Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [158]
“Laurana, stop!” Tanis shouted. Jumping forward to catch her, he suddenly felt the point of her sword at his throat.
“Don’t move, Tanthalasa,” Laurana ordered. Her green eyes were dilated with excitement, she held the sword point with unwavering steadiness. “Or you will die. I will kill you, if I have to.”
Tanis took a step forward. The sharp blade pierced his skin. Helpless, he stopped. Laurana smiled sadly.
“You see, Tanis? I’m not the love-sick child you knew. I’m not my father’s daughter, living in my father’s court. I’m not even the Golden General. I am Laurana. And I will live or die on my own without your help.”
“Laurana, listen to me!” Tanis pleaded, taking another step toward her, reaching up to thrust aside the sword blade that cut into his skin.
He saw Laurana’s lips press together tightly, her green eyes glinted. Then, sighing, she slowly lowered the the sword blade to his armor-plated chest. Tanis smiled. Laurana shrugged and, with a swift thrust, shoved him backward off the platform.
Arms flailing wildly in the air, the half-elf tumbled to the floor below. As he fell, he saw Laurana—sword in hand—jump off after him, landing lightly on her feet.
He hit the floor heavily, knocking the breath from his body. The Crown of Power rolled from his head with a clatter and went skittering across the polished granite floor. Above him, he could hear Kitiara shriek in rage.
“Laurana!” He gasped without breath to shout, looking for her frantically. He saw a flash of silver.…
“The Crown! Bring me the Crown!” Kitiara’s voice dinned in his ears.
But she was not the only one shouting. All around the Hall of Audience, the Highlords were on their feet, ordering their troops forward. The dragons sprang into the air. The Dark Queen’s five-headed body filled the Hall with shadow, exulting in this test of strength that would provide her with the strongest commanders—the survivors.
Clawed draconian feet, booted goblin feet, steel-shod human feet trampled over Tanis. Struggling to stand, fighting desperately to keep from being crushed, he tried to follow that silver flash. He saw it once, then it was gone, lost in the melee. A twisted face appeared in front of him, dark eyes flashed. A spear butt smashed into his side.
Groaning, Tanis collapsed to the floor as chaos erupted in the Hall of Audience.
11
“Jasla calls—”
R aistlin! It was a thought, not spoken. Caramon tried to talk, but no sound came from his throat. “Yes, my brother,” said Raistlin, answering his brother’s thoughts, as usual. “It is I—the last guardian—the one you must pass to reach your goal, the one Her Dark Majesty commanded be present if the trumpets should sound.” Raistlin smiled derisively. “And I might have known it would be you who foolishly tripped my spelltrap.…”
“Raist,” Caramon began and choked.
For a moment he could not speak. Worn out from fear and pain and loss of blood, shivering in the cold water, Caramon found this almost too much to bear. It would be easier to let the dark waters close over his head, let the sharp teeth of the young dragons tear his flesh. The pain could not be nearly so bad. Then he felt Berem stir beside him. The man was staring at Raistlin vaguely, not understanding. He tugged on Caramon’s arm.
“Jasla calls. We must go.”
With a sob, Caramon tore his arm away from the man’s grasp. Berem glared at him angrily, then turned and started ahead on his own.
“No, my friend, no one’s going anywhere.”
Raistlin raised his thin hand and Berem came to a sudden, staggering stop. The Everman lifted his gaze to the gleaming golden eyes of the mage, standing above him on a rock ledge. Whimpering, wringing his hands, Berem gazed ahead longingly at the jeweled column. But he could not move. A great and terrible force stood blocking his path, as surely as the mage stood upon the rock.
Caramon blinked back sudden tears. Feeling