Again the trumpet sounded, and again Sturm answered, but this time his voice faltered, for the trumpet call he heard had changed tone. No longer sweet and pure, it was braying and harsh and shrill.
No! thought Sturm in horror as he neared the dragon. Those were the horns of the enemy! He had been lured into a trap! Around him now he could see draconian soldiers, creeping from behind the dragon, laughing cruelly at his gullibility.
Sturm stopped, gripping his sword in a hand that was sweating inside its glove. The dragon loomed above him, a creature undefeatable, surrounded by masses of his troops, slavering and licking his jowls with his curled tongue.
Fear knotted Sturm’s stomach; his skin grew cold and clammy. The horn call sounded a third time, terrible and evil. It was all over. It had all been for nothing. Death, ignominious defeat awaited him. Despair descending, he looked around fearfully. Where was Tanis? He needed Tanis, but he could not find him. Desperately he repeated the code of the knights, My Honor Is My Life, but the words sounded hollow and meaningless in his ears. He was not a knight. What did the Code mean to him? He had been living a lie! Sturm’s swordarm wavered, then dropped; his sword fell from his hand and he sank to his knees, shivering and weeping like a child, hiding his head from the terror before him.
With one swipe of his shining talons, Cyan Bloodbane ended Sturm’s life, impaling the knight’s body upon a blood-stained claw. Disdainfully, Cyan shook the wretched human to the floor while the draconians swept shrieking toward the knight’s still-living body, intent upon hacking it to pieces.
But they found their way blocked. A bright figure, shining silver in the moonlight, ran to the knight’s body. Reaching down swiftly, Laurana lifted Sturm’s sword. Then, straightening, she faced the draconians.
‘Touch him and you will die,’ she said through her tears.
‘Laurana!’ Tanis screamed and tried to run forward to help her. But draconians sprang at him. He slashed at them desperately, trying to reach the elfmaid. Just when he had won through, he heard Kitiara call his name. Whirling, he saw her being beaten back by four draconians. The half-elf stopped in agony, hesitating, and at that moment Laurana fell across Sturm’s body, her own body pierced by draconian swords.
‘No! Laurana!’ Tanis shouted. Starting to go to her, he heard Kitiara cry out again. He stopped, turning. Clutching at his head, he stood irresolute and helpless, forced to watch as Kitiara fell beneath the enemy.
The half-elf sobbed in frenzy, feeling himself begin to sink into madness, longing for death to end this pain. He clutched the magic sword of Kith-Kanan and rushed toward the dragon, his one thought to kill and be killed.
But Raistlin blocked his path, standing in front of the dragon like a black obelisk.
Tanis fell to the floor, knowing his death was fixed. Clasping the small golden ring firmly in his hand, he waited to die.
Then he heard the mage chanting strange and powerful words. He heard the dragon roar in rage. The two were battling, but Tanis didn’t care. With eyes closed fast, he blotted out the sounds around him, blotted out life. Only one thing remained real. The golden ring he held tightly in his hand.
Suddenly Tanis became acutely conscious of the ring pressing into his palm: the metal was cool, its edges rough. He could feel the golden twisted ivy leaves bite into his flesh.
Tanis closed his hand, squeezing the ring. The gold bit into his flesh, bit deeply. Pain...real pain...
I am dreaming!
Tanis opened his eyes. Solinari’s silver moonlight flooded the Tower, mingled with the red beams of Lunitari. He was lying on a cold, marble floor. His hand was clasped tightly, so tightly that pain had wakened him. Pain? The ring. The dream! Remembering the dream, Tanis sat up in terror and looked around. But the hall was empty except for one other person. Raistlin slumped against a wall, coughing.
The half-elf staggered to his feet and walked shakily toward Raistlin. As he drew nearer, he could see blood on the mage’s lips. The blood gleamed red in Lunitari’s light—as red as the robes that covered Raistlin’s frail, shivering body.
The dream.
Tanis opened his hand. It was empty.
11
The Dream ends.
The Nightmare begins.
The half-elf stared around the hallway. It was as empty as his hand. The bodies of his friends were gone. The dragon was gone. Wind blew through a shattered wall, fluttering Raistline’s red robes about him, scattering dead aspen leaves along the floor. The half-elf walked over to Raistlin, catching the young mage in his arms as he collapsed.
‘Where are they?’ Tanis asked, shaking Raistlin. ‘Laurana? Sturm? And the others, your brother? Are they dead?’ He glanced around. ‘And the dragon—’
‘The dragon is gone. The orb sent the dragon away when it realized it could not defeat me.’ Pushing himself from Tanis’s grasp, Raistlin stood alone, huddled against the marble wall. ‘It could not defeat me as I was. A child could defeat me now,’ he said bitterly. ‘As for the others’—he shrugged—‘I do not know.’ He turned his strange eyes on Tanis. ‘You lived, half-elf, because your love was strong. I lived because of my ambition. We clung to reality in the midst of the nightmare. Who can say with the others?’
‘Caramon’s alive, then,’ Tanis said. ‘Because of his love. With his last breath, he begged me to spare your life. Tell me, mage, was this future you say we saw irreversible?’
‘Why ask?’ Raistlin said wearily. ‘Would you kill me, Tanis? Now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tanis said softly, thinking of Caramon’s dying words. ‘Perhaps.’
Raistlin smiled bitterly. ‘Save your energy,’ he said. ‘The future changes as we stand here, else we are the game pieces of the gods, not their heirs, as we have been promised. But’—the mage pushed himself away from the wall—‘this is far from over. We must find Lorac—and the dragon orb.’
Raistlin shuffled down the hall, leaning heavily upon the Staff of Magius, its crystal lighting the darkness now that the green light had died.
Green light. Tanis stood in the hallway, lost in confusion, trying to wake up, trying to separate the dream from reality—for the dream seemed much more real than any of this did now. He stared at the shattered wall. Surely there had been a dragon? And a blinding green light at the end of the corridor? But the hallway was dark. Night had fallen. It had been morning when they started. The moons had not been up, yet now they were full. How many nights had passed? How many days?
Then Tanis heard a booming voice at other end of the corridor, near the doorway.
‘Raist!’
The mage stopped, his shoulder slumped. Then he turned slowly. ‘My brother,’ he whispered.
Caramon—alive and apparently uninjured—stood in the doorway, outlined against the starry night. He stared at his twin.
Then Tanis heard Raistlin sigh softly.
‘I am tired, Caramon.’ The mage coughed, then drew a wheezing breath. ‘And there is still much to be done before this nightmare is ended, before the three moons set.’ Raistlin extended his thin arm. ‘I need your help, brother.’
Tanis heard Caramon heave a shuddering sob. The big man ran into the room, his sword clanking at his thigh. Reaching his brother, he put his arm around him.
Raistlin leaned on Caramon’s strong arm. Together, the twins walked down the cold hallway and through the shattered wall toward the room where Tanis had seen the green light and the dragon. His heart heavy with foreboding, Tanis followed them.
The three entered the audience room of the Tower of the Stars. Tanis looked at it curiously. He had heard of its beauty all his life. The Tower of the Sun in Qualinost had been built in remembrance of this Tower—the Tower of the Stars. The two were alike, yet not alike. One was filled with light, one filled with darkness. He stared around. The Tower soared above him in marble spirals that shimmered with a pearly radiance. It had been built to collect moonlight, as the Tower of the Sun collected sunlight. Windows carved into the Tower were faceted with gems that caught and magnified the light of the two moons, Solinari and Lunitari, making red and silver moonbeams dance in the chamber. But now the gems were broken. The moonlight that filtered in was distorted, the silver turning to the pale white of a corpse, the red to blood.