Dragons of Winter Noght by Weis, Margaret

“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 wilt 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 icebound 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 wrath 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.