Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (75 page)

came together with a resounding crash.

When battle was joined, Silvan and his mounted escort

galloped into the woods on the west side of the battlefield. Their

small force screened by the trees, they rode around the flank of

their own army, crossed over enemy lines, and rode around the

enemy's flank. No one noticed them. No one shouted or called

out. Those fighting saw only the foe before them. Arriving at a

point near the edge of the field, Silvan called a halt, raising his

hand. He rode cautiously to the edge of the forest, taking the com-

mander of the general's guard with him. The two looked out

upon the field of battle.

"Send out the scouting party," Silvan ordered. "Bring back

word the moment they have located the enemy commanders."

The scouts proceeded ahead through the woods, edging

closer to the field of battle. Silvan waited, watching the progress

of the war.

Combat was hand to hand. The archers on both sides were

now effectively useless, with the armies locked together in a

bloody embrace. At first, Silvan could make nothing of the con-

fusion he looked upon, but after watching several moments, it

seemed to him that the elf army was gaining ground.

"A glorious victory already, Your Majesty," his commander

said in triumph. "The vermin are falling back!"

"Yes, you are right," Silvan replied, and he frowned.

"Your Majesty does not seem pleased. We are crushing the

human insects!"

"So it would seem," said Silvan. "But if you look closely, Com-

mander, you will note that the enemy is not running in panic.

They are falling back, certainly, but their movements are calcu-

lated, disciplined. See how they hold their line? See how one man

steps in to take the place if another falls? Our troops, on the other

hand," he added with disgust, "have gone completely berserk!"

The elves, seeing the enemy in retreat, had broken ranks and

were flailing at the enemy in a murderous rage, heedless of the

shouts and cries of their commanders. Competing trumpet calls

sounded over the screams of the wounded and dying, fighting

their own battle. Silvan noted that the Dark Knights listened

closely for their trumpet calls and responded immediately to the

brayed commands, while the maddened elves were deaf to all.

"Still," Silvan said, "we cannot help but win, seeing that we

outnumber them so greatly. The only way could possibly lose

would be to turn our swords on ourselves. I will have a few

words with General Konnal on my return, however. Samar would

never permit such a lack of discipline."

"Your Majesty!" One of the scouts returned, riding at a full

gallop. "We have located the officers!"

Silvan turned his horse's head, rode after the scout. They had

advanced only a short way through the forest, before they met up

with another scout, who had been left to keep watch.

He pointed. "There, Your Majesty. On that rise. They're easy

to see."

So they were. A huge minotaur, the first Silvan had ever seen,

stood upon the rise. The minotaur wore the regalia of a Knight of

Neraka. A massive sword was buckled at his side. He was watch-

ing the progress of the battle intently. Twelve more Knights,

mounted on horses, were also observing the battle. Beside them

stood the standard-bearer, holding a flag that might have once

been white, but was now a dirty brownish red color, as if it had

been soaked in blood. An aide stood nearby, holding the reins of

a magnificent red horse.

"Surely the minotaur is their commander," Silvan said. "We

were misinformed."

"No, Your Majesty," the scout replied. "See there, behind the

minotaur. That is the commander, the one with the blood-red sash."

Silvan could not see her, at first and then the minotaur

stepped to one side to confer with another of the Knights. Behind

him, a slight, delicate human female stood on a knoll, her gaze

fixed with rapt intensity upon the battle. She carried her helm be-

neath her arm. A morning star hung from a belt at her waist.

"That is their commander?" Silvan said, amazed. "She does

not look old enough to be attending her first dance, much less

leading seasoned troops into battle."

As if she had heard him, though that was impossible, for she

was a good forty yards distant, she turned her face toward him.

He felt himself suddenly exposed to her view, and he backed up

hurriedly, keeping to the deep shadows of the dense woods.

She stared in his direction for long moments, and Silvan was

certain that they had been seen. He was about to order his men

forward, when she turned her head away. She said something to

the minotaur, apparently, for he left his conference and walked

over to her. Even from this distance, Silvan could see that the

minotaur regarded the girl with the utmost respect, even rever-

ence. He listened intently to her orders, looked over his shoulder

at the battle and nodded his homed head.

He turned and, with a wave of his hand, summoned the

mounted Knights. With a roar, the minotaur ran forward toward

the rear of his own lines. The Knights galloped after him, with

what purpose Silvan could not tell. A countercharge, perhaps.

"Now is our chance, Your Majesty!" said the commander ex-

citedly. "She stands alone."

This was beyond all possible luck, so far beyond that Silvan

mistrusted his good fortune. He hesitated before ordering his

men forward, fearing a trap.

"Your Majesty!" the commander urged. "What are you wait-

ing for?"

Silvan looked and looked. He could see no troops lying in

ambush. The mounted Knights of the enemy were riding away

from their commander.

Silvan spurred his horse and galloped forward, the other sol-

diers streaming behind him. They rode with the swiftness of an

arrow, with Silvan as the silver arrowhead, aiming straight at the

enemy's heart. They were halfway to their destination before

anyone was aware of them. The girl kept her gaze fixed on her

forces. It was her standard-bearer who spotted them. He cried out

and pointed. The red horse lifted its head, whinnied loud enough

to rival the trumpets.

At the sound, the minotaur halted in his charge and turned

around.

Silvan kept the minotaur in the comer of his eye as he rode,

dug his spurs into his horse's flank, urging more speed. The mad

race was exhilarating. A skilled rider, he outdistanced his body-

guard. He was not far from his objective now. She must have

heard the pounding hooves, but still she did not turn her head.

A great and terrible roar sounded over the battlefield. A roar

of grief and rage and fury. A roar so horrible that the sound

caused Silvan's stomach to shrivel and brought beads of sweat to

his forehead. He looked to see the minotaur rushing for him, a

great sword raised to cleave him in twain. Silvan gritted his teeth

and pressed the horse forward. If he could lay his hands on the

girl, he would use her as both shield and hostage.

The minotaur was extraordinarily fast. Though he was on foot

and Silvan was mounted, it seemed that the racing minotaur

must reach Silvan before Silvan's horse could reach the enemy

commander. Silvan looked from the minotaur to the girl. She had

still taken no notice of him. She seemed completely unaware of

her danger. Her gaze was fixed upon the minotaur.

"Galdar," she called, her voice beautifully clear, oddly deep.

"Remember your oath."

Her voice resounded over the cries and screams and clashing

steel. The call acted upon the minotaur like a spear to his heart.

He ceased his furious rush. He stared at her, his gaze pleading.

She did not relent, or so it seemed. She shifted her gaze from

him to the heavens. The minotaur gave another howl of rage and

then plunged his sword into the ground, drove it into the corn-

field with such force that he buried it halfway to the hilt.

Silvan galloped up the rise. At last the girl shifted her gaze

from the heavens. She turned her eyes full upon Silvan.

Amber eyes. Silvan had never seen the like. Her eyes did not

repel him but drew him forward. He rode toward her, and he

could see nothing but her eyes. It seemed he was riding into

them.

She clasped her morning star, hefted it in her hand, and stood

waiting him fearlessly.

Silvan dashed his horse up the small rise, came level with the

girl. She struck at him with the morning star, a blow he deflected

easily, kicking it aside with his foot. Another kick knocked the

morning star from her hand and sent her staggering backward.

She lost her balance, fell heavily to the ground. His guards sur-

rounded her. The guards killed her standard-bearer and made an

attempt to seize the horse, but the animal lashed out with its

hooves. Breaking free of the holder, the horse charged straight for

the rear lines, as if it would join the battle alone and riderless.

The girl lay stunned on the ground. She was covered with

blood, but he could not tell if it was hers or that of her standard-

bearer, who lay decapitated by her side.

Fearing she would be trampled, Silvan furiously ordered his

guards to keep back. He slid from his horse, ran to the girl and

lifted her in his arms. She moaned, her eyes fluttered. He

breathed again. She was alive.

"I will take her, Your Majesty," offered his commander.

Silvan would not give her up. He placed her on his saddle,

climbed up behind her. Clasping one arm around her tightly,

he took hold of the reins in the other. Her head rested against

his silver breastplate. He had never in his life seen any face so

delicate, so perfectly formed, so beautiful. He cradled her ten-

derly, anxiously.

"Ride!" he ordered and he started for the woods, riding

swiftly, but not so swiftly that he risked jarring her.

He rode past the minotaur, who was on his knees beside his

buried sword, his homed head bowed in grief.

"What do you men think you are doing?" Silvan demanded.

Several of the elves were starting to ride in the minotaur's direc-

tion, their swords raised. "He is not a threat to us. Leave him."

"He is a minotaur, Your Majesty. He is always a threat,"

protested the commander.

"Would you kill him unarmed and unresisting?" Silvan de-

manded sternly.

"He would have no compunction killing us, if the situation

was reversed," the commander replied grimly.

"And so now we are reduced to the level of beasts," Silvan

said coldly. "I said leave him, Commander. We have achieved our

objective. Let us get out of here before we are overrun."

Indeed, that seemed likely. The army of the Knights of Neraka

was falling back rapidly now. Their retreat was in good order,

they were keeping their lines intact. Silvan and his Knights gal-

loped from the field, Silvan bearing their prize proudly in his

arms.

He reached the shadows of the trees. The girl stirred and

moaned again and opened her eyes.

Silvan looked down into them, saw himself encased in amber.

The girl was a docile captive, causing no trouble, accepting

her fate without complaint. When they arrived back in camp, she

refused Silvan's offers of assistance. Sliding gracefully from

Silvan's horse, she gave herself willingly into custody. The elves

clapped iron manacles on her wrists and ankles and marched her

into a tent that was furnished with nothing but a pallet of straw

and a blanket.

Silvan followed her. He could not leave her.

" Are you wounded? Shall I send the healers to you?"

She shook her head. She had not spoken a word to him or to

anyone. She refused his offer of food and drink.

He stood at the entrance to the prison tent, feeling helpless

and in chains, was calm and self-possessed. She sat down cross-

legged on her blanket, stared unblinking into the darkness. Silvan

left the tent with the uncomfortable feeling that he was the one

who had been taken prisoner.

"Where is Glaucous?" Silvan demanded. "He wanted toques-

tion her."

But no one could say what had become of Glaucous. He had

not been seen since the start of the battle;

"Let me know when he comes to interrogate her," Silvan com-

manded and went to his tent to remove his armor. He held still

this time, still and unmoving, as his squire detached the buckles

and lifted the armor from him piece by piece.

"Congratulations, Cousin!" Kiryn entered the tent, ducking

through the tent flap. "You are a hero! I will not need to write

your song, after all. Your people are already singing it!" He

waited for a laughing response, and when it did not come, he

looked at Silvan more closely. "Cousin? What is it? You don't look

well. Are you wounded?"

"Did you see her, Kiryn?" Silvan asked. "Go away!" he

shouted irritably at his squire. "Get out. I can finish this myself."

The squire bowed and left. Silvan sat down upon his cot, one

boot on and one boot off.

"Did I see the prisoner? Only a glimpse," Kiryn said. "Why?"

"What did you think of her?"

"She is the first human I have ever seen, and I did not find her

as ugly as I had been led to believe. Still, I thought her extremely

strange. Bewitching. Uncanny." Kiryn grimaced. "And is it now

the custom among human females to shave their heads?"

"What? Oh, no. Perhaps it is the custom of the Knights of

Neraka." Silvan sat with his boot in his hand, staring at the dark-

ness and seeing amber eyes. "I thought her beautiful. The most

beautiful woman I have ever seen."

Kiryn sat down beside his cousin. "Silvan, she is the enemy.

Because of her, hundreds of our people lie dead or dying in that

blood-soaked field."

"I know. I know!" Silvan cried, standing up. He tossed the

boot into the comer. Sitting down, he began to tug viciously on

the other. "She wouldn't say a word to me. She wouldn't tell me

her name. She just looked at me with those strange eyes."

"Your Majesty." An officer appeared at the entrance. "General

Konnal has asked me to relate to you the news. The day is ours.

We have won."

Silvan made no response. He had ceased to tug on the boot,

was once again staring into the dark tent comer.

Kiryn rose, went outside. "His Majesty is fatigued," he said.

"I'm certain he is overjoyed."

"Then he's the only one," said the officer wryly.

Victory belonged to the elves, but few in the elven camp that

night rejoiced. They had halted the enemy's advance, driven him

back, kept him from reaching Silvanost, but they had not de-

stroyed him. They counted thirty human bodies upon the field of

battle, not four hundred as they had anticipated. They laid the

blame to a strange fog that had arisen from the river, a dank, chilL

gray fog that hung low over the ground, a swirling, obfuscating

fog that hid foe from foe, comrade from comrade. In this fog, the

enemy had simply disappeared, vanished, as if the blood-soaked

ground had opened up and swallowed him.

"Which is probably exactly what happened," said General

Konnal to his officers. "They had their escape arranged in ad-

vance. They retreated, and when the fog came, they ran to their

hideout. They are skulking about in the caves somewhere near

here."

"To what purpose, General?" Silvan demanded impatiently.

The king was feeling irritable and out of sorts, restless and

antsy. He left his tent that was suddenly cramped and confining,

came to confer with the officers. Silvan's courage had been

praised and lauded. He was undoubtedly the hero of the hour, as

even General Konnal admitted. Silvan cared nothing for their

praise. His gaze shifted constantly to the tent where the girl was

being held prisoner.

"The humans have no food, no supplies," he continued, "and

no way of obtaining any. They are cut off, isolated. They know

that they can never take Silvanost now. Surely, if anything, they

will attempt to retreat back to the borders."

"They know we would cut them down if they tried that,"

Konnal said. "Yet, you are right, Your Majesty, they cannot remain

in hiding forever. Sooner or later they must come out, and then

we will have them. I just wish I knew," he added, more to himself

than to anyone else, "what they are planning. For there was a

plan here as certain as I live and breathe."

His officers offered various theories: The humans had panicked

and were now scattered to the four winds, the humans had de-

scended below ground in hopes of finding tunnels that would lead

them back north, and so on and so forth. Each theory had its op-

ponents, and the elves argued among themselves. Growing weary

of the debate, Silvan left abruptly, walked out into the night.

"There is one person who knows," he said to himself, "and

she will tell me. She will talk to me!"

He strode purposefully toward her tent, past the bonfires

where the elves sat disconsolately, reliving the battle. The soldiers

were bitter and chagrined at their failure to annihilate the de-

tested foe. They swore that when it was dawn they would search

beneath every rock until they found the cowardly humans, who

had run away to hide when it became clear defeat was imminent.

The elves vowed to slay them, every one.

Silvan discovered that he wasn't the only one interested in the

prisoner. Glaucous stood at the entrance to her tent, being cleared

for admittance by the guard. Silvan was about to advance and

make himself known when he realized that Glaucous had not

seen him.

Silvan was suddenly interested to hear what Glaucous would

ask her. He circled around to the rear of the prisoner's tent. The

night was dark. No guard stood back here. Silvan crept close to

the tent, being careful to make no sound. He quieted even his

breathing.

A candle on the floor inside the tent flared, brought to life two

dark silhouettes-the girl's with her smooth head and long,

graceful neck and the elf, tall and straight, his white robes black

against the light. The two stared at each other unspeaking for

long moments and then, suddenly, Glaucous recoiled. He shrank

back away from her, though she had done nothing to him, had

not moved, had not raised her hand, had not said a word.

"Who are you?" he demanded and his voice was awed.

"I am called Mina," she replied.

" And I am-"

"No need to tell me," she said. "1 know your name."

"How could you?" he asked, amazed. "You couldn't. You

have never seen me before."

"But I know it," she replied calmly.

Glaucous had regained his self-possession. "Answer me one

thing, witch. How did you pass through my shield? By what

magic? What sorcery did you use?"

"No magic," she said. "No sorcery. The Hand of the God

reached down and the shield was lifted."

"What hand?" Glaucous was angry, thinking she mocked

him. "What god? There are no gods! Not anymore!"

"There is One God," Mina stated.

"And what is the name of this god?"

"The God has no name. The God needs no name. The God is

the One God, the True God, the Only God."

"Lies! You will tell me what 1 want to know." Glaucous lifted

his hand.

Silvanoshei expected Glaucous to use the truth-seek, as had

been done to him.

"You feel your throat start to close," said Glaucous. "You gasp

for air and find none. You begin to suffocate."

"This is not the truth-seek," Silvan said to himself. "What is he

doing?"

"Your lungs burn and seem about to burst," Glaucous contin-

ued. "The magic tightens, tightens all the while until you lose

consciousness. 1 will end the torment, when you agree to tell me

the truth."

He began to chant strange words, words that Silvan did not

understand, but which he guessed must be words to a magical

spell. Alarmed for Mina's safety, Silvan was ready to rush to her

rescue, to tear the fabric of the tent with his bare hands if need be

to reach her.

Mina sat calmly on the cot. She did not gasp. She did not

choke. She continued to breathe normally.

Glaucous ceased his chant. He stared at her in amazement.

"You thwart me! How?"

"Your magic has no effect on me," Mina said, shrugging. The

chains that bound her rang like silver bells. She looked up at him.

"1 know you. 1 know the truth."

Glaucous regarded her in silence, and though Silvan could see

only Glaucous's silhouette, he could tell that the elf was emaged

and, also, that he was afraid.

Glaucous left the tent abruptly.

Troubled, fascinated, Silvan came around to the front of the

tent. He waited in the darkness until he saw Glaucous enter Gen-

eral Konnal's tent, then approached the guard.

"I will speak with the prisoner," he said.

"Yes, Your Majesty." The guard bowed, started to accompany

the king.

"Alone," Silvan said. "You have leave to go."

The guard did not move.

"I am in no danger. She is chained and manacled! Go fetch

yourself some dinner. I will take over your watch."

"Your Majesty, I have my orders-"

"I countermand them!" Silvan said angrily, thinking he was

cutting a very poor figure in the sight of those amber eyes. "Go

and take the fellow of your watch with you."

The guard hesitated a moment longer, but his king had

spoken. He dared not disobey. He and his companion walked off

toward the cooking fires. Silvan entered the tent. He stood look-

ing at the prisoner, stood inside the amber of her eyes, warm and

liquid around him.

"I want to know. . . if. . . if they are treating you well. . . ."

What a stupid thing to say! Silvan thought, even as the words

fumbled their way out of his mouth.

"Thank you, Silvanoshei Caladon," the girl said. "I need noth-

ing. I am in the care of my God."

"You know who I am?" Silvan asked.

"Of course, you are Silvanoshei, son of Alhana Starbreeze,

daughter of Lorac Caladon and of Porthios of the House of

Solostaran."

"And you are. . . ?"

"Mina."

"Just Mina?"

She shrugged and when she shrugged, the chains on her man-

acles chimed. "Just Mina."

The amber began to congeal around Silvan. He felt short of

breath, as if he were the one to fall victim to Glaucous's suffocat-

ing spell. He came closer to her, knelt on one knee before her to

bring those lovely eyes level with lUs own.

"You mention your god. I would ask you a question. If the

Knights of Neraka follow this god, then I must assume that this

god is evil. Why does someone so young and so beautiful walk

the ways of darkness?"

Mina smiled at him, the kind and pitying smile one bestows

upon the blind or the feebleminded.

"There is no good, there is no evil. There is no light, there is no

darkness. There is only one. One truth. All the rest is falsehood."

"But this god must be evil," Silvan argued. "Otherwise why

attack our nation? We are peace-loving. We have done nothing to

provoke this war. Yet now my people lie dead at the hands of

their enemy."

"I do not come to conquer," Mina said. "I come to free you, to

save you and your people. If some die, it is only that countless

others may live. The dead understand their sacrifice."

"Perhaps they do," said Silvan with a wry shake of his head.

"I confess that I do not. How could you-a human, single and

alone-save the elven nation?"

Mina sat quite still for long moments, so still that her chains

made no sound. Her amber eyes left him, shifted to stare into the

candle's flame. He was content to sit and gaze at her. He could

have been content to sit at her feet and gaze at her all night, per-

haps all his life. He had never seen a human woman with such

delicate features, such fine bone structure, such smooth skin.

Every movement was graceful and fluid. He found his eyes

drawn to her shaved head. The shape of the skull was perfect, the

skin smooth with a faint shimmering red down upon it, which

must be like feathery down to touch. . .

"I am permitted to tell you a secret, Silvanoshei," said Mina.

Silvan, lost in her, started at the sound of her voice. "Who

gives you this permission?"

"You must swear that you will tell no one else."

"I swear," said Silvan.

"Truly swear," said Mina.

"I swear," Silvan said slowly, "on my mother's grave."

"An oath I cannot accept," Mina returned. "Your mother is not

dead."

"What?" Silvan sank back, amazed. "What are you saying?"

"Your mother lives, and so does your father. The ogres did

not kill your mother or her followers, as you feared. They were

rescued by the Legion of Steel. But your parents' story is ended,