Acting instinctively, knowing only that the dragon must not reach the orb, Flint released the mechanism. The portcullis closed around the dragon’s neck, holding it fast. The dragon’s head was now trapped within the small chamber. Her struggling body lay helpless, wings pressed against her sides, in the chamber where the knights stood, dragonlances ready.
Too late, the dragon realized she was trapped. She howled in such fury the rocks shuddered and cracked as she opened her mouth to blast the dragon orb with her lightning breath. Tasslehoff, trying frantically to revive Laurana, found himself staring into two flaming eyes. He saw the dragon’s jaws part, he heard the dragon suck in her breath.
Lightning crackled from the dragon’s throat, the concussion knocking the kender flat. Rock exploded into the room and the dragon orb shuddered on its stand. Tas lay on the floor, stunned by the blast. He could not move, did not even want to move, in fact. He just lay there, waiting for the next bolt which he knew would kill Laurana—if she wasn’t already dead—and him, too. At this point, he really didn’t much care.
But the blast never came.
The mechanism finally activated. The double steel door slammed shut in front of the dragon’s snout, sealing the creature’s head inside the small room.
At first it was deathly silent. Then the most horrible scream imaginable reverberated through the chamber. It was high-pitched, shrill, wailing, bubbling in agony, as the knights lunged out of their hiding places behind the tooth-like pillars and drove the silver dragonlances into the blue, writhing body of the trapped dragon.
Tas covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the awful sound. Over and over he pictured the terrible destruction he had seen the dragons wreak on towns, the innocent people they had slaughtered. The dragon would have killed him, too, he knew—killed him without mercy. It had probably already killed Sturm. He kept reminding himself of that, trying to harden his heart.
But the kender buried his head in his hands and wept.
Then he felt a gentle hand touch him.
‘Tas,’ whispered a voice.
‘Laurana!’ He raised his head. ‘Laurana! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t care what they do to the dragon, but I can’t stand it, Laurana! Why must there be killing? I can’t stand it!’ Tears streaked his face.
‘I know,’ Laurana murmured, vivid memories of Sturm’s death mingling with the shrieks of the dying dragon. ‘Don’t be ashamed, Tas. Be thankful you can feel pity and horror at the death of an enemy. The day we cease to care—even for our enemies—is the day we have lost this battle.’
The fearful wailing grew even louder. Tas held out his arms and Laurana gathered him close. The two clung to each other, trying to blot out the screams of the dying dragon. Then they heard another sound—the knights calling out a warning. A second dragon had entered the other chamber, slamming its rider into the wall as it struggled to enter the smaller entryway in response to the beaming call of the dragon orb. The knights were sounding the alarm.
At that moment, the Tower itself shuddered from top to foundation, shaken by the violent flailings of the tortured dragon.
‘Come on!’ Laurana cried. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ Dragging Tas to his feet, she ran stumbling toward a small door in the wall that would lead them out into the courtyard. Laurana yanked open the door, just as the dragon’s head burst into the room with the orb. Tas could not help stopping, just a moment, to watch. The sight was so fascinating. He could see the dragon’s flaring eyes—mad with rage at the sounds of his dying mate, knowing—too late—that he had flown into the same trap. The dragon’s mouth twisted into a vicious snarl, he sucked in his breath. The double steel doors dropped in front of the dragon—but only halfway.
‘Laurana, the door’s stuck!’ Tas shouted. ‘The dragon orb—’
‘Come on!’ Laurana yanked at the kender’s hand. Lightning flashed, and Tas turned and fled, hearing the room behind him explode into flame. Rock and stone filled the chamber. The white light of the dragon orb was buried in the debris as the Tower of the High Clerist collapsed on top of it.
The shock threw Laurana and Tas off balance, sending them slamming against the wall. Tas helped Laurana to her feet, and the two of them kept going, heading for the bright daylight.
Then the ground was still. The thunder of falling rock ceased. There was only a sharp crack now and again or a low rumble. Pausing a moment to catch their breath, Tas and Laurana looked behind them. The end of the passage was completely blocked, choked by the huge boulders of the Tower.
‘What about the dragon orb?’ Tas gasped.
‘It is better destroyed.’
Now that Tas could see Laurana more clearly in the daylight, he was stunned at the sight. Her face was deathly white, even her lips drained of blood. The only color was in her green eyes, and they seemed disturbingly large, shadowed by purple smudges.
‘I could not use it again,’ she whispered, more to herself than to him. ‘I nearly gave up. Hands...I can’t talk about it!’ Shivering, she covered her eyes. ‘Then I remembered Sturm, standing upon the wall, facing his death alone. If I gave in, his death would be meaningless. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him down.’ She shook her head, trembling. ‘I forced the orb to obey my command, but I knew I could do it only once. And I can never, never go through that again!’
‘Sturm’s dead?’ Tas’s voice quavered.
Laurana looked at him, her eyes softened. ‘I’m sorry, Tas,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realize you didn’t know. He—he died fighting a Dragon Highlord.’
‘Was it—was it...’ Tas choked.
‘Yes, it was quick,’ Laurana said gently. ‘He did not suffer long.’
Tas bowed his head, then raised it again quickly as another explosion shook what was left of the fortress.
‘The dragonarmies...’ Laurana murmured. ‘Our fight is not ended.’ Her hand went to the hilt of Sturm’s sword, which she had buckled around her slender waist. ‘Go find Flint.’
Laurana emerged from the tunnel into the courtyard, blinking in the bright light, almost surprised to see it was still day. So much had happened, it seemed to her years might have passed. But the sun was just lifting over the courtyard wall.
The tall Tower of the High Clerist was gone, fallen in upon itself, a heap of stone rubble in the center of the courtyard. The entryways and halls leading to the dragon orb were not damaged, except where the dragons had smashed into them. The walls of the outer fortress still stood, although breached in places, their stone blackened by the dragons’ lightning bolts.
But no armies poured through the breaches. It was quiet, Laurana realized. In the tunnels behind her, she could hear the dying screams of the second dragon, the hoarse shouts of the knights finishing the kill.
What had happened to the army? Laurana wondered, looking around in confusion. They must be coming over the walls. Fearfully she looked up at the battlements, expecting to see the fierce creatures pouring over them.
And then she saw the flash of sunlight shining on armor. She saw the shapeless mass lying on the top of the wall.
Sturm. She remembered the dream, remembered the bloody hands of the draconians hacking at Sturm’s body.
It must not happen! she thought grimly. Drawing Sturm’s sword, she ran across the courtyard and immediately realized the ancient weapon would be too heavy for her to wield. But what else was there? She glanced around hurriedly. The dragonlances! Dropping the sword, she grabbed one. Then, carrying the lightweight footman’s lance easily, she climbed the stairs.