Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [172]
Picking it up, Tanis’s eyes filled with tears. He held it tightly in his hand, feeling the sharp edges bite into his flesh.
“What is it?” asked Laurana, not understanding, her voice choked with fear.
“Forgive me, Paladine,” Tanis whispered. Drawing Laurana close beside him, he held his hand out, opening his palm.
There in his hand lay a finely carved, delicate ring, made of golden, clinging ivy leaves. And wrapped around the ring, still bound in his magical sleep, was a golden dragon.
14
The end. For good or for evil.
W ell, we’re outside the city gates,” Caramon muttered to his twin in a low voice, his eyes on the draconians who were looking at him expectantly. “You stay with Tika and Tas. I’m going back to find Tanis. I’ll take this lot with me—”
“No, my brother,” Raistlin said softly, his golden eyes glittering in Lunitari’s red light. “You cannot help Tanis. His fate is in his own hands.” The mage glanced up at the flaming, dragon-filled skies. “You are still in danger yourself, as are those dependent upon you.”
Tika stood wearily beside Caramon, her face drawn with pain. And though Tasslehoff grinned as cheerfully as ever, his face was pale and there was an expression of wistful sorrow in his eyes that had never been seen in the eyes of a kender before. Caramon’s face grew grim as he looked at them.
“Fine,” he said. “But where do we go from here?”
Raising his arm, Raistlin pointed. The black robes shimmered, his hand stood out starkly against the night sky, pale and thin, like bare bone.
“Upon that ridge shines a light—”
They all turned to look, even the draconians. Far across the barren plain Caramon could see the dark shadow of a hill rising from the moonlit wasteland. Upon its summit gleamed a pure white light, shining brightly, steadfast as a star.
“One waits for you there,” Raistlin said.
“Who? Tanis?” Caramon said eagerly.
Raistlin glanced at Tasslehoff. The kender’s face had not turned from the light, he gazed at it fixedly.
“Fizban …” he whispered.
“Yes,” Raistlin replied. “And now I must go.”
“What?” Caramon faltered. “But, come with me … us … you must! To see Fizban—”
“A meeting between us would not be pleasant.” Raistlin shook his head, the folds of his black hood moving around him.
“And what about them?” Caramon gestured at the draconians.
With a sigh, Raistlin faced the draconians. Lifting his hand, he spoke a few strange words. The draconians backed up, expressions of fear and horror twisting their reptilian faces. Caramon cried out, just as lightning sizzled from Raistlin’s fingertips. Screaming in agony, the draconians burst into flame and fell, writhing, to the ground. Their bodies turned to stone as death took them.
“You didn’t need to do that, Raistlin,” Tika said, her voice trembling. “They would have left us alone.”
“The war’s over,” Caramon added sternly.
“Is it?” Raistlin asked sarcastically, removing a small black bag from one of his hidden pockets. “It is weak, sentimental twaddle like that, my brother, which assures the war’s continuation. These”—he pointed at the statuelike bodies—“are not of Krynn. They were created using the blackest of black rites. I know. I have witnessed their creation. They would not have ‘left you alone.’ ” His voice grew shrill, mimicking Tika’s.
Caramon flushed. He tried to speak, but Raistlin coldly ignored him and finally the big man fell silent, seeing his brother lost in his magic.
Once more Raistlin held the dragon orb in his hand. Closing his eyes, Raistlin began to chant softly. Colors swirled within the crystal, then it began to glow with a brilliant, radiant beam of light.
Raistlin opened his eyes, scanning the skies, waiting. He did not wait