Dragons of a Lost Star

by Margaret Weis

  “Wait a minute,” Gerard shouted after the Knight. “I want to deliver my prisoner safely to the interrogator. There’ll be a reward in this for me. I don’t want her dragged off and lynched!”

  The Knight cast him a scornful glance. “You are not in Neraka, sir,” he said disdainfully and rode off.

  Gerard dismounted, began leading the horse through the ordered confusion. The soldiers were working swiftly and with a will. The officers gave direction, but they were not haranguing, not threatening. No whips urged the men to work faster and smarter. Morale appeared high. The soldiers were laughing and joking with each other and singing songs to help ease their labor. Yet, all they had to do was to look up on the city walls to see ten times more than their own number.

  “This is a joke,” said Odila, keeping her voice low. They were surrounded by the enemy, and although the din was deafening, someone might overhear. “They have no army of reinforcements nearby. Our patrols go out daily. They would have seen such a massive buildup of troops.”

  “Apparently, they didn’t,” Gerard returned. “Solanthus was caught with its pants down.”

  Gerard kept his hand on his sword hilt, ready to fight should anyone decide to take it into his head to have a little fun with the Solamnic prisoner. The soldiers glanced at them with interest as they passed. A few halted to jeer at the Solamnic, but their officers quickly ordered the men back to work.

  You’re not in Neraka, the Knight had said. Gerard was impressed, also uneasy. This was not a mercenary army that fought for loot, for gain. This was a seasoned army, a disciplined army, one dedicated to its cause, whatever that cause might be.

  The flag that fluttered on the spear driven into the ground beside the command was not really a flag, nothing more than a dirty scarf that looked as if it had been dipped in blood.

  Two Knights posted guard outside the command tent that had been the first tent raised. Other tents were now going up around it. An officer stood in front of the tent, speaking with another Neraka Knight. The officer was an archer by his dress and the fact that he wore an enormous longbow slung over one shoulder. The Knight had his back to Gerard. He could not see the face. Judging by his slight build, this Knight was no more than a youth, eighteen, if that. He wondered if he was some Knight’s son dressed up in his father’s armor.

  The archer spotted Gerard and Odila first. The archer’s gaze was keen and appraising. He said something to the Knight, who turned to look at them. Gerard saw with a shock that the Knight was not a youth, as he had supposed, but a girl. A sheen of red hair, closely cropped, covered her head. Her eyes caught and held both of them in an amber gaze. He had never seen such extraordinary eyes. He felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny, as if he were a child again and she had caught him in some crime, perhaps stealing apples or teasing his little sister. She forgave him his offense because he did not know better. He was just a child. She might punish him, but the punishment would help him understand how to do right in the future.

  Gerard was thankful for the helm, for he could avert his gaze and she wouldn’t know it. But even as he tried, he couldn’t keep his eyes from her. He stared at her, enthralled.

  Pretty was not the word to describe her, nor beautiful. Her face was marked by its equanimity, its purity of thought. No line of doubt marred her smooth forehead. Her eyes were clear and saw far beyond what his eyes saw. Here was a person who would change the world for good or for evil. He recognized in that calm equanimity, Mina, commander of this army, whose name had been spoken with reverence and respect.

  Gerard saluted.

  “You are not one of my Knights, sir,” Mina said. “I like to see faces. Remove your helm.”

  Gerard wondered how she knew he wasn’t one of her Knights. No badge or emblem marked him as having come from Qualinesti, Sanction, or any other part of Ansalon. He removed his helm reluctantly, not because he thought she might recognize him, but because he had enjoyed its meager protection, shielded him from the intense scrutiny of her amber eyes.

  He gave his name and related his story that had the advantage of being true for the most part. He spoke confidently enough, but the parts where he was forced to twist the truth or embellish it proved difficult. He had the strange feeling that she knew far more about him than he knew about himself.

  “What is Marshal Medan’s message?” Mina asked.

  “Are you the new Lord of the Night, Lady?” Gerard asked. The question seemed expected of him, but he was uncomfortable. “Forgive me, but I was told that my message was to be delivered to the Lord of the Night.”

  “Such titles hold no meaning for the One God,” she answered. “I am Mina, a servant of the One. You may deliver your message to me or not, as you choose.”

  Gerard stared, baffled and uncertain. He dared not look at Odila, although he wondered what she was thinking, how she was reacting. He had no idea what to do and realized that no matter what he did, he risked looking foolish. For some reason, he did not want to look foolish in those amber eyes.

  “I choose to deliver my message to Mina,” he said and was surprised to hear that same note of respect in his voice. “My message is this: Qualinesti is coming under attack from the green dragon Beryl. She has ordered Marshal Medan to destroy the city of Qualinost and threatens that if he does not, she will do so herself. She has ordered him to exterminate the elves.”

  Mina said nothing, indicated by a slight nod that she was listening and understood.

  Gerard drew in a breath and continued. “Marshal Medan respectfully reminds the Lord of the Night that this attack on Qualinesti breaks the pact between the dragons. The Marshal fears that should Malys hear of it, all-out war will erupt among the dragons, a war that is likely to devastate much of Ansalon. Marshal Medan does not consider himself under the orders of Beryl. He is a loyal Knight of Neraka and therefore he requests orders from his superior, the Lord of the Night, on how to proceed. Marshal Medan also respectfully reminds his lordship that a city in ruins is worth very little and that dead elves pay no tribute.”

  Mina smiled slightly. The smile warmed the amber eyes, and they seemed to flow over Gerard like honey. “Lord Targonne would have been deeply moved by that sentiment. The late Lord Targonne.”

  “I am sorry to hear of his death.” Gerard glanced somewhat helplessly at the archer, who was grinning at him as if he knew exactly what Gerard was thinking and feeling.

  “Targonne is with the One God,” Mina replied, her tone solemn and earnest. “He made mistakes, but he understands now and repents.”

  Gerard was thoroughly astounded by this. He had no idea what to say. Who was this One God, anyway? He dared not ask, thinking that as a Dark Knight, he might be supposed to know.

  “I’ve heard of this One God,” Odila said in dire tones. She ignored Gerard, who pinched her calf to warn her to keep her mouth shut. “Someone else spoke of a One God. One of those false Mystics from the Citadel of Light. Blasphemy! I tell you. All know that the gods are gone.”

  Mina lifted the amber eyes, fixed them on Odila.

  “The gods may be gone to you, Solamnic,” Mina said, “but not to me. Release the Knight’s bindings. Let her dismount. Don’t worry. She will not try to escape. After all, where could she go?”

  Gerard did as he was told, helped Odila from the horse. “Are you trying to get us both killed?” he demanded under his breath as he undid the knot of the leather thong around her wrists. “This is no time to be discussing theology!”

  “It got my hands untied, didn’t it?” Odila returned, glancing at him from beneath her long lashes.

  He gave her a rough shove toward Mina. Odila stumbled but caught herself and stood in front of the girl, who reached only to Odila’s shoulder.

  “There are no gods for anyone,” Odila repeated with typical Solamnic stubbornness. “For you or me.”

  Gerard wondered what she had in mind. No way to tell. He would have to stay alert, be ready to pick up on her plan.

  Mina was not angry or ev
en annoyed. She regarded Odila with patience, rather like a parent watching a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum. Mina reached out her hand.

  “Take hold,” she said to Odila.

  Odila regarded her in blank astonishment.

  “Take hold of my hand,” Mina repeated, as if the child was rather a slow child.

  “Do as she says, cursed Solamnic,” Gerard ordered.

  Odila cast him a glance. Whatever she had hoped would happen, this wasn’t it. Gerard inwardly sighed, shook his head. Odila looked back at Mina and seemed on the point of refusing. Then her hand extended, reached out to Mina. Odila looked at the hand in amazement, as if the hand were acting of its own accord, against her will.

  “What sorcery is this?” she cried, and she was in earnest. “What are you doing to me?”

  “I am doing nothing,” Mina said softly. “The part of you that seeks nourishment for your soul reaches out to me.”

  Mina took hold of Odila’s hand in her own.

  Odila gasped, as if in pain. She tried to break the hold, but could not, though Mina was not exerting any force that Gerard could see. Tears sprang to Odila’s eyes, she bit her lip. Her arm shook, her body trembled. She gulped and seemed to try to bear the pain, but the next moment she sank to her knees. The tears spilled over, coursed down her cheeks. She bowed her head.

  Mina moved close to Odila. She stroked Odila’s long black hair.

  “Now you see,” said Mina softly. “Now you understand.”

  “No!” Odila cried in a choked voice. “No, I don’t believe it.”

  “You do believe,” Mina said. She put her hand beneath Odila’s chin, lifted her head so that Odila was forced to look into the amber eyes. “I do not lie to you. You are lying to yourself. When you are dead, you will go to the One God, and there will be no more lies.”

  Odila stared at her wildly.

  Gerard shuddered, chilled to the core of his being.

  The archer leaned forward, said something to Mina. She listened and nodded.

  “Captain Samuval says that you can undoubtedly provide us with valuable information about the defenses of Solanthus.” Mina smiled, shrugged. “I do not require such information, but the captain believes that he does. Therefore you will be questioned first, before you are put to death.”

  “I won’t tell you anything,” Odila said thickly.

  Mina regarded her with sorrow. “No, I don’t suppose you will. Your suffering will be wasted, for, I assure you, you could not tell me anything that I do not already know. I do this only to humor Captain Samuval.”

  Bending down, Mina kissed Odila on the forehead. “I commend your soul to the One God,” Mina said, and straightening, she turned to Gerard.

  “I thank you for delivering your message. I would not advise you to return to Qualinost. Beryl would not permit you to enter that city. She launches her attack tomorrow at dawn. As for Marshal Medan, he is a traitor. He has fallen in love with the elves and their ways. His love finds shape and form in the Queen Mother, Lauralanthalasa. He has not evacuated the city as he was ordered. Qualinost is filled with elven soldiers, prepared to give their lives in defense of their city. The king, Gilthas, has laid a trap for Beryl and her armies—a cunning trap, I must admit.”

  Gerard gaped. His jaws went slack. His mouth hung open. He thought he should defend Medan, then knew he shouldn’t, for doing so might implicate him. Or perhaps she already knew Gerard wasn’t what he appeared and nothing that he did or didn’t do would make any difference. He managed, at last, to ask the one thing that he had to know.

  “Has Beryl … been warned?” Gerard’s mouth was dry. He could barely speak the words.

  “The dragon is in the keeping of the One God, as are we all,” Mina replied.

  She turned away. Waiting officers moved forward to claim Mina’s attention, badgered her with questions. She walked off to listen to them, answer them. Gerard was dismissed.

  Odila stood up, staggering, and would have fallen if Gerard had not stepped forward and, under the guise of seizing her arm, supported her. He wondered, at that, who was leaning on whom. He was in need of some sort of support himself. Sweating profusely, he felt wrung out.

  “I can’t answer you,” Captain Samuval said, although Gerard had not asked a question. The captain walked over to converse. “Is what Mina said about Medan true? Is he a traitor?”

  “I don’t … I don’t …” Gerard’s voice failed him. He was tired of lying, and it seemed pointless anyway. The battle for Qualinost would be held tomorrow at dawn, if he believed her, and he believed her, although he had no idea how or why. He shook his head wearily. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Not now.”

  “We’d be glad if you joined our ranks,” Captain Samuval offered. “Here, I’ll show you where to take your prisoner. The interrogator’s setting up, but he should be in business by tomorrow morning. We could use another sword.” He glanced at the city, whose walls were dark with soldiers. “How many troops do you reckon are in there?”

  “A lot,” Gerard said with emphasis.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Captain Samuval rubbed his grizzled chin. “I’ll wager she knows, eh?” He jerked a thumb at Odila, who walked as if in a daze, hardly seeming to notice where she was going, hardly seeming to care.

  “I don’t know if she does or not,” Gerard said glumly. “She hasn’t said anything to me about it, and she won’t say anything to that torturer of yours. She’s stubborn, that one. Where do I put her? I’ll be thankful to be rid of her.”

  Captain Samuval led Gerard to a tent that was close to where the blacksmith and his assistants were setting up his portable forge. Pausing at the smith’s, Captain Samuval appropriated a pair of leg irons and manacles, assisted Gerard in attaching them to Odila’s legs and wrists. He handed Gerard the key.

  “She’s your prisoner,” he said.

  Gerard thanked him, tucked the key into his boot.

  The tent had no bedding, but the captain brought water and food for the prisoner. Odila refused to eat, but she drank some water and managed to sound grudgingly grateful for the attention. She lay down on the tent floor, her eyes wide open and staring.

  Gerard left her, went outside, wondering what he was going to do now. He decided the best thing he could do was to eat. He had not realized how hungry he was until he saw the bread and dried meat in the captain’s hand.

  “I’ll take that food,” Gerard said, “since she doesn’t want it.”

  Samuval handed it over. “No mess tent as yet, but there’s more where this came from. I was headed that way myself. You want to join me?”

  “No,” said Gerard. “Thanks, but I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” said the captain, amused. “Still, she’s my responsibility.”

  “Suit yourself,” said Captain Samuval and strode off. He had sighted a friend apparently, for he began waving his hand. Gerard saw the minotaur who had been leading the patrol waving back.

  Gerard squatted down outside the prison tent. He ate the meal without tasting it. Realizing that he’d left the waterskin inside with Odila, he entered the tent to retrieve it. He moved quietly, thinking she might be asleep.

  She had not stirred since he had left her, except that now her eyes were closed. He was reaching quietly for the waterskin, when she spoke.

  “I’m not asleep,” she said.

  “You should try to rest,” he returned. “Nothing to do now except to wait for nightfall. I have the key to the leg irons. I’ll try to find you some armor or a soldier’s tunic—”

  She shifted her gaze from him, looked away.

  Gerard had to ask. “What did you see, Odila? What did you see when she touched you?”

  Odila closed her eyes, shivered.

  “I saw the mind of God!”

  30

  The War of Souls Begins

  aldar walked through the slumbering camp, yawning so wide he heard a distinct crack. A sharp pain in his jaw made hi
m wince. Resolving not to do that again, he rubbed his jaw and continued on. The night was bright. The moon, within a sliver of being full, was large, lumpish, and vacuous. Galdar had the impression that it was a doltish moon. He’d never liked it much, but it would serve its purpose, if all went according to plan. Mina’s plan. Mina’s strange, bizarre plan. Galdar yawned again, but this time he took care not to crack his jaw.

  The guards in front of Mina’s tent recognized him—easy to spot the only minotaur in the entire army. They saluted and looked at him expectantly.

  Her tent was dark. Not surprising, considering it was nearly dawn. He was loath to wake her, for she had been up before the sunrise the day before and had gone to bed well after midnight. He hesitated. After all, there wasn’t anything she could do that he hadn’t already done. Still, he felt she should know.

  He thrust aside the flap and entered the command tent. “What is it, Galdar?” she asked.

  He was never certain if she was awake before he entered or if she woke on hearing him enter. Either way, she was always alert, responsive.

  “The prisoner has escaped, Mina. The female Solamnic Knight. We can’t find her captor, either. We believe they were in this together.”

  She slept in her clothes, woolen hose, and tunic. Her armor and her morning star stood at the foot of the bed. He could see her face, pale white, colder, more awful than the gibbous moon.

  She evinced no surprise.

  “Did you know of this, Mina? Did someone else come to tell you?” Galdar frowned. “I gave orders you were not to be disturbed.”

  “Yet now you disturb me, Galdar.” Mina smiled.

  “Only because all our efforts to find the Solamnic and this traitor Knight have failed.”

  “They are back in Solanthus now,” Mina replied. Her eyes had no color in the darkness. He felt more comfortable with her in the darkness. He could not see himself in the amber. “They have been greeted as heroes. Both of them.”