Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [50]
“Who knows what’s in these woods?” Tanis muttered. “Raistlin—”
The mage did not seem to hear. Tanis moved closer. “Raistlin?” he repeated, seeing the mage’s abstracted stare.
Raistlin stared at him blankly, as if waking from a dream. Then the mage became aware of someone speaking to him. He lowered his eyes.
“What is it, Raistlin?” Tanis asked. “What do you sense?”
“Nothing, Tanis,” the mage replied.
Tanis blinked. “Nothing?” he repeated.
“It is like an impenetrable fog, a blank wall,” Raistlin whispered. “I see nothing, sense nothing.”
Tanis stared at him intently, and suddenly he knew Raistlin was lying. But why? The mage returned the half-elf’s gaze with equanimity, even a small, twisted smile on his thin lips, as if he knew Tanis didn’t believe him but really didn’t care.
“Raistlin,” Tanis said softly, “suppose Lorac, the elfking, tried to use the dragon orb—what would happen?”
The mage lifted his eyes to stare into the forest. “Do you think that is possible?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tanis said, “from what little Alhana told me, during the Tests in the Tower of High Sorcery at Istar, a dragon orb spoke to Lorac, asking him to rescue it from the impending disaster.”
“And he obeyed it?” Raistlin asked, his voice as soft as the murmuring water of the ancient river.
“Yes. He brought it to Silvanesti.”
“So this is the dragon orb of Istar,” Raistlin whispered. His eyes narrowed, and then he sighed, a sigh of longing. “I know nothing about the dragon orbs,” he remarked, coolly, “except what I told you. But I know this, Half-Elf—none of us will come out of Silvanesti unscathed, if we come out at all.”
“What do you mean? What danger is there?”
“What does it matter what danger I see?” Raistlin asked, folding his hands in the sleeves of his red robes. “We must enter Silvanesti. You know it as well as I. Or will you forego the chance to find a dragon orb?”
“But if you see danger, tell us! We could at least enter prepared—” Tanis began angrily.
“Then prepare,” Raistlin whispered softly, and he turned away and began to walk slowly along the sandy beach after his brother.
The companions crossed the river just as the last rays of the sun flickered among the leaves of the aspens on the opposite bank. And then the fabled forest of Silvanesti was gradually swamped by darkness. The shadows of night flowed among the feet of the trees like the dark water flowing beneath the keel of the ferry boat.
Their journey was slow. The ferry—an ornately carved, flat-bottomed boat connected to both shores by an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys, seemed at first to be in good condition. But once they set foot on board and began to cross the ancient river, they discovered that the ropes were rotting. The boat began to decay before their eyes. The river itself seemed to change. Reddish-brown water seeped through the hull, tainted with the faint smell of blood.
They had just stepped out of the boat on the opposite bank and were unloading their supplies, when the frayed ropes sagged and gave way.
The river swept the ferry boat downstream in an instant. Twilight vanished at the same moment, and night swallowed them. Although the sky was clear, without a cloud to mar its dark surface, there were no stars visible. Neither the red nor the silver moon rose. The only light came from the river, which seemed to gleam with an unwholesome brilliance, like a ghoul.
“Raistlin, your staff,” Tanis said. His voice echoed too loudly through the silent forest. Even Caramon cringed.
“Shirak.” Raistlin spoke the word of command and the crystal globe clutched in the disembodied dragon’s claw flared into light. But it was a cold, pale light. The only thing it seemed to illuminate were the mage’s strange, hourglass eyes.
“We must enter the woods,” Raistlin said in a shaking voice. Turning, he stumbled toward the dark wilderness.
No one else spoke or moved. They stood on the bank, fear overtaking them. There was no reason for it, and it was all the more frightening because it was illogical. Fear crept up on them from the ground. Fear flowed