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 bone-numbing 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-Elven,” 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.