Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (14 page)

body with a pleasant warmth. The pain in his head eased, the

dizziness passed.

Silvanoshei saw that he had been a fool to think this elf was a

member of his mother's army. This elf wore a cloak strange to

Silvan, a cloak made of leather that had the appearance of leaves

and sunlight and grass and brush and flowers. Unless the elf

moved, he would blend into his forest surroundings so perfectly

that he would never be detected. Here in the midst of death, he

stood out; his cloak retaining the green memory of the living

forest, as if in defiance.

"How long have I been unconscious?1I Silvan asked. .

"Several hours from when we found you this morning. It is

Midyear's Day, if that helps you in your reckoning."

Silvan glanced around. IIWhere are the others?1I He had the

thought that they might be in hiding. ~

" Where they need to be,1I the elf answered.

"I thank you for helping me. You have business elsewhere,

and so do I "Silvan rose to his feet. "I must go. It may be too late.

. . ." He tasted bitter gall in his mouth, took a moment to choke it

down. "I must still fulfiil my mission. If you will show me the

place I can use to pass back through the shield. . ."

The elf regarded him with that same strange intensity. "There

is no way through the shield."

"But there has to be!1I Silvan retorted angrily. I "came through,

didn't I?" He glanced back at the trees standing near the road, I

saw the strange distortion. "I'll go back to the point where I fell.

I'll pass through there."

Grimly, he started off, retracing his steps. The elf said no word

to halt him but accompanied him, following after him in silence.

Could his mother and her army have held out against the

ogres this long? Silvan had seen the army perform some incredi-

ble feats. He had to believe the answer was yes. He had to believe

there was still time.

Silvan found the place where he must have entered the shield,

found the trail his body had left as it rolled down the ravine. The

gray ash had been slippery when he'd first tried to climb back up,

but it had dried now. The way was easier. Taking care not to jar

his injured arm, Silvan clambored up the hill. The elf waited in

the bottom of the ravine, watching in silence.

Silvan reached the shield. As before, he was loathe to touch it.

Yet here, this place, was where he'd entered it before, however

unknowingly. He could see the gouge his boot heel had made in

the mud. He could see the fallen tree crossing the path. Some dim

memory of attempting to circumvent it returned.

The shield itself was not visible, except as a barely percepti-

ble shimmer when the sun struck it at exactly the correct angle.

Other than that the only way he could tell the shield was before

him was by its effect on his view of the trees and plants beyond

it. He was reminded of heat waves rising from a sun-baked road,

causing everything visible behind the waves to ripple in a mock-

ery of water.

Gritting his teeth, Silvan walked straight into the shield.

The barrier would not let him pass. Worse, wherever he

touched the shield, he felt a sickening sensation, as if the shield had

pressed gray lips against his flesh and was seeking to suck him dry.

Shuddering, Silvan backed away. He would not try that again.

He glared at the shield in impotent fury. His mother had worked

for months to penetrate that barrier and for months she had

failed. She had thrown armies against it only to see them flung

back. At peril to her own life, she had ridden her griffon into it

without success. What could he do against it one elf.

"Yet" Silvan argued in frustration. "I am inside it! The shield

let me in. It will let me out! There must be a way. The elf. It must

have something to do with the elf. He and his cohorts have

entrapped me, imprisoned me."

Silvan whipped around to find the elf still standing at the

bottom of the ravine. Silvan scrambled down the slope, half-falling,

slipping and sliding on the rain-wet grass. The sun was sinking.

Midyear's Day was the longest day of the year, but it must even-

tually give way to night. He reached the bottom of the ravine.

"You brought me in here!" Silvan said, so angry that he had to

suck in a huge breath to even force the words out. "You will let me

out. You have to let me out!"

"That was the bravest thing I ever saw a man do." The elf cast

a dark glance at the shield. "I myself cannot bear to come near it,

and I am no coward. Brave, yet hopeless. You cannot pass. None

can pass."

"You lie!" Silvan raged. "You dragged me inside here. Let me

out!"

Without really knowing what he was doing, he reached out

his hand to seize the elf by the throat and choke him, force him to

obey, frighten him into obeying.

The elf caught hold of Silvan's wrist, gave it an expert twist,

and before he knew what was happening, Silvan found himself

on his knees on the ground. The elf immediately released him.

"You are young, and you are in trouble. You do not know me.

I make allowances. My name is Rolan. I am one of the kirath. My

companions and I found you lying at the bottom of the ravine.

That is the truth. If you know of the kirath, you know that we do

not lie. I do not know how you came through the shield."

Silvan had heard his parents speak of the kirath, a band of

elves who patrolled the borders of Silvanesti. The kirath's duty

was to prevent the entrance of outsiders into Silvanesti.

Silvan sighed and lowered his head to his hands.

"I have failed them! Failed them, and now they will die!"

Rolan came near, put his hand upon the young elf's shoulder.

"You spoke your name before when we first found you, but I

would ask that you give it to me again. There is no need to fear

and no reason to keep your identity a secret, unless, of course," he

added delicately, "you bear a name of which you are ashamed."

Silvan looked up, stung. "I bear my name proudly. I speak it

proudly. If my name brings about my death, so be it." His voice

faltered, trembled. "The rest of my people are dead, by now. Dead

or dying. Why should I be spared?"

He blinked the tears from his eyes, looked at his captor. "I am

the son of those you term' dark elves' but who are, in truth, the

only elves to see clearly in the darkness that covers us all. I am the

son of Alhana Starbreeze and Porthios of the Qualinesti. My

name is Silvanoshei."

He expected laughter. Disbelie£ certainly.

" And why do you think your name would bring death to you,

Silvanoshei of the House of Caldaron ?" Rolan asked calmly.

"Because my parents are dark elves. Because elven assassins

have tried more than once to kill them," Silvan returned.

"Yet Alhana Starbreeze and her armies have tried many times

to penetrate the shield, to enter into this land where she is outlaw.

I have myself seen her, as I and my fellows walked the border

lands."

"I thought you were forbidden to speak her name," Silvan

muttered sullenly.

"We are forbidden to do many things in Silvanesti," Rolan

added. "The list grows daily, it seems. Why does Alhana Star-

breeze want to return to a land that does not want her?

"This is her home," Silvan answered. "Where else would she

come?"

"And where else would her son come?" Rolan asked gently.

"Then you believe me?" Slivan asked.

"I knew your mother and your father, Your Highness," Rolan

replied. "I was a gardener for the unfortunate King Lorac before

the war. I knew your mother when she was a child. I fought with

your father Porthios against the dream. You favor him in looks,

but there is something of her inside you that brings her closer to

the mind. Only the faithless do not believe. The miracle has oc-

curred. You have returned to us. It does not surprise me that for

you, Your Highness, the shield would part."

"Yet it will not let me out" said Silvan dryly.

"Perhaps because you are where you are supposed to be, Your

Highness. Your people need you."

"If that is true, then why don't you lift the shield and let my

mother return to her kingdom?" Silvanoshei demanded. "Why

keep her out? Why keep your own people out? The elves who

fight for her are in peril. My mother would not now be battling

ogres, would not be trapped-"

Rolan's face darkened. "Believe me, Your Majesty. If we, the

kirath, could take down this accursed shield, we would. The

shield casts a pall of despair on those who venture near it. It kills

every living thing it touches. Look! Look at this, Your Majesty.1I

Rolan pointed to the corpse of a squirrel lying on the ground,

her young lying dead around her. He pointed to golden birds

buried in the ash, their song forever silenced.

"Thus our people are slowly dying,lI he said sadly."

" What is this you say?"Silvan was shocked. IIDYing?"

"Many people, young and old, contract a wasting sickness for

which there is no cure. Their skin turns gray as the skin of these

poor trees, their limbs wither, their eyes dull. First they cannot

run without tiring, then they cannot walk, then they cannot stand

or sit. They waste away until death claims them.

"Then why don't you take down the shield? "Silvan demanded.

"We have tried to convince the people to unite and stand

against General Konnal and the Heads of House, who decided to

raise the shield. But most refuse to heed our words. They say the

sickness is a plague brought to us from the outside: The shield is

all that stands between them and the evils of the world. If it is re-

moved, we all will die."

"Perhaps they are right," Silvan said, glancing back through

the shield, thinking of the ogres attacking in the night. "There is

no plague striking down elves, at least none that I have heard of.

But there are other enemies. The world is fraught with danger. In

here, at least you are safe."

"Your father said that we elves had to join the world, become

a part of it," Rolan replied with a grim smile. IIOtherwise we

would wither away and die, like a branch that is cut from the tree

or the-"

"-rose stripped from the bush," Silvan said and smiled in

remembrance. IIWe haven't heard from my father in a long

time," he added, looking down at the gray ash and smoothing

it with the toe of his boot. "He was fighting the great dragon

Beryl near Qualinesti, a land she holds in thrall. Some believe

he is dead-my mother among them, although she refuses to

admit it."

"If he died, he died fighting for a cause he believed in," Rolan

said.IIHis death has meaning. Though it may seem pointless now,

his sacrifice will help destroy the evil, bring back the light to drive

away the darkness. He died a living man! Defiant, courageous.

When our people die," Rolan continued, his voice taking on

increasing bitterness, "one hardly notices their passing. The

feather flutters and falls limp."

He looked at Silvan. "You are young, vibrant, alive. I feel the

life radiate from you, as once I felt it radiate from the sun. Con-

trast yourself with me. You see it, don't you: the fact that I am

withering away? That we are all slowly being drained of life?

Look at me, Your Highness. You can see I am dying."

Silvan did not know what to say. Certainly the elf was paler

than normal, his skin had a gray tinge to it, but Silvan had put

that down to age, perhaps, or to the gray dust. He recalled now

that the other elves he had seen bore the same gaunt, hollow-

eyed look.

"Our people will see you, and they will see by contrast what

they have lost," Rolan pursued. "This is the reason you have been

sent to us. To show them that there is no plague in the world out-

side. The only plague is within." Rolan laid his hand on his heart.

"Within us! You will tell the people that if we rid ourselves of this

shield, we will restore our land and ourselves to life."

Though my own has ended, Silvan said to himself. The pain

returned. His head ached. His armed throbbed. Rolan regarded

him with concern.

"You do not look well, Your Highness. We should leave this

place. We have lingered near the shield too long already. You

must come away before the sickness strikes you, as well."

Silvanoshei shook his head. "Thank you, Rolan, but I caanot

leave. The Shield may yet open and let me out as it has let me m."

"If you stay here, you will die, Your Majesty," said Rolan.

"Your mother would not want that. She would want you to come

to Silvanost and to claim your rightful place upon the throne."

You will someday sit upon the throne of the United Elven Nations,

Silvanoshei. On that day, you will right the wrongs of the past. You will

purge our people of the sins we elves have committed, the sin of pride,

the sin of prejudice, the sin of hatred. These sins have brought about our

ruin. You will be our redemption.

His mother's words. He remembered the very first time she