Dragons of the Autumn Twilight - Margaret Weis [200]
“Bah! Ember!” Verminaard called. He heard, in another part of the fortress, a heavy, metallic thud. Then he heard another sound, the great wheel—unused in centuries—creaking with protest at being forced into labor. Verminaard was wondering what these odd sounds portended, when Pyros flew down into his lair.
The Dragon Highlord ran to the ledge as Pyros dropped past him. Verminaard climbed swiftly and skillfully onto the dragon’s back. Though separated by mutual distrust, the two fought well together. Their hatred for the petty races they strove to conquer, combined with their desire for power, joined them in a bond much stronger than either cared to admit.
“Fly!” Verminaard roared, and Pyros rose into the air.
“It is useless, my friend,” Tanis said quietly to Sturm, laying his hand on the knight’s shoulder as Sturm frantically called for order. “You’re only wasting your breath. Save it for fighting.”
“There’ll be no fighting.” Sturm coughed, hoarse from shouting. “We’ll die, trapped like rats. Why won’t these fools listen?”
He and Tanis stood at the northern end of the courtyard, about twenty feet from the front gates of Pax Tharkas. Looking south, they could see the mountains and hope. Behind them were the great gates of the fortress that would, at any moment, open to admit the vast draconian army, and within these walls, somewhere, were Verminaard and the red dragon.
In vain, Elistan sought to calm the people and urge them to move southward. But the men insisted on finding their womenfolk, the women on finding their children. A few families, together again, were starting to move south, but too late and too slowly.
Then, like a blood-red, flaming comet, Pyros soared from the fortress of Pax Tharkas, his wings sleek, held close to his sides. His huge tail trailed behind him. His taloned forefeet were curled close to his body as he gained speed in the air. Upon his back rode the Dragon Highlord, the gilded horns of the hideous dragonmask glinting in the morning sun. Verminaard held onto the dragon’s spiny mane with both hands as they flared into the sunlit sky, bringing night’s shadows to the courtyard below.
The dragonfear spread over the people. Unable to scream or run, they could only cower before the fearful apparition, arms around each other, knowing death was inevitable.
At Verminaard’s command, Pyros settled on one of the fortress towers. Verminaard stared out from behind the horned dragonmask, silent, furious.
Tanis, watching in helpless frustration, felt Sturm grip his arm. “Look!” The knight pointed north, toward the gates.
Tanis reluctantly lowered his gaze from the Dragon Highlord and saw two figures running toward the gates of the fortress. “Eben!” he cried in disbelief. “But who’s that with him?”
“He won’t escape!” Sturm shouted. Before Tanis could stop him, the knight ran after the two. As Tanis followed, he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye—Raistlin and his twin.
“I, too, have a score to settle with this man,” the mage hissed. The three caught up with Sturm just as the knight gripped Eben by the collar and hurled him to the ground.
“Traitor!” Sturm yelled loudly. “Though I die this day, I’ll send you to the Abyss first!” He drew his sword and jerked Eben’s head back. Suddenly Eben’s companion whirled around, came back, and caught hold of Sturm’s sword-arm.
Sturm gasped. His hand loosened its grip on Eben as the knight stared, amazed at the sight before him.
The man’s shirt had been torn open in his wild flight from the mines. Impaled in the man’s flesh, in the center of his chest, was a brilliant green jewel! Sunlight flashed on the gem that was as big around as a man’s fist, causing it to gleam with a bright and terrible light—an unholy light.
“I have never seen nor heard of magic like this!” Raistlin whispered in awe as he and