Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (53 page)

Usually the sight of a young slip of a maid as pretty as Mina

would have had his blood bubbling, his loins aching. But he felt

no twinge of desire in Mina' s presence and, listening to the talk

around the campfires, he knew the other men in the ranks felt the

same. They loved her, they adored her. They were awestruck, rev-

erent. But he did not want her and he could not name anyone

who did.

The next morning's march began the same as those before it.

Samuval calculated that if all went well with Galdar's business in

Khur, the minotaur would catch up to them in another two days.

Prior to this, Samuval had never had much use for minotaurs, but

he was actually looking forward to seeing Galdar again. . . .

"Sir! Stop the men!" a scout shouted.

Samuval halted the column's march and walked forward to

meet the scout.

"What is it?" the captain demanded. "Ogres?"

"No, sir." The scout saluted. "There's a blind beggar on the

path ahead, sir."

Samuval was irate. "You called a halt for a blasted beggar?"

"Weii sir"-the scout was discomfited-"he's blocking the

path."

"Shove him out of the way then!" Samuval said, infuriated.

"There's something strange about him, sir." The scout was

uneasy. "He's no ordinary beggar. I think you should come talk to

him, sir. He said ... he said he is waiting for Mina." The soldier's

eyes were round.

Samuval rubbed his chin. He was not surprised to hear that

word of Mina had spread abroad, but he was considerably sur-

prised and not particularly pleased to hear that knowledge of

their march and the route they were taking had also apparently

traveled ahead of them.

"I'll see to this," he said and started to leave with the scout.

Samuval planned to question this beggar to find out what else he

knew and how he knew it. Hopefully, he would be able to deal

with the man before Mina heard about it.

He had taken about three steps when he heard Mina's voice

behind him.

"Captain Samuval," she said, riding up on Foxfire, "what is

the problem? Why have we stopped?"

Samuval was about to say that the road ahead was blocked

by a boulder, but, before he could open his mouth, the scout

had blurted out the truth in a loud voice that could be heard

up and down the column.

"Mina! There's a blind beggar up ahead. He says he's waiting

for you."

The men were pleased, nodding and thinking it only natural

that Mina should rate such attention. Fools! One would think

they were parading through the streets of Jelek!

Samuval could envision the road ahead lined with the poxed

and the lame from every measly village on their route, begging

Mina to cure them.

"Captain," said Mina, "bring the man to me."

Samuval went to stand by her stirrup. "Listen a moment,

Mina," he argued. "1 know you mean well, but if you stop to

heal every wretched cripple between here and Silvanost,

we'll arrive in the elf kingdom in time to celebrate Yule with

'em. That is if we arrive at all. Every moment we waste is an-

other moment the ogres have to gather their forces to come

meet us."

"The man asks for me. I will see him," Mina said and slid

down off her horse. "We have marched long. The men could do

with a rest. Where he is, Rolof?"

"He's right up ahead," said the scout, pointing. "About half a

mile. At the top of the hill."

"Samuval, come with me," Mina said. "The rest of you, wait

here."

Samuval saw the man before they reached him. The road they

were following led up and down small hillocks and, as the scout

had said, the beggar was waiting for them at the top of one of

these. He sat on the ground, his back against a boulder; a long,

stout staff in his hand. Hearing their approach, he rose to his feet

and turned slowly and sightlessly to face them.

The man was younger than the captain had expected. Long

hair that shimmered with a silver sheen in the morning sun-

shine fell over his shoulders. His face was smooth and youth-

ful. Once it might have been handsome. He was dressed in

robes that were pearl gray in color, travel-worn and frayed at

the hem, but clean. All this, Samuval noted later. For now, all he

could do was stare at the hideous scar that disfigured the man's

face.

The scar looked to be a burn mark. The hair on the right

side of the man's head had been singed off. The scar slanted

across the man's face from the right side of his head to below

the left side of his chin. He wore a rag tied around his right eye

socket. Samuval wondered with morbid curiosity if the eye

was still there or if it was destroyed, melted in the terrible heat

that had seared the flesh and burned away the hair to the

roots. The left eye remained, but it was useless seemingly, for

it held no light. The horrible wound was fresh, not a month

old. The man must be in pain from the injury, but if so he did

not reveal it. He stood waiting for them silently and, though he

could not see her, his face turned toward Mina. He must have

picked out the sound of her lighter steps from Samuval's heav-

ier footfalls.

Mina paused, just a moment, and Samuval saw her stiffen, as

if she were taken by surprise. Then, shrugging, she continued to

walk toward the beggar. Samuval came behind, his hand on his

sword hilt. Despite the fact that the man was blind, Samuval

sensed him to be a threat. As the scout had said, there was some-

thing strange about this blind beggar.

"You know me, then," the man said, his sightless eye gazing

over her head.

"Yes, I know you," she replied.

Samuval found it hard to look at the beggar's horrid wounds.

Yellow puss oozed from beneath the rag. The skin around the

burn was fiery red, swollen and inflamed. The captain could

smell the stink of putrefying flesh.

"When did this happen to you?" Mina asked.

"The night of the storm," he replied.

She nodded gravely, as if she had expected that answer. "Why

did you venture out into the storm?"

"I heard a voice," he replied. "I wanted to investigate."

"The voice of the One God," Mina said.

The beggar shook his head, disbelieving. "I could hear the

voice over the roaring of the wind and the crashing thunder, but

I could not hear the words it spoke. I traveled far through rain

and the hail in search of the voice, and I was near the source, I

think. I was almost in Neraka when a lightning bolt struck me. I

remember nothing after that."

"You take this human form," she said abruptly. "Why?"

"Can you blame me, Mina?" he asked, his tone rueful. "I am

forced to walk through the land of my enemies." He gestured

with his staff. "This is the only way I am able to travel now-on

two feet, with my stick to guide me."

"Mina"-Samuval spoke to her, but he kept his eyes on the

blind man-"we have many more miles to march this day. Say the

word and I will rid both the path and the world of this fellow."

"Easy, Captain," Mina said quietly, resting her hand on his

arm. "This is an old acquaintance. I will be only a moment longer.

How did you find me?" she asked the blind man.

"I have heard the stories of your deeds everywhere I go," the

beggar answered. "I knew the name, and I recognized the de-

scription. Could there be another Mina with eyes the color of

amber? No, I said to myself. Only one-the orphan girl who,

years ago, washed up on the shores of Schallsea. The orphan girl

who was taken in by Goldmoon and who won the First Master's

heart. She grieves for you, Mina. Grieves for you these three years

as for one dead. Why did you run away from her and the rest of

us who loved you?"

"Because she could not answer my questions," Mina replied.

"None of you could."

"And have you found the answer, Mina?" the man asked and

ms voice was stem.

"I have," she said steadily. .

The beggar shook his head. He did not seem angry, only

sorrowful.

"I could heal you," Mina offered, and she took a step toward

him, her hand outstretched.

Swiftly the beggar stepped backward. In the same movement,

he shifted the staff from one hand to two and held it out in front

of his body, barring her way. "No!" he cried. "As much as my

wound pains me now, that pain is physical. It does not strike to

my soul as would the pain of your so-called healing touch. And

though I walk in darkness, my darkness is not so deep as the

darkness in which you now walk, Mina."

She smiled at him, her smile calm, radiant.

"You heard the voice, Solomirathnius," she said. "You hear it

still. Don't you?"

He did not reply. He lowered his staff slowly, stared at her

long moments. He stared so long that Samuval wondered suspi-

ciously if the man could see out of that one milky white eye.

"Don't you?" she pressed him.

Abruptly, angrily, the man turned away from her. Tapping the

ground with his staff, he left the path and entered the woods. The

end of his staff knocked brutally against the boles of trees and

thrust savagely into bushes. His hand groped to feel his way.

"I don't trust him," Samuval said. "He has the stink of a So-

lamnic about him. Let me skewer him."

Mina turned away. "You could do him no harm, Captain. He

may look feeble, but he is not."

"What is he then? A wizard?" Samuval asked with a slight

sneer.

"No, he is much more powerful than any wizard," Mina

replied. "In his true form, he is the silver dragon known to most

as Mirror. He is the Guardian of the Citadel of Light."

"A dragon!" Samuval stopped dead in the path, stared back

into the brush. He could no longer see the blind beggar, and that

worried him more now than ever. "Mina," he said urgently, "let

me take a squadron of men after him! He will surely try to kill

us all!"

Mina smiled slightly at Samuval's fears. "We are safe, Cap-

tain. Order the men to resume the march. The path ahead is clear.

Mirror will not trouble us."

"Why not?" Samuval was frowning, doubtful.

"Because once, many years ago, every night, Goldmoon, the

First Master of the Citadel of Light, brushed my hair," Mina said

softly.

Reaching up her hand, she touched, very lightly, her shaven

head.

CHAPTER TWENTY

BETRAYED

The days of waiting had passed pleasantly for Gerard. The

queen mother's house was a sanctuary of peace and seren-

ity. Every room was a bower of green and growing plants

and flowers. The sounds of falling water soothed and relaxed. He

was not in possession of the supposed time travel device, yet he

had the feeling that here time was suspended. The sunlit hours

melted into dusk that melted into night and back to sunlight again

with no one seeming to notice the change of one day to next. No

hourglass dropped its sands into elven lives, or so Gerard imag-

ined. He was jolted back into harsh reality when, on the afternoon

of the day they were to leave, he walked in the garden and saw,

quite by chance, sunlight flash off shining black armor.

The Neraka Knight was distant, but he was plainly keeping

watch on the house. Gerard ducked back into the doorway, his

idyll of peace shattered. He waited tensely for the Neraka

Knights to come beating on the door, but hours passed and no

one disturbed them. He trusted, at last, that he had not been seen.

He took care not to venture outside after that, not until nightfall,

when they were ready to depart.

Gerard had seen little of Palin Majere, for which he was not

sorry. He deplored the mage's rudeness to everyone in the

household, but most particularly to Laurana. Gerard tried to

make allowances. Palin Majere had suffered a great deal, the

Knight reminded himself. But the mage's dark moods cast a j

shadow that dimmed the brightest sunlight. Even tne two ser-

vant elves tiptoed around, afraid of making a sound that would

bring down on them the mage's irrational anger. When Gerard

mentioned this to Laurana, making some comment on what he

considered boorish human behavior, she smiled and urged him

to be patient.

"I was a prisoner once," she said, her eyes dark with

memory, "a prisoner of the Dark Queen. Unless you have been

a prisoner, Sir Knight; until you have been shut away in

darkness, alone in pain and in fear, I don't believe you can

understand."

Gerard accepted the gentle rebuke and said nothing more.

He had seen little of the kender, as well, for which the Knight

was extremely grateful. Palin Majere kept Tasslehoff closeted

away for hours at a time, having the kender relate in detail his

ridiculous stories over and over. No torture devised by the cru-

elest Neraka Knight could match being forced to endure the

kender's shrill voice for hours on end.

The night they were to leave Qualinesti came-all too soon. The

world beyond, the world of humans, seemed a hurried, grasping,