Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [31]
“Glass ball!” Flint sniffed, then sneezed. “Don’t believe him, Tanis. I think the only thing those glasses have done is magnify his tall stories.”
“I am so telling the truth!” Tas said indignantly. “They’re called dragon orbs, and you can ask Raistlin about them! He must know because, according to this, they were made by the great wizards, long ago.”
“I believe you,” Tanis said gravely, seeing that Tasslehoff was really upset. “But I’m afraid it won’t do us much good. They were probably all destroyed in the Cataclysm and we wouldn’t know where to look anyway—”
“Yes, we do,” Tas said excitedly. “There’s a list here, of where they were kept. See—” He stopped, cocking his head. “Shhhh,” he said, listening. The others fell silent. For a moment they heard nothing, then their ears caught what the kender’s quicker hearing had already detected.
Tanis felt his hands grow cold; the dry, bitter taste of fear filled his mouth. Now he could hear, in the distance, the sound of hundreds of horns braying, horns all of them had heard before. The bellowing, brass horns that heralded the approach of the draconian armies—and the approach of the dragons.
The horns of death.
7
“—not destined to meet again
in this world.”
The companions had just reached the marketplace when the first flight of dragons struck Tarsis.
The group had separated from the knights, not a pleasant parting. The knights had tried to convince them to escape with them into the hills. When the companions refused, Derek demanded that Tasslehoff accompany them, since the kender alone knew the location of the dragon orbs. Tanis knew Tas would only run away from the knights and was forced to refuse again.
“Bring the kender, Sturm, and come with us,” Derek commanded, ignoring Tanis.
“I cannot, sir,” Sturm replied, laying his hand on Tanis’s arm. “He is my leader, and my first loyalty is to my friends.”
Derek’s voice was cold with anger. “If that is your decision,” he answered, “I cannot stop you. But this is a black mark against you, Sturm Brightblade. Remember that you are not a knight. Not yet. Pray that I am not there when the question of your knighthood comes before the Council.”
Sturm became as pale as death. He cast a sideways glance at Tanis, who tried to hide his astonishment at this startling news. But there was no time to think about it. The sound of the horns, screaming discordantly on the chill air, was coming closer and closer each second. The knights and the companions parted; the knights heading for their camp in the hills, the companions returning to town.
They found the townspeople outside their houses, speculating on the strange horn calls, which they had never heard before and did not understand. One Tarsian alone heard and understood. The Lord in the council chamber rose to his feet at the sound. Whirling, he turned upon the smug-looking draconian seated in the shadows behind him.
“You said we would be spared!” the Lord said through clenched teeth. “We’re still negotiating—”
“The Dragon Highlord grew weary of negotiation,” the draconian said, stifling a yawn. “And the city will be spared—after it has been taught a lesson, of course.”
The Lord’s head sank into his hands. The other council members, not fully comprehending what was happening, stared at each other in horrified awareness as they saw tears trickle through the Lord’s fingers.
Outside, the red dragons were visible in the skies, hundreds of them. Flying in regimented groups of three to five, their wings glistened flame red in the setting sun. The people of Tarsis knew one thing and one thing