Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [45]
“I don’t believe any of it!” Riverwind said coldly. He shook out their furs, preparing to sleep.
Tanis was starting to follow his example when he saw Alhana creep from the shadows of the cave and come to stand next to Raistlin. Staring down at the sleeping mage, her hands twisted together.
“Strong in magic!” she whispered in a voice filled with fear. “My father!”
Tanis looked at her in sudden understanding.
“You don’t think your father tried to use the orb?”
“I am afraid,” Alhana whispered, wringing her hands. “He said he alone could fight the evil and keep it from our land. He must have meant—” Swiftly she bent down near Raistlin. “Wake him!” she commanded, her black eyes flaring. “I must know! Wake him and make him tell me what the danger is!”
Caramon pulled her back, gently but firmly. Alhana glared at him, her beautiful face twisted in fear and rage, and it seemed for a moment as if she might strike him, but Tanis reached her side and caught hold of her hand.
“Lady Alhana,” he said calmly, “it would do no good to wake him. He has told us everything he knows. As for that other voice, he obviously remembers nothing about what it said.”
“I’ve seen it happen to Raist before,” Caramon said in low tones, “as if he becomes someone else. But it always leaves him exhausted and he never remembers.”
Alhana jerked her hand away from Tanis’s, her face resuming its cold, pure, marble stillness. She whirled and walked to the front of the cave. Catching hold of the blanket Riverwind had hung to hide the fire’s light, she nearly tore it down as she flung it aside and stalked outdoors.
“I’ll stand first watch,” Tanis told Caramon. “You get some sleep.”
“I’ll stay up with Raist awhile,” the big man said, spreading out his pallet next to his frail twin’s. Tanis followed Alhana outside.
The griffons slept soundly, their heads buried on the soft feathers of their necks, taloned front feet clutching the cliff edge securely. For a moment he could not find Alhana in the darkness, then he saw her, leaning against a huge boulder, weeping bitterly, her head buried in her arms.
The proud Silvanesti woman would never forgive him if he saw her weak and vulnerable. Tanis ducked back behind the blanket.
“I’ll stand watch!” he called out loudly before he walked outside again. Lifting the blanket, he saw, without seeming to, Alhana start up and wipe her hands hurriedly across her face. She turned her back to him, and he walked slowly toward her, giving her time to pull herself together.
“The cave was stifling,” she said in a low voice. “I could not bear it. I had to come out for a breath of air.”
“I have first watch,” Tanis said. He paused, then added, “You seem afraid your father might have tried to use this dragon orb. Surely he would know its history. If I remember what I know of your people, he was a magic-user.”
“He knew where the orb came from,” Alhana said, her voice quivering before she could regain control. “The young mage was right when he spoke of the Lost Battles and the destruction of the Towers. But he was wrong when he said the other three orbs were lost. One was brought to Silvanesti by my father for safe-keeping.”
“What were the Lost Battles?” Tanis asked, leaning on the rocks next to Alhana.
“Is no lore at all kept in Qualinost?” she returned, regarding Tanis with scorn. “What barbarians you have become since mingling with humans!”
“Say the fault is my own,” Tanis said, “that I did not pay enough heed to the Loremaster.”
Alhana glanced at him, suspecting him of being sarcastic. Seeing his serious face and not particularly wanting him to leave her alone, she decided to answer his question. “As Istar rose during the Age of Might to greater and greater glories, the Kingpriest of Istar and his clerics became increasingly jealous of the magic-users’ power. The clerics no longer saw the need for magic in the world, fearing it—of course—as something they could not control. Magic-users themselves, although respected, were never widely trusted,