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

"I know stonework;' the dwarf said softly, "and :here'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 .3 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. 

 

 

 

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, sisterthe 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 hey 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 stone 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 dragonlancesl"

"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 v.-ere 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 e 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-rnvuddled;' Tas said. "~ heard a scream .and a thump. Well, it was more like a splatter actually, and l f-E-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 an 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 handkerchiefs 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..."

 

 

 

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:" Fie 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 an 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 mousecolored robes rise up solemnly out of the hole in the floor.

"Fizban!" whispered Laurana in disbelief.

There was a dunk 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 pain ting 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 £eorfcIly. "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 am astonished Theros. "Silver arm? My, my"-he stole a look back art 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 aback 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 Chunk. The kender stood up. "Of course, let me get my pack . . :" Then he stopped, glancing down at the unconscious dwarf. 'lint=

"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 tunes four? Oh well, around Famine Time. That's when they'll hold the Council meeting. Now, come along. I've got work to do. 'lour 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 aver his

 shoulder. "Same 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 fol

 lowed, Laurana could hear the old man's voice.

 "What was that name again? Fizbut, Furball=

 r

 "Fizban!" said Tar, shrilly. y

 "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.. Hut I don't know why! You lave me-"

"I love you, elflord: Silvara said softly.. "I laved 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. Far 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 hands, 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 leaning.

"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 marl?"

"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 aver 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 cculd 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 blared 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 lever. 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 lever sword, but Theros stopped her.

"No!" he said suddenly. "I remember. That old man-" tie looked at his arm. "Now I remember. He used to come intro 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 lowed Huma and fought the final great battle with him-"

',No!,' Gilthanas flung the torch lea the ground. It lag flickering for a moment at his feet, them he stamped an it angrily, putting out its light. Silvara, watching him with sad eyes, reached out her hand to comfort him.

THE DRAGONS OF WINTER NIGHT

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, bind 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'sflands clenched nervously.

"I: 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 tang, trying to get the elves to loin 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 lead 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 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 staked. "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 inflame 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 tine, 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 silly. 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 wean, distance. Silvara stood, her face once mare filled with peace. Gut now there was also pride and strength. Far 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 aver to strand before Theros Ironfeld.

"'To Theros of the Silver Arm;' she said; "I give the power to forge the draganlance:" the .`Red Wizard and His wonderful Illusions!

Shadows crept across the dusty tables of the Pig and Whistle tavern. The sea breeze off the Bay of Balifor made a shrill whistling sound as it blew through the ill-fitting front windowsthat distinctive whistle giving the inn the last part of its name. Any guesses as to how the tavern got the first part ended on sight of the innkeeper. A jovial, kind-hearted man, William Sweetwater had been cursed at birth (so town legend went) when a wandering pig overturned the baby's cradle, so frightening young William that the mark 4f the pig was forever imprinted on his face.

This unfortunate resemblance had certainly not impaired William's temper, however. A sailor by trade until he had retired to fulfill a life-long ambition of keeping an inn, there was not a more respected or well-liked man in Port Balifor than William Sweetwater. No one laughed more heartily at pig jokes than did William. He could even grunt quite realistically and often did pig imitations for the amusement of his customers. taut no one ever-after the untimely death of Peg-Leg Alcalled William by the name "Piggy".)

William rarely grunted for his customers these days. The atmosphere of the Pig and Whistle was dark and gloomy. The few old customers that carne sat huddled together, talking in low voices. For Port Balifor was an occupied town-overrun by the armies of the highlords, whose ships had recently sailed into the Bay, disgorging troops of the hideous dragonmen.

The people of Port Balifor-mostly humans-felt extremely sorry for themselves. They had no knowledge of what was going on in the outside world, of course, or they would have counted their blessings. No dragons came to burn their town. The draconians generally left the citizens alone. The Dragon Highlords were not particularly interested in the eastern part of the Ansalon continent. The land was sparsely populated: a few poor, scattered communities of humans and Kendermore, the homeland of the kenders. A flight of dragons could have leveled the countryside, but the Dragon Highlords were concentrating their strength in the north and the west. As long as the parts remained opened, the Highlords had no need to devastate the lands of Balifor and Goodlund.

Although not many old customers came to the Pig and Whistle, business had improved for William Sweetwater. The draconian and goblin troops of the Highlord were well paid, and their one weakness was strong drink. But William had not opened his tavern for money. He loved the companionship of old friends and new. He did not enjoy the companionship of the Highlord's troops. When they came in, his old customers left Therefore, William promptly raised his prices for draconians to three times higher than in any other inn in town. He also watered the ale. Consequently, his bar was nearly deserted except: for a few old friends. This arrangement suited William fine.

 

 

He was talking to a few of these friends-sailors mostly, with brown, weathered skin and no teeth-on the evening that the strangers entered his tavern. William glared at them suspiciously for a moment, as did his friends. But, seeing roadweary travelers and not the Highlord's soldiers, he greeted them cordially and showed them to a table in the corner.

The strangers ordered ale all around-except far a red-robed man who ordered nothing but hot water. Then, of tar a subdued discussion centering around a worn leather purse and the number of coins therein, they asked William to bring them bread and cheese.

"They're not from these parts;" William said to his friends in a low voice as he drew the ale from a special keg he kept beneath the bar (not the keg for draconians). "And poor as a sailor after a week ashore, if I make my guess:"

"Refugees;" said his friend, eyeing them speculatively.

"Odd mixture, though;' added the other sailor. "Yon redbearded fellow's a half-elf, if ever I saw one. And the big one's got weapons enough to take on the Highlord's whole army."

"I'll wager he's stuck a few of them with that sword, too," William grunted. "They're on the run from something, I'll bet. Look at the way that bearded fellow keeps his ages on the door. Well, we can't help them fight the Highlord, but I'll see they don't want for anything:" He went to serve them,.

"Put your money away;" William said gruffly, plunking down not only bread and cheese but also a tray full of cold meats as well. He shoved the coins away. "You re in trouble of some kind, that's plain as this pig's snout upon my face."

One of the women smiled at him. She was the most beautiful woman William had ever seen. Her silver-gold hair gleamed from beneath a fur hood, her blue eyes were like the ocean on a calm day. When she smiled at him, William felt the warmth of fine brandy run through his body. But a stern-faced, darkhaired man next to her shoved the coins back to the innkeeper.

"We'll not accept charity," the tall, fur-cloaked man said.

"We wolf t?" asked the big man wistfully, staring at the smoked meat with longing eyes.

"Riverwind;' the woman remonstrated, putting a gentle hand on his arm. The half-elf, too, seemed about to interpose when the red-robed man, who had ordered the hot water, reached out and picked up a coin from the table.

Balancing the coin on the back of his bony, metallic-colored hand, the man suddenly and effortlessly sent it dancing along his knuckles. William's eyes opened wide. His two friends at the bar came closer to see better. The coin flickered in and out of the red-robed marls fingers, spinning and jumping. It vanished high in the air, only to reappear above the mage's head in the form of six coins, spinning around his hood. With a gesture, he sent them to spin around William's head. The sailors watched in open-mouthed wonder.

"Take one for your trouble;' said the mage in a whisper.

Hesitantly, William tried to grab the coins that whirled past his eyes, but his hand went right through them! Suddenly all six coins disappeared. One only remained now, resting in the palm of the red-robed wage.

"I give you this in payment;' the mage said with a sly smile, 'but be careful. It may burn a hole in your pocket:'

William accepted the coin gingerly. Holding it between two fingers, he gazed at it suspiciously, Then the coin burst into flame! With a startled yelp, William dropped it to the floor, stomping one it with his foot. His two friends burst out laughing. Picking up the coin, William discovered it to be perfectly cold and undamaged.

'That's worth the meat!" the innkeeper said, grinning.

"And a night's lodgings;" added his friend, the sailor, slapping down a handful of coins.

"I believe;" said Raistlin softly, glancing around at the others, "that we have solved our problems."

Thus was born The Red Wizard and His Wonderful Illusions, a traveling road show that is still talked of today as far south as Port Balifor and as par north as the Ruins.

The very next night the red-robed mage began to perform his tricks to an admiring audience of William's friends. The word spread rapidly. After the mage had performed in the Pig and Whistle for about a week, Riverwind-at first opposed to the whale idea-was forced to admit that Raistlin's act seemed likely to solve not only their financial problems but other, more pressing problems as well. The shortage of money was the .mast urgent. The companions might have been able to live off the land-even in the winter, both Riverwind and Tanis being skilled hunters. But they needed money to buy passage on a ship to take them to Sancrist. Once they had the money, they needed to be able to travel freely through enemy-occupied lands.

In his youth, Raistlin had often used his considerable talents at sleight of hand to earn bread far himself and his brother. Although this was frowned on by his master, who threatened to expell the young mage from his school, Raistlin had become quite successful. Now his growing powers in magic gave him a range not possible before. He literally kept his audiences spellbound with tricks and phantasms.

At Raistlin's command, white-winged ships sailed up and down the bar at the Pig and Whistle, birds flew out of soup tureens, while dragons peered through the windows, breathing fire upon the startled guests. In the grand finale, the mageresplendent in red robes sewn by Tika-appeared to be totally consumed in raging flames, only to walk in through the front door moments later (to tumultuous applause) and calmly drink a glass of white wine to the health of the guests.

Within a week, the Pig and Whistle did more business than William had done in a year. Better still-as far as he was concerned-his friends were able to forget their troubles. Soon, however, unwanted guests began to arrive. At first, he had been angered by the appearance of draconians and goblins in the crowd, but Tanis placated him, and William grudgingly permitted them to watch.

Tanis was, in fact, pleased to see them. It worked out well from the half-elf's point of view anti solved their second problem. If the Highlord's troops enjoyed the show and spread the word, the companions could travel the countryside unmolested.

It was their plan-after consulting with William-to make; for Flotsam, a city north of Poet Balifor, located on the Blood

Sea of Istar. Here they hoped to find a ship. No one in Port Bali-for would give them passage, William explained. AL :he local''

shipowners were in the employ of (or their vessels had been; confiscated by) the Dragon Highlords. But Flotsam eras a; known haven for those mere interested in money than politics:; The companions stayed at the Pig and Whistle far a month..?

William provided free room and board and even allowed them to keep all the money they made. Though Riverwind protested this generosity, William stated firmly that all he cared about was seeing his old customers come back.

During this time, Raistlin refined and enlarged his act which, at first consisted only of leis illusions. But the mage tired rapidly, so Tika offered to dance and give him time to rest between acts. Raistlin was dubious, but Tika sewed a costume for herself that was so alluring Caramon was-at first-totally opposed to the scheme. But Tika only laughed at him. Her dancing was a success and increased the money they collected dramatically. Raistlin added her immediately to the act.

Finding the crowds enjoyed this diversion, the mage thought of others. Caramon -blushing furiously-was persuaded to perform feats of strength, the highlight coming when he lifted stout William over his head with one hand. Tanis amazed the crowd with his elven ability to "see" in the dark. But Raistlin was startled one day when Goldmoon came to him as he was counting the money from the previous night's performance.

"I would like to sing in the show tonight;' she said.

Raistlin looked up at her incredulously. His eyes flicked to Riverwind. The tall Plainsman nodded reluctantly.

"You have a powerful voice;' Raistlin said, sliding the money into a pouch and drawing the string tightly. I remember quite well. The last song I heard you sing in the Inn of the Last Home touched off a riot that nearly got us killed:'

Goldmoon flushed, remembering, the fateful song that had introduced her to the group. Scowling, Riverwind laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Come away!" he said harshly, glaring at Raistlin. "I warned You-`

But Goldmoon shook her head stubbornly, lifting her chin in a familiar, imperious gesture. "I will sing;" she said coolly, "and Riverwind will, accompany me. I have written a song:'

"Very well," the mage snapped, slipping the money pouch into I-is robes. "We will try it this evening."

The Pig and Whistle was crowded that night. It was a diverse audience-small children and their parents., sailors, draconians, .,goblins and several kender, who caused everyone to keep an ere on his belongings. William and two helpers bustled about, serving drinks and food. Then the show began.

The crowd applauded Raistlin's spinning coins, laughed when an illusory pig danced upon the bar, and scrambled out of their chairs in terror when a giant troll thundered in through a window. Bowing, the mage left to rest. Tika came on.

The crowd, particularly the draconians, cheered Tika's dancing, banging their mugs on the table.

Then Goldmoon appeared before them, dressed in a gown of pale blue. Her silver-gold hair flowed over her shoulders like water shimmering in the moonlight. The crowd hushed instantly. Saying nothing, she sat down in a chair on the raised platform William lead hastily constructed. So beautiful was she that not a murmur escaped the crowd. All waited expectantly.

Riverwind sat upon the floor at her feet. Putting a handcarved flute to leis lips, he began to play and, after a few moments, Goldmoon's voice blended with the flute. Her song was simple, the melody sweet and harmonious, yet haunting. But it was the words that caught Tanis's attention, causing him to exchange worried glances with Caramon. Raistlin, sitting next to him, grasped hold of Tanis's arm.

"I feared as much!" the mage hissed. "Another riot'"

"Perhaps not," Tanis said, watching. "Look at the audience:"

Women leaned their heads onto their husband's shoulders, children were quiet and attentive. The draconians seemed spellbound-as a wild animal will sometimes beheld by music. Only the goblins shuffled their flapping feet, seemingly bored but so in awe o£ the draconians that they dared not protest.

Goldmoon's song was of the ancient gods. She told how the gods had sent the Cataclysm to punish the Kingpriest of Istar and the people of Krynn for their pride. She sang of the terrors of that night and those that followed. She reminded them of how the people, believing, themselves abandoned, had prayed to false gods. Then she gave them a message of hope: the gods had runt abandoned them. The true gods were here, waiting only for someone to listen to them.

 After her song ended, and the plaintive wailing of the flute died, most in the crowd shank their treads, seeming to wake froze a pleasant dream.. When asked what the song had been about, they couldn't say. The draconians shrugged and called far mare ale. The goblins shouted for Ti ka to dance again. But, here and there, Tanis noticed a face still holding the wonder had warn during the song. And he was not surprised to see, young, dark-skinned woman approach Goldmoon shyly.

"I ask your pardon for disturbing you, my lady;' Tanis aheard the woman say, "but your song touched me deeply, I. want to learn of the ancient gods, to learn their ways."

Goldmoon smiled. "Come to me tomorrow;' she said, "an

shall teach you what I know:"

And thus, slowly, word of the ancient gods began to spread

Jay the time they left Port Balifor, the dark-skinned woman soft-voiced young man, and several other people wore the bl medallion of Mishakal, Goddess of Healing. Secretly they w< forth, bringing hope to the dark and troubled land.

By the end of the month, the companions were able to by

wagon, horses to pull it, horses to ride, and supplies. What w left went toward purchase of ship's passage to Sancrist. The

planned to add to their money by performing in the small fan ing communities between Port Balifor and Flotsam.

When the Red Wizard left Port Balifor shortly before t

Yuletide season, leis wagon was seen on its way by enthusiast' crowds. Packed with their costumes, supplies for two month

and a keg of ale (provided by William), the wagon was  enough for Raistlin to sleep and travel inside. It also held t

multi-colored, striped tents in which the others would live.

Tanis glanced around at the strange sight they made, shaking his head. It seemed tl•at-in the midst of everything else that had happened to them-this was the most bizarre. He loot: at Raistiin sitting beside his brother, who drove the wagon. T

mage's red-sequined robes blazed like flame in the bright win sunlight. Shoulders hunched against the wind, Raistlin star

straight ahead, wrapped in a show of mystery that delighted the crowd. Caramon, dressed in a bearskin suit (a present

William's), had pulled the head of the bear over his own, r:

ing it look as though a bear drove the wagon. The child cheered as he growled at them in mock ferocity.

They were nearly out of town when a draconian command stopped them. Tanis,, his heart caught in his throat, rode f ward, his hand pressed against his sword. But the command only wanted to make certain they passed through Bloodwa

where draconian troops were located. The draconian had mentioned the show to a friend. The troops were looking forward to seeing it. Tanis, inwardly vowing not to set foot near the place, promised faithfully that they would certainly appear.

Finally they reached the city gates. Climbing down from their mounts, they bid farewell to their friend. William gave them each a hug, starting with Tika and ending with Tika. He was going to hug Raistlin, but the mage's golden eyes widened so alarmingly when William approached that the innkeeper backed away precipitously.

The companions climbed back onto their horses. Raistlin and Caramon returned to the wagon. The crowd cheered and urged them to return f or the spring Harrowing celebration. The guards opened the gates, bidding them a safe journey, and the companions rode through. The gates shut behind them.

The wind blew chill. Gray clouds above them began to spit snow fitfully. The road, which they were assured was well traveled, stretched before them, bleak and empty. Raistlin began to shiver and cough. After awhile, he said he would ride inside the wagon. The rest pulled their hoods up over their heads and clutched their fur cloaks more closely about them.

Caramon, guiding the horses along the rutted, muddy road, appeared unusually thoughtful.

"You know, Tanis"' he said solemnly above the jingling of the bells Tika had tied to the horses' manes, "I'm more thankful than I can tell that none of our friends saw this. Can you hear what Flint would say? That grumbling old dwarf would never let me live this down. And can you imagine Sturm!" The big man shook his head, the thought being beyond words.

Yes, Tanis sighed. I .can imagine Sturm. Dear friend, I never realized how much I depended on you-your courage, your ' noble spirit. Are you alive. my friend? Did you reach Sancrist safely? Are you now the knight in body that you have alwaysbeen in spirit? Will we meet again, or have we parted never tomeet in this life-as Raistlin predicted?

The group rode on. 'The day grew darker, the storm wilder. ` Riverwind dropped back :o ride beside Goldmoon. Tika tied her horse behind the wagon and crawled up to sit near Caramon. Inside the wagon. Raistlin slept.

Tanis rode alone, his head bowed, has thoughts far away.

258

the Knights trials.

d-finally," said Derek in a law and measured voice, "I accuse Sturm Brightblade of cowardice in the face of the enemy:'

A low murmur ran through the assemblage of knights gathered in the castle of Lord Gunthar. Three knights: seated at the massive black oak table in front of the assembly. leaned their heads together to confer in low tones.

Gong ago, the three seated'' at this Knights Trials-as pre

scribed by the Measure-would have beer the Grand blaster, the High Clerist, and the High Justice. But at this time there was no Grand Master. There had not been a High Clerist since the time of the Cataclysm. And while the High Justice-Lard Alfred MarKenin-was present, his hold on that position was tenuous at best. Whoever became the new Grand Master had leave to replace him.

Despite these vacancies in the Head of the Order, the business of the Knights must continue. Though not strong enough to claim the coveted position of Grand Master, Lord Gunthar Uth Wistan was strong enough to act in that role. And so he sat here today, at the beginning of the Yuletide season, in judgment on this young squire, Sturm Brightblade. To his right sat Lord Alfred, to his left, young Lord Michael JeofErey, filling in as High Clerist.

Facing them, in the Great Hall of Castle Uth Wistan, were twenty other Knights of Solamnia who had been hastily gathered from all parts of Sancrist to sit .as witnesses to this Knights Trials-as prescribed by the Measure. These now muttered and shook their heads as their leaders conferred.

From a table directly in (rant of the three Knights Seated in Judgment, Lord Derek rose and bowed to Lord Gunthar.His testimony had reached its end. There remained now only the Knight's Answer and the Judgment itself. Derek returned to his place among the other knights, laughing and talking with them.

Only one person in the hall was silent. Sturm Brightblade sat unmoving throughout all of Lord Derek Crownguard's damning accusations. He had heard charges of insubordination, failure to obey orders, masquerading as a knight-and not a word or murmur had escaped him. His face was carefully expressionless, his hands were clasped an the top of :he table.

Lord Gunthar's eyes were on Sturm now, as they had been throughout the Trials. He began to wonder if the man was even still alive, so fixed and white was his face, so rigid his posture. Gunthar had seen Sturm flinch only once. At the charge of cowardice, a shudder convulsed the man's body. The loos on his face . . . well, Gunthar recalled seeing that same look once previously-on a man who had just been run through by a spear. But Sturm quickly regained his composure.

Gunthar was so interested in watching Brightblade that 6.e nearly lost track of the conversation of the two knights next to him. He caught only the end a6 Lord Alfred's sentence.

". . . not allow Knight's Answer:'

.'Why not?" Lord Gunthar asked sharply, though keeping his voice low. "It is his right according to the Measure:'

"We have never had a case like this;" Lord Alfred, Knight of the Sword, stated flatly. "Always before, when a squire has been brought up before the Council of the Order to attain his knighthood, there have been witnesses, many witnesses. He is given an opportunity to explain his reasons far his actions. No one ever questions that he committed the acts. But Brightblade's only defense-"

"Is to tell us that Derek lies;` finished Lord Michael Jeoffrey Knight of the Crown. "Arid that is unthinkable. To take the word of a squire over a Knight of the Rose!"

"Nonetheless, the young man will have his say;" Lord Gunthar said, glancing sternly at each of the men. "That is the Law according to the Measure. Do either of you question it?"

"No, of course not. But-"

-very well:' Gunthar smoothed his moustaches and, leaning forward, tapped gently on the wooden table with the hilt of the sword-Sturm's sword-that lay upon it. The other two knights exchanged looks behind his back, one raising his eyebrows; the other shrugging slightly. Gunthar was aware of this, as he was aware of all the covert scheming and plotting now pervasive in the Knighthood. He chase to ignore it.

Not yet strong enough to claim the vacant position of Grand Master, but still the strongest and most powerful of the knights currently seated an the Council, Gunthar had been forced to ignore a great deal of what he would have-in another day and age-quashed without hesitation.. He expected this disloyalty of Alfred MarKenin-the knight had long been in Derek's campbut he was surprised at Michael, whom he had thought loyal to him. Apparently Derek had gotten to him, too.

Gunthar watched Derek C:rownguard as the knights returned to their places. Derek was the only rival with the rroney and backing capable of claiming the rank of Grand Master. Hoping to earn additional votes, Derek had eagerly volunteered to undertake the perilous quest in search of the legendary dragon orbs. Gunthar was given little choice but to agree. If he had refused, he would appear frightened of Derek's growing power. Derek was undeniably the most qualified-if one strictly followed the Measure. But Gunthar, who had known Derek a long time, would have prevented his going if he could have-not because he feared the knight but because he truly did not trust him. The man was vainglorious and powerhungry, and-when it came down to it-Derek's first loyalties lay to Derek.

And now it appeared that Derek's successful return with a dragon orb had won the day. It had brought many knights into his camp who had been heading that direction anyway and actually enticed away some in Gunther's s own faction. The only ones who opposed him still were the younger knights in the lowest order of the Knighthood-Knights of the Crown.

These young men had little use for the strict and rigid interpretation of the Measure that was life's blood to tire older knights. They pushed far change-and had been severely chasr tened by Lard Derek Crownguard. Some came close to losing their knighthood. These young knights were firmly behind Lord Gunthar. Unfortunately, they were few in number and, for the most part, had more loyalty than money. The young knights had, however, adopted Sturm's cause as their own.

But this was Derek crownguard's master stroke, Gunthar thought bitterly. With one slice of his sword, Derek was going to get rid of a man he hated and his chief rival as well.

Lord Gunthar was a well-known friend of the Briightblade family, a friendship that traced back generations. It was Gunthar who had advanced Sturm's claim when the young man appeared out of nowhere five years before to seep his father and his inheritance. Sturm bad been able, with letters from his mother, to prove his right to the Brightblade name. A few insinuated this had been accomplished on the wrong side of the sheets, but Gunthar quickly squelched those rumors. The young man was obviously the son of his old friend-that much could be se-en in Sturm's face. By backing Sturm, however;, the lord was risking a great deal.

Gunthar's. gaze went to Derek, walking among the knights= smiling and shaking hands. Yes, this trial was making himLord Gunthar Ugh Wistan-appear a foal.

Worse still, Gunthar thought sadly, his eyes returning to= Sturm, it was probably going to destroy the career of what he believed to be a very fine man, a man worthy o$ walking his father's path.

"Sturm Brightblade;" Lord Gunthar said when silence descended on the hall, "you have heard the accusations made against you?"

"I have, my lord," Sturm answered. His deep voice echoed eerily in the hall. Suddenly a log in the huge fireplace behind Gunthar split, sending a flare of heat and a shower of sparks up the chimney. Gunthar paused while the servants hustled in efficiently to add more wood. When the servants were gone, he continued the ritual questioning.

"Do you, Sturm Brightblade, understand the charges made against you, and do you further understand that these are grievous charges and could cause this Council to find you unfit for the knighthood?"

"I do;" Sturm started to reply. His voice brake. Coughing, he repeated more firmly, "I do, my lord:'

Gunthar smoothed his moustaches, trying to think how to lead into thus, knowing that anything the young man said against Derek was going to reflect badly upon Sturm himself.

"How old are you, Brightblade?" Gunthar asked.

Sturm blinked at this unexpected question.

"Osier thirty I believe?" Gunthar continued, musing.

"Yes, my lard," Sturm answered.

`And. from what Derek tells us about your exploits in Ice Wall Castle, a skilled warrior-"

I newer denied that, my lord;' Derek said, rising to his feet once again. His voice was tinged with impatience.

"Yet you accuse him of cowardice;' Gunthar snapped. "If my memory serves me correctly, you stated that when the clue

attacked" he refused to obey your order to fight."

Derek's face was flushed. "May I remind your :lordship that I am not on trial-"

"You charge Brightblade with cowardice an the face of the enemy;' Gunthar interrupted. "It has been many years since the elves ware our enemies:"

Derek hesitated. The other knights appeared uncomfortable. The elves were members of the Council of Whites-tone, but then were not allowed a vote. Because of the discovery of the dragon orb, the elves would be attending the upcoming Council, and it would never do to have word get back to them that the knights considered them enemies.

"Perhaps 'enemy is too strong a word, my lord:' Derek recovered smoothly. "If I am at fault, it is simply that I am being forced to go by what is written in the Measure. At the time I speak of, the elves-though not our enemies in point of fact-were doing everything in their power to prevent us from bringing the dragon orb to Sancrist. Since this was my mission-and the elves opposed it-I therefore am forced to define them as 'enemies'-according to the Measure."

Slick bastard, Gunthar thought grudgingly.

With a bow to apologize for speaking out of turn, Derek sat down again. Many of the older knights nodded in approval.

"It also says in the Measure;' Sturm said slowly, "that we are not to take life needlessly, that we fight only in defense-either our own or the defense of others. The elves did not threaten our lives. At no time were we in actual physical danger."

"They were shooting arrows at you, man!" Lord Alfred struck the table with his gloved hand.

"True, my lord;' Sturm replied, "but all know the elves are expert marksmen. If they had wanted to kill us, they would not have been hitting trees!"

"What do you believe would have happened if you had attacked the elves?" Gunthar questioned.

"The results would have been tragic in my view, my lord;"

,

Sturm said, his voice soft and low. "Far the first time in generations, elves and humans would be killing each other. I think the Dragon Highlords would have laughed:'

Several of the young knights applauded.

Lord Alfred glared at them, angry at this serious breach o£ the Measure's rules of conduct. "Lard Gunthar, may I remind: you that Lord Derek Crownguard is not on trial here. He has proven his valor time and again upon the field of battle. I think we may safely take his word for what is an enemy action anti , what isn't. Sturm Brightblade, do you say that the charges

made against you by Lord Derek Crownguard are false?"

"My lord," Sturm ~began, licking his lips which were cracked; and dry, "I do nor. say the knight has lied. I saga however. that: he has misrepresented me:'

"To what purpose?" Lord Michael asked.

Sturm hesitated. "I would prefer not to answer that, my lord;" he said so quietly that many knights in the (back row could not hear and called for Gunthar to repeat the question. He did so and received the same reply-this time louder.

''On what grounds do you refuse to answer that question, Brightblade?" Lord Gunthar asked sternly.

'Because-according to the Measure-it impinges on the honor of the Knighthood;' Sturm replied.

Lord Gunthar's face was grave. "That is a serious charge. Making it, you realize you have no one to stand with you in evidence?'

"I do, my lord;" Sturm answered, "and that is why I prefer not to respond."

"If I command you to speak?"

"That, of course, would be different:'

"Then speak, Sturm Brightblade. This is an unusual situation, and I do not see haw we can make a fair judgment without hearing everything. Why do you believe Lord Derek Crownguard misrepresents you?"

Sturm's face flushed. Clasping and unclasping has hands, he raised his eyes and looked directly at the three knights who sat in judgment on him. His case was lost, he knew that. He would never be a knight, never attain whale had been dearer to him than life itself. To have lost it through fault of his own would have been bitter enough, but to lose it lake this was a festering wound. And so he spoke the words that he knew would make Derek his hitter enemy for the rest of his days.

"I believe Lord Derek Crownguard misrepresents me in an effort to Further his own ambition, my lord:"

Tumult broke out. Derek was on his Feet. His friends restrained him forcibly, or he would have attacked Sturm in the Council Hall. Gunthar hanged the sword hilt for artier and eventually the assembly quieted down, but :not before Derek had challenged Sturm to test his honor in the field..

Gunthar stared at the knight coldly.

"You know, Lord Derek, that in this-a declared time of war-the contests of honour are forbidden: Come to order or I'll have you expelled from this assembly."

Breathing heavily, his face splotched with red, Derek relapsed back into his seat.

Gunthar gave the Assembly a few more moments to settle down, then resumed. "Have you anything more to say in your defense, Sturm Brightblade?"

"No, my lord;' Sturm said.

"Then you may withdraw while this matter is considered:'

Sturm rose and bowed to the lords. Turning, he bowed to the Assembly. Then he left the room, escorted by two knights who led him to an antechamber. Here, the two knights, not unkindly, left Sturm to himself. They stood near the closed door, talking softly of matters unrelated to the trial.

Sturm sat on a bench at the far end of the chamber. He appeared composed and calm, but it was all an act. He was determined not to let these knights see the tumult in his soul. It was hopeless, he knew. Gunthar's grieved expression told him that much. But what would the judgment be? Exile, being stripped of lands and wealth? Sturm smiled bitterly. He had nothing they could take from him. He had lived outside of Solarnnia so long, exile would) be meaningless. Death? He would almost welcome that. Anything was better than this hopeless existence, this dull throbbing pain.

Hours passed. The murmur of three voices rose .and fell from within the corridors .around the hall, sometimes angrily. Most of the other knights had gone out, since only the three as Heads of the Council could pass judgment. The other knights were split into differing factions.

The young knights spoke openly of Sturm's noble bearing, his acts of courage, which even Derek could not suppress. Stu rm was right in not fighting the elves. The knights of Solamnia needed all the friends they could get these days. Why attack < needlessly, and so forth. The older Knights had only one

answer-the Measure. Derek had given Sturm an order. I-9e y had refused to obey. The Measure said this was inexcusable.

Arguments raged most of the afternoon.  `

Then, near evening, a small silver bell rang.

"B rightblade;" said one of the knights.

Sturm raised )his head. "Is it time?" The knight nodded.

Sturm bowed hi=_ head for a moment asking Paladine for courage. Then the rose to his feet. He and )his guards waited for the other knights to reenter and be seated. He knew that they were learning the verdict as soon as they entered.

Finally, the two knights detailed as escort opened the door and motioned for Sturm to enter. He walked into the Hall, the knights following behind. Sturm's gaze went at once to the table before Lord Gunthar.

The sword of his father-a sword that legend said was passed down from Berthel Brightblade himself; a sword that would break only if its master brake-lay an the table. Sturm's eyes went to the sword. His head dropped to hide the burning :ears in his eyes.

Wreathed around the blade was the ancient symbol of guilt-black roses.

"Bring the man, Sturm Brightblade, forward," called Lord Gunthar.

The man, Sturm Brightblade, not the knight! thought Sturm in despair. Then he remembered Derek. His head came up swiftly, proudly, as he blinked away his tears. Just as he would have hidden his pain from his enemy an the field of battle, so he was determined to hide it now from Derek. Throwing back his head defiantly; his eyes an Lord Gunthar and an no one else, the disgraced squire walked for-ward to stand before the three officers of the Order to await his fate.

"Sturm Brightblade, we have found you guilty. We are prepared to render judgment. Are you prepared to receive it?"

"Yes, my lord:' Sturm said tightly.

Gunthar tugged his moustaches a sign that the men who had served with him recognized. Lord Gunthar always tugged his mcustaches just before riding into battle.

"Sturm Brightblade, it is our j-a.dgment that you henceforth cease wearing any of the trappings or accoutrements of a Knight of Solamnia-'

"Yes, my lord;" Sturm said softly, swallowing.

"And; henceforth, you will not draw pay from the ccffers of the Knights, nor obtain any property or &It from them... :"

The knights in the hall shifted restlessly. This was ridiculous! No one had drawn pay in the service of the Order since the Cataclysm. Something was up. They smelled thunder before the storm.

"Finally-" Lord Gunthar paused. He leaned forward,. his hands toying with the black roses that graced the antique

sword. His shrewd eyes swept the Assembly, gathering up his audience, allowing the tension to build. By the time he spoke, even the fire behind him had ceased to crackle.

"Sturm Brightblade. Assembled Knights. Never before has a case such as this come before the Council. And that, perhaps, is not as add as it may seem, for these are dark and unusual days. We have a young squire-and I remind you that Sturm Brightblade is young by all standards of the Order-a young squire noted for his skill and valor in battle. Even his accuser admits that. A young squire charged with disobeying orders and cowardice in the face of the enemy. The young squire does not deny this charge, but states that he has been misrepresented.

"Now, by the Measure, we are bound to accept the word of a tried and tested knight such as Derek Crownguard over the . ward of a man who has not yet wan his shield. But the Measure also states that this man shall be able to call witnesses in his own behalf. Due to the unusual circumstances occasioned by these dark times, Sturm Brightblade is not able to call witnesses. Nor, for that matter, was Derek Crownguard able to produce witnesses to support his own cause. Therefore, we have agreed on the following, slightly irregular, procedure:"

Sturm stood before Gunthar, confused and troubled. What was happening? He glanced at the other two knights. Lard Alfred was not bothering to conceal his anger. It was obvious, t therefore, that this "agreement" of Gunther's had been hard won.. '

"It is the judgment of this Council;" Lord Gunthar continued, . "that the young man, Sturm Brightblade, be accepted into the' lowest order of the knights.-'the Order of the Crown-on my Honour. . :'

There was a universal gasp of astonishment.

"And that, furthermore, he be placed as third in command of the army that is due to set sail shortly for Palanthas. As prescribed by the Measure, the High Command must have a representative from each of the Orders. Therefore, Derek Crownguard will be High Commander, representing the Order of the Rose. Lord Alfred MarKenin will represent the Order al` the 'Sword, and Sturm Brightblade will act-on my honer-a commander for the Order of the Crown:'

Amid the stunned silence, Sturm felt tears course down his cheeks, but now he need hide them no longer. Behind him, he heard the sound of someone rising, of a sword rattling in anger. Derek stalked furiously out of the Hall, the other knights of his faction following him. There were scattered cheers, too. Sturm saw through his tears that about half the knights in the roomparticularly the younger knights, the knights he would command- were applauding. Sturm felt swift pain well deep from inside his soul. Though he had won his victory, he was appalled by what the knighthood had become-divided into factions by power-hungry men. It was nothing more than a corrupt shell of a once-honored brotherhood.

"Congratulations, Brightblade;' Lord Alfred said stiffly. "I hope you realize what Lord Gunthar has done for you."

"I do, my lard;' Sturm said, bowing, "and I swear by my father's sword"-he laid his hand upon it-"that I will be worthy of his trust:"

"See to it, young man;' Lord Alfred replied and left. The younger lard, Michael, accompanied him without a word to Sturm.

But the other young knights came forward then, offering their enthusiastic congratulations. They pledged his health in wine and would have stayed for an all-out chinking bout if Gunthar had not sent them on their way.

When the two of them were alone in the Hall, Lord Gunthar smiled expansively at Sturm and shook his hand. The young knight returned the handshake warmly, if nor. the smile. The pain was too fresh.

Then, slowly arid carefully, Sturm took the black roses from his sword. Laying them an the table, he slid the blade back in the scabbard at his side. He started to brush the roses aside, but paused, then picked up one .and thrust it into his belt.

"I must thank you, my lord," Sturm began, his woke quivering.

"You have nothing to thank one for, son;' Lord Gunthar said. Glancing around the room, he shivered. "Let's, get out -of this place and go somewhere warm. Mulled wine?"

The two knights walked damn the stone corridors of Gurnthar's ancient castle; the sounds of the young knights leaning drifting up from below -horses's hooves clattering err the cobblestone, voices shouting, some even raising in a military song. "I must thank you, my lord;' Sturm said firmly. "The risk you take is very great. I hope I will prove worthy-"

"Risk! Nonsense, my boy:" Rubbing his hands to restore the circulation, Gunthar led Sturm into a small room decorated for the approaching Yule celebration-red winter roses, grown indoors, kingfisher feathers, and tiny, delicate golden crowns. A fire blazed brightly. At Gunthar's command, servants brought in two mugs of steaming liquid that gave off a warm, spicy odor. "'Many were the times your father threw his shield in front of me and stood aver me, protecting me when I was down."

"And you did the same for him;' Sturm said. "You awe hire nothing. Pledging your honor for me means that, if I fail, you will suffer. You will be stripped of your rank, your title, your lands. Derek would see to that," he added gloomily.

As Gunthar took a deep drink of his wine, he studied the young man before him. Sturm merely sipped at his wine out of politeness, holding the mug with a hand that trembled visibly. Gunthar laid his hand kindly on Sturm's shoulder, pushing the young man down gently into a chair. .

'Have you failed in the past, Sturm?" Gunthar asked.

 Sturm looked up, his brown eyes flashing. "No, my lord; he:'

answered. "'I have not. I swear it!"  j

"Then I have no fear for the future," Lord Gunthar said, Emil  ing. He raised his mug. '"I pledge your good fortune in battle; Sturm Brightblade:'

Sturm shut his eyes. The strain had been too much. Drop' ping his head an his arm, he wept-his body shaking with pain ful sobs. Gunthar gripped his shoulder.

"I understand . . :' he said, his eyes looking back to a time' Solamnia when this young man's father had broken down an cried that same way-the night Lord Brightblade had sent h' young wife and infant son an a journey into exile-a journey. from, which he would neuter see then return.

Exhausted, Sturm finally fell asleep, his head lying an t table. Gunthar sat with him, sipping the hot wine, lost in m cries off the past, until he, too, drifted into slumber.

The few days left before the army sailed to Palanthas passed swiftly for Sturm. He had to find armor-used; he couldn't afford new. He packed his father's carefully, intending to carry it since he had been forbidden to wear it. Then there were meetings to attend, battle dispositions to study, information on the enemy to assimilate.

The battle for Palanthas would be a bitter one, determining control of the entire northern part of Solamnia. The leaders were agreed upon their strategy. They would fortify the city walls with the city's army. The knights themselves would occupy the High Clerist's Tower that stood blocking the pass through the Vingaard Mountains. But that was all they agreed upon. Meetings between the three leaders were tense, the air chill.

Finally the day came for the ships to sail. The knights gathered on board. Their families stood quietly on the shore. Though faces were pale, there were few tears, the women standing as tight-lipped and stern as their men. Some wives wore swords buckled around their own waists. All knew that, if the battle in the north was lost, the enemy would come across the sea.

Gunthar stood upon the pier, dressed in his bright armor, talking with the knights, bidding farewell to his sons. He and Derek exchanged a few ritual words as prescribed by the Measure. He and Lord .Alfred embraced perfunctorily. At last, Gunthar sought out Sturm. The young knight, clad in plain, shabby armor, stood apart from the crowd.

"Brightblade;" Gunthar said in a low voice as he came near him, "I have been meaning to ask this but never found a moment in these last few days. You mentioned that these friends of yours would be coming to Sancrist. A_-a there any who could serve as witnesses before the Council?"

Sturm paused. For a wild moment the only person he could think of was Tanis. E-its thoughts had been with his friend during these last trying days. He'd even had a surge of hope that Tanis might arrive in Sancrist. But the hope had died. Wherever Tanis was, he had his own problems, he faced his own dangers. There was another person, too, whom he had hoped against hope he might see. Without conscious thought, Sturm Placed his hand over the Starjewel that hung around his neck against his breast. He could almost feel its warmth, and heDRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

knew-without knowing how-that though far away, Alhana was with him. Then

"Laurana!" he said.

"A woman?" Gunthar frowned.

"Yes, but daughter of the Speaker of the Suns, a member of the royal household of the Qualinesti. And there is her brother, Gilthanas. Both would testify for me:"

"The royal household . . :' Gunthar mused. His face brightened. "That would be perfect, especially since we have received word that the Speaker himself will attend the High Council to discuss the dragon orb. If that happens, my boy, somehow I'll get word to you, and you can put that armor back on! You'll be vindicated! Free to wear it without shame!"

"And you will be free of your pledge;' Sturm said, shaking hands with the knight gratefully.

"Bah! Don't give that a thought:' Gunthar laid his hand on Sturm's head, as he had laid his hand on the heads of his own sons. Sturm knelt before him reverently. "Receive my blessing, Sturm Brightblade, a father's blessing I give in the absence of your own father. Do your duty, young man, and remain your father's son. May Lord Huma's spirit be with you:'

 "Thank you, my lord;" Sturm said, rising to his feet. "Fare

well  ~:'

"Farewell, Sturm," Gunthar said. Embracing the young knight swiftly, he turned and walked away.

The knights boarded the ships. It was dawn, but no sun shone in the winter sky. Gray clouds hung over a lead-gray se There were no cheers, the only sounds were the shouted con mands of the captain and the responses of his crew, the creak ing of the winches, and the flapping of the sails in the wind.

Slowly the white-winged ships weighed anchor and sails north. Soon the last sail was out of sight, but still no one left the pier, not even when a sudden rain squall struck, pelting t ha with sleet and icy drops, drawing a fine gray curtain across the chill waters.

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3

the dragon orb. Caramon's pledge.

Raistlin stood in the small doorway of the wagon, his golden eyes peering into the sunlit woods. All was quiet. It was past Yuletide. The countryside was held fast in the grip of winter. Nothing stirred in the snowblanketed land. His companions were gone, busy about various tasks. Raistlin nodded grimly. Good. Turning, he went back inside the wagon and shut the wooden doors firmly.

The companions had been camped here for several days, on the outskirts of Kendermore. Their journey was nearing an end. It had been unbelievably successful. Tonight they would

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leave, traveling to Flotsam under the cover of darkness. They had money enough to hire a ship, plus some left over for supplies and payment for a week's lodging in Flotsam. This afternoon had been their final performance.

The young mage made his way through the clutter to the back of the wagon. His gaze lingered on the shimmering red robe that hung on a nail. Tika had started to pack it away, but Raistlin had snarled at her viciously. Shrugging, she let it remain, going outside to walk in the woods, knowing Caramon-as usual-would find her.

Raistlin's thin hand reached out to touch the robe, the slender fingers stroking the shining, sequined fabric wistfully, regretting that this period in his life was over.

"I have been happy" he murmured to himself. "Strange. There have not been many times in my life I could make that claim. Certainly not when I was young, nor in these past few years, after they tortured my body and cursed me with these eyes. But then I never expected happiness. How paltry it is, compared to my magic! Still . . . still, these last few weeks have been weeks of peace. Weeks of happiness. I don't suppose any will come again. Not after what I must do-"

Raistlin held the robe a moment longer, then, shrugging, hey' tossed it in a corner and continued on to the back of the wagon which he had curtained off for his own private use. On inside, he pulled the curtains securely together.

Excellent. He would have privacy for several hours, until nightfall, in fact. Tanis and Riverwind had gone hunting. Cars. mon had, too, supposedly, though everyone knew this was just

an excuse for him to find time alone with Tika. Goldmoon watt preparing food for their journey. No one would bother him The mage nodded to himself in satisfaction.

Sitting down at the small drop-leaf table Caramon had cotta structed for him, Raistlin carefully withdrew from the ve .

innermost pocket of his robes an ordinary-looking sack, t sack that contained the dragon orb. His skeletal fingers tre bled as he tugged on the drawstring. The bag opened. Reach' in, Raistlin grasped the dragon orb and brought it forth.

held it easily in his palm, inspecting it closely to see if there h been any change.

No. A faint green color still swirled within. It still felt as col

274

I tt.t UNACiUNS Ut• WIN ~l EN NIGHT

to the touch as if he held a hailstone. Smiling, Raistlin clasped the orb tightly in one hand while he fumbled through the props beneath the table. He finally found what he sought-a crudely carved, three-legged wooden stand. Lifting it up, Raistlin set it on the table. It wasn't much to look at-Flint would have scoffed. Raistlin had neither the love nor the skill needed to work wood. He had carved it laboriously, in secret, shut up

inside the jouncing wagon during the long days on the road. No, it was not much to look at, but he didn't care. It would suit

his purpose.

Placing the stand upon the table, he set the dragon orb on it. The marble-sized orb looked ludicrous, but Raistlin sat back,

waiting patiently. As he had expected, soon the orb began to grow. Or did it? Perhaps he was shrinking. Raistlin couldn't tell. He knew only that suddenly the orb was the right size. If anything was different, it was he that was too small, too insignificant to even be in the same room with the orb.

The mage shook his head. He must stay in control, he knew, and he was immediately aware of the subtle tricks the orb was playing to undermine drat control. Soon these tricks would not be subtle. Raistlin felt his throat tighten. He coughed, cursing

his weak lungs.. Drawing a shuddering breath, he forced himself to breathe deeply and easily.

Relax, he thought. Z must relax. I do not fear. I am strong. Look what I have done! Silently he called upon the orb: Look at the power I have attained" Witness what I did in Darken Wood.

Witness what I did in Siivanesti. I am strong. I do not fear.

The orb's colors swirled softly. It did not answer.

The mage closed his eyes for a moment, blotting the orb

from sigh t. Regaining control, he opened them again, regarding the orb with. a sigh. The moment approached.

The dragon orb was now back to its original size. He could almost see Lorac's wizened hands grasping it. The young mage shuddered involuntarily. No! Stop it! he told himself firmly, and immediately banished the vision from his mind.

Once more he relaxed, breathing regularly, his hourglass eyes focused on the orb. Then-slowly-he stretched forth his slender, metallic-colored fingers. After a moment's final hesita

tion, Raistiin placed his hands upon the cold crystal of the dragon orb and spoke the ancient words.

 

 

 

 

DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

"Ast bilak moiparalan; Suh akvlar tantangusar:"

How did he know what to say? I-low did he know what ancient words would cause the orb to understand him, to be aware of his presence? Raistlin did not know. He knew only thatsomehow, somewhere-inside of him, he did know the words! The voice that had spoken to him in Silvanesti? Perhaps. It didn't matter.

Again he said the words aloud.

"Ast bilak rnoiparalan: Sub akvlar tantangusar.!"

Slowly the drifting green color was submerged in a myriad swirling, gliding colors that made him dizzy to watch. The crystal was so cold beneath his palms that it was painful to touch. Raistlin had a terrifying vision of pulling away his hands and leaving the flesh behind, frozen to the orb. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and whispered the words again.

The colors ceased to swirl. A light glowed in the center, a light neither white nor black, all colors, yet none. Raistlin swallowed, fighting the choking phlegm that rose in his throat.

Out of the light came two hands! He had a desperate urge to withdraw his own, but before he could move, flue two hands grasped his in a grip both strong and firm. The orb vanished! The room vanished! Raistlin saw nothing around trim No light. No darkness. Nothing? Nothing. . .but two hands, balding his. Out of sheer terror, Raistlin concentrated on those hands.

 Human? Elven? Old? Young'' He could not tell. The fingers,

were long and slender, but their grip was the grip of death. Let

go and he would fall into the void to drift until merciful dark

ness consumed him. Even as he clung to those hands with F

strength lent him by ?ear, Raistlin realized the hands were

slowly drawing, him nearer, drawing him into . . . into....

Raistlin came to himself suddenly, as i£ someone had dashed cold water in his face. No! he told the mind that he sensed con• trolled the hands. I will not go! Though he feared losing t ha saving grip, he feared even more being dragged where he did not want to go. He would not let loose. I will maintain control he told the mind of the hands savagely. Tightening, has own grip, the mage summoned &I of his strength, all of his will, and pulled flue hands toward him!

The hands stopped. Fair a moment, the two wills vied

THE DRAGONS OF WINTER NIGHT

together, locked in a life-or-death contest, Raistlin felt the strength ebb from his body, his hands weakened, the palms began to sweat. He felt the hands of the orb begin to pull him again; ever so slightly. In agony, Raistlin summoned every drop of blood, focused every nerve, sacrificed every muscle in his frail body to regaining control.

Slowly . . . slowly . . , just when he thought his pounding heart would burst from his chest or his brain explode in fireRaistlin felt the hands cease their tug. They still maintained their firm grip on him-as he maintained his firm grip on them. But the two were no longer in contest. His hands and the hands of the dragon orb remained locked together, each conceding respect, neither seeking dominance.

The ecstasy of the victory; the ecstasy of the magic flowed through Raistlin and burst forth, wrapping him in a warm,

golden light. His body relaxed. Trembling, he felt the hands hold him gently, support him, lend him strength.

What are you' he questioned silently. Are you good? Evil?

I am neither. I am nothing. I am everything. The essence of dragons captured long ago is what I am.

How do you work? Raistlin asked. How do you control the dragons?

At your command, I will call them to me. They cannot resist my call. They -fill obey.

Will they turn upon their masters? Will they fall under my c command?

That depends on the strength of the master and the bond

between the two. In some instances, this is so strong that the master can maintain control of the dragon. But most will do what you ask of them. They cannot help themselves.

I rust study this, Raistlin murmured, feeling himself growing weaker. I d•5 not understand . . . .

,Be easy. I will aid you. Now that we have joined, you may

seek my help often. I knows.. of many secrets long forgotten. They can be yours.

What secrets' . . . Raistlin felt himself losing consciousness. The strain had been too much. He struggled to keep his hold on the hands, but he felt his grip slipping.

The hands held onto him gently, as a mother holds a child. relax: I will not let you fall. Sleep. You are weary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

Tell me! I must know! Raistlin cried silently.

This only I will tell you, then you must rest. In the library of Astinus of Palanthas are books, hundreds of books, taken there by the mages of old in the days of the Lost Battle. To aI! who look at these books, they seem nothing more than encyclopedias of magic, dull histories of mages who died in the taverns of time.

Raistlin saw darkness creeping toward him. He clutched at the hands.

What do the books really contain? he whispered.

Then he knew, and with the knowledge, darkness crashed over him like the wave of an ocean.

In a cave near the wagon, hidden by shadows, warmed by the heat of their passion, 'Tika and Caramon lay in each other's arms.. Tika's red hair clung around her face and forehead in tight curls, her eyes were closed, her full lips parted. Her raft r body clad in her gaily-colored skirt and puffy-sleeved white ' blouse pressed against Caramon. Her legs twined around his, her hand caressed his face, her lips brushed his.

"Please, Caramon;' she whispered. "This is torture. We want each other. I'm not afraid. Please love me!"

 Caramon closed his eyes. His face shone with sweat. Thepain of his love seemed impossible to bear. He could end it, end

it 

all in sweet ecstasy. For a moment he hesitated. Tika's fro . grant hair was in his nostrils, her soft lips on his neck. It would; be so easy. . . so wonderful....

Caramon sighed. Firmly he closed his strong hands around: Tika's wrists. Firmly he drew them away from his face

pushed the girl from him.

"No;" he said, his passion choking him. (?oiling over, he stood up. "No;' he repeated. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . , t

let things get this far:"

"Well, I did!" Tika cried. "I'm not frightened! Not anymore.:

No, he thought, pressing his hands against his poun ' head. I feel you trembling in my hands like a snared rabbit.

Tika began to tie the string an her white blouse. Unable see it through her tears, she jerked at the drawstring viciously it snapped.

"Now! See there!" She hurled the broken silken twine act

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the cave. "I've ruined my blouse! I'll have to mend it. They'll all know what happened, of course! Or think they know! I-I . . . Oh, what's the use!" Weeping in frustration, Tika covered her face with her hands, rocking back and forth.

"I don't care what they think!" Caramon said, his voice echoing in the cave. He did not comfort her. He knew if he touched her again, he would yield to his passion. "Besides, they don't think anything at all. They are our friends. They care for us-"

I know!" Tika cried brokenly. "It's Raistlin, isn't it? He doesn't approve of me. He hates me!"

"Don't say that, Tika." Caramon's voice was firm. "If he did and if he were stronger, it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't care what anyone said or thought. The others want us to be happy. They don't understand why we-we don't become-erlovers. Tanis even told me to my face I was a fool-'

"He's right:" Tika's voice was muffled by tear-damp hair.

"Maybe. Maybe not:'

Something in Caramon's voice made the girl quit crying. She looked up at him as Caramon turned around to .face her.

"You don't know what happened to Raist in the Towers of High Sorcery. None of you know. None of you ever will. But I know. I was there. I saw. They made me see!" Caramon shuddered, putting his hands over his face. Tika held very still. Then, looking at :vet again he drew a deep breath. "They said, 'his strength, will save the world.' What strength? Inner strength? I'm his outer strength! I-I don't understand, but Raist said to me in the dream that we were one whole person, cursed by the gads and put into two bodies. 4"k need each otherright now at least." The big man's face darkened. "Maybe some day that will change. Maybe some day he'll fend the outer strength-"

Caravan fell silent. Tika swallowed and wiped her hand across her face. ''T-' she began, but Caramon cut her off.

"Wait a minute;" he sand. "Let me finish. I love you, Tika, as truly as any mar, loves any woman in this world. I want to make love to you. If we weren't involved in this stupid war, I'd make you mine today. This minute. But I .can't. Because if I dud, it ~Yculd be a commitment to you that I would dedicate my life to keeping. You must come first in all my thoughts. You deserve no less than that. Bud I can't make that commitment, Tika. My First commitment is to my brother." Tika's tears flowed againthis time not for herself, but for him. "I musk leave you free to find someone who can-"

"Caramon!" A call split the afternoon's sweet silence. "Cararnon, come quickly!" It was Tanis.

"Raistlin!" said the big man and, without another word, ran out of the cave.

Tika stood a moment, watching after him. Then, sighing, she tried to comb her damp hair into place.

"Whale is it?" Cararnon burst into the wagon. "Raist?"

Tanis nodded, his face grave.

"I found him like this." The half-elf drew back the curtain to the mages small apartment. Caramon shoved him aside.

Raistlin lay on the floor, his skin white, his breathing shallow. Blood trickled from his mouth. Kneeling dawn, Caramon lifted him in his arms.

"Raistlin?" he whispered. "What happened?"

That's what happened;' Tanis said grimly, pointing.

Caramon glanced up, his gaze coming to rest on the dragon orb -now grown to the size Caramon had seen in Silvanesti. It stand an the stand Raistlin had made for it, its swirling colors shifting endlessly as he watched. Caramon sucked in his breath. in horror. Terrible visions of Lorac flooded his mind. Lorac insane, dying ...

.

"Twist!" he moaned, clutching his brother tightly.

Raistlin's head mowed feebly. His eyelids fluttered, and he. opened his mouth.

"What?" Caramon bent law, his brother's breath cold upon his skin. "'What?"

"Mule . . . ."Raistlin whispered. "Spells . . . of the ancients mine . . . .Mine. . . :"

The mage's head lolled his wards died. But his face calm, placid, relaxed, His breathing drew regular.

Raistlin's thin lips parted in a smile.

Yuletide guests.

 .t took Lord Gunthar several W.. Name in time for Yule (allowing

days of hard riding to reach

+++++ for Palanthas. The reads were se foundered mare than once, .and se nearly as -well as his sans, walked he time he returned to his castle, therefore, he was exhausted, drenched, and shivering. The sta

arge of the horse personally.

"Rub him do-wn well:' Gunther said, dismounting stiffly proceeded with his instructions, the sta

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

bleman nodding patiently, as if he'd never cared for a horse before in his life. Gunthar was, in fact, on the point of walking his horse to the stables himself when his ancient retainer came out in search of him.

"My lord:" Wills drew Gunthar to one side in the entryway. "You have visitors. They arrived just a few hours ago:"

'Who?" Gunthar asked without much interest, visitors being nothing new, especially during Yule. "Lord Michael? He could not travel with us, but I asked him to stop on his way home-"

"An old man, my lord;' Wills interrupted, "and a kender"

"A kender?" Gunthar repeated in some alarm.

"I'm afraid so, my lord. But don't worry;" the retainer added hastily. "I've locked the silver in a drawer, and your ladywife has taken her jewelry to the cellar:'

"You'd think we were under siege!" Gunthar snorted. He did, however, go through the courtyard faster than usual.

"You can't be too careful around those critters, my lord;' Wills mumbled, trotting along behind.

"What are these two, then? Beggars? Why did you let them in?" Gunthar demanded, beginning to get irritated. All he wanted was his mulled wine, warm clothes, and one of his wife's backrubs. "Give them some food and money, and send them on their way. Search the kender first, of course:'

"I was going to, my lord;" Wills said stubbornly. "But there's something about them-the old man in particular. He's crackers, if you ask me, but he's a smart crackers, for all that. Knows something, and it may be more than's good far him-or us either:'

"What do you mean?"

The two had just opened the huge, wooden doors leading into the living quarters of the castle proper. Gunthar slopped and stared at Wills, knowing and respecting his retainer's keen power of observation. Will= glanced around, then leaned close.

"The old man said I was to tell you he had urgent news regarding the dragon orb, my lard!"

"The dragon orb!" Gunthar murmured. The orb was secret,

or he presumed it was. The Knights knew of it, of course. Had Derek told anyone else? Was this one of has maneuvers?

"You acted wisely, Wills, as always:' Gunthar said finally.

"Where are they?"

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"I put them in your war room, my lord, figuring they could cause little mischief there:'

"I'll change clothes before I catch my death, then see them directly. Have you made them comfortable?"

"Yes, my lard;' Wills replied, hurrying after Gunthar, who was on the move again. "Hot wine, a bit of bread and meat. Though I mistrust the kender's lifted the plates by now-'

Gunthar and Wills stood outside the door of the war room for a moment, eavesdropping on the visitors" conversation.

"Put that back!" ordered a stern voice.

"I won't! It's mine! Look, it was in my pouch:'

"Bah! I saw you put it there not five minutes ago!"

"Well, you're wrong;" protested the other voice in wounded tones. "It's mine! See, there's my name engraved-"

"'Ta Gunthar, my beloved husband an the Day of Life-Gift,"' said the first voice.

There was a moment's silence in the room. Wills turned pale. Then the shrill voice spoke, more subdued this time.

''I guess it must have fallen into my pack, Fizban. That's it! See, my pack was sitting under that table. Wasn't that lucky'' It would have broken if it had hit the floor-"

His face grim, Lord Gunthar flung open the door.

"Merry Yuletide to you, sirs," he said. Wills popped in after him, his eyes darting quickly around the room.

The two strangers whirled around, the old man holding a crockery mug in his hand. Wills made a leap for the mug, whisking it away. With an indignant glance at the kender, he placed it upon the mantlepiece, high above the kender's reach.

"Will there be anything else, my lord?"' Wills asked, glaring meaningfully at tine kender. "Shall I stay and! keep an eye on things?"

Gunther opened his mouth to reply, but the old man waved a negligent hand.

"Yes,. thank you, my good man. Bring up some more ale.

And .don't bring any of that rotgut stuff from tike servant's barrels, either!" The old man :looked at Wills steamy. "Tap the barrel that's in the dark cornea by the cellar stairs. You knowthe one that's all cobwebby."

Wills stared at him, open-mouthed-.

 

 

 

 

DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

"Well, go on. Don't stand there gaping like a landed fish! A bit dim-witted, is he?" the old man asked Gunthar.

"N-no," Gunthar stammered. "That"s all right, Wills. I-I believe I'll have a mug, too-of-of the ale from the cask by the-uh-stairs. How did you know?" He demanded of the old man suspiciously.

"Oh, he's a magic-user," the kender said, shrugging arid sitting down without being invited.

"A magic-user?" The old man peered around. "Where?"

Tas whispered something, poking the old man.

"Really? Me?" he said. "You don't say! How remarkable. Now you know, come to think of it, I do seem to remember a spell . . . Fireball. How did it go?"

The old mage began to speak the strange wards. Alarmed, the kender leaped out of his seek and grabbed the old man.

"No, Old One!" he said, tugging him back into a chair. "Not now!„

'Z suppose not;' the old man said wistfully. "Wonderful spell, though-"

"I'm certain;" murmured Gunthar, absolutely mystified. Then he shook his head, regaining his sternness. "Now, explain yourselves. Who are you? Why are you here? Wills sand something about a dragon orb-"

"f m-" The mage stopped, blinking.

''Fizban;' said .he kender with a sigh. Standing, he extended his small hand politely to Gunthar. "And I am Tasslehoff Burrfoot He started to sit dawn. "Oh;" he said, popping up again. "A Merry Yuletide to you, too, sir knight."

"Yes, yes,' Gunthar shook hands, -nodding absently. "Now about the dragon .orb?"

"Ah, yes, the dragon orb!" The befuddled lank left Fizban's face. He stared at Gunthar with shrewd., cunning eyes. "Where is it? We've come a long way -n search of it:'

"I"m afraid I can"t tell you;' Gunthar said coolly. "If. indeed, such a thing were ever here-"

"Oh, it was here," Fizban replied. "Brought to you by a Knight of the Rose: one Derek Crownguard. And Sturm Brightblade was with him:'

"Tlney're friends of mine," explain-:d Tasslehoff, seeing Gunw thar's jaw go slack. 'I helped get the orb, in fac:;' the kender

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added modestly. "We took it away from an evil wizard in a palace made of ice. It's the most wonderful story-" He sat forward eagerly. "Do you want to hear it?"

"No;" said Gunthar, staring at them both in amazement. "And if I believed this swimming bird tale-wait-" He sank back in his chair. "Sturm did say something about a kender. Who were the others in your party'"'

"Flint the dwarf, Theros the blacksmith, Gilthanas and Laurana-"

"It must be!" Gunthar exclaimed, then he frowned. "But he never mentioned a magic-user. . . :'