Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (3 page)

flare. The storm carried the battle to the other side of the moun-

tains, to other parts of the world. Galdar rose to his feet.

Soaking wet, the Knights wiped wate.r and muck from their

eyes, looked ruefully at sodden blankets. The wind was cold and

crisp and chill, and they were shivering except L;aldar, wnose

thick hide and fur pelt protected him from all but the most severe

cold. He shook the rain water from his horns and waited for the

figure to come within hailing distance.

Stars, glittering cold and deadly as spear points, appeared in

the west. The ragged edges of the storm's rear echelon seemed to

uncover the stars as they passed. The single moon had risen in de-

fiance of the thunder. The figure was no more than twenty feet

away now, and by the moon's argent light Galdar could see the

person clearly.

Human, a youth, to judge by the slender, well-knit body and

the smooth skin of the face. Dark hair had been shaved close to

the skull, leaving only a red stubble. The absence of hair accentu-

ated the features of the face and thrust into prominence the high

cheekbones, the sharp chin, the mouth in its bow curve. The

youth wore the shirt and tunic of a common foot knight and

leather boots, carried no sword upon his htp nor any sort of

weapon that Galdar could see.

"Halt and be recognized!" he shouted harshly. "Stop right

there. At the edge of camp."

The youth obligingly halted, his hands raised, palms outward

to show they were empty.

Galdar drew his sword. In this strange night, he was taking no

chances. He held the sword awkwardly in his left hand. The

weapon was almost useless to him. Unlike some other amputees,

he had never learned to fight with his opposite hand. He had

been a skilled swordsman before his injury, now he was clumsy

and inept, as likely to do damage to himself as to a foe. Many

were the times Ernst Magit',pad watched Galdar practice,

watched him fumble, and laughed uproariously.

Magit wouldn't be doing inuch laughing now.

Galdar advanced, sword in hand. The hilt was wet and slip-

pery, he hoped he wouldn't drop it. The youth could not know

that Galdar was a washed-up warrior, a has-been. The minotaur

looked intimating, and Galdar was somewhat surprised that the

youth did not quail before him, did not even really look all that

impressed.

"I am unarmed," said the youth in a deep voice that did not

match the youthful appearance. The voice had an odd timbre to

it, sweet, musical, reminding Galdar strangely of one of the

voices he'd heard in the song, the song now hushed and mur-

muring, as if in reverence. The voice was not the voice of a man.

Galdar looked closely at the youth, at the slender neck that

was like the long stem of a lily, supporting the skull, which was

perfectly smooth beneath its red down of hair, marvelously

formed. The minotaur looked closely at the lithe body. The arms

were muscular, as were the legs in their woolen stockings. The

wet shirt, which was too big, hung loosely from the slender

shoulders. Galdar could see nothing beneath its wet folds, could

not ascertain yet whether this human was male or female.

The other knights gathered around him, all of them staring at

the wet youth; wet and glistening as a newborn child. The men

were frowning, uneasy, wary. Small blame to them. Everyone was

asking the same question as Galdar. What in the name of the great

homed god who had died and left his people bereft was this

human doing in this accursed valley on this accursed night?

"What are you called?" Galdar demanded.

"My name is Mina."

A girl. A slip of a girl. She could be no more than seventeen

. . . if that. Yet even though she had spoken her name, a feminine

name popular among humans, even though he could trace her

sex in the smooth lines of her neck and the grace of her move-

ments, he still doubted. The;re was something very unwomanly

about her.

Mina smiled slightly, as if she could hear his unspoken

doubts, and said, "I am female." She shrugged. "Though it makes

little difference."

"Come closer," Galdar ordered harshly.

The girl obeyed, took a step forward.

Galdar looked into her eyes, and his breath very nearly

stopped. He had seen humans of all shapes and sizes during his

lifetime, but he'd never seen one, never seen any living being

with eyes like these.

Unnaturally large, deep-set, the eyes were the color of

amber, the pupils black, the irises encircled by a ring of shadow.

The absence of hair made the eyes appear larger still Mina

seemed all eyes, and those eyes absorbed Galdar and impris-

oned him, as golden amber holds imprisoned the carcasses of

small insects.

"Are you the commander?" she asked.

Galdar flicked a glance in the direction of the charred body

lying at the base of the monolith. "I am now," he said.

Mina followed his gaze, regarded the corpse with cool de-

tachment. She turned the amber eyes back to Galdar, who could

have sworn he saw the body of Magit locked inside.

"What are you doing here, girl?" the minotaur asked harshly.

"Did you lose your way in the storm?"

"No. I found my way in the storm," said Mina. The amber

eyes were luminous, unblinking. "I found you. I have been called,

and I have answered. You are Knights of Takhisis, are you not?"

"We were once," said Galdar dryly. "We waited long for

Takhisis's return, but now the commanders admit what most of

us knew long before. She is not coming back. Therefore we have

come to term ourselves Knights of Neraka."

Mina listened, considered this. She seemed to like it, for she

nodded gravely. "I understand. I have come to join the Knights of

Neraka."

At any other time, in any other place, the Knights might have

snickered or made rude remarks. But the men were in no mood

for levity. Neither was Galdar. The storm had been terrifying,

unlike any he'd ever experienced, and he had lived in this world

forty years. Their talon leader was dead. They had a long walk

ahead of them, unless by some miracle they could recover the

horses. They had no food-the horses had run away with their

supplies. No water except what they could wring out of their

sodden blankets.

"Tell the silly chit to run back home to mama," said one

Knight impatiently. "What do we do, Subcommander?"

"I say we get out of here," said another. "I'll walk all night if I

have to."

The others muttered their assent.

Galdar looked to the heavens. The sky was clear. Thunder

rumbled, but in the distance. Far away, lightning flashed purple

on the western horizon. The moon gave light enough to travel.

Galdar was tired, unusually tired. The men were hollow-

cheeked and gaunt, all of them near exhaustion. Yet he knew

how they felt.

"We're moving out," he said. "But first we need to do some-

thing with that." He jerked a thumb at the smoldering body of

Ernst Magit.

"Leave it," said one of the Knights.

Galdar shook his homed head. He was conscious, all the while,

of the girl watching him intently with those strange eyes of hers.

"Do you want to be haunted by his spirit the rest of your

days?" Galdar demanded.

The others eyed each other, eyed the body. They would have

guffawed at the thought of Magit's ghost haunting them the day

before. Not now.

"What do we do with him?" demanded one plaintively. "We

can't bury the bastard. The ground's too hard. We don't have any

wood for a fire."

"Wrap the body in that tent" said Mina. "Take those rocks

and build a cairn over him. He is not the first to die in the valley

of Neraka," she added coolly, "nor will he be the last."

Galdar glanced over his shoulder. The tent they had strung

between the monoliths remained intact though it sagged with an

accumulation of rainwater.

"The girl's idea is a good one," he said. "Cut down the tent

and use it for a shroud. And be quick about it. The quicker we're

finished, the quicker we're away. Strip off his armor" he added.

"We're required to take it back to headquarters as proof of his

death."

"How?" asked one of the Knights, grimacing. "His flesh is

stuck to the metal like a steak seared on a gridiron."

"Cut it off," said Galdar. "Clean it up as best you can. I wasn't

that fond of him that I want to be hauling bits of him around."

The men went about their grisly task with a wiR eager to be

done and away.

Galdar turned back to Mina, found those amber eyes, large,

intent upon him.

"You had best go back to your family, girl," he said gruffly.

"We'll be traveling hard and fast. We won't have time to coddle

you. Besides, you're a female. These men are not very great re-

specters of women's virtues. You run along home."

"I am home," said Mina with a glance around the valley. The

black monoliths reflected the cold light of the stars, summoned

the stars to shine pale and chill among them. "And I have found

my family. I will become a Knight. That is my calling."

Galdar was exasperated, uncertain what to say. The last thing

he wanted was this fey woman-child traveling with them. But she

was so self-possessed, so completely in control of herself and in

control of the situation that he could not come up with any ra-

tional argument.

Thinking the matter over, he made to return his sword to its

sheath. The hilt was wet and slippery, his grip on it awkward. He

fumbled, nearly dropped the sword. Managing to hang onto it by

a desperate effort, he looked up fiercely, glowering, daring her to

so much as smile with either derision or pity.

She watched his struggles, said nothing, her face expressionless.

Galdar shoved the sword into the sheath. "As to joining the

Knighthood, the best thing to do is go to your local headquarters

and put in your name."

He continued with a recitation of the recruitment policies, the

training involved. He launched into a discourse about the years

of dedication and self-sacrifice, all the while thinking of Ernst

Magit, who had bought his way into the Knighthood, and sud-

denly Galdar realized that he'd lost her.

The girl was not listening to him. She seemed to be listening

to another voice, a voice he could not hear. Her gaze was ab-

stracted, her face smooth, without expression.

His words trailed off.

"Do you not find it difficult to fight one handed?" she asked.

He regarded her grimly. "I may be awkward," he said causti-

cally, "but I can handle a sword well enough to strike your shorn

head from your body!"

She smiled. "What are you called?"

He turned away. This conversation was at an end. He

looked to see that the men had r:nanaged to separate Magit from

his armor, were rolling the still':'smoking lump of a corpse onto

the tent.

"Galdar, I believe," Mina cohtinued.

He turned back to stare at her in astonishment, wondering

how she knew his name.

Of course, he thought, one of the men must have spoken it.

But he could not recall any of them having done so.

"Give me your hand, Galdar," Mina said to him.

He glowered at her. "Leave this place while you have a

chance, girl! We are in no mood for silly games. My comman-

der's dead. These men are my responsibility. We have no

mounts, no food."

"Give me your hand, Galdar," said Mina softly.

At the sound of her voice, rough, sweet, he heard again the

song singing among the rocks. He felt his hackles rise. A shudder

went through him, a thrill flashed along his spine. He meant to

turn away from her, but he found himself raising his left hand.

"No, Galdar," said Mina. ",Your right hand. Give me your

right hand."

"I have no right hand!" Galdar cried out in rage and anguish.

The cry rattled in his throat. The men turned, alarmed, at the

strangled sound.

Galdar stared in disbelief. The arm had been cut off at the

shoulder. Extending outward from the stump was a ghostly

image of what had once been his right arm. The image wavered

in the wind, as if his arm were made of smoke and ash, yet he

could see it clearly, could see it reflected in the smooth black

plane of the monolith. He could feel the phantom arm, but then

he'd always felt the arm even when it wasn't there. Now he

watched his arm, his right arm, lift; watched his hand, his right

hand, reach out trembling fingers.

Mina extended her hand, touched the phantom hand of the

minotaur.

"Your sword arm is restored," she said to him.

Galdar stared in boundless astoundment.

His arm. His right arm was once again. . .

His right arm.

No longer a phantom arm. No longer an arm of smoke and

ash, an arm of dreams to be lost in the despair of waking. Galdar

closed his eyes, closed them tight and then opened them.

The arm remained.

The other Knights were struck dumb and motionless. Their