Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [41]
“I have two questions,” she said softly, coming near him.
“Yes,” he answered, staring into her green eyes, “one in your head and one in your heart. Ask the first.”
“Is there a dragon orb still in existence?”
Astinus was silent a moment. Once more Laurana saw pain in his eyes as his ageless face appeared suddenly old. “Yes,” he said finally. “I can tell you that much. One still exists. But it is beyond your ability to use or to find. Put it out of your thoughts.”
“Tanis had it,” Laurana persisted. “Does this mean he has lost it? Where”—she hesitated, this was the question in her heart—“where is he?”
“Put it out of your thoughts.”
“What do you mean?” Laurana felt chilled by the man’s frost-rimed voice.
“I do not predict the future. I see only the present as it becomes the past. Thus I have seen it since time began. I have seen love that, through its willingness to sacrifice everything, brought hope to the world. I have seen love that tried to overcome pride and a lust for power, but failed. The world is darker for its failure, but it is only as a cloud dims the sun. The sun—the love, still remains. Finally I have seen love lost in darkness. Love misplaced, misunderstood, because the lover did not know his—or her—own heart.”
“You speak in riddles,” Laurana said angrily.
“Do I?” Astinus asked. He bowed. “Farewell, Lauralanthalasa. My advice to you is: concentrate on your duty.”
The historian walked out the door.
Laurana stood staring after him, repeating his words: “love lost in darkness.” Was it a riddle or did she know the answer and simply refuse to admit it to herself, as Astinus implied?
“ ‘I left Tanis in Flotsam to handle matters in my absence.’ ” Kitiara had said those words. Kitiara, the Dragon Highlord. Kitiara, the human woman Tanis loved.
Suddenly the pain in Laurana’s heart, the pain that had been there since she heard Kitiara speak those words, vanished, leaving a cold emptiness, a void of darkness like the missing constellations in the night sky. “Love lost in darkness.” Tanis was lost. That is what Astinus was trying to tell her. Concentrate on your duties. Yes, she would concentrate on her duties, since that was all she had left.
Turning around to face the Lord of Palanthas and his generals, Laurana threw back her head, her golden hair glinting in the light of the candles. “I will take the leadership of the armies,” she said in a voice nearly as cold as the void in her soul.
“Now this is stonework!” stated Flint in satisfaction, stamping on the battlements of the Old City Wall beneath his feet. “Dwarves built this, no doubt about it. Look how each stone is cut with careful precision to fit perfectly within the wall, no two quite alike.”
“Fascinating,” said Tasslehoff, yawning. “Did dwarves build that Tower we—”
“Don’t remind me!” Flint snapped. “And dwarves did not build the Towers of High Sorcery. They were built by the wizards themselves, who created them from the very bones of the world, raising the rocks up out of the soil with their magic.”
“That’s wonderful!” breathed Tas, waking up. “I wish I could have been there. How—”
“It’s nothing,” continued the dwarf loudly, glaring at Tas, “compared to the work of the dwarven rockmasons, who spent centuries perfecting their art. Now look at this stone. See the texture of the chisel marks—”
“Here comes Laurana,” Tas said thankfully, glad to end his lesson in dwarven architecture.
Flint quit peering at the rock wall to watch Laurana walk toward them from a great dark hallway which opened onto the battlement. She was dressed once more in the armor she had worn at the High Clerist’s Tower; the blood had been cleaned off the gold-decorated steel breastplate, the dents repaired. Her long, honey-colored hair flowed from beneath her red-plumed helm, gleaming in Solinari’s light. She walked slowly, her eyes on the eastern