Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [118]
“Gone?” The dwarf looked around blankly. “You let him go? With that old man?”
“I’m afraid so—”
“You let him go with a dead old man?”
“I really didn’t have much choice.” Laurana smiled. “It was his decision. He’ll be fine—”
“Where’d they go?” Flint stood and shouldered his pack.
“You can’t go after them,” Laurana said. “Please, Flint.” She put her arm around the dwarf’s shoulders. “I need you. You’re Tanis’s oldest friend, my advisor—”
“But he’s gone without me,” Flint said plaintively. “How could he leave? I didn’t see him go.”
“You fainted—”
“I did no such thing!” the dwarf roared.
“You—you were out cold,” Laurana stammered.
“I never faint!” stated the dwarf indignantly. “It must have been a recurrence of that deadly disease I caught on board that boat—” Flint dropped his pack and slumped down beside it. “Idiot kender. Running off with a dead old man.”
Theros came over to Laurana, drawing her to one side. “Who was that old man?” he asked curiously.
“It’s a long story.” Laurana sighed. “And I’m not certain I could answer that question anyway.”
“He seems familiar.” Theros frowned and shook his head. “But I can’t remember where I’ve seen him before, though he puts me in mind of Solace and the Inn of the Last Home. And he knew me …” The blacksmith stared at his silver hand. “I felt a shock go through me when he looked at me, like lightning striking a tree.” The big blacksmith shivered, then he glanced over at Silvara and Gilthanas. “And what of this?”
“I think we’re finally about to find out,” Laurana said.
“You were right,” Theros said. “You didn’t trust her—”
“But not for the right reasons,” Laurana admitted guiltily.
With a small sigh, Silvara pushed herself away from Gilthanas’s embrace. The elflord let her go reluctantly.
“Gilthanas,” she said, drawing a shuddering breath, “take a torch off the wall and hold it up before me.”
Gilthanas hesitated. Then, almost angrily, he followed her directions.
“Hold the torch there …” she instructed, guiding his hand so that the light blazed right before her. “Now—look at my shadow on the wall behind me,” she said in trembling tones.
The tomb was silent, only the sputtering of the flaming torch made any sound. Silvara’s shadow sprang into life on the cold stone wall behind her. The companions stared at it and—for an instant—none of them could say a word.
The shadow Silvara cast upon the wall was not the shadow of a young elfmaid.
It was the shadow of a dragon.
“You’re a dragon!” Laurana said in shocked disbelief. She laid her hand on her sword, but Theros stopped her.
“No!” he said suddenly. “I remember. That old man—” He looked at his arm. “Now I remember. He used to come into the Inn of the Last Home! He was dressed differently. He wasn’t a mage, but it was him! I’ll swear it! He told stories to the children. Stories about good dragons. Gold dragons and—”
“Silver dragons,” Silvara said, looking at Theros. “I am a silver dragon. My sister was the Silver Dragon who loved Huma and fought the final great battle with him—”
“No!” Gilthanas flung the torch to the ground. It lay flickering for a moment at his feet, then he stamped on it angrily, putting out its light. Silvara, watching him with sad eyes, reached out her hand to comfort him.
Gilthanas shrank from her touch, staring at her in horror.
Silvara lowered her hand slowly. Sighing gently, she nodded. “I understand,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”
Gilthanas began to shake, then doubled over in agony. Putting his strong arms around him, Theros led Gilthanas to a bench and covered him with his cloak.
“I’ll be all right,” Gilthanas mumbled. “Just leave me alone, let me think. This is madness! It’s all a nightmare. A dragon!” He closed his eyes tightly as if he could blot out their sight forever. “A dragon …” he whispered brokenly. Theros patted him gently, then returned to the others.
“Where are the rest of the good dragons?” Theros asked. “The old man said there were many. Silver dragons, gold dragons—”
“There are many of us,” Silvara answered reluctantly.
“Like the silver dragon