3

The Speaker of the Suns.

Laurana’s decision.

The Speaker of the Suns, leader of the Qualinesti elves, sat in the crude shelter of wood and mud the Kaganesti elves had built for his domicile. He considered it crude—the Kaganesti considered it a marvelously large and well-crafted dwelling, suitable for five or six families. They had, in fact, intended it as such and were shocked when the Speaker declared it barely adequate for his needs and moved in with his wife—alone.

Of course, what the Kaganesti could not know was that the Speaker’s home in exile became the central headquarters for all the business of the Qualinesti. The ceremonial guards assumed exactly the same positions as they had in the sculptured halls of the palace in Qualinost. The Speaker held audience at the same time and in the same courtly manner, save that his ceiling was a mud-covered dome of thatched grass instead of glittering mosaic, his walls wood instead of crystal quartz.

The Speaker sat in state every day, his wife’s sister’s daughter by his side acting as his scribe. He wore the same robes, conducted business with same cold aplomb. But there were differences. The Speaker had changed dramatically in the past few months. There were none in the Qualinesti who marveled at this, however. The Speaker had sent his younger son on a mission that most considered suicidal. Worse, his beloved daughter had run away to chase after her half-elven lover. The Speaker expected never to see either of these children again.

He could have accepted the loss of his son, Gilthanas. It was, after all, a heroic, noble act. The young man had led a group of adventurers into the mines of Pax Tharkas to free the humans imprisoned there and draw off the dragonarmies threatening Qualinesti. This plan had been a success—an unexpected success. The dragonarmies had been recalled to Pax Tharkas, giving the elves time to escape to the western shores of their land, and from there across the sea to Southern Ergoth.

The Speaker could not, however, accept his daughter’s loss—or her dishonor.

It was the Speaker’s elder son, Porthios, who had coldly explained the matter to him after Laurana had been discovered missing. She had run off after her childhood friend—Tanis Half-Elven. The Speaker was heartsick, consumed with grief. How could she do this? How could she bring disgrace upon their household? A princess of her people chasing after a bastard half-breed!

Laurana’s flight quenched the light of the sun for her father. Fortunately, the need to lead his people gave him the strength to carry on. But there were times when the Speaker asked what was the use? He could retire, turn the throne over to has eldest son. Porthios ran almost everything anyway, deferring to his father in all that was proper, but making most decisions himself. The young elflord, serious beyond his years, was proving an excellent leader, although some considered him too harsh in his dealings with the Silvanesti and the Kaganesti.

The Speaker was among these, which was the main reason he did not turn things over to Porthios. Occasionally he tried to point out to his elder son that moderation and patience won more victories than threats and sword-rattling. But Porthios believed his father to be soft and sentimental. The Silvanesti, with their rigid caste structure, considered the Qualinesti barely part of the elven race and the Kaganesti no part of the elven race at all, viewing them as a subrace of elves, much as gully dwarves were seen as a subrace of the dwarves. Porthios firmly believed, although he did not tell his father, that it must end in bloodshed.

His views were matched on the other side of the ThonTsalarian by a stiff-necked, cold-blooded lord named Quinath, who, it was rumored, was the betrothed of the Princess Alhana Starbreeze. Lord Quinath was now leader of the Silvanesti in her unexplained absence, and it was he and Porthios who divided the isle between the two warring nations of elves, disregarding the third race entirely.

The border lines were patronizingly communicated to the Kaganesti, as one might communicate to a dog that it is not to enter the kitchen. The Kaganesti, notable for their volatile tempers, were outraged to find their land being divided up and parceled out. Already the hunting was growing bad. The animals the Wilder elves depended on for their survival were being wiped out in great numbers to feed the refugees. As Laurana had said, the River of the Dead could, at any moment, run red with blood, and its name change tragically.

And so the Speaker found himself living in an armed camp. But if he grieved over this fact at all, it was lost in such a multitude of griefs that eventually he grew numb. Nothing touched him. He withdrew into his mud home and allowed Porthios to handle more and more.

The Speaker was up early the morning the companions arrived in what was now called Qualin-Mori. He always rose early. Not so much because he had a great deal to do, but because he had already spent most of the night staring at the ceiling. He was jotting down notes for the day’s meetings with the Heads of Household—an unsatisfactory task, since the Heads of Household could do nothing but complain—when he heard a tumult outside his dwelling.

The Speaker’s heart sank. What now? he wondered fearfully. It seemed these alarms came once or twice every day. Porthios had probably caught some hot-blooded Qualinesti and Silvanesti youths raiding or fighting. He kept writing, expecting the tumult to die down. But, instead, it increased, coming nearer and nearer. The Speaker could only suppose something more serious had happened. And, not for the first time, he wondered what he would do if the elves went to war again.

Dropping the quill pen, he wrapped himself in his robes of state and waited with dread. Outside, he heard the guards snap to attention. He heard Porthios’s voice perform the traditional rights of seeking entry, since it was before hours. The Speaker glanced fearfully at the door that led to his private chambers, fearing his wife might be disturbed. She had been in ill health since their departure from Qualinesti. Trembling, he rose to his feet, assuming the stern and cold look he had become accustomed to putting on as one might put on an article of clothing, and bade them come inside.

One of the guards opened the door, obviously intending to announce someone. But words failed him and, before he could speak, a tall, slender figure dressed in a heavy, hooded fur cloak, pushed past the guard and ran toward the Speaker. Startled, seeing only that the figure was armed with sword and bow, the Speaker shrank back in alarm.

The figure threw back the hood of her cloak. The Speaker saw honey-colored hair flow down around a woman’s face—a face remarkable even among the elves for its delicate beauty.

‘Father!’ she cried, then Laurana was in his arms.

The return of Gilthanas, long mourned as dead by his people, was the occasion of the greatest celebration to be held by the Qualinesti since the night the companions had been feasted before setting off for the Sla-Mori.

Gilthanas had recovered sufficiently from his wounds to be able to attend the festivities, a small scar on his cheekbone the only sign of his injury. Laurana and her friends wondered at this, for they had seen the terrible blow inflicted upon him by the Silvanesti elf. But when Laurana mentioned it to, her father, the Speaker only shrugged and said that the Kaganesti had befriended Druids living in the forests; they had probably learned much in the way of healing arts from them.

This frustrated Laurana, who knew the rarity of true healing powers on Krynn. She longed to discuss it with Elistan, but the cleric was closeted for hours with her father, who was very soon impressed by the man’s true clerical powers.

Laurana was pleased to see her father accept Elistan remembering how the Speaker had treated Goldmoon when she first came to Qualinesti wearing the medallion of Mishakal, Goddess of Healing. But Laurana missed her wise mentor. Though overjoyed at being home, Laurana was beginning to realize that for her, home had changed and would never be the same again.

Everyone appeared very glad to see her, but they treated her with the same courtesy they gave Derek and Sturm, Flint and Tas. She was an outsider. Even her parents’ manner was cool and distant after their initial emotional welcome. She might not have wondered at this, if they hadn’t been so doting over Gilthanas. Why the difference? Laurana couldn’t understand. It remained to her elder brother, Porthios, to open her eyes.

The incident began at the feast.

‘You will find our lives much different from our lives in Qualinesti,’ her father told her brother that night as they sat at the banquet held indoors in a great log hall built by the Kaganesti. ‘But you will soon become accustomed to it.’ Turning to Laurana, he spoke formally. ‘I would be glad to have you back in your old place as my scribe, but I know you will be busy with other things around our household.’

Laurana was startled. She had not intended to stay, of course, but she resented being replaced in what was a daughter’s traditional role in the royal household. She also resented the fact that, though she had talked to her father about taking the orb to Sancrist, he had apparently ignored her.

‘Speaker,’ she said slowly, trying to keep the irritation from her voice, ‘I have told you. We cannot stay. Haven’t you been listening to me and to Elistan? We have discovered the dragon orb! Now we have the means to control dragons and bring an end to this war! We must take the orb to Sancrist—’

‘Stop, Laurana!’ her father said sharply, exchanging looks with Porthios. Her brother regarded her sternly. ‘You know nothing of what you speak, Laurana. The dragon orb is truly a great prize, and so should not be discussed here. As for taking it to Sancrist, that is out of the question.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ Derek said, rising and bowing, ‘but you have no say in the matter. The dragon orb is not yours. I was sent by the Knights Council to recover a dragon orb, if possible. I have succeeded and I intend to take it back as I was ordered. You have no right to stop me.’

‘Haven’t I?’ the Speaker’s eyes glittered angrily. ‘My son, Gilthanas, brought it into this land which we, the Qualinesti, declare to be our homeland in exile. That makes it ours by right.’

‘I never claimed that, Father,’ Gilthanas said, flushing as he felt the companions’ eyes turn to him. ‘It is not mine. It belongs to all of us—’

Porthios shot his younger brother a furious glance. Gilthanas stammered, then fell silent.

‘If it is anyone’s to claim, it is Laurana’s,’ Flint Fireforge spoke up, not at all intimidated by the elves’ glaring stares, ‘For it was she who killed Feal-thas, the evil elven magic-user.’’

‘If it be hers,’ the Speaker said in a voice older thaw his hundreds of years, ‘then it is mine by right. For she is not of age— what is hers is mine, since I am her father. That is elven law and dwarven law, too, if I’m not mistaken.’

Flint’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tasslehoff beat him to it.

‘Isn’t that odd?’ remarked the kender cheerfully, having missed the serious portent of the conversation. ‘According to kender law, if there is a kender law, everybody sort of owns everything.’ (This was quite true. The kenders’ casual attitude toward the possessions of others extended to them own. Nothing in a kender house remained there long, unless it was nailed to the floor. Some neighbor was certain to wander in, admire it, and absentmindedly walk off with it. A family heirloom among kenders was defined as anything remaining in a house longer than three weeks.)

No one spoke after that. Flint kicked Tas under the table, and the kender subsided in hurt silence which lasted until he discovered his neighbor, an elvenlord, had been called from the table, leaving his purse behind. Rummaging through the elflord’s possessions kept the kender happily occupied throughout the rest of the meal.

Flint, who ordinarily would have kept an eye on Tas, did not notice this in his other worries. It was obvious there was going to be trouble. Derek was furious. Only the rigid code of the knights kept him seated at the table. Laurana sat in silence, not eating. Her face was pale beneath her tanned skin, and she was punching small holes in the finely woven table cloth with her fork. Flint nudged Sturm.

‘We thought getting the dragon orb out of Ice Wall was tough,’ the dwarf said in an undertone. ‘There we only had to escape a crazed wizard and a few walrus-men. Now we’re surrounded by three nations of elves!’

‘We’ll have to reason with them,’ Sturm said softly.

‘Reason!’ The dwarf snorted. ‘Two stones would have a better chance of reasoning with each other’’

That proved to be the case. By the Speaker’s request, the companions remained seated after the other elves left, following dinner. Gilthanas and his sister sat side by side, their faces drawn and worried as Derek stood up before the Speaker to ‘reason’ with him.

‘The orb is ours,’ Derek stated coldly. ‘You have no right to it at all. It certainly does not belong to your daughter or to your son. They traveled with me only by my courtesy, after I rescued them from the destruction of Tarsis. I am happy to have been able to escort them back to their homeland, and I thank you for your hospitality. But I leave tomorrow for Sancrist, taking the orb with me.’

Porthios stood up to face Derek. ‘The kender may say the dragon orb is his. It doesn’t matter.’ The elflord spoke in a smooth, polite voice that slid through the night air like a knife. ‘The orb is in elven hands now, and here it will stay. Do you think we are foolish enough to let this prize be taken by humans to cause more trouble in this world?’

‘More trouble!’ Derek’s face flushed deep red. ‘Do you realize the trouble this world is in now? The dragons drove you from your homeland. They are approaching our homeland now! Unlike you, we do not intend to run. We will stand and fight! This orb could be our only hope—’

‘You have my leave to go back to your homeland and be burned to a crisp for all I care,’ Porthios returned. ‘It was you humans who stirred up this ancient evil. It is fitting that you fight it. The Dragon Highlords have what they want from us. They will undoubtedly leave us in peace. Here, on Ergoth, the orb will be kept safe.’

‘Fool!’ Derek slammed his fist on the table. ‘The Dragon Highlords have only one thought and that is to conquer all of Ansalon! That includes this miserable isle! You may be safe here for a time, but if we fall, you will fall, too!’

‘You know he speaks truly, Father,’ Laurana said, greatly daring. Elven women did not attend war meetings, much less speak. Laurana was present only because of her unique involvement. Rising to her feet, she faced her brother, who glowered at her disapprovingly. ‘Porthios, our father told us in Qualinesti that the Dragon Highlord wanted not only our lands but also the extermination our race! Have you forgotten?’

‘Bah! That was one Dragon Highlord, Verminaard. He is dead—’

‘Yes, because of us; • Laurana shouted angrily, ‘not you!’

‘Laurana!’ The Speaker of the Suns rose to his full height, taller even than his oldest son. His presence towered over them all. ‘You forget yourself, young woman. You have no right to speak to your elder bother like that. We faced perils of our own in our journey. He remembered his duty and his responsibility, as did Gilthanas. They did not go running off after a half-elven bastard like a brazen, human wh-’ The Speaker stopped abruptly.

Laurana went white to the lips. She swayed, clutching the table for support. Gilthanas rose swiftly, coming to her side, but she pushed him away. ‘Father,’ she said in a voice she did not recognize as her own, ‘what were you about to say?’

‘Come away Laurana,’ Gilthanas begged. ‘He didn’t mean it. We’ll talk in the morning.’

The Speaker said nothing, his face, gray and cold.

‘You were about to say ‘human whore’!’’ Laurana said softly, her words falling like pins on nerves stretched taut.

‘Go to your lodgings, Laurana,’ the Speaker ordered in a tight voice.

‘So that is what you think of me,’ Laurana whispered, her throat constricting. ‘That is why everyone stares and stops talking when I come near them. Human whore.’

‘Sister, do as your father commands,’ Porthios said. ‘As for what we think of you—remember, you brought this on yourself. What do you expect? Look at you, Laurana! You are dressed like a man. You proudly wear a sword stained with blood. You talk glibly of your ‘adventures!’ Traveling with men such as these—humans and dwarves! Spending the nights with them. Spending the nights with your half-breed lover. Where is he? Did he tire of you and -’

The firelight flared before Laurana’s eyes. Its heat swept over her body, to be replaced by a terrible cold. She could see nothing and remembered only a horrifying sensation of falling without being able to catch herself. Voices came at her from a great distance, distorted faces bent over her.

‘Laurana, my daughter. . .’

Then nothing.

‘Mistress . . .’

‘What? Where am I? Who are you? I—I can’t see! Help me!’

‘There’ mistress. Take my hand. Shhhh. I am here. I am Silvara. Remember?’

Laurana felt gentle hands take her own as she sat up.

‘Can you drink this, mistress?’

A cup was placed to her lips. Laurana sipped at it, tasting clear, cold water. She grasped it and drank eagerly, feeling it cool her fevered blood. Strength returned, she found she could see again. A small candle burned beside her bed. She was in her room, in her father’s house. Her clothes lay on a crude wooden bench, her swordbelt and scabbard stood near, her pack was on the floor. At a table, across from her bed, sat a nursemaid, her head cradled in her arms, fast asleep.

Laurana turned to Silvara, who, seeing the question in her eyes, put her finger to her lips.

‘Speak softly,’ the Wilder elf replied. ‘Oh, not for that one’—Silvara glanced at the nurse—’she will sleep peacefully for many, many hours before the potion wears off. But there are others in the house who may be wakeful. Do you feel better?’

‘Yes,’ Laurana answered, confused. ‘I don’t remember—’

‘You fainted,’ Silvara answered. ‘I heard them talking about it when they carried you back here. Your father is truly grieved. He never meant to say those things. It is just that you hurt him so terribly—’

‘How did you hear?’

‘I was hiding, in the shadows in the corner there. An easy thing for my people to do. The old nurse said you were fine, you just needed rest, and they left. When she went to fetch a blanket, I put the sleep juice in her tea.’

‘Why?’ Laurana asked. Looking at the girl closely, Laurana saw that the Wilder elf must be a beautiful woman—or would be if the layers of grime and filth were washed from her.

Silvara, aware of Laurana’s scrutiny, flushed in embarrassment. ‘I—I ran away from the Silvanesti, mistress, when they brought you across the river.’

‘Laurana. Please, child; call me Laurana.’

‘Laurana,’ Silvara corrected, blushing. ‘I—I came to ask you to take you with me when you leave.’

‘Leave?’ Laurana said. ‘I’m not goi—’ She stopped.

‘Aren’t you?’ Silvara asked gently.

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ Laurana said in confusion.

‘I can help,’ Silvara said eagerly. ‘‘I know the way through the mountains to reach the Knights’ outpost where the ships with birds’ wings sail. I will help you get away.’

‘Why would you do this for us?’ Laurana asked. ‘I’m sorry, Silvara. I don’t mean to be suspicious, but you don’t know us, and what you’re doing is very dangerous. Surely you could escape more easily on your own.’

‘I know you carry the dragon orb,.’ Silvara whispered.

‘How do you know about the orb?’ Laurana asked, astounded.

‘I heard the Silvanesti talking, after they left you at the river.’

‘And you knew what it was? How?’

‘My . . . people have stories . . . about it,’ Silvara said, her hands twisting. ‘I—I know it is important to end this war. Your people and the Silvan eyes will go back to their homes and let the Kaganesti live in peace. There is that reason and—’ Silvara was silent for a moment, then she spoke so softly Laurana could barely hear her. ‘You are the first person who ever knew the meaning of my name.’

Laurana looked at her, puzzled. The girl seemed sincere. But Laurana didn’t believe her. Why would she risk her life to help them? Perhaps she was a Silvanesti spy, sent to get the orb? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things have happened.

Laurana put her head in her hands, trying to think. Could they trust Silvara—at least enough to get them out of here? They apparently had no choice. If they were going into the mountains, they would have to pass through Kaganesti lands. Silvara’s help would be invaluable.

‘I must talk to Elistan,’ Laurana said. ‘Can you bring him here?’

‘No need, Laurana,’ Silvara, answered. ‘He has been waiting outside for you to awaken.’

‘And the others? Where are the rest of my friends?’

‘Lord Gilthanas is within the house of your father, of course—’ Was it Laurana’s imagination, or did Silvara’s pale cheek flush when she said that name? ‘The others have been given ‘guest quarters: ‘

‘Yes,’ said Laurana grimly, ‘I can imagine.’

Silvara left her side. Creeping quietly across the floor of the room, she went to the door, opened it, and beckoned.

‘Laurana?’

‘Elistan!’ She flung her arms around the cleric. Laying her head on his chest, Laurana shut her eyes, feeling his strong arms embrace her tenderly. Everything will be fine now, she knew. Elistan will take charge. He’ll know what to do.

‘Are you feeling better?’ the cleric asked. ‘Your father—’

‘Yes, I know,’ Laurana interrupted him. She felt a dull ache in her heart whenever her father was mentioned. ‘You must decide what we are to do, Elistan. Silvara has offered to help us escape. We could take the orb and leave tonight.’

‘If that is what you must do, my dear, then you should waste no more time,’ Elistan said, sitting by her in a chair.

Laurana blinked. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Elistan, what do you mean? You must come with us—’

‘No, Laurana,’ Elistan said, grasping her hand tightly in his own. ‘If you do this, you will have to leave on your own. I have sought help from Paladine, and I must stay here, with the elves. I believe if I stay, I will be able to convince your father that I am a cleric of the true gods. If I leave, he would always believe I am a charlatan, as your brother brands me.’

‘What about the dragon orb?’

‘That is up to you, Laurana. The elves are wrong in this. Hopefully, in time, they will come to see it. But we do not have centuries to talk this over. I think you should take the orb to Sancrist.’

‘Me?’ Laurana gasped. ‘I can’t!’

‘My dear,’ Elistan said firmly, ‘you must realize that if you make this decision, the burden of leadership will be upon you. Sturm and Derek are too caught up in their own quarrel and, besides, they are human. You will be dealing with elves—your own people and the Kaganesti. Gilthanas sides with your father. You are the only one who has a chance to succeed.’

‘But I’m not capable—’

‘You are more capable than you give yourself credit for, Laurana. Perhaps everything you have been through up to now has been preparing you for this. You must waste no more time. Farewell, my dear.’ Elistan rose to his feet and laid his hand on her head. ‘May Paladine’s blessing—and my own—go with you.’

‘Elistan!’ Laurana whispered, but the cleric was gone. Silvara quietly shut the door.

Laurana sank back into her bed, trying to think. Elistan is right, of course. The dragon orb cannot stay here. And if we are going to escape, it must be tonight. But it’s all happening so fast! And it’s all up to me! Can I trust Silvara? But why ask? She’s the only one who can guide us. Then all I have to do is get the orb and the lance and free my friends. I know how to get to the orb and the lance. But my friends. . .

Laurana knew, suddenly, what she would do, She realized she had been planning it in the back of her mind even as she talked to Elistan.

This commits me, she thought. There will be no taming back. Stealing the dragon orb, fleeing into the night, into strange and hostile country. And then, there is Gilthanas. We’ve been through too much together for me to leave him behind. But he will be appalled at the idea of stealing the orb and running away. And if he chooses not to go with me, would he betray us?

Laurana closed her eyes for a moment. She laid her head down wearily on her knees. Tanis, she thought, where are you? What should I do? Why is it up to me? I didn’t want this.

And then, as she sat there, Laurana remembered seeing weariness and sorrow on Tanis’s face that mirrored her own. Maybe he asked himself these same things. All the times I thought he was so strong, perhaps he really felt as lost and frightened as I do. Certainly he felt abandoned by his people. And we depended on him, whether he wanted us to or not. But he accepted it. He did what he believed was right.

And so must I.

Briskly, refusing to allow herself to think any further, Laurana lifted her head and beckoned for Silvara to come near.

Sturm paced the length of the crude cabin that had been given to them, unable to sleep. The dwarf lay stretched out on a bed, snoring loudly. Across the room, Tasslehoff lay curled in a ball of misery, chained by his foot to the bedpost. Sturm sighed. How much more trouble could they get into?

The evening had gone from bad to worse. After Laurana had fainted, it had been all Sturm could do to hold back the enraged dwarf. Flint vowed to tear Porthios limb from limb. Derek stated that he considered himself to be a prisoner held by the enemy and, as such, it was his duty to try and escape; then he would bring the Knights down to recover the dragon orb by force. Derek was immediately escorted away by the guards. Just when Sturm got Flint calmed down, an elflord appeared out of nowhere and accused Tasslehoff of stealing his purse.

Now they were being held under double guard, ‘guests’ of the Speaker of the Suns.

‘Must you pace about like that?’ Derek asked coldly.

‘Why? Am I keeping you awake?’ snapped Sturm.

‘Of course not. Only fools could sleep under these circumstances. You’re breaking my concen —’

‘Hsst!’ Sturm said, raising his hand warningly.

Derek instantly fell silent. Sturm gestured. The older knight joined Sturm in the center of the room where he was staring up at the ceiling. The log house was rectangular, with one door, two windows, and a firepit in the center of the floor. A hole cut in the roof provided ventilation.

It was through this hole Sturm heard the odd sound that caught his attention. It was a shuffling, scraping sound. The wooden beams in the ceiling creaked as though something heavy was crawling over it.

‘A wild beast of some sort,’ Derek muttered. ‘And we’re weaponless!’

‘No,’ Sturm said, listening closely. ‘It’s not growling. It’s moving too silently, as if it didn’t want to be heard or seen. What are those guards doing out there?’

Derek went to the window and peered out. ‘Sitting around a fire. Two are asleep. They’re not overly concerned about us, are they?’ he asked bitterly.

‘Why should they be?’ Sturm said, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. ‘There’s a couple of thousand elves within the sound of a whisper. What the —’

Sturm fell back in alarm as the stars he had been watching through the hole were suddenly blotted out by a dark, shapeless mass. Sturm reached down swiftly and grabbed a lag from the smoldering fire, holding it by the end like a club.

‘Sturm! Sturm Brightblade!’ said the shapeless mass.

Sturm stared, trying to remember the voice. It was familiar. Thoughts of Solace flooded his mind. ‘Theros!’ he, gasped. ‘Theros Ironfeld! What are you doing here? The last I saw you, you were lying near death in the elven kingdom!’

The huge blacksmith of Solace struggled down through the opening in the ceiling, bringing part of the roof with him. He landed heavily, waking the dwarf, who sat up and peered, bleary-eyed, at the apparition in the center of the cabin.

‘What—’ the dwarf started up, fumbling for his battle—axe which was no longer by his side.

‘Hush!’ the smith commanded. ‘No time for questions. The Lady Laurana sent me to free you. We’re to meet her in the woods beyond the camp. Make haste! We have only a few hours before dawn and we must be across the river by then.’ Theros strode over to look at Tasslehoff, who was trying without success to free himself. ‘Well, master thief, I see someone caught you at last.’

‘I’m not a thief!’ Tas said indignantly. ‘You know me better than that, Theros. That purse was planted on me—’

The smith chuckled. Taking hold of the chain in his hands, he gave a sudden heave and it split apart. Tasslehoff, however, did not even notice. He was staring at the smith’s arms. One arm, the left, was a dusky black, the color of the smith’s skin. But the other arm, the right, was bright, shining silver!

‘Theros,’ Tas said in a strangled voice. ‘Your arm—’

‘Questions later, little thief,’ the smith said sternly. ‘Now we move swift and now we move silent.’

‘Across the river,’ Flint moaned, shaking his head. ‘More boats. More boats . . .’

‘I want to see the Speaker,’ Laurana told the guard at the door to her father’s suite of rooms.

‘It is late,’ the guard said. ‘The Speaker is sleeping.’

Laurana drew back her hood. The guard bowed. ‘Forgive me, Princess. I did not recognize you.’ He glanced at Silvara suspiciously. ‘Who is that with you?’

‘My maid. I would not travel at night by myself.’

‘No, of course not,’ the guard said hurriedly as he opened the door. ‘Go ahead. His sleeping room is the third one down the hall on your right.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurana answered and brushed past the guard. Silvara, muffled in a voluminous cape, swept softly after her.

‘The chest is in his room, at the foot of his bed,’ Laurana whispered to Silvara. ‘Are you sure you can carry the dragon orb? It is big and very heavy.’

‘It’s not that big,’ Silvara murmured, staring perplexed at Laurana. ‘Only about so—’She made a gesture with her hands roughly the shape of a child’s ball.

‘No,’ Laurana said, frowning. ‘You have not have seen it. It is nearly two feet in diameter. That’s why I had you wear that long cape.’

Silvara stared at her in wonder. Laurana shrugged. ‘Well, we can’t stand here arguing. We’ll figure something out when the time comes.’

The two crept down the hallway, silently as kender, until they came to the bedroom.

Holding her breath, fearing that even her heartbeat was too loud, Laurana pressed on the door. It opened with a creaking sound that made her grit her teeth. Next to her, Silvara shivered in fear. A figure in the bed stirred and turned over—her mother. Laurana saw her father, even in his sleep, put out his hand to pat her reassuringly. Tears dimmed Laurana’s eyes. Tightening her lips resolutely, she gripped Silvara’s hand and slipped inside the room.

The chest stood at the end of her father’s bed. It was locked, but the companions all carried a copy of the small silver key. Swiftly Laurana unlocked the chest, and lifted the lid. Then she nearly dropped it in her amazement. The dragon orb was there, still glowing with the soft white and blue light. But it wasn’t the same orb! Or, if it was, it had shrunk! As Silvara said, it was now no more than the size of a child’s playing ball! Laurana reached in to take it. It was still heavy, but she could lift it easily. Gingerly grasping it, her hand shaking, she raised it from the box and handed it to Silvara. The Wilder elf immediately hid it beneath her cloak. Laurana picked up the wood shaft of the broken dragonlance, wondering, as she did so, why she bothered taking the broken old weapon.

I’ll take it because the knight handed it to Sturm, she thought. He wanted him to have it.

At the bottom of the chest lay Tanis’s sword, Wyrmslayer, given him by Kith-Kanan. Laurana looked from the sword to the dragonlance. I can’t carry both, she thought, and started to put the lance back. But Silvara grabbed her.

‘What are you doing?’ Her mouth formed the words, her eyes flashed. ‘Take it! Take it, too!’

Laurana stared at the girl in amazement. Then, hastily, she retrieved the lance, concealed it beneath her cloak, and carefully shut the chest, leaving the sword inside. Just as the lid left her cold fingers, her father rolled over in his bed, half—sitting up.

‘What? Who is there?’ he asked, starting to shake off has sleep in his alarm.

Laurana felt Silvara trembling and clutched the girl’s hand reassuringly, warning her to be silent.

‘It is I, Father,’ she said in a faint voice. ‘Laurana. I—I wanted to—to tell you I am sorry, Father. And I ask you to forgive me.’

‘Ah, Laurana.’ The Speaker lay back down on his pillows, closing his eyes. ‘I forgive you, my daughter. Now return to your bed. We’ll talk in the morning.’

Laurana waited until his breathing became quiet and regular. Then she led Silvara from the room, gripping the dragonlance firmly beneath her cloak.

‘Who goes there?’ softly called a human voice in elven.

‘Who asks?’ replied a clear elven voice.

‘Gilthanas? Is that you?’

‘Theros! My friend!’ The young elflord stepped swiftly from the shadows to embrace the human blacksmith. For a moment Gilthanas was so overcome he could not speak. Then, startled, he pushed back from the smith’s bearlike hug. ‘Theros! You have two arms! But the draconians in Solace cut off your right arm! You would have died, if Goldmoon hadn’t healed you.’

‘Do you remember what that pig of a Fewmaster told me?’ Theros asked in his rich, deep voice, whispering softly. ‘‘The only way you’ll get a new arm, smith, is to forge it yourself!’ Well, I did just that! The story of my adventures to find the Silver Arm I wear now is a long one—’

‘And not for telling now,’ grumbled another voice behind him. ‘Unless you want to ask a couple of thousand elves to hear it with us.’

‘So you managed to escape, Gilthanas,’ said Derek’s voice out of the shadows. ‘Did you bring the dragon orb?’

‘I did not escape,’ Gilthanas returned coldly. ‘I left my father’s house to accompany my sister and Sil—her maid — through the darkness. Taking the orb is my sister’s idea, not mine. There is still time to reconsider this madness, Laurana.’ Gilthanas turned to her. ‘Return the orb. Don’t let Porthios’s hasty words drive away your common sense. If we keep the orb here, we can use it to defend our people. We can find out how it works, we have magic-users among us.’

‘Let’s just turn ourselves over to the guards now! Then we can get some sleep where it’s warm!’ Flint’s words came out in explosive puffs of frost.

‘Either sound the alarm now, elf, or let us go. At least give us time before you betray us,’ Derek said.

‘I have no intention of betraying you,’ Gilthanas stated angrily. Ignoring the others, he turned once more to his sister. ‘Laurana?’

‘I am determined on this course of action,’ she answered slowly. ‘I have thought about it and I believe we are doing the right thing. So does Elistan. Silvara will guide us through the mountains—’

‘I, too, know the mountains,’ Theros spoke up. ‘I have had little to do here but wander them. And you’ll need me to get you past the guards.’

‘Then we are resolved.’

‘Very well.’ Gilthanas sighed. ‘I am coming with you. If I stayed behind, Porthios would always suspect me of complicity.’

‘Fine,’ snapped Flint. ‘Can we escape now? Or do we need to wake up anyone else?’

‘This way,’ Theros said. ‘The guards are accustomed to my late night rambles. Stay in the shadows, and let me do the talking.’ Reaching down, he caught hold of Tasslehoff by the collar of his heavy fur coat and lifted the kender off the ground to look him right in the eye. ‘That means you, little thief,’ the big smith said sternly.

‘Yes, Theros,’ the kender replied meekly, squirming in the man’s silver hand until the smith set him down. Somewhat shaken, Tas readjusted his pouches and tried to regain his injured dignity.

The companions followed the tall, dark—skinned smith along the outskirts of the silent elven encampment, moving as quietly as possible for two armor—clad knights and a dwarf. To Laurana, they sounded as loud as a wedding party. She bit her lip to keep silent as the knights clanked and rattled in the darkness, while Flint fell over every tree root and splashed through every puddle.

But the elves lay wrapped in their complacency like a soft, fleecy blanket. They had safely fled the danger. None believed it would find them again. And so they slept as the companions escaped into the night.

Silvara, carrying the dragon orb, felt the cold crystal grow warm as she held it near her body felt it stir and pulse with life.

‘What am I to do?’ she whispered to herself distractedly in Kaganesti, stumbling almost blindly through the darkness. ‘This came to me! Why? I don’t understand? What am I to do?’