Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (23 page)

fought more furiously than ever, frantic to save her. A blow struck

from behind stunned him. He fell to his knees. He tried to rise,

but blow after savage blow rained down on him, and he knew

nothing more.

The battle ended sometime near twilight. The Knights of

Neraka held, the valley was secure. The Solamnics and soldiers of

Sanction were forced to retreat back into the walled city, a city

that was shocked and devastated by the crushing defeat. They

had felt the victory wreath upon their heads, and then the wreath

had been savagely snatched away, trampled in the mud. Devas-

tated, disheartened, the Solamnic Knights dressed their wounds

and burned the bodies of their dead. They had spent months

working on this plan, deemed it their only chance to break the

siege of Sanction. They wondered over and over how they could

have failed.

One Solamnic Knight spoke of a warrior who had come upon

him, so he said, like the wrath of the departed gods. Another had

seen this warrior, too, and another and another after that. Some

claimed it was a youth, but others said that no, it was a girl, a girl

with a face for which a man might die. She had ridden in the

without helm or shield, her weapon a morning star that dripped

with blood.

Pulled from her horse, she fought alone on foot.

"She must be dead," said one angrily. "I saw her fall."

"True, she fell, but her horse stood guard over her," said an-

other, "and struck out with lashing hooves at any who dared ap-

proach."

But whether the beautiful destructor had perished or sur-

vived, none could tell. The tide of battle turned, came to meet her,

swept around her, and rolled over the heads of the Solamnic

Knights, carried them in a confused heap back into their city.

"Mina!" Galdar called hoarsely. "Mina!"

There came no answer.

Desperate, despairing, Galdar searched on.

The smoke from the fires of the funeral pyres hung over the

valley. Night had not yet fallen, the twilight was gray and thick

with smoke and orange cinders. The minotaur went to the tents

of the dark mystics, who were treating the wounded, and he

could not find her. He looked through the bodies that were being

lined up for the burning, an arduous task. Lifting one body, he

rolled it over, looked closely at the face, shook his head, and

moved on to the next.

He did not find her among the dead, at least, not those who

had been brought back to camp thus far. The work of removing

the bodies from that blood-soaked cut would last all night and

into the morrow. Galdar's shoulders sagged. He was wounded,

exhausted, but he was determined to keep searching. He carried

with him, in his right hand, Mina' s standard. The white cloth was

white no longer. It was brownish red, stiff with dried blood.

He blamed himself. He should have been at her side. Then at

least if he had not been able to protect her, he could have died

with her. He had failed, struck down from behind. When he had

finally regained consciousness, he found that the battle was over.

He was told that their side had won.

Hurt and dizzy, Galdar staggered over to the place he had last

glimpsed her. Bodies of her foes lay heaped on the ground, but

she was nowhere to be found.

She was not among the living. She was not among the dead.

Galdar was starting to think that he had dreamed her, created her

out of his own hunger to believe in someone or something when

he felt a touch upon his arm.

"Minotaur," said the man. "Sorry, I never did catch your

name."

Galdar could not place the soldier for a moment-the face

was almost completely obscured by a bloody bandage. Then he

recognized the captain of Archer Company.

"You're searching for her, aren't you?" Captain Samuval

asked. "For Mina?"

For MinaI The cry echoed in his heart. Galdar nodded. He was

too tired, too dispirited to speak.

"Come with me," said Samuval. "I have something to show

you."

The two trudged across the floor of the valley, heading for the

battlefield. Those soldiers who had escaped the battle uninjured

were busy rebuilding the camp, which had been wrecked during

the chaos of the retreat. The men worked with a fervor unusual to

see, worked without the incentive of the whip or the bullying

cries of the masters-at-arms. Galdar had seen these same men in

past battles crouched sullenly over their cooking fires, licking

their wounds, swilling dwarf spirits, and boasting and bragging

of their bravery in butchering the enemy's wounded.

Now, as he passed the groups of men hammering in tent

stakes or pounding the dents out of breastplate and shield or

picking up spent arrows or tending to countless other chores, he

listened to them talk. Their talk was not of themselves, but of her,

the blessed, the charmed. Mina.

Her name was on every soldier's lips, her deeds recounted

time and again. A new spirit infused the camp, as if the lightning

storm out of which Mina had walked had sent jolts of energy

flashing from man to man.

Galdar listened and marveled but said nothing. He accompa-

nied Captain Samuval, who appeared disinclined to talk about

anything, refused to answer all Galdar's questions. In another

time, the frustrated minotaur might have smashed the human's

skull into his shoulders, but not now. They had shared in a

moment of triumph and exaltation, the likes of which neither had

ever before experienced in battle. They had both been carried out

of themselves, done deeds of bravery and heroism they had never

thought themselves capable of doing. They had fought for a cause,

fought together for a cause, and against all odds they had won.

When Captain Samuval stumbled, Galdar reached out a

steadying arm. When Galdar slipped in a pool of blood, Captain

Samuval supported him. The two arrived at the edge of the

battlefield. Captain Samuval peered through the smoke that hung

over the valley. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains.

Its afterglow filled the sky with a smear of pale red.

"There," said the captain, and he pointed.

The wind had lifted with the setting of the sun, blowing the

smoke to rags that swirled and eddied like silken scarves. These

were suddenly whisked away to reveal a horse the color of blood

and a figure kneeling on the field of battle only a few feet away

from him.

"Mina!" Galdar breathed. Relief weakened all the muscles in

his body. A burning stung his eyes, a burning he attributed to the

smoke, for minotaurs never wept, could not weep. He wiped his

eyes. "What is she doing?" he asked after a moment.

"Praying," said Captain Samuval. "She is praying."

Mina knelt beside the body of a soldier. The arrow that had

killed him had gone clean through his breast, pinned him to the

ground. Mina lifted the hand of the dead man, placed the hand to

her breast, bent her head. If she spoke, Galdar could not hear

what she said, but he knew Samuval was right. She was praying

to this god of hers, this one, true god. This god who had foreseen

the trap, this god who had led her here to turn defeat into glori-

ous victory. .

Her prayers finished, Mina laid the man's hand atop the ter-

rible wound. Bending over him, she pressed her lips to the cold

forehead, kissed it, then rose to her feet.

She had barely strength to walk. She was covered with blood,

some of it her own. She halted, her head droopedti,her body

sagged. Then she lifted her head to the heavens, where she

seemed to find strength, for she straightened her shoulders and

with strong step walked on.

"Ever since the battle was assured, she has been going from

corpse to corpse," said Captain Samuval. "In particular, she

finds those who fell by our own arrows. She stops and kneels in

the blood-soaked mud and offers prayer. I have never seen the

like."

"It is right that she honors them," Galdar said harshly. "Those

men bought us victory with their blood."

"She bought us victory with their blood," Captain Samuval

returned with a quirk of the only eyebrow visible through the

bandage.

A sound rose behind Galdar. He was reminded of the

Gamashinoch, the Song of Death. This song came from living

throats, however; starting low and quiet, sung by only a few.

More voices caught it up and began to carry it forward, as they

had caught up their dropped swords and run forward into battle.

"Mina ...Mina..."

The song swelled. Begun as a soft, reverent chant, it was now

a triumphal march, a celebratory paean accompanied by a tim-

pani of sword clashing against shield, of stomping feet and clap-

ping hands.

"Mina! Mina! Mina!"

Galdar turned to see the remnants of the army gathering at

the edge of the battlefield. The wounded who could not walk

under their own power were being supported by those who

could. Bloody, ragged, the soldiers chanted her name.

Galdar lifted his voice in a thunderous shout and raised

Mina's standard. The chanting became a cheer that rolled among

the mountains like thunder and shook the ground mounded high

with the bodies of the dead.

Mina had started to kneel down again. The song arrested her.

She paused, turned slowly to face the cheering throng. Her face

was pale as bone. Her amber eyes were ringed with ash-like

smudges of fatigue. Her lips were parched and cracked, stained

with the kisses of the dead. She gazed upon the hundreds of

living who were shouting, singing, chanting her name.

Mina raised her hands.

The voices ceased in an instant. Even the groans and screams

of the wounded hushed. The only sound was her name echoing

from the mountainside, and eventually that died away as silence

settled over the valley.

Mina mounted her horse, so that all the multitude who had

gathered at the edge of the field of the battle, now being called

"Mina's Glory," could better see and hear her.

"You do wrong to honor me!" she told them. "I am only the

vessel. The honor and the glory of this day belong to the god who

guides me along the path I walk."

"Mina's path is a path for us all!" shouted someone.

The cheering began again.

"Listen to me!" Mina shouted, her voice ringing with author-

ity and power. "The old gods are gone! They abandoned you.

They will never return! One god has come in their place. One god

to rule the world. One god only. To that one god, we owe our

allegiance!"

"What is the name of this god?" one cried.

"I may not pronounce it," Mina replied. "The name is too

holy, too powerful."

"Mina!" said one. "Mina, Mina!"

The crowd picked up the chant and, once started, they would

not be stopped.

Mina looked exasperated for a moment, even angry. Lifting

her hand, she clasped her fingers over the medallion she wore

round her neck. Her face softened, cleared.

"Go forth! Speak my name," she cried. "But know that you

speak it in the name of my god."

The cheers were deafening, jarred rocks from the mountain

sides.

His own pain forgotten, Galdar shouted lustily. He looked down

to see his companion grimly silent, his gaze turned elsewhere.

"What?" Galdar bellowed over the tumult. "What's wrong?"

"Look there," said Captain Samuval. "At the command tent."

Not everyone in camp was cheering. A grquP of Knights of

Neraka were gathered around their leader, a Lord of the Skull.

They looked on with black gazes an~ scowls, arms crossed over

their chests.

"Who is that?" Galdar asked.

"Lord Milles," Samuval replied. "The one who ordered this

disaster. As you see, he came well out of the fray. Not a speck of

blood on his fine, shiny armor."

Lord Milles was attempting to gain the soldiers' attention. He

waved his arms, shouted out words no one could hear. No one

paid him any heed. Eventually he gave it up as a bad job.

Galdar grinned. "I wonder how this Milles likes seeing his

command pissing away down the privy hole."

"Not well, I should imagine," said Samuval.

"He and the other Knights consider themselves well rid of the

gods," Galdar said. "They ceased to speak of Takhisis's return

long ago. Two years past, Lord of the Night Targonne changed the

official name to Knights of Neraka. In times past, when a Knight

was granted the Vision, he was given to know his place in the god-

dess's grand plan. After Takhisis fled the world, the leadership

tried for some time to maintain the Vision through various mysti-

cal means. Knights still undergo the Vision, but now they can only

be certain of what Targonne and his ilk plant in their minds."

"One reason I left," said Samuval. "Targonne and officers like

this Milles enjoy being the ones in charge for a change, and they

will not be pleased to hear that they are in danger of being

knocked off the top of the mountain. You may be certain Milles

will send news of this upstart to headquarters."

Mina climbed down from her horse. Leading Foxfire by the

reins, she left the field of battle, walked into the camp. The men

cheered and shouted until she reached them, and then, as she

came near, moved by something they did not understand, they

ceased their clamor and dropped to their knees. Some reached

out their hands to touch her as she passed, others cried for her to

look upon them and grant them her blessing.

Lord Milles watched this triumphant procession, his face

twisted in disgust. Turning on his heel, he reentered his com-

mand tent.

"Bah! Let them skulk and plot!" Galdar said, elated. "She has

an army now. What can they do to her?"

"Something treacherous and underhanded, you can be sure,"

said Samuval. He cast a glance heavenward. "It may be true that

there is One who watches over her from above. But she needs

friends to watch over her here below."

"You speak wisely," said Galdar. "Are you with her then,

Captain?"

"To the end of my time or the world's, whichever comes first,"

said Samuval. "My men as well. And you?"