Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (73 page)

do now but deliver the dispatch. To do otherwise would be to put

himself in danger, and he might be the only means of thwarting

the dragon's evil design.

Medan would be wondering what had become of him. Gerard

had already been longer on his daily errand than usual. He hur-

riedly rolled up the dispatch, thrust it into the tube, carefully re-

placed the wax seal, and made sure that it was firmly stuck.

Thrusting the foul thing in his belt, unwilling to touch it more than

necessary, he continued on his way back to the marshal's at a run.

Gerard found the.marshal strolling in his garden, taking his

exercise after his evening meal. Hearing footsteps along the walk-

way, the marshal glanced around.

"Ah, Gerard. You are behind your time. I was starting to fear

something might have happened to you." The marshal looked in-

tently at Gerard's arm. "Something has happened to you. You are

injured."

Gerard glanced down at his shirtsleeve, saw it wet with

blood. In his distraction over the dispatch, he'd forgotten his

wounds, forgotten the fight with the draconian.

"There was an altercation at headquarters," he said, knowing

that Medan would come to hear what had happened. "Here are

the daily reports." He placed those upon a table that stood be-

neath a trellis over which Medan had patiently trained grapevines

to grow, forming a green and leafy bower. "And there is this dis-

patch, which comes from the dragon Beryl." ,

Medan took the dispatch with a grimace. He did not immedi-

ately open it. He was much more interested in hearing about the

fight. "What was the altercation, Sir Gerard?"

"The draconian messenger insisted on bringing the dis-

patch to you himself. Your Knights did not think that this

was necessary. They insisted he remain there to await your

response.

"Your doing, I think, sir," said Medan with a smile. "You acted

rightly. I am wary of Groul. Who knows what he is thinking in

that lizard brain of his? He is not to be trusted."

He turned his attention to the dispatch. Gerard saluted,

started to leave.

"No, no. You might as well wait. I will have to draft an

answer. . . ." He fell silent, reading.

Gerard, who knew every line because he felt each one burned

on his brain, could follow Medan's progress through the dispatch

by watching the expression on his face. Medan's lips tightened,

his jaw set. If he had appeared happy, overjoyed, Gerard had de-

termined to kill the marshal where he stood, regardless of the

consequences.

Medan was not overjoyed, however. Far from it. His face lost

its color, took on a sallow, grayish hue. He completed reading the

dispatch and then, with studied deliberation, read it through

again. Finished, he crushed it in his hand and, with a curse,

hurled it to the walkway.

Arms folded across his chest, he turned his back, stared

grimly at nothing until he had regained some measure of his com-

posure. Gerard stood in silence. Now might have been a politic

time to absent himselL but he was desperate to know what

Medan intended to do.

At length, the marshal turned around. He glanced down at

the crumpled piece of parchment, glanced up at Gerard. "Read

it," he said.

"Sir." Gerard flushed. "It's not meant for-"

"Read it, damn you!" Medan shouted. Calming himself with

an effort, he added, "You might as well. I must think what to do,

what to say to the dragon in reply and how to say it. Carefully,"

he admonished himself softly. "1 must proceed carefully, or all is

lost!"

Gerard picked up the dispatch and smoothed it out.

"Read it aloud," Medan ordered. "Perhaps I misread it. Per-

haps there was some part of it I misunderstood." His tone was

ironic.

Gerard skipped through the formal address, came to the body

of the text.

"'It has come to my attention,'" he read, "through one who is

in sympathy with my interests, that the outlawed sorcerer Palin

Majere has discovered a most valuable and wondrous magical ar-

tifact whi~e he was unlawfully in my territory. I consider that the

artifact is therefore mine. I must and I will have it.

"'Informants tell me that Palin Majere and the kender have

fled with the artifact to the Citadel of Light. I give the elf king,

Gilthas, three days to recover the device and the culprits who

carry it and another three days to deliver them up to me.

"'In addition, the elf king will also send me the head of the elf

woman, Lauranalanthalas, who harbored the sorcerer and the

kender in her home and who aided and abetted them in their

escape.

"'If, at the end of six days, I have not received the head of this

traitor elf woman and if the artifact and those who stole it are not

in my hands, I will order the destruction of Qualinesti to com-

mence. Every man, woman, and child in that wretched nation

shall be put to sword or flame. None shall survive. As for those in

the Citadel of Light who dare harbor these criminals, I will de-

stroy them, burn their Citadel to the ground, and recover the

magical device from amidst the bones and ashes.'

Gerard was thankful he'd read this once. Had he not been pre-

pared, he would not have been able to read it as calmly as he

managed. As it was, his voice caught in his throat and he was

forced to cover his emotions with a harsh cough. He finished

reading and looked up to find Medan observing him closely.

"Well, what do you think of this?" Medan demanded.

Gerard cleared his throat. "I believe that it is presumptuous of

the dragon to give you orders, my lord. The Knights of Neraka

are not her personal army."

Medan's grim expression relaxed. He almost smiled. "That is

an excellent argument, Gerard. Would it were true! Unfortu-

nately, the High Command crawled on their bellies before the

great dragons years ago."

"She can't mean this, my lord," Gerard said cautiously. "She

wouldn't do this. Not an entire race of people-"

"She could and she will," Medan replied grimly. "Look what

she did to Kenderhome. Slaughtered the little nuisances by the

thousands. Not that kender are any great loss, but it goes to prove

that she will do what she says."

Gerard had heard other Solamnic Knights say the same thing

about the slaughter of the kender, and he recalled laughing with

them. He knew some Solamnic Knights who would not be dis-

pleased to see the elves depart this world. We consider ourselves

so much better, so much more moral and more honorable than the

Dark Knights, Gerard said to himself. In reality, the only differ-

ence is the armor. Silver or black, it masks the same prejudices,

the same intolerance, the same ignorance. Gerard felt suddenly,

deeply ashamed.

Medan had begun to pace the walkway. "Damn the blasted

elves! All these years I work to save them, and now it is for noth-

ing! Damn the queen mother anyhow! If she had only listened

to me! But no. She must consort with rebels and the like, and

now what comes of it? She has doomed herself and her people.

Unless. . ."

He paused in his pacing, hands clasped behind his back,

brooding, his thoughts turned inward. His robes, of elven make,

elven cut, and elven design, fell loosely about his body. The hem,

trimmed with silk ribbon, brushed his feet. Gerard remained

silent, absorbed with his own thoughts-a confusion of sickening

rage against the dragon for wanting to destroy the elves and rage

at himself and his own kind for standing idly by and doing noth-

ing all these years to stop her.

Medan raised his head. He had made a decision. "The day has

arrived sooner than I anticipated. I will not be a party to geno-

cide. I have no compunction about killing another warrior in

battle, but I will not butcher helpless civilians who have no way

to fight back. To do so is the height of cowardice, and such

wanton slaughter would break the oath I swore when I became a

Knight. Perhaps there is a way to stop the dragon. But I will re-

quire your help."

"You have it, my lord," said Gerard.

"You will have to trust me." Medan raised an eyebrow.

"And you will have to trust me, my lord," said Gerard,

smiling.

Medan nodded. A man of quick and decisive actions, he did

not waste breath in further talk but seated himself at the table. He

reached for pen,pnd ink. "We must stall for time," he said, writ-

ing rapidly. "You will deliver my answer to the draconian Groul,

but he must never reach the dragon. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Gerard.

Medan completed his writing. He sprinkled sand on the

paper, to help the ink dry, rolled it and handed it to Gerard. "Put

that in the same scroll case. No need to seal it. The message states

that I am the Exalted One's Obedient Servant and that 1 will do

her bidding."

Medan rose to his feet. "When you have completed your task,

go straight to the Royal Palace. I will leave orders that you are to

be admitted. We must make haste. Beryl is a treacherous fiend,

not to be trusted. She may have already decided to act on her

own."

"Yes, my lord," Gerard said. "And where will you be, my

lord? Where can 1 find you?"

Medan smiled grimly. "1 will be arresting the queen mother."

Marshal Medan walked along the path that led through the

garden to the main dwelling of Laurana's modest estate. Night

had fallen. He had brought a torch to light his way. The flame

singed the hanging flowers as he passed beneath them, caused

leaves to blacken and curl. Bugs flew into the fire. He could hear

them sizzle.

The marshal was not wearing his elven robes. He was accou-

tered in his full ceremonial armor. Kelevandros, who answered

Medan's resounding knock upon the door, was quick to note the

change. He eyed the marshal warily.

"Marshal Medan. Welcome. Please enter. I will inform madam

that she has a visitor. She will see you in the arboretum, as usual."

"I prefer to remain where 'I am," said the marshal. "Tell your

mistress to meet me here. Tell her," he added, his voice grating,

"that she should be dressed for travel. She will need her cloak.

The night air is chill. And tell her to make haste."

He looked intently and constantly about the garden, paying

particular attention to the parts of the garden hidden in

shadow.

"Madam will want to know why," Kelevandros said, hesitating.

Medan gave him a shove that sent him staggering across the

room. "Go fetch your mistress," he ordered.

"Travel?" Laurana said, astonished. She had been sitting in

the arboretum, pretending to listen to Kalindas read aloud from

an ancient elventext. In reality, she had not heard a word. "Where

am I going?"

Kelevandros shook his head. "The marshal will not tell me,

Madam. He is acting very strangely."

"I don't like this, Madam," Kalindas stated, lowering the

book. "First imprisonment in your house, now this. You should

not go with the marshal."

"I agree with my brother, Madam," Kelevandros added. "I

will tell him you are not well. We will do what we have talked

about before. This night, we will smuggle you out in the tunnels."

"I will not," said Laurana determinedly. "Would you have me

flee to safety while the rest of my people are forced to stay

behind? Bring my cloak."

"Madam," Kelevandros dared to argue, "please--"

"Fetch me my cloak," Laurana stated. Her tone was gentle but

firm, brooked no further debate.

Kelevandros bowed silently.

Kalindas went to fetch the cloak. Kelevandros returned with

Laurana to the front door, where Marshal Medan had remained

standing.

Sighting her, he straightened. "Lauranalanthalas of the House

of Solostaran," he said formally, "you are under arrest. You will

surrender yourself peacefully to me as my prisoner."

"Indeed?" Laurana was quite calm. "What is the charge? Or is

there a charge?" she asked. She turned so that Kalindas could

place the cloak about her shoulders.

The elf started to do so, but Medan took the cloak himself. The

marshal, his expression grave, settled the cloak around Laurana's

shoulders.

"The charges are numerous, Madam. Harboring a human

sorcerer who is wanted by the Gray Robes, concealing your

knowledge of a valuable magical artifact, which the sorcerer

had in his possession when, by law, all magical artifacts located

in Qualinesti are to be handed over to the dragon. Aiding and

abetting the outlaw sorcerer in his escape from Qualinesti with

the artifact."

"I see," said Laurana.

"I tried to warn you, madam, but you would not heed me,"

Medan said.

"Yes, you did try to warn me, marshal, and for that I am grate-

ful." Laurana fastened the cloak around her neck with a jeweled

pin. Her hands were steady, did not tremble. "And what is to be

done with me, Marshal Medan?"

"My orders are to execute you, madam," said Medan. "lam to