Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [53]
“I always knew it would come to this,” the knight said slowly. “I will die before I place myself under your protection, Raistlin.”
And with that, the knight turned and walked deeper into the forest. Tanis saw the leader of the elven undead make a gesture, detailing some of his ghastly band to follow. The half-elf started after, then stopped as he felt a surprisingly strong hand grip his arm.
“Let him go,” the mage said sternly, “or we are all lost. I have information to impart and my time is limited. We must make our way through this forest to the Tower of the Stars. We must walk the way of death, for every hideous creature ever conceived in the twisted, tortured dreams of mortals will arise to stop us. But know this—we walk in a dream, Lorac’s nightmare. And our own nightmares as well. Visions of the future can arise to help us, or hinder. Remember, that though our bodies are awake, our minds sleep. Death exists only in our minds—unless we believe otherwise.”
“Then why can’t we wake up?” Tanis demanded angrily.
“Because Lorac’s belief in the dream is too strong and your belief too weak. When you are firmly convinced, beyond doubt, that this is a dream, you will return to reality.”
“If this is true,” Tanis said, “and you’re convinced it is a dream, why don’t you awaken?”
“Perhaps,” Raistlin said, smiling, “I choose not to.”
“I don’t understand!” Tanis cried in bitter frustration.
“You will,” Raistlin predicted grimly, “or you will die. In which case, it won’t matter.”
10
Waking dreams. Future visions.
Ignoring the horrified stares of his companions, Raistlin walked to his brother, who stood clutching his bleeding arm.
“I will take care of him,” Raistlin said to Goldmoon, putting his own black-robed arm around his twin.
“No,” Caramon gasped, “you’re not strong en—” His voice died as he felt his brother’s arm support him.
“I am strong enough now, Caramon,” Raistlin said gently, his very gentleness sending a shiver through the warrior’s body. “Lean on me, my brother.”
Weak from pain and fear, for the first time in his life Caramon leaned on Raistlin. The mage supported him as, together, they starting walking through the hideous forest.
“What’s happening, Raist?” Caramon asked, choking. “Why do you wear the Black Robes? And your voice—”
“Save your breath, my brother,” Raistlin advised softly.
The two traveled deeper into the forest, and the undead elven warriors stared menacingly at them from the trees. They could see the hatred the dead bear the living, see it flicker in the hollow eye sockets of the undead warriors. But none dared attack the black-robed mage. Caramon felt his life’s blood well thick and warm from between his fingers. As he watched it drip upon the dead, slime-coated leaves beneath his feet, he grew weaker and weaker. He had the fevered impression that the black shadow of himself gained in strength even as he lost it.
Tanis hurried through the forest, searching for Sturm. He found him fighting off a group of shimmering elven warriors.
“It’s a dream,” Tanis shouted to Sturm, who stabbed and slashed at the undead creatures. Every time he struck one, it vanished, only to reappear once more. The half-elf drew his sword, running to fight at Sturm’s side.
“Bah!” the knight grunted, then gasped in pain as an arrow thudded into his arm. The wound was not deep, because the chain mail protected him, but it bled freely. “Is this dreaming?” Sturm said, yanking out the blood-stained shaft.
Tanis jumped in front of the knight, keeping their foes back until Sturm could stanch the flow of blood.
“Raistlin told us—” Tanis began.
“Raistlin! Hah! Look at his robes, Tanis!”
“But you’re here! In Silvanesti!” Tanis protested in confusion. He had the strangest feeling he was arguing with himself. “Alhana said you were in Ice Wall!”
The knight shrugged. “Perhaps I was sent to help you.”
All right.