Running through the wide hallway, she sped swiftly past the second portcullis. Knights stood there, poised and ready to drop it.
‘Keep it open!’ she gasped breathlessly. ‘Remember!’
They nodded. She sped on. Now she was in the dark, narrower chamber where the oddly shaped, toothlike pillars slanted toward her with razor sharpness. Behind the pillars, she saw white faces beneath gleaming helms. Here and there, light sparkled on a dragonlance. The knights peered at her as she ran past.
‘Get back!’ she shouted. ‘Stay behind the pillars.’
‘Sturm?’ one asked.
Laurana shook her head, too exhausted to talk. She ran through the third portcullis—the strange one, the one with a hole in the center. Here stood four knights, along with Flint. This was the key position. Laurana wanted someone here she could depend on. She had no time for more than an exchange of glances with the dwarf, but that was enough. Flint read the story of his friend in her face. The dwarf’s head bowed for a moment, his hand covering his eyes.
Laurana ran on. Through this small room, beneath double doors made of solid steel and then into the chamber of the dragon orb.
Tasslehoff had dusted the orb with his handkerchief. Laurana could see inside it now, a faint red mist swirling with a myriad of colors. The kender stood before it, staring into it, his magical glasses perched upon his small nose.
‘What do I do?’ Laurana gasped, out of breath.
‘Laurana,’ Tas begged, ‘don’t do this! I’ve read—if you fail to control the essence of the dragons within the orb, the dragons will come, Laurana, and take control of you!’
‘Tell me what I need to do!’ Laurana said firmly.
‘Put your hands on the orb,’ Tas faltered, ‘and—no—wait, Laurana!’
It was too late. Laurana had already placed both slender hands upon the chill crystal globe. There was a flash of color from inside the orb, so bright Tas had to avert his eyes.
‘Laurana!’ he cried in his shrill voice. ‘Listen! You must concentrate, clear your mind of everything except bending the orb to your will! Laurana...’
If she heard him, she made no response, and Tas realized she was already caught up in the battle for control of the orb. Fearfully he remembered Fizban’s warning, death for those you love, worse—the loss of the soul. Only dimly did he understand the dire words written in the flaming colors of the orb, but he knew enough to realize that Laurana’s soul was at balance here.
In agony he watched her, longing to help—yet knowing that he did not dare do anything. Laurana stood for long moments without moving, her hands upon the orb, her face slowly draining of all life. Her eyes stared deep into the spinning, swirling colors. The kender grew dizzy looking at it and turned away, feeling sick. There was another explosion outside. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. Tas stirred uneasily. But Laurana never moved.
Her eyes closed, her head bent forward. She clutched the orb, her hands whitening from the pressure she exerted. Then she began to whimper and shake her head. ‘No,’ she moaned, and it seemed as if she were trying desperately to pull her hands away. But the orb held them fast.
Tas wondered bleakly what he should do. He longed to run up and pull her away. He wished he had broken this orb, but there was nothing he could do now. He could only stand and watch helplessly.
Laurana’s body gave a convulsive shudder. Tas saw her drop to her knees, her hands still holding fast to the orb. Then Laurana shook her head angrily. Muttering unfamiliar words in elven, she fought to stand, using the orb to drag herself up. Her hands turned white with the strain and sweat trickled down her face. She was exerting every ounce of strength she possessed. With agonizing slowness, Laurana stood.
The orb flared a final time, the colors swirled together, becoming many colors and none. Then a bright, beaming, pure white light poured from the orb. Laurana stood tall and straight before it. Her face relaxed. She smiled.
And then she collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.
In the courtyard of the High Clerist’s Tower, the dragons were systematically reducing the stone walls to rubble. The army was nearing the Tower, draconians in the forefront, preparing to enter through the breached walls and kill anything left alive inside. The Dragon Highlord circled above the chaos, his blue dragon’s nostril black with dried blood. The Highlord supervised the destruction of the Tower. All was proceeding well when the bright daylight was pierced by a pure white light beaming out from the three huge, gaping entryways into the Tower.
The dragon riders glanced at these light beams, wondering casually what they portended. Their dragons, however, reacted differently. Lifting their heads, their eyes lost all focus. The dragons heard the call.
Captured by ancient magic-users, brought under control by an elfmaiden—the essence of the dragons held within the orb did as it was bound to do when commanded. It sent forth its irresistible call. And the dragons had no choice but to answer that call and try desperately to reach its source.
In vain the startled dragon riders tried to turn their mounts. But the dragons no longer heard the riders’ commanding voices, they heard only a single voice, that of the orb. Both dragons swooped toward the inviting portcullises while their riders shouted and kicked wildly.
The white light spread beyond the Tower, touching the front ranks of the dragonarmies, and the human commanders stared as their army went mad.
The orb’s call sounded clearly to dragons. But draconians, who were only part dragon, heard the call as a deafening voice shouting garbled commands. Each one heard the voice differently, each one received a different call.
Some draconians fell to their knees, clutching their heads in agony. Others turned and fled an unseen horror lurking in the Tower. Still others dropped their weapons and ran wildly, straight toward the Tower. Within moments an organized, well-planned attack had turned into mass confusion as a thousand draconians dashed off shrieking in a thousand directions. Seeing the major part of their force break and run, the goblins promptly fled the battlefield, while the humans stood bewildered amidst the chaos, waiting for orders that were not forthcoming.
The Dragon Highlord’s own mount was barely kept in control by the Highlord’s powerful force of will. But there was no stopping the other two dragons or the madness of the army. The Highlord could only fume in impotent fury, trying to determine what this white light was and where it was coming from. And—if possible—try to eradicate it.
The first blue dragon reached the first portcullis and sped inside the huge entryway, its rider ducking just in time to avoid having his head taken off by the wall. Obeying the call of the orb, the blue dragon flew easily through the wide stone halls, the tips of her wings just barely brushing the sides.
Through the second portcullis she darted, entering the chamber with the strange, toothlike pillars. Here in this second chamber she smelled human flesh and steel, but she was so in thrall to the orb she paid no attention to them. This chamber was smaller, so she was forced to pull her wings close to her body, letting momentum carry her forward.
Flint watched her coming. In all his one hundred forty-some years, he had never seen a sight like this...and he hoped he never would again. The dragonfear broke over the men confined in the room like a stupifying wave. The young knights, lances clutched in their shaking hands, fell back against the walls, hiding their eyes as the monstrous, blue-scaled body thundered past them.
The dwarf staggered back against the wall, his nerveless hand resting feebly on the mechanism that would slide shut the portcullis. He had never been so terrified in his life. Death would be welcome if it would end this horror. But the dragon sped on, seeking only one thing—to reach the orb. Her head glided under the strange portcullis.