Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (31 page)

shrewd bargainer, he knew where and how every steel coin was

spent. He was not a miser. He made certain that the Knighthood

had the best quality weapons and armor, he made certain that the

recruits and mercenaries were paid well. He was adamant that

his officers keep accurate records of monies paid out to them.

The soldiers wanted to follow this Mina. Very well. Let them

follow her. Targonne had that very morning received a message

from the great dragon Malystrx wanting to know why he permit-

ted the Silvanesti elves to defy her edicts by maintaining a magi-'-

cal shield over their land and refusing to pay her tribute. Targonne

had prepared a letter to send in return explaining to the dragon

that attacking Silvanesti would be a waste of time and manpower

that could be used elsewhere to more profit. Scouts sent to inves-

tigate the magical shield had reported that the shield was impos-

sible to penetrate, that no weapon-be it steel or sorcery-had the

slightest effect on the shield. One might hurl an entire army at it-

so said his scouts-and one would achieve nothing.

Add to this the fact that an army heading into Silvanesti must

first travel through Blade, the homeland of the ogres. Former

allies of the Dark Knights, the ogres had been infuriated when the

Knights of Neraka expanded southward, taking over the ogres'

best land and driving them into the mountains, killing hundreds

in the process. Reports indicated that the ogres were currently

hounding the dark elf Alhana Starbreeze and her forces some-

where near the shield. But if the Knights advanced into ogre

lands, the ogres would be quite happy to leave off attacking

elves-something they could do any time-to take vengeance on

the ally who had betrayed them.

The letter was on his desk, awaiting his signature. It had been

on his desk for several days. Targonne was fully aware that this

letter of refusal would infuriate the dragon, but he was much

better prepared to face Malys's fury than throwaway valuable re-

sources in a hopeless cause. Reaching for the letter, Targonne

picked it up and slowly and thoughtfully tore it into small pieces.

The only god Targonne believed in was a small, round god

that could stacked up in neat piles in his treasure room. He did

not believe for: a moment that this girl was a messenger from the

gods. He did not believe in her miracles of healing or in the mir-

acle of her generalship. Unlike the wretched and imbecilic Sir

Roderick, Targonne didn't feel a need to explain how she had

done what she had done. All he needed to know was that she was

doing it for the benefit of the Knights of Neraka-and that which

benefitted the Knights benefitted Morham Targonne.

He would give her a chance to perform a "miracle." He

would send this imposter Knight and her addle-pated followers

to attack and capture Silvanesti. By making a small investment of

a handful of soldiers, Targonne would please the dragon, keep

Malys happy. The dangerous Mina girl and her forces would be

wiped out, but the loss would be offset by the gain. Let her die

in the wilderness somewhere, let some ogre munch on her bones

for his supper. That would be an end to the chit and her "name-

less" god.

Targonne smiled upon Sir Roderick and even left his desk to

walk the Knight to the door. He watched until the black-armored

figure had marched down the echoing, empty hallways of the

fortress, then summoned his aide to his office.

He dictated a letter to Malystrx, explaining his plan for the

capture of Silvanesti. He issued an order to the commander of the

Knights of Neraka in Khur to march his forces west to join the

siege of Sanction, take over command from Lord Milles. He

issued an order commanding Talon Leader Mina and a company

of hand-picked soldiers to march south, there to attack and cap-

ture the great elven nation of Silvanesti.

"And what of Lord Milles, Excellency?" his aide asked. "Is he

to be reassigned? Where is he to be sent?"

Targonne considered the matter. He was in an excellent

humor, a feeling which normally came with the closing of an ex-

tremely good business deal.

"Send Milles to report in person to Malystrx. He can tell her

the story of his great 'victory' over the Solamnics. I'm sure she

will be very interested to hear how he fell into an enemy trap and

in so doing came close to losing all that we have fought so hard

to gain.

"Yes, Excellency." The aide gathered up his papers and pre-

pared to return to his desk to execute the documents. "Shall I take

Lord Milles off the rolls?" he asked, as an afterthought.

Targonne had returned to his ledger. He adjusted the specta-

cles carefully on his nose, picked up his pen, waved a negligent

hand in acquiescence, and returned to his credits and debits, his

additions and subtractions.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SONG OF LORAC

While Tasslehoff was near dying of boredom on the road to

Qualinesti and while Sir Roderick was returning to Sanc-

tion, blissfully unaware that he had just delivered his com-

mander into the jaws of the dragon, Silvanoshei and Rolan of the

kirath began their journey to place Silvanoshei upon the throne of

Silvanesti. Rolan's plan was to move close to the capital city ofSil-

vanost, but not to enter it until word spread through the city that

the true head of House Royal was returning to claim his rightful

place as Speaker of the Stars.

"How long will that take?" Silvan asked with the impatience

and impetuosity of youth.

"The news will travel faster than we will, Your Majesty,"

Rolan replied. "Drinel and the other kirath who were with us two

nights ago have already left to spread it. They will tell every other

kirath they meet and any of the Wildrunners they feel that they

can trust. Most of the soldiers are loyal to General Konnal, but

there are a few who are starting to doubt him. They do not openly

state their opposition yet, but Your Majesty's arrival should do

much to change that. The Wildrunners have always sworn

allegiance to House Royal. As Konnal himself will be obliged to

do--or at least make a show of doing."

"How long will it take us to reach Silvanost, then?" Sil-

vanoshei asked.

"We will leave the trail and travel the Thon- Tfalas ~y b.oat,"

Rolan responded. "1 plan to take you to my house, which IS lo-

cated on the outskirts of the city. We should arrive in two days

time. We 'will take a third day to rest and to receive the reports

that will be coming in by then. Four days from now, Your Majesty,

if all goes well, you will enter the capital in triumph."

"Four days!" Silvan was skeptical. "Can so much be accom-

plished that fast?"

"In the days when we fought the dream, we kirath could send

a message from the north of Silvanesti into the far reaches of the

south in a single day. I am not exaggerating, Your Majesty," Rolan

said, smiling at Silvanoshei's obvious skepticism. "We accom-

plished such a feat many times over. We were highly organized

then, and there were many more of us than there are now. But I

believe that Your Majesty will be impressed, nevertheless."

"I am already impressed, Rolan," Silvanoshei replied. "I am

deeply indebted to you and the others of the kirath. I will find

some way of repaying you."

"Free our people from this dreadful scourge, Your Majesty,"

Rolan answered, his eyes shadowed with sorrow, "and that will

be payment enough."

Despite his praise, Silvanoshei still harbored doubts, though

he kept them to himself. His mother's army was well organized,

yet even she would make plans, only to see them go awry. Ill luck,

miscommunication, bad weather, anyone of these or a host of

other misfortunes could turn a day that had seemed meant for

victory into disaster.

"No plan ever survives contact with the enemy," was one of

Samar's dictums, a dictum that had proven tragically true.

Silvan anticipated disasters, delays. If the boat Rolan prom-

ised even existed, it would have a hole in it or it would have been

burned to cinders. The river would be too low or too high, run too

swift or too slow. Winds would blow them upstream instead of

down or down when they wanted to travel up.

Silvan was vastly astonished to find the small boat at the river

landing where Rolan had said it would be, perfectly sound and in

good re~air. Not only that, but the boat had bee? filled with food

packed ill waterproof sacks and stowed neatly ill the prow.

"As you see, Your Majesty," Rolan said, "the kirath have been

here ahead of us."

T he Thon- Thalas River was calm and meandering this time of

year. The boat, made of tree bark, was small and light and so well

balanced that one would have to actively work to tip it over. Well

knowing that Rolan would never think of asking the future

Speaker of the Stars to help row, Silvan volunteered his assis-

tance. Rolan at first demurred, but he could not argue with his

future ruler and so at last he agreed and handed Silvanoshei a

paddle. Silvan saw that he had earned the elder elf's respect by

this act, a pleasant change for the young man, who, it seemed,

had always earned Samar's disrespect.

Silvan enjoyed the exercise that burned away some of his

pent-up energy. The river was placid, the forests through which

it flowed were green and verdant. The weather was fine, but

Silvan could not say that the day was beautiful. The sun shone

through the shield. He could see blue sky through the shield.

But the sun that shone on Silvanesti was not the same fiercely

burning orb of orange fire that shone on the rest of Ansalon. The

sun Silvan looked upon was a pale and sickly yellow, the yellow

of jaundiced skin, the yellow of an ugly bruise. It was as if he

were looking at a reflection of the sun, floating facedown,

drowned in a pool of stagnant, oily water. The yellow sun al-

tered the color of the sky from azure blue to a hard metallic

blue-green. Silvan did not look long at the sun but instead

shifted his gaze to the forest.

"Do you know a song to ease our labors?" he called out to

Rolan who was seated in the front of the boat.

The kirath paddled with quick, strong strokes, digging his

paddle deep into the water. The far-younger Silvan was hard

pressed to keep pace with his elder.

Rolan hesitated, glanced back over his shoulder. "There is a

song that is a favorite of the kirath, but I fear it may displease His

Majesty. It is a song that tells the story of your honored grandfa-

ther, King Lorac."

"Does it start out, 'The Age of Might it was, the Age of the

Kingpriest and his minions,'" Silvan asked, singing the melody

tentatively. He had only heard the song once before.

"That is the beginning, Your Majesty," Rolan replied.

"Sing it for me," Silvan said. "My mother sang it once to me

on the day I turned thirty. That was the first time I had ever heard

the story of my grandfather. My mother never spoke of him

before, nor has she spoken of him since. To honor her, none of the

other elves speaks of him either."

"I too, honor your mother, who gathered roses in the Garden

of Astarin when she was your age. And I understand her pain. We

share in that pain every time we sing this song, for as Lorac was

snared by his own hubris into betraying his country, so we who

took the easy way out, who fled our land and left him to do battle

alone, were also at fault.

"If all our people had stayed to fight, if all our people-those

of House Royal to House Servitor, those of House Protector,

House Mystic, House Mason-if we had all joined together and

stood shoulder to shoulder, regardless of caste, against the Drag-

onarmies, then I believe that we could have saved our land.

"But you shall hear the full tale in the song.

Song of Lorac

The Age of Might it was,

the Age of the Kingpriest and

his minions.

Jealous of the wizards, the Kingpriest

said, "You will hand over your high Towers

to me and you will fear me and obey me."

The wizards gave over their high Towers, the last

the Tower of Palanthas.

Comes to the Tower Lorac Caladon, King of the Silvanesti,

to take his Test in magic before the closing of the Tower.

In his Test, one of the dragon orbs,

fearful of falling into the hands

of the Kingpriest and his minions,

speaks to Lorac.

"You must not leave me here in Istar.

If you do, I will be lost and the world will perish."

Lorac obeys the voice of the dragon orb,

hides the orb away.

carries it with him from the Tower,

carries the orb back to Silvanesti,

holds the orb in secret, hugging his secret to him,

never telling anyone.

Comes the Cataclysm. Comes Takhisis, Queen of Darkness,

with her dragons, mighty and powerful.