Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (82 page)

but he remembered his promise to Mina. "Fetch my breastplate,

will you, Cousin? And my sword. Help me on with them, will

you?"

"I can call your attendants," Kiryn offered.

"No, I want no one." Silvan clenched his fist. "If one of my

servants said something insulting about her I might. . . I might

do something I would regret."

Kiryn helped with the leather buckles.

"I have heard that she is quite lovely. For a human," he re-

marked.

Silvan cast his cousin a sharp, suspicious glance.

Kiryn did not look up from his work. Muttering under his

breath, he pretended to be preoccupied with a recalcitrant strap.

Reassured, Silvan relaxed. "She is the most beautiful woman

I ever saw, Kiryn! So fragile and delicate. And her eyes! I have

never seen such eyes!"

"And yet, Cousin," Kiryn rebuked gently, "she is a Knight of

Neraka. One of those who have pledged our destruction."

"A mistake!" Silvan cried, going from ice to fire in a flash. "I

am certain of it! She has been bewitched by the Knights or . . . or

they hold her family hostage. . . or any number of reasons! In

truth, she came here to save us."

"Bringing with her a troop of armed soldiers," Kiryn said

dryly.

"You will see, Cousin," Silvan predicted. "You will see that I

am right. I'll prove it to you." He rounded on Kiryn. "Do you

know what I did? I went last night to set her free. I did! I cut a

hole in her tent. I was going to unlock her chains. She refused to

leave."

"You did what?" Kiryn gasped, appalled. "Cousin-"

"Never mind," said Silvan, turning away, the flame flaring

out, the ice reforming. "I don't want to discuss it. I shouldn't have

told you. You're as bad as the rest. Get out! Leave me alone."

Kiryn thought it best to obey. He put his hand on the tent flap

and was halfway out when Silvan caught hold of him by the

shoulder, gripped him hard.

"Are you going to run to tell Konnal what I told you? Because

if you are--"

"I am not, Cousin," Kiryn said quietly. "I will keep what you

have said in confidence. You need not threaten me."

Silvan appeared ashamed. Mumbling something, he let loose

of Kiryn's sleeve, turned his back on him.

Grieved, worried, afraid, both for his people and for his

cousin, Kiryn stood outside the king's tent and tried to think

what to do. He did not trust the human girl. He did not know

much about the Knights of Neraka, but he had to believe that they

would not promote someone who served them reluctantly or un-

willingly to the rank of commander. And though no elf could ever

speak well of a human, the elven soldiers had talked grudgingly

of the enemy's tenacity in battle, their discipline. Even General

Konnal, who detested all humans, had admitted that these sol-

diers had fought well, and though they had retreated, they had

done so in good order. They had followed the girl through the

shield and into a well-defended realm, where surely they must

have known they would march to their deaths. No, these men did

not serve an unwilling, treacherous commander.

It was not the girl who was bewitched. It was the girl who had

done the bewitching. Silvan was clearly enamored of her. He was

of an age when elven men first begin to feel the stirrings of passion,

the age when a man falls in love with love itself. An age when he

may become drunk with adoration. "I love to love my love," was

the first line of a chorus of a popular elven song. A pity that fortune

had thrown the two of them together, had literally tossed the exotic

and beautiful human girl into the young king's arms.

Silvan was plotting something. Kiryn could not imagine

what, but he was sick at heart. Kiryn liked his cousin. He con-

sidered that Silvanoshei had the makings of a good king. This

folly could ruin him. The fact that he had tried to free this girl,

their mortal enemy, was enough to brand him a traitor if anyone

came to know of it. The Heads of House would never forgive

Silvan. They would declare him a "dark elf" and would exile him

as they had exiled his mother and his father. General Konnal

only wanted an excuse.

Kiryn did not for a moment consider breaking his vow to the

king. He would not tell anyone what Silvan had told him. He

wished very much that Silvan had never spoken of it. Kiryn won-

dered unhappily what his cousin planned, wondered what he

could do to prevent Silvan from acting in some foolish, hot-

headed, impulsive manner that would end in his ruin. The best,

the only thing he could do would be to keep close to his cousin

and be ready to try to stop him.

The sun hung directly overhead, its single eye glaring down

through the gauzy curtain of the shield as if frustrated that

could not gain a clearer view. The watery eye shown upon the

bloody field being readied for yet another wetting. The sun gazed

unwinking upon the sowers of death, who were planting bodies

in the ground, not seeds. The Thon- Thalas had run red with

blood yesterday. None could drink of it.

The elves had searched the woodlands to find a fallen tree

that would be suitable for use as a stake. The Woodshapers

crafted it so that it was smooth and sturdy and straight. They

thrust the stake deep into the ground, hammered it into the soil,

drove it deeply so that it was stable and would not fall.

General K.onnal, accompanied by Glaucous, took the field. He

wore his armor, carried his sword. The general's face was stem

and set. Glaucous was pleased, triumphant. Officers formed the

elven army into ranks in the field, brought them to attention. Elf

soldiers surrounded the field, forming a protective barrier, keep-

ing a lookout for the humans, who might take it into their heads

to try to rescue their leader. The Heads of House assembled. The

wounded who could drag themselves from their beds lined up to

watch.

Kiryn took his place beside his uncle. The young man looked

so unwell that Konnal advised him in a low voice to return to his

tent. Kiryn shook his head and remained where he was.

Seven archers had been chosen to make up the death squad.

They formed a single line about twenty paces from the stake.

They nocked their arrows, held their bows ready.

A trumpet sounded announcing the arrival of His Majesty the

Speaker of the Stars. Silvanoshei walked alone, without escort,

onto the field. He was extremely pale, so pale that the whispered

rumor ran among the Heads of House that his majesty had suf-

fered a wound in the battle, a wound that had drained his heart's

blood.

Silvan halted at the edge of the field. He looked around at the

disposition of the troops, looked at the stake, looked at the Heads

of House, looked at Konnal and at Glaucous. A chair had been

placed for the king on one side of the field, at a safe distance from

where the prisoner must make her final walk. Silvan glanced at

the chair, strode past it. He took up his place beside General

Konnal, standing between Konnal and Glaucous.

Konnal was not pleased. "We have a chair for Your Majesty. In

a place of safety."

"I stand at your side, General," Silvan said, turning his gaze

full upon Konnal. "I can think of nowhere I would be safer. Can

you?"

The general flushed, flustered. He cast a sidelong glance at

Glaucous, who shrugged as much as to say, "Don't waste time ar-

guing. What does it matter?"

"Let the prisoner be brought forth!" Konnal ordered.

Silvan held himself rigid, his hand on his sword hilt. His ex-

pression was fixed, set, gave away nothing of his inner thoughts

or feelings.

Six elven guards with swords drawn, their blades flashing

white in the sunlight, marched the prisoner onto the field. The

guards were tall and accoutered in plate mail. The girl wore a

white shift, a plain gown, unadorned, like a child's nightclothes.

Her hands and feet were manacled. She looked small and frail,

fragile and delicate, a waif surrounded by adults. Cruel adults.

A murmur swept among some of the Heads of House, a

murmur of pity and dismay, a murmur of doubt. This was the

dread commander! This girl! This child! The murmur was an-

swered with an angry growl from the soldiers. She is human. She

is our enemy.

Konnal turned his head, silenced the dismay and the anger

with a single baleful glance.

"Bring the prisoner to me," Konnal called, "so that she may

know the charges for which her life is forfeit."

The guards escorted the prisoner, who walked slowly, due to

the manacles on her ankles, but who walked with regal bearing-

straight back and lifted head and a strange, calm smile upon her

lips. Her guards, by contrast, looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

She stepped lightly over the ground, seemed to barely touch it.

The guards slogged across the churned-up dirt as if it were rough

going. They were winded and exhausted by the time they es-

corted their charge to stand before the general. The guards cast

watchful, nervous glances at their prisoner, who never once

looked at thetn.

Mina did not look at Silvanoshei, who was looking at her with

all his heart and all his soul, willing her to give him the Sign

ready to battle the entire elven army if she but said the word.

Mina's amber-eyed gaze took in General Konnal, and though he

appeared to struggle against it for a moment, he could not h

himself. He joined the other insects, trapped inside the golden

resin.

Konnal launched into a speech, explaining why it was neces-

sary to go against elven custom and belief and rob this person of

her most precious gift-her life. He was an effective speaker and

produced many salient points. The speech would have gone over

well if he had given it earlier, before the people were allowed to

see the prisoner. As it was, he had now the look of a brutal father

inflicting abusive punishment on a helpless child. He understood

that he was losing his audience; many in the crowd were growing

restless and uneasy, reconsidering their verdict. Konnal brought.

his speech to a" swift, if somewhat abrupt, end.

"Prisoner, what is your name?1I he barked, speaking Common.

His voice, unnaturally loud, bounded back at him from the

mountains.

"Mina," she replied, her voice cool as the blood-tinged Thon-

Thalas and with the same hint of iron.

"Surname?" he asked. "For the record."

"Mina is the only name I bear," she said.

"Prisoner Mina," said General Konnal sternly, "you led an

armed force into our lands without cause, for we are a peace-

loving people. Because there exists no formal declaration of war

between our peoples, we consider you to be nothing but a brig-

and, an outlaw, a murderer. You are therefore sentenced to death.

Do you have aught to say in answer to these charges?"

"I do," Mina replied, serious and earnest. I did not come here

to make war upon the Qualinesti people. I came to save them."

Konnal gave a bitter, angry laugh. IIWe know full well that to

the Knights of Neraka 'salvation' is another word for conquering

and enslavement."

"I came to save your people," said Mina quietly, gently," and

"I will do SO."

"She makes a mockery of you, General," Glaucous whispered

urgently into Konnal's left ear. "Get this over with!"

Konnal paid no attention to his adviser, except to shrug him

off and move a step away from him.

"I have one more question, Prisoner," the General continued

in portentous tones. IIYour answer will not save you from death,

but the arrows might fly a little straighter and hit their target a

little quicker if you cooperate. How did you manage to enter the

shield?"

"I will tell you and gladly,lI Mina said at once. "The hand of the

God I follow, the Hand of the One True God of the world and all

peoples in the world reached down from the heavens and raised

the shield so that I and those who accompany me could enter."

A whisper like an icy wind blowing unexpectedly on a

summer's day passed from elf to elf, repeating her words, though

that was not necessary. All had heard her clearly.

"You speak falsely, Prisoner!" said Konnal in a hollow furious

voice. "The gods are gone and will not return."

"I warned you," Glaucous said, sighing. He eyed Mina un-

easily. "Put her to death! Now!"

"I am not the one who speaks falsely," Mina said. "I am not

the one who will die this day. 1 am not the one whose life is for-

feit. Hear the words of the One True God."

She turned and looked directly at Glaucous. "Greedy, ambi-

tious, you colluded with my enemies to rob me of what is right-

fully mine. The penalty for faithlessness is death."

Mina raised her hands to the heavens. No cloud marred the

sky, but the manacles that bound her wrists split apart as if struck

by lightning and fell, ringing, to the ground. The chains that

bound her melted, dissolved. Freed of her restraints, she pointed