Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (32 page)

Comes war. War to Silvanesti.

Lorac summons all his people, orders them to flee their

homelands

Orders them away.

Says to them,

"I alone will be the savior of the people.1I

"I alone will stop the Queen of Darkness.1I

Away the people.

Away the loved daughter, Alhana Starbreeze.

Alone, Lorac hears the voice of the dragon orb,

calling his name, calling to him to come to the darkness.

Lorac heeds the call.

Descends into darkness.

Puts his hands upon the dragon orb and

the dragon orb puts its hands upon Lorac.

Comes the dream.

Comes the dream to Silvanesti,

dream of horror,

dream of fear,

dream of trees that bleed the blood of elvenkind,

dream of tears forming rivers,

dream of death.

Comes a dragon,

Cyan Bloodbane,

minion of Takhisis,

to hiss into Lorac's ear the terrors of the dream.

To hiss the words, 1 alone have the power to save the people.

I alone." To mock the words, "I alone have the power to save."

The dream enters the land,

kills the land,

twists the trees, trees that bleed,

fills the rivers with the tears of the people,

the tears of Lorac,

held in thrall by the orb and by Cyan Bloodbane,

minion of Queen Takhisis,

minion of evil,

who alone has the power.

"I can understand why my mother does not like to hear that

song," Silvan said when the last long-held, sweet, sad note

drifted over the water, to be echoed by a sparrow. "And why our

people do not like to remember it."

"Yet, they should remember it," said Rolan. "The song would

be sung daily, if I had my way. Who knows but that the song of

our own days will be just as tragic, just as terrible? We have not

changed. Lorac Caladon believed that he was strong enough to

wield the dragon orb, though he had been warned against it by

all the wise. Thus he was snared, and thus he fell. Our people, in

their fear, chose to flee rather than to stand and fight. And thus in

fear today we cower under this shield, sacrificing the lives of

some of our people in order to save a dream."

" A dream?" Silvan asked. He was thinking of Lorac's dream,

the dream of the song.

"I do not refer to the whispers of the dragon," said Rolan.

"That dream is gone, but the sleeper refuses to wake and thus an-

other dream has come to take its place. A dream of the past. A

dream of the glories of days that have gone. I do not blame them,"

Rolan added, sighing. "I, too, love to think upon what has gone

and long to regain it. But those of us who fought alongside your

father know that the past can never be recovered, nor should it

be. The world has changed, and we must change with it. We must

become a part of it, else we will sicken and die in the prison house

in which we have locked ourselves."

Rolan ceased paddling for a moment. He turned in the boat to

face Silvan. "Do you understand what I am saying, Your

Majesty?"

"I think so," said 5ilvan cautiously. "I am of the world, so to

speak. I come from the outside. I am the one who'can lead our

people out into the world."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Rolan smiled.

"S0 long as I avoid the sin of hubris," Silvan. said, ceasing his

paddling, thankful for the rest. He grinned when he said it for he

meant it teasingly, but on reflection, he became more serious.

"Pride, the family failing," Silvan said, half to himself. "I am fore-

warned, and that is forearmed, they say."

Picking up his paddle, he fell to work with a will.

The pallid sun sank down behind the trees. Day languished,

as if it too was one of the victims of the wasting sickness. Rolan

watched the bank, searching for a suitable site to moor for the

night. Silvan watched the opposite shore and so he saw first what

the kirath missed.

"Rolan!" Silvan whispered urgently. "Pull for the western

shore! Quickly!"

"What is it, Your Majesty?" Rolan was quick to take alarm.

"What do you see?"

"There! on the eastern bank! Don't you see them? Hurry! We

are nearly within arrow range!"

Rolan halted his rapid stroking. He turned around to smile

sympathetically at Silvan. "You are no longer among the hunted,

Your Majesty. Those people you see gathered on that bank are

your own. They have come to look upon you and do you honor."

Silvan was astonished. "But. . . how do they know?"

"The kirath have been here, Your Majesty."

"So soon?"

"I told Your Majesty that we would spread the word rapidly."

Silvan blushed. "I am sorry, Rolan. I did not mean to doubt you.

It's just that. . . My mother uses runners. They travel in secret, car-

rying messages between my mother and her sister by marriage,

Laurana, in Qualinesti. Thus we are kept apprised of what is hap-

pening with our people in that realm. But it would take them many

days to cover the same number of miles. . . . I had thought-"

"You thought I was exaggerating. You need make no apology

for that, Your Majesty. You are accustomed to the world beyond

the shield, a world that is large and filled with dangers that wax

and wane daily, like the moon. Here in Silvanesti, we kirath know

every path, every tree that stands on that path, every flower that

grows beside it, ever squirrel that crosses it, every bird that sings

in every branch, so many times have we run them. If that bird

sings one false note, if that squirrel twitches its ears in alarm, we

are aware of it. Nothing can surprise us. Nothing can stop us."

Rolan frowned. "That is why we of the kirath find it troubling

that the dragon Cyan Bloodbane has so long eluded us. It is not

possible that he should. And yet it is possible that he has."

The river carried them within sight of the elves standing on the

western shoreline. Their houses were in the trees, houses a human

would have probably never seen, for they were made of the living

tree, whose branches had been lovingly coaxed into forming walls

and roofs. Their nets were spread out upon the ground to dry,

their boats pulled up onto the shore. There were not many elves,

this was only a small fishing village, and yet it was apparent that

the entire population had turned out. The sick had even been car-

ried to the river's edge, where they lay wrapped in blankets and

propped up with pillows.

Self-conscious, Silvan ceased paddling and rested his oar at

the bottom of the boat.

"What do I do, Rolan?" he asked nervously.

Rolan looked back, smiled reassuringly. "You need only be

yourself, Your Majesty. That'is what they expect."

Rolan steered closer to the bank. The river seemed to run

faster here, rushed Silvan toward the people before he was quite

ready. He had ridden on parade with his mother to review the

troops and had experienced the same uneasiness and sense of un-

worthiness that assailed him now.

The river brought him level with his people. He looked at

them and nodded slightly and raised his hand in a shy wave. No

one waved back. No one cheered, as he had been half-expecting.

They watched him float upon the river in silence, a silence that

was poignant and touched Silvan more deeply than the wildest

cheering. He saw in their eyes, he heard in their silence, a wistful

hopefulness, a hope in which they did not want to believe, for

they had felt hope before and been betrayed.

Profoundly moved, Silvan ceased his waving and stretched

out his hand to them, as if he saw them sinking and he could keep

them above the water. The river bore him away from them, took

him around a hill, and they were lost to his sight.

Humbled, he huddled in the stem and did not move nor

speak. For the first time, he came to the full realization of the

crushing burden he had taken upon himself. What could he do to

help them? What did they expect of him? Too much, perhaps.

Much too much.

Rolan glanced back every now and again in concern, but he

said nothing, made no comment. He continued to paddle alone

until he found a suitable place to beach the boat. Silvan roused

himself and jumped into the water, helped to drag the boat up

onto the bank. The water was icy cold and came as a pleasant

shock. He submerged his worries and fears of his own inadequa-

cies in the Thon- Thalas, was glad to have something to do to keep

himself busy.

Accustomed to living out of doors, Silvan knew what needed

to be done to set up camp. He unloaded the supplies, spread out

the bedrolls, and began to prepare their light supper of fruit and

flatbread, while Rolan secured the boat. They ate for the most

part in silence, Silvan still subdued by the enormity of the re-

sponsibility he had accepted so blithely just two nights before

and Rolan respecting his ruler's wish for quiet. The two made an

early night of it. Wrapping themselves in their blankets, they left

the woodland animals and night birds to stand watch over their

slumbers.

Silvan fell asleep much sooner than he'd anticipated. He was

wakened in the night by the hooting of an owl and sat up in fear,

but Rolan, stirring, said the owl was merely calling to a neighbor,

sharing the gossip of the darkness.

Silvan lay awake, listening to the mournful, haunting call and

its answer, a solemn echo in some distant part of the forest. He lay

awake, long, staring up at the stars that shimmered uneasily

above the shield, the Song of Lorac running swift like the river

water through his mind.

The tears of Lorac,

held in thrall by the orb and by Cyan Bloodbane,

minion of Queen Takhisis,

minion of evil,

who alone has the power.

The words and melody of the song were at this moment being

echoed by a minstrel singing to entertain guests at a party in the

captial city of Silvanost.

The party was being held in the Garden of Astarin on the

grounds of the Tower of the Stars, where the Speaker of the Stars

would live had there been a Speaker. The setting was beautiful. The

Tower of the Stars was magically shaped of marble, for the elves

will not cut or otherwise harm any part of the land, and thus the

Tower had a fluid, organic feel to it, looking almost as if someone

had formed it of melted wax. During Lorac's dream, the Tower had

been hideously transformed, as were all the other structures in Sil-

vanost. BIven mages worked long years to reshape the dwelling.

They replaced the myriad jewels in the walls of the tall building,

jewels which had once captured the light of the silver moon, Soli-

nari, and the red moon, Lunitari, and used their blessed moonlight

to illuminate the Tower's interior so that it seemed bathed in silver

and in flame. The moons were gone now. A single moon only

shone on Krynn and for some reason that the wise among the elves

could not explain, the pale light of this single moon glittered in

each jewellike a staring eye, bringing no light at all to the Tower,

so that the elves were forced to resort to candles and torches.

Chairs had been placed among the plants in the Garden of As-

tarin. The plants appeared to be flourishing. They filled the air

with their fragrance. Only Konnal and his gardeners knew that

the plants in the garden had not grown there but had been carried

there by the Woodshapers from their own private gardens, for no

plants lived long now in the Garden of Astarin. No plants except

one, a tree. A tree surrounded by a magical shield. A tree known

as the Shield Tree, for from its root was said to have sprung the

magical shield that protected Silvanesti.

The minstrel was singing the Song of Lorac in answer to a re-

quest from a guest at the party. The minstrel finished, ending

the song on its sad note, her hand brushing lightly the strings of

her lute.

"Bravo! Well sung! Let the song be sung again," came a lilting

voice from the back row of seats.

The minstrel looked uncertainly at her host. The elven audi-

ence was much too polite and too well bred to indicate overt

shock at the request, but a performer comes to know the mood of

the audience by various subtle signs. The minstrel noted faintly

flushed cheeks and sidelong embarrassed glances cast at their

host. Once around for this song was quite enough.

"Who said that?" General Reyl Konnal, military governor of

Silvanesti, twisted in his seat.

"Whom do you suppose, Uncle?" his nephew replied with a

dark glance for the seats behind them. "The person who

requested it be sung in the first place. Your friend, Glaucous."

General Konnal rose abruptly to his feet, a move that ended the

evening's musical entertainment. The minstrel bowed, thankful to

be spared so arduous a task as singing that song again. The audi-

ence applauded politely but without enthusiasm. A sigh that might

have been expressive of relief joined the night breeze in rustling the