13

Kitiara.

As Tanis entered the antechamber, the change was so startling that for a minute it was almost incomprehensible. One moment he had been fighting to stand on his feet in the midst of a mob, the next he was in a cool dark room, similar to the one he and Kitiara and her troops had waited in before entering the Hall of Audience.

Glancing around swiftly, he saw he was alone. Although every instinct urged him to rush out of this room in his frantic search, Tanis forced himself to stop, catch his breath, and wipe away the blood gumming his eye shut. He tried to remember what he had seen of the entry into the Temple. The antechambers that formed a circle around the main Hall of Audience, were themselves connected to the front part of the temple by a series of winding corridors. Once, long ago in Istar, these corridors must have been designed in some sort of logical order. But the distortion of the Temple had twisted them into a meaningless maze. Corridors ended abruptly when he expected them to continue, while those that led nowhere seemingly went on forever.

The ground rocked beneath his feet as dust drifted down from the ceiling. A painting fell from the wall with a crash. Tanis had no idea of where Laurana might be found. He had seen her come in here, that was all.

She had been imprisoned in the Temple, but that was below ground. He wondered if she had been at all cognizant of her surroundings when they brought her in, if she had any idea how to get out. And then Tanis realized that he himself had only a vague idea of where he was. Finding a torch still burning, he grabbed it and flashed it about the room. A tapestrycovered door swung open, hanging on a broken hinge. Peering through it, he saw it led into a dimly lit corridor.

Tanis caught his breath. He knew, now, how to find her!

A breath of air stirred in the hallway—fresh air, pungent with the odors of spring, cool with the blessed peace of night—touched his left cheek. Laurana must have felt that breath, she would guess that it must lead out of the Temple. Quickly Tanis ran down the hallway, ignoring the pain in his head, forcing his weary muscles to respond to his commands.

A group of draconians appeared suddenly in front of him, coming from another room. Remembering he still wore the dragonarmy uniform, Tanis stopped them.

‘The elfwoman!’ he shouted. ‘She must not escape. Have you seen her?’

This group hadn’t, apparently, by the tone of the hurried snarls. Nor had the next group Tanis encountered. But two draconians wandering the halls in search of loot had seen her, so they said. They pointed vaguely in the direction Tanis was already heading. His spirits rose.

By now, the fighting within the Hall had ended. The Dragon Highlords who survived had made good their escapes and were now among their own forces stationed outside the Temple walls. Some fought. Some retreated, waiting to see who came out on top. Two questions were on everyone’s mind. The first—would the dragons remain in the world or would they vanish with their Queen as they had following the Second Dragon War?

And, second—if the dragons remained, who would be their master?

Tanis found himself pondering these questions confusedly as he ran through the halls, sometimes taking wrong turns and cursing bitterly as he confronted a solid wall and was forced to retrace his steps to where he could once again feel the air upon his face.

But eventually he grew too tired to ponder anything. Exhaustion and pain were taking their toll. His legs grew heavy, it was an effort to take a step. His head throbbed, the cut over his eye began to bleed again. The ground shook continually beneath his feet. Statues toppled from their bases, stones fell from the ceiling, showering him with clouds of dust.

He began to lose hope. Even though he was certain he was traveling in the only direction she could possibly have taken, the few draconians he passed now had not seen her. What could have happened? Was she— No, he wouldn’t think of that. He kept going, conscious either of the fragrant breath of air on his face or of smoke billowing past him.

The torches had started fires. The Temple was beginning to burn.

Then, while negotiating a narrow corridor and climbing over a pile of rubble, Tanis heard a sound. He stopped, holding his breath. Yes, there it was again—just ahead. Peering through the smoke and dust, he gripped his sword in his hand. The last group of draconians he had met were drunk and eager to kill. A lone human officer had seemed like fair game, until one of them remembered having seen Tanis with the Dark Lady. But the next time he might not be so lucky.

Before him, the corridor lay in ruins, part of the ceiling having caved in. It was intensely dark—the torch he held provided the only light—and Tanis wrestled with the need for light and the fear of being seen by it. Finally he decided to risk keeping it burning. He would never find Laurana if he had to wander around this place in the darkness.

He would have to trust to his disguise once again.

‘Who goes there?’ he roared out in a harsh voice, shining his torchlight boldly into the ruined hallway.

He caught a glimpse of flashing armor and a figure running, but it ran away from him—not toward him. Odd for a draconian . . . his weary brain seemed to be stumbling along about three paces behind him. He could see the figure plainly now, lithe and slender and running much too quickly . . .

‘Laurana!’ he shouted, then in elven, ‘Quisalas!’

Cursing the broken columns and marble blocks in his path, Tanis stumbled and ran and stumbled and fell and forced his aching body to obey him until he caught up with her. Grasping her by the arm, he dragged her to a stop, then could only hold onto her tightly as he slumped against a wall.

Each breath he took was fiery pain. He was so dizzy he thought for a moment he might pass out. But he grasped her with a deathlike grip, holding her with his eyes as well as his hand.

Now he knew why the draconians hadn’t seen her. She had stripped off the silver armor, covering it with draconian armor she had taken from a dead warrior. For a moment she could only stare at Tanis. She had not recognized him at first, and had nearly run him through with her sword. The only thing that had stopped her was the elven word, quisalas, beloved. That— and the intense look of anguish and suffering on his pale face.

‘Laurana,’ Tanis gasped in a voice as shattered as Raistlin’s had once been, ‘don’t leave me. Wait . . . listen to me, please!’

With a twist of her arm, Laurana broke free of his grip. But she did not leave him. She started to speak, but another shudder of the building silenced her. As dust and debris poured down around them, Tanis pulled Laurana close, shielding her. They clung to each other fearfully, and then it was over. But they were left in darkness. Tanis had dropped the torch.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he said, his voice shaking.

‘Are you injured?’ Laurana asked coldly, trying to free herself from his grasp once more. ‘If so, I can help you. If not, then I suggest we forego any further farewells. Whatever—’

‘Laurana,’ Tanis said softly, breathing heavily, ‘I don’t ask you to understand—I don’t understand. I don’t ask for forgiveness—I can’t even forgive myself. I could tell you that I love you, that I have always loved you. But that wouldn’t be true, for love must come from within one who loves himself, and right now I can’t bear to see my own reflection. All I can tell you, Laurana, is that—’

‘Shh’ Laurana whispered, putting her hand over Tanis’s mouth. ‘I heard something.’

For long moments they stood, pressed together in the darkness, listening. At first they could hear nothing but the sound of their own breathing. They could see nothing, not even each other, as close as they were. Then torchlight flared, blinding them, and a voice spoke.

‘Tell Laurana what, Tanis?’ said Kitiara in a pleasant voice. ‘Go on.’

A naked sword gleamed in her hand. Wet blood—both red and green—glistened on the blade. Her face was white with stone dust, a trickle of blood ran down her chin from a cut on her lip. Her eyes were shadowed with weariness, but her smile was still as charming as ever. Sheathing her bloody sword, she wiped her hands upon her tattered cloak, then ran them absently through her curly hair.

Tanis’s eyes closed in exhaustion. His face seemed to age; he looked very human. Pain and exhaustion, grief and guilt would forever leave their mark on the eternal elven youthfulness. He could feel Laurana stiffen, her hand move to her sword.

‘Let her go, Kitiara,’ Tanis said quietly, gripping Laurana firmly. ‘Keep your promise and I’ll keep mine. Let me take her outside the walls. Then I’ll come back—’

‘I really believe you would,’ Kitiara remarked, staring at him in amused wonder. ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you yet, Half Elf, that I could kiss you and kill you without drawing a deep breath in between? No, I don’t suppose it has. I might kill you right now, in fact, simply because I know it would be the worst thing I could do to the elfwoman.’ She held the flaming torch near Laurana. ‘There—look at her face!’ Kitiara sneered. ‘What a weak and debilitating thing love is!’

Kitiara’s hand tousled her hair again. Shrugging, she glanced around. ‘But I haven’t time. Things are moving. Great things. The Dark Queen has fallen. Another will rise to take her place. What about it, Tanis? I have already begun to establish my authority over the other Dragon Highlords.’ Kitiara patted her sword hilt. ‘Mine will be a vast empire. We could rule toge—’

She broke off abruptly, her gaze shifting down the corridor from which she had just come. Although Tanis could neither see nor hear what had attracted her attention, he felt a bonenumbing chill spread through the hallway. Laurana gripped him suddenly, fear overwhelming her, and Tanis knew who approached even before he saw the orange eyes flicker above the ghostly armor.

‘Lord Soth,’ murmured Kitiara. ‘Make your decision quickly, Tanis.’

‘My decision was made a long time ago, Kitiara,’ Tanis said calmly. Stepping in front of Laurana, he shielded her as best as he could with his own body. ‘Lord Soth will have to kill me to reach her, Kit. And even though I know my death will not stop him—or you—from killing her when I have fallen, with my last breath, I will pray to Paladine to protect her soul. The gods owe me one. Somehow I know that this—my final prayer— will be granted.’

Behind him, Tanis felt Laurana lay her head against his back, he heard her sob softly and his heart eased, for there was not fear in her sob, but only love and compassion and grief for him.

Kitiara hesitated. They could see Lord Soth coming down the shattered corridor, his orange eyes flickering pinpoints of light in the darkness. Then she laid her bloodstained hand upon Tanis’s arm. ‘Go!’ she commanded harshly. ‘Run quickly, back down the corridor. At the end is a door in the wall. You can feel it. It will lead you down into the dungeons. From there you can escape.’

Tanis stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment.

‘Run!’ Kit snapped, giving him a shove.

Tanis cast a glance at Lord Soth.

‘A trap!’ whispered Laurana.

‘No,’ Tanis said, his eyes going back to Kit. ‘Not this time. Farewell, Kitiara.’

Kitiara’s nails dug into his arm.

‘Farewell, Half-EIven,’ she said in a soft, passionate voice, her eyes shining brightly in the torchlight. ‘Remember, I do this for love of you. Now go!’

Flinging her torch from her, Kitiara vanished into the darkness as completely as if she had been consumed by it.

Tanis blinked, blinded by the sudden blackness, and started to reach his hand out for her. Then he withdrew it. Turning, his hand found Laurana’s hand. Together they stumbled through the debris, groping their way along the wall. The chill fear that flowed from the death knight numbed their blood. Glancing down the corridor, Tanis saw Lord Soth coming nearer and nearer, his eyes seeming to stare straight at them. Frantically Tanis felt the stone wall, his hands searching for the door. Then he felt the cold stone give way to wood. Grasping the iron handle, he turned it. The door opened at his touch. Pulling Laurana after him, the two plunged through the opening, the sudden flaring of torches lighting the stairs nearly as blinding as the darkness had been above.

Behind him, Tanis heard Kitiara’s voice, hailing Lord Soth. He wondered what the death knight, having lost his prey, would do to her. The dream returned to him vividly. Once again he saw Laurana falling . . . Kitiara falling . . . and he stood helpless, unable to save either. Then the image vanished.

Laurana stood waiting for him on the stairway, the torchlight shining on her golden hair. Hurriedly he slammed the door shut and ran down the stairs after her.

‘That is the elfwoman,’ said Lord Soth, his flaming eyes easily tracking the two as they ran from him like frightened mice. ‘And the half-elf.’

‘Yes,’ said Kitiara without interest. Drawing her sword from its scabbard, she began to wipe off the blood with the hem of her cloak.

‘Shall I go after them?’ Soth asked.

‘No. We have more important matters to attend to now,’ Kitiara replied. Glancing up at him, she smiled her crooked smile. ‘The elfwoman would never be yours anyway, not even in death. The gods protect her.’

Soth’s flickering gaze turned to Kitiara. The pale lips curled in derision. ‘The half-elven man remains your master still.’

‘No, I think not,’ Kitiara replied. Turning, she looked after Tanis as the door shut behind him. ‘Sometimes, in the still watches of the night, when he lies in bed beside her, Tanis will find himself thinking of me. He will remember my last words, he will be touched by them. I have given them their happiness. And she must live with the knowledge that I will live always in Tanis’s heart. What love they might find together, I have poisoned. My revenge upon them both is complete. Now, have you brought what I sent you for?’

‘I have. Dark Lady,’ Lord Soth replied. With a spoken word of magic, he brought forth an object and held it out to her in his skeletal hand. Reverently, he set it at her feet.

Kitiara caught her breath, her eyes gleamed in the darkness nearly as bright as Lord Soth’s. ‘Excellent! Return to Dargaard Keep. Gather the troops. We will take control of the flying citadel Ariakas sent to Kalaman. Then we will fall back, regroup, and wait.’

The hideous visage of Lord Soth smiled as he gestured to the object that glittered in his fleshless hand. ‘This is now rightfully yours. Those who opposed you are either dead, as you commanded, or fled before I could reach them.’

‘Their doom is simply postponed,’ Kitiara said, sheathing her sword. ‘You have served me well, Lord Soth, and you will be rewarded. There will always be elfmaidens in this world, I suppose.’

‘Those you command to die shall die. Those you allow to live,’ Soth’s glance flickered to the door ‘—shall live. Remember this—of all who serve you, Dark Lady, I alone can offer you undying loyalty. This I do now, gladly. My warriors and I will return to Dargaard Keep as you ask. There we will await our summons.’

Bowing to her, he took her hand in his skeletal grasp. ‘Farewell, Kitiara,’ he said, then paused. ‘How does it feel, my dear, to know that you have brought pleasure to the damned? You have made my dreary realm of death interesting. Would that I had known you as living man!’ The pallid visage smiled. ‘But, my time is eternal. Perhaps I will wait for one who can share my throne—’

Cold fingers caressed Kitiara’s flesh. She shuddered convulsively, seeing unending, sleepless nights yawn chasmlike before her. So vivid and terrifying was the image that Kitiara’s soul shriveled in fear as Lord Soth vanished into the darkness.

She was by herself in the darkness and for a moment she was terrified. The Temple shuddered around her. Kitiara shrank back against the wall, frightened and alone. So alone! Then her foot touched something on the floor of the Temple. Reaching down, her fingers closed around it thankfully. She lifted it in her hands.

This was reality, hard and solid, she thought, breathing in relief.

No torchlight glittered on its golden surface or flared from its red-hued jewels. Kitiara did not need the flare of torches to admire what she held.

For long moments she stood in the crumbling hallway, her fingers running over the rough metal edges of the bloodstained Crown.

Tanis and Laurana ran down the spiral stone stairs to the dungeons below. Pausing beside the jailor’s desk, Tanis glanced at the body of the hobgoblin.

Laurana stared at him. ‘Come on,’ she urged, pointing to the east. Seeing him hesitate, looking north, she shuddered. ‘You don’t want to go down there! That is where they . . . took me—’ She turned away quickly, her face growing pale as she heard cries and shouts coming from the prison cells.

A harried-looking draconian ran by. Probably a deserter, Tanis guessed, seeing the creature snarl and cringe at the sight of an officer’s armor.

‘I was looking for Caramon,’ Tanis muttered. ‘They must have brought him here.’

‘Caramon?’ exclaimed Laurana in astonishment. ‘What—’

‘He came with me,’ Tanis said. ‘So did Tika and Tas and . . . Flint—’ He stopped, then shook his head. ‘Well, if they were here, they’re gone now. Come on.’

Laurana’s face flushed. She glanced back up the stone stairs, then at Tanis again.

‘Tanis—’ she began, faltering. He placed his hand over her mouth.

‘There will be time to talk later. Now we must find our way out!’

As if to emphasize his words, another tremor shook the Temple. This one was sharper and stronger than the others, throw ing Laurana up against a wall. Tanis’s face, white with fatigue and pain, grew even paler as he fought to keep his footing.

A loud rumble and a shattering crash came from the northern corridor. All sound in the prison cells ceased abruptly as a great cloud of dust and dirt billowed out into the hallway.

Tanis and Laurana fled. Debris showered down around them as they ran east, stumbling over bodies and piles of jagged broken stone.

Another tremor rocked the Temple. They could not stand. Falling on hands and knees, they could do nothing but watch in terror as the corridor slowly shifted and moved, bending and twisting like a snake.

Crawling under a fallen beam, they huddled together, watching the floor and walls of the corridor leap and heave like waves upon the ocean. Above them, they could hear strange sounds, as of huge stones grinding together—not collapsing so much as shifting position. Then the tremor ceased. All was quiet.

Shakily they got to their feet and began running again, fear driving their aching bodies far beyond endurance. Every few minutes another tremor rocked the Temple’s foundations. But as often as Tanis expected the roof to cave in upon their heads, it remained standing. So strange and terrifying were the inexplicable sounds above them that they both might have welcomed the collapse of the ceiling as a relief.

‘Tanis!’ cried Laurana suddenly. ‘Air! Night air!’

Wearily, summoning the last of their strength, the two made their way through the winding corridor until they came to a door swinging open on its hinges. There was a reddish blood stain on the floor and—

‘Tas’s pouches!’ Tanis murmured. Kneeling down, he sorted through the kender’s treasures that lay scattered all over the floor. Then his heart sank. Grieving, he shook his head.

Laurana knelt beside him, her hand closed over his.

‘At least he was here, Tanis. He got this far. Maybe he escaped.’

‘He would never have left his treasures,’ Tanis said. Sinking down on the shaking floor, the half-elf stared outside into Neraka. ‘Look,’ he said to Laurana harshly, pointing. ‘This is the end, just as it was the end for the kender. Look!’ he demanded angrily, seeing her face settling into its stubborn calm, seeing her refusing to admit defeat.

Laurana looked.

The cool breeze on her face seemed a mockery to her now, for it brought only smells of smoke and blood and the anguished cries of the dying. Orange flames lit the sky where wheeling dragons fought and died as their Highlords sought to escape or strove for mastery. The night air blazed with the crackling of lightning bolts and burned with flame. Draconians roamed the streets, killing anything that moved, slaughtering each other in their frenzy.

‘So evil turns upon itself,’ Laurana whispered, laying her head on Tanis’s shoulder, watching the terrible spectacle in awe.

‘What was that?’ he asked wearily.

‘Something Elistan used to say,’ she replied. The Temple shook around them.

‘Elistan!’ Tanis laughed bitterly. ‘Where are his gods now? Watching from their castles among the stars, enjoying the show? The Dark Queen is gone, the Temple destroyed. And here we are—trapped. We wouldn’t live three minutes out there—’

Then his breath caught in his throat. Gently he pushed Laurana away from him as he leaned over, his hand searching through Tasslehoff’s scattered treasures. Hurriedly he swept aside a shining piece of broken blue crystal, a splinter of vallenwood, an emerald, a small white chicken feather, a withered black rose, a dragon’s tooth, and a piece of wood carved with dwarven skill to resemble the kender. Among all of these was a golden object, sparkling in the flaming light of the fire and destruction outside.

Picking it up, Tanis’s eyes filled with tears. He held it tightly in his hand, feeling the sharp edges bite into his flesh.

‘What is it?’ asked Laurana, not understanding, her voice choked with fear.

‘Forgive me, Paladine,’ Tanis whispered. Drawing Laurana close beside him, he held his hand out, opening his palm.

There in his hand lay a finely carved, delicate ring, made of golden, clinging ivy leaves. And wrapped around the ring, still bound in his magical sleep, was a golden dragon.