But the man’s screaming continued.
‘In the name of the gods!’ Caramon said as he came up to them, his face pale. ‘I can’t take much of this.’
‘Father!’ Alhana pleaded, calling to him again and again. Slowly her beloved voice penetrated the twisted dreams that lingered on in Lorac’s tortured mind. Slowly his screams died to little more than horrified whimpers. Then, as if fearing what he might see, he opened his eyes.
‘Alhana, my child. Alive!’ He lifted a shaking hand to touch her cheek. ‘It cannot be! I saw you die, Alhana. I saw you die a hundred times, each time more horrifying than the last. He killed you, Alhana. He wanted me to kill you. But I could not. Though I know not why, as I have killed so many.’ Then he caught sight of Tanis. His eyes flared open, shining with hatred.
‘You!’ Lorac snarled, rising from his chair, his gnarled hands clutching the sides of the throne. ‘You, half-elf! I killed you—or tried to. I must protect Silvanesti! I killed you! I killed those with you.’ Then his eyes went to Raistlin. The look of hatred was replaced by one of fear. Trembling, he shrank away from the mage. ‘But you, you I could not kill!’
Lorac’s look of terror changed to confusion. ‘No,’ he cried. ‘You are not he! Your robes are not black! Who are you?’ His eyes went back to Tanis. ‘And you? You are not a threat? What have I done?’ He moaned.
‘Don’t, Father,’ Alhana pleaded, soothing him, stroking his fevered face. ‘You must rest now. The nightmare is ended. Silvanesti is safe.’
Caramon lifted Lorac in his strong arms and carried him to his chambers. Alhana walked next to him, her father’s hand held fast in her own.
Safe, Tanis thought, glancing out the windows at the tormented trees. Although the undead elven warriors no longer stalked the woods, the tortured shapes Lorac had created in his nightmare still lived. The trees, contorted in agony, still wept blood. Who will live here now? Tanis wondered sadly. The elves will not return. Evil things will enter this dark forest and Lorac’s nightmare will become reality.
Thinking of the nightmarish forest, Tanis suddenly wondered where his other friends were. Were they all right? What if they had believed the nightmare—as Raistlin said? Would they have truly died? His heart sinking, he knew he would have to go back into that demented forest and search for them.
Just as the half-elf began to try and force his weary body to action, his friends entered the Tower room.
‘I killed him!’ Tika cried, catching sight of Tanis. Her eyes were wide with grief and terror. ‘No! Don’t touch me, Tanis. You don’t know what I’ve done. I killed Flint! I didn’t mean to, Tanis, I swear!’
As Caramon entered the room, Tika turned to him, sobbing. ‘I killed Flint, Caramon. Don’t come near me!’
‘Hush,’ Caramon said, gently enfolding her in his big arms. ‘It was a dream, Tika. That’s what Raist says. The dwarf was never here. Shhh.’ Stroking Tika’s red curls, he kissed her. Tika clung to him, Caramon clung to her, each finding comfort with the other. Gradually Tika’s sobs lessened.
‘My friend,’ Goldmoon said, reaching out to embrace Tanis.
Seeing the grave, somber expression on her face, the half-elf held her tightly, glancing questioningly at Riverwind. What had each of them dreamed? But the Plainsman only shook his head, his own face pale and grieved.
Then it occurred to Tanis that each must have lived through his or her own dream, and he suddenly remembered Kitiara! How real she had been! And Laurana, dying. Closing his eyes, Tanis laid his head against Goldmoon’s. He felt Riverwind’s strong arms surround them both. Their love blessed him. The horror of the dream began to recede.
And then Tanis had a terrifying thought. Lorac’s dream became reality! Would theirs?
Behind him, Tanis heard Raistlin begin to cough. Clutching his chest, the mage sank down onto the steps leading up to Lorac’s throne. Tanis saw Caramon, still holding Tika, glance at his brother in concern. But Raistlin ignored his brother. Gathering his robes around him, the mage lay down on the cold floor and closed his eyes in exhaustion.
Sighing, Caramon pressed Tika closer. Tanis watched her small shadow become part of Caramon’s larger one as they stood together, their bodies outlined in the distorted silver and red beams of the fractured moonlight.
We all must sleep, Tanis thought, feeling his own eyes burn. Yet how can we? How can we ever sleep again?
12
Visions shared
The death of Lorac.
Yet finally they slept. Huddled on the stone floor of the Tower of the Stars, they kept as near each other as possible. While, as they slept, others in lands cold and hostile, lands far from Silvanesti, wakened.
Laurana woke first. Starting up from a deep sleep with a cry, at first she had no idea where she was. She spoke one word—‘Silvanesti!’
Flint, trembling, woke to find that his fingers still moved, the pains in his legs were no worse than usual.
Sturm woke in panic. Shaking with terror, for long moments he could only crouch beneath his blankets, shuddering. Then he heard something outside his tent. Starting up, hand on his sword, he crept forward and threw open the tent flap.
‘Oh!’ Laurana gasped at the sight of his haggard face.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sturm said. ‘I didn’t mean—’ Then he saw she was shaking so she could scarcely hold her candle. ‘What is it?’ he asked, alarmed, drawing her out of the cold.
‘I—I know this sounds silly,’ Laurana said, flushing, ‘but I had the most frightening dream and I couldn’t sleep.’
Shivering, she allowed Sturm to lead her inside the tent. The flame of her candle cast leaping shadows around the tent. Sturm, afraid she might drop it, took it from her.
‘I didn’t mean to wake you, but I heard you call out. And my dream was so real! You were in it—I saw you—’
‘What is Silvanesti like?’ Sturm interrupted abruptly.
Laurana stared at him. ‘But that’s where I dreamed we were! Why did you ask? Unless...you dreamed of Silvanesti, too!’
Sturm wrapped his cloak around him, nodding. ‘I—’ he began, then heard another noise outside the tent. This time, he just opened the tent flap. ‘Come in, Flint,’ he said wearily.
The dwarf stumped inside, his face flushed. He seemed embarrassed to find Laurana there, however, and stammered and stamped until Laurana smiled at him.
‘We know,’ she said. ‘You had a dream. Silvanesti?’
Flint coughed, clearing his throat and wiping his face with his hand. ‘Apparently I’m not the only one?’ he asked, staring narrowly at the other two from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘I suppose you—you want me to tell you what I dreamed?’
‘No!’ Sturm said hurriedly, his face pale. ‘No, I do not want to talk about it—ever!’
‘Nor I,’ Laurana said softly.
Hesitantly, Flint patted her shoulder. ‘I’m glad,’ he said gruffly. ‘I couldn’t talk about mine either. I just wanted to see if it was a dream. It seemed so real I expected to find you both—’
The dwarf stopped. There was a rustling sound outside, then Tasslehoff burst excitedly through the tent flap.
‘Did I hear you talking about a dream? I never dream—at least not that I remember. Kender don’t, much. Oh, I suppose we do. Even animals dream, but—’ He caught Flint’s eye and came hurriedly back to the original subject. ‘Well! I had the most fantastic dream! Trees crying blood. Horrible dead elves going around killing people! Raistlin wearing black robes! It was the most incredible thing! And you were there, Sturm. Laurana and Flint. And everyone died! Well, almost everyone. Raistlin didn’t. And there was a green dragon—’
Tasslehoff stopped. What was wrong with his friends? Their faces were deathly pale, their eyes wide. ‘G-green dragon,’ he stammered. ‘Raistlin, dressed in black. Did I mention that? Q-quite becoming, actually. Red always makes him look kind of jaundiced, if you know what I mean. You don’t. Well, I g-guess I’ll go back to bed. If you don’t want to hear anymore?’ He looked around hopefully. No one answered.