Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [35]
“Very well,” he said, swallowing. He paused, dreading to go downstairs and face the others. But the sounds of death in the street were growing louder. Riverwind turned abruptly and left the brothers alone.
“I will die fighting,” Caramon said to Raistlin, trying to speak in a matter-of-fact tone. After the first few words, though, the big warrior’s voice broke. “Promise me, Raist, you’ll take this stuff if I’m … not there.…”
“There will be no need,” Raistlin said simply. “I have not the strength to survive a battle of this magnitude. I will die within my magic.”
Tanis and Gilthanas fought their way through the crowd, the stronger half-elf holding onto the elf as they shoved and clawed and pushed through the panicked masses. Time and again, they ducked for shelter from the dragons. Gilthanas wrenched his knee, fell into a doorway, and was forced to limp in agony, leaning on Tanis’s shoulder.
The half-elf breathed a prayer of thankfulness when he saw the Red Dragon Inn, a prayer that changed to a curse when he saw the black reptilian forms surging around the front. He dragged Gilthanas, who had been stumbling along blindly, exhausted by pain, back into a recessed doorway.
“Gilthanas!” Tanis shouted. “The Inn! It’s under attack!”
Gilthanas raised glassy eyes and stared uncomprehendingly. Then, apparently understanding, he sighed and shook his head. “Laurana,” he gasped, and he pushed himself forward, trying to stagger out of the doorway. “We’ve got to reach them.” He collapsed in Tanis’s arms.
“Stay here,” the half-elf said, helping him sit down. “You’re not capable of moving. I’ll try and get through. I’ll go around the block and come in from the back.”
Tanis ran forward, darting in and out of doorways, hiding in the wreckage. He was about a block from the Inn when he heard a hoarse shout. Turning to look, he saw Flint gesturing wildly. Tanis dashed across the street.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Why aren’t you with the others—” The half-elf stopped. “Oh, no,” he whispered.
The dwarf, his face smudged with ash and streaked with tears, knelt beside Tasslehoff. The kender was pinned beneath a beam that had fallen in the street. Tas’s face, looking like the face of a wise child, was ashen, his skin clammy.
“Blasted, rattle-brained kender,” Flint moaned. “Had to go and let a house fall on him.” The dwarf’s hands were torn and bleeding from trying to lift a beam that would take three men or one Caramon to get off the kender. Tanis put his hand to Tas’s neck. The lifebeat was very weak.
“Stay with him!” Tanis said unnecessarily. “I’m going to the Inn. I’ll bring Caramon!”
Flint looked up at him grimly, then glanced over at the Inn. Both could hear the yells of the draconians, see their weapons flash in the glare of the firelight. Occasionally an unnatural light flared from the Inn—Raistlin’s magic. The dwarf shook his head. He knew Tanis was about as capable of returning with Caramon as he was of flying.
But Flint managed to smile. “Sure, lad, I’ll stay with him. Farewell, Tanis.”
Tanis swallowed, tried to answer, then gave up and ran on down the street.
Raistlin, coughing until he could barely stand, wiped blood from his lips and drew a small, black leather pouch from the innermost pockets of his robes. He had just one spell left and barely energy enough to cast it. Now, his hands shaking with fatigue, he tried to scatter the contents of the little pouch into a pitcher of wine he had ordered Caramon to bring him before the battle started. But his hand trembled violently, and his coughing spasms doubled him over.
Then he felt another hand grasp his own. Looking up, he saw Laurana. She took the pouch from his frail fingers. Her own hand was stained with the dark green draconian blood.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Ingredients for a spell.” The mage choked. “Pour it into the wine.” Laurana nodded and poured in the mixture as instructed. It vanished instantly.
“Don’t drink it,” the mage warned when the coughing spasm