Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [114]
“Tanis”—the half-elf felt a firm grasp on his arm and recognized Sturm’s deep voice—“I know what you’re thinking. We have no choice. We’re running out of time. This is our only chance to get the Disks. We won’t get another.”
“I’m going to look,” Tanis said. He climbed past the kender and peered through the grate. It was dark, magically dark. Tanis put his head in his hand and tried to think. Sturm was right: time was running out. Yet how could he trust the knight’s judgement? Sturm wanted to fight the dragon! Tanis crawled back down the ladder. “We’re going,” he said. Suddenly all he wanted to do was get this over with, then they could go home. Home to Solace. “No, Tas.” He grabbed hold of the kender and dragged him back down the ladder. “The fighters go first—Sturm and Caramon. Then the rest.”
But the knight was already shoving past him eagerly, his sword clanking against his thigh.
“We’re always last!” Tasslehoff sniffed, shoving the dwarf along. Flint climbed the ladder slowly, his knees creaking. “Hurry up!” Tas said. “I hope nothing happens before we get there. I’ve never talked to a dragon.”
“I’ll bet the dragon’s never talked to a kender either!” The dwarf snorted. “You realize, you hare-brain, that we’re probably going to die. Tanis knows, I could tell by his voice.”
Tas paused, clinging to the ladder while Sturm slowly pushed on the grating. “You know, Flint,” the kender said seriously, “my people don’t fear death. In a way, we look forward to it, the last big adventure. But I think I’d feel badly about leaving this life. I’d miss my things”—he patted his pouches—“and my maps, and you and Tanis. Unless,” he added brightly, “we all go to the same place when we die.”
Flint had a sudden vision of the happy-go-lucky kender lying cold and dead. He felt a lump of pain in his chest and was thankful for the concealing darkness. Clearing his throat, he said huskily, “If you think I’m going to share my afterlife with a bunch of kender, you’re crazier than Raistlin. Come on!”
Sturm carefully lifted the grating and shoved it to one side. It scraped over the floor, causing him to grit his teeth. He heaved himself up easily. Turning, he bent down to help Caramon who was having trouble squeezing his body and his clanking arsenal through the shaft.
“In the name of Istar, be quiet!” Sturm hissed.
“I’m trying,” Caramon muttered, finally climbing over the edge. Sturm gave his hand to Goldmoon. Last came Tas, delighted that nobody had done anything exciting in his absence.
“We’ve got to have light,” Sturm said.
“Light?” replied a voice as cold and dark as winter midnight. “Yes, let us have light.”
The darkness fled instantly. The companions saw they were in a huge domed chamber that soared hundreds of feet into the air. Cold gray light filtered into the room through a crack in the ceiling, shining on a large altar in the center of the circular room. On the floor surrounding the altar were masses of jewels, coins, and other treasures of the dead city. The jewels did not gleam. The gold did not glitter. The dim light illuminated nothing, nothing except a black dragon perched on top of the pedestal like some huge beast of prey.
“Feeling betrayed?” the dragon asked in conversational tones.
“The mage betrayed us! Where is he? Serving you?” Sturm cried fiercely, drawing his sword and taking a step forward.
“Stand back, foul Knight of Solamnia. Stand back or your magic-user will use his magic no more!” The dragon snaked her great neck down and stared at them with gleaming red eyes. Then, slowly and delicately, she lifted one clawed foot. Lying beneath it, on the pedestal, was Raistlin.
“Raist!” Caramon roared and lunged for the altar.
“Stop, fool!” the dragon hissed. She rested one pointed claw lightly on the mage’s abdomen. With a great effort, Raistlin moved his head to look at his brother with his strange golden eyes. He made a weak gesture and Caramon halted. Tanis saw something move on