Dragons of a Vanished Moon Page 7

  “I am not going to fight you,” said Razor impatiently. “What honor is there in fighting a blind foe? The goat you seek is over to your left, about two talon-lengths away. My mate’s skull is in one of those totems. Perhaps, if we had not been brought to this place, she would be alive today. Still,” the Blue added moodily, slashing his tail, “Takhisis is my goddess.”

  Mirror had no help to offer the Blue. Mirror had solved his own crisis of faith. His had been relatively easy, for none of his kind had ever worshiped Takhisis. Their love and their loyalty belonged to Paladine, God of Light.

  Was Paladine out there somewhere searching for his lost children? After the storm, the metallic dragons left to find the gods, or so Skie had said. They must have failed, for Takhisis remained unrivaled. Yet, Mirror believed, Paladine still exists. Somewhere the God of Light is looking for us. Takhisis shrouds us in darkness, hides us from his sight. Like castaways lost at sea, we must find a way to signal those who search the vast ocean that is the universe.

  Mirror settled down to devour the goat. He did not offer to share. The Blue would be well fed, for he could see his prey. When Mirror walked the land in human form, he carried a begging bowl, lived off scraps. This was the first fresh meat he’d eaten in a long time and he meant to enjoy it. He had some notion now of what he could do, if he could only find the means to do it. First, though, he had to rid himself of this Blue, who appeared to think he had found a friend.

  Blues are social dragons, and Razor was in no hurry to leave. He settled down to chat. He had seemed initially a dragon of few words, but now they poured out of him, as though he was relieved to be able to tell someone what was in his heart. He described the death of his mate, he spoke with sorrow and pride of Marshal Medan, he talked about a Dark Knight dragonrider named Gerard. Mirror listened with half his brain, the other half toying with an idea.

  Fortunately, eating saved him from the necessity of replying beyond a grunt or two. By the time Mirror’s hunger was assuaged, Razor had once more fallen silent. Mirror heard the dragon stir and hoped that finally the Blue was ready to leave.

  Mirror was mistaken. Razor was merely shifting his bulk to obtain a more comfortable position.

  If I can’t get rid of him, Mirror decided dourly, I’ll make use of him.

  “What do you know of the dragon-skull totems?” Mirror asked cautiously.

  “Enough.” Razor growled. “As I said, my mate’s skull adorns one of them. Why do you ask?”

  “Skie said something about the totems. He said”—Mirror had to do some fancy mental shuffling to keep from revealing all Skie had said about the totems and the missing metallic dragons—“something about Takhisis having taken them over, subverted them to her own use.”

  “What does that mean? It’s all very vague,” Razor stated.

  “Sorry, but he didn’t say anything more. He sounded half crazy when he said it. He may have been raving.”

  “From what I have heard, one person alone knows the mind of Takhisis, and that is the girl Mina, the leader of the One God’s armies. I have spoken to many dragons who have joined her. They say that this Mina is beloved of Takhisis and that she carries with her the goddess’s blessing. If anyone knows the mystery of the totems, it would be Mina. Not that this means much to you, Silver.”

  “On the contrary,” Mirror said thoughtfully, “it might mean more than you imagine. I knew Mina as a child.”

  Razor snorted, skeptical.

  “I am Guardian of the Citadel, remember?” Mirror said. “She was a foundling of the Citadel. I knew her.”

  “Perhaps you did, but she would consider you her enemy now.”

  “So one would think,” Mirror agreed. “But she came upon me only a few months ago. I was in human shape, blind, weak, and alone. She knew me then and spared my life. Perhaps she remembered our experiences together when she was a child. She was always asking questions—”

  “She spared you out of sentimental weakness.” Razor snorted. “Humans, even the best of them, all have this failing.”

  Mirror said nothing, carefully hid his smile. Here was a blue dragon who could grieve for his dead rider and still chide a human for being sentimentally attached to people from her youth.

  “Still, in this instance, the failing could prove useful to us,” Razor continued. He gave a refreshing shake, from his head to the tip of his tail, and flexed his wings. “Very well. We will confront this Mina, find out what is going on.”

  “Did you say ‘we’?” Mirror asked, astounded. He truly thought he hadn’t heard correctly, although the words “we” and “I” in the language of dragons are very distinct and easily distinguished.

  “I said”—Razor lifted his voice, as though Mirror were deaf, as well as blind—“that we will go together to confront this Mina and demand to know our Queen’s plans—”

  “Impossible,” said Mirror shortly. Whatever he himself planned, it did not involve partnering with a Blue. “You see my handicap.”

  “I see it,” said Razor. “A grievous injury, yet it does not seem to have stopped you from doing what you needed to do. You came here, didn’t you?”

  Mirror couldn’t very well deny that. “I travel on foot, slowly. I am forced to beg for food and shelter—”

  “We don’t have time for such nonsense. Begging! Of humans!” Razor shook his head so that his scales rattled. “I would think you would have much rather died of starvation. You must ride with me. Time is short. Momentous events are happening in the world. We don’t have time to waste trudging along at a human’s pace.”

  Mirror didn’t know what to say. The idea of a blind silver dragon riding on the back of a Blue was so utterly ludicrous as to make him sorely tempted to laugh out loud.

  “If you do not come with me,” Razor added, seeing that Mirror was apparently having trouble making up his mind, “I will be forced to slay you. You speak very glibly about certain information Skie gave you, yet you are vague and evasive when it comes to the rest. I think Skie told you more than you are willing to admit to me. Therefore you will either come with me where I can keep an eye on you, or I will see to it that the information dies with you.”

  Mirror had never more bitterly regretted his blindness than at this moment. He supposed that the noble thing to do would be to defy the Blue and die in a brief and brutal battle. Such a death would be honorable, but not very sensible. Mirror was, so far as he knew, one of two beings on Krynn who were aware of the departure of his fellow gold and silver dragons, who had flown off on the wings of magic to find the gods, only to be trapped and imprisoned by the One God. Mina was the other being who knew this, and although Mirror did not think that she would tell him anything, he would never know for certain until he had spoken to her.

  “You leave me little choice,” said Mirror.

  “Such was my intent,” Razor replied, not smug, merely matter-of-fact.

  Mirror altered his form, abandoning his strong, powerful dragon body for the weak, fragile body of a human. He took on the aspect of a young man with silver hair, wearing the white robes of a mystic of the Citadel. He wore a black cloth around his hideously injured eyes.

  Moving slowly on his human feet, he groped about with his human hands. His shuffling footsteps stumbled over every rock in the lair. He slipped in Skie’s blood and fell to his knees, cutting the weak flesh. Mirror was thankful for one blessing—he did not have to see the look of pity on Razor’s face.

  The Blue was a soldier, and he made no gibes at Mirror’s expense. Razor even guided Mirror’s steps with a steadying talon, assisted him to crawl upon the Blue’s broad back.

  The stench of death was strong in the lair where lay Skie’s maltreated corpse. Both Blue and Silver were glad to leave. Perched on the ledge of the cavern, Razor drew in a breath of fresh air, spread his wings and took to the clouds. Mirror held on tightly to the Blue’s mane, pressed his legs into Razor’s flanks.

  “Hold on,” Razor warned. He soared high into the air, wheeled abo
ut in a huge arc. Mirror guessed what Razor planned and held on tightly, as he’d been ordered.

  Mirror felt Razor’s lungs expand, felt the expulsion of breath. He smelt the brimstone and heard the sizzle and crackle of lightning. A blast and the sound of rock splitting and shattering, then the sound of tons of rock sliding down the cliff face, rumbling and roaring amidst the thunder of the lightning bolt. Razor unleashed another blast, and this time it sounded to Mirror as if the entire mountain was falling into rubble.

  “Thus passes Khellendros, known as Skie,” said Razor. “He was a courageous warrior and loyal to his rider, as his rider was loyal to him. Let this might be said of all of us when it comes our time to depart this world.”

  His duty done to the dead, Razor dipped his wings in a final salute, then wheeled and headed off in a different direction. Mirror judged by the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck that they were flying east. He held fast to Razor’s mane, feeling the rush of wind strong against his face. He envisioned the trees, red and gold with the coming of autumn, like jewels set against the green velvet cloth of the grasslands. He saw in his mind the purple-gray mountains, capped by the first snows of the seasons. Far below, the blue lakes and snaking rivers with the golden blot of a village, bringing in the autumn wheat, or the gray dot of a manor house with all its fields around it.

  “Why do you weep, Silver?” Razor asked.

  Mirror had no answer, and Razor, after a moment’s thought, did not repeat the question.

  6

  The Stone Fortress of the Mind

  he Wilder elf known as the Lioness watched her husband with growing concern. Two weeks had passed since they had heard the terrible news of the Queen Mother’s death and the destruction of the elven capital of Qualinost. Since that time, Gilthas, the Qualinesti’s young king, had barely spoken a word to anyone—not to her, not to Planchet, not to the members of their escort. He slept by himself, covering himself in his blanket and rolling away from her when she tried to offer him the comfort of her presence. He ate by himself, what small amount he ate. His flesh seemed to melt from his bones, and he’d not had that much to spare. He rode by himself, silent, brooding.

  His face was pale, set in grim, tight lines. He did not mourn. He had not wept since the night they’d first heard the dreadful tidings. When he spoke, it was only to ask a single question: how much farther until they reached the meeting place?

  The Lioness feared that Gilthas might be slipping back into the old sickness that had plagued him during those early years of his enforced rulership of the Qualinesti people. King by title and prisoner by circumstance, he had fallen into a deep depression that left him lethargic and uncaring. He had often spent days sleeping in his bed, preferring the terrors of the dream world to those of reality. He had come out of it, fighting his way back from the dark waters in which he’d nearly drowned. He’d been a good king, using his power to aid the rebels, led by his wife, who fought the tyranny of the Dark Knights. All that he had gained seemed to have been lost, however. Lost with the news of his beloved mother’s death and the destruction of the elven capital.

  Planchet feared the same. His Majesty’s bodyguard and valet-de-chamber, Planchet had been responsible, along with the Lioness, for luring Gilthas away from his nightmare world back to those who loved and needed him.

  “He blames himself,” said the Lioness, riding alongside Planchet, both gazing with concern on the lonely figure, who rode alone amidst his bodyguards, his eyes fixed unseeing on the road ahead. “He blames himself for leaving his mother there to die. He blames himself for the plan that ended up destroying the city and costing so many hundreds of lives. He cannot see that because of his plan Beryl is dead.”

  “But at a terrible cost,” said Planchet. “He knows that his people can never return to Qualinost. Beryl may be dead, but her armies are not destroyed. True, many were lost, but according to the reports, those who remain continue to burn and ravage our beautiful land.”

  “What is burned can be restored. What is destroyed can be rebuilt. The Silvanesti went back to their homes to fight the dream,” said the Lioness. “They took back their homeland. We can do the same.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Planchet returned, his eyes fixed on his king. “The Silvanesti fought the dream, but look where it led them—to even greater fear of the outside world and an attempt to isolate themselves inside the shield. That proved disastrous.”

  “The Qualinesti have more sense,” insisted the Lioness.

  Planchet shook his head. Not wanting to argue with her, he let the subject drop. They rode several miles in silence, then Planchet said quietly, “You know what is truly wrong with Gilthas, don’t you?”

  The Lioness said nothing for long moments, then replied softly, “I think I do, yes.”

  “He blames himself for not being among the dead,” said Planchet.

  Her eyes filling with tears, the Lioness nodded.

  Much as he now loathed this life, Gilthas was forced to live it. Not for his sake, for the sake of his people. Lately he began to wonder if that was reason enough to go on enduring this pain. He saw no hope for anyone, anywhere in this world. Only one thin strand tethered him to this life: the promise he had made to his mother. He had promised Laurana that he would lead the refugees, those who had managed to escape Qualinesti and who were waiting for him on the edges of the Plains of Dust. A promise made to the dead is a promise that must be fulfilled.

  Still, they never rode past a river but he looked into it and imagined the peace he would find as the waters closed over his head.

  Gilthas knew his wife grieved for him and worried about him. He knew or suspected that she was hurt that he had withdrawn from her, retreated to the stone-walled fortress in which he hid from the world. He would have liked to open the gates and let her come inside, but that required effort. He would have to leave the sheltered corner in which he’d taken refuge, advance into the sunlight, cross the courtyard of memory, unlock the gate to admit her sympathy, a sympathy he did not deserve. He couldn’t bear it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  Gilthas blamed himself. His plan had proven disastrous. His plan had brought destruction to Qualinesti and its defenders. His plan had caused his mother’s death. He shrank from facing the refugees. They would think him a murderer—and rightly so. They would think him a coward—and rightly so. He had run away and left his people to die. Perhaps they would accuse him of having deliberately plotted the Qualinesti’s downfall. He was part human, after all. In his depression, nothing was too outrageous or fantastic for him to believe.

  He toyed with the idea of sending an intermediary, of avoiding facing the refugees directly.

  “How very like the coward you are,” Gilthas said to himself with a sneer. “Shirk that responsibility, as you’ve shirked others.”

  He would face them. He would suffer their anger and pain in silence as his due. He would relinquish the throne, would hand over everything to the Senate. They could choose another ruler. He would return to the Lake of Death, where lay the bodies of his mother and his people, and the pain would end.

  Thus were the dark thoughts of the young elven king as he rode, day after day, by himself. He looked straight ahead toward a single destination—the gathering place for the refugees of Qualinost, those who had, through the gallant efforts of the dwarves of Thorbardin, escaped through tunnels that the dwarves had dug deep beneath the elven lands. There to do what he had to do. He would fulfill his promise, then he would be free to leave … forever.

  Sunk in these musings, he heard his wife’s voice speak his name.

  The Lioness had two voices—one her wifely voice, as Gilthas termed it, and the other her military commander voice. She made the shift unconsciously, not aware of the difference until Gilthas had pointed it out to her long ago. The wife’s voice was gentle and loving. The commander’s voice could have cut down small trees, or so he teasingly claimed.

  He closed his ears to the gentle and loving wife’s voice, for
he did not feel he deserved love, anyone’s love. But he was king, and he could not shut out the voice of the military commander. He knew by the sound she brought bad news.

  “Yes, what is it?” he said, turning to face her, steeling himself.

  “I have received a report … several reports.” The Lioness paused, drew in a deep breath. She dreaded telling him this, but she had no choice. He was king. “The armies of Beryl that we thought were scattered and destroyed have regrouped and reformed. We did not think this was possible, but it seems they have a new leader, a man named Samuval. He is a Dark Knight, and he follows a new Lord of the Night, a human girl called Mina.”

  Gilthas gazed at his wife in silence. Some part of him heard and understood and absorbed the information. Another part crawled farther into the dark corner of his prison cell.

  “This Samuval claims he serves a god known as the One God. The message he brings his soldiers is this: The One God has wrenched Qualinesti from the elves and means to give it back to the humans, to whom this land rightly belongs. Now, all who want free land have only to sign on to serve with this Captain Samuval. His army is immense, as you can imagine. Every derelict and ne’er-do-well in the human race is eager to claim his share of our beautiful land. They are on the march, Gilthas,” the Lioness said in conclusion. “They are well armed and well supplied and moving swiftly to seize and secure Qualinesti. We don’t have much time. We have to warn our people.”

  “And then do what?” he asked.

  The Lioness didn’t recognize his voice. It sounded muffled, as if he were speaking from behind a closed door.

  “We follow our original plan,” she said. “We march through the Plains of Dust to Silvanesti. Only, we must move faster than we had anticipated. I will send riders on ahead to alert the refugees—”

  “No,” said Gilthas. “I must be the one to tell them. I will ride day and night if need be.”

  “My husband …” The Lioness shifted to the wife voice, gentle, loving. “Your health—”