Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [184]
The dwarf staggered back against the wall, his nerveless hand resting feebly on the mechanism that would slide shut the portcullis. He had never been so terrified in his life. Death would be welcome if it would end this horror. But the dragon sped on, seeking only one thing—to reach the orb. Her head glided under the strange portcullis.
Acting instinctively, knowing only that the dragon must not reach the orb, Flint released the mechanism. The portcullis closed around the dragon’s neck, holding it fast. The dragon’s head was now trapped within the small chamber. Her struggling body lay helpless, wings pressed against her sides, in the chamber where the knights stood, dragonlances ready.
Too late, the dragon realized she was trapped. She howled in such fury the rocks shuddered and cracked as she opened her mouth to blast the dragon orb with her lightning breath. Tasslehoff, trying frantically to revive Laurana, found himself staring into two flaming eyes. He saw the dragon’s jaws part, he heard the dragon suck in her breath.
Lightning crackled from the dragon’s throat, the concussion knocking the kender flat. Rock exploded into the room and the dragon orb shuddered on its stand. Tas lay on the floor, stunned by the blast. He could not move, did not even want to move, in fact. He just lay there, waiting for the next bolt which he knew would kill Laurana—if she wasn’t already dead—and him, too. At this point, he really didn’t much care.
But the blast never came.
The mechanism finally activated. The double steel door slammed shut in front of the dragon’s snout, sealing the creature’s head inside the small room.
At first it was deathly silent. Then the most horrible scream imaginable reverberated through the chamber. It was high-pitched, shrill, wailing, bubbling in agony, as the knights lunged out of their hiding places behind the tooth-like pillars and drove the silver dragonlances into the blue, writhing body of the trapped dragon.
Tas covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the awful sound. Over and over he pictured the terrible destruction he had seen the dragons wreak on towns, the innocent people they had slaughtered. The dragon would have killed him, too, he knew—killed him without mercy. It had probably already killed Sturm. He kept reminding himself of that, trying to harden his heart.
But the kender buried his head in his hands and wept.
Then he felt a gentle hand touch him.
“Tas,” whispered a voice.
“Laurana!” He raised his head. “Laurana! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t care what they do to the dragon, but I can’t stand it, Laurana! Why must there be killing? I can’t stand it!” Tears streaked his face.
“I know,” Laurana murmured, vivid memories of Sturm’s death mingling with the shrieks of the dying dragon. “Don’t be ashamed, Tas. Be thankful you can feel pity and horror at the death of an enemy. The day we cease to care, even for our enemies, is the day we have lost this battle.”
The fearful wailing grew even louder. Tas held out his arms and Laurana gathered him close. The two clung to each other, trying to blot out the screams of the dying dragon. Then they heard another sound—the knights calling out a warning. A second dragon had entered the other chamber, slamming its rider into the wall as it struggled to enter the smaller entryway in response to the beaming call of the dragon orb. The knights were sounding the alarm.
At that moment, the Tower itself shuddered from top to foundation, shaken by the violent flailings of the tortured dragon.
“Come on!” Laurana cried. “We’ve got to get out of here!” Dragging Tas to his feet, she ran stumbling toward a small door in the wall that would lead them out into the courtyard. Laurana yanked open the door, just as the dragon’s head burst into the room with the orb. Tas could not help stopping, just a moment, to watch. The sight was so fascinating. He could see the dragon’s flaring eyes—mad with rage at the sounds of his dying mate, knowing—too late—that he had flown into the same trap. The dragon’s mouth