Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (65 page)

"Mina," said Galdar, "your horse, Foxfire, is here, ready and

able to carry you. There is no shame in riding."

"My soldiers run," she told Galdar faintly. "I will run with

them. I will not ask them to do what I cannot!"

She tried to rise. Her legs would not support her. Her face

grim, she began to crawl on her hands and knees along the trail.

Some of the soldiers cheered, but many others wept.

Galdar lifted her in his arms. She protested, she ordered him

to set her back on her feet.

"If I do, you will only fall again. You will be the one to slow

us down, Mina," Galdar said. "The men would never leave you.

We will never make the Silvanesti border by nightfall. The choice

is yours."

"Very well," she said, after a moment's bitter struggle against

her own weakness. "1 will ride."

He helped her onto Foxfire. She slumped over the saddle, so

tired that he feared for a moment she could not even remain in the

saddle. Then she set her jaw, straightened her back, sat upright.

Mina looked down, her amber eyes cool.

"Do not ever defy my orders again, Galdar," she said. "You

can serve the One God just as well dead as alive."

"Yes, Mina," he answered quietly.

Gripping the reins in her hands, she urged the horse forward

at a gallop.

Mina's prediction proved correct. Her army reached the

forested lands outside the Shield before sundown.

Our march ends here for the night," Mina said and climbed

down from her exhausted horse.

"What ails this place?" Galdar asked, eyeing the dead and

dying trees, the decaying plants, the corpses of animals found

lying along the trail. "Is it cursed?"

"In a way, yes. We are near the shield," Mina said, looking

intently at everything around her. "The devastation you see is the

mark of its passing."

"The shield brings death?" Galdar asked, alarmed.

"To all it touches," she replied.

" And we must break through it?"

"We cannot break through it." Mina was calm. "No weapon

can penetrate it. No force-not even the magical force of the most

powerful dragon-can shatter it. The elves under the leadership

of their witch-queen have hurled themselves against it for

months and it remains unyielding. The Legion of Steel has sent its

knights to batter it to no effect.

"There." Mina pointed. "The shield lies directly before us. You

can see it, Galdar. The shield and beyond the shield, Silvanesti

and victory."

Galdar squinted against the glare. The water caught the set-

ting sun's lurid red glow, turning the Thon-Thalas into a river of

blood. He could see nothing at first, and then the trees in front of

him rippled, as if they were reflected in the blood-tinged water.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking fatigue was causing them to blur.

He blinked and stared and saw the trees ripple again, and he re-

alized then that what he was seeing was a distortion of the air cre-

ated by the magic of the shield.

He drew closer, fascinated. Now that he knew where to look,

he fancied he could see the shield itself. It was transparent,but its

transparency had an oily quality to it, like a soap bubble. Every-

thing inside it-trees and boulders, brush and grasses--Iooked

wobbly and insubstantial.

Just like the elf army, he thought, and immediately took this

as a good omen. But they still had to pass through the shield.

The officers brought the troops to a halt. Many of the men

pitched forward face-first on the ground as soon as the order to

cease march was given. Some lay sobbing for breath or sobbing

from the pain of muscle spasms in their legs. Some lay quiet and

still, as if the deadly curse that had touched the trees around them

had claimed them as well.

"All in all," Galdar growled in an undertone to Captain Samu-

val, who stood gasping for breath beside him, "Given a choice be-

tween walking into that shield and facing ogres, I think I'd take

the ogres. At least then you know what you're up against."

"You said a true word there, friend," Captain Samuval agreed

when he had recaptured some of his breath and had enough left

over to use for speech. "This place has an uncanny feel to it."

He nodded his head in the direction of the shimmering air.

"Whatever we're going to do, we'd best be doing it soon. We may

have slowed the ogres down a bit but they'll catch up with us fast

enough."

"By morning, I'd say," Galdar agreed, slumping to the

ground. He lay on his back. He had never been so tired in all his

life. "I know ogre raiding parties. Looting the wagons and

butchering our men will occupy them for a while, but they'll be

looking for more sport and more loot. They're on our trail right

now. I'll bet money on it."

"And us too goddamn worn out to go anywhere, even if we

had anywhere to go," Captain Samuval said, dropping wearily

down alongside him. "I don't know about you, but I don't have

energy enough to lift my hand to brush away a gnat much less

attack some blamed magical shield."

He cast a sidelong glance at Mina, who alone of all her army

remained on her feet. She stood staring intently at the shield, or

at least in the direction of the shield, for night was closing upon

them fast, and its distortion could no longer be easily detected.

"I think this ends it, my friend," Captain Samuval said in a

low voice to the minotaur. "We cannot get inside the magic of the

shield. The ogres will catch us here in the morning. Ogres at our

rear. The shield to our front; Us caught between. All that mad

dash for naught."

Galdar didn't reply. He had not lost faith, though he was too

tired to argue. Mina had a plan. She would not lead them into a

blind alley to be caught and slaughtered by ogres. He didn't

know what her plan might be, but he had seen enough of her and

enough of the power of her God that he now believed her capa-

ble of doing the impossible.

Mina shoved her way through the gray and lifeless trees,

walked toward the shield. Dead limbs fell around her. Dead, dry

leaves crackled beneath her boots. Dust like ashes sifted down

upon her'shoulders and covered her shaved head with a pearl

gray mantle. She walked until she could go no farther. She came

up against an invisible wall.

Mina reached out her hand, pushed at the shield, and it seemed

to Galdar that the insubstantial oily soap bubble must give way.

She drew back her hand swiftly, as if she had touched a thistle and

been stung. Galdar thought he saw a tiny ripple in the shield, but

that might have been his imagination. Drawing her morning star,

Mina struck it against the shield. The morning star fell from her

hand, jarred out of her grasp by the blow. Shrugging, she bent

down to pick up her weapon. Reports confirmed, she turned and

made her way back through the forest of death to her command.

"What are your orders, Mina?" Galdar asked.

She looked around her army that lay scattered over the gray

ground like so many corpses.

"The men have done well," she said. "They are exhausted. We

will make camp here. This is close enough, I think," she added,

looking back at the shield. "Yes, this should be close enough."

Galdar didn't ask, "Close enough for what?" He didn't have

the energy. He staggered to his feet. "1'11 go set the watch-"

"No," Mina countered. She laid her hand on his shoulder. "We

will not set a watch this night. Everyone will sleep."

"Not set a watch!" Galdar protested. "But, Mina, the ogres are

in pursuit-"

"They will be on us by morning," she said. "The men should

eat if they are hungry and then they must sleep."

Eat what? Galdar wondered. Their food was now filling the

bellies of the ogres. Those who had started out on that mad run

carrying packs had long ago dropped them by the side of the

road. He knew better than to question her.

Assembling the officers, he relayed Mina's orders. To Galdar's

surprise, there was little protest or argument. The men were too

tired. They didn't care anymore. As one soldier said, setting a

watch wouldn't do much good anyhow. They'd all wake soon

enough when the ogres arrived. Wake up in time to die.

Galdar's stomach rumbled, but he was too tired to go search-

ing for food. He would not eat anything from this accursed forest,

that much was certain. He wondered if the magic that had sucked

the life from the trees would do the same for them in the night.

He pictured the ogres arriving tomorrow morning to find nothing

but desiccated husks. The thought brought a smile to his lips.

The night was dark as death. Tangled in the black branches of

the skeleton trees, the stars looked small and meager. Galdar was

too stupid with fatigue to remember if the moon would rise this

night or not. He hoped it wouldn't. The less he saw of this ghastly

forest, the better. He stumbled over limp bodies as he walked. A

few groaned, and a few cursed him, and that was the only way he

knew they were alive.

He returned to the place he had left Mina, but she was not

there. He could not find her in the darkness, and his heart

spasmed with a nameless fear, the fear a child feels on finding

himself lost and alone in the night. He dare not call. The silence

was a temple silence, had an awful quality he did not want to dis-

turb. But he had to find her.

"Mina!" he hissed in a penetrating whisper.

"Here, Galdar," she replied.

He circled around a stand of dead trees, found her cradled in

a severed arm that had fallen from an enormous oak. Her face

glimmered pale, more luminous than the moonlight and he won-

dered that he could have missed her.

He made his report. "Four hundred and fifty men, Mina," he

said. He staggered as he spoke.

"Sit down," she ordered.

"Thirty left behind with the wagons. Twenty more fallen on the

road. Some of those may catch up, if the ogres don't find them first."

She nodded silently. Galdar eased himself to the ground. His

muscles ached. He would be sore and stiff tomorrow, and he

wouldn't be the only one.

"Everyone's bedded down." He gave a cavernous yawn.

"You should sleep, too, Galdar."

"What about you?"

"I am wakeful. I will sit up for awhile. Not long. Don't worry

about me."

He settled himself at her feet, his head pillowed on a pile of

dead leaves that crackled every time he moved. During that hell-

ish run, all he had been able to think about had been the blessed

night when he would be able to lie down, to rest, to sleep. He

stretched his limbs, closed his eyes, and saw the trail at his feet.

The trail went on and on into forever. He ran and ran, and forever

moved farther away from him. The trail undulated, twisted,

wrapped around his legs like a snake. Tripped him, sent him

plunging head first into a river of blood.

Galdar woke with a hoarse cry and a start.

"What is it?" Mina was still seated on the log. She hadn't moved.

"That damned run!" Galdar swore. "I see the road in my

dreams! I can't sleep. It's no use."

He wasn't the only one. All around him came the sounds of

breathing-heavy, panting-restless shifting, groans and coughs

and whispers of fear, loss, despair. Mina listened, shook her head,

and sighed.

"Lie down, Galdar," she said. "Lie down and I will sing you a

"Mina . . . " Embarrassed for her, Galdar cleared his throat.

"There is no need for that. I'm not a child."

"You are a child, Galdar," she said softly. "We are all children.

Children of the One God. Lie down. Close your eyes."

Galdar did as he was told. He lay down and closed his eyes,

and the road was ahead of him, and he was running, running for

his life. . . .

Mina began to sing. Her voice was low, untrained, raw and yet

there was a sweetness and a clarity that struck through to the soul.

The day has passed beyond our power.

The petals close upon the flower.

The light is failing in this hour

Of day's last waning breath.

The blackness of the night surrounds

The distant souls of stars now found.

Far from this world to which we're bound,

Of sorrow, fear and death.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.

Your soul the night will keep.

Embrace the darkness deep.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.

The gathering darkness takes our souls,

Embracing us in a chilling folds,

Deep in a Mistress's void that holds

Our fate within her hands.

Dream, warriors, of the dark above,

And feel the sweet redemption of

The Night's Consort, and of her love

For those within her bands.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.

Your soul the night will keep.

Embrace the darkness deep.

Sleep, love; forever sleep.

Galdar felt a lethargy steal over him, a languor similar to that

experienced by those who bleed to death. His limbs grew heavy,

his body was dead weight, so heavy that he was sinking into the

ground. Sinking into the soft dirt and the ash of the dead plants

and the leaves that drifted down upon him, settling over him like

a blanket of dirt thrown into his grave.

He was at peace. He knew no fear. Consciousness drained

away from him.

Gamashinoch, the dwarves called it. The Song of Death.

Targonne's dragon riders were up with the gray dawn, flying

low over the forests of the ogre land of Blade. They had watched

from the heavens yesterday, watched the small army run before the

ogre raiding party. The soldiers had fled before the ogres in near

panic, so far as the dragon riders could see, abandoning their

supply wagons, leaving them for the ogres. One of the riders noted

grimly that Targonne would not be pleased to hear that several

hundred steel worth of equipment was now adorning ogre bodies.

The ragtag army had run blindly, although they had managed

to keep in formation. But their mad dash to safety had taken them

nowhere. The army had run headlong into the magical shield sur-

rounding Silvanesti. The army had come to a halt here at sun-

down. They were spent, they could go no farther, even if there

had been any place for them to go, which there wasn't.

Looting the wagons had occupied the ogre raiding party for a

couple of hours, but when there was nothing more to eat and they

had stolen all there was to steal, the ogres moved south, follow-

ing the trail of the humans, following their hated scent that drove

them to fury and battle madness.

The dragon riders could have dealt with the ogres. The blues

would have made short work of the raiding party. But the riders

had their orders. They were to keep watch on this rebellious

Knight and her army of fanatics. The dragon riders were not to

interfere. Targonne could not be blamed if ogres destroyed the

Silvanesti invasion force. He had told Malys many times that the

ogres should be driven out of Blade, exterminated like the

kender. Maybe next time she would listen to him.

"There they are, "said one of the riders, as his dragon circled

low. "In the Dead Land. The same place where we left them last

night. They haven't moved. Maybe they're dead themselves.

They look it."

"If not, they soon will be," said his commander.

The ogres were a black mass, moving like sludge along the

road that ran alongside what the Knight had termed the Dead

Land, the gray zone of death that marked the edge of the shield,

the border of Silvanesti.

The dragon riders watched with interest, looking forward with

anticipation to the battle that would finally bring an end to this

tiresome duty and allow them to return to their barracks in Khur.

The Knights settled themselves comfortably to watch.

"Do you see that?" said one suddenly, sitting forward.

"Circle 10wer," the commander ordered.

The dragons flew lower, wings making a gentle sweep, catch-

ing the pre-dawn breeze. The riders stared down at the astonish-

ing sight below.

"I think, gentlemen," said the commander, after a moment

spent watching in gaping wonder, "that we should fly to Jelek

and report this to Targonne ourselves. Otherwise, we might not

be believed."

A horn blast woke Galdar, brought him to his feet before he

was fully conscious, fumbling for his sword.

"Ogres attacking! Fall in, men! Fall in!" Captain Samuval was

shouting himself hoarse, kicking at the men of his company to

rouse them from their slumbers.

"Mina!" Galdar searched for her, determined to protect her,

or, if he could not do that, to kill her so that she should not fall

alive into ogre hands. "Mina!"

He found her in the same place he had left her. Mina sat in the

curl of the dead oak's arm. Her weapon, the morning star, lay

across her lap.

"Mina," said Galdar, plunging through the gray ash and

trampling the dead leaves, "hurry! There may yet be a chance for

you to escape-"

Mina looked at him and began to laugh.

He stared, appalled. He had never heard her laugh. The

laughter was sweet and merry, the laughter of a girl running to

meet a lover. Mina climbed upon the stump of a dead tree.

"Put your weapons away, men!" she called out. "The ogres

cannot touch us."

"She has gone mad!" Samuval said.

"No," said Galdar, staring, unbelieving. "Look."

Ogres had formed a battle line not ten feet away from them.

The ogres danced along this line. They clamored, roared, gnashed

their teeth, gibbered, and cursed. They were so close that their

foul stench made his nostrils twitch. The ogres jumped up and

down, kicked and hammered with their fists, wielded their

weapons in murderous rage.

Murderous, frustrated rage. The enemy was in clear sight, yet

he might as well have been playing among the stars in some dis-

tant part of the universe. The trees that stood between Galdar and

the ogres shimmered in the half-light, rippled as Mina's laughter

rippled through the gray dawn. The ogres beat their heads

against a shield, an invisible shield, a magical shield. They could

not pass.

Galdar watched the ogres, watched to make certain that they

could not reach him or his comrades. It seemed impossible to him

that they could not enter through this strange and unseen barrier,

but at last he had to admit that what his mind at first disbelieved

was true. Many of the ogres fell back away from the barrier,

alarmed and frightened of the magic. A few seemed to have

simply grown weary of beating their heads against nothing but

air. One by the one, the ogres turned their hairy backs upon the

human army that they could see, but could not reach. Their

clamor began to die down. With threats and rude gestures, the

ogres straggled off, disappeared into the forest.

"We are inside the shield, men!" Mina called out in triumph.

"You stand safe within the borders of the Silvanesti! Witness the

might and power of the One True God!"

The men stood staring, unable at first to comprehend the mir-

acle that had befallen them. They blinked and gaped, reminding

Galdar of prisoners who have been locked in dark cells for most

of their lives, suddenly released to walk in the bright sunshine. A

few exclaimed, but they did so softly, as if fearful to break the

spell. Some rubbed their eyes, some doubted their own sanity, but

there was the unmistakable sight of ogre backsides - ogres in re-

treat - to tell the soldiers that they were in their right minds, that

they were not seeing things. One by one, the men fell to their

knees before Mina and pressed their faces into the gray ash. They

did not chant her name in triumph, not this time. This moment

was too holy, too sacred. They paid Mina homage in silent awe

and reverence.

"On your feet, men!" Mina shouted. "Take up your arms. This

day we march to Silvanost. And there is no force in the world that

can stop us!"

CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

FROM DAY TO NIGHT

Faces.

Faces floating over him. Bobbing and receding on a rip-

pling surface of pain. When Gerard rose to the surface, the

faces were very close to him-strange faces, with no expression,

corpses, drowned in the dark sea in which he floundered. The

pain was worse closest to the surface, and he didn't like the face-

less faces so near his own. He let himself sink back into the dark-

ness, and there was some part of him that whispered he should

cease struggling and give himself to the sea and become one of

the faceless himself.

Gerard might have done so, but for a firm hand that gripped

his when the pain was very bad and kept him from sinking. He

might have done so but for a voice which was calm and com-

manding and ordered him to stay afloat. Accustomed to obedi-

ence, Gerard obeyed the voice. He did not drown but floundered

in the dark water, clinging to the hand that held him fast. Finally,

he made his way to the shore, pulled himself out of the pain and,

collapsing on the banks of consciousness, he slept deeply and

peacefully.

He woke hungry and pleasantly drowsy to wonder where he

was, how he came to be here, what had happened to him. The

faces that had bobbed around in his delirium were real faces now,

but they were not much more comforting than the drowned faces

in his dreams. The faces were cold and inexpressive, passionless

faces of men and women, humans, dressed in long, black robes

trimmed in silver.

"How are you feeling, sir?" one of these faces asked, bending

over him and placing a chill hand upon his neck to feel his pulse.

The woman's arm was covered with black cloth that fell over his

face, and Gerard understood the image of the dark water in

which he'd believed himself to be drowning.

"Better," said Gerard cautiously. "I'm hungry."

"A good sign. Your pulse is still weak. I will have one of the

acolytes bring you some beef broth. You have lost blood, and the

beef will help restore it."

Gerard looked at his surroundings. He lay in a bed in a large

room filled with beds, most of which were empty. Other black-

robed figures drifted about the room, moving silently on slip-

pered feet. Pungent smells of herbs scented the air. I

"Where am I?" Gerard asked, puzzled. "What happened?"

"You are in a hospital of our order, Sir Knight," the healer

replied. "In Qualinesti. You were ambushed by elves, seem-

ingly. I do not know much more than that." Nor did she care,

by her cold expression. "Marshal Medan found you. He

brought you here the day before yesterday. He saved your

life."

Gerard was baffled. "Elves attacked me?"

"I know nothing more," the healer told him. "You are not my

only patient. You must ask the marshal. He will be here shortly.

He has been here every morning since he brought you in, sitting

by your side."

Gerard remembered the firm hand, the strong, commanding

voice and presence. He turned his body, slowly, painfully. His

wounds were tightly bound, his muscles weak from lying in bed.

He looked to see his armor-black armor, cleaned and polished-

placed carefully on a stand near his bed.

Gerard closed his eyes with a groan that must have made the

healer think he had suffered a relapse. He remembered all, or at

least most, of what had happened. He remembered fighting two

Neraka Knights. He remembered the arrow, remembered a third

Knight, remembered challenging the Knight to fight. . . .

He did not remember being attacked by elves.

A young man came carrying a tray on which was a bowl of

broth, a bit of bread, and a mug.

"Shall I help you, sir?" the young man asked politely.

Gerard imagined being spoon-fed like a child. "No," he said,

and, though it cost him considerable pain, he struggled to a

seated position.

The young man placed the tray on Gerard's lap and sat down

on a chair at his side to watch him eat.

Gerard dunked his bread in the broth. He drank the clear, cool

water from the mug and wondered how to find out the truth.

"I take it I am a prisoner here," he said to the young man.

"Why, no, sir!" The acolyte appeared astonished. "Why

should you think that? You were ambushed by a band of elves,