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

had spoken them. He had been five or six. They were camping in

the wilderness near Qualinesti. It was night. Silvan was asleep.

Suddenly a cry pierced his dreams, brought him wide awake. The

fire burned low, but by its light he could see his father grappling

with what seemed a shadow. More shadows surrounded them.

He saw nothing else because his mother flung her body over his,

pressed him to the ground. He could not see, he could not

breathe, he could not cry out. Her fear, her warmth, her weight

crushed and smothered him.

And then it was allover. His mother's warm, dark weight was

lifted from him. Alhana held him in her arms, cradling him,

weeping and kissing him and asking him to forgive her if she

hurt him. She had a bloody gash on her thigh. His father bore a

deep knife wound in his shoulder, just missing the heart. The

bodies of three elves, clad all in black, lay around the fire. Years

later Silvanoshei woke suddenly in the night with the cold real-

ization that one of those assassins had been sent to murder him.

They dragged away the bodies, left them to the wolves, not

considering them worthy of proper burial rites. His mother

rocked him to sleep, and she spoke those words to him to comfort

him. He would hear them often, again and again.

Perhaps now she was dead. His father dead. Their dream

lived, however, lived in him.

He turned away from the shield. "1 will come with you," he

said to Rolan of the kirath.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE HOLY FIRE

In the old days, the glory days, before the War of the Lance,

the road that led from Neraka to the port city of Sanction

had been well maintained, for that road was the only route

through the mountains known as the Lords of Doom. The road-

known as the Hundred Mile Road, for it was almost one hundred

miles long, give or take a furlong or two-was paved with

crushed rock. Thousands of feet had marched over the crushed

rock during the intervening years; booted human feet, hairy

goblin feet, clawed draconian feet. So many thousand that the

rock had been pounded into the ground and was now deeply

embedded.

During the height of the War of the Lance, the Hundred Mile

Road had been clogged with men, beasts, and supply wagons.

Anyone who had need of speed took to the air, riding on the

backs of the swift-flying blue dragons or traversing the skies in

floating citadels. Those forced to move along the road could be

delayed for days, blocked by the hundreds of foot soldiers who

slogged along its torturous route, either marching to the city of

Neraka or marching away from it. Wagons lurched and jolted

along the road. The grade was steep, descending from the high

mountain valley all the way to sea level, making the journey a

perilous one.

Wagons loaded with gold, silver, and steel, boxes of stolen

jewels, booty looted from people the armies had conquered,

were hauled by fearsome beasts known as mammoths, the only

creatures strong enough to drag the heavily laden wagons up

the mountain road. Occasionally one of the wagons would tip

over and spill its contents or lose a wheel, or one of the mam-

moths would run berserk and trample its keepers and anyone

else unfortunate enough to be in its path. At these times, the

road was shut down completely, bringing everything to a halt

while officers tried to keep their men in order and fumed and

fretted at the delay.

The mammoths were gone, died out. The men were gone too.

Most of them now old. Some of them now dead. All of them now

forgotten. The road was empty, deserted. Only the wind's

whistling breath blew across the road, which, with its smooth,

inlaid gravel surface, was considered one of the man-made won-

ders of Krynn.

The wind was at the backs of the Dark Knights as they gal-

loped down the winding, twisting snake's back that was the Hun-

dred Mile Road. The wind, a remnant of the storm, howled

among the mountain tops, an echo of the Song of Death they had

heard in Neraka, but only an echo, not as terrible, not as fright-

ening. The Knights rode hard, rode in a daze, rode without any

clear idea of why they rode or where they were heading. They

rode in an ecstasy, an excitement that was unlike anything they

had ever before experienced.

Certainly Galdar had felt nothing like it. He loped along at

Mina's side, running with new-found strength. He could have

run from here to Ice Wall without pause. He might have credited

his energy to pure joy at regaining his severed limb, but he saw

his awe and fervor reflected in the faces of the men who made

that exhilarating, mad dash alongside him. It was as if they

brought the storm with them-hooves thundering among the

mountain walls, the iron shoes of the horses striking lightning

bolts from the rock surface.

Mina rode at their head, urging them on when they would

have stopped from fatigue, forcing them to look into themselves

to find just a bit more strength than they knew they possessed.

They rode through the night, their way lit by lightning flashes.

They rode through the day, halting only to water the horses and

eat a quick bite standing.

When it seemed the horses must founder, Mina called a halt.

The Knights had traversed well over half the distance. As it was,

her own roan, Foxfire, could have continued on. He appeared to

actually resent the stop, for the horse stamped and snorted in dis-

pleasure, his irritated protests splitting the air and bouncing back

from the mountain tops.

Foxfire was fiercely loyal to his mistress and to her alone. He

had no use for any other being. During their first brief rest stop,

Galdar had made the mistake of approaching the horse to hold

Mina's stirrup as she dismounted, as he had been trained to do for

his commander and with much better grace than he'd used for

Ernst Magit. Foxfire's lip curled back over his teeth, his eyes

gleamed with a wild, wicked light that gave Galdar some idea of

how the beast had come by his name. Galdar hastily backed away.

Many horses are frightened by minotaurs. Thinking this

might be the problem, Galdar ordered one of the others to attend

the commander.

Mina countermanded his order. "Stay back, all of you. Foxfire

has no love for any being other than myself. He obeys only my

commands and then only when my commands agree with his

own instincts. He is very protective of his rider, and I could not

prevent him from lashing out at you if you came too near."

She dismounted nimbly, without aid. Removing her own

saddle and bridle, she led Foxfire to drink. She fed him and

brushed him down with her own hands. The rest of the soldiers

tended to their own weary mounts, saw them safely settled for

the night. Mina would not allow them to build a campfire. So-

lamnic eyes might be watching, she said. The fire would be

visible a long distance.

The men were as tired as the horses. They'd had no sleep for

two days and a night. The terror of the storm had drained them,

the forced march left them all shaking with fatigue. The excite-

ment that had carried them this far began to ebb. They looked like

prisoners who have wakened from a wonderful dream of free-

dom to find that they still wear their shackles and their chains.

No longer crowned by lightning and robed with thunder,

Mina looked like any other girl, and not even a very attractive

girl, more like a scrawny youth. The Knights sat hunched over

their food in the moonlit darkness, muttering that they'd been led

on a fool's errand, casting Mina dark looks and angry glances.

One man even went so far as to say that any of the dark mystics

could have restored Galdar's arm, nothing so special in that.

Galdar could have silenced them by pointing out that no dark

mystic had restored his arm, though he had begged them often

enough. Whether they refused because their powers were not

strong or because he lacked the steel to pay them, it was all the

same to him. The dark mystics of the Knights of Neraka had not

given him an arm. This strange girl had and he was dedicated to

her for life. He kept quiet, however. He was ready to defend Mina

with his life, should that become necessary, but he was curious to

see how she would handle the increasingly tense situation.

Mina did not appear to notice that her command was slowly

slipping away. She sat apart from the men, sat above them,

perched on an enormous boulder. From her vantage point, she

could look out across the mountain range, jagged black teeth

taking a bite out of the starry sky. Here and there, fires from the

active volcanoes were blots of orange against the black. With-

drawn, abstracted, she was absorbed in her thoughts to the point

that she seemed totally unaware of the rising tide of mutiny at

her back.

"I'll be damned if I'm riding to Sanction!" said one of the

Knights. "You know what's waiting for us there. A thousand of

the cursed Solamnics, that's what!"

"I'm off to Khur with the first light," said another. "I must

have been thunderstruck to have come this far!"

"I'll not stand first watch," a third grumbled. "She won't let us

have a fire to dry out our clothes or cook a decent meal. Let her

stand first watch."

" Aye, let her stand first watch!" The others agreed.

"I intend to," said Mina calmly. Rising from her seat, she de-

scended to the road. She stood astride it, her feet planted firmly.

Arms crossed over her chest, she faced the men. "I will stand all

the watches this night. You will need your rest for the morrow.

You should sleep."

She was not angry. She was not sympathetic. She was cer-

tainly not pandering to them, did not seem to be agreeing with

them in hope of gaining their favor. She was making a statement

of fact, presenting a logical and rational argument. The men

would need their rest for the morrow.

The Knights were mollified, but still angry, behaving like chil-

dren who've been made the butt of a joke and don't like it. Mina

ordered them to make up their beds and lie down.

The Knights did as they were told, grumbling that their blan-

kets were still wet and how could she expect them to sleep on the

hard rock? They vowed, one and all, to leave with the dawn.

Mina returned to her seat upon the boulder and looked out

again at the stars and the rising moon. She began to sing.

The song was not like the Song of Death, the terrible dirge

sung to them by the ghosts of Neraka. Mina's song was a battle

song. A song sung by the brave as they march upon the foe, a

song meant to stir the hearts of those who sing it, a song meant to

strike terror into the hearts of their enemies.

Glory calls us

With trumpet's tongue,

calls us do great deeds

on the field of valor,

calls us to give our blood

to the flame,

to the ground,

the thirsty ground,

the holy fire.

The song continued, a paean sung by the victors in their

moment of triumph, a song of reminiscence sung by the old sol-

dier telling his tale of valor.

Closing his eyes, Galdar saw deeds of courage and bravery,

and he saw, thrilling with pride, that he was the one performing.

these heroic feats. His sword flared with the purple white of the

lightning, he drank the blood of his enemies. He marched from

one glorious battle to the next, this song of victory on his lips.

Always Mina rode before him, leading him, inspiring him, urging

him to follow her into the heart of the battle. The purple white

glow that emanated from her shone on him.

The song ended. Galdar blinked, realized, to his astonishment

and chagrin, that he had fallen asleep. He had not meant to, he

had intended to stand watch with her. He rubbed his eyes,

wished she would start singing again. The night was cold and

empty without the song. He looked around to see if the others felt

the same.

They slumbered deeply and peacefully, smiles on their lips.

They had laid their swords within reach on the ground beside

them. Their hands closed over the hilts as if they would leap up

and race off to the fray in an instant. They were sharing Galdar's

dream, the dream of the song.

Marveling, he looked at Mina to find her looking at him.

He rose to his feet, went to join her upon her rock.

"Do you know what I saw, Commander?" he asked.

Her amber eyes had caught the moon, encased it. "1 know,"

she replied.

"Will you do that for me, for us? Will you lead us to victory?"

The amber eyes, holding the moon captive, turned upon him.

"I will."

"Is it your god who promises you this?"

"It is," she replied gravely.

"Tell me the name of this god, that I may worship him," said

Galdar.

Mina shook her head slowly, emphatically. Her gaze left the