Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

water!”
    “Most observant.”
    “But the kender’s map—”
    “Dated before the Cataclysm,” Tanis interrupted. “Damn it, I should have known! I should have considered this possibility! Tarsis the Beautiful—legendary seaport, now landlocked!”
    “And has been for three hundred years, undoubtedly,” Raistlin whispered.
    “When the fiery mountain fell from the sky, it created seas—as we saw in Xak Tsaroth—but it also destroyed them. What do we do with the refugees now, Half-Elf?”
    “I don’t know,” Tanis snapped irritably. He stared down at the city, then turned away. “It’s no good standing around here. The sea isn’t going to come back just for our benefit.” He turned away and walked slowly down the cliff.
    “What
will
we do?” Caramon asked his brother. “We can’t go back to Southgate. I know something or someone was dogging our footsteps.” He glanced around worriedly. “I feel eyes watching—even now.”
    Raistlin put his hand through his brother’s arm. For a rare instant, the two looked remarkably alike. Light and darkness were not more different than the twins.
    “You are wise to trust your feelings, my brother,” Raistlin said softly. “Great danger and great evil surround us. I have felt it growing on me since the people arrived in Southgate. I tried to warn them—” He broke off in a fit of coughing.
    “How do you know?” Caramon asked.
    Raistlin shook his head, unable to answer for long moments. Then, when the spasm had passed, he drew a shuddering breath and glanced at his brother irritably. “Haven’t you learned yet?” he said bitterly. “I
know!
Put it at that. I paid for my knowledge in the Towers of High Sorcery. I paid for it with my body and very nearly my reason. I paid for it with—” Raistlin stopped, looking at his twin.
    Caramon was pale and silent as always whenever the Testing was mentioned. He started to say something, choked, then cleared his throat. “It’s just that I don’t understand—”
    Raistlin sighed and shook his head, withdrawing his arm from his brother’s. Then, leaning on his staff, he began to walk down the hill. “Nor will you,” he murmured. “Ever.”
    Three hundred years ago, Tarsis the Beautiful was Lordcity of the lands of Abanasinia. From here set sail the white-winged ships for all the known lands of Krynn. Here they returned, bearing all manner of objects, precious and curious, hideous and delicate. The Tarsian marketplace was a thing of wonder. Sailors swaggered the streets, their golden earringsflashing as brightly as their knives. The ships brought exotic peoples from distant lands to sell their wares. Some dressed in gaily colored, flowing silks, bedizened with jewels. They sold spices and teas, oranges and pearls, and bright-colored birds in cages. Others, dressed in crude skins, sold luxuriant furs from strange animals as grotesque as those who hunted them.
    Of course, there were buyers at the Tarsian market as well; almost as strange and exotic and dangerous as the sellers. Wizards dressed in robes of white, red, or black strode the bazaars, searching for rare spell components to make their magic. Distrusted even then, they walked through the crowds, isolated and alone. Few spoke even to those wearing the white robes, and no one ever cheated them.
    Clerics, too, sought ingredients for their healing potions. For there were clerics in Krynn before the Cataclysm. Some worshiped the gods of good, some the gods of neutrality, some the gods of evil. All had great power. Their prayers, for good or for evil, were answered.
    And always, walking among all the strange and exotic peoples gathered in the bazaar of Tarsis the Beautiful, were the Knights of Solamnia: keeping order, guarding the land, living their disciplined lives in strict observance of the Code and the Measure. The Knights were followers of Paladine, and were noted for their pious obedience to the gods.
    The walled city of Tarsis had its own army and—so