Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [168]
Before him, the corridor lay in ruins, part of the ceiling having caved in. It was intensely dark—the torch he held provided the only light—and Tanis wrestled with the need for light and the fear of being seen by it. Finally he decided to risk keeping it burning. He would never find Laurana if he had to wander around this place in the darkness.
He would have to trust to his disguise once again.
“Who goes there?” he roared out in a harsh voice, shining his torchlight boldly into the ruined hallway.
He caught a glimpse of flashing armor and a figure running, but it ran away from him, not toward him. Odd for a draconian … his weary brain seemed to be stumbling along about three paces behind him. He could see the figure plainly now, lithe and slender and running much too quickly.…
“Laurana!” he shouted, then in elven, “Quisalas!”
Cursing the broken columns and marble blocks in his path, Tanis stumbled and ran and stumbled and fell and forced his aching body to obey him until he caught up with her. Grasping her by the arm, he dragged her to a stop, then could only hold onto her tightly as he slumped against a wall.
Each breath he took was fiery pain. He was so dizzy he thought for a moment he might pass out. But he grasped her with a deathlike grip, holding her with his eyes as well as his hand.
Now he knew why the draconians hadn’t seen her. She had stripped off the silver armor, covering it with draconian armor she had taken from a dead warrior. For a moment she could only stare at Tanis. She had not recognized him at first, and had nearly run him through with her sword. The only thing that had stopped her was the elven word, quisalas, beloved. That, and the intense look of anguish and suffering on his pale face.
“Laurana,” Tanis gasped in a voice as shattered as Raistlin’s had once been, “don’t leave me. Wait … listen to me, please!”
With a twist of her arm, Laurana broke free of his grip. But she did not leave him. She started to speak, but another shudder of the building silenced her. As dust and debris poured down around them, Tanis pulled Laurana close, shielding her. They clung to each other fearfully, and then it was over. But they were left in darkness. Tanis had dropped the torch.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said, his voice shaking.
“Are you injured?” Laurana asked coldly, trying to free herself from his grasp once more. “If so, I can help you. If not, then I suggest we forego any further farewells. Whatever—”
“Laurana,” Tanis said softly, breathing heavily, “I don’t ask you to understand—I don’t understand. I don’t ask for forgiveness—I can’t even forgive myself. I could tell you that I love you, that I have always loved you. But that wouldn’t be true, for love must come from within one who loves himself, and right now I can’t bear to see my own reflection. All I can tell you, Laurana, is that—”
“Shhh!” Laurana whispered, putting her hand over Tanis’s mouth. “I heard something.”
For long moments they stood, pressed together in the darkness, listening. At first they could hear nothing but the sound of their own breathing. They could see nothing, not even each other, as close as they were. Then torchlight flared, blinding them, and a voice spoke.
“Tell Laurana what, Tanis?” said Kitiara in a pleasant voice. “Go on.”
A naked sword gleamed in her hand. Wet blood—both red and green—glistened on the blade. Her face was white with stone dust, a trickle of blood ran down her chin from a cut on her lip. Her eyes were shadowed with weariness, but her smile was still as charming as ever. Sheathing her bloody sword, she wiped her hands upon her tattered cloak, then ran them absently through her curly hair.
Tanis’s eyes closed in exhaustion. His face seemed to age; he looked very human. Pain and exhaustion, grief and guilt would forever leave their mark on the eternal elven youthfulness. He could feel Laurana stiffen, her hand move to her sword.
“Let her go, Kitiara,” Tanis said quietly, gripping Laurana firmly. “Keep your promise and I’ll keep mine. Let me take her outside the walls. Then I’ll come back