Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [63]
“Thank you for bringing this message. I have a great deal to do before morning. If you have any regard for Tanis, please return to your rooms and say nothing to anyone.”
Tasslehoff cast Flint an alarmed glance. Flushing, the dwarf tried hastily to undo the damage.
“Now, Laurana,” he said gruffly, “don’t take my words to heart. If you’ve made your decision, I’ll support you. I’m just being an old crotchety grandfather, that’s all. I worry about you, even if you are a general. And you should take me with you—like the note says—”
“Me, too!” cried Tas indignantly.
Flint glared at him, but Laurana didn’t notice. Her expression softened. “Thank you, Flint. You too, Tas,” she said wearily. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. But I really believe I should go alone.”
“No,” Flint said stubbornly. “I care about Tanis as much as you. If there’s any chance he is dy—” The dwarf choked and wiped his hand across his eyes. Then he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I want to be with him.”
“Me, too,” mumbled Tas, subdued.
“Very well.” Laurana smiled sadly. “I can’t blame you. And I’m sure he’d want you to be there.”
She sounded so certain, so positive she would see Tanis. The dwarf saw it in her eyes. He made one final effort. “Laurana, what if it’s a trap? An ambush—”
Laurana’s expression froze again. Her eyes narrowed angrily. Flint’s protest was lost in his beard. He glanced at Tas. The kender shook his head.
The old dwarf sighed.
2
The penalty of failure.
T here it is, sir,” said the dragon, a huge red monster with glistening black eyes and a wing span that was like the shadows of night. “Dargaard Keep. Wait, you can see it clearly in the moonlight … when the clouds part.”
“I see it,” replied a deep voice. The dragon, hearing the dagger-edged anger in the man’s tone, began his descent swiftly, spiraling round and round as he tested the shifting air currents among the mountains. Nervously eyeing the keep surrounded by the rocky crags of the jagged mountains, the dragon looked for a place to make a smooth and easy landing. It would never do to jounce Lord Ariakas.
At the far northern end of the Dargaard Mountains stood their destination—Dargaard Keep, as dark and dismal as its legends. Once—when the world was young—Dargaard Keep had graced the mountain peaks, its rose-colored walls rising in graceful sweeping beauty up from the rock in the very likeness of a rose itself. But now, thought Ariakas grimly, the rose has died. The Highlord was not a poetic man, nor was he much given to flights of fancy. But the fire-blackened, crumbling castle atop the rock looked so much like a decayed rose upon a withering bush that the image struck him forcibly. Black latticework, stretching from broken tower to broken tower, no longer formed the petals of the rose. Instead, mused Ariakas, it is the web of the insect whose poison had killed it.
The great red dragon wheeled a final time. The southern wall surrounding the courtyard had fallen a thousand feet to the base of the cliff during the Cataclysm, leaving a clear passage to the gates of the keep itself. Breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief, the red saw smooth tiled pavement beyond, broken only here and there by rents in the stonework, suitable for a smooth landing. Even dragons—who feared few things on Krynn—found it healthier to avoid Lord Ariakas’s displeasure.
In the courtyard below, there was a sudden fever of activity, looking like an anthill disturbed by the approach of a wasp. Draconians shrieked and pointed. The captain of the night watch came hurrying to the battlements, looking over the edge into the courtyard. The draconians were right. A flight of red dragons were indeed landing in the courtyard, one of them bearing an officer, too, by the armor. The captain watched uneasily as the man leaped from the dragonsaddle before his mount had come to halt. The dragon’s wings beat furiously to avoid striking the