Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (47 page)

“What am I looking at?” he asked.

“That big wolf.” Laurana knelt beside the kender, bringing herself to his eye level, and pointed. “The one there, standing apart from the others.”

“It’s not a wolf. It’s an elf,” said Tasslehoff, then he added excitedly, “No wait! It’s an elf
and
a wolf …”

“Feal-Thas …” Laurana whispered. “You know something of this wizard, Gil. How do we stop him?”

“An archmage!” Gilthanas gave a bitter laugh. “One of the most powerful wizards on Krynn—”

He halted. His expression grew thoughtful. “There might be a way, but you would have to do it, Laurana.”

“Me!” She gasped, appalled.

“You’re the only one who has a chance.” Gilthanas pointed. “You have the frostreaver.”

She had thrown the weapon to the ground to help Tasslehoff search through the pouches. It lay, gleaming crystalline clear, at her feet. She made no move to pick it up.

Gilthanas gripped her arm, speaking very fast. “Your weapon is magical. The wizard is a winternorn and the weapon is made of the same elements that fuel his magic. It is the one weapon that might kill him.”

“But … he’s a wizard.” Laurana quailed.

“He is not! Not now. Now he’s a wolf. He’s trapped in the wolf’s body, and he’ll be hampered in his spell casting! He won’t be able to speak the words of magic or make the gestures or use his spell components. You must attack now, before he shifts back!”

Laurana stood shivering, staring at the enormous white wolf. The other wolves continued to circle the knights, wary of the sharp steel, yet hungry for blood.

“You can do this, Laurana,” said Gilthanas earnestly. “You have to. Otherwise, there’s no hope for any of us.”

If Tanis were only here … Laurana stopped herself from thinking that. Tanis wasn’t here. She couldn’t depend on him or anyone else. This was up to her. The gods had given her the frostreaver. She didn’t know why. She hadn’t asked for it. She didn’t want it. She seemed a very poor choice. She wasn’t a knight. She wasn’t a warrior. Yet even as she thought this and railed against her fate, ideas on how she could attack the wizard began crystallizing in her mind. She spoke her thoughts as they came to her, almost without realizing what she was saying.

“He mustn’t see me coming. If he does, he might start to shift back to his true form. Gil, find somewhere you can use your bow. Keep his attention fixed on the battle, and if you can, drive him away from the rest of the pack.”

Gilthanas looked at her, startled, then gave an abrupt nod. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. It’s my fault.” “No, Gil,” she said. “I made my own choices.” She thought back to the day she had run away from home to follow after Tanis. That choice had led her to the knowledge of the gods, to knowledge of herself. She was a far different person from the spoiled little girl she had once been. A far better person, or so she hoped. She wasn’t sorry, no matter what happened.

The circle of wolves began closing, moving in on their prey. Flint stood by her silently, stoutly.

“You can do it, lass,” he said in gruff assurance, then he added wistfully, “I wish I had time to teach you the proper way to wield that axe!”

She grinned at him. “I don’t think it’s going to make much difference.”

Gilthanas slipped to the tunnel opening, seeking a good location from which to use his bow. Laurana and Flint hurried down the tunnel’s slight incline and ventured out into the open. Feal-Thas did not hear them or see them, nor did the wolves. They were focused on the prey at hand, focused on the kill.

Tasslehoff had been having fun flipping his glasses up and down, seeing an elf one moment and a wolf the next. When this grew boring, he took off the glasses, looked about, and saw that he was alone.

Gilthanas had taken up a position at the end of the tunnel. He had drawn his bow and was nocking an arrow. Laurana, her frostreaver in her hands, was slipping up behind the pack of wolves. Flint was behind her, keeping one eye on the wolves and the other on Laurana.

“Try to hit his back, lass,” Flint told her. “Aim for the biggest part of him, and put your own back into it!”

Tas hurriedly thrust the glasses into a pocket and reached into his belt. There was Rabbitslayer, just where it always was, whether he had thought to bring it or not.

“Maybe after this I’ll rename you Wolf-Killer,” he promised the knife.

Tas started after his friends. He hadn’t been paying attention to Laurana’s orders to keep quiet, and he was about to raise his voice in a gleeful taunt when the words stuck in his throat.

The knights closed ranks, facing, as best they could, the coming onslaught. The wolves padded toward them, their eyes glittering red in the eerie light. Then snow began to fall, magical snow, drifting down out of the air. The light dimmed, hampering their ability to see.

“You damn fool!” Aran swore savagely at Derek, his voice rising in fury with each word. “You bloody, stupid, arrogant fool! What do you say now? What bloody words of wisdom are you going to spout at us before we all die?”

“Aran,” said Brian softly, his mouth so dry he could barely speak, “you’re not helping …”

Sturm was to Brian’s left. Sturm stood tall and steadfast, his sword point unwavering, his gaze fixed on the wolves. He was talking, but only to himself, the words low and barely audible. Brian realized Sturm was praying, asking for Paladine to aid them, commending their souls to the god.

Brian wished in sudden agony that he believed in a god—any god! That he was not staring into a hideous, eternally silent, eternally empty void. That the pain and the terror held some meaning, that his life held some meaning. That his death would have some value. That he had not found love at last only to lose it in an icy cave on some pointless venture. A bitter taste flooded his mouth. The gods might have returned, but too late for him.

“Brightblade, be silent,” said Derek, his voice rasping. “All of you, silence.”

He was the cool, calm commander, the leader in charge of the situation, a courageous example, an inspiration to his men as described in the Measure. If he had doubts, he wasn’t giving in to them. He believed in something, Brian thought. Derek believed in Derek, and he couldn’t understand why they didn’t believe in him as well. He expects us to die believing in him, Brian suddenly realized. That struck him as funny, and he gave a crackle of bitter laughter that brought another sharp rebuke from Derek.

“Pay attention!”

“To what?” Aran raved. “To the fact that we’re going to die horribly, torn apart by wild beasts, our bones hauled off to be gnawed in some den—”

“Shut up!” Derek shouted furiously. “All of you, shut up!’

According to the Measure, the leader never shouted, never lost his calm demeanor, never wavered or doubted, never showed fear …

Snowflakes fell into Brian’s eyelashes. He blinked them away rapidly, keeping his gaze fixed on the wolves. As if acting on some unheard signal, the wolves suddenly came at them in a rush.

Sturm gave a great roar of defiance and swung his sword in a slashing arc. A huge white wolf fell at his feet, blood welling from a wound in its neck.

Another wolf came bounding at Brian, snarling, fangs glistening. It suddenly sailed sideways, its body skidding on the ice. Brian saw, as it slid past him, an arrow sticking out of its ribs. A second arrow took another wolf in midair, felling it. Brian had no time to wonder or to look around. An enormous wolf galloped over the snow, charging at him. Brian tried to hit it with the blade of his sword, but the wolf, launching itself into the air, leaped on top of him. Huge paws thudded into his chest. The wolf’s weight bore Brian to the ground. His sword flew out of his gloved hands and went spinning away over the ice.

The wolf’s breath was hot on his face, smelling of rotting meat. Yellow teeth slashed his flesh. Saliva, now red with blood—his blood—splashed over him. The wolf had him pinned. He pummeled it with his hands, to no avail. The wolf sank its fangs into Brian’s neck, and he screamed. He knew he screamed, but, horribly, there was no sound except gurgling. The wolf savaged his neck, ready to rip out his throat. Then it gave a hideous yelp and tumbled or was kicked off him. Brian looked up to see Sturm yank his sword out of the wolf’s flank.

Sturm bent over him. Brian could barely see him in the falling snow.

Sturm gripped Brian’s hand, held it fast, even as he stabbed and slashed with his sword, fending off more wolves.

“I’ll get up in a minute,” Brian meant to tell him. “I’ll help you fight. I just have to … catch my breath …”

Brian held onto Sturm’s hand and tried to breathe, but no breath would come.

He held Sturm’s hand and the snow fell and the flakes were cold upon his lips and … he let go …

Laurana saw Brian fall. She saw Sturm bending over him, still fighting, trying to keep the wolves from attacking him. A wolf leaped on Sturm’s shoulders. With an enormous effort, he rose up, heaving the beast off him. The wolf landed on its back. Sturm drove his sword into its belly, and the beast yelped and snapped in pain, feet flailing in the air.

Aran fought expertly. His sword was slippery-wet with blood, and bodies lay about his feet. The wolves fell back, eyeing him, then several ganged up to bring him down. One dashed in behind him, digging its sharp fangs through his leather boot, sinking deep into his ankle, severing the tendon. Aran stumbled and the wolves leapt on him, snarling and growling, ripping and tearing. Aran cried out, shouting for help. Sturm could do nothing, could not come to his aid. A wolf had hold of the sleeve of his sword arm and was trying to drag him off-balance. Sturm beat at it with his fist, trying to force the jaws loose.

Laurana heard Aran’s cries and turned to look. “Flint, go help him!” she shouted.

Flint looked at her, frowning, doubtful, not wanting to leave her.

“Go!” she said urgently.

Flint cast her an agonized glance, then ran to Aran’s aid. The dwarf descended on the attacking wolves, coming at them from behind. Flint roared and hacked, and his axe was soon red with gore. The wolves, maddened with the smell of fresh blood, paid him little heed. They continued their assault on Aran, who had ceased to struggle. One wolf died with its teeth still clamped in Aran’s flesh.

Flint dragged the carcass off Aran, then stood over the knight’s body, fending off the wolves.

“Reorx aid me!” Flint cried, swinging his axe and the steel, covered with blood, flared red in the tunnel light. The wolves did not like the light and kept clear, but they continued to eye him.

“Aran?” Derek cried, half-turning. But he was fighting his own battle and could not see what had happened.

Flint glanced down at Aran, buried beneath wolf carcasses, but he dared not take his attention from the wolves. “Tas,” Flint yelled. “I need you! Over here! See to Aran,” he ordered as Tas came dashing up.

Tasslehoff frantically shoved and kicked aside the bloody bodies until he found Aran. The knight’s eyes were wide open and unblinking as the snowflakes fell into them. Half his face had been torn off. Blood pooled and froze on the ice beneath him.

“Oh, Flint!” Tas cried, choking in dismay.

Flint glanced over his shoulder.

“Reorx walk with him,” he said gruffly.

Tas yelled a warning, and Flint turned, swinging his axe as more wolves descended on them.

Sturm put his back to Derek’s, to keep the wolves from taking them down from behind as they had Aran. The two men stood in a circle of bodies. Some of the wolves, wounded, whimpered and tried futilely to stand. Others lay still. The ice was red with gore. The knights’ swords were slippery with blood that ran down the blade and gummed up the hilt. They were sweating beneath the fur coats. Their breath came fast and frosted their mustaches and eyebrows. The wolves watched, waiting for an opening. Every so often, an arrow would fly through the darkness and take down another, but by now Gilthanas was running low on arrows, and he had to make every shot tell.

“Aran?” Derek asked harshly, gasping for breath.

“Dead,” said Sturm, breathing hard.

That was all. Derek did not ask about Brian. Derek knew the answer. At one point, he had almost fallen over his friend’s body. The wolves closed in again.