Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [173]
“A dragon!” said Tasslehoff in awe. “But it’s huge. I’ve never seen one so big … or have I?” He blinked. “It seems familiar, somehow.”
“You have,” Raistlin said coolly, replacing the darkening crystal orb back in his black pouch, “in the dream. This is Cyan Bloodbane, the dragon who tormented poor Lorac, the Elven King.”
“Why is he here?” Caramon gasped.
“He comes at my command,” Raistlin replied. “He has come to take me home.”
The dragon circled lower and lower, its gigantic wingspan spreading chilling darkness. Even Tasslehoff (though he later refused to admit it) found himself clinging to Caramon, shivering, as the monstrous green dragon settled to the ground.
For a moment Cyan glanced at the pitiful group of humans huddled together. His red eyes flared, his tongue flickered from between slavering jowls as he stared at them with hatred. Then—constrained by a will more powerful than his own—Cyan’s gaze was wrenched away, coming to rest in resentment and anger upon the black-robed mage.
At a gesture from Raistlin, the dragon’s great head lowered until it rested in the sand.
Leaning wearily upon the Staff of Magius, Raistlin walked over to Cyan Bloodbane and climbed up the huge, snaking neck.
Caramon stared at the dragon, fighting the dragonfear that overwhelmed him. Tika and Tas both clung to him, shivering in fright. Then, with a hoarse cry, he thrust them both away and ran toward the great dragon.
“Wait! Raistlin!” Caramon cried raggedly. “I’ll go with you!”
Cyan reared his great head in alarm, eyeing the human with a flaming gaze.
“Would you?” Raistlin asked softly, laying a soothing hand upon the dragon’s neck. “Would you go with me into darkness?”
Caramon hesitated, his lips grew dry, fear parched his throat. He could not speak, but he nodded, twice, biting his lip in agony as he heard Tika sobbing behind him.
Raistlin regarded him, his eyes golden pools within the deep blackness. “I truly believe you would,” the mage marveled, almost to himself. For a moment Raistlin sat upon the dragon’s back, pondering. Then he shook his head, decisively.
“No, my brother, where I go, you cannot follow. Strong as you are, it would lead you to your death. We are finally as the gods meant us to be, Caramon—two whole people, and here our paths separate. You must learn to walk yours alone, Caramon”—for an instant, a ghostly smile flickered across Raistlin’s face, illuminated by the light from the staff—“or with those who might choose to walk with you. Farewell, my brother.”
At a word from his master, Cyan Bloodbane spread his wings and soared into the air. The gleam of light from the staff seemed like a tiny star amidst the deep blackness of the dragon’s wingspan. And then it, too, winked out, the darkness swallowing it utterly.
“Here come those you have waited for,” the old man said gently.
Tanis raised his head.
Into the light of the old man’s fire came three people—a huge and powerful warrior, dressed in dragonarmy armor, walking arm in arm with a curly-haired young woman. Her face was pale with exhaustion and streaked with blood, and there was a look of deep concern and sorrow in her eyes as she gazed up at the man beside her. Finally, stumbling after them, so tired he could barely stand, came a bedraggled kender in ragged blue leggings.
“Caramon!” Tanis rose to his feet.
The big man lifted his head. His face brightened. Opening his arms, he clasped Tanis to his breast with a sob. Tika, standing apart, watched the reunion of the two friends with tears in her eyes. Then she caught sight of movement near the fire.
“Laurana?” she said hesitantly.
The elfwoman stepped forward into the firelight, her golden hair shining brightly as the sun. Though dressed in blood-stained, battered armor, she had the bearing, the regal look of the elven princess Tika had met in Qualinesti so many months ago.
Self-consciously,