Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (39 page)

That's a great place. Everyone stops there. Or maybe the Fox and

the Unicorn? They don't much like kender, so probably not."

Tasslehoff talked on, but he couldn't induce the Knight to tell

him anything. That didn't really matter much to Tas, who was

perfectly capable of making up the entire incident himself. By the

time they had finished eating and Gerard had gone to wash the

pan and the wooden bowls in a nearby stream, the bold kender

had stolen not one but a host of wondrous magical artifacts,

snatching them out from under the very noses of six Thorn

Knights, who had threatened him with six powerful magicks, but

who had, all six, been dispatched by a skilled blow from the

kender's hoopak.

" And that must have been how I came down with magnesia!"

Tas concluded. "One of the Thorn Knights struck me severely on

the headbone! I was unconscious for several days. But, no," he

added in disappointment. "That couldn't be true for otherwise I

wouldn't have escaped." He pondered on this for a considerable

time. "I have it," he said at last, looking with triumph at Gerard.

"You hit me on the head when you arrested me!"

"Don't tempt me," Gerard said. "Now shut up and get some

sleep." He spread out his blanket near the fire, which had been re-

duced to a pile of glowing embers. Pulling the blanket over him-

self, he turned his back to the kender.

Tasslehoff relaxed on his blanket, gazed up at the stars. Sleep

wasn't going to catch him tonight. He was much too busy reliv-

ing his life as the Scourge of Ansalon, the Menace of Morgash,

the Thug of Thorbardin. He was quite a wicked fellow. Women

would faint and strong men would blanch at the mere sound of

his name. He wasn't certain exactly what blanching entailed,

but he had heard that strong men were subject to it when faced

with a terrible foe, so it seemed suitable in this instance. He was

just picturing his arrival in a town to find all the woman passed

out in their laundry tubs and the strong men blanching left and

right when he heard a noise. A small noise, a twig snapping,

nothing more.

Tas would not have noticed it except that he was used to not

hearing any noises at all from the forest. He reached out his hand

and tugged on the sleeve of Gerard's shirt.

"Gerard!" Tas said in a loud whisper. "1 think someone's out

there!"

Gerard snuffled and snorted, but didn't wake up. He hunched

down deeper in his blanket.

Tasslehoff lay quite still, his ears stretched. He couldn't

hear anything for a moment, then he heard another sound, a

sound that might have been made by a boot slipping on a

loose rock.

"Gerard!" said Tasslehoff. "1 don't think it's the moon this

time." He wished he had his hoopak.

Gerard rolled over at that moment and faced Tasslehoff, who

was quite amazed to see by the dying fire that the Knight was not

asleep. He was only playing possum.

"Keep quiet!" Gerard said in a hissing whisper. "Pretend

you're asleep!" He shut his eyes.

Tasslehoff obediently shut his eyes, though he opened them

again the next instant so as to be sure not to miss anything. Which

was good, otherwise he would have never seen the elves creep-

ing up on them from the darkness.

"Gerard, look out!" Tas started to shout, but a hand clapped

down over his mouth and cold steel poked him in the neck before

he could stammer out more than "Ger-"

"What?" Gerard mumbled sleepily. "What's-"

He was wide awake the next moment, trying to grab the

sword that lay nearby.

One elf stomped down hard on Gerard's hand- Tas could

hear bones crunch and he winced in sympathy. A second elf

picked up the sword and moved it out of the Knight's reach.

Gerard tried to stand up, but the elf who had stomped on his

hand now kicked him viciously in the head. Gerard groaned and

rolled over on his back, unconscious.

"We have them both, Master," said one of the elves, speaking

to the shadows. "What are your orders?"

"Don't kill the kender, Kalindas," said a voice from the dark-

ness, a human's voice, a man's voice, muffled, as if he were

speaking from the depths of a hood. "1 need him alive. He must

tell us what he knows."

The human was not very woods-crafty apparently. Although

Tas couldn't see him-the human had remained in the shadows-

Tas could hear his booted feet mashing dry leaves and breaking

sticks. The elves, by contrast, were as quiet as the night air.

"What about the Dark Knight?" the elf asked.

"Slay him:' said the human indifferently.

The elf placed a knife at the Knight's throat.

"No!" Tas squeaked and wriggled. "You can't! He's not really

a Dark- ulp!"

"Keep silent kender," said the elf, who held onto Tas. He

shifted the point of his knife from the kender's throat to his head.

"Make another sound and I will cut off your ears. That will not

affect your usefulness to us."

"I wish you wouldn't cut off my ears," said Tas, talking des-

perately, despite feeling the knife blade nick his skin. "They keep

my hair from falling off my head. But if you have to, you have to,

I guess. It's just that you're about to make a terrible mistake.

We've come from Solace, Gerard's not a Dark Knight you see.

He's a Solamnic-"

"Gerard?" said the human suddenly from the darkness.

"Hold your hand, Kellevandros! Don't kill him yet. I know a So-

lamnic named Gerard from Solace. Let me take a look."

The strange moon had risen again. Its light was intermittent

coming and going as dark clouds glided across its empty, vacu-

ous face. Tas tried to catch a glimpse of the human, who was ap-

parently in charge of this operation, for the elves deferred to

him in all that was done. The kender was curious to see him, be-

cause he had a feeling he'd heard that voice before, although he

couldn't quite place it.

Tas was doomed to disappointment. The human was heavily

cloaked and hooded. He knelt beside Gerard. The Knight's head

lolled to one side. Blood covered his face. His breathing was

raspy. The human studied his face.

"Bring him along," he ordered.

"But, Master-" The elf called Kellevandros started to protest.

"You can always kill him late4" said the human. Rising, he

turned on his heel and walked back into the forest.

One of the elves doused the fire. Another elf went to calm the

horses, particularly the black, who had reared in alarm at the sight

of the intruders. A third elf put a gag in Tas's mouth, pricking Tas's

right ear with the tip of the knife the moment the kender even

looked as if he might protest.

The elves handled the Knight with efficiency and dispatch.

They tied his hands and feet with leather cord, thrust a gag into

his mouth, and fixed a blindfold around his eyes. Lifting the com-

atose Knight from the ground, they carried him to his horse and

threw him over the saddle. Blackie had been alarmed by the

sudden invasion of the camp, but he now stood quite calm and

placid under an elf's soothing hand, his head over the elf's shoul-

der, nuzzling his ear. The elves tied Gerard's hands to his feet,

passing the rope underneath the horse's belly, securing the

Knight firmly to the saddle.

The human looked at the kender, but Tas couldn't get a

glimpse of his face because at that moment an elf popped a gunny

sack over his head and he couldn't see anything except gunny

sack. The elves bound his feet together. Strong hands lifted him,

tossed him headfirst over the saddle, and the Scourge of Ansalon,

his head in a sack, was carried off into the night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE MASQUERABE

As the Scourge of Ansalon was being hauled off in ignominy

and a sack, only a few miles away in Qualinost the Speaker

of the Sun, ruler of the Qualinesti people, was hosting a

masquerade ball. The masquerade was something relatively new

to the elves-a human custom, brought to them by their Sp~aker,

who had some share of human blood in rum, a curse passed on by

his father, Tanis Half-Elven. The elves generally disdained human

customs as they disdained humans, but they had taken to the

masquerade, which had been introduced by Gilthas in the year 21

to celebrate his ascension to the throne twenty years previously.

Each year on this date he had given a masquerade, and it was

now the social highlight of the season.

Invitations to this important event were coveted. The mem-

bers of House Royal, the Heads of Household, the Thalas-

Enthia-the elven Senate-were invited, as well as the top

ranking leaders of the Dark Knights, Qualinesti's true rulers. In

addition, twenty elf maidens were chosen to attend, handpicked

by Prefect Palthainon, a former member of the elven Senate and

now the chief magistrate newly appointed by the Knights of

Neraka to oversee Qualinesti. Palthainon was nominally Gilthas's

advisor and counselor. Around the capital he was jocularly re-

ferred to as the "Puppeteer."

The young ruler Gilthas was not yet married. There was no

heir to the throne nor any prospect of one. Gilthas had no partic-

ular aversion to being married, but he simply could not quite

make up his mind to go through with it. Marriage was an im-

mense decision, he told his courtiers, and should not be entered

into without due consideration. What if he made a mistake and

chose the wrong person? His entire life could be ruined, as well

as the life of the unfortunate woman. Nothing was ever said of

love. It was not expected that the king should be in love with his

wife. His marriage would be for political purposes only; this had

been determined by Prefect Palthainon, who had chosen several

eligible candidates from among the most prominent (and the

most wealthy) elven families in Qualinesti.

Every year for the past five years, Palthainon had gathered to-

gether twenty of these hand-chosen elven women and presented

them to the Speaker of the Sun for his approbation. Gilthas

danced with them all, professed to like them all, saw good quali-

ties in them all, but could not make up his mind. The prefect con-

trolled much of the life of the Speaker-disparagingly ter~ed

"the puppet king" by his subjects-but Palthainon could not

force his majesty to take a wife.

Now the time was an hour past midnight. The Speaker of the

Sun had danced with each of the twenty in deference to the pre-

fect, but Gilthas had not danced with anyone of the elven maid-

ens more than once-for a second dance would be seen as

making a choice. After the close of every dance, the king retired

to his chair and sat looking upon the festivities with a brooding

air, as if the decision over which of the lovely women to dance

with next was a weight upon him that was completely destroying

his pleasure in the party.

The twenty maidens glanced at him out of the corners of their

eyes, each hoping for some sign that he favored her above all the

others. Gilthas was handsome to look upon. The human blood

was not much apparent in his features, except, as he had ma-

tured, to give him a squareness of jaw and chin not usually seen

in the male elf. His hair, of which he was said to be vain, was

shoulder-length and honey-colored. His eyes were large and

almond-shaped. His face was pale; it was known that he was in

ill health much of the time. He rarely smiled and no one could

fault him for that for everyone knew that the life he led was that

of a caged bird. He was taught words to speak, was told when to

speak them. His cage was covered up with a cloth when the bird

was to be silent.

Small wonder then that Gilthas was known to be indecisive,

vacillating, fond of solitude and of reading and writing poetry, an

art he had taken up about three years previous and in which he

showed undeniable talent. Seated on his throne, a chair of ancient

make and design, the back of which was carved into the image of

a sun and gilded with gold, Gilthas watched the dancers with a

restive air and looked as if he could not wait to escape back to the

privacy of his quarters and the happiness of his rhymes.

"His Majesty seems in unusually high spirits tonight," ob-

served Prefect Palthainon. "Did you notice the way he favored

the eldest daughter of the guildmaster of the Silversmiths?"

"Not particularly," returned Marshal Medan, leader of the oc-

cupation forces of the Knights of Neraka.

"Yes, I assure you, it is so," Palthainon argued testily. "See

how he follows her with his eyes."

"His Majesty appears to me to me to be staring either at the

floor or his shoes," Medan remarked. "If you are going to ever see

an heir to the throne, Palthainon, you will have to make the mar-

riage yourself."

"I would," Palthainon said, grumbling, "but elven law dic-

tates that only the family may arrange a marriage, and his mother

adamantly refuses to become involved unless and until the king