Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  Porthios might well have ignored Tanis, but at that moment a faint cry—a newborn cry—wavered in the air. With a final baleful glance, Porthios shouldered Steel aside and hastened to the inn. His elven escort departed as well, not without exchanging glances that were as good as blows with the dark knight.

  Steel met them with that mocking smile, then, half-turning, he glanced over his shoulder. “Palin Majere. You are my prisoner still. Pay your farewells. It is time we were leaving.”

  “Palin!” Tika cried and stretched out trembling hands to her son.

  “It will be all right, Mother,” Palin said, with a glance at his father. The two had agreed to say nothing of Palin’s intent to his mother. “The mages will pay the ransom. I will be home soon.” He leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek.

  “Take care of yourself,” Tika said softly, brokenly, then startled Palin by adding, “Raistlin wasn’t all bad. There was some good in him. I never liked him much, but then I never understood him. Perhaps …” She paused, drew a deep breath, then said crisply, “Perhaps what you are doing is right.”

  Palin stared at her in astonishment. He looked at his father, who shrugged. “I didn’t say a word, Son.”

  Tika smiled sadly, rested her hand on her boy’s hand. “I always knew when you were up to mischief. Remember? You and your brothers …” She swallowed. Tears welled from her eyes. “Paladine go with you, my son!”

  “Take care, Son,” Caramon said. “If there’s anything I can do …”

  “Thank you, Father. Thank you for everything. Good-bye, Mother.”

  Palin turned away, left quickly, his own tears half-blinding him. But he was master of himself by the time he reached Steel.

  “Do you have everything you require?” the knight asked.

  Palin flushed. He carried a single pouch of spell components; at his low rank, he needed no more. What clothes he had, he wore—white robes, stained with travel and blood. He had no spellbooks, no scroll cases. But in his hand was the Staff of Magius.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  Steel nodded, made a graceful, chill salute to Caramon and Tika. Palin did not look back, but began trudging down the road. The two disappeared into the lengthening shadows.

  That evening, at the Inn of the Last Home, Caramon and Tika planted two young vallenwoods on the grave of their sons.

  Alhana Starbreeze, exhausted from the long birthing, slept. Porthios stood by her side. When she was sleeping and all others had left the room, he leaned over, kissed her tenderly.

  Assured that his wife was safe and his newborn son was healthy, Porthios returned to the common room and sat with his warriors. He planned to unite the elven kingdoms, if he had to kill every elf in Ansalon to do it.

  Tanis left on a swift journey to the High Clerist’s Tower, to tell the knights once more what he had been telling them for five years: that the Dark Queen’s forces were again on the move.

  Lying in his cradle, wearing human baby clothes much too large for him, the newborn elf child blinked and stared about in astonishment at this strange, new world in which he found himself.

  15

  Steel vows revenge.

  Pain hears the familiar voice.

  The journey to palanthas.

  alin and Steel joined up with the blue dragon about five leagues north of Solace. Flare had spent the night in the ruined city of Xak Tsaroth. Said to be haunted, the city remained abandoned, except for gully dwarves and roving bands of goblins and draconians. Flare was still picking bits of goblin from her teeth when they found her. She would not, she told her master with disdain, eat gully dwarf.

  Well fed and reunited with Steel, Flare was in a good humor. While the dark knight studied a map of their route north, Flare took delight in attempting to intimidate Palin, already affected by the dragonfear. She unfurled her massive wings, spread them to the sun, flapped them gently to cool herself and her master. When Steel complained that the breeze was fluttering the map, making it difficult for him to read, Flare enjoyed a small fit of temper. She dug her claws in the ground, tore at it, sending up huge clods of dirt and brown grass. She slashed her tail wickedly from side to side, tossed her mane, all the while gazing from beneath lowered lids with her red, reptile eyes to see Palin’s reaction.

  Palin held himself aloof, purposefully standing near the dragon, though the effort it cost him was plainly visible in his clenched jaw, his white-knuckled hand clinging tightly to the Staff of Magius.

  “If you’ve finished showing off,” Steel said to the dragon, “I’d like to go over our route.”

  The blue dragon snarled, bared her teeth, pretending to be offended. Steel patted her neck, unrolled the map on a boulder, and indicated what he considered to be the best way. Palin mopped sweat from his brow and, keeping tight hold on the staff, moved even closer to the dragon to take part in the discussion.

  “This affects me, too,” he said, answering Steel’s baleful look. “Flying over Solamnia will prove far more dangerous than traveling over Abanasinia.”

  Since the time of the War of the Lance, the Knights of Solamnia had regained favor with the local populace. It was now considered fashionable for a family of breeding and consequence—not to mention wealth—to have at least one son in the knighthood. Consequently, the ranks of the knights had swelled, and their coffers were full. They had rebuilt many of the crumbling keeps around Solamnia, dispatched troops to man them. Their allies, the silver dragons, kept watch on the skies.

  Once reviled, the Knights of Solamnia were now seen as protectors of the weak, defenders of the innocent. Wiser lords had risen in the ranks; the laws set down by Vinas Solamnus thousands of years ago—laws that had been religiously, strictly, and, some said, obtusely followed in the modern era—were being revised and modified, brought up to date.

  The Knights of Solamnia, instead of being stoned when they rode into a village—as had been the case in the old days—were treated as honored guests, their help and advice eagerly sought and generously funded.

  Dragon and master were well aware of the knights’ growing influence. Lord Ariakan had been a prisoner of the knights for several years following the war, and he had not spent his time among them in idleness. He had learned not only their ways—which he admired and copied, making changes where needed—but he had also learned their tactics, strategies, the locations of their strongholds. He had found out their strengths and—most importantly—their weaknesses.

  When Tanis had first discovered the existence of the Knights of Takhisis, almost five years previous, he had gone immediately to the Solamnic Knights and warned them of their peril.

  “Lord Ariakan knows everything about you—from the color of your smallclothes to your accustomed orders of battle,” Tanis warned. “He knows which keeps are fortified and which are empty. His knights are able and intelligent men and women, recruited by him, trained by him, given the Vision by Her Dark Majesty. They will not betray their masters for the sake of gain as we saw during the last war. These people are loyal to the Dark Queen and to each other. They will sacrifice anything for their cause. You must institute changes now, my lords, or it is my belief that Lord Ariakan and his dark knights will make these changes for you.”

  The lord knights had listened politely to Tanis, had agreed with him politely while he was present among them, and had pooh-poohed him when he was absent.

  Everyone knew that those allied with the Queen of Darkness were selfish, greedy, cruel, and completely lacking in honor. History had proven this, time and again. The knights could not imagine that such drastic changes in the ranks of darkness could have occurred in the short span of twenty-six years.

  And so the ranks of light made few changes of their own.

  Steel was pointing at the map. “We cross the Straits of Schallsea here, skirting Caergoth, for the knights have established a fortress there. We keep to the east, travel over water, with Coastlund on our right. Thus we avoid Thelgaard Keep. North of that, we continue along the coastl
ine, putting the Vingaard Mountains between us and the High Clerist’s Tower. We enter Palanthas from the north.”

  On hearing this, Palin ventured to suggest, “You won’t be able to enter the city unless you’re disguised. I thought of this,” he added with some pride, “and I brought some of my father’s clothes—”

  “I will not walk the streets of Palanthas dressed as an innkeeper,” Steel said sternly. “I wear this armor for the glory of my queen. I won’t hide who I am.”

  “Then we might as well march to the High Clerist’s Tower and lock ourselves up in a cell,” Palin returned. “Because that’s where we’re going to end up.”

  “You will not, White Robe,” Steel observed, with a half-smile.

  “Oh, yes, I will. They’ll arrest me fast enough when they find out I’m with you. The knights have little love for magic-users.”

  “Yet you fought in their ranks.”

  “Because of my brothers,” Palin said in a low voice and said no more.

  “Do not worry, Majere,” Steel said, the smile now in his dark eyes. “We will enter Palanthas safely enough.”

  “And supposing we do make it through Palanthas,” Palin argued. “We still have to walk the Shoikan Grove.”

  “The accursed wood? I’ve seen it—from a distance. Didn’t your father tell you? I grew up in Palanthas. We lived there until I was twelve, when Lord Ariakan came to enroll me in the knights. As you might imagine, the Shoikan Grove is a temptation to every mischievous child in the city. I forget how many times we dared each other to get close to it. Of course, the moment even the topmost branches of the giant trees came into sight, we turned tail and fled. I remember to this day the feelings, the fear …”

  He stopped, frowning, then shook the memories off, as a dog shakes off water. He continued, more briskly, “This grove is said to be deadly to every mortal who tries to gain admittance—no matter where his loyalties lie. But surely you have safe passage, Sir Mage.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Palin said, irritated. “It’s not accurate. I’m of low rank in my art. In military terms, I am equivalent to a foot soldier.”

  He couldn’t help the bitterness creeping into his voice.

  “All of us start at the bottom, Majere,” Steel said gravely. “There is no shame in that. I worked ten years to achieve my rank and I am far from the top.”

  “You sound just like my brother Tanin. All that metal you knights wear must go to your heads. It’s what I used to tell him. And, no, I don’t have safe passage through the Shoikan Grove. I could ask for it, I suppose. Dalamar thinks well of me.…”

  At the mention of that name, Steel’s expression changed. His color deepened, the smile in his eyes disappeared, consumed in a sudden, intense fire.

  Palin did not notice. He was abstracted, tempted to contact Dalamar and beg a way safely through the grove. “No,” he decided at last. “I can’t ask Dalamar. That would mean telling him why I wanted inside the tower. And if he knew in advance, he would stop—”

  Palin caught a glimpse of Steel’s face, looked about hastily, thinking that they might be under attack. Seeing nothing, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Dalamar the Dark, that is the man of whom you speak?”

  “Yes,” said Palin, “the master of the tower. The—” Suddenly, Palin remembered his history. Inwardly, he groaned.

  “He is the man who killed my mother,” Steel said. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. “I look forward to meeting this Dalamar.”

  The dark elf had killed his former lover only in self-defense; Kitiara had attacked him first. But that argument was likely to be lost on Kitiara’s son.

  “I suppose it’s no use reminding you that Dalamar is the most powerful wizard in Ansalon,” Palin said testily. “That he could turn you inside out and upside down with just a wave of his hand.”

  “What does that matter?” Steel replied, angered. “Do you think I would attack only those weaker than myself? I am honor-bound to avenge my mother’s death.”

  Blessed Paladine, why didn’t I think of this before? Palin wondered despairingly. Steel will end up dead. Dalamar will think I tried to have him assassinated. He might well destroy me in the bargain.…

  Trust me, young one, came the voice. Leave Dalamar to me.

  Palin shivered, thrilled, exulting. He knew now the voice was real, not imagined. It was speaking to him, guiding him, directing him, wanting him!

  His fears eased. He relaxed.

  “We haven’t reached the tower yet. We have yet to make it safely inside Palanthas and through the Shoikan Grove. Let us deal with Dalamar and whatever we find in the tower when—if—we make it that far.”

  “We’ll reach it,” Steel predicted grimly. “You’ve given me added incentive.”

  The two mounted the dragon and, bathed in Lunitari’s blood-red light, they flew northward, toward Palanthas.

  They traveled all night, encountered no one. But, with the sunrise, the dragon grew uneasy.

  “I smell silvers,” she reported.

  After a brief consultation with Steel, the dragon landed in the foothills of the Vingaard Mountains.

  “We do not want to enter Palanthas by daylight anyhow,” Steel told Palin. “Better that we rest this day, travel on when it is dark.”

  Palin chafed at the delay. He was certain that his uncle was alive, needed only to be released from the dread prison of the Abyss. The young mage felt rested and well. Thanks to Steel’s poultice, Palin’s wound scarcely bothered him. He was eager to journey on, but he couldn’t very well argue with a blue dragon or the dragon’s master.

  “Shouldn’t one of us keep watch?” Palin asked, watching Steel unfasten two bedrolls.

  “We both need our rest,” Steel returned. “The dragon will guard our slumber.”

  After a short search, they found a shallow recess in a cliff that would offer some shelter, though not much concealment, if anyone happened by. Palin spread his blanket, ate some of the massive quantity of food Tika had found time to prepare for them. Steel ate, lay down, and, with the discipline of a soldier who knows he must take his rest when and where he can find it, was soon fast asleep. Palin stretched himself out on the cool ground, prepared to spend the day in sleepless anticipation of night.

  He woke sometime around sunset.

  Steel was up, saddling the dragon. Flare was well rested and, by the looks of it, well fed. The carcasses of several deer lay strewn about.

  Palin stood up, moving slowly, stiff and sore from lying on the ground. Usually his sleep was troubled by strange, half-remembered dreams. Not this time. He could not remember having slept so soundly or deeply in his life.

  “You are turning into an old campaigner.” Steel grunted, effortlessly hoisted the heavy saddle onto the dragon’s back. “You even snore like one.”

  Palin muttered some apology. He knew why he had slept well, was somewhat ashamed. It seemed a betrayal of his family, his home, his upbringing. For the first time in his life, ever since he’d felt the hunger, ever since he’d been old enough to throw pretend magical dust in the faces of his playmates, he was at peace with himself.

  “Don’t apologize, Majere. You did well. We’ll need our strength for what we must face this night.”

  The Shoikan Grove. A terrible place, a deadly place. Caramon had attempted to enter once, had nearly lost his life. And now Palin could scarcely contain his impatience. The grove held no terrors for him. Neither did the grove’s master. Raistlin had promised to deal with Dalamar. Palin’s thoughts centered on what would come after the grove.

  The Portal. His uncle.

  The dragon soared into the darkening sky, flying in lazy circles, using the heat thermals to carry her upward.

  Within a few short hours, the city lights of Palanthas came into sight. They flew around it, skirting New City on their right. The Old City wall circled the city like the rim of a wagon wheel; torches burned bright at its gates. The famous library was dark, except for a light in one win
dow. Perhaps Astinus, who some claimed was the god Gilean himself, was up late, recording history as it flowed past him.

  Perhaps he was, at this very moment, writing about them. Perhaps he might soon be recording their deaths. That thought came unbidden, as Palin looked down at the chill patch of darkness that was the Shoikan Grove. Hastily, he averted his eyes, shifted his gaze to the Tower of High Sorcery. Lights burned within its windows, mostly on the lower level, where the apprentice mages would be awake, committing to memory their spells. Palin knew which room was Dalamar’s, searched for light within.

  It was dark.

  Opposite the tower stood the Temple of Paladine, its white walls shining with a pale radiance, as if they had captured the moonbeams of Solinari and used them to brighten the night. Remembering his errand and the nature of his companion, Palin could not look long on the temple either.

  The dragon took them over the palace of the Lord of Palanthas. It was aglitter with lights; His Lordship must be hosting a party.

  How could people have fun at a time like this? Palin wondered, irrationally angry. His brothers were dead; other good men had given up their lives. For what? For this—that the Lord of Palanthas and his wealthy friends could drink themselves senseless on smuggled elven wine?

  Palin wondered what would happen if he were to leap off the dragon, rush in on the merrymakers in his bloodstained robes and shout, “Open your eyes! Look at me! See what lies ahead for you!”

  Probably nothing. The butler would throw him out.

  The blue dragon veered to her left, skirted the palace, left behind the glittering lights. She flew above the Old City wall, past New City, and out over the bay. The water was startlingly dark in contrast to the city. Only a few tiny points of light marked the guardhouses of the night watch.

  The night watch must have slumbered, for no one saw the dragon dip down from the sky and land on the shoreline.

  16

  The high clerist’s tower.

  An unwelcome messenger.