Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [7]
The silence grew uncomfortable. Finally Caramon cleared his throat with a rumble. “If we can’t leave tomorrow, we’ll try the next day,” he said comfortably. “Don’t worry about it, Tanis. The draconians won’t be out in this weather. We’re safe—”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, Goldmoon. It’s been—nerve-racking these last few days. I’m so tired I can’t think straight. I’ll go to my room.”
“The innkeeper gave it to someone else,” Caramon said, then added hurriedly, “but you can sleep here, Tanis. Take my bed—”
“No, I’ll just lie down on the floor.” Avoiding Goldmoon’s gaze, Tanis began unbuckling the dragonarmor, his eyes fixed firmly on his shaking fingers.
“Sleep well, my friend,” Goldmoon said softly.
Hearing the concern in her voice, he could imagine her exchanging compassionate glances with Riverwind. There was the Plainsman’s hand on his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic pat. Then they were gone. Tika left, too, closing the door behind her after a murmured goodnight.
“Here, let me help you,” Caramon offered, knowing that Tanis, unaccustomed to wearing plate armor, found the intricate buckles and straps difficult to manage. “Can I get you something to eat? Drink? Some mulled wine?”
“No,” Tanis said wearily, divesting himself thankfully of the armor, trying not to remember that in a few hours he would have to put it on again. “I just need sleep.”
“Here—at least take my blanket,” Caramon insisted, seeing that the half-elf was shivering with the cold.
Tanis accepted the blanket gratefully, although he was not certain whether he was shaking with the chill or the violence of his turbulent emotions. Lying down, he wrapped himself in both the blanket and his cloak. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on making his breathing even and regular, knowing that the mother-hen, Caramon, would never sleep until he was certain Tanis was resting comfortably. Soon he heard Caramon get into bed. The fire burned low, darkness fell. After a moment, he heard Caramon’s rumbling snore. In the other bed, he could hear Raistlin’s fitful cough.
When he was certain both the twins were asleep, Tanis stretched out, putting his hands beneath his head. He lay awake, staring into the darkness.
It was near morning when the Dragon Highlord arrived back at the Saltbreeze Inn. The night clerk could see immediately that the Highlord was in a foul temper. Flinging open the door with more force than the gale winds, she glared angrily into the inn, as if its warmth and comfort were offensive. Indeed, she seemed to be at one with the storm outside. It was she who caused the candles to flicker, rather than the howling wind. It was she who brought the darkness indoors. The clerk stumbled fearfully to his feet, but the Highlord’s eyes were not on him. Kitiara was staring at a draconian, who sat at a table and who signaled, by an almost imperceptible flicker in the dark reptilian eyes, that something was awry.
Behind the hideous dragonmask, the Highlord’s eyes narrowed alarmingly, their expression grew cold. For a moment she stood in the doorway, ignoring the chill wind that blew through the inn, whipping her cloak around her.
“Come upstairs,” she said finally, ungraciously, to the draconian.
The creature nodded and followed after her, its clawed feet clicking on the wooden floors.
“Is there anything—” the night clerk began, cringing as the door blew shut with a shattering crash.
“No!” Kitiara snarled. Hand on the hilt of her sword, she stalked past the quivering man without a glance and climbed the stairs to her suite of rooms, leaving the man to sink back, shaken, into his chair.
Fumbling with her key, Kitiara threw open the door. She gave the room a quick sweeping glance.
It was empty.
The draconian waited behind her, standing patiently and in silence.
Furious, Kitiara tugged viciously at the hinges on the dragonmask and yanked it off. Tossing