands, a look of awe on his face as he remembered what happened then—‘there were millions and millions and millions of chicken feathers...’

‘So what happened next?’ the old man demanded, poking Tas.

‘Oh, uh, that’s where it gets a bit—uh—muddled,’ Tas said. ‘I heard a scream and a thump. Well, it was more like a splatter actually, and I f-f-figured the splatter was you.’

‘Me?’ the old man shouted. ‘Splatter!’ He glared at the kender furiously. ‘I never in my life splattered!’

‘Then Sestun and I tumbled down into the chicken feathers, along with the chain. I looked—I really did.’ Tas’s eyes filled with tears as he remembered his heartbroken search for the old man’s body. ‘But there were too many feathers...and there was this terrible commotion outside where the dragons were fighting. Sestun and I made it to the door, and then we found Tanis, and I wanted to go back to look for you some more, but Tanis said no...’

‘So you left me buried under a mound of chicken feathers?’

‘It was an awfully nice memorial service,’ Tas faltered. ‘Goldmoon spoke, and Elistan. You didn’t meet Elistan, but you remember Goldmoon, don’t you? And Tanis?’

‘Goldmoon...’ the old man murmured. ‘Ah, yes. Pretty girl. Big, stern-looking chap in love with her.’

‘Riverwind!’ said Tas in excitement. ‘And Raistlin?’

‘Skinny fellow. Damn good magician,’ the old man said solemnly, ‘but he’ll never amount to anything if he doesn’t do something about that cough.’

‘You are Fizban!’ Tas said. Jumping up gleefully, he threw his arms around the old man and hugged him tight.

‘There, there,’ Fizban said, embarrassed, patting Tas on the back. ‘That’s quite enough. You’ll crumple my robes. Don’t sniffle. Can’t abide it. Need a hankie?’

‘No, I’ve got one—’

‘Now, that’s better. Oh, I say, I believe that handkerchief’s mine. Those are my initials—’

‘Is it? You must have dropped it.’

‘I remember you now!’ the old man said loudly. ‘You’re Tassle—Tassle-something-or-other.’

‘Tasslehoff. Tasslehoff Burrfoot,’ the kender replied.

‘And I’m—’ The old man stopped. ‘What did you say the name was?’

‘Fizban.’

‘Fizban. Yes...’ The old man pondered a moment, then he shook his head. ‘I sure thought he was dead...’

10 Silvara’s secret.

‘How did you survive?’ Tas asked; pulling some dried fruit from a pouch to share with Fizban.

The old man appeared wistful. ‘I really didn’t think I did,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I haven t the vaguest notion. But, come to think of it, I haven’t been able to eat a chicken since. Now’—he stared at the kender shrewdly—‘what are you doing here?’

‘I came with same of my friends. The rest are wandering around somewhere, if they’re still alive.’ He sniffed again.

‘They are. Don’t worry.’ Fizban patted him on the back.

‘Do you think so?’ Tas brightened. ‘Well, anyway, we’re here with Silvara—’

‘Silvara!’ The old man leaped to his feet, his white hair flying out wildly. The vague look faded from his face.

‘Where is she?’ the old man demanded sternly. ‘And your friends, where are they?’

‘D-downstairs,’ stammered Tas, startled at the old man’s transformation. ‘Silvara cast a spell on them!’

‘Ah, she did, did she?’ the old man muttered. ‘We’ll see about that. Come on.’ He started off along the balcony, walking so rapidly, Tas had to run to keep up.

‘Where’d you say they were?’ the old man asked, stopping near the stairs. ‘Be specific,’ he snapped.

‘Uh—the tomb! Huma’s tomb! I think it’s Huma’s tomb. That’s what Silvara said.’

‘Humpf. Well, at least we don’t have to walk.’

Descending the stairs to the hole in the floor Tas had come up through, the old man stepped out into its center. Tas, gulping a little, joined him, clutching at the old man’s robes. They hung suspended over nothing but darkness, feeling cool air waft up around them.

‘Down,’ the old man stated.

They began to rise, drifting toward the ceiling of the upper gallery. Tas felt the hair stand up on his head.

‘I said down!’ the old man shouted furiously, waving his staff menacingly at the hole below him.

There was a slurping sound and both of them were sucked into the hole so rapidly that Fizban’s hat flew off. It’s just like the hat he lost in the red dragon’s lair, Tas thought. It was bent and shapeless, and apparently possessed of a mind of its own. Fizban made a wild grab for it, but missed. The hat, however, floated down after them, about fifty feet above.

Tasslehoff peered down, fascinated, and started to ask a question, but Fizban shushed him. Gripping his staff, the old mage began whispering to himself, making an odd sign in the air.

Laurana opened her eyes. She was lying on a cold stone bench, staring at a black, glistening ceiling. She had no idea where she was. Then memory returned. Silvara!

Sitting up swiftly, she flashed a glance around the room. Flint was groaning and rubbing his neck. Theros blinked and looked around, puzzled. Gilthanas, already on his feet, stood at the end of Huma’s tomb, gazing down at something by the door. As Laurana walked over to him, he turned around. Putting his finger to his lips, he nodded in the direction of the doorway.

Silvara sat there, her head in her arms, sobbing bitterly.

Laurana hesitated, the angry words on her lips dying. This certainly wasn’t what she had expected. What had she expected? she asked herself. Never to wake again, most likely. There had to be an explanation. She started forward.

‘Silvara—’ she began.

The girl leaped up, her tear-stained face white with fear.

‘What are you doing awake? How did you free yourself from my spell?’ she gasped, falling back against the wall.

‘Never mind that!’ Laurana answered, though she hadn’t any idea how she had wakened. ‘Tell us—’

‘It was my doing!’ announced a deep voice. Laurana and the rest turned around to see a white-bearded old man in mouse-colored robes rise up solemnly out of the hole in the floor.

‘Fizban!’ whispered Laurana in disbelief.

There was a clunk and a thud. Flint toppled over in a dead faint. No one even looked at him. They simply stared at the old mage in awe. Then, with a shrill shriek, Silvara flung herself flat on the cold stone floor, shivering and whimpering softly.

Ignoring the stares of the others, Fizban walked across the floor of the tomb, past the bier, past the comatose dwarf, to come to Silvara. Behind him, Tasslehoff scrambled up out of the hole.

‘Look who I found,’ the kender said proudly. ‘Fizban! And I flew, Laurana. I jumped into the hole and just flew straight up into the air. And there’s a painting up there with gold dragons, and then Fizban sat up and yelled at me and—I must admit I felt really queer there for a while. My voice was gone and...what happened to Flint?’

‘Hush, Tas,’ Laurana said weakly, her eyes on Fizban. Kneeling down, he shook the Wilder elfmaid.

‘Silvara,. what have you done?’ Fizban asked sternly.

Laurana thought then that perhaps she had made a mistake—this must be some other old man dressed in the old magician’s clothes. This stern-faced, powerful man was certainly not the befuddled old mage she remembered. But no, she’d recognize that face anywhere, to say nothing of the hat!

Watching the two of them—Silvara and Fizban—before her, Laurana felt great and awesome power like silent thunder surging between the two. She had a terrible longing to run out of this place and keep running until she dropped with exhaustion. But she couldn’t move. She could only stare.

‘What have you done, Silvara?’ Fizban demanded. ‘You have broken your oath!’

‘No!’ The girl moaned, writhing on the ground at the old mage’s feet. ‘No, I haven’t. Not yet—’

‘You have walked the world in another body, meddling in the affairs of men. That alone would be sufficient. But you brought them here!’

Silvara’s tear-stained face was twisted in anguish. Laurana felt her own tears sliding unchecked down her cheeks.

‘All right then!’ Silvara cried defiantly. ‘I broke my oath, or at least I intended to. I brought them here. I had to! I’ve seen the misery and the suffering. Besides’—her voice fell, her eyes stared far away—‘they had an orb...’

‘Yes,’ said Fizban softly. ‘A dragon orb. Taken from Ice Wall Castle. It fell into your possession. What have you done with it, Silvara? Where is it now?’

‘I sent it away...’ Silvara said almost inaudibly.

Fizban seemed to age. His face grew weary. Sighing deeply, he leaned heavily upon his staff. ‘Where did you send it, Silvara? Where is the dragon orb now?’

‘St-Sturm has it,’ Laurana interrupted fearfully. ‘He took it to Sancrist. What does this mean? Is Sturm in danger?’

‘Who?’ Fizban peered around over his shoulder. ‘Oh, hullo there, my dear.’ He beamed at her. ‘So nice to see you again. How’s your father?’

‘My father—’ Laurana shook her head, confused. ‘Look, old man, never mind my father! Who—’

‘And your brother.’ Fizban extended a hand to Gilthanas. ‘Good to see you, son. And you, sir.’ He bowed to an astonished Theros. ‘Silver arm? My, my’—he stole a look back at Silvara—‘what a coincidence. Theros Ironfeld, isn’t it? Heard a lot about you. And my name is...’ The old magician paused, his brow furrowed.

‘My name is...

‘Fizban,’ supplied Tasslehoff helpfully.

‘Fizban.’ The old man nodded, smiling.

Laurana thought she saw the old magician cast a warning glance at Silvara. The girl lowered her head as if to acknowledge some silent, secret signal passed between them.

But before Laurana could sort out her whirling thoughts, Fizban turned back to her again. ‘And now, Laurana, you wonder who Silvara is? It is up to Silvara to tell you. For I must leave you now. I have a long journey ahead of me.’

‘Must I tell them?’ Silvara asked softly. She was still on her knees and, as she spoke, her eyes went to Gilthanas. Fizban followed her gaze. Seeing the elflord’s stricken face, his own face softened. Then he shook his head sadly.

Silvara raised her hands to him in a pleading gesture. Fizban walked over to her. Taking her hands, he raised her to her feet. She threw her arms around him, and he held her close.

‘No, Silvara,’ he said, his voice kind and gentle, ‘you do not have to tell them. The choice is yours that was your sister’s. You can make them forget they were ever here.’

Suddenly the only color left in Silvara’s face was the deep blue of her eyes. ‘But, that will mean—’

‘Yes, Silvara,’ he said. ‘It is up to you.’ He kissed the girl on the forehead. ‘Farewell, Silvara.’

Turning, he looked back at the rest. ‘Good-bye, good-bye. Nice seeing you again. I’m a bit miffed about the chicken feathers, but—no hard feelings.’ He waited impatiently a minute, glaring at Tasslehoff. ‘Are you coming? I haven’t got all night!’

‘Coming? With you?’ Tas cried, dropping Flint’s head back onto the stone floor with a thunk. The kender stood up. ‘Of course, let me get my pack...’ Then he stopped, glancing down at the unconscious dwarf. ‘Flint—’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Fizban promised. ‘You won’t be parted from your friends long. We’ll see them’—he frowned, muttering to himself—‘seven days, add three, carry the one, what’s seven times four? Oh well, around Famine Time. That’s when they’ll hold the Council meeting. Now, come along. I’ve got work to do. Your friends are in good hands. Silvara will take care of them, won’t you, my dear?’ He turned to the Wilder elf.

‘I will tell them,’ she promised sadly, eyes on Gilthanas.

The elflord was staring at her and at Fizban, his face pale, fear spreading through his soul.

Silvara sighed. ‘You are right. I broke the oath long ago. I must finish what I set out to do.’

‘As you think best.’ Fizban laid his hand upon Silvara’s head, stroking her silver hair. Then he turned away.

‘Will I be punished?’ she asked, just as the old man stepped into the shadows.

Fizban stopped. Shaking his head, he looked back over his shoulder ‘Some would say you are being punished right now, Silvara,’ he said softly. ‘But what you do, you do out of love. As the choice was up to you, so is your punishment.’

The old man stepped into the darkness. Tasslehoff ran after him, his pouches bouncing behind him. ‘Good-bye, Laurana! Good-bye, Theros! Take care of Flint!’ In the silence that followed, Laurana could hear the old man’s voice.

‘What was that name again? Fizbut, Furball—’

‘Fizban!’ said Tas shrilly.

‘Fizban...Fizban...’ muttered the old man.

All eyes turned to Silvara.

She was calm now, at peace with herself. Although her face was filled with sorrow, it was not the tormented, bitter sorrow they had seen earlier. This was the sorrow of loss, the quiet, accepting sorrow of one who has nothing to regret. Silvara walked toward Gilthanas. She took hold of his hands and looked up into his face with so much love that Gilthanas felt blessed, even as he knew she was going to tell him good-bye.

‘I am losing you, Silvara,’ he murmured in broken tones. ‘I see it in your eyes. But I don’t know why! You love me—’

‘I love you, elflord,’ Silvara said softly. ‘I loved you when I saw you lying injured upon the sand. When you looked up and smiled at me, I knew that the fate which had befallen my sister was to be mine, too.’ She sighed. ‘But it is a risk we take when we choose this form. For though we bring our strength into it, the form inflicts its weaknesses upon us. Or is it a weakness? To love...’

‘Silvara, I don’t understand!’ Gilthanas cried.

‘You will,’ she promised, her voice soft. Her head bowed.

Gilthanas took her in his arms, holding her. She buried her face in his chest. He kissed her beautiful silver hair, then clasped her with a sob.

Laurana turned away. This grief seemed too sacred for her eyes to intrude upon. Swallowing her own tears, she looked around and then remembered the dwarf. She took some water from his waterskin and sprinkled it on Flint’s face.

His eyes fluttered, then opened. The dwarf stared up at Laurana for a moment and reached out a trembling hand.

‘Fizban!’ the dwarf whispered hoarsely.

‘I know,’ Laurana said, wondering how the dwarf would take the news about Tas’s leaving.

‘Fizban’s dead!’ Flint gasped. ‘Tas said so! In a pile of chicken feathers!’ The dwarf struggled to sit up. ‘Where is that rattle-brained kender?’

‘He’s gone, Flint,’ Laurana said. ‘He went with Fizban.’

‘Gone?’ The dwarf looked around blankly. ‘You let him go? With that old man?’

‘I’m afraid so—’

‘You let him go with a dead old man?’

‘I really didn’t have much choice.’ Laurana smiled. ‘It was his decision. He’ll be fine—’

‘Where’d they go?’ Flint stood and shouldered his pack.

‘You can’t go after them,’ Laurana said. ‘Please, Flint.’ She put her arm around the dwarf’s shoulders. ‘I need you. You’re Tanis’s oldest friend, my advisor—’

‘But he’s gone without me,’ Flint said plaintively. ‘How could he leave? I didn’t see him go.’

‘You fainted—’

‘I did no such thing!’ the dwarf roared.

‘You—you were out cold,’ Laurana stammered.

‘I never faint!’ stated the dwarf indignantly. ‘It must have been a recurrence of that deadly disease I caught on board that boat—’ Flint dropped his pack and slumped down beside it. ‘Idiot kender. Running off with a dead old man.’

Theros came over to Laurana, drawing her to one side. ‘Who was that old man?’ he asked curiously.

‘It’s a long story.’ Laurana sighed. ‘And I’m not certain I could answer that question anyway.’

‘He seems familiar.’ Theros frowned and shook his head. ‘But I can’t remember where I’ve seen him before, though he puts me in mind of Solace and the Inn of the Last Home. And he knew me...’ The blacksmith stared at his silver hand. ‘I felt a shock go through me when he looked at me, like lightning striking a tree.’ The big blacksmith shivered, then he glanced over at Silvara and Gilthanas. ‘And what of this?’

‘I think we’re finally about to find out,’ Laurana said.

‘You were right,’ Theros said. ‘You didn’t trust her—’

‘But not for the right reasons,’ Laurana admitted guiltily.

With a small sigh, Silvara pushed herself away from Gilthanas’s embrace. The elflord let her go reluctantly.

‘Gilthanas,’ she said, drawing a shuddering breath, ‘take a torch off the wall and hold it up before me.’

Gilthanas hesitated. Then, almost angrily, he followed her directions.

‘Hold the torch there...’ she instructed, guiding his hand so that the light blazed right before her. ‘Now—look at my shadow on the wall behind me,’ she said in trembling tones.

The tomb was silent, only the sputtering of the flaming torch made any sound. Silvara’s shadow sprang into life on the cold stone wall behind her. The companions stared at it and—for an instant—none of them could say a word.

The shadow Silvara cast upon the wall was not the shadow of a young elfmaid.

It was the shadow of a dragon.

‘You’re a dragon!’ Laurana said in shocked disbelief. She laid her hand on her sword, but Theros stopped her.

‘No!’ he said suddenly. ‘I remember. That old man—’ He looked at his arm. ‘Now I remember. He used to come into the Inn of the Last Home! He was dressed differently. He wasn’t a mage, but it was him! I’ll swear it! He told stories to the children. Stories about good dragons. Gold dragons and—’

‘Silver dragons,’ Silvara said, looking at Theros. ‘I am a silver dragon. My sister was the Silver Dragon who loved Huma and fought the final great battle with him—’

‘No!’ Gilthanas flung the torch to the ground. It lay flickering for a moment at his feet, then he stamped on it angrily, putting out its light. Silvara, watching him with sad eyes, reached out her hand to comfort him.

Gilthanas shrank from her touch, staring at her in horror.

Silvara lowered her hand slowly. Sighing gently, she nodded. ‘I understand,’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’

Gilthanas began to shake, then doubled over in agony. Putting his strong arms around him, Theros led Gilthanas to a bench and covered him with his cloak.

‘I’ll be all right,’ Gilthanas mumbled. ‘Just leave me alone, let me think. This is madness! It’s all a nightmare. A dragon!’ He closed his eyes tightly as if he could blot out their sight forever. ‘A dragon...’ he whispered brokenly. Theros patted him gently, then returned to the others.

‘Where are the rest of the good dragons?’ Theros asked. ‘The old man said there were many. Silver dragons, gold dragons—’

‘There are many of us,’ Silvara answered reluctantly.

‘Like the silver dragon we saw in Ice Wall!’ Laurana said. ‘It was a good dragon. If there are many of you, band together! Help us fight the evil dragons!’

‘No!’ Silvara cried fiercely. Her blue eyes flared, and Laurana fell back a pace before her anger.

‘Why not?’

‘I cannot tell you.’ Silvara’s hands clenched nervously.

‘It has something to do with that oath!’ Laurana persisted. ‘Doesn’t it? The oath you’ve broken. And the punishment you asked Fizban about—’

‘I cannot tell you!’ Silvara spoke in a low, passionate voice. ‘What I have done is bad enough. But I had to do something! I could no longer live in this world and see the suffering of innocent people! I thought perhaps I could help, so I took elven form—and I did what I could. I worked long, trying to get the elves to join together. I kept them from war, but matters were growing worse. Then you came, and I saw that we were in great peril, greater than any of us had ever imagined. For you brought with you—’ Her voice faltered.

‘The dragon orb!’ Laurana said suddenly.

‘Yes.’ Silvara’s fists clenched in misery. ‘I knew then I had to make a decision. You had the orb, but you also had the lance. The lance and the orb coming to me! Both, together! It was a sign, I thought, but I didn’t know what to do. I decided to bring the orb here and keep it safe forever. Then, as we traveled, I realized the knights would never allow it to remain here. There would be trouble. So, when I saw my chance, I sent it away.’ Her shoulders sagged. ‘That was apparently the wrong decision. But how was I to know?’

‘Why?’ Theros asked severely. ‘What does the orb do? Is it evil? Have you sent those knights to their doom?’

‘Great evil,’ Silvara murmured. ‘Great good. Who can say? Even I do not understand the dragon orbs. They were forged long ago by the most powerful of magic-users.’

‘But the book Tas read said they could be used to control dragons!’ Flint stated. ‘He read it with some kind of glasses. Glasses of true seeing, he called ’em. He said they don’t lie—’

‘No,’ said Silvara sadly. ‘That is true. It is too true—as I fear your friends may discover to their bitter regret.’

The companions, fear closing around them, sat together in silence broken only by Gilthanas’s choking sobs. The torches sent shadows dodging and dancing around the quiet tomb like undead spirits. Laurana remembered Huma and the Silver Dragon. She thought of that final, terrible battle—the skies filled with dragons, the land erupting in flame and in blood.

‘Why have you brought us here, then?’ Laurana asked Silvara quietly. ‘Why not just let us all take the orb away?’

‘Can I tell them? Do I have the strength?’ Silvara whispered to an unseen spirit.

She sat quietly for a long time, her face expressionless, her hands twisting in her lap. Her eyes closed, her head bowed, her lips moved. She covered her face with her hands and sat quite still. Then, shuddering, she made her decision.

Rising to her feet, Silvara walked over to Laurana’s pack. Kneeling down, she slowly and carefully unwrapped the broken shaft of wood that the companions had carried such a long and weary distance. Silvara stood, her face once more filled with peace. But now there was also pride and strength. For the first time, Laurana began to believe this girl was something as powerful and magnificent as a dragon. Walking proudly, her silver hair glistening in the torchlight, Silvara walked over to stand before Theros Ironfeld.

‘To Theros of the Silver Arm,’ she said, ‘I give the power to forge the dragonlance.’