Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (27 page)

“Are you glad I rescued you, Flint?” asked Tasslehoff, walking alongside the scowling dwarf.

“No,” he answered, glowering, “and you didn’t rescue me, you doorknob. These knights did.” He cast Brian, who was keeping near the kender, a grudgingly grateful glance.

Tasslehoff grinned and winked conspiratorially at Brian, then said, “That’s a fine halberd you have there,

Flint!”

Flint had been about to toss away the broken weapon, but at the kender’s teasing, he held onto it firmly. “It suits my purpose,” he said, “and besides, it’s not a halberd. It’s a hauberk.”

“No, it isn’t!” Tasslehoff gave a smothered giggle. “A hauberk’s a shirt made of chain mail like the one Sir Brian is wearing. A halberd’s a weapon.”

Flint snorted. “What would a kender know about weapons?” He shook it at Tasslehoff, who was now so overcome with laughter he was having difficulty keeping up with his friends. “This is a hauberk!”

“Oh, yes! Just like that helm you’re wearing has the mane of a griffon! All of us know it’s horse hair,” Tasslehoff retorted.

Flint was already red in the face and puffing from the running. At this accusation, he went purple. He put his hand to the white tail that dangled down from his helm. “It is not! Horse hair makes me sneeze! This is the mane of a griffon!”

“But griffons don’t have manes!” Tasslehoff protested, skipping alongside the dwarf, pouches bouncing and spilling their contents. “Griffons have an eagle’s head and a lion’s body, not the other way around. Just like that’s a halberd, not a hauberk—”

“Is this or is this not a hauberk?” Flint demanded. He shoved his weapon practically in Sturm’s nose.

“That is what we knights know as a halberd,” said Sturm, moving the point away from the mysterious woman, who continued to hold onto his arm.

Tasslehoff gave a whoop of triumph.

“However,” Sturm added diplomatically, seeing Flint look chagrined, “I believe the Theiwar dwarves have a word for ‘halberd’ that sounds similar to ‘hauberk’? Perhaps that is what you were thinking, Flint.”

“That’s true!” stated Flint, his dignity upheld. “I … er … can’t rightly recall the word right at this moment, not being fluent in Theiwar, you understand, but it sounds like hauberk, which is what I meant.”

Tasslehoff grinned and seemed about to comment, but the half-elf, exchanging smiles with Sturm, put an end to the discussion by seizing hold of the kender and hustling him up to the front of the group so fast that his boots skimmed the street.

Brian was impressed by the good fellowship among this oddly assorted group of friends. He was particularly impressed with Sturm. He kept fast hold of the woman he had taken under his protection, and though clearly concerned with her, he had the patience to end the argument between the kender and the dwarf, while managing to maintain the dwarf’s dignity.

As if aware of what Brian was thinking, Sturm met his eye and gave a half-smile and a slight shrug of the shoulders.

They continued moving through the side streets, avoiding the major roads. Tanis Half-elven had hold of the kender and was keeping hold of him. The kender wriggled and squirmed in his friend’s grasp, his shrill voice raised in pleading. Whatever Tas wanted, Tanis was obviously having none of it.

They came to the marketplace, and here they would have to leave the side streets and move out into the open, taking the main road that led to the library. A few guards could be seen searching for them, but finding a handful of people amidst the throng of shoppers was going to be difficult and the guards were obviously not all that interested in capturing the escaped prisoners.

Brian recalled Lillith saying that something was wrong in this city. The guards apparently thought so, for they looked dour and unhappy. Ordinary citizens were still going about their business, but now that he paid attention, he saw people huddling together in knots, talking in hushed voices and glancing nervously over their shoulders. Sturm and the others kept their heads down, their eyes lowered, and did nothing to call attention to themselves. Obviously they’ve been in tense situations like this before, Brian realized. The half-elf even managed to squelch the kender.

They made their way safely through the market and came at last to the road that led to the old part of the city and the library. Here Tanis called a halt. Kender in tow, he came to speak to the knights.

“I thank you, sirs, for helping us,” Tanis said. “We must take our leave of you. We have friends in the Red Dragon Inn who have no idea what has happened—”

“You can’t, Tanis!” Tasslehoff cried. “I keep telling you! You have to come to the library to look at what I’ve found. It’s really, really important!”

“Tas, I don’t need to see another petrified frog,” Tanis said impatiently. “We have to go back to tell Laurana—”

“Oh, tell
Laurana!”
Tasslehoff said through a smothered giggle.

“
—and
Raistlin, Caramon, and the others that we are safe,” Tanis continued. “The last they saw of us, we were being taken off to prison. They will be worried.” He held out his hand. “Sir Derek, thank you—”

Tas took advantage of his friend’s distraction to give a wrench and a leap, and managed to twist himself out of Tanis’s grasp. Derek made a grab for the kender, but he missed, and Tas ran off down the alleyway.

“I’ll meet you in the library!” Tas called over his shoulder, waving his hand. “The knights know where!”

“I’ll go fetch him,” Flint offered, though he was so winded he stood doubled over, his hands on his knees. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

“No!” said Tanis. “We’re already split in two. I won’t have us going off in three directions. We keep together.”

Marcus volunteered to go after him, and he set off in pursuit.

“I say leave the kender and good riddance,” stated Flint.

“Actually, he
has
found something of vital importance,” said Derek. “I think you should come see what we have discovered.”

Brian and Aran exchanged startled glances.

“What are you doing?” Aran asked Derek, drawing him to one side. “I thought this dragon orb was a secret.”

“I’m going to need the half-elf’s cooperation,” Derek said in a low voice. “I intend to take the kender with us to Icereach—”

“You’re joking!” Aran exclaimed, horrified.

“I never joke,” said Derek sternly. “He’s the only one who can translate these magical writings for us. We will need him.”

“He won’t go,” said Brian. “He won’t leave his friends.”

“Then Brightblade must persuade him, or better yet, I will order Brightblade to accompany us.”

“He’s not a knight, Derek, as you keep reminding us,” said Brian. “He doesn’t have to obey your orders.”

“He will unless he wants me to tell his friends the truth,” said Derek harshly. “He can make himself useful on the journey minding the horses and the kender.”

They had kept their voices low, but Sturm must have heard his name mentioned for he looked over at them to see Derek’s disapproving gaze fixed on his breastplate. Sturm flushed, then turned away.

Derek, don’t do this
, Brian begged his friend silently.
Just let it be. Let them go their way and we’ll go ours
.

He had the unhappy feeling that wasn’t going to happen.

“Come with us, Brightblade,” Derek called, making it sound like an order.

The half-elf and the dwarf exchanged troubled glances, then both looked at Sturm, who had not heard, for he was talking in low and reassuring tones to the veiled woman.

“Mark my words—this isn’t going to end well,” the dwarf predicted “and it’s all the fault of that rattlebrained kender!”

The half-elf gave a deep sigh and nodded his head in gloomy agreement.

“They don’t know the half of it!” Aran remarked.

He took out his flask, hefted it, found it was empty. He shook it. Nothing came out.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now I have to put up with Derek while I’m sober.”

7

A last kiss. Fine and blood.

he knights and their newfound companions arrived back at the library without incident. Marcus had returned to report that Tas was safely back at the library, regaling Lillith with his tale of how they had fought off six hundred Tarsian guards and a wandering giant.

“Brian,” said Derek, “before we enter the library, go fetch Brightblade. Tell him I want to speak with him.”

Brian sighed deeply, but went to do as he was told.

Sturm Brightblade came of an honored family and he had the backing of Lord Gunthar, who was an old and valued friend of the family. When Sturm had asked that he be considered for knighthood, Lord Gunthar had supported the young man. It was Derek who had opposed Sturm’s nomination to enter the knighthood on various grounds: Sturm had not been raised in Solamnia; he had been raised by his mother, his father having been absent during his formative years; Sturm was not properly educated; he had not served as a squire to a knight; and most damning, Derek had hinted that Sturm’s parentage was subject to question.

Fortunately Sturm had not been present to hear all that Derek had said about him and his family, or there would have been bloodshed in the council hall. As it was, Lord Gunthar had answered the charges, arguing vehemently in favor of his young friend, but Derek’s charges had been enough to sink Sturm’s candidacy.

Rumor had it that when Sturm heard rumors of what Derek had said, the young man had tried to challenge Derek to a contest of honor. That was not possible, however. A mere nobody, such as Sturm Brightblade, could not challenge a Lord Knight of the Rose to mortal combat. Feeling himself disgraced, Sturm had determined to leave Solamnia. In vain, Lord Gunthar had tried to persuade Sturm to remain. Gunthar urged him to wait a year, and his name could be submitted again. In the meantime, Sturm could refute Derek’s charges. Sturm refused. He left Solamnia shortly after, taking with him his inheritance—his father’s sword and armor, part of which he was now wearing, though he had no right to do so.

Two proud and stubborn men, Brian thought, both at fault.

“We need to talk to you, Sturm,” said Brian. “In private. Perhaps the lady would like to take some time to rest,” he concluded awkwardly.

Sturm escorted the veiled woman to a stone bench near what had once been a marble fountain. He gallantly brushed off the snow, removed his cloak, and spread it out on the bench, then graciously assisted her to seat herself. The true elf, whose name was Gilthanas, had not spoken a word to any of them this entire time. He sat protectively beside the woman. Tanis stood fidgeting, looking about. He nodded in acquiescence when Sturm told him he was going to speak with his friends.

Derek led the way to a place where they could talk in private and not be overheard. Brian, who had the dread feeling he knew what was coming, found a chance to say a quick word to Sturm, holding him back when he would have followed Derek.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for what happened to you—in regard to the knighthood. Derek’s my friend and there’s no man I love and honor more,” Brian smiled ruefully, “but he can be a horse’s rear end sometimes.”

Sturm made no reply. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground. His face was dark with anger.

“All of us have our failings,” Brian continued. “If Derek would ever take off his armor, we’d find a human being underneath, but he can’t take off that armor, Sturm. He’s just not made that way. He expects perfection of everyone, especially himself.”

Sturm seemed to soften at this. He looked less grim.

“When the dragonarmies overran Castle Crownguard,” Brian continued, “a dragon killed his younger brother, Edwin. That is, we assume he is dead.” He paused a moment, thinking back to that terrible time, and said quietly, “We hope he is dead. Derek’s wife and child are now forced to reside with her father, because Derek cannot provide a house to shelter her. How must any man feel about that, especially a man as proud as Derek? He has nothing left, except the knighthood, this quest of his—” Brian sighed “—and his pride. Remember that, Sturm, and forgive him, if you can.”

Having said this, Brian walked away, lest Derek should suspect he’d said anything. Sturm was silent, stiff and formal when he joined Derek. Aran, peering over Derek’s helm, looked at Brian and lifted his eyebrows in a question. Brian could only shake his head. He had no idea what Derek was doing.

“Brightblade,” said Derek abruptly, “we have had our differences in the past …”

Sturm’s body trembled, his hands clenched. He said nothing, but gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement.

“I remind you that according to the Measure, in time of warfare, all personal animosities must be set aside. I am willing to do so,” Derek added, “if you are. I prove it by taking you into our confidence. I am going to reveal to you the nature of our quest.”

Brian was astonished, as all of a sudden he realized what Derek was doing. He felt himself growing so angry he had to choke back the harsh words; Derek was being conciliatory to Sturm because he needed the kender.

Sturm hesitated, then gave a great sigh, as though letting go a heavy burden, and said quietly, “I am honored by your trust, my lord.”

“You have leave to tell your friends of our mission,” Derek said, “but this must go no further.”

“I understand,” said Sturm. “I answer for their honor as for my own.”

Considering that he was speaking for outlandish folk, such as dwarves and half-elves, Derek raised an eyebrow at this, but he let it go. He needed the kender.

Derek was about to proceed when Aran interrupted.

“Is it true you killed a Dragon Highlord in Pax Tharkas?” he asked with interest.

“My friends and I assisted in a slave uprising in Pax Tharkas that resulted in the death of the Highlord,” Sturm replied.

Aran was impressed. “No need to be modest, Brightblade. You must have had more to do with it than that, for your name to be on the Highlord’s bounty list!”

“Is it?” Sturm asked, startled.

“It is. Your name and those of your companions. Show him, Brian.”

“We can do that another time. We have more important matters to discuss now,” said Derek, casting Aran an irate glance. “We have been sent by the Knight’s Council to find and bring back to Sancrist a valuable artifact called a dragon orb. We heard rumors that this orb might be found in Icereach, and we have stopped here at the ancient library to try to gain more information. The kender has been of valuable assistance to us in this.”

Sturm smoothed his mustaches, embarrassed and uneasy. “I do not like to speak ill of anyone, my lords, especially Tasslehoff, whom I have known for many years and whom I consider a friend—”

Derek frowned at the thought of anyone considering a kender a friend, but fortunately, Sturm didn’t notice.

“—you should be aware, however, that Tas, while a very good-hearted person, is known to sometimes … er … fabricate—”

“If you are trying to say that the kender is a little liar, I am aware of that,” stated Derek impatiently. “The kender is not lying now. We have proof of the veracity of his claims. I think you and your friends should come see for yourselves.”

“If Tasslehoff has been able to help you, I am glad. I’m sure Tanis will want to speak to him,” Sturm added wryly. “Now, if there is nothing more to discuss—”

“Just one thing—who is the woman in the veil?” Brian asked curiously, glancing over his shoulder.

The woman was still seated on a bench, speaking to the true elf and the half-elf. The dwarf stumped about nearby.

“Lady Alhana, daughter of the King of Silvanesti,” Sturm answered. His gaze warmed as it fell upon her.

“Silvanesti!” Aran repeated, amazed. “She is far from home. What is a Silvanesti elf doing in Tarsis?”

“The reach of the Dark Queen is long,” said Sturm gravely. “The dragonarmies are about to invade her homeland. The lady has risked her life to travel to Tarsis in search of mercenaries to help the elves fight off their foes. It was for that she was arrested. Mercenaries are not welcome in this city, nor are those who seek to hire them.”

“Do you mean to say the dragonarmies have moved so far south that they threaten to attack Silvanesti?” asked Brian, aghast.

“So it would seem, my lord,” Sturm replied. He glanced at Derek and said in tones of sympathy and regret, “I hear war has come to Solamnia as well.”

“Castle Crownguard fell to the dragonarmies, as did Vingaard,” said Derek stolidly, “and all the realm to the east. Palanthas yet stands, as does the High Clerist’s’ Tower, but the fiends may launch an attack at any moment.”

“I am sorry, my lord,” said Sturm earnestly, and he looked Derek in the eye for the first time. “Truly sorry.”

“We do not need sympathy. What we need is the power to drive these butchers from our homeland,” Derek replied harshly. “That is why this dragon orb is of such vital importance. According to the kender, it confers upon the one who masters it the ability to control dragons.”

“If that is true, it would indeed be good news for all of us who fight for the cause of freedom,” Sturm said. “I will go inform my friends.”

He walked off to speak to the half-elf.

“Now, I suppose we must be civil to these people,” said Derek dourly, and bracing himself, he went to join Sturm.

Aran stared after him. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you, Brian? He’s being nice to Brightblade so he will help us keep hold of the kender. Otherwise, Derek wouldn’t give Sturm the back of his hand.”

“Maybe,” Brian admitted. “though, to do him justice, I honestly believe Derek doesn’t think of it like that. In his mind, he’s doing this for Solamnia.”

Aran tugged on his mustaches. “You’re a good friend to him, Brian. I wish he deserved you.”

He started to reach for his flask, then remembered it was empty, and with a sigh sauntered off to make the acquaintance of Sturm Brightblade’s regrettable friends.

As it turned out, one was not so regrettable, not even to Derek, who felt no reduction of his dignity upon being introduced to the Lady Alhana. The Solamnics had not been ruled by a king for many centuries, but the knights were still respectful of royalty and charmed by it, especially by such surpassingly beautiful royalty as Alhana Starbreeze.

They proceeded to the library, where they found the kender perusing books with the magical glasses. The half-elf, who had been presented to them as Tanis Half-Elven, was inclined to be severe with Tas for running off, but eventually Tanis relented, when it appeared that Tasslehoff was actually able to read the ancient texts and was not making it all up.

While the knights and the kender and his friends were talking, Brian slipped away to go in search of Lillith. He had been disappointed to find, on his return, that she had left upon some errand. He went back to the entrance and found Marcus peering nervously up the stairs.

“There’s a bad feeling in the air,” he said. “Do you notice?”

Brian remembered Aran saying the same thing not so long ago. Now that Marcus had called his attention to it, Brian did feel ill-at-ease. As Aran had said, it was as though someone were walking across his grave.

“Where’s Lillith?” Brian asked.

“She’s praying in our chapel,” Marcus replied. He indicated a room off to one side of the main entrance. Another door, marked with the book and the scales, stood partway ajar.

Brian was startled by this. He didn’t know what to do.

“It’s just … we might be leaving soon … I wanted to see her …”

“You can go in,” Marcus said, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt—” “It’s all right.”

Brian hesitated, then he walked over and gently pushed on the door.

The chapel was quite small, large enough for only a few people at a time. At the far end was an altar. On the altar lay an open book and beside it was a scale of balance, perfectly poised so that both sides were equal. Lillith was not kneeling, as Brian had half expected. She sat cross-legged before the altar, very much at her ease. She was speaking in a low voice, but it did not seem that she was praying so much as holding a conversation with her god, for she would occasionally emphasize a point with a gesture.