12

Visions shared

The death of Lorac.

Yet finally they slept. Huddled on the stone floor of the Tower of the Stars, they kept as near each other as possible. While, as they slept, others in lands cold and hostile, lands far from Silvanesti, wakened.

Laurana woke first. Starting up from a deep sleep with a cry, at first she had no idea where she was. She spoke one word, ‘Silvanesti!’

Flint, trembling, woke to find that his fingers still moved, the pains in his legs were no worse than usual.

Sturm woke in panic. Shaking with terror, for long moments he could only crouch beneath his blankets, shuddering. Then he heard something outside his tent. Starting up, hand on his sword, he crept forward and threw open the tent flap.

‘Oh!’ Laurana gasped at the sight of his haggard face.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sturm said. ‘I didn’t mean—’ Then he saw she was shaking so she could scarcely hold her candle. ‘What is it?’’ he asked, alarmed, drawing her out of the cold.

‘I—I know this sounds silly,’ Laurana said, flushing, ‘but I had the most frightening dream and I couldn’t sleep.’

Shivering, she allowed Sturm to lead her inside the tent. The flame of her candle cast leaping shadows around the tent. Sturm, afraid she might drop it, took it from her.

‘I didn’t mean to wake you, but I heard you call out. And my dream was so real! You were in it—I saw you—’

‘What is Silvanesti like?’ Sturm interrupted abruptly.

Laurana stared at him. ‘But that’s where I dreamed we were! Why did you ask? Unless . . . you dreamed of Silvanesti, too!’

Sturm wrapped his cloak around him, nodding. ‘I—’ he began, then heard another noise outside the tent. This time, he just opened the tent flap. ‘Come in, Flint,’ he said wearily.

The dwarf stumped inside, his face flushed. He seemed embarrassed to find Laurana there, however, and stammered and stamped until Laurana smiled at him.

‘We know,’ she said. ‘You had a dream. Silvanesti?’

Flint coughed, clearing his throat and wiping his face with his hand. ‘Apparently I’m not the only one?’ he asked, staring narrowly at the other two from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘I suppose you—you want me to tell you what I dreamed?’

‘No!’ Sturm said hurriedly, his face pale. ‘No, I do not want to talk about it—ever!’

‘Nor I,’ Laurana said softly.

Hesitantly, Flint patted her shoulder. ‘I’m glad,’ he said gruffly. ‘I couldn’t talk about mine either. I just wanted to see if it was a dream. It seemed so real I expected to find you both—’

The dwarf stopped. There was a rustling sound outside, then Tasslehoff burst excitedly through the tent flag.

‘Did I hear you talking about a dream? I never dream—at least not that I remember. Kender don’t, much. Oh, I suppose we do. Even animals dream, but—’ He caught Flint’s eye and came hurriedly back to the original subject. ‘Well! I had the most fantastic dream! Trees crying blood. Horrible dead elves going around killing people! Raistlin wearing black robes! It was the most incredible thing! And you were there, Sturm. Laurana and Flint. And everyone died! Well, almost everyone. Raistlin didn’t. And there was a green dragon -’

Tasslehoff stopped. What was wrong with his friends? Their faces were deathly pale, their eyes wide. ‘G-green dragon,’ he stammered. ‘Raistlin, dressed in black. Did I mention that? Qquite becoming, actually. Red always makes him look kind of jaundiced, if you know what I mean. You don’t. Well, I g-guess I’ll go back to bed. If you don’t want to hear anymore?’ He looked around hopefully. No one answered.

‘Well, g-night,’ he mumbled. Backing out of the tent precipitously, he returned to his bed, shaking his head, puzzled. What was the matter with everyone? It was only a dream.

For long moments, no one spoke. Then Flint sighed.

‘I don’t mind having a nightmare,’ the dwarf said dourly. ‘But I object to sharing it with a kender. How do you suppose we all came to have the same dream? And what does it mean?’

‘A strange land—Silvanesti,’ Laurana said. Taking her candle, she started to leave. Then she looked back. ‘Do you—do you think it was real? Did they die, as we saw?’ Was Tanis with that human woman? she thought, but didn’t ask aloud.

‘We’re here,’ said Sturm. ‘We didn’t die. We can only trust the others didn’t either. And—’ he paused—’this seems funny, but somehow I know they’re all right.’

Laurana looked at the knight intently for a moment, saw his grave face calm after the initial shock and horror had worn off. She felt herself relax. Reaching out, she took Sturm’s strong lean hand in her own and pressed it silently. Then she turned and left, slipping back into the starlit night.

The dwarf rose to his feet. ‘Well, so much for sleep. I’ll take my turn at watch now.’

‘I’ll join you,’ said Sturm, standing and buckling on his swordbelt.

‘I suppose we’ll never know,’ Flint said, ‘why or how we all dreamed the same dream.’

‘I suppose not,’ Sturm agreed.

The dwarf walked out of the tent. Sturm started to follow, then stopped as his eyes caught a glimpse of light. Thinking perhaps that a bit of wick had fallen from Laurana’s candle, he bent down to put it out, only to find instead that the jewel Alhana had given him had slipped from his belt and lay upon the ground. Picking it up, he noticed it was gleaming with its own inner light, something he’d never seen it do before.

‘I suppose not,’ Sturm repeated thoughtfully, turning the jewel over and over in his hand.

***

Morning dawned in Silvanesti for the first time in many long, horrifying months. But only one saw it. Lorac, watching from his bedchamber window, saw the sun rise above the glistening aspens. The others, worn out, slept soundly.

Alhana had not left her father’s side all night. But exhaustion had overwhelmed her, and she fell asleep sitting in her chair. Lorac saw the pale sunlight light her face. Her long black hair fell across her face like cracks in white marble. Her skin was torn by thorns, caked with dried blood. He saw beauty, but that beauty was marred by arrogance. She was the epitome of her people. Turning back, he looked outside into Silvanesti, but found no comfort there. A green, noxious mist still hung over Silvanesti, as though the ground itself was rotting.

‘This is my doing,’ he said to himself, his eyes lingering on the twisted, tortured trees, the pitiful misshapen beasts that roamed the land, seeking an end to their torment.

For over four hundred years, Lorac had lived in this land. He had watched it take shape and flower beneath his hands and the hands of his people.

There had been times of trouble, too. Lorac was one of the few still living on Krynn to remember the Cataclysm. But the Silvanesti elves had survived it far better than others in the world—being estranged from other races. They knew why the ancient gods left Krynn—they saw the evil in humankind— although they could not explain why the elven clerics vanished as well.

The elves of Silvanesti heard, of course, via the winds and birds and other mysterious ways, of the sufferings of their cousins, the Qualinesti, following the Cataclysm. And, though grieved at the tales of rapine and murder, the Silvanesti asked themselves what could one expect, living among humans? They withdrew into their forest, renouncing the outside world and caring little that the outside world renounced them.

Thus Lorac had found it impossible to understand this new evil sweeping out of the north, threatening his homeland. Why should they bother the Silvanesti? He met with the Dragon Highlords, explaining to them that the Silvanesti would give them no trouble. The elves believed everyone had the right to live upon Krynn, each in his own unique fashion, evil and good. He talked and they listened and, at first, all seemed well. Then the day came when Lorac realized he had been deceived—the day the skies erupted with dragons.

The elves were not, after all, caught unprepared. Lorac had lived too long for that. Ships waited to take the people to safety. Lorac ordered them to depart under his daughter’s command. Then, when he was alone, he descended to the chambers beneath the Tower of the Stars where he had secreted the dragon orb.

Only his daughter and the long-lost elven clerics knew of the orb’s existence. All others in the world believed it destroyed in the Cataclysm. Lorac sat beside it, staring at it for long days. He recalled the warnings of the High Mages, bringing to mind everything he could remember about the orb. Finally, though fully aware that he had no idea how it worked, Lorac decided he had to use it to try and save his land.

He remembered the globe vividly, remembered it burning with a swirling, fascinating green light that pulsed and strengthened as he looked at it. And he remembered knowing, almost from the first seconds he had rested his fingers on the globe, that he had made a terrible mistake. He had neither the strength nor the control to command the magic. But by then, it was too late. The orb had captured him and held him enthralled, and it had been the most hideous part of his nightmare to be constantly reminded that he was dreaming, yet unable to break free.

And now the nightmare had become waking reality. Lorac bowed his head, tasting bitter tears in his mouth. Then he felt gentle hands upon his shoulders.

‘Father, I cannot bear to see you weep. Come away from the window. Come to bed. The land will be beautiful once more in time. You will help to shape it—’

But Alhana could not look out the window without a shudder. Lorac felt her tremble and he smiled sadly.

‘Will our people return, Alhana?’ He stared out into the green that was not the vibrant green of life but that of death and decay.

‘Of course,’ Alhana said quickly.

Lorac patted her hand. ‘A lie, my child? Since when have the elves lied to each other?’

‘I think perhaps we may have always lied to ourselves,’ Alhana murmured, recalling what she had learned of Goldmoon’s teaching. ‘The ancient gods did not abandon Krynn, Father. A cleric of Mishakal the Healer traveled with us and told us of what she had learned. I—I did not want to believe, Father. I was jealous. She is a human, after all, and why should the gods come to the humans with this hope? But I see now, the gods are wise. They came to humans because we elves would not accept them. Through our grief, living in this place of desolation, we will learn—as you and I have learned—that we can no longer live within the world and live apart from the world. The elves will work to rebuild not only this land, but all lands ravaged by the evil.’

Lorac listened. His eyes turned from the tortured landscape to his daughter’s face, pale and radiant as the silver moon, and he reached out his hand to touch her.

‘You will bring them back? Our people?’

‘Yes, Father,’ she promised, taking his cold, fleshless hand in her own and holding it fast. ‘We will work and toil. We will ask forgiveness of the gods. We will go out among the peoples of Krynn and—’ Tears flooded her eyes and choked her voice, for she saw Lorac could no longer hear her. His eyes dimmed, and he began to sink back in the chair.

‘I give myself to the land,’ he whispered. ‘Bury my body in the soil, daughter. As my life brought this curse upon it, so, perhaps, my death will bring its blessing.’

Lorac’s hand slipped from his daughter’s grasp. His lifeless eyes stared out into the tormented land of Silvanesti. But the look of horror on his face faded away, leaving it filled with peace.

And Alhana could not grieve. ***

That night, the companions prepared to leave Silvanesti. They were to travel under the cover of darkness for much of their journey north, since by now they knew the dragonarmies controlled the lands they must pass through. They had no maps to guide them. They feared trusting ancient maps anymore, after their experience with the landlocked seaport city Tarsis. But the only maps that could be found in Silvanesti dated back thousands of years. The companions decided to travel north from Silvanesti blindly, with some hope of discovering a seaport where they could find passage to Sancrist.

They traveled lightly, so they could travel swiftly. Besides, there was little to take; the elves had stripped their country bare of food and supplies when they left.

The mage took possession of the dragon orb—a charge no one disputed him. Tanis at first despaired of how they could carry the massive crystal with them—it was nearly two feet in diameter and extraordinarily heavy. But the evening before they left, Alhana came to Raistlin, a small sack in her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘But it might trap me,’ Caramon protested.

‘Bah! It seeks those with—’ Raistlin stopped suddenly.

‘Yes?’ Tanis said quietly. ‘Go on. Who does it seek?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Drop it in the bag,’ Raistlin ordered.

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

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

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

The orb vanished!

‘What? Where—’ Tanis glared at Raistlin suspiciously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Price? To whom? For what?’

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Like learning to love a human?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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