innermost pocket of his robes an ordinary-looking sack, t sack that contained the dragon orb. His skeletal fingers tre bled as he tugged on the drawstring. The bag opened. Reach' in, Raistlin grasped the dragon orb and brought it forth.

held it easily in his palm, inspecting it closely to see if there h been any change.

No. A faint green color still swirled within. It still felt as col

274

I tt.t UNACiUNS Ut• WIN ~l EN NIGHT

to the touch as if he held a hailstone. Smiling, Raistlin clasped the orb tightly in one hand while he fumbled through the props beneath the table. He finally found what he sought-a crudely carved, three-legged wooden stand. Lifting it up, Raistlin set it on the table. It wasn't much to look at-Flint would have scoffed. Raistlin had neither the love nor the skill needed to work wood. He had carved it laboriously, in secret, shut up

inside the jouncing wagon during the long days on the road. No, it was not much to look at, but he didn't care. It would suit

his purpose.

Placing the stand upon the table, he set the dragon orb on it. The marble-sized orb looked ludicrous, but Raistlin sat back,

waiting patiently. As he had expected, soon the orb began to grow. Or did it? Perhaps he was shrinking. Raistlin couldn't tell. He knew only that suddenly the orb was the right size. If anything was different, it was he that was too small, too insignificant to even be in the same room with the orb.

The mage shook his head. He must stay in control, he knew, and he was immediately aware of the subtle tricks the orb was playing to undermine drat control. Soon these tricks would not be subtle. Raistlin felt his throat tighten. He coughed, cursing

his weak lungs.. Drawing a shuddering breath, he forced himself to breathe deeply and easily.

Relax, he thought. Z must relax. I do not fear. I am strong. Look what I have done! Silently he called upon the orb: Look at the power I have attained" Witness what I did in Darken Wood.

Witness what I did in Siivanesti. I am strong. I do not fear.

The orb's colors swirled softly. It did not answer.

The mage closed his eyes for a moment, blotting the orb

from sigh t. Regaining control, he opened them again, regarding the orb with. a sigh. The moment approached.

The dragon orb was now back to its original size. He could almost see Lorac's wizened hands grasping it. The young mage shuddered involuntarily. No! Stop it! he told himself firmly, and immediately banished the vision from his mind.

Once more he relaxed, breathing regularly, his hourglass eyes focused on the orb. Then-slowly-he stretched forth his slender, metallic-colored fingers. After a moment's final hesita

tion, Raistiin placed his hands upon the cold crystal of the dragon orb and spoke the ancient words.

DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

"Ast bilak moiparalan; Suh akvlar tantangusar:"

How did he know what to say? I-low did he know what ancient words would cause the orb to understand him, to be aware of his presence? Raistlin did not know. He knew only thatsomehow, somewhere-inside of him, he did know the words! The voice that had spoken to him in Silvanesti? Perhaps. It didn't matter.

Again he said the words aloud.

"Ast bilak rnoiparalan: Sub akvlar tantangusar.!"

Slowly the drifting green color was submerged in a myriad swirling, gliding colors that made him dizzy to watch. The crystal was so cold beneath his palms that it was painful to touch. Raistlin had a terrifying vision of pulling away his hands and leaving the flesh behind, frozen to the orb. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and whispered the words again.

The colors ceased to swirl. A light glowed in the center, a light neither white nor black, all colors, yet none. Raistlin swallowed, fighting the choking phlegm that rose in his throat.

Out of the light came two hands! He had a desperate urge to withdraw his own, but before he could move, flue two hands grasped his in a grip both strong and firm. The orb vanished! The room vanished! Raistlin saw nothing around trim No light. No darkness. Nothing? Nothing. . .but two hands, balding his. Out of sheer terror, Raistlin concentrated on those hands.

Human? Elven? Old? Young'' He could not tell. The fingers,

were long and slender, but their grip was the grip of death. Let

go and he would fall into the void to drift until merciful dark

ness consumed him. Even as he clung to those hands with F

strength lent him by ?ear, Raistlin realized the hands were

slowly drawing, him nearer, drawing him into . . . into….

Raistlin came to himself suddenly, as i? someone had dashed cold water in his face. No! he told the mind that he sensed con• trolled the hands. I will not go! Though he feared losing t ha saving grip, he feared even more being dragged where he did not want to go. He would not let loose. I will maintain control he told the mind of the hands savagely. Tightening, has own grip, the mage summoned amp;I of his strength, all of his will, and pulled flue hands toward him!

The hands stopped. Fair a moment, the two wills vied

THE DRAGONS OF WINTER NIGHT

together, locked in a life-or-death contest, Raistlin felt the strength ebb from his body, his hands weakened, the palms began to sweat. He felt the hands of the orb begin to pull him again; ever so slightly. In agony, Raistlin summoned every drop of blood, focused every nerve, sacrificed every muscle in his frail body to regaining control.

Slowly . . . slowly . . , just when he thought his pounding heart would burst from his chest or his brain explode in fireRaistlin felt the hands cease their tug. They still maintained their firm grip on him-as he maintained his firm grip on them. But the two were no longer in contest. His hands and the hands of the dragon orb remained locked together, each conceding respect, neither seeking dominance.

The ecstasy of the victory; the ecstasy of the magic flowed through Raistlin and burst forth, wrapping him in a warm,

golden light. His body relaxed. Trembling, he felt the hands hold him gently, support him, lend him strength.

What are you' he questioned silently. Are you good? Evil?

I am neither. I am nothing. I am everything. The essence of dragons captured long ago is what I am.

How do you work? Raistlin asked. How do you control the dragons?

At your command, I will call them to me. They cannot resist my call. They -fill obey.

Will they turn upon their masters? Will they fall under my c command?

That depends on the strength of the master and the bond

between the two. In some instances, this is so strong that the master can maintain control of the dragon. But most will do what you ask of them. They cannot help themselves.

I rust study this, Raistlin murmured, feeling himself growing weaker. I d•5 not understand . . . .

,Be easy. I will aid you. Now that we have joined, you may

seek my help often. I knows.. of many secrets long forgotten. They can be yours.

What secrets' . . . Raistlin felt himself losing consciousness. The strain had been too much. He struggled to keep his hold on the hands, but he felt his grip slipping.

The hands held onto him gently, as a mother holds a child. relax: I will not let you fall. Sleep. You are weary.

DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

Tell me! I must know! Raistlin cried silently.

This only I will tell you, then you must rest. In the library of Astinus of Palanthas are books, hundreds of books, taken there by the mages of old in the days of the Lost Battle. To aI! who look at these books, they seem nothing more than encyclopedias of magic, dull histories of mages who died in the taverns of time.

Raistlin saw darkness creeping toward him. He clutched at the hands.