Read Online Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night by Margaret Weis - Free Book Online Page B

Sturm is of noble blood, member of an order whose roots go back to ancient times. Why does he obey a bastard half-elf? And Riverwind? He distrusts all who are not human and half who are. Yet he and Goldmoon both would follow Tanis to the Abyss and back. Why?”
    “I
have
wondered,” Laurana began, “and I think—”
    But Raistlin, ignoring her, answered his own question. “Tanis listens to his feelings. He does not suppress them, as does the knight, or hide them, as does the Plainsman. Tanis realizes that sometimes a leader must think with his heart and not his head.” Raistlin glanced at her. “Remember that.”
    Laurana blinked, confused for a moment, then, sensing a tone of superiority in the mage which irritated her, she said loftily, “I notice you leave out yourself. If you are as intelligent and powerful as you claim, why do you follow Tanis?”
    Raistlin’s hourglass eyes were dark and hooded. He stopped talking as Caramon brought his twin a cup and carefully poured water from the kettle. The warrior glanced at Laurana, his face dark, embarrassed and uncomfortable as always whenever his brother went on like this.
    Raistlin did not seem to notice. Pulling a pouch from his pack, he sprinkled some green leaves into the hot water. A pungent, acrid smell filled the room. “I do not follow him.” The young mage looked up at Laurana. “For the time being, Tanis and I simply happen to be traveling in the same direction.”
    “The Knights of Solamnia are not welcome in our city,” the Lord said sternly, his face serious. His dark gaze swept the rest of the company. “Nor are elves, kender, or dwarves, or those who travel in their company. I understand you also have a magic-user with you, one who wears the red robes. You wear armor. Your weapons are blood-stained and come quickly and readily to your hands. Obviously you are skilled warriors.”
    “Mercenaries, undoubtedly, milord,” the constable said.
    “We are not mercenaries,” Sturm said, coming to stand before the bench, his bearing proud and noble. “We come out of the northern Plains of Abanasinia. We freed eight hundred men, women, and children from the Dragon Highlord, Verminaard, in Pax Tharkas. Fleeing the wrath of the dragonarmies, we left the people hidden in a valley in the mountains and traveled south, hoping to find ships in the legendary city of Tarsis. We did not know it was landlocked, or we would not have bothered.”
    The Lord frowned. “You say you came from the north? That is impossible. No one has ever come safely through the mountain kingdom of the dwarves in Thorbardin.”
    “If you know aught of the Knights of Solamnia, you know we would die sooner than tell a lie—even to our enemies,” Sturm said. “We entered the dwarven kingdom and won safe passage by finding and restoring to them the lost Hammer of Kharas.”
    The Lord shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the draconian who sat behind him. “I do know somewhat of the knights,” he said reluctantly. “And therefore I must believe your story, though it sounds more a child’s bedtime tale than—”
    Suddenly the doors banged open and two guards strode in, roughly dragging a prisoner between them. They thrust the companions aside as they flung their prisoner to the floor. The prisoner was a woman. Heavily veiled, she was dressed in long skirts and a heavy cape. She lay for a moment on the floor, as if too tired or defeated to rise. Then, seeming to make a supreme effort of will, she started to push herself up. Obviously no one was going to assist her. The Lord stared at her, his face grim and scowling. The draconian behind him had risen to its feet and was looking down at her with interest. The woman struggled, entangled in her cape and her long, flowing skirts.
    Then Sturm was at her side.
    The knight had watched in horror, appalled at this callous treatment of a woman. He glanced at Tanis, saw the ever-cautious half-elf shake his head, but the sight of the woman making a