Sturm stood before Gunthar, confused and troubled. What was happening? He glanced at the other two knights. Lard Alfred was not bothering to conceal his anger. It was obvious, t therefore, that this "agreement" of Gunther's had been hard won.. '
"It is the judgment of this Council;" Lord Gunthar continued, . "that the young man, Sturm Brightblade, be accepted into the' lowest order of the knights.-'the Order of the Crown-on my Honour. . :'
There was a universal gasp of astonishment.
"And that, furthermore, he be placed as third in command of the army that is due to set sail shortly for Palanthas. As prescribed by the Measure, the High Command must have a representative from each of the Orders. Therefore, Derek Crownguard will be High Commander, representing the Order of the Rose. Lord Alfred MarKenin will represent the Order al` the 'Sword, and Sturm Brightblade will act-on my honer-a commander for the Order of the Crown:'
Amid the stunned silence, Sturm felt tears course down his cheeks, but now he need hide them no longer. Behind him, he heard the sound of someone rising, of a sword rattling in anger. Derek stalked furiously out of the Hall, the other knights of his faction following him. There were scattered cheers, too. Sturm saw through his tears that about half the knights in the roomparticularly the younger knights, the knights he would command- were applauding. Sturm felt swift pain well deep from inside his soul. Though he had won his victory, he was appalled by what the knighthood had become-divided into factions by power-hungry men. It was nothing more than a corrupt shell of a once-honored brotherhood.
"Congratulations, Brightblade;' Lord Alfred said stiffly. "I hope you realize what Lord Gunthar has done for you."
"I do, my lard;' Sturm said, bowing, "and I swear by my father's sword"-he laid his hand upon it-"that I will be worthy of his trust:"
"See to it, young man;' Lord Alfred replied and left. The younger lard, Michael, accompanied him without a word to Sturm.
But the other young knights came forward then, offering their enthusiastic congratulations. They pledged his health in wine and would have stayed for an all-out chinking bout if Gunthar had not sent them on their way.
When the two of them were alone in the Hall, Lord Gunthar smiled expansively at Sturm and shook his hand. The young knight returned the handshake warmly, if nor. the smile. The pain was too fresh.
Then, slowly arid carefully, Sturm took the black roses from his sword. Laying them an the table, he slid the blade back in the scabbard at his side. He started to brush the roses aside, but paused, then picked up one .and thrust it into his belt.
"I must thank you, my lord," Sturm began, his woke quivering.
"You have nothing to thank one for, son;' Lord Gunthar said. Glancing around the room, he shivered. "Let's, get out -of this place and go somewhere warm. Mulled wine?"
The two knights walked damn the stone corridors of Gurnthar's ancient castle; the sounds of the young knights leaning drifting up from below -horses's hooves clattering err the cobblestone, voices shouting, some even raising in a military song. "I must thank you, my lord;' Sturm said firmly. "The risk you take is very great. I hope I will prove worthy-"
"Risk! Nonsense, my boy:" Rubbing his hands to restore the circulation, Gunthar led Sturm into a small room decorated for the approaching Yule celebration-red winter roses, grown indoors, kingfisher feathers, and tiny, delicate golden crowns. A fire blazed brightly. At Gunthar's command, servants brought in two mugs of steaming liquid that gave off a warm, spicy odor. "'Many were the times your father threw his shield in front of me and stood aver me, protecting me when I was down."
"And you did the same for him;' Sturm said. "You awe hire nothing. Pledging your honor for me means that, if I fail, you will suffer. You will be stripped of your rank, your title, your lands. Derek would see to that," he added gloomily.
As Gunthar took a deep drink of his wine, he studied the young man before him. Sturm merely sipped at his wine out of politeness, holding the mug with a hand that trembled visibly. Gunthar laid his hand kindly on Sturm's shoulder, pushing the young man down gently into a chair. .
'Have you failed in the past, Sturm?" Gunthar asked.
Sturm looked up, his brown eyes flashing. "No, my lord; he:'
answered. "'I have not. I swear it!" j
"Then I have no fear for the future," Lord Gunthar said, Emil ing. He raised his mug. '"I pledge your good fortune in battle; Sturm Brightblade:'
Sturm shut his eyes. The strain had been too much. Drop' ping his head an his arm, he wept-his body shaking with pain ful sobs. Gunthar gripped his shoulder.
"I understand . . :' he said, his eyes looking back to a time' Solamnia when this young man's father had broken down an cried that same way-the night Lord Brightblade had sent h' young wife and infant son an a journey into exile-a journey. from, which he would neuter see then return.
Exhausted, Sturm finally fell asleep, his head lying an t table. Gunthar sat with him, sipping the hot wine, lost in m cries off the past, until he, too, drifted into slumber.
The few days left before the army sailed to Palanthas passed swiftly for Sturm. He had to find armor-used; he couldn't afford new. He packed his father's carefully, intending to carry it since he had been forbidden to wear it. Then there were meetings to attend, battle dispositions to study, information on the enemy to assimilate.
The battle for Palanthas would be a bitter one, determining control of the entire northern part of Solamnia. The leaders were agreed upon their strategy. They would fortify the city walls with the city's army. The knights themselves would occupy the High Clerist's Tower that stood blocking the pass through the Vingaard Mountains. But that was all they agreed upon. Meetings between the three leaders were tense, the air chill.
Finally the day came for the ships to sail. The knights gathered on board. Their families stood quietly on the shore. Though faces were pale, there were few tears, the women standing as tight-lipped and stern as their men. Some wives wore swords buckled around their own waists. All knew that, if the battle in the north was lost, the enemy would come across the sea.
Gunthar stood upon the pier, dressed in his bright armor, talking with the knights, bidding farewell to his sons. He and Derek exchanged a few ritual words as prescribed by the Measure. He and Lord .Alfred embraced perfunctorily. At last, Gunthar sought out Sturm. The young knight, clad in plain, shabby armor, stood apart from the crowd.
"Brightblade;" Gunthar said in a low voice as he came near him, "I have been meaning to ask this but never found a moment in these last few days. You mentioned that these friends of yours would be coming to Sancrist. A_-a there any who could serve as witnesses before the Council?"
Sturm paused. For a wild moment the only person he could think of was Tanis. E-its thoughts had been with his friend during these last trying days. He'd even had a surge of hope that Tanis might arrive in Sancrist. But the hope had died. Wherever Tanis was, he had his own problems, he faced his own dangers. There was another person, too, whom he had hoped against hope he might see. Without conscious thought, Sturm Placed his hand over the Starjewel that hung around his neck against his breast. He could almost feel its warmth, and heDRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES
knew-without knowing how-that though far away, Alhana was with him. Then
"Laurana!" he said.
"A woman?" Gunthar frowned.
"Yes, but daughter of the Speaker of the Suns, a member of the royal household of the Qualinesti. And there is her brother, Gilthanas. Both would testify for me:"
"The royal household . . :' Gunthar mused. His face brightened. "That would be perfect, especially since we have received word that the Speaker himself will attend the High Council to discuss the dragon orb. If that happens, my boy, somehow I'll get word to you, and you can put that armor back on! You'll be vindicated! Free to wear it without shame!"
"And you will be free of your pledge;' Sturm said, shaking hands with the knight gratefully.
"Bah! Don't give that a thought:' Gunthar laid his hand on Sturm'
s head, as he had laid his hand on the heads of his own sons. Sturm knelt before him reverently. "Receive my blessing, Sturm Brightblade, a father's blessing I give in the absence of your own father. Do your duty, young man, and remain your father's son. May Lord Huma's spirit be with you:'
"Thank you, my lord;" Sturm said, rising to his feet. "Fare
well ~:'
"Farewell, Sturm," Gunthar said. Embracing the young knight swiftly, he turned and walked away.
The knights boarded the ships. It was dawn, but no sun shone in the winter sky. Gray clouds hung over a lead-gray se There were no cheers, the only sounds were the shouted con mands of the captain and the responses of his crew, the creak ing of the winches, and the flapping of the sails in the wind.
Slowly the white-winged ships weighed anchor and sails north. Soon the last sail was out of sight, but still no one left the pier, not even when a sudden rain squall struck, pelting t ha with sleet and icy drops, drawing a fine gray curtain across the chill waters.
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the dragon orb. Caramon's pledge.
Raistlin stood in the small doorway of the wagon, his golden eyes peering into the sunlit woods. All was quiet. It was past Yuletide. The countryside was held fast in the grip of winter. Nothing stirred in the snowblanketed land. His companions were gone, busy about various tasks. Raistlin nodded grimly. Good. Turning, he went back inside the wagon and shut the wooden doors firmly.
The companions had been camped here for several days, on the outskirts of Kendermore. Their journey was nearing an end. It had been unbelievably successful. Tonight they would
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leave, traveling to Flotsam under the cover of darkness. They had money enough to hire a ship, plus some left over for supplies and payment for a week's lodging in Flotsam. This afternoon had been their final performance.
The young mage made his way through the clutter to the back of the wagon. His gaze lingered on the shimmering red robe that hung on a nail. Tika had started to pack it away, but Raistlin had snarled at her viciously. Shrugging, she let it remain, going outside to walk in the woods, knowing Caramon-as usual-would find her.
Raistlin's thin hand reached out to touch the robe, the slender fingers stroking the shining, sequined fabric wistfully, regretting that this period in his life was over.
"I have been happy" he murmured to himself. "Strange. There have not been many times in my life I could make that claim. Certainly not when I was young, nor in these past few years, after they tortured my body and cursed me with these eyes. But then I never expected happiness. How paltry it is, compared to my magic! Still . . . still, these last few weeks have been weeks of peace. Weeks of happiness. I don't suppose any will come again. Not after what I must do-"
Raistlin held the robe a moment longer, then, shrugging, hey' tossed it in a corner and continued on to the back of the wagon which he had curtained off for his own private use. On inside, he pulled the curtains securely together.
Excellent. He would have privacy for several hours, until nightfall, in fact. Tanis and Riverwind had gone hunting. Cars. mon had, too, supposedly, though everyone knew this was just
an excuse for him to find time alone with Tika. Goldmoon watt preparing food for their journey. No one would bother him The mage nodded to himself in satisfaction.
Sitting down at the small drop-leaf table Caramon had cotta structed for him, Raistlin carefully withdrew from the ve .
innermost pocket of his robes an ordinary-looking sack, t sack that contained the dragon orb. His skeletal fingers tre bled as he tugged on the drawstring. The bag opened. Reach' in, Raistlin grasped the dragon orb and brought it forth.
held it easily in his palm, inspecting it closely to see if there h been any change.
No. A faint green color still swirled within. It still felt as col
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I tt.t UNACiUNS Ut• WIN ~l EN NIGHT
to the touch as if he held a hailstone. Smiling, Raistlin clasped the orb tightly in one hand while he fumbled through the props beneath the table. He finally found what he sought-a crudely carved, three-legged wooden stand. Lifting it up, Raistlin set it on the table. It wasn't much to look at-Flint would have scoffed. Raistlin had neither the love nor the skill needed to work wood. He had carved it laboriously, in secret, shut up
inside the jouncing wagon during the long days on the road. No, it was not much to look at, but he didn't care. It would suit
his purpose.
Placing the stand upon the table, he set the dragon orb on it. The marble-sized orb looked ludicrous, but Raistlin sat back,
waiting patiently. As he had expected, soon the orb began to grow. Or did it? Perhaps he was shrinking. Raistlin couldn't tell. He knew only that suddenly the orb was the right size. If anything was different, it was he that was too small, too insignificant to even be in the same room with the orb.
The mage shook his head. He must stay in control, he knew, and he was immediately aware of the subtle tricks the orb was playing to undermine drat control. Soon these tricks would not be subtle. Raistlin felt his throat tighten. He coughed, cursing
his weak lungs.. Drawing a shuddering breath, he forced himself to breathe deeply and easily.
Relax, he thought. Z must relax. I do not fear. I am strong. Look what I have done! Silently he called upon the orb: Look at the power I have attained" Witness what I did in Darken Wood.
Witness what I did in Siivanesti. I am strong. I do not fear.
The orb's colors swirled softly. It did not answer.
The mage closed his eyes for a moment, blotting the orb
from sigh t. Regaining control, he opened them again, regarding the orb with. a sigh. The moment approached.
The dragon orb was now back to its original size. He could almost see Lorac's wizened hands grasping it. The young mage shuddered involuntarily. No! Stop it! he told himself firmly, and immediately banished the vision from his mind.
Once more he relaxed, breathing regularly, his hourglass eyes focused on the orb. Then-slowly-he stretched forth his slender, metallic-colored fingers. After a moment's final hesita
tion, Raistiin placed his hands upon the cold crystal of the dragon orb and spoke the ancient words.
DRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES
"Ast bilak moiparalan; Suh akvlar tantangusar:"
How did he know what to say? I-low did he know what ancient words would cause the orb to understand him, to be aware of his presence? Raistlin did not know. He knew only thatsomehow, somewhere-inside of him, he did know the words! The voice that had spoken to him in Silvanesti? Perhaps. It didn't matter.
Again he said the words aloud.
"Ast bilak rnoiparalan: Sub akvlar tantangusar.!"
Slowly the drifting green color was submerged in a myriad swirling, gliding colors that made him dizzy to watch. The crystal was so cold beneath his palms that it was painful to touch. Raistlin had a terrifying vision of pulling away his hands and leaving the flesh behind, frozen to the orb. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and whispered the words again.
The colors ceased to swirl. A light glowed in the center, a light neither white nor black, all colors, yet none. Raistlin swallowed, fighting the choking phlegm that rose in his throat.
Out of the light came two hands! He had a desperate urge to withdraw his own, but before he could move, flue two hands grasped his in a grip both strong and firm. The orb vanished! The room vanished! Raistlin saw nothing around trim No light. No darkness. Nothing? Nothing. . .but two hands, balding his. Out of sheer terror, Raistlin concentrated on those hands.
Human? Elven? Old? Young'' He could not tell. The fingers,
were long and slender, but their grip was the grip of death. Let
go and he would fall into the void to drift until merciful dark
ness consumed him. Even as he clung to those hands with F
strength lent him by ?ear, Raistlin realized the hands were
slowly drawing, him nearer, drawing him into .
. . into….
Raistlin came to himself suddenly, as i? someone had dashed cold water in his face. No! he told the mind that he sensed con• trolled the hands. I will not go! Though he feared losing t ha saving grip, he feared even more being dragged where he did not want to go. He would not let loose. I will maintain control he told the mind of the hands savagely. Tightening, has own grip, the mage summoned amp;I of his strength, all of his will, and pulled flue hands toward him!
The hands stopped. Fair a moment, the two wills vied
THE DRAGONS OF WINTER NIGHT
together, locked in a life-or-death contest, Raistlin felt the strength ebb from his body, his hands weakened, the palms began to sweat. He felt the hands of the orb begin to pull him again; ever so slightly. In agony, Raistlin summoned every drop of blood, focused every nerve, sacrificed every muscle in his frail body to regaining control.
Slowly . . . slowly . . , just when he thought his pounding heart would burst from his chest or his brain explode in fireRaistlin felt the hands cease their tug. They still maintained their firm grip on him-as he maintained his firm grip on them. But the two were no longer in contest. His hands and the hands of the dragon orb remained locked together, each conceding respect, neither seeking dominance.
The ecstasy of the victory; the ecstasy of the magic flowed through Raistlin and burst forth, wrapping him in a warm,
golden light. His body relaxed. Trembling, he felt the hands hold him gently, support him, lend him strength.
What are you' he questioned silently. Are you good? Evil?
I am neither. I am nothing. I am everything. The essence of dragons captured long ago is what I am.
How do you work? Raistlin asked. How do you control the dragons?
At your command, I will call them to me. They cannot resist my call. They -fill obey.
Will they turn upon their masters? Will they fall under my c command?
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