X

Dragons of Winter Noght by Weis, Margaret

“You send the dragon orb away, then bring us to a monument dedicated to a dragon!” Laurana said after some 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 careen 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.

Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127

Categories: Weis, Margaret
Oleg: