Dragons of Winter Night

by Margaret Weis

  “My father carried the orb in this sack. I always thought it odd, considering the orb’s size, but he said the sack was given to him in the Tower of High Sorcery. Perhaps this will help you.”

  The mage reached out his thin hand to grasp it eagerly.

  “Jistrah tagopar Ast moirparann Kini,” he murmured and watched in satisfaction as the nondescript bag began to glow with a pale pink light.

  “Yes, it is enchanted,” he whispered. Then he lifted his gaze to Caramon. “Go and bring me the orb.”

  Caramon’s eyes opened wide in horror. “Not for any treasure in this world!” the big man said with an oath.

  “Bring me the orb!” Raistlin ordered, staring angrily at his brother, who still shook his head.

  “Oh, don’t be a fool, Caramon!” Raistlin snapped in exasperation. “The orb cannot hurt those who do not attempt to use it. Believe me, my dear brother, you do not have the power to control a cockroach, let alone a dragon orb!”

  “But it might trap me,” Caramon protested.

  “Bah! It seeks those with—” Raistlin stopped suddenly.

  “Yes?” Tanis said quietly. “Go on. Who does it seek?”

  “People with intelligence,” Raistlin snarled. “Therefore I believe the members of this party are safe. Bring me the orb, Caramon, or perhaps you want to carry it yourself? Or you, Half-Elf? Or you, cleric of Mishakal?”

  Caramon glanced uncomfortably at Tanis, and the half-elf realized that the big man was seeking his approval. It was an odd move for the twin, who had always done what Raistlin commanded without question.

  Tanis saw that he wasn’t the only one who noticed Caramon’s mute appeal. Raistlin’s eyes glittered in rage.

  Now more than ever, Tanis felt wary of the mage, distrusting Raistlin’s strange and growing power. It’s illogical, he argued with himself. A reaction to a nightmare, nothing more. But that didn’t solve his problem. What should he do about the dragon orb? Actually, he realized ruefully, he had little choice.

  “Raistlin’s the only one with the knowledge and the skill and—let’s face it—the guts to handle that thing,” Tanis said grudgingly. “I say he should take it, unless one of you wants the responsibility?”

  No one spoke, though Riverwind shook his head, frowning darkly. Tanis knew the Plainsman would leave the orb—and Raistlin as well—here in Silvanesti if he had the choice.

  “Go ahead, Caramon,” Tanis said. “You’re the only one strong enough to lift it.”

  Reluctantly, Caramon went to fetch the orb from its golden stand. His hands shook as he reached out to touch it, but, when he laid his hands upon it, nothing happened. The globe did not change in appearance. Sighing in relief, Caramon lifted the orb, grunting from the weight, and carried it back to his brother, who held the sack open.

  “Drop it in the bag,” Raistlin ordered.

  “What?” Caramon’s jaw sagged as he stared from the giant orb to the small bag in the mage’s frail hands. “I can’t, Raist! It won’t fit in there! It’ll smash!”

  The big man fell silent as Raistlin’s eyes flared golden in the dying light of day.

  “No! Caramon, wait!” Tanis leaped forward, but this time Caramon did as Raistlin commanded. Slowly, his eyes held fast by his brother’s intense gaze, Caramon dropped the dragon orb.

  The orb vanished!

  “What? Where—” Tanis glared at Raistlin suspiciously.

  “In the sack,” the mage replied calmly, holding forth the small bag. “See for yourself, if you do not trust me.”

  Tanis peered into the bag. The orb was inside and it was the true dragon orb, all right. He had no doubt. He could see the swirling mist of green, as though some faint life stirred within. It must have shrunk, he thought in awe, but the orb appeared to be the same size as always, giving Tanis the fearful impression that it was he who had grown.

  Shuddering, Tanis stepped back. Raistlin gave the drawstring on the top of the bag a quick jerk, snapping it shut. Then, glancing at them distrustfully, he slipped the bag within his robes, secreting it in one of his numerous hidden pockets, and began to turn away. But Tanis stopped him.

  “Things can never again be the same between us, can they?” the half-elf asked quietly.

  Raistlin looked at him for a moment, and Tanis saw a brief flicker of regret in the young mage’s eyes, a longing for trust and friendship and a return to the days of youth.

  “No,” Raistlin whispered. “But such was the price I paid.” He began to cough.

  “Price? To whom? For what?”

  “Do not question, Half-Elf.” The mage’s thin shoulders bent with coughing. Caramon put his strong arm around his brother and Raistlin leaned weakly against his twin. When he recovered from the spasm, he lifted his golden eyes. “I cannot tell you the answer, Tanis, because I do not know it myself.”

  Then, bowing his head, he let Caramon lead him away to find what rest he could before their journey.

  “I wish you would reconsider and let us assist you in the funeral rites for your father,” Tanis said to Alhana as she stood in the door of the Tower of the Stars to bid them farewell. “A day will not make a difference to us.”

  “Yes, let us,” Goldmoon entreated earnestly. “I know much about this from our people, for our burial customs are similar to yours, if Tanis has told me correctly. I was priestess in my tribe, and I presided over the wrapping of the body in the spiced cloths that will preserve it—”

  “No, my friends,” Alhana said firmly, her face pale. “It was my father’s wish that I—I do this alone.”

  This was not quite true, but Alhana knew how shocked these people would be at the sight of her father’s body being consigned to the ground—a custom practiced only by goblins and other evil creatures. The thought appalled her. Involuntarily, her gaze was drawn to the tortured and twisted tree that was to mark his grave, standing over it like some fearful carrion bird. Quickly she looked away, her voice faltered.

  “His tomb is—is long prepared and I have some experience of these things myself. Do not worry about me, please.”

  Tanis saw the agony in her face, but he could not refuse to honor her request.

  “We understand,” Goldmoon said. Then, on impulse, the Que-shu Plainswoman put her arms around the elven princess and held her as she might have held a lost and frightened child. Alhana stiffened at first, then relaxed in Goldmoon’s compassionate embrace.

  “Be at peace,” Goldmoon whispered, stroking back Alhana’s dark hair from her face. Then the Plainswoman left.

  “After you bury your father, what then?” Tanis asked as he and Alhana stood alone together on the steps of the Tower.

  “I will return to my people,” Alhana replied gravely. “The griffons will come to me, now that the evil in this land is gone, and they will take me to Ergoth. We will do what we can to help defeat this evil, then we will come home.”

  Tanis glanced around Silvanesti. Horrifying as it was in the daytime, its terrors at night were beyond description.

  “I know,” Alhana said in answer to his unspoken thoughts. “This will be our penance.”

  Tanis raised his eyebrows skeptically, knowing the fight she had ahead of her to get her people to return. Then he saw the conviction on Alhana’s face. He gave her even odds.

  Smiling, he changed the subject. “And will you find time to go to Sancrist?” he asked. “The knights would be honored by your presence. Particularly one of them.”

  Alhana’s pale face flushed. “Perhaps,” she said, barely speaking above a whisper. “I cannot say yet. I have learned many things about myself. But it will take me a long time to make these things a part of me.” She shook her head, sighing. “It may be I can never truly be comfortable with them.”

  “Like learning to love a human?”

  Alhana lifted her head, her clear eyes looked into Tanis’s. “Would he be happy, Tanis? Away from his homeland, for I must return to Silvanesti? And could I be happy, knowing that I must watch him age and die while
I am still in my youth?”

  “I asked myself these same questions, Alhana,” Tanis said, thinking with pain of the decision he had reached concerning Kitiara. “If we deny love that is given to us, if we refuse to give love because we fear the pain of loss, then our lives will be empty, our loss greater.”

  “I wondered, when first we met, why these people follow you, Tanis Half-Elven,” Alhana said softly. “Now I understand. I will consider your words. Farewell, until your life’s journey’s end.”

  “Farewell, Alhana,” Tanis answered, taking the hand she extended to him. He could find nothing more to say, and so turned and left her.

  But he could not help wondering, as he did, that if he was so damn wise, why was his life in such a mess?

  Tanis joined the companions at the edge of the forest. For a moment they stood there, reluctant to enter the woods of Silvanesti. Although they knew the evil was gone, the thought of traveling for days among the twisted, tortured forest was a somber one. But they had no choice. Already they felt the sense of urgency that had driven them this far. Time was sifting through the hourglass, and they knew they could not let the sands run out, although they had no idea why.

  “Come, my brother,” said Raistlin finally. The mage led the way into the woods, the Staff of Magius shedding its pale light as he walked. Caramon followed, with a sigh. One by one the others trailed after. Tanis alone turned to look back.

  They would not see the moons tonight. The land was covered with a heavy darkness as if it too mourned Lorac’s death. Alhana stood in the doorway to the Tower of the Stars, her body framed by the Tower, which glimmered in the light of moon rays captured ages ago. Only Alhana’s face was visible in the shadows, like the ghost of the silver moon. Tanis caught a glimpse of movement. She raised her hand and there was a brief, clear flash of pure white light—the Starjewel. And then she was gone.

  BOOK 2

  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.

  Song of the Ice Reaver

  I am the one who brought them back.

  I am Raggart I am telling you this.

  Snow upon snow cancels the signals of ice

  Over the snow the sun bleeds whiteness

  In cold light forever unbearable.

  And if I do not tell you this

  The snow descends on the deeds of heroes

  And their strength in my singing

  Lies down in a core of frost rising no more

  No more as the lost breath crumbles.

  Seven they were from the hot lands

  (I am the one who brought them back)

  Four swordsmen sworn in the North

  The elf-woman Laurana

  The dwarf from the floes of stone

  The kender small-boned as a hawk.

  Riding three blades they came to the tunnel

  To the throat of the only castle.

  Down among Thanoi the old guardians

  Where their swordsmen carved hot air

  Finding tendon finding bone

  As the tunnels melted red.

  Down upon minotaur upon ice bear

  And the swords whistled again

  Bright on the corner of madness

  The tunnel knee-high in arms

  In claws in unspeakable things

  As the swordsmen descended

  Bright steam freezing behind them.

  Then to the chambers at the castle heart

  Where Feal-thas awaited lord of dragons and wolves

  Armored in white that is nothing

  That covers the ice as the sun bleeds whiteness.

  And he called on the wolves the baby-stealers

  Who suckled on murder in the lairs of ancestors.

  Around the heroes a circle of knives of craving

  As the wolves stalked in their master’s eye.

  And Aran the first to break the circle

  Hot wind at the throat of Feal-thas

  Brought down and unraveled

  In the reel of the hunt perfected.

  Brian the next when the sword of the wolf lord

  Sent him seeking the warm lands.

  All stood frozen in the wheel of razors

  All stood frozen except for Laurana.

  Blind in a hot light flashing the crown of the mind

  Where death melts in a diving sun

  She takes up the Ice Reaver

  And over the boil of wolves over the slaughter

  Bearing a blade of ice bearing darkness

  She opened the throat of the wolf lord

  And the wolves fell silent as the head collapsed.

  The rest is short in the telling.

  Destroying the eggs the violent get of the dragons

  A tunnel of scales and ordure

  Followed into the terrible larder

  Followed further followed to treasure.

  There the orb danced blue danced white

  Swelled like a heart in its endless beating

  (They let me hold it I brought them back).

  Out from the tunnel blood on blood under the ice

  Bearing their own incredible burden

  The young knights silent and tattered

  They came five now only

  The kender last small pockets bulging.

  I am Raggart I am telling you this.

  I am the one who brought them back.

  1

  The flight from Ice Wall.

  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, inter-something-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.