Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (40 page)

makes up his mind."

"Then you had better hope His Majesty lives a long, long

time," said Medan. "1 should think he would, since you watch

over him so closely and attend to his needs so assiduously. You

can't really fault the king, Palthainon," the marshal added, "His

Majesty is, after all, exactly what you and the late Senator Rashas

have made him-a young man who dares not even take a piss

without looking to you for permission."

"His Majesty's health is fragile," Palthainon returned stiffly.

"It is my duty to remove from him from the burden of the cares

and responsibilities of the ruler of the elven nation. Poor young

man. He can't help dithering. The human blood, you know,

Marshal. Notoriously weak. And now, if you will excuse me, I

will go pay my respects to His Majesty."

The marshal, who was human, bowed wordlessly as the pre-

fect, whose mask was, most appropriately, that of a stylized bird

of prey, went over to peck at the young king. Politically, Medan

found Prefect Palthainon extremely useful. Personally, Medan

thought Palthainon utterly detestable.

Marshal Alexius Medan was fifty-five years old. He had

joined the Knights of Takhisis under the leadership of Lord Ari-

akan prior to the Chaos War that had ended the Fourth Age of

Krynn and brought in the Fifth. Medan had been the commander

responsible for attacking Qualinesti over thirty years ago. He had

been the one to accept the surrender of the Qualinesti people and

had remained in charge ever since. Medan's rule was strict, harsh

where it needed to be harsh, but he was not wantonly cruel. True,

the elves had few personal freedoms anymore, but Medan did not

view this lack as a hardship. To his mind, freedom was a danger-

ous notion, one that led to chaos, anarchy, the disruption of

society.

Discipline, order, and honor-these were Medan's gods, now

that Takhisis, with a complete lack of discipline and of honor, had

tumt;d traitor and run away, leaving her loyal Knights looking

like utter fools. Medan imposed discipline and order on the Qua-

linesti. He imposed discipline and order on his Knights. Above

all, he imposed these qualities on himself.

Medan watched with disgust as Palthainon bowed before the

king. Well knowing that Palthainon's humility was all for show,

Medan turned away. He could almost pity the young man

Gilthas.

The dancers swirled about the marshal, elves dressed as

swans and bears and every other variety of bird or woodland

creature. Jesters and clowns clad in gay motley were in abun-

dance. Medan attended the masquerade because protocol re-

quired it, but he refused to wear a mask or a costume. Years ago,

the marshal had adopted the elven dress of loose flowing robes

draped gracefully over the body as being most comfortable and

practicable in the warm and temperate climate of Qualinesti.

Since he was the only person in elven dress attending the mas-

querade, the human had the odd distinction of looking more like

an elf than any other elf in the room.

The marshal left the hot and noisy dance floor and escaped,

with relief, into the garden. He brought no body guards with him.

Medan disliked being trailed about by Knights in clanking armor.

He was not overly fearful for his safety. The Qualinesti had no

love for him, but he had outlived a score of assassination at-

tempts. He could take care of himself, probably better care than

any of his Knights. Medan had no use for the men being taken

into the Knighthood these days, considering them to be an undis-

ciplined and surly lot of thieves, killers, and thugs. In truth,

Medan trusted elves at his back far more than his own men.

The night air was soft and perfumed with the scents of roses

and gardenias and orange blossoms. Nightingales sang in the

trees, their melodies blending with the music of harp and lute. He

recognized the music. Behind him, in the Hall of the Sky, lovely

elf maidens were performing a traditional dance. He paused and

half-turned, tempted to go back by the beauty of the music. The

maidens were performing the Quanisho, the Awakening Prome-

nade, a dance said to drive elf men wild with passion. He won-

dered if it would have any effect on the king. Perhaps he might be

moved to a write a poem.

"Marshal Medan," said a voice at his elbow.

Medan turned. "Honored Mother of our Speaker," he said

and bowed.

Laurana extended her hand, a hand that was white and soft

and fragrant as the flower of the camellia. Medan took her hand, .

brought the hand to his lips.

"Come now," she said to him, "we are by ourselves. Such

formal titles need not be observed between those of us who are-

how should I describe us? 'Old enemies'?"

"Respected opponents," said Medan, smiling. He relin-

quished her hand, not without some reluctance.

Marshal Medan was not married, except to his duty. He did

not believe in love, considered love a flaw in a man's armor, a

flaw that left him vulnerable, open to attack. Medan admired

Laurana and respected her. He thought her beautiful, as he

thought his garden beautiful. He found her useful in assisting

him to find his way through the sticky mass of fine-spun cobweb

that was the elven version of government. He used her and he

was well aware that in return she used him. A satisfactory and

natural arrangement.

"Believe me, madam," he said quietly, "I find your dislike of

me much preferable to other people's friendship."

He glanced meaningfully back into the palace, where

Palthainon was standing at the young king's side, whispering

into his ear.

Laurana followed his gaze. "I understand you, Marshal," she

replied. "You are a representative of an organization I believe to

be wholly given over to evil. You are the conqueror of my people,

our subjugator. You are allied with our worst enemy, a dragon

who is intent upon our total destruction. Yet, I trust you far more

than I trust that man."

She turned away abruptly. "I do not like this view, sir. Would

you mind if we walked to the arboretum?"

Medan was quite willing to spend a lovely moonlit night in

the most enchanting land on Ansalon in company with the land's

most enchanting woman. They walked side by side in compan-

ionable silence along a walkway of crushed marble that glittered

and sparkled as if it would mimic the stars. The scent of orchids

was intoxicating.

The Royal Arboretum was a house made of crystal, filled with

plants whose fragile and delicate natures could not survive even

the relatively mild winters of Qualinesti. The arboretum was

some distance from the palace. Laurana did not speak during

their long walk. Medan did not feel that it was his place to break

this peaceful silence, and so he said nothing. In silence, the two

approached the crystal building, its many facets reflecting the

moon so that it seemed there must be a hundred moons in the sky

instead of just one.

They entered through a crystal door. The air was heavy with

the brfath of the plants, which stirred and rustled as if in welcome.

The sound of the music and the laughter was completely shut

Out "Laurana sighed deeply, breathed deeply of the perfume that

scented the warm, moist air.

She placed her hand upon an orchid, turning it to the moonlight.

"Exquisite," said Medan, admiring the plant. "My orchids

thrive-especially those you have given me-but I cannot pro-

duce such magnificent blossoms."

"Time and patience," Laurana said. "As in all things. To con-

tinue our earlier conversation, Marshal, I will tell you why I re-

spect you more than Palthainon. Though your words are not easy

for me to hear sometimes I know that when you speak, you speak

from your heart. You have never lied to me, even when a lie

might have served your purpose better than the truth.

Palthainon's words slide out of his mouth and fall to the ground,

then slither away into the darkness."

Medan bowed to acknowledge the compliment, but he would

not enter into further disparagement of the man who helped him

keep Qualinesti under control. He changed the subject.

"You have left the revelries at an early hour, madam. I hope

you are not unwell," he said politely.

"The heat and the noise were too much to bear," Laurana

replied. "I came out into the garden for some quiet."

"Have you dined?" the marshal asked. "Could I send the ser-

vants for food or wine?"

"No, thank you, Marshal. I find I have very little appetite

these days. You can serve me best by keeping me company for a

while, if your duties do not call you away."

"With such a charming companion, I do not think that death

himself could call me away," the Marshal returned.

Laurana glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes, smiled

slightly. "Humans are not generally given to such pretty

speeches. You have been around elves much too long, Marshal. In

fact, I believe you are more elf than human now. You wear our

clothes, you speak our language flawlessly, you enjoy our music

and our poetry. You have issued laws that protect our woodlands,

laws stronger than those we might have passed ourselves. Per-

haps I was wrong," she added lightly. "Perhaps you are the con-

quered and we are, in truth, your conquerors."

"You make sport of me, madam," Medan returned, "and you

will probably laugh when I say that you are not far wrong. I was

blind to nature before I came to Qualinesti. A tree was a thing I

used to build a wall for a fortress or a handle for my battle-axe.

The only music I enjoyed was the martial beating of the war

drum. The only reading in which I took pleasure were dispatches

from headquarters. I freely admit that I laughed when I first en-

tered this land to see an elf speaking respectfully to a tree or talk-

ing gently to a flower. And then, one spring, after I had been

living here about seven years, I was amazed to find myself ea-

gerly awaiting the return of the flowers to my garden, wondering

which would blossom first, wondering if the new rosebush the

gardener had planted last year would bloom. At about the same

time, I discovered the songs of the harpist running through my

mind. I began to study the poetry to learn the words.

"In truth, Madam Lauralanthalasa, I do love your land. That

is why," Medan added, his expression darkening, "1 do my best

to keep this land safe from the wrath of the dragon. That is why I

must harshly punish those of your people who rebel against my

authority. Beryl wants only an excuse to destroy you and your

land. By persisting in resistance, by committing acts of terror and

sabotage against my forces, the misguided rebels among your

people threaten to bring destruction down upon you all."

Medan had no idea how old Laurana must be. Hundreds of

years, perhaps. Yet she was as beautiful and youthful as the days

when she had been the Golden General, leading the armies of

light against the forces of Queen Takhisis during the War of the

Lance. He had met old soldiers who spoke still of her courage in

battle, her spirit that rallied the flagging spirits of the crumbling

armies and led them to victory. He wished he could have known

her then, though they would have been on opposite sides. He

wished he could have seen her riding to battle on the back of her

dragon, her golden hair a shining banner for her troops to follow.

"You say that you trust in my honor, madam," he continued

and he took hold of her hand in his earnestness. "Then you must

believe me when I tell you that I am working day and night to try

to save Qualinesti. These rebels do not make my task easy. The

dragon hears of their attacks and their defiance and grows ex-

tremely angry. She wonders aloud why she wastes her time and

money ruling over such troublesome subjects. I do my best to pla-

cate her, but she is fast losing patience."

"Why do you tell me this, Marshal Medan?" Laurana asked.

"What has this to do with me?"

"Madam, if you have any influence over these rebels, please

stop them. Tell them that while their acts of terror may do some

harm to myself and my troops, in the long run, the rebels are

harming only their own people."

"And what makes you think that I, the Queen Mother, have

anything to do with rebels?" Laurana asked. A flush came to her

cheeks. Her eyes glittered.

Medan regarded her in silent admiration for a moment, then

replied, "Let us say that I f

who fought the Dark Queen and her minions so tenaciously over

fifty years ago during the War of the Lance has ceased to do

battle."

"You are wrong, Marshal," Laurana protested. "1 am old, too

old for such matters. No, Sir"-she forestalled his speaking-"I

know what you are going to say. You are going to say that I look

as young as a maiden at her first dance. Save your pretty compli-

ments for those who desire to hear them. I do not. I have no heart