Once, temples to Paladine and Kiri-Jolith, a god particularly honored by the Knights, had been a part of the complex. After the departure of the gods, the Knights had politely permitted the priests to remain, but—their power of prayer gone—the priests had felt useless and uncomfortable. The temples held such sorrowful memories that they had departed. The temples remained open. They had become a favorite place for Knights to go to study or to spend evenings in long philosophical discussions. The temples had a peace about them that was conducive to thought, or so it was said. Many of the younger students found them a curiosity.
Gerard had himself never visited Solanthus, but he had heard his father describe it, and recalling his father’s descriptions, he tried to figure out which buildings were which. He knew the Great Hall, of course, with its sharply pointed roof and flying buttresses and ornate stonework.
Odila led him inside the Great Hall. He caught a glimpse of the enormous chamber, where town meetings were held. Odila escorted him up a winding stone stairway and down a long, echoing corridor. The corridor was lit with oil lamps mounted on tall, heavy pedestals carved from stone to resemble maidens holding lamps in their outstretched hands. The sculptures were extraordinary—each maiden was different, having been modeled from real life—but Gerard was so absorbed in his thoughts that he paid them scant attention.
The council, made up of three Knights, the heads of the three Orders of the Knighthood—Knights of the Sword, Knights of the Rose, Knights of the Crown—was just convening. The Knights stood together at the end of the hallway, apart from the noble lords and ladies and a few common folk who had come to witness the proceedings and who were now filing quietly into the chamber. A Knights’ Council was a solemn procedure. Few spoke, or if they did, they kept their voices low. Lady Odila brought her prisoner to a halt and, leaving him in the care of guards, went to inform the herald the prisoner was present.
When those seated in the gallery had all entered, the Lord Knights walked into the room, preceded by several squires carrying the emblem of the Knights of Solamnia with its sword, rose, and kingfisher. Next came the flag of the city of Solanthus, and after that the banners of the Lord Knights who sat upon the council.
While waiting for them to take their places, Gerard scanned the crowd, searching for someone who might know either him or his father. He saw no signs of anyone he recognized, and his heart sank.
“There is someone here who claims to know you,” said Lady Odila, returning. She had seen his scrutiny of the assembly, guessed what he was doing.
“There is?” he asked, relieved. “Who is it? Perhaps Lord Jeffrey of Lynchburg or perhaps Lord Grantus?”
Lady Odila shook her head, her mouth twitched. “No, no. None of those. Not a Knight at all, in fact. He’s going to be called to testify on your behalf. Please accept my condolences.”
“What—” Gerard began angrily, but she cut him off.
“Oh, and in case you were concerned about your blue dragon, you will be pleased to know that he has thus far escaped our attempts to slay him. We discovered the cave empty, but we know he is still in the vicinity. We have received reports of livestock disappearing.”
Gerard knew that he should be on the Knights’ side in this contest, but he found himself rooting for Razor, who had been a loyal and gallant mount. He was touched by the fact that the dragon was risking his own life to remain in the area, even though Razor must realize by now that something unfortunate had happened to Gerard.
“Bring forth the prisoner,” cried the bailiff.
Lady Odila reached to take hold of Gerard, to lead him into the hall.
“I am sorry you must be manacled,” she said to him quietly, “but that is the law.”
He looked at her in astonishment. He could not, for the life of him, figure her out. Giving her a grudging nod, he evaded her grip and walked past her. He might have to enter the council room clanking and shackled, but he would enter on his own, carrying himself proudly, with his head high.
He hobbled into the room to the whispers and murmurs of those seated in the gallery. The Lord Knights sat behind a long wooden table placed at the front of the chamber. Gerard knew the custom. He had attended Knights’ Councils as a spectator before, and he advanced to the center of the room, to make his obeisance to the three who would be sitting in judgment upon him. The Lord Knights watched him with grave countenances, but he guessed by their approving looks and nods that he was creating a favorable impression. He rose from his bow and was turning to take his place at the dock when he heard a voice that dashed all his hopes and expectations and caused him to think that he might as well call for the executioner and save everyone the trouble.
“Gerard!” cried the voice. “Over here, Gerard! It’s me! Tasslehoff! Tasslehoff Burrfoot!”
The spectators were located at the far end of the large, rectangular room. The Lord Knights were seated at the front. The dock, holding the prisoners and their guards, was to their left. On the right, against the wall, were chairs for those who had business before the Knights’ Council, petitions to present, or testimony to offer.
Goldmoon rested in one of these chairs. She had waited two hours for the council to convene. She had slept some during that time, her sleep disturbed as usual by the spinning wheel of whirling, multicolored forms and images. She woke when she heard the people filing in to take their seats at the gallery. They looked at her strangely, some staring, others painfully careful to avoid doing so. When the Lord Knights entered, each bowed low before her. One knelt to ask for her blessing.
Goldmoon understood by this that Starmaster Mikelis had spread the word of the miracle of her renewed youth.
At first she was annoyed and even angry with the Starmaster for having told people when she had specifically requested him not to do so. On reflection, she admitted that she was being unreasonable. He would have to offer some explanation for her altered appearance, and he had saved her the weary work of having to describe yet again what had happened to her, to relive the night of that terrible transformation. She accepted the Knights’ homage and reverence with patience. The dead flitted around her, as well, but then the dead were always around her.
Starmaster Mikelis returned to sit protectively beside her, watching over her with a mixture of awe and pity and perplexity. Obviously he could not understand why she was not running through the streets displaying the wondrous gift she had been granted. None of them understood. They mistook her patience for humility, and they honored her for that, but they resented her for it as well. She had been given this great gift, a gift every one of them would have been glad to receive. The least she could do was enjoy it.
The Knights’ Council convened with the ritual formalities the Solamnics love. Such formalities grace every important epoch in a Solamnic’s life, from birth to death, and no function is considered to have truly happened without innumerable solemn pronouncements and readings and quotations from the Measure.
Goldmoon sank back against the wall, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. The trial of some Knight began, but Goldmoon was not consciously aware of it. The droning voices were an undercurrent to her dreams, and in her dreams she was back in Tarsis. The city was being attacked by an immense flight of dragons. She cowered in terror as the shadows of their many-colored wings turned bright day into darkest night. Tasslehoff was calling her name. He was telling her something, something important.…
“Tas!” she cried, sitting bolt upright. “Tas, fetch Tanis! I must speak to him—”
She blinked and looked around her in confusion.
“Goldmoon, First Master,” Mikelis was saying softly, as he chafed her hands soothingly. “You were dreaming.”
“Yes,” she murmured, “I was dreaming.…”
She tried to recall the dream, for she had discovered something important, and she had been going to tell Tanis. But of course, Tanis was not there. None of them were there. She was alone, and she could not remember what it was she had been dreaming about.
Goldmoon’s gaze roamed aimlessly about the room, watching the restless dead rove among the living. The voices of the Lord Knights droned, and she paid no attention to them until they called upon Tasslehoff to give testimony. He stood in the dock, a shabby and diminutive figure among the tall, splendidly accoutered guards.
Never daunted or intimidated by any show of either ceremony or force, the kender gave the Lord Knights an account of his arrival in Solace and told what had happened to him after that.
Goldmoon had heard this story before in the Citadel of Light. She recalled Tasslehoff talking about a Solamnic Knight who had accompanied him to Qualinesti in search of Palin. Listening to the kender, Goldmoon realized that the Knight on trial was the very Knight who had discovered the kender in the Tomb of the Last Heroes, the Knight who had been present at Caramon’s death, who had stayed behind to fight the Dark Knights so that Palin could escape Qualinesti. The Knight who had forged the first link in a long chain of events.
She looked with interest now at the Knight. He had entered the room with an air of grim and injured dignity, but now that the kender began to defend him, he stood in a state of dejection. He slumped in the dock, his hands dangling before him, his head bowed, as if his fate had already been determined and he were being led to the block. Tasslehoff, needless to say, was enjoying himself.
“You state, kender, that you have attended a Knights’ Council prior to this one,” said Lord Ulrich, Knight of the Sword, who was apparently endeavoring to impress upon the kender the gravity of the situation.
“Oh, yes,” Tas answered. “Sturm Brightblade’s.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Lord Ulrich in bemused tones.
“Sturm Brightblade,” said Tas, raising his voice. “You’ve heard of Sturm? One of the Heroes of the Lance. Like myself.” Tasslehoff placed his hand modestly on his chest. Seeing the Knights regarding him with blank stares, he determined it was time to elaborate. “While I wasn’t at the High Clerist’s Tower when Sir Derek tried to have Sturm thrown out of the Knighthood for cowardice, I heard all about it from my friend Flint Fireforge when I came later, after I broke the dragon orb at the Council of Whitestone. The elves and the Knights were arguing about who should have the dragon orb—”
Lord Tasgall, Knight of the Rose, and head of the council, interrupted. “We are familiar with the story, kender. You could not possibly have been there, so dispense with your lies. Now, please tell us again how it was that you came to be in the tomb—”
“Oh, but he was there, my lords,” said Goldmoon, rising to her feet. “If you know your history as you claim, then you know that Tasslehoff Burrfoot was at the Council of Whitestone and that he did break the dragon orb.”
“I am aware that the heroic kender Tasslehoff Burrfoot did these things, Master,” said Lord Tasgall, speaking to her in respectful, gentle tones. “Perhaps your confusion arises from the fact that this kender calls himself Tasslehoff Burrfoot, undoubtedly in honor of the heroic kender who bore the original name.”
“I am not confused,” Goldmoon stated sharply. “The so-called miracle that transformed my body did not affect my mind. I knew the kender you refer to. I knew him then, and I know him now. Haven’t you been listening to his story?” she demanded impatiently.
The Knights stared at her. Gerard lifted his head, a flush of hope reddening his face.
“Are you saying that you affirm his story, First Master?” Lord Nigel, Knight of the Crown, asked, frowning.
“I do,” said Goldmoon. “Palin Majere and Tasslehoff Burrfoot traveled to the Citadel of Light to meet me there. I recognized Tasslehoff. He is not an easy person to forget. Palin told me that Tasslehoff was in possession of a magical artifact that permitted him to travel through time. Tasslehoff came to the Tomb of the Last Heroes the night of the terrible storm. It was a night for miracles,” she added with a touch of bitter irony.
“This kender”—Lord Tasgall glanced at Tas uncertainly—“claims that the Knight here on trial escorted him to Qualinesti, where they met Palin Majere at the home of Laurana, wife of the late Lord Tanis Half-Elven.”
“Tasslehoff told me the same story, my lords. I have no reason to doubt it. If you mistrust his story or if you question my word, I suggest that there is an easy way to prove it. Contact Lord Warren in Solace and ask him.”
“Of course, we do not question your word, First Master,” the Lord Knight said, looking embarrassed.
“But you should, my lords,” Lady Odila said. Rising to her feet, she faced Goldmoon. “How do we know you are what you claim to be? Your word alone. Why should we believe you?”
“You shouldn’t,” said Goldmoon. “You should question, Daughter. You should always question. Only by asking are we answered.”
“My lords!” Starmaster Mikelis was shocked. “The First Master and I are old friends. I can testify that she is indeed Goldmoon, First Master of the Citadel of Light.”
“Tell me what you are thinking, Daughter,” Goldmoon said, ignoring the Starmaster. Her gaze fixed upon Lady Odila as if they were the only two in the room. “Speak your heart. Ask your question.”
“Very well, I will do so.” Lady Odila turned to face the Knights’ Council. “My lords, the First Master Goldmoon is more than ninety years old! This woman is young, beautiful, strong. How is it possible, in the absence of the gods, that such miracles happen?”
“Yes, that is the question,” Goldmoon said and sank back down in her chair.
“Do you have an answer, First Master?” asked Lord Tasgall.
Goldmoon looked at him steadily. “No, my lord, I do not. Except to say that, in the absence of the gods, what has happened to me is not possible.”
The spectators began to whisper among themselves. The Knights exchanged doubtful glances. Starmaster Mikelis stared at her in helpless, baffled confusion. The Knight, Gerard, put his head in his hands.
Tasslehoff bounced to his feet. “I have the answer,” he offered, but was quickly settled—and muffled—by the bailiff.
“I have something to say,” said Conundrum in his thin and nasaly tones. He slid off his chair, nervously plucking at his beard.
Lord Tasgall gave the gnome gracious permission to speak. Solamnics have always felt a certain affinity for the gnomes.
“I just wanted to say that I had never seen any of these people before in my entire life until just a few weeks ago when this kender sabotaged my attempts to map the Hedge Maze and this human female stole my submersible. I have started a legal defense fund. If anyone would care to contribute?”
Conundrum glanced around hopefully. No one did, and so he sat back down. Lord Tasgall appeared considerably taken aback, but he nodded and indicated that the gnome’s testimony was to be recorded.
“The Knight Gerard uth Mondar has already spoken in his own defense,” said Lord Tasgall. “We have heard the testimony of the kender who claims to be Tasslehoff Burrfoot and that of Lady Odila Windlass and the … um … First Master. We will now withdraw to consider all of the testimony.”
Everyone stood. The Knights withdrew. After they had departed, some people returned to their seats, but most hastened out of the room and into the corridor, where they discussed the matter in excited tones that could be heard clearly by those still inside the chamber.
Goldmoon rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She wanted nothing now but to be in a room by herself away from all this noise and commotion and confusion.
Feeling a touch on her hand, she saw Lady Odila standing before her.
“Why did you want me to ask that about the gods, First Master?” Lady Odila asked.
“Because it needed asking, Daughter,” Goldmoon replied.
“Are you claiming there is a god?” Lad
y Odila frowned. “You spoke of a one—”
Goldmoon took hold of the woman’s hand, wrapped her fingers around it, pressed it firmly. “I am saying to open your heart, Daughter. Open it to the world.”
Lady Odila smiled wryly. “I opened my heart once, First Master. Someone came in and ransacked the place.”
“So now you lock it with a quick wit and a glib tongue. Gerard uth Mondar is telling the truth, Lady Odila. Oh, they will send messengers to Solace and his homeland to verify his story, but you know as well as I do that this could take weeks. This will be too late. You believe him, don’t you?”
“Corn bread and cornflowers,” Lady Odila said, glancing at the prisoner as he stood patiently, but wearily, in the dock. She looked back at Goldmoon. “Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. Still, as you say, only by asking are we answered. I will do what I can to either prove or disprove his claim.”
The Knights returned. Goldmoon heard them speak their ruling, but their voices were distant, came to her from across a vast river.
“We have determined that we cannot pronounce judgment on the critical issues raised in the case until we have spoken to additional witnesses. Therefore we are sending messengers to the Citadel of Light and to Lord Warren in Solace. In the meantime, we will make inquiries throughout Solanthus to see if someone here knows the defendant’s family and can verify this man’s identity.”
Dragons of a Lost Star Page 32
