Slowly the white-winged ships weighed anchor and sails north. Soon the last sail was out of sight, but still no one left the pier, not even when a sudden rain squall struck, pelting t ha with sleet and icy drops, drawing a fine gray curtain across the chill waters.
272
3
the dragon orb. Caramon's pledge.
Raistlin stood in the small doorway of the wagon, his golden eyes peering into the sunlit woods. All was quiet. It was past Yuletide. The countryside was held fast in the grip of winter. Nothing stirred in the snowblanketed land. His companions were gone, busy about various tasks. Raistlin nodded grimly. Good. Turning, he went back inside the wagon and shut the wooden doors firmly.
The companions had been camped here for several days, on the outskirts of Kendermore. Their journey was nearing an end. It had been unbelievably successful. Tonight they would
273
leave, traveling to Flotsam under the cover of darkness. They had money enough to hire a ship, plus some left over for supplies and payment for a week's lodging in Flotsam. This afternoon had been their final performance.
The young mage made his way through the clutter to the back of the wagon. His gaze lingered on the shimmering red robe that hung on a nail. Tika had started to pack it away, but Raistlin had snarled at her viciously. Shrugging, she let it remain, going outside to walk in the woods, knowing Caramon-as usual-would find her.
Raistlin's thin hand reached out to touch the robe, the slender fingers stroking the shining, sequined fabric wistfully, regretting that this period in his life was over.
"I have been happy" he murmured to himself. "Strange. There have not been many times in my life I could make that claim. Certainly not when I was young, nor in these past few years, after they tortured my body and cursed me with these eyes. But then I never expected happiness. How paltry it is, compared to my magic! Still . . . still, these last few weeks have been weeks of peace. Weeks of happiness. I don't suppose any will come again. Not after what I must do-"
Raistlin held the robe a moment longer, then, shrugging, hey' tossed it in a corner and continued on to the back of the wagon which he had curtained off for his own private use. On inside, he pulled the curtains securely together.
Excellent. He would have privacy for several hours, until nightfall, in fact. Tanis and Riverwind had gone hunting. Cars. mon had, too, supposedly, though everyone knew this was just
an excuse for him to find time alone with Tika. Goldmoon watt preparing food for their journey. No one would bother him The mage nodded to himself in satisfaction.
Sitting down at the small drop-leaf table Caramon had cotta structed for him, Raistlin carefully withdrew from the ve .
innermost pocket of his robes an ordinary-looking sack, t sack that contained the dragon orb. His skeletal fingers tre bled as he tugged on the drawstring. The bag opened. Reach' in, Raistlin grasped the dragon orb and brought it forth.
held it easily in his palm, inspecting it closely to see if there h been any change.
No. A faint green color still swirled within. It still felt as col
274
I tt.t UNACiUNS Ut• WIN ~l EN NIGHT
to the touch as if he held a hailstone. Smiling, Raistlin clasped the orb tightly in one hand while he fumbled through the props beneath the table. He finally found what he sought-a crudely carved, three-legged wooden stand. Lifting it up, Raistlin set it on the table. It wasn't much to look at-Flint would have scoffed. Raistlin had neither the love nor the skill needed to work wood. He had carved it laboriously, in secret, shut up
inside the jouncing wagon during the long days on the road. No, it was not much to look at, but he didn't care. It would suit
his purpose.
Placing the stand upon the table, he set the dragon orb on it. The marble-sized orb looked ludicrous, but Raistlin sat back,
waiting patiently. As he had expected, soon the orb began to grow. Or did it? Perhaps he was shrinking. Raistlin couldn't tell. He knew only that suddenly the orb was the right size. If anything was different, it was he that was too small, too insignificant to even be in the same room with the orb.
The mage shook his head. He must stay in control, he knew, and he was immediately aware of the subtle tricks the orb was playing to undermine drat control. Soon these tricks would not be subtle. Raistlin felt his throat tighten. He coughed, cursing
his weak lungs.. Drawing a shuddering breath, he forced himself to breathe deeply and easily.
Relax, he thought. Z must relax. I do not fear. I am strong. Look what I have done! Silently he called upon the orb: Look at the power I have attained" Witness what I did in Darken Wood.
Witness what I did in Siivanesti. I am strong. I do not fear.
The orb's colors swirled softly. It did not answer.
The mage closed his eyes for a moment, blotting the orb
from sigh t. Regaining control, he opened them again, regarding the orb with. a sigh. The moment approached.
The dragon orb was now back to its original size. He could almost see Lorac's wizened hands grasping it. The young mage shuddered involuntarily. No! Stop it! he told himself firmly, and immediately banished the vision from his mind.
Once more he relaxed, breathing regularly, his hourglass eyes focused on the orb. Then-slowly-he stretched forth his slender, metallic-colored fingers. After a moment's final hesita
tion, Raistiin placed his hands upon the cold crystal of the dragon orb and spoke the ancient words.
DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES
"Ast bilak moiparalan; Suh akvlar tantangusar:"
How did he know what to say? I-low did he know what ancient words would cause the orb to understand him, to be aware of his presence? Raistlin did not know. He knew only thatsomehow, somewhere-inside of him, he did know the words! The voice that had spoken to him in Silvanesti? Perhaps. It didn't matter.
Again he said the words aloud.
"Ast bilak rnoiparalan: Sub akvlar tantangusar.!"
Slowly the drifting green color was submerged in a myriad swirling, gliding colors that made him dizzy to watch. The crystal was so cold beneath his palms that it was painful to touch. Raistlin had a terrifying vision of pulling away his hands and leaving the flesh behind, frozen to the orb. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and whispered the words again.
The colors ceased to swirl. A light glowed in the center, a light neither white nor black, all colors, yet none. Raistlin swallowed, fighting the choking phlegm that rose in his throat.
Out of the light came two hands! He had a desperate urge to withdraw his own, but before he could move, flue two hands grasped his in a grip both strong and firm. The orb vanished! The room vanished! Raistlin saw nothing around trim No light. No darkness. Nothing? Nothing. . .but two hands, balding his. Out of sheer terror, Raistlin concentrated on those hands.
Human? Elven? Old? Young'' He could not tell. The fingers,
were long and slender, but their grip was the grip of death. Let
go and he would fall into the void to drift until merciful dark
ness consumed him. Even as he clung to those hands with F
strength lent him by ?ear, Raistlin realized the hands were
slowly drawing, him nearer, drawing him into . . . into….