Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [164]
She was standing near the door to one of the antechambers, fighting draconians, wielding Kitiara’s sword with the skill gained in long months of war. He almost reached her as—her enemies defeated—she stood alone for a moment.
“Laurana, wait!” he shouted above the chaos.
She heard him. Looking over at him, across the moonlit room, he saw her eyes calm, her gaze unwavering.
“Farewell, Tanis,” Laurana called to him in elven. “I owe you my life, but not my soul.”
With that, she turned and left him, stepping through the doorway of the antechamber, vanishing into the darkness beyond.
A piece of the Temple ceiling crashed to the stone floor, showering Tanis with debris. For a moment, he stood wearily, staring after her. Blood dripped into one eye. Absently he wiped it away, then, suddenly, he began to laugh. He laughed until tears mingled with the blood. Then he pulled himself together and, gripping his blood-stained sword, disappeared into the darkness after her.
“This is the corridor they went down, Raist—Raistlin.” Caramon stumbled over his brother’s name. Somehow, the old nickname no longer seemed to suit this black-robed, silent figure.
They stood beside the jailor’s desk, near the body of the hobgoblin. Around them, the walls were acting crazily, shifting, crumbling, twisting, rebuilding. The sight filled Caramon with vague horror, like a nightmare he could not remember. So he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his brother, his hand clutched Raistlin’s thin arm thankfully. This, at least was flesh and blood, reality in the midst of a terrifying dream.
“Do you know where it leads?” Caramon asked, peering down the eastern corridor.
“Yes,” Raistlin replied without expression.
Caramon felt fear clutch at him. “You know … something’s happened to them—”
“They were fools,” Raistlin said bitterly. “The dream warned them”—he glanced at his brother—“as it warned others. Still, I may be in time, but we must hurry. Listen!”
Caramon glanced up the stairwell. Above him he could hear the sounds of clawed feet racing to stop the escape of the hundreds of prisoners set free by the collapse of the dungeons. Caramon put his hand on his sword.
“Stop it,” Raistlin snapped. “Think a moment! You’re dressed in armor still. They’re not interested in us. The Dark Queen is gone. They obey her no longer. They are only after booty for themselves. Keep beside me. Walk steadily, with purpose.”
Drawing a deep breath, Caramon did as he was told. He had regained some of his strength and was able to walk without his brother’s help now. Ignoring the draconians—who took one look at them, then surged past—the two brothers made their way down the corridor. Here the walls still changed their shapes, the ceiling shook, and the floors heaved. Behind them they could hear ghastly yells as the prisoners fought for their freedom.
“At least no one will be guarding this door,” Raistlin reflected, pointing ahead.
“What do you mean?” Caramon asked, halting and staring at his brother in alarm.
“It’s trapped,” Raistlin whispered. “Remember the dream?”
Turning deathly pale, Caramon dashed down the corridor toward the door. Shaking his hooded head, Raistlin followed slowly after. Rounding the corner, he found his brother crouching beside two bodies on the floor.
“Tika!” Caramon moaned. Brushing back the red curls from the still, white face, he felt for the lifebeat in her neck. His eyes closed a moment in thankfulness, then he reached out to touch the kender. “And Tas … No!”
Hearing his name, the kender’s eyes opened slowly, as if the lids were too heavy for him to lift.
“Caramon …” Tas said in a broken whisper. “I’m sorry.…”
“Tas!” Caramon gently gathered the small, feverish body into his big arms. Holding him close, he rocked him back and forth. “Shh, Tas, don’t talk.”
The kender’s body twitched in convulsions. Glancing