At first, no one knew what had happened. The battle continued to rage with such a ferocity that surprised even Tanis, but there was something off. Something was missing, something had gone wrong, and the feeling soon started to permeate the air. The clashing of swords and the flying of arrows lessened in their intensity, battle cries died upon the lips of the warriors, and everyone stilled, looking around for the source of the . . . wrongness.
Tanis glanced around the battlefield as well, his breath heavy in his chest. It felt as if someone had slammed his overly large and meaty fist into his gut. The half-elf had to find the source of this unbearable weight, lest it cause him to drown.
As he gazed at the combatants on both sides, Tanis noticed blue hair lifted by a slight breeze. It was hard for him to not recognize Fayt Leingod. The young swordsman stood out from the rest of the warriors on the field because of his hair alone, but he also could cast spells, both healing kinds and offensive ones. He also did not need a moment's rest for each spell, which caused Raistlin all kinds of anger and baffled the new priests chosen by Goldmoon's blue disk. Fayt had created a whirlwind of questions, questions he never seemed able to answer to anyone's satisfaction. However, it was not lost on anyone that the rules of the Gods and Goddesses did not seem to apply to Fayt or even touched him in anyway. He was human yet he was not of this planet, and many fighting alongside Tanis and his companions felt Fayt would be lucky for their cause. Tanis never questioned how valuable Fayt was, either, except now something was wrong, and the half-elf feared it centered on Fayt. He gazed long and hard at the young man, noticing blossoms of red colour staining the white of Fayt's shirt and the blue of his pants. Tanis knew the red to be that of blood, and, at first, he assumed it to be that of the enemies Fayt had slain.
That was at first, but when Fayt stood there, his eyes fixated on one thing and his expression one of bewilderment, Tanis realized his error. Blood trickled down the young man's neck and from his mouth. Fear gripped the half-elf, and he started to run towards Fayt. Dread filled him the closer he drew to the young man, dread for his allies and his enemies alike. Other forces were at work where Fayt Leingod was concerned, forces equal in power to the gods who abandoned Krynn in the first place. Should he hit the ground . . . Tanis did not even want to imagine the disasters that would strike. The young swordsman had already changed the course of history. Tanis felt the knowledge flowing in his veins. He remembered things, events that had not happened yet and probably never would. He was not sure of what to make of the knowledge. He only knew Fayt needed to live, to continue with whatever his mission was, and it looked as if someone else had a different course of action that needed to be followed.
Behind Fayt stood a familiar face, an all-too-familiar person, her blue eyes glittering and dark hair covered by her dragon-lord helm. Her armor glinted like deep blue crystals in the sunlight. Her sword shimmered with Fayt's blood, something Tanis had not seen when he first glanced at the young swordsman. He willed himself to run faster.
To his horror and dismay, the sword Kitiara had driven through Fayt was the only thing keeping the young swordsman standing. Tanis imagined he heard the sword as it slid out of Fayt's back then could only watch as Fayt fell to his knees. The red blossoms grew and changed form until they were no longer blossoms staining Fayt's white, sleeveless shirt, but a solid river of crimson. Kitiara seemingly paid him no attention as Tanis reached him before he could collapse any further.
"Fayt . . ."
"Stand away from him, Tanis."
The tip of Kitiara's blade scraped along the half-elf's jawline, but Tanis spared her no glance, no attention. His eyes remained fixed on Fayt, and the blood, his life's blood, flowing from his chest and his mouth.
"Fayt . . ."
"He must die, Tanis."
The tip of her blade pressed closer into his skin, drawing blood. Tanis finally glanced at the one he thought he loved. He could not see her face thanks to her helm, but the half-elf knew he did not recognize her as the Kitiara he knew and loved.
"He must live, Kit," he murmured. "Too much depends on him."
"Too much depends on him dying, too."
"I can't let it happen."
Even as they spoke, Tanis heard Fayt gasping softly, almost inaudibly, for air. His face grew paler with each passing moment as more blood ran in a sickening torrent from the sword wound in the younger man's body. Knowing each second passing brought Fayt closer to death and unable to do more for him caused something inside Tanis to snap. Without any regard to the sword at his cheek or the fact Kitiara was more proficient with her weapon than he was, the half-elf lashed out, knocking the blade away with the backside of his arm. It was a futile attempt to fight back, to save someone who would die anyway, but Tanis had to try.
His move surprised Kitiara but only momentarily. She recovered quickly, keeping a firm grasp on her blade's hilt, and she brought it round to his throat.
"That," she said, "was not a wise move, Tanis."
"I had to try," he replied, not at all phased to be staring down her blade.
And then the ground shook as soon as the words passed his lips, tossing dirt and stones around as if they were nothing more than mere playthings. Try as he might, Tanis could not keep to his feet and neither could Kitiara. Plumes of brown and black dirt appeared in the half-elf's vision, blinding him and causing him to fall to the ground in a heap. Acrid smoke filled Tanis's lungs, and he forgot about Kitiara for the moment. With the foul smell choking him, all Tanis could think of was reaching Fayt and ensuring the young man did not die filled with fear and panic in his heart. It would be the worst thing in such an uproar for the young swordsman.
As carefully as he could manage, Tanis started to crawl in the direction he believed Fayt might be – to the half-elf's right. He tried to listen for the wheezing, gasping sounds of Fayt dying, but he found he could not hear anything over the rumbling sounds of the ground as it tossed and heave or over the screams and cries of surprise and terror of the armies. He thought he heard people calling out his name – Sturm, Flint, Tasselhoff, and Caramon, from the qualities of the voices – but he could barely croak out a reply to his friends and comrades. And he wanted to reach Fayt, to let him know he was not alone.
How long the ground shook and spewed smoke and earth, Tanis did not know. To him, it felt as if it lasted fifty years or more. He had lived that long, thanks to his Elven blood, and then longer still. He had experienced many things, but never any quite like what was currently taking place. Then, almost as suddenly as it had started, everything stilled. The earth quieted. Minutes, which passed like hours – long and excruciating – later, the smoke cleared, and Tanis saw Fayt's prone form covered in a thin layer of dirt and dust. His blood stained the ground, and Tanis saw his chest did not rise. The half-elf started to scramble to his feet and rush forward, towards the man with the blue hair.
"Tanis! Look out!"
It was the only warning he had from Sturm as the ground shook for another brief second. And Tanis understood why. He nearly fell backwards as a large dragon, half the size of a mountain, landed in front of him, one clawed foot resting over Fayt's body. Tanis gazed in bewildered shock at the dragon and its unusual white, silver, gold, and bronze colouring. Blue eyes gazed back at the half-elf, clear and icier than Tanis had ever known. He felt his breath catching in his chest again, and he wanted to shrivel into nothing under that penetrating, blue glare. Then those eyes, those dangerously cold and calculating eyes, left Tanis, allowing him to breathe once more, and gazed at the prone form under its foot. Behind him he heard Sturm and Flint approaching, their weapons undoubtedly drawn and ready for combat. Tanis held out his arms in an effort to stop them from a fruitless battle, and it worked. The moment they reached him, they halted, their eyes on the magnificent and yet dreadful creature before them.
The dragon, in the meantime, paid them no attention. Its slender snout touched upon Fayt's still body, nudging it and sniffing. There seemed to be a tenderness, an odd form of affection about the dragon's actions, like a child trying to awaken a beloved parent or a wife her husband. When it received no response from Fayt, its head shot straight towards the sky and let out a long, high-pitched keening that pierced ears and sent daggers into hearts.
A fear- and prayer-invoking roar followed the keening noise. Tanis covered his ears at the noise and fell to his knees. Still his gaze remained on the dragon, and he saw the skies darken with angry black clouds. Purple-white lightning graced the darkness, striking the ground near the dragon, and he heard a series of answering roars. The dragons and their riders under Kitiara's command were recovering from their shock and ready to continue the battle, especially with the newcomer to the scene. Of that, Tanis had no doubts.
A cool drop of water landed on his nose and above his eyes as the skies continued to grow blacker and angrier. The white dragon stretched its wings, casting an even greater darkness upon those on the ground. It was not long before the dragon took to the skies, Fayt's body grasped within its claws. Lightning struck the ground where they had been just moments before, and the cold, sickening feeling of dread crept further into the pit of Tanis's stomach.
It seemed as if his fears were correct – life was only to grow worse.