Dragonlance 03 - Dragons of Spring Dawning (19 page)

“Lauralanthalasa of the Royal House of Qualinesti!”

The noise was deafening. It reverberated off the tall stone buildings. Laurana looked out over the sea of open mouths and wildly waving flags. They don’t want to hear about my fear, she realized wearily. They’ve fears enough of their own. They don’t want to hear about darkness and death. They want children’s tales about love and rebirth and silver dragons.

Don’t we all.

With a sigh, Laurana turned to Silvara. Taking the roses back, she held them up into the air, waving to the jubilant crowd. Then she began her speech.

Tasslehoff Burrfoot was having a splendid time. It had been an easy task to evade Flint’s watchful gaze and slip off the platform where he had been told to stand with the rest of the dignitaries. Melting into the crowd, he was now free to explore this interesting city again. Long ago, he’d come to Kalaman with his parents and he cherished fond memories of the open-air bazaar, the seaport where the white-winged ships lay at anchor, and a hundred other wonders.

Idly he wandered among the festive crowd, his keen eyes seeing everything, his hands busy stuffing objects into his pouches. Really, Tas thought, the people of Kalaman were extremely careless! Purses had the most uncanny habit of falling from people’s belts into Tas’s hands. The streets might be paved with jewels the way he discovered rings and other fascinating trinkets.

Then the kender was transported into realms of delight when he came across a cartographer’s stall. And, as fortune would have it, the cartographer had gone to watch the parade. The stall was locked and shuttered, with a large “CLOSED” sign hanging on a hook.

“What a pity,” thought Tas. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I just looked at his maps.” Reaching out, he gave the lock an expert twitch, then smiled happily. A few more “twitches” and it would open easily. “He mustn’t really mean for people to keep out if he puts on such a simple-minded lock. I’ll just pop in and copy a few of his maps to update my collection.”

Suddenly Tas felt a hand on his shoulder. Irritated that someone should bother him at a time like this, the kender glanced around to see a strange figure that seemed vaguely familiar. It was dressed in heavy cloaks and robes, though the spring day was warming rapidly. Even its hands were wrapped in cloth, like bandages. Bother—a cleric, thought the kender, annoyed and preoccupied.

“I beg your pardon,” said Tas to the cleric who had hold of him, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was just—”

“Burrfoot?” interrupted the cleric in a cold, lisping voice. “The kender who rides with the Golden General?”

“Why, yes,” Tas said, flattered that someone had recognized him. “That’s me. I’ve ridden with Laura—the, er—Golden General—for a long time now. Let’s see, I think it was in the late fall. Yes, we met her in Qualinesti right after we escaped from the hobgoblins’ prison wagons which was a short time after we killed a black dragon in Xak Tsaroth. That’s the most wonderful story—” Tas forgot about the maps. “You see we were in this old, old city that had fallen into a cavern and it was filled with gully dwarves. We met one named Bupu, who had been charmed by Raistlin—”

“Shut up!” The cleric’s wrapped hand went from Tasslehoff’s shoulder to the collar of his shirt. Gripping it expertly, the cleric twisted it with a sudden jerk of its hand and lifted the kender off his feet. Although kender are generally immune to the emotion of fear, Tas found that being unable to breathe was an extremely uncomfortable sensation.

“Listen to me carefully,” the cleric hissed, shaking the frantically struggling kender as a wolf shakes a bird to break its neck. “That’s right. Hold still and it hurts less. I’ve got a message for
the Golden General.” Its voice was soft and lethal. “It’s here—” Tas felt a rough hand stuffing something into his vest pocket. “See that you deliver it some time tonight when she’s alone. Understand?”

Choked by the cleric’s hand, Tas couldn’t speak or even nod, but he blinked his eyes twice. The cloaked head nodded, dropped the kender back to the ground, and walked rapidly off down the street.

Gasping for breath, the shaken kender stared at the figure as it walked away, its long robes fluttering in the wind. Tas absently patted the scroll that had been thrust into his pocket. The sound of that voice brought back very unpleasant memories: the ambush on the road from Solace, heavily cloaked figures like clerics … only they weren’t clerics! Tas shuddered. A draconian! Here! In Kalaman!

Shaking his head, Tas turned back to the cartographer’s stall. But the pleasure had gone out of the day. He couldn’t even feel excited when the lock fell open into his small hand.

“Hey, you!” shrieked a voice. “Kender! Get away from there!”

A man was running up to him, puffing and red in the face. Probably the cartographer himself.

“You shouldn’t have run,” Tas said listlessly. “You needn’t bother opening up for me.”

“Opening!” The man’s jaw sagged. “Why, you little thief! I got here just in time—”

“Thanks all the same.” Tas dropped the lock into the man’s hand and walked off, absent-mindedly evading the enraged cartographer’s effort to grab him. “I’ll be going now. I’m not feeling very well. Oh, by the way, did you know that lock’s broken? Worthless. You should be more careful. You never know who could sneak in. No, don’t thank me. I haven’t got time. Good-bye.”

Tasslehoff wandered off. Cries of “Thief! Thief!” rang out behind him. A town guardsman appeared, forcing Tas to duck into a butcher’s shop to avoid being run over. Shaking his head over the corruption of the world, the kender glanced about, hoping for a glimpse of the culprit. Seeing no one interesting in sight, he kept going, and suddenly wondered irritably how Flint had managed to lose him again.

Laurana shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and leaned thankfully against it, reveling in the peace and quiet and welcome solitude of her room. Tossing the key on a table, she walked wearily over to her bed, not even bothering to light a candle. The rays of the silver moon streamed in through the leaded glass panes of the long, narrow window.

Downstairs, in the lower rooms of the castle, she could still hear the sounds of merrymaking she had just left. It was nearly midnight. She had been trying for two hours to escape. It finally took Lord Michael’s intercession on her behalf, pleading her exhaustion from the battles, that induced the lords and ladies of the city of Kalaman to part with her.

Her head ached from the stuffy atmosphere, the smell of strong perfume, and too much wine. She shouldn’t have drunk so much, she knew. She had a weak head for wine and, anyway, she didn’t really like it. But the pain in her head was easier to bear than the pain in her heart.

Throwing herself down on the bed, she thought hazily about getting up and closing the shutters, but the moon’s light was comforting. Laurana detested lying in the darkness. Things lurked in the shadows, ready to spring out at her. I should get undressed, she thought, I’ll wrinkle this dress … and it’s borrowed.…

There was a knock at her door.

Laurana woke with a start, trembling. Then she remembered where she was. Sighing, she lay very still, closing her eyes again. Surely they’d realize she was asleep and go away.

There was another knock, more insistent than the first.

“Laurana …”

“Tell me in the morning, Tas,” Laurana said, trying to keep the irritation from her voice.

“It’s important, Laurana,” Tas called. “Flint’s with me.”

Laurana heard a scuffling sound outside the door.

“Come on, tell her—”

“I will not! This was your doing!”

“But he said it was important and I—”

“All right, I’m coming!” Laurana sighed. Stumbling out of bed, she fumbled for the key on the table, unlocked the door, and flung it open.

“Hi, Laurana!” Tas said brightly, walking inside. “Wasn’t that a wonderful party? I’ve never eaten roast peacock before—”

“What is it, Tas?” Laurana sighed, shutting the door behind them.

Seeing her pale, drawn face, Flint poked the kender in the back. Giving the dwarf a reproachful look, Tas reached into the pocket of his fleecy vest and drew forth a rolled scroll of parchment, tied with a blue ribbon.

“A-a cleric—sort of—said to give this to you, Laurana,” Tas said.

“Is that all?” Laurana asked impatiently, snatching the scroll from the kender’s hand. “It’s probably a marriage proposal. I’ve had twenty in the last week. Not to mention proposals of a more unique nature.”

“Oh, no,” said Tas, suddenly serious. “It’s not anything like that, Laurana. It’s from …” He stopped.

“How do you know who it’s from?” Laurana fixed the kender with a piercing gaze.

“I—uh—guess I—sort of—glanced at it—” Tas admitted. Then he brightened. “But it was only because I didn’t want to bother you with anything that wasn’t important.”

Flint snorted.

“Thank you,” Laurana said. Unrolling the scroll, she walked over to stand by the window where the moonlight was bright enough to read by.

“We’ll leave you alone,” Flint said gruffly, herding the protesting kender toward the door.

“No! Wait!” Laurana choked. Flint turned, staring at her in alarm.

“Are you all right?” he said, hurrying over to her as she sank down into a nearby chair. “Tas—get Silvara!”

“No, no. Don’t bring anyone. I’m … all right. Do you know what this says?” she asked in a whisper.

“I tried to tell him,” Tasslehoff said in an injured voice, “but he wouldn’t let me.”

Her hand shaking, Laurana handed the scroll to Flint.

The dwarf opened it and read aloud.

“Tanis Half-Elven received a wound in the battle of Vingaard Keep. Although at first he believed it was slight, it has worsened so that he is past even the help of the dark clerics. I ordered that he be brought to Dargaard Keep, where I could care for him. Tanis knows the gravity of his injury. He asks that he be allowed to be with you when he
dies, that he may explain matters to you and so rest with an easy spirit.

“I make you this offer. You have as your captive my officer, Bakaris, who was captured near Vingaard Keep. I will exchange Tanis Half-Elven for Bakaris. The exchange will take place at dawn tomorrow in a grove of trees beyond the city walls. Bring Bakaris with you. If you are mistrustful, you may also bring Tanis’s friends, Flint Fireforge and Tasslehoff Burrfoot. But no one else! The bearer of this note waits outside the city gate. Meet him tomorrow at sunrise. If he deems all is well, he will escort you to the half-elf. If not, you will never see Tanis alive.

“I do this only because we are two women who understand each other.

“Kitiara”

There was an uneasy silence, then, “Humpf,” Flint snorted, and rolled up the scroll.

“How can you be so calm!” Laurana gasped, snatching the scroll from the dwarf’s hand. “And you”—her gaze switched angrily to Tasslehoff—“why didn’t you tell me before now? How long have you known? You
read
he was dying, and you’re so—so—”

Laurana put her head in her hands.

Tas stared at her, his mouth open. “Laurana,” he said after a moment, “surely you don’t think Tanis—”

Laurana’s head snapped up. Her dark, stricken eyes went to Flint, then to Tas. “You don’t believe this message is real, do you?” she asked incredulously.

“Of course not!” Flint said.

“No,” scoffed Tas. “It’s a trick! A
draconian
gave it to me! Besides Kitiara’s a Dragon Highlord now. What would Tanis be doing with her—”

Laurana turned her face away abruptly. Tasslehoff stopped and glanced at Flint, whose own face suddenly seemed to age.

“So that’s it,” the dwarf said softly. “We saw you talking to Kitiara on the wall of the High Clerist’s Tower. You were discussing more than Sturm’s death, weren’t you?”

Laurana nodded, wordlessly, staring at her hands in her lap.

“I never told you,” she murmured in a voice barely audible, “I couldn’t … I kept hoping.… Kitiara said … said she’d left Tanis in—some place called Flotsam … to look after things while she was gone.”

“Liar!” said Tas promptly.

“No.” Laurana shook her head. “When she says we are two women who understand each other, she’s right. She wasn’t lying. She was telling the truth, I know. And at the Tower she mentioned the dream.” Laurana lifted her head. “Do you remember the dream?”

Flint nodded uncomfortably. Tasslehoff shuffled his feet.

“Only Tanis could have told her about the dream we all shared,” Laurana continued, swallowing a choking feeling in her throat. “I saw him with her in the dream, just as I saw Sturm’s death. The dream’s coming true.…”

“Now wait a minute,” Flint said gruffly, grabbing hold of reality as a drowning man grabs a piece of wood. “You said yourself you saw your own death in the dream, right after Sturm’s. And you didn’t die. And nothing hacked up Sturm’s body, either.”

“I haven’t died yet, like I did in the dream,” Tas said helpfully. “And I’ve picked lots of locks, well, not lots, but a few here and there, and none were poisoned. Besides, Laurana, Tanis wouldn’t—”

Flint shot Tas a warning glance. The kender lapsed into silence. But Laurana had seen the glance and understood. Her lips tightened.

“Yes, he would. You both know it. He loves her.” Laurana was quiet a moment, then, “I’m going. I’ll exchange Bakaris.”

Flint heaved a sigh. He had seen this coming. “Laurana—”

“Wait a minute, Flint,” she interrupted. “If Tanis received a message saying you were dying, what would he do?”

“That’s not the point,” Flint mumbled.

“If he had to go into the Abyss itself, past a thousand dragons, he’d come to you—”

“Perhaps and perhaps not,” said Flint gruffly. “Not if he was leader of an army. Not if he had responsibilities, people depending on him. He’d know I’d understand—”

Laurana’s face might have been carved of marble, so impassive and pure and cold was her expression. “I never asked for these responsibilities. I never wanted them. We can make it look as if Bakaris escaped—”

“Don’t do it, Laurana!” Tas begged. “He’s the officer who brought back Derek and Lord Alfred’s body at the High Clerist’s Tower, the officer you shot in the arm with the arrow.
He hates you, Laurana! I—I saw the way he looked at you the day we captured him!”