Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [41]
“Caramon,” Raistlin said, shivering, “shut up!”
Tanis felt inclined to agree with the mage. “We’re all scaring ourselves over noth—” he began. Suddenly there was a rending crash. Stone and rubble, mortar and timber clattered down around them. They scrambled for cover as a huge, clawed foot plunged through the debris, its talons gleaming in the light of Raistlin’s staff.
Helplessly seeking shelter beneath broken beams or under the casks of ale, the companions watched in wonder as the gigantic claw extricated itself from the rubble and withdrew, leaving behind it a wide, gaping hole.
All was silent. For a few moments, none of the companions dared move. But the silence remained unbroken.
“This is our chance,” Tanis whispered loudly. “Caramon, see what’s up there.”
But the big warrior was already creeping out of his hiding place, moving across the rubble-strewn floor as best he could. Riverwind followed behind, his sword drawn.
“Nothing,” said Caramon, puzzled, peering up.
Tanis, feeling naked without his sword, came over to stand beneath the hole, gazing upward. Then, to his amazement, a dark figure appeared above them, silhouetted against the burning sky. Behind the figure towered a large beast. They could just make out the head of a gigantic eagle, its eyes glittering in the firelight, its wickedly curved beak gleaming in the flames.
The companions shrank back, but it was too late. Obviously the figure had seen them. It stepped nearer. Riverwind thought—too late—of his bow. Caramon pulled Tika close with one hand, holding his sword in his other.
The figure, however, simply knelt down near the edge of the hole, being careful of its footing among the loose stones, and removed the hood covering its head.
“We meet again, Tanis Half-Elven,” said a voice as cool and pure and distant as the stars.
8
Escape from Tarsis.
The story of the dragon orbs.
Dragons flew on their leathery wings above the gutted city of Tarsis as the draconian armies swarmed in to take possession. The task of the dragons was completed. Soon the Dragon Highlord would call them back, holding them in readiness for the next strike. But for now they could relax, drifting on the super-heated air currents rising from the burning town, picking off the occasional human foolish enough to come out of hiding. The red dragons floated in the sky, keeping in their well-organized flights, gliding and dipping in a wheeling dance of death.
No power on Krynn existed now that could stop them. They knew this and exulted in their victory. But occasionally something would occur to interrupt their dance. One flight leader, for example, received a report of fighting near the wreckage of an inn. A young male red dragon, he led his flight to the site, muttering to himself about the inefficiency of the troop commanders. What could you expect, though, when the Dragon Highlord was a bloated hobgoblin who hadn’t even courage enough to watch the takeover of a soft town like Tarsis?
The male red sighed, recalling the days of glory when Verminaard had led them personally, sitting astride the back of Pyros. He had been a Dragon Highlord! The red shook his head disconsolately. Ah, there was the battle. He could see it clearly now. Ordering his flight to stay airborne, he swooped in low for a better look.
“I command you! Stop!”
The red halted in his flight, staring upward in astonishment. The voice was strong and clear, and it came from the figure of a Dragon Highlord. But the Dragon Highlord was certainly not Toede! This Dragon Highlord, although heavily cloaked and dressed in the shining mask and dragon-scale armor of the Highlords, was human, to judge by the voice, not hobgoblin. But where had this Highlord come from? And why? For, to the red dragon’s amazement, he saw that the Highlord rode upon a huge blue dragon and was attended by several flights of blues.
“What is your bidding, Highlord?” the red asked sternly. “And by