Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [36]
“A sleeping potion,” Raistlin whispered, his eyes glittering.
Laurana smiled wryly. “You don’t think we’re going to be able to get to sleep tonight?”
“Not that kind,” Raistlin answered, staring at her intently. “This one feigns death. The heartbeat slows to almost nothing, the breathing nearly stops, the skin grows cold and pale, the limbs stiffen.”
Laurana’s eyes opened wide. “Why—” she began.
“To be used as a last resort. The enemy thinks you are dead, leaves you on the field—if you are lucky. If not—”
“If not?” she prompted, her face pale.
“Well, a few have been known to waken on their own funeral pyres,” Raistlin said coolly. “I don’t believe that is likely to happen to us, however.”
Breathing more easily, he sat down, ducking involuntarily as a spent arrow fluttered overhead and fell to the floor behind him. He saw Laurana’s hand tremble then and realized she was not as calm as she was forcing herself to appear.
“Are you intending that we take this?” she asked.
“It will save us from being tortured by draconians.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust me,” the mage said with a slight smile.
Laurana glanced at him and shivered. Absently, she wiped blood-stained fingers on her leather armor. The blood did not come off, but she didn’t notice. An arrow thudded next to her. She didn’t even start, just stared at it dully.
Caramon appeared, stumbling out of the smoke of the burning common room. He was bleeding from an arrow wound in the shoulder, his own red blood mingling oddly with the green blood of his enemy.
“They’re breaking down the front door,” he said, breathing heavily. “Riverwind ordered us back here.”
“Listen!” Raistlin warned. “That’s not the only place they’re breaking in!” There was a splintering crash at the door leading from the kitchen to the back alley.
Ready to defend themselves, Caramon and Laurana whirled just as the door shattered. A tall, dark figure entered.
“Tanis!” Laurana cried. Sheathing her weapon, she ran toward him.
“Laurana!” he breathed. Catching her in his arms, he held her close, nearly sobbing in his relief. Then Caramon flung his huge arms around both of them.
“How is everyone?” Tanis asked, when he could talk.
“So far, so good,” Caramon said, peering behind Tanis. His face fell when he saw he was alone. “Where’s—”
“Sturm’s lost,” Tanis said wearily. “Flint and Tas are across the street. The kender’s pinned under a beam. Gilthanas is about two blocks away. He’s hurt,” Tanis told Laurana, “not badly, but he couldn’t make it any farther.”
“Welcome, Tanis,” Raistlin whispered, coughing. “You have come in time to die with us.”
Tanis looked at the pitcher, saw the black pouch lying near it, and stared at Raistlin in sudden shock.
“No,” he said firmly. “We’re not going to die. At least not like th—” he broke off abruptly. “Get everyone together.”
Caramon lumbered off, yelling at the top of his lungs. Riverwind ran in from the common room where he had been firing the enemy’s arrows back at them, his own having run out long ago. The others followed him, smiling hopefully at Tanis.
The sight of their faith in him infuriated the half-elf. Someday, he thought, I’m going to fail them. Maybe I already have. He shook his head angrily.
“Listen!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the noise of the draconians outside. “We can try and escape out the back! Only a small force is attacking the Inn. The main part of the army isn’t in the city yet.”
“Somebody’s after us,” Raistlin murmured.
Tanis nodded. “So it would appear. We haven’t much time. If we can make it into the hills—”
He suddenly fell silent, raising his head. They all fell silent, listening, recognizing the shrill scream, the creak of giant leather wings, coming nearer and nearer.
“Take cover!” Riverwind yelled. But it was too late.
There was a screaming whine and a boom. The Inn, three stories tall and built of stone and wood, shook as if it were made of sand and sticks. The air exploded with dust and debris. Flames erupted outside. Above them, they could hear the