Tasslehoff stood over the wolf, watching it grimly, ready to kill it all over if it should somehow spring back to life. When it moved, he gave a savage cry and started to strike again and nearly stabbed Flint, who was trying to crawl out from underneath the twitching body.
Laurana could see the chaos out of the corner of her eye. Using the wizard’s own magical snow as cover, Laurana circled around Feal-Thas to come at him from behind. Gilthanas fired at Feal-Thas, and the large wolf that was no wolf was driven away from the rest of the pack by Gilthanas’s arrows. Forced to remain on the fringes of the assault, Feal-Thas paced back and forth, watching the attack, his tongue lolling, fangs dripping as though he tasted the blood. He did not see Laurana until she was almost upon him, coming at him from behind. He did not hear her over the wolves’ howling and snarling.
Laurana saw Brian’s crumpled body lying on the bloody ice. She had been afraid, but now anger subsumed her fear. She lifted the frostreaver, and remembering Flint’s hastily imparted instructions, she started to swing, to strike the wolf-elf in the back, sever the spine…
Feal-Thas sensed her. He turned his wolf’s head and gazed at her, gazed deep into her heart. His eyes pinned her as the wolf had pinned Brian. She halted in mid-stride. The frostreaver hung in the air, poised, ready to strike a killing blow. But Laurana’s will seeped out of her. Feal-Thas stared at her, yellow eyes probing deep inside her, his thieving hand rifling her heart’s secrets, sifting and sorting, keeping what was valuable, tossing out the rest.
Laurana realized, horror-stricken, that Gilthanas had been wrong. The archmage could still work his magic from inside a wolf’s body. She was in the grip of enchantment, and she could do nothing except flutter helplessly like a butterfly on a pin.
The wolf growled, and she heard words in that bestial snarl.
“I have seen you before!”
“No!” Laurana whispered, quaking.
“Oh, yes. I saw you in Kitiara’s heart. I see her in your heart, and I see the half-elf in both. What fun is this?”
Laurana wanted to flee. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to sink to her knees and bury her face in her hands. But she couldn’t do anything. The wolf trotted closer and she was paralyzed, unable to break free of the fell gaze.
“Kitiara wants Tanis,” said Feal-Thas, “and she means to have him. If she succeeds, Lauralanthalasa, he will be lost to you forever. I am the only person powerful enough to stop her. Kill me, and you give Tanis to your rival.”
Laurana heard the din of shouts mingled with the howling of the wolves. She glanced over her shoulder, saw Brian with his throat torn, Aran dead, Flint crawling out from under the bodies and Tasslehoff fighting as tears ran down his cheeks, forming trails in the blood.
Feal-Thas knew in that moment he’d lost her. He saw his danger. First Kitiara had made a fool of him. She’d brought disaster on him, and now this elf woman was here to finish him off. He saw the two of them, Kitiara and Laurana standing together, laughing at him.
Rage boiled inside Feal-Thas. If he had been in his body, he would have destroyed this feeble woman with a word and a gesture. He would have to settle for tearing her apart, feasting on her flesh, drinking her blood. And someday, he would do the same to Kitiara.
Laurana felt the wizard’s grip release her. She saw the fury in the yellow eyes. She saw the attack coming. She gripped the frostreaver tightly, putting all her strength into it. Laurana forgot about Tanis, forgot about Kitiara. She gave herself and her past and her future into the hands of the gods. She took hold of her own destiny.
Fangs snapping, the wolf leaped at her.
“So be it,” Laurana said calmly, and she swung the frostreaver at the wolf’s throat.
The magical blade blessed by Habakkuk sliced the winternorn’s magic and cut deep into his neck. Blood spurted. Feal-Thas howled. The white wolf slumped to the ice, jaws open, tongue lolling, blood and saliva dribbling from its mouth. The yellow hate-filled eyes stared at her. The wolf’s flanks heaved, feet scrabbled and clawed the ice that was red with blood pouring from the fatal wound.
Faint words, dark and piercing as fangs, sank into her.
“Love was my curse! Love will be your curse and hers!”
The hatred and the life faded out of the wolf’s yellow eyes, and in the moment of his death the enchantment that had transformed Feal-Thas into the wolf snapped. One moment Laurana was staring at the corpse of a wolf. She brushed her eyes to clear them of snow, and when she looked again, the body of the elf lay on his back in a vast pool of blood. His head was nearly severed from his neck.
Laurana gasped and shuddered and turned away. She was sick with shock and horror. She started shaking, and she couldn’t stop. She had some dim realization that she was still in danger—the wolf pack might turn on her, attack her. She looked up to see one wolf running toward her, and she struggled to lift the frostreaver, but it seemed suddenly immensely heavy. Gasping for breath that wouldn’t seem to come, she braced herself.
The wolf paid no heed to her. It padded up gently to the body of the elf, sniffed at the blood, then it threw back its head and gave a wailing howl of grief. The other wolves, hearing the howl, broke off the attack and began to wail. The wolf nuzzled Feal-Thas. The beast looked at Laurana, its gaze going to the glittering, blood-stained frostreaver. The wolf snarled at her, turned, and slunk away. The rest of the pack trailed after, disappearing down the tunnels.
Laurana sagged to her knees. She still held the frostreaver clutched in her hands. She did not think she could ever let go.
Gilthanas knelt beside her, putting his arm around her.
“Are you all right?” he asked fearfully, when he could speak.
“I’m fine,” she said through stiff lips. “The wizard didn’t hurt me.”
She realized, suddenly, this was true. Feal-Thas had tried to hurt her with his terrible curse, but he had not touched her. If love had been the elf’s curse, it was because he had let something beautiful grow into something dark and twisted. She didn’t know about Kitiara. None of that made sense. For Laurana, love was her blessing and would continue to be, whether Tanis returned her love or not.
She was not perfect. She was well aware there would be times when she would know despair, jealousy, and sorrow, but with the help of the gods, love would bring her closer to perfection, not hinder her in the pursuit.
“I’m all right,” she repeated firmly and, rising to her feet, she threw the frostreaver down on top of the body of the dead wizard. “How are the others?”
Gilthanas shook his head. Sturm stood protectively over the bodies of Aran and Brian. Sturm was covered in blood, pale and exhausted, but he did not appear to be hurt. Flint had firm hold of Tasslehoff, who was wildly waving the blood-smeared Rabbitslayer and screaming that he was going to kill every wolf in the world.
Laurana hurried to the kender and put her arms around him. Tas burst into tears and collapsed into a sodden and blood-covered heap on the ice.
Derek had a gash on his face and claw marks on his hands and arms. One of the sleeves of his fur coat hung in tatters. Blood oozed from a bite on his thigh. He gazed down at the bodies of Aran and Brian with a slight frown, as if trying to recollect where he’d seen them before.
“I’m going into the dragon’s lair to find the orb,” he said at last. “Brightblade, stand guard. Don’t let anyone come after me, especially the elves.”
“Gilthanas and Laurana probably saved your life, Derek,” said Sturm hoarsely, his throat raw.
“Just do as you’re ordered, Brightblade,” Derek said coldly.
He limped out of the chamber, heading for the dragon’s lair.
“The gods go with him,” Laurana murmured.
“Hah! Good riddance to bad rubbish is what I say,” said Flint, patting the hiccupping kender on the back.