Dragons of a Vanished Moon Page 10

  “What of death knights such as Lord Soth?” Lord Ulrich argued. The pudgy Lord Ulrich had lost considerable weight during the long, dispirited journey. Loose skin sagged around his mouth. His usually cheerful face was solemn, his bright eyes shadowed.

  “You prove my point, my lord,” Odila replied coolly. “Soth was cursed by the gods. Only a god has such power. And this god is powerful.”

  She raised her voice to be heard among the angry cries and denunciations. “You have seen that for yourself! What other force could create legions of souls and claim the loyalty of the dragons. You saw them! You saw them on the walls of Solanthus—red and white, black and green and blue. They were not there in the service of Beryl. They were not there in the service of Malys or any other of the dragon overlords. They were there in the service of Mina. And Mina is there in the service of the One God.”

  Odila’s words were drowned out by jeers and boos, but that meant only that she’d struck a weak point in their armor. None could deny a word she said.

  Lord Tasgall, the elder Knight, graying, upright, stern of bearing and countenance, shouted repeatedly for order and banged his sword hilt upon the table. Eventually order was restored. He looked at Odila, who remained standing, her head with its two thick, black braids thrown back in defiance, her face flushed.

  “What is your proposal—” he began, and when one of the Knights hissed, the Lord Knight silenced him with a withering glance.

  “We are a people of faith,” said Odila. “We have always been people of faith. I believe that this god is trying to speak to us and that we should listen—”

  The Knights thundered in anger, many shaking their fists.

  “A god who brings death!” cried one, who had lost his brother in the battle.

  “What of the old gods?” Odila shouted back. “They dropped a fiery mountain on Krynn!”

  Some of the Knights were silenced by this, had no argument. Others continued to rant and rage.

  “Many Solamnics lost their faith after the Cataclysm,” Odila continued. “They claimed that the gods had abandoned us. Then we came to find out during the War of the Lance that we were the ones who had abandoned the gods. And after the Chaos War, when we woke to find the gods missing, we cried out again that they had left us. Perhaps again that is not the case. Perhaps this Mina is a second Goldmoon, coming to bring us the truth. How do we know until we investigate? Ask questions?”

  How, indeed? Gerard asked himself, the seeds of a plan starting to take root in his mind. He couldn’t help but admire Odila, even as he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. She alone had the courage to say aloud what needed to be said. Too bad she lacked the tact to say it in such a way that didn’t start fistfights.

  The hall erupted into chaos with people arguing for and against and Lord Tasgall banging his sword hilt with such force that chips flew from the wooden table. The wrangling continued far into the night, and eventually two resolutions were presented for consideration. A small but vocal group wanted to ride to Ergoth, where the Knights still held firm, there to lick their wounds and build up their strength. This plan was favored by many until someone sourly pointed out that if Sanction fell they might build up their strength from now until the end of forever and they wouldn’t be strong enough to retake all that they had lost.

  The other resolution urged the Knights to march to Sanction, there to reinforce the Knights already defending that disputed city. But, argued the minority, how do we even know they mean to go to Sanction? Why would this girl give away her plans? It is a trick, a trap. Thus they argued, back and forth. No one mentioned anything about the One God.

  The council itself was divided. Lord Ulrich was in favor of riding to Sanction. Lord Siegfried, who replaced the late Lord Nigel on the council, was from Ergoth and argued that the Knights would do better to retreat.

  Gerard glanced at Odila, who stood near him. She was thoughtful and very quiet, her eyes dark and shadowed. She apparently had no more arguments to present, nothing more to say. Gerard should have realized silence was a bad sign for the glib-tongued young woman. As it was, he was too absorbed in his own thoughts and plans to pay much attention to her beyond wondering what she’d expected to accomplish in the first place. When next he looked around at her, to ask her if she wanted to go get something to eat, he found that she had gone.

  Lord Tasgall rose to his feet. He announced that the council would take both matters under advisement. The three retired to discuss the matter in private.

  Thinking that his own proposed plan of action might aid their decision making, Gerard left his fellows, who were still arguing, and went in search of the Lord Knights. He found them closeted in what had once been an old chapel dedicated to the worship of Kiri-Jolith, one of the old gods and one favored by the Solamnic Knights.

  Retainers in the service of Lord Ulrich stood guard at the door. Gerard told them he had a matter of urgency to bring before the council and then, having been standing for hours, he sank thankfully onto a bench outside the chapel to await the Lord Knights’ pleasure. While he waited, he went over his plans once more, searching for any flaw. He could find none. Confident and excited, he waited impatiently for the Knights to summon him.

  At length, the guard came to him and said that they would see him now. As Gerard entered the old chapel, he realized that the council had already reached a decision. He guessed, by the way Lord Ulrich was smiling, that the decision was to march to Sanction.

  Gerard was kept waiting a moment longer while Lord Siegfried conferred in a low voice with Lord Tasgall. Gerard glanced with interest around the old chapel. The walls were made of rough-hewn stone, the floor lined with wooden benches, worn smooth by years of use. The chapel was small, for it was a private chapel, intended for the family and servants. An altar stood at the front. Gerard could just barely make out the symbol of Kiri-Jolith—the head of a buffalo—carved in relief.

  Gerard tried to picture in his mind what the chapel had been like all those many years ago, when the Lord Knight and his lady wife and their children, their retinue and their servants, had come to this place to worship their god. The ceiling would have been hung with bright banners. The priest—probably a stern, warrior-type—would have taken his place at the front as he prepared to read from the Measure or relate some tale of Vinas Solamnus, the founder of the Knighthood. The presence of the god would have been felt in this chapel. His people would have been comforted by that presence and would have left to go about their daily lives strengthened and renewed.

  His presence was lacking now, when it was sorely needed.

  “We will hear you now, Sir Gerard,” said Lord Tasgall with a touch of impatience, and Gerard realized with a start that this was the second time he’d been addressed.

  “I beg your pardon, my lords,” said Gerard, bowing.

  Receiving an invitation to advance and speak, he did so, outlining his plan. The three Knights listened in silence, giving no hint of their feelings. In conclusion, Gerard stated, “I could provide you with the answer to one question, at least, my lords—whether in truth this Mina does intend to march to Sanction or if that was a ruse to divert us from her true goal. If so, I might be able to discover the nature of that goal.”

  “The risk you run is very great,” observed Lord Siegfried, frowning.

  “ ‘The greater the risk, the greater the glory,’ ” quoted Lord Ulrich, with a smile.

  “I would it were so, my lord,” said Gerard with a shrug, “but, in truth, I will not be in all that much danger. I am known to the Dark Knights, you see. They would have little reason to question my story.”

  “I do not approve of the use of spies,” stated Lord Siegfried, “much less one of our own Knights acting in such a demeaning capacity. The Measure forbids it.”

  “The Measure forbids a lot of things,” said Lord Tasgall dryly. “I, for one, tend to choose common sense over rules that have been handed down in the distant past. I do not command y
ou to do this, Sir Gerard, but if you volunteer—”

  “I do, my lord,” said Gerard eagerly.

  “—then I believe that you can be of inestimable help to us. The council has determined that the Knights will ride to the support of Sanction. I am convinced that this Mina does mean to attack and therefore we cannot delay. However, I would be glad to receive confirmation of this and to learn of any plans she has for the capture of the city. Even with dragons, she will find her way difficult, for there are many underground structures where armies can be safely concealed from attack.”

  “Then, too, her own armies may be susceptible to the dragonfear,” stated Lord Ulrich. “She may use dragons against us, only to watch helplessly as her own troops flee the field in terror.”

  The dead won’t flee in terror, thought Gerard, but he kept that thought to himself. He knew by their grim expressions and grimmer faces that the Knights understood that as well as he did.

  “Good luck to you, Sir Gerard,” said Lord Tasgall, rising to his feet to shake hands.

  Lord Ulrich also shook hands heartily. Lord Siegfried was stiff and solemn and clearly disapproving, but he made no further argument and actually wished Gerard luck, although he did not shake hands.

  “We’ll say nothing of this plan to anyone, gentlemen,” said Lord Tasgall, glancing around at the others.

  This agreed to, Gerard was about to take his departure when the retainer entered to say that a messenger had arrived with urgent news.

  Since this might have some impact on Gerard’s plan, Lord Tasgall gave a sign that he was to remain. The messenger entered. Gerard was alarmed to recognize a young squire from the household of Lord Warren, commander of the outpost of Solamnic Knights that protected Solace, location of Gerard’s last posting. Gerard tensed, sensing dire news. The young man was mud-spattered, his clothes travel-worn. He strode forward, came to stand in front of Lord Tasgall. Bowing, he held out a sealed scrollcase.

  Lord Tasgall opened the scrollcase, drew out the scroll, and began to read. His countenance changed markedly, his eyebrows raised. He looked up, amazed.

  “Do you know what this contains?” Lord Tasgall asked.

  “Yes, my lord,” answered the squire. “In case the message was lost, I committed it to memory to relate to you.”

  “Then do so,” said Lord Tasgall, leaning on the table. “I want these gentlemen to hear. I want to hear myself,” he added in a low voice, “for I can scarce believe what I have read.”

  “My lords,” said the squire, facing them, “three weeks ago, the dragon Beryl launched an attack against the elven nation of Qualinesti.”

  The Knights nodded. None were surprised. Such an attack had been long foreseen. The messenger paused to draw breath and consider what he would say next. Gerard, in a fever of impatience to hear news of his friends in Qualinesti, was forced to clench his fists to keep from dragging the information out of the man’s throat.

  “My lord Warren regrets to report that the city of Qualinost was completely destroyed in the attack. If the reports we have received are to be believed, Qualinost has disappeared off the face of Ansalon. A great body of water covers the city.”

  The Knights stared, astounded.

  “The elves did manage to take their enemy down with them. The dragon overlord, Beryl, is dead.”

  “Excellent news!” said Lord Ulrich.

  “Perhaps there is a god, after all,” said Lord Siegfried, making a weak joke at which no one laughed.

  Gerard bounded across the room. Grasping the startled messenger by the collar, Gerard nearly lifted the young man off the floor. “What of the elves, damn you? The Queen Mother, the young king? What of them? What has happened to them?”

  “Please, sir—” the messenger exclaimed, rattled.

  Gerard dropped the gasping young man. “I beg your pardon, sir, my lords,” he said, lowering his strident tones, “but I have recently been in Qualinesti, as you know, and I came to care deeply for these people.”

  “Certainly, we understand, Sir Gerard,” said Lord Tasgall. “What news do you have of the king and the royal family?”

  “According to the survivors who managed to reach Solace, the Queen Mother was killed in the battle with the dragon,” said the messenger, eyeing Gerard distrustfully and keeping out of his reach. “She is being proclaimed a hero. The king is reported to have escaped safely and is said to be joining the rest of his people, who fled the dragon’s wrath.”

  “At least with the dragon dead, the elves can now go back to Qualinesti,” said Gerard, his heart heavy.

  “I am afraid that is not the case, my lord,” the messenger replied grimly. “For although the dragon is dead and her armies dispersed, a new commander arrived very shortly afterward to take control. He is a Knight of Neraka and claims he was present during the attack on Solanthus. He has rallied what was left of Beryl’s armies and overrun Qualinesti. Thousands flock to his standard for he has promised wealth and free land to all who join him.”

  “What of Solace?” asked Lord Tasgall anxiously.

  “For the moment, we are safe. Haven is free. Beryl’s forces who held control of that city abandoned their posts and traveled south to be in on the looting of the elven nation. But my lord believes that once this Lord Samuval, as he calls himself, has a firm grip on Qualinesti, he will next turn his gaze upon Abanasinia. Thus does my lord request reinforcements.…”

  The messenger paused, looked from one lord Knight to another. None met the man’s pleading gaze. They looked at each other and then looked away. There were no reinforcements to send.

  Gerard was so shaken that he did not immediately recognize the name Samuval and call to mind the man who had escorted him through Mina’s camp. He would remember that only when he was on the road to Solanthus. For now, all he could think about was Laurana, dying in battle against the great dragon, and his friend and enemy, the Dark Knight commander, Marshal Medan. True, the Solamnics would never mention him or name Medan a hero, but Gerard guessed that if Laurana had died, the gallant Marshal had preceded her in death.

  Gerard’s heart went out to the young king, who must now lead his people in exile. Gilthas was so young to have such terrible responsibility thrust upon him, young and untried. Would he be up to the task? Could anyone, no matter how old and experienced, be up to that task?

  “Sir Gerard …”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You have leave to go. I suggest that you depart tonight. In all the turmoil, no one will think to question your disappearance. Do you have everything you need?”

  “I need to make arrangements with the one who is to carry my messages, my lord.” Gerard had no more luxury for sorrow. Someday, he hoped to have the chance to avenge the dead. But, for now, he had to make certain that he did not join them. “Once that is accomplished, I am ready to depart on the instant.”

  “My squire, Richard Kent, is young, but sensible, and an expert horseman,” said Lord Tasgall. “I will appoint him to be your messenger. Would that be satisfactory?”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Gerard.

  Richard was summoned. Gerard had seen the young man before and been impressed with him. The two soon settled where Richard was to wait to hear from Gerard and how they were going to communicate. Gerard saluted the Knights of the council, then departed.

  Leaving the chapel of Kiri-Jolith, Gerard entered the sodden wet courtyard, ducked his head to keep the rain out of his eyes. His first thought was to find Odila, to see how she was faring. His second and better thought convinced him to leave her alone. She would ask questions about where he was going and what he was planning, and he’d been ordered to tell no one. Rather than lie to her, he decided it would be easier to not speak to her at all.

  Taking a circuitous route to avoid the possibility of bumping into her or anyone else, he went to gather up what he needed. He did not take his armor, nor even his sword. Going to the kitchen, he packed some food in a saddlebag, snagged some water, and a thick cape that had bee
n hung in front of the fire to dry. The cape was still damp in places and smelled strongly of wet sheep that had been baked in an oven, but it was ideal for his purpose. Clad only in his shirt and breeches, he wrapped himself in the cape and headed for the stables.

  He had a long ride ahead of him—long, wet, and lonely.

  9

  The Plains of Dust

  he rain that drenched the northlands of Ansalon and was such a misery to the Solamnic Knights would have been welcome to the elves in the south, who were just starting their journey through the Plains of Dust. The Qualinesti elves had always gloried in the sun. Their Tower was the Tower of the Sun; their king, the Speaker of the Sun. The sun’s light banished the darkness and terrors of the night, brought life to the roses and warmth to their houses. The elves had loved even the new sun, that had appeared after the Chaos War, for though its light seemed feeble, pale, and sickly at times, it continued to bring life to their land.

  In the Plains of Dust, the sun did not bring life. The sun brought death.

  Never before had any elf cursed the sun. Now, after only a few days’ travel through the empty, harsh land under the strange, glaring eye of this sun—an eye that was no longer pale and sickly but fierce and unforgiving as the eye of a vengeful goddess—the elves grew to hate the sun and cursed it bleakly as it rose with malevolent vindictiveness every morning.

  The elves had done what they could to prepare for their journey, but none, except the runners, had ever traveled so far from their homeland, and they had no idea what to expect. Not even the runners, who maintained contact with Alhana Starbreeze of the Silvanesti, had ever crossed the Plains of Dust. Their routes took them north through the swamp land of the dragon overlord Onysablet. Gilthas had actually considered trying to travel these routes, but rejected the idea almost immediately. While one or two could creep through the swamps undetected by the dragon or the evil creatures who served her, an entire populace could not escape her notice. The runners reported that the swamp grew darker and more dangerous, as the dragon extended her control over the land, so that few who ventured into it these days came out alive.