Within moments, the gate would be shut, secured.
“Run for it!” Tanis ordered. “And keep running,” he said to Steel.
They made a wild and desperate dash for the closing gates. The knights on duty took one look at Steel and, drawing their swords, rushed to stop him.
Lightning breath crackled outside the gate. The tip of a gigantic blue wing could be seen swooping past. Civilians caught outside were screaming about dragons. Panic-stricken, the frightened people stampeded the entrance, hampering both the knights’ attack and their ability to shut the gate.
Tanis and Caramon joined the melee. It took them both to drag away Steel, who had turned to slash at an opposing knight.
Outside the tower, the blue dragon, Flare, was flying low over the heads of the terrified crowd, sending people tumbling into the ditches. Occasionally, the dragon increased the panic by blasting holes in the ground and the fortress walls with her lightning breath.
“Sara!” Tanis yelled, waved his arm.
Sara guided the dragon to the ground. She reached out a hand, pulled Tanis onto the saddle. He, in turn, caught hold of the still-battling Steel and, with Caramon’s help from behind, managed to heave the young man up onto the dragon’s back. Caramon jumped on last. Sara shouted a command, and Flare soared into the sky.
The knights ran out of the fortress, shouting and cursing, in Paladine’s name, those who had committed the heinous act of desecrating the sacred tomb. Arrows flew from the bowmen posted on the walls. Tanis was more worried about the silver dragons, who guarded the fortress, and who had taken to the air when the trumpet had sounded.
But either the silver dragons had no desire to fight a blue and break the uneasy truce that existed among the dragons at this time, or the silvers, too, were being held back by an immortal hand. They eyed Flare balefully, but let her fly away in safety.
Perched on the back of a blue dragon, Tanis glanced down at the arrows, now whistling harmlessly beneath them.
“How,” he wondered gloomily, “am I ever going to explain all this?”
Chapter Eleven
His Father’s Sword
At Tanis’s suggestion, Flare flew for the foothills of the Khalkist Mountains, still a no-man’s-land, where they could rest in safety and figure out what to do next.
None of them spoke during the journey. Sara cast frequent worried glances at Steel. Tanis had explained, in a few brief words, some—not all—of what had occurred in the chamber. It would be up to Steel to tell her fully and completely what had happened to him.
Sara asked Steel about it, several times, but the young man didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to hear her. He sat staring out into the deep blue sky, his gaze abstracted, eyes dark and fathomless, his thoughts unreadable.
At length Sara gave up and concentrated on flying. She chose a suitable landing place, a wide clearing surrounded by a thick forest of pine trees.
“We’ll camp here for the night,” Tanis said. “We can all use the sleep. Then, in the morning, we’ll decide what to do, where to go.”
Sara agreed.
Steel said nothing. He hadn’t spoken a word since they had left the High Clerist’s Tower. Immediately on landing, he jumped lightly from the dragon’s back and took off for the forest. Sara was going to follow, but Caramon stopped her.
“Let him go,” he said gently. “He needs time to think. A lot has happened to that young man. The person who went into that chamber isn’t the same one who came out.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Sara said with a sigh. She stood staring into the woods, her hands twisting together nervously. “Will he … Has this changed his mind, do you think?”
“Only he knows that,” Tanis said.
Sara sighed again, then glanced at him anxiously. “Is there any doubt in your mind that he is the son of Sturm Brightblade?”
“None whatsoever,” Tanis answered firmly.
Sara smiled. Looking more hopeful, she went to settle the dragon down for the night.
“Just what did happen back there in the chamber, Tanis?” Caramon asked in a low voice, as they set about building a small cooking fire. “Did I really see what I thought I saw?”
Tanis pondered. “I don’t know for certain, Caramon. I’m not that sure myself. There was a blinding light, and my eyes were dazzled, but I could swear I saw Sturm standing there. He held out his hand, and the next thing I knew, the elven jewel was hanging around Steel’s neck.”
“Yeah, that’s what I saw, too.” Caramon pondered. “Still, it could have been a trick. Maybe he did steal it—”
“I don’t think so. I saw the look on his face. Steel was the most startled person in that chamber. He stared at the jewel in amazement, then he grabbed hold of it and hid it beneath his armor. Trust your heart, Caramon. Sturm gave Steel the jewel and his sword. He gave them both to his son.”
“What will he do with them—an elven love token and the sword of a Knight of Solamnia? Surely, he won’t go back to that horrid place now?”
“That’s up to him,” Tanis said quietly.
“And if he does decide to stay, what do we do with him? And his mother?” Caramon asked. “I can’t very well take them home with me. I’ll be lucky if the sheriff and his men aren’t waiting for me on the inn steps when I get back. Not to mention the fact that Ariakan will be out looking for his lost paladin. Maybe you—”
“I’m going to have to do some fast talking to keep from getting arrested myself,” Tanis said, with a wry smile. He scratched his beard and turned the matter over in his mind. “We could take Steel and Sara to Qualinesti,” he decided at last. “They’d both be safe there. Not even Lord Ariakan would dare follow them into the elven kingdom. Alhana would let Steel in, once she saw the jewel, heard his story.”
Caramon shook his head. “Won’t be much of a life for that young man, will it? Living among the elves. No offense, Tanis, but you and I both know how they’ll treat him. I don’t suppose the Solamnic Knights would let him into the knighthood?”
“I hardly think so,” Tanis said dryly.
“Then what will he do? Become a mercenary? Sell his sword to the highest bidder? An aimless drifter …”
“What were we, my friend?” Tanis asked him.
“We were wanderers,” Caramon said, after a moment’s profound thought. “But Sturm Brightblade wasn’t.”
Steel was gone all afternoon. Tanis slept. Caramon—always thinking about where his next meal was coming from—went fishing. He caught some trout in a nearby stream. Adding pine nuts and wild onions he found growing in the forest, he wrapped the trout in the wet leaves and cooked the fish on rocks heated in the fire.
By sunset, Sara was growing exceedingly anxious. She was about to send Flare to search for the young man when he appeared, walking out of the shadows of the trees. Saying nothing, Steel squatted down by the fire. He laid the sword, sheathed in its ancient scabbard, in the grass at his side. Then he helped himself to the fish.
Tanis waited for Sara to ask her son the question she had been longing to ask him ever since his escape from the tower. But now either she was afraid to hear the answer or else she was waiting for him to broach the subject, because she kept silent. Her fond and loving gaze never left him, however.
He concentrated on the food, appeared to be avoiding his mother’s eyes. Tanis had the feeling the young man’s decision had been made. Steel was wondering, perhaps, how to tell her.
The meal continued in silence, until Caramon, looking skyward, touched Tanis’s arm.
“Company,” Caramon said.
Tanis stood up swiftly. Off toward the west, from the direction of Palanthas, four dragons veered and wheeled against the red and orange streaks of the dying sun.
“Damn! And here we sit, all cozy in front of a fire! You’d think we were on a picnic! I’ve been away from this sort of thing for too long, my friend,” Tanis said ruefully.
“Douse that,” Caramon ordered.
Steel was
already doing so, flinging dirt on the fire to keep it from smoking.
“What kind of dragons are they? Can you see?” Caramon was squinting. He tried to sound hopeful. “Maybe Solamnic Knights, out on patrol.”
“Knights, all right, but not Solamnic,” Tanis said grimly.
“Those are blue dragons,” Sara agreed, with certainty.
Her own blue dragon was restive, stamping its feet, lashing its tail. Well-disciplined, the beast was keeping quiet, not calling out to its mates, as it would have been inclined to do otherwise. But it was obvious the dragon had recognized its fellows and couldn’t understand why it wasn’t being permitted to join them.
Steel watched the dragons. “Half-Elven, you know these parts. Is there some town nearby, within walking distance?”
Sara clasped her hands together, her eyes bright with joy.
Tanis considered. “There’s a village of hill dwarves at the base of the mountain. I should say it’s about a day’s journey from here. The dwarves trade with Palanthas. Caravans come and go all the time.”
“Excellent,” Steel said, keeping his gaze on the distant blues. “I didn’t want to leave you stranded. I’m taking Flare with me.”
The joy drained from Sara’s eyes; the blood drained from her face.
“They’re searching for me, of course,” the young man continued briskly. “I’ll fly to join them. You will be safe here. My return should satisfy Lord Ariakan. He’ll call off the pursuit.”
Sara gave a low, anguished cry.
Steel looked at her and paled, but the firm resolve on his face did not weaken. He shifted his gaze back to the two men.
“I have decided to keep the sword,” Steel said defiantly, as if he expected an argument. “It is old-fashioned, admittedly, but I have never seen a sword so well-constructed.”
Tanis nodded and faintly smiled. “The blade is yours, by right Your father gave it to you. Care for his sword well, Steel Brightblade. The blade is accustomed to being treated with respect. Its lineage is long and proud.”
“According to your father,” Caramon said, “the sword will break only if the one who wields it breaks first”
“The blade never broke when Sturm carried it,” Tanis added, “not even at the end.”
Steel was obviously overcome. The dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears. His hands gently, reverently clasped the hilt, decorated with the rose and the crown. “It is a fine weapon,” he said in a low, husky voice. “I will give it the care and honor it deserves, you may be sure of that”
He will keep the sword, Tanis thought, but what of the jewel he wears around his neck? Does he have it still? Or did he rid himself of it in the forest? What will he say about that?
Nothing, apparently.
Steel was continuing. “I want to thank you, Tanis Half-Elven, and you, Caramon Majere, for fighting at my side. I know that you’ve let yourselves in for serious trouble, maybe even danger, for my sake. I won’t forget it.” He drew the sword, held it up before him. “With my father’s blade, I offer honor to you both.”
He gave them each the knight’s salute. Then, thrusting the sword carefully into its battered scabbard, he turned, at last, to Sara.
Despairing, she stretched out her arms to him. “Steel—”
He took hold of her, embraced her, held her close.
“You promised it would be my decision, Mother.”
“Steel, no! How can you? After what you saw, after what happened!” Sara began to weep.
Gently, but firmly, Steel broke free of her loving grip. “Take care of her, won’t you, Uncle?” he said softly, to Caramon. “Keep her safe.”
“I will, Nephew.” Caramon took hold of Sara and drew her away.
Turning on his heel, the young man ran for the blue dragon. Flare was eager, waiting. Steel leapt onto the dragon’s back. The creature spread its wings.
Sara broke loose from Caramon’s grip and ran to her son.
“You’re doing this for my sake! Don’t, please, don’t!”
His handsome face was cold and hard, stern and implacable. He looked away from her, stared out into the setting sun.
“A curse, Lord Ariakan said. A curse if I discovered the truth.” He sighed, then, glancing down, said coldly, “Stand back, Mother. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
Caramon caught hold of the weeping Sara and pulled her out of the way of the dragon’s great wings.
Steel spoke a word. Flare soared into the air. The dragon circled them once. They could see the young man’s face—white against the blue wings.
And perhaps it was Tanis’s imagination or maybe a trick of the dying sunlight, but he thought he saw an argent flash, as from an elven jewel, in the young man’s hand.
The blue dragon disappeared into the darkening sky, heading north.
Chapter Twelve
His Mother’s Blood
The winds blew fiercely on Storm’s Keep. Waves lashed the rocks, broke across them in torrents of spray and foam. Lightning flared in the dark clouds; thunder rumbled, shook the foundations of the fortress. It was midnight.
The clear notes of a trumpet shattered the darkness. Lord Ariakan stood in the center of the courtyard of Storm’s Keep, surrounded by a circle of knights. Torches sputtered and flickered in the rain. The knights’ black armor glistened. The black lily of violent death adorned each black breastplate, the flower’s severed stem entwined around a bloody axe. Black cloaks, trimmed in blue, white or red—depending on the knight’s order—whipped about their armored bodies, but did little to protect them from the driving rain.
The Knights of Takhisis reveled in the rain, reveled in the storm. It was a mark of their goddess’s favor. Soon, the young man to be invested into the knighthood would—if the high priestess deemed him worthy—emerge from the temple, where he had spent the day in vigil and in prayer.
In deep-voiced unison, the knights began to chant Her Dark Majesty’s praises.
Inside the temple, in deathly silence, Steel Brightblade lay prostrate, in full armor, on the floor before the dark altar. He had spent the day lying on the chill, dank stone, abasing himself before his goddess. The temple was empty, except for him; none were permitted to disturb the knight’s vigil.
At the sound of the trumpet call, a woman emerged from the thick black curtains in back of the obsidian altar. The woman was old and bent. Her hair was gray and worn long, straggling down over her crooked shoulders. She walked with slow steps, shuffled across the stone floor. Her eyes were red-rimmed, shrewdly intelligent. She wore the black robes and dragon necklace of a high priestess of Takhisis.
A favorite of the Dark Queen’s, the priestess had immense power. It was whispered that, years ago, she had participated in the dread ceremonies that had produced draconians from the stolen eggs of the good dragons. There was not a knight on Storm’s Keep, Lord Ariakan among them, who did not tremble at the old woman’s look, her touch.
She came to stand before the young knight, who lay with his face pressed against the stones, his dark hair streaming about him, gleaming blue-black in the light of the altar candles. On the altar, awaiting the Dark Queen’s blessing, was his helm, fashioned in the shape of a hideous, grinning skull, and his breastplate, with its lily and its axe. But not his sword, as was customary.
“Rise,” said the priestess.
Weak from fasting and from lying, encased in chain mail, on the cold floor, Steel rose stiffly and awkwardly to his knees. His head remained bowed. Not daring to lift his eyes to the holy priestess, he clasped his hands before him.
She observed him closely, then, reaching out a clawlike hand, she placed her fingers beneath his chin. The nails dug into his flesh. He flinched at her touch, which was far colder than the stones. She raised his face to the light, to her scrutiny.
“You now know the name of your father?”
“Yes, Holiness,” Steel said steadfastly, “I do.”
“Say it. Speak it before the altar of your queen.”
St
eel swallowed, his throat constricted. He hadn’t thought this would be so difficult.
“Brightblade,” he whispered.
“Again.”
“Brightblade.” His voice rang out, defiantly proud.
The priestess was not displeased, it seemed.
“Your mother’s name.”
“Kitiara Uth Matar.” Again, this time fiercely, with pride.
The priestess nodded.
“A worthy lineage. Steel Uth Matar Brightblade, do you hereby dedicate your body, your heart, your soul to Her Dark Majesty, Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, Dark Warrior, Dragon Queen, She-of-Many-Faces?”
“I do so,” Steel answered calmly.
The priestess smiled a secret, dark smile.
“Body and heart and soul, Steel Uth Matar Brightblade?” she repeated.
“Yes, of course,” he answered, troubled. This was not part of the ritual, as he had been taught. “Why should you doubt me?”
In answer, the priestess took hold of a slender, steel chain that encircled the young man’s neck. She tugged on the chain, drew forth its ornament.
An elven jewel, carved in the shape of a star, pale and gleaming, hung from the steel chain.
“What is this?” the priestess hissed.
Steel shrugged, tried to laugh. “I stole it from the corpse of my father, at the same time I stole his sword. The knights were furious. I struck fear into their hearts!”
His words were bold, but they echoed too loudly, hollow and discordant, in the silence of the temple.
The priestess placed her fingertip gingerly on the jewel.
A flash of white light, a sizzling sound.
The priestess snatched her hand back with a shrill cry of pain.
“It is an artifact of good!” She spat the word. “I cannot touch it. No one who is a true servant of Her Dark Majesty could touch that cursed jewel. Yet you, Steel Brightblade, wear it with impunity.”
Steel, deathly pale, stared at her in dismay. “I’ll forsake it! I’ll take it off,” he cried. His hand closed over the jewel, shrouding its brilliant light in darkness. “It’s just a bauble. It means nothing to me!”
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