Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [187]
Laurana staggered and nearly fell. Only the grim determination not to reveal any weakness before this human woman kept the elfmaiden on her feet.
Kitiara had not noticed. Stooping down, she picked up the weapon Laurana had dropped and studied it with interest.
“So this is the famed dragonlance?” Kitiara remarked.
Laurana swallowed her grief, forcing herself to speak in a steady voice. “Yes,” she replied. “If you want to see what it’s capable of, go look within the walls of the fortress at what’s left of your dragons.”
Kitiara glanced down into the courtyard briefly, without a great deal of interest. “It was not these that lured my dragons into your trap,” she said, her brown eyes appraising Laurana coolly, “nor scattered my army to the four winds.”
Once more Laurana glanced across the empty plains.
“Yes,” Kitiara said, seeing the dawning comprehension on Laurana’s face. “You have won—today. Savor your victory now, Elf, for it will be short-lived.” The Dragon Highlord dexterously flipped the lance in her hand and held it aimed at Laurana’s heart. The elfmaid stood unmoving before her, the delicate face empty of expression.
Kitiara smiled. With a quick motion, she reversed the killing stroke “Thank you for this weapon,” she said, standing the lance in the snow. “We’ve received reports of these. Now we can find out if it as formidable a weapon as you claim.”
Kitiara made Laurana a slight bow from the waist. Then, replacing the dragonmask over her head, she grasped the dragonlance and turned to go. As she did, her gaze went once more to the body of the knight.
“See that he is given a knight’s funeral,” Kitiara said. “It will take at least three days to rebuild the army. I give you that time to prepare a ceremony befitting him.”
“We will bury our own dead,” Laurana said proudly. “We ask you for nothing!”
The memory of Sturm’s death, the sight of the knight’s body, brought Laurana back to reality like cold water poured on the face of a dreamer. Moving to stand protectively between Sturm’s body and the Dragon Highlord, Laurana looked into the brown eyes, glittering behind the dragonmask.
“What will you tell Tanis?” she asked abruptly.
“Nothing,” Kit said simply. “Nothing at all.” Turning, she walked away.
Laurana watched the Dragon Highlord’s slow, graceful walk, the black cape fluttering in the warm breeze blowing from the north. The sun glinted off the prize Kitiara held in her hand. Laurana knew she should get the lance away. There was an army of knights below. She had only to call.
But Laurana’s weary brain and her body refused to act. It was an effort just to remain standing. Pride alone kept her from falling to the cold stones.
Take the dragonlance, Laurana told Kitiara silently. Much good it will do you.
Kitiara walked to the giant blue dragon. Down below, the knights had come into the courtyard, dragging with them the head of one of her blue dragons. Skie tossed his own head angrily at the sight, a savage growl rumbling deep within his chest. The knights turned their amazed faces toward the wall where they saw the dragon, the Dragon Highlord, and Laurana. More than one drew his weapon, but Laurana raised her hand to stop them. It was the last gesture she had strength to make.
Kitiara gave the knights a disdainful look and laid her hand upon Skie’s neck, stroking him, reassuring him. She took her time, letting them see she was not afraid of them.
Reluctantly, the knights lowered their weapons.
Laughing scornfully, Kitiara swung herself onto the dragon.
“Farewell, Lauralanthalasa,” she called.
Lifting the dragonlance in the air, Kitiara commanded Skie to fly. The huge blue dragon spread his wings, rising effortlessly into the air. Guiding him skillfully, Kitiara