Sturm caught his breath as the woman removed the hood of her cloak and drew the veil from her face. For the first time, human eyes looked upon the face of Alhana Starbreeze.
Muralasa, the elves called her, Princess of the Night. Her hair, black and soft as the night wind, was held in place by a net as fine as cobweb, twinkling with tiny jewels like stars. Her skin was the pale hue of the silver moon, her eyes the deep, dark purple of the night sky and her lips the color of the red moon’s shadows.
The knight’s first thought was to give thanks to Paladine that he was already on his knees. His second was that death would be a paltry price to pay to serve her, and his third that he must say something, but he seemed to have forgotten the words of any known language.
“Thank you for searching, noble knight,” Alhana said softly, staring intently into Sturm’s eyes. “As I said, it was a trifle. Please rise. I am very weary and, since it seems we are going to the same place, you could do me a great favor by giving me your assistance.”
“I am yours to command,” Sturm said fervently, and he rose to his feet, swiftly tucking the jewel inside his belt. He held out his arm, and Alhana put her slender, white hand on his forearm. His arm trembled at her touch.
It seemed to the knight as if a cloud had covered the light of the stars when she veiled her face again. Sturm saw Tanis fall into line behind them, but so enraptured was the knight with the beautiful face burning in his memory that he stared straight at the half-elf without a flicker of recognition.
Tanis had seen Alhana’s face and felt his own heart stir with her beauty. But he had seen Sturm’s face as well. He had seen that beauty enter the knight’s heart, doing more damage than a goblin’s poisoned arrowtip. For this love must turn to poison, he knew. The Silvanesti were a proud and haughty race. Fearing contamination and the loss of their way of life, they refused to have even the slightest contact with humans. Thus the Kinslayer Wars had been fought.
No, thought Tanis sadly, the silver moon itself was not higher or farther out of Sturm’s reach. The half-elf sighed. This was all they needed.
6
Knights of Solamnia.
Tasslehoff’s glasses of true seeing.
As the guards led the prisoners from the Hall of Justice, they passed two figures standing outside in the shadows. Both were so swathed in clothing it was difficult to tell to what race they belonged. Hoods covered their heads, their faces were wrapped in cloth. Long robes shrouded their bodies. Even their hands were wrapped in strips of white, like bandages. They spoke together in low tones.
“See!” one said in great excitement. “There they are. They match the descriptions.”
“Not all of them,” said the other dubiously.
“But the half-elf, the dwarf, the knight! I tell you, it is them! And I know where the others are,” the figure added smugly. “I questioned one of the guards.”
The other, taller figure considered, watching the group being led off down the street. “You are right. We should report this to the Highlord at once.” The shrouded figure turned, then stopped as it saw the other hesitate. “What are you waiting for?”
“But shouldn’t one of us follow? Look at those puny guards. You know the prisoners will try and escape.”
The other laughed unpleasantly. “Of course they’ll escape. And we know where they’ll go—to rejoin their friends.” The shrouded figure squinted up at the afternoon sun. “Besides, in a few hours it won’t make any difference.” The tall figure strode away, the shorter hurrying after.
It was snowing when the companions left the Hall of Justice. This time, the constable knew better than to march his prisoners through the main city streets. He led them into a dark and gloomy alleyway that ran behind the Hall of Justice.
Tanis and Sturm were just exchanging glances, and Gilthanas and Flint were just tensing to attack when the half-elf saw the shadows in the alley begin to move. Three hooded and cloaked figures leaped out in front of the guards, their steel blades gleaming in the bright sunlight.
The constable put his whistle to his lips, but he never made a sound. One of the figures knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his sword, while the other two rushed the guards, who immediately fled. The hooded figures faced the companions.
“Who are you?” Tanis asked, astounded at his sudden freedom. The hooded and cloaked figures reminded him of the hooded draconians they had fought outside of Solace. Sturm pulled Alhana behind him.
“Have we escaped one danger only to find a worse?” Tanis demanded. “Unmask yourselves!”
But one of the hooded men turned to Sturm, his hands raised in the air. “Oth Tsarthon e Paran,” he said.
Sturm gasped. “Est Tsarthai en Paranaith,” he replied, then he turned to Tanis. “Knights of Solamnia,” he said, gesturing at the three men.
“Knights?” Tanis asked in astonishment. “Why—”
“There is no time for explanation, Sturm Brightblade,” one of the knights said in Common, his accent thick. “The guards will return soon. Come with us.”
“Not so fast!” Flint growled, his feet planted firmly in the street, his hands breaking off the handle of a hauberk so that it suited his short stature. “You’ll find time for explanations or I’m not going! How’d you know the knight’s name and how came you to be waiting for us—”
“Oh, just run him through!” sang a shrill voice out of the shadows. “Leave his body to feed the crows. Not that they’ll bother; there’s few in this world who can stomach dwarf—”
“Satisfied?” Tanis turned to Flint, who was red-faced with rage.
“Someday,” vowed the dwarf, “I’ll kill that kender.”
Whistles sounded from the street behind them. With no more hesitation, the companions followed the knights through twisting, rat infested alleys. Saying he had business to attend to, Tas disappeared before Tanis could catch hold of him. The half-elf noticed that the knights didn’t seem at all surprised by this, nor did they try to stop Tas. They refused, however, to answer any questions, just kept hurrying the group along until they entered the ruins—the old city of Tarsis the Beautiful.
Here the knights stopped. They had brought the companions to a part of the city where no one ever came now. The streets were broken and empty, reminding Tanis strongly of the ancient city of Xak Tsaroth. Taking Sturm by the arm, the knights led him a short distance from his friends and began to confer in Solamnic, leaving the others to rest.
Tanis, leaning against a building, looked around with interest. What remained standing of the buildings on this street was impressive, much more beautiful than the modern city. He saw that Tarsis the Beautiful must have deserved its name before the Cataclysm. Now nothing but huge blocks of granite lay tumbled about. Vast courtyards were choked and overgrown with weeds turned brown by the biting winter winds.
He walked over to sit down on a bench with Gilthanas, who was talking to Alhana. The elflord introduced him.
“Alhana Starbreeze, Tanis Half-Elven,” Gilthanas said. “Tanis lived among the Qualinesti for many years. He is the son of my uncle’s wife.” Alhana drew back the veil from her face and regarded Tanis coldly. Son of my uncle’s wife was a polite way of saying Tanis was illegitimate, otherwise Gilthanas would have introduced him as the “son of my uncle.” The half-elf flushed, the old pain returning forcibly, hurting as much now as it had fifty years before. He wondered if he would ever be free of it.
Scratching his beard, Tanis said harshly, “My mother was raped by human warriors during years of darkness following the Cataclysm. The Speaker kindly took me in following her death and raised me as his own.”
Alhana’s dark eyes grew darker until they were pools of night. She raised her eyebrows. “Do you see a need to apologize for your heritage?” she asked in a chill voice.
“N-no …” Tanis stammered, his face burning. “I—”
“Then do not,” she said, and she turned away from him to Gilthanas. “You asked why I came to Tarsis? I came seeking aid.
I must return to Silvanesti to search for my father.”
“Return to Silvanesti?” Gilthanas repeated. “We—my people did not know the Silvanesti elves had left their ancient homeland. No wonder we lost contact—”
“Yes,” Alhana’s voice grew sad. “The evil that forced you, our cousins, to leave Qualinesti came to us as well.” She bowed her head, then looked up, her own voice soft and low. “Long we fought this evil. But in the end we were forced to flee or perish utterly. My father sent the people, under my leadership, to Southern Ergoth. He stayed in Silvanesti to fight the evil alone. I opposed this decision, but he said he had the power to prevent the evil from destroying our homeland. With a heavy heart, I led my people to safety and there they remain. But I came back to seek my father, for the days have been long and we have heard no word of him.”
“But had you no warriors, lady, to accompany you on such a dangerous journey?” Tanis asked.
Alhana, turning, glanced at Tanis as if amazed that he had intruded upon their conversation. At first she seemed about to refuse to answer him, then—looking longer at his face—she changed her mind.
“There were many warriors who offered to escort me,” she said proudly. “But when I said I led my people to safety, I spoke rashly. Safety no longer exists in this world. The warriors stayed behind to guard the people. I came to Tarsis hoping to find warriors to travel into Silvanesti with me. I presented myself to the Lord and the Council, as protocol demands—”
Tanis shook his head, frowning darkly. “That was stupid,” he said bluntly. “You should have known how they feel about elves, even before the draconians came! You were damn lucky they only ordered you tossed out of the city.”
Alhana’s pale face became—if possible—paler. Her dark eyes glittered. “I did as protocol demands,” she replied, too well bred to show her anger beyond the cool tones of her voice. “To do otherwise would have been to come as a barbarian. When the Lord refused to aid me, I told him I intended to seek help on my own. To do less would have not been honorable.”
Flint, who had been able to follow only bits and pieces of the conversation in elven, nudged Tanis. “She and the knight will get on perfectly.” He snorted. “Unless their honor gets them killed first.” Before Tanis could reply, Sturm rejoined the group.
“Tanis,” Sturm said in excitement, “the knights have found the ancient library! That’s why they’re here. They discovered records in Palanthas saying that in ancient times knowledge of dragons was kept in the library here, at Tarsis. The Knights Council sent them to see if the library still survived.”
Sturm gestured for the knights to come forward. “This is Brian Donner, Knight of the Sword,” he said. “Aran Tallbow, Knight of the Crown, and Derek Crownguard, Knight of the Rose.” The knights bowed.
“And this is Tanis Half-Elven, our leader,” Sturm said. The half-elf saw Alhana start and look at him in wonder, glancing at Sturm to see if she had heard correctly.
Sturm introduced Gilthanas and Flint, then he turned to Alhana. “Lady Alhana,” he began, then stopped, embarrassed, realizing he knew nothing more about her.
“Alhana Starbreeze,” Gilthanas finished. “Daughter of the Speaker of the Stars. Princess of the Silvanesti elves.”
The knights bowed again, lower this time.
“Accept my heartfelt gratitude for rescuing me,” Alhana said coolly. Her gaze encompassed all the group but lingered longest on Sturm. Then she turned to Derek, whom she knew from his Order of the Rose to be the leader. “Have you discovered the records the Council sent you to find?”
As she spoke, Tanis examined the knights, now unhooded, with interest. He, too, knew enough to know that the Knights Council—the ruling body of the Solamnic knights—had sent the best. In particular he studied Derek, the elder and the highest in rank. Few knights attained the Order of the Rose. The tests were dangerous and difficult, and only knights of pure bloodline could belong.
“We have found a book, my lady,” Derek said, “written in an ancient language we could not understand. There were pictures of dragons, however, so we were planning to copy it and return to Sancrist where, we hoped, scholars would be able to translate it. But instead we have found one who can read it. The kender—”
“Tasslehoff!” Flint exploded.
Tanis’s mouth gaped open. “Tasslehoff?” he repeated incredulously. “He can barely read Common. He doesn’t know any ancient languages. The only one among us who might possibly be able to translate an ancient language is Raistlin.”
Derek shrugged. “The kender has a pair of glasses he says are ‘magical glasses of true seeing.’ He put them on and he has been able to read the book. It says—”
“I can imagine what it says!” Tanis snapped. “Stories about automatons and magic rings of teleporting and plants that live off air. Where is he? I’m going to have a little talk with Tasslehoff Burrfoot.”
“Magical glasses of true seeing,” Flint grumbled. “And I’m a gully dwarf!”
The companions entered a shattered building. Climbing over rubble, they followed Derek’s lead through a low archway. The smell of must and mildew was strong. The darkness was intense after the brightness of the afternoon sun outside and for a moment, everyone was blinded. Then Derek lit a torch, and they saw narrow, winding stairs leading down into more darkness.
“The library was built below ground,” Derek explained. “Probably the only reason it survived the Cataclysm so well.”
The companions descended the stairs rapidly and soon found themselves inside a huge room. Tanis caught his breath and even Alhana’s eyes widened in the flickering torchlight. The gigantic room was filled from ceiling to floor with tall, wooden shelves, stretching as far as the eye could see. On the shelves were books. Books of all kinds. Books with leather bindings, books bound in wood, books bound in what looked like leaves from some exotic tree. Many were not bound at all but were simply sheaves of parchment, held together with black ribbons. Several shelves had toppled over, spilling the books to the floor until it was ankle-deep in parchment.
“There must be thousands!” Tanis said in awe. “How did you ever find one among these?”
Derek shook his head. “It was not easy,” he said. “Long days we have spent down here, searching. When we discovered it at last, we felt more despair than triumph, for it was obvious that the book cannot be moved. Even as we touched the pages, they crumbled to dust. We feared we would spend long, weary hours copying it. But the kender—”
“Right, the kender,” Tanis said grimly. “Where is he?”
“Over here!” piped a shrill voice.
Tanis peered through the dimly lit room to see a candle burning on a table. Tasslehoff, seated on a high wooden chair, was bent over a thick book. As the companions neared him, they could see a pair of small glasses perched on his nose.
“All right, Tas,” Tanis said. “Where did you get them?”
“Get what?” the kender asked innocently. He saw Tanis’s eyes narrow and put his hand to the small wire-rimmed glasses. “Oh, uh, these? I had them in a pouch … and, well, if you must know, I found them in the dwarven kingdom—”
Flint groaned and put his hand over his face.
“They were just lying on a table!” Tas protested, seeing Tanis scowl. “Honest! There was no one around. I thought perhaps someone misplaced them. I only took them for safe-keeping. Good thing, too. Some thief might have come along and stolen them, and they’re very valuable! I meant to return them, but after that we were so busy, what with fighting dark dwarves and draconians and finding the Hammer, and I—sort of—forgot I had them. When I remembered them, we were miles away from the dwarves, on our way to Tarsis, and I didn’t think you’d want me to go back, just to return them, so—”
“What do they do?” Tanis interrupted the kender, knowing they’d be here until the day after tomorrow if he didn’t.
“They’re wonderful,” Tas said hastily, relieved that Tanis wasn’t going to yell at him. “I left them
lying on a map one day.” Tas patted his mapcase. “I looked down and what do you suppose? I could read the writing on the map through the glasses! Now, that doesn’t sound very wonderful,” Tas said hurriedly, seeing Tanis start to frown again, “but this was a map written in a language I’d never been able to understand before. So I tried them on all my maps and I could read them, Tanis! Every one! Even the real, real old ones!”
“And you never mentioned this to us?” Sturm glared at Tas.
“Well, the subject just never came up,” Tas said apologetically. “Now, if you had asked me directly—‘Tasslehoff, do you have a pair of magical seeing glasses?—’ I would have told you the truth straight off. But you never did, Sturm Brightblade, so don’t look at me like that. Anyway, I can read this old book. Let me tell you what I—”
“How do you know they’re magic and not just some mechanical device of the dwarves?” Tanis asked, sensing that Tas was hiding something.
Tas gulped. He had been hoping Tanis wouldn’t ask him that question.
“Uh,” Tas stammered, “I—I guess I did sort of, happened to, uh, mention them to Raistlin one night when you were all busy doing something else. He told me they might be magic. To find out, he said one of those weird spells of his and they—uh—began to glow. That meant they were enchanted. He asked me what they did and I demonstrated and he said they were ‘glasses of true seeing.’ The dwarven magic-users of old made them to read books written in other languages and—” Tas stopped.
“And?” Tanis pursued.
“And—uh—magic spellbooks.” Tas’s voice was a whisper.
“And what else did Raistlin say?”
“That if I touched his spellbooks or even looked at them sideways, he’d turn me into a cricket and s-swallow m-me whole,” Tasslehoff stammered. He looked up at Tanis with wide eyes. “I believed him, too.”
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