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

poisoned arrowtip. For this love must turn to poison, he knew. The Silvanesti were a proud and haughty race. Fearing contamination and the loss of their way of life, they refused to have even the slightest contact with humans. Thus the Kinslayer Wars had been fought.
    No, thought Tanis sadly, the silver moon itself was not higher or farther out of Sturm’s reach. The half-elf sighed. This was all they needed.

6
Knights of Solamnia.
Tasslehoff’s glasses of true seeing.

    A s the guards led the prisoners from the Hall of Justice, they passed two figures standing outside in the shadows. Both were so swathed in clothing it was difficult to tell to what race they belonged. Hoods covered their heads, their faces were wrapped in cloth. Long robes shrouded their bodies. Even their hands were wrapped in strips of white, like bandages. They spoke together in low tones.
    “See!” one said in great excitement. “There they are. They match the descriptions.”
    “Not all of them,” said the other dubiously.
    “But the half-elf, the dwarf, the knight! I tell you, it is them! And I know where the others are,” the figure added smugly. “I questioned one of the guards.”
    The other, taller figure considered, watching the group being led off down the street. “You are right. We should reportthis to the Highlord at once.” The shrouded figure turned, then stopped as it saw the other hesitate. “What are you waiting for?”
    “But shouldn’t one of us follow? Look at those puny guards. You know the prisoners will try and escape.”
    The other laughed unpleasantly. “Of course they’ll escape. And we know where they’ll go—to rejoin their friends.” The shrouded figure squinted up at the afternoon sun. “Besides, in a few hours it won’t make any difference.” The tall figure strode away, the shorter hurrying after.
    It was snowing when the companions left the Hall of Justice. This time, the constable knew better than to march his prisoners through the main city streets. He led them into a dark and gloomy alleyway that ran behind the Hall of Justice.
    Tanis and Sturm were just exchanging glances, and Gilthanas and Flint were just tensing to attack when the half-elf saw the shadows in the alley begin to move. Three hooded and cloaked figures leaped out in front of the guards, their steel blades gleaming in the bright sunlight.
    The constable put his whistle to his lips, but he never made a sound. One of the figures knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his sword, while the other two rushed the guards, who immediately fled. The hooded figures faced the companions.
    “Who are you?” Tanis asked, astounded at his sudden freedom. The hooded and cloaked figures reminded him of the hooded draconians they had fought outside of Solace. Sturm pulled Alhana behind him.
    “Have we escaped one danger only to find a worse?” Tanis demanded. “Unmask yourselves!”
    But one of the hooded men turned to Sturm, his hands raised in the air.
“Oth Tsarthon e Paran,”
he said.
    Sturm gasped.
“Est Tsarthai en Paranaith,”
he replied, then he turned to Tanis. “Knights of Solamnia,” he said, gesturing at the three men.
    “Knights?” Tanis asked in astonishment. “Why—”
    “There is no time for explanation, Sturm Brightblade,” one of the knights said in Common, his accent thick. “The guards will return soon. Come with us.”
    “Not so fast!” Flint growled, his feet planted firmly in the street, his hands breaking off the handle of a hauberk so that itsuited his short stature. “You’ll find time for explanations or I’m not going! How’d you know the knight’s name and how came you to be waiting for us—”
    “Oh, just run him through!” sang a shrill voice out of the shadows. “Leave his body to feed the crows. Not that they’ll bother; there’s few in this world who can stomach dwarf—”
    “Satisfied?” Tanis turned to Flint, who was red-faced with rage.
    “Someday,” vowed the dwarf, “I’ll