Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [116]
Ignoring the stares of the others, Fizban walked across the floor of the tomb, past the bier, past the comatose dwarf, to come to Silvara. Behind him, Tasslehoff scrambled up out of the hole.
“Look who I found,” the kender said proudly. “Fizban! And I flew, Laurana. I jumped into the hole and just flew straight up into the air. And there’s a painting up there with gold dragons, and then Fizban sat up and yelled at me and—I must admit I felt really queer there for a while. My voice was gone and … what happened to Flint?”
“Hush, Tas,” Laurana said weakly, her eyes on Fizban. Kneeling down, he shook the Wilder elfmaid.
“Silvara, what have you done?” Fizban asked sternly. Laurana thought then that perhaps she had made a mistake—this must be some other old man dressed in the old magician’s clothes. This stern-faced, powerful man was certainly not the befuddled old mage she remembered. But no, she’d recognize that face anywhere, to say nothing of the hat!
Watching the two of them—Silvara and Fizban—before her, Laurana felt great and awesome power like silent thunder surging between the two. She had a terrible longing to run out of this place and keep running until she dropped with exhaustion. But she couldn’t move. She could only stare.
“What have you done, Silvara?” Fizban demanded. “You have broken your oath!”
“No!” The girl moaned, writhing on the ground at the old mage’s feet. “No, I haven’t. Not yet—”
“You have walked the world in another body, meddling in the affairs of men. That alone would be sufficient. But you brought them here!”
Silvara’s tear-stained face was twisted in anguish. Laurana felt her own tears sliding unchecked down her cheeks.
“All right then!” Silvara cried defiantly. “I broke my oath, or at least I intended to. I brought them here. I had to! I’ve seen the misery and the suffering. Besides”—her voice fell, her eyes stared far away—“they had an orb …”
“Yes,” said Fizban softly. “A dragon orb. Taken from Ice Wall Castle. It fell into your possession. What have you done with it, Silvara? Where is it now?”
“I sent it away …” Silvara said almost inaudibly.
Fizban seemed to age. His face grew weary. Sighing deeply, he leaned heavily upon his staff. “Where did you send it, Silvara? Where is the dragon orb now?”
“St-Sturm has it,” Laurana interrupted fearfully. “He took it to Sancrist. What does this mean? Is Sturm in danger?”
“Who?” Fizban peered around over his shoulder. “Oh, hullo there, my dear.” He beamed at her. “So nice to see you again. How’s your father?”
“My father—” Laurana shook her head, confused. “Look, old man, never mind my father! Who—”
“And your brother.” Fizban extended a hand to Gilthanas. “Good to see you, son. And you, sir.” He bowed to an astonished Theros. “Silver arm? My, my”—he stole a look back at Silvara—“what a coincidence. Theros Ironfeld, isn’t it? Heard a lot about you. And my name is …” The old magician paused, his brow furrowed.
“My name is …”
“Fizban,” supplied Tasslehoff helpfully.
“Fizban.” The old man nodded, smiling.
Laurana thought she saw the old magician cast a warning glance at Silvara. The girl lowered her head as if to acknowledge some silent, secret signal passed between them.
But before Laurana could sort out her whirling thoughts, Fizban turned back to her again. “And now, Laurana, you wonder who Silvara is? It is up to Silvara to tell you. For I must leave you now. I have a long journey ahead of me.”
“Must I tell them?” Silvara asked softly. She was still on her knees and, as she spoke, her eyes went to Gilthanas. Fizban followed her gaze. Seeing the elflord’s stricken face, his own face softened. Then he shook his head sadly.
Silvara raised her hands to him in a pleading gesture. Fizban walked over to her. Taking her hands, he raised her to her feet. She threw her arms around him, and he held her close.
“No, Silvara,” he said, his voice kind and gentle,