Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (10 page)

any warmth behind these eyes and because these eyes always fo-

cused upon their objective with unblinking intensity, Gerard's

blue eyes tended to repel more people than they attracted.

"Bah!" Caramon dismissed beauty and comeliness with a

Wave of his fork. "Women don't care about a man's looks. They

want a man of honor, of courage. A young Knight your age. . .

How old are you?"

"I have seen twenty-eight years, sir," Gerard replied. Finish-

ing his porridge, he shoved the bowl to one side. "Twenty-eight

boring and thoroughly wasted years."

"Boring?" Caramon was skeptical. "And you a Knight? I was

in quite a few wars myself. Battles were lots of things, as I recall,

but boring wasn't one of them-"

"I have never been in battle, sir," said Gerard and now his

tone was bitter. He rose to his feet, placed a coin upon the table.

"If you will excuse me, I am on duty at the tomb this morning.

This being Midyear Day, and consequently a holiday, we expect

an influx of rowdy and destructive kender. I have been ordered to

report to my post an hour early. I wish you joy of the day, sir, and

I thank you for your company."

He bowed stiffly, turned on his heel as if he were already per-

forming the slow and stately march before the tomb, and walked

out the door of the Inn. Caramon could hear his booted feet ring-

ing on the long staircase that led down from the Inn, perched high

in the branches of Solace's largest vallenwood.

Caramon leaned back comfortably in the booth. The sunshine

streamed in through the red and green windows, warming him.

His belly full, he was content. Outside, people were cleaning up

after the storm, gathering up the branches that had fallen from

the vallenwoods, airing out their damp houses, spreading straw

over the muddy streets. In the afternoon, the people would dress

in their best clothes, adorn their hair with flowers, and celebrate

the longest day of the year with dancing and feasting. Caramon

could see Gerard stalking stiff-backed and stiff-necked through

the mud, paying no heed to anything going on around him,

making his way to the Tomb of the Last Heroes. Caramon

watched as long as he could see the Knight, before finally losing

sight of him in the crowd.

"He's a strange one," said Laura, whipping away the empty

bowl and pocketing the coin. "1 wonder how you can eat along-

side him, Father. His face curdles the milk."

"He cannot help his face~ Daughter," Caramon returned

sternly. "Are there any more eggs?"

"I'll bring you some. You've no idea what a pleasure it is to

see you eating again." Laura paused in her wor~ to kiss her father

tenderly on his forehead. "As for that young man, it's not his face

that makes him ugly. I've loved far uglier in looks in my time. It's

his arrogance, his pride that drives people away. Thinks he's

better than all the rest of us, so he does. Did you know that he

comes from one of the wealthiest families in all of Palanthas? His

father practically funds the Knighthood, they say. And he pays

well for his son to be posted here in Solace, away from the fight-

ing in Sanction and other places. It's small wonder the other

Knights have no respect for him."

Laura flounced off to the kitchen to refill her father's plate.

Caramon stared after his daughter in astonishment. He'd

been eating breakfast with this young man every day for the past

two months, and he had no notion of any of this. They'd devel-

oped what he considered a close relationship, and here was

Laura, who'd never said anything to the young Knight beyond,

"Sugar for your tea?" knowing his life's history.

"Women," Caramon said to himself, basking in the sunlight.

"Eighty years old and I might as well be sixteen again. I didn't

understand them then, and I don't understand them now."

Laura returned with a plate of eggs piled high with spiced po-

tatoes on the side. She gave her father another kiss and went

about her day.

"She's so much like her mother, though," Caramon said

fondly and ate his second plate of eggs with relish.

Gerard uth Mondar was thinking about women, as well, as he

waded through the ankle-deep mud. Gerard would have agreed

with Caramon that women were creatures not to be understood

by men. Caramon liked women, however. Gerard neither liked

them nor trusted them. Once when he had been fourteen and

newly recovered from the illness that had destroyed his looks, a

neighbor girl had laughed at him and called him "pock face."

Discovered in gulping tears by his mother, he was comforted

by his mother, who said, "Pay no attention to the stupid chit, my

son. Women will love you one day." And then she had added, in

a vague afterthought, "You are very rich, after all."

Fourteen years later, he would wake in the night to hear the

girl's shrill, mocking laughter, and his soul would cringe in

shame and embarrassment. He would hear his mother's counsel

and his embarrassment would bum away in anger, an anger

that burned all the hotter because his mother had proved a

prophetess. The "stupid chit" had thrown herself at Gerard

when they were both eighteen and she had come to realize that

money could make the ugliest weed beautiful as a rose. He had

taken great pleasure in scornfully snubbing her. Ever since that

day, he had suspected that any woman who looked at him with

any interest whatsoever was secretly calculating his worth, all

the while masking her disgust for him with sweet smiles and

fluttering lashes.

Mindful of the precept that the best offense is a good de-

fense, Gerard had built a most excellent fortress around himsel£

a fortress bristling with sharp barbs, its walls stocked with

buckets of acidic comments, its high towers hidden in a cloud of

dark humors, the entire fortress surrounded by a moat of sullen

resentment.

His fortress proved extremely good at keeping out men, as

well. Laura's gossip was more accurate than most. Gerard uth

Mondar did indeed come from one of the wealthiest families in

Palanthas, probably one of the wealthiest in all of Ansalon. Prior

to the Chaos War, Gerard's father, Mondar uth Alfric, had been

the owner of the most successful shipyard in Palanthas. Foresee-

ing the rise of the Dark Knights, Sir Mondar had wisely con-

verted as much of his property into good solid steel as possible

and moved his family to Southern Ergoth, where he started his

shipbuilding and repairing business anew, a business which was

now thriving.

Sir Mondar was a powerful force among the Knights of So-

lamnia. He contributed more money than any other Knight to the

support and maintenance of the Knighthood. He had seen to it

that his son became a Knight, had seen to it that his son had the

very best, the safest posting available. Mondar had never asked

Gerard what he wanted from life. The elder Knight took it for

granted that his son wanted to be a Knight and the son had taken

it for granted himself until the very night he was holding vigil

before the ceremony of knighthood. In that night, a vision came

to him, not a vision of glory and honor won on the battlefield, but

a vision of a sword rusting away in its scabbard, a vision of run-

ning errands and posting guard detail over dust and ashes that

didn't need guarding.

Too late to back out. To do so would break a family tradition

that supposedly extended back to Vinas Solamnus. His father

would renounce him, hate him forever. His mother, who had sent

out hundreds of invitations to a celebratory party, would take to

her bed for a month. Gerard had gone through with the cere-

mony. He had taken his vow, a vow he considered meaningless.

He had donned the armor that had become his prison.

He had served in the Knighthood now for seven years, one of

which had been spent in the "honorary" duty of guarding a

bunch of corpses. Before that, he'd brewed tar-bean tea and writ-

ten letters for his commanding officer in Southern Ergoth. He

had requested posting to Sanction and had been on the verge of

leaving, when the city was attacked by the armies of the Knights

of Neraka and his father had seen to it that his son was sent in-

stead to Solace. Returning to the fortress, Gerard cleaned the

mud from his boots and left to join the fellow of his watch, taking

up his hated and detested position of honor before the Tomb of

the Last Heroes.

The tomb was a simple structure of elegant design, built by

dwarves of white marble and black obsidian. The tomb was sur-

rounded by trees, that had been planted by the elves, and which

bore fragrant flowers all year long. Inside lay the bodies of Tanis

Half-elven, fallen hero of the battle of the High Clerist's Tower,

and Steel Brightblade, son of Sturm Brightblade and the hero of

the final battle against Chaos. Here also were the bodies of the.

knights who had fought the Chaos god. Above the door of the

tomb was written a single name, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, the kender

hero of the Chaos war.

Kender came from allover Ansalon to pay tribute to their

hero, feasting and picnicking on the lawns, singing songs of

Uncle Tas and telling stories about his brave deeds. Unfortu-

nately, some years after the tomb had been built, the kender took

it into their heads to each come away with a piece of the tomb for

luck. To this end, they began to attack the tomb with chisels and

hammers, forcing the Solamnic knights to erect a wrought-iron

fence around the tomb that was starting to have the appearance

of being nibbled by mice.

The sun blazing down on him, his armor baking him slowly as

Laura was slowly baking her beef roast, Gerard marched with slow

and solemn step the one hundred paces that took him from the left

of the tomb to the center. Here he met his fellow who had marched

an equal distance. They saluted one another. Turning, they saluted

the fallen heroes. Turning, they marched back, each guard's mo-

tions mirroring exactly the motions of the guard opposite.

One hundred paces back. One hundred paces forth.

Over and over and over.

An honor to some, such as the Knight who stood watch this

day with Gerard. This Knight had purchased this posting with

blood, not with money. The veteran Knight walked his beat with

a slight limp, but he walked it proudly. Small blame to him that

every time he came face to face with Gerard, he regarded him

with lip-curling enmity.

Gerard marched back and forth. As the day progressed,

crowds gathered, many having traveled to Solace especially for

this holiday. Kender arrived in droves, spreading lunches on the

lawn, eating and drinking, dancing and playing games of goblin

ball and kender-keep-away. The kender loved to watch the

Knights, loved to annoy them. The kender danced around the

Knights, tried to make them smile, tickled them, rapped on their

armor, called them "Kettle Head" and "Canned Meat," offered

them food, thinking they might be hungry.

Gerard uth Mondar disliked humans. He distrusted elves. He

hated kender. Actively hated them. Detested them. He hated all

kender equally, including the so-called "afflicted" kender, whom

most people now viewed with pity. These kender were survivors

of an attack by the great dragon Malys on their homeland. They

were said to have seen such acts of violence and cruelty that their

merry, innocent natures had been forever altered, leaving them

much like humans: suspicious, cautious, and vindictive. Gerard

didn't believe this "afflicted" act. To his mind, it was just another

sneaky way for kender to get their grubby little hands into a

man's pockets.

Kender were like vermin. They could flatten their boneless

little bodies and crawl into any structure made by man or dwarf.

Of this Gerard was firmly convinced, and so he was only a little

surprised when, sometime nearing the end of his watch, drawing

on late afternoon, he heard a shrill voice hallooing and hollering.

The voice came from inside the tomb.

"I say!" cried the voice. "Could someone let me out? It's ex-

tremely dark in here, and I can't find the door handle."

The partner of Gerard's watch actually missed a step. Halting,

he turned to stare. "Did you hear that?" he demanded, regarding

the tomb with frowning concern. "It sounded like someone was

in there."

"Hear what?" Gerard said, though he himself had heard it

plainly. "You're imagining things."

But they weren't. The noise grew louder. Knocking and

pounding were now added to the hallooing and hollering.

"Hey, I heard a voice inside the tomb!" shouted a kender

child, who had dashed forward to retrieve a ball that had

bounced off Gerard's left foot. The kender put his face to the

fence, pointed inside at the tomb's massive and sealed doors.

"There's someone trapped in the tomb! And it wants outfIt

The crowd of kender and other residents of Solace who had