Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  uilt by Vinas Solamnus in the Age of Might, the Tower of the High Clerist guarded the only pass through the Vingaard Mountains—the major overland route from the rest of Ansalon into the great city of Palanthas. The tower was immense, massive, a mighty fortress. Yet, due to the tower’s unusual design, the dwarf, Flint Fireforge, a Hero of the Lance, was once overheard to declare that the builder of the tower was either drunk or insane.

  The tower had been built by humans, so the good dwarf’s criticism must be taken with, as the gnomes put it, a grain of saltpeter. And it is true that when Flint made the statement, he was not aware of the true nature of the tower’s unusual defense system, which the dwarf soon saw put into action.

  Not long after Flint made that remark, the dragons of Highlord Kitiara’s army attacked the tower. The Solamnic Knight Sturm Brightblade died in that assault, but—due to Sturm’s sacrifice—the other knights rallied and, with the help of a kender, an elfmaid, and a dragon orb, the tower was saved.

  The High Clerist’s Tower was formidable in appearance. Rising some one thousand feet in the air, surrounded on all but the southernmost side by snow-capped mountains, the tower had reputedly never fallen to an enemy while men of faith defended it. An outer curtain of stone formed an octagon as the tower’s base. Each point of the octagonal wall was surmounted by a turret. Battlements ran along the top of the curtain wall between the turrets. An inner octagonal wall formed the base of eight smaller towers, built around the larger central tower.

  What had so disturbed Flint Fireforge was the fact that no fewer than six gigantic steel gates breached the outer walls, three of which opened onto the Solamnic plain, all of them leading into the heart of the tower. Any dwarf worth his weight in stone will tell you that a good, solid fortification has only one entrance, which can be sealed shut, readily manned and defended against enemy attack.

  The knights might have answered Flint by terming dwarven tactics unimaginative, lacking in subtlety. The High Clerist’s Tower was, in actuality, a masterpiece of cunning design. The six gates opened into restricted courtyards—killing fields where the knights on the high walls above could dispatch their enemy with concentrated fire. Those who won through to the stairs leading to the central tower found themselves bottled up by hidden traps.

  Those familiar with the history of the War of the Lance will recall that the three doors opening onto the Solamnic plain were actually dragontraps. A magical dragon orb placed within the center of the converging hallways would call to evil dragons, seduce them into flying inside the tower itself, rather than attacking it from the outside. The dragons were then killed by the Solamnic Knights, attacking the trapped creatures safely from behind stone defenses. Thus the tower’s other, forgotten name, Dragondeath. And thus fell many evil dragons during the War of the Lance.

  Many long years had passed since Sturm Brightblade stood alone upon the battlements, awaiting certain death. During the War of the Lance, the dragon orbs were reportedly lost to the world, or so most people devoutly hoped. The evil dragons, now knowing the secret of the tower’s defenses, could no longer be lured into its deadly trap and, since dragons live incredibly long lives, it was likely that their memories of those halls, wet with dragons’ blood, would prevent them from making the same mistake twice.

  The tower had been rebuilt after the war, refurbished, modernized. With the loss of the dragon orbs, the tower’s central defense against dragons was no longer effective, and the three dragontrap gates had become more of a liability than an asset. The Knights of Solamnia had realized the truth of the dwarf’s statement concerning the three steel doors “Might as well invite the enemy inside for tea!” Flint had grumbled. They had taken precautions to seal all three of them with white granite “plugs,” ornately carved to resemble the original gates.

  Following the war, the Tower of the High Clerist became a bustling hub of activity. Overland traders clogged the roads in and out. Citizens came to seek counsel, advice, justice, or help in defending their towns against marauders. Couriers on important missions rode at a gallop to the gates. Kender were rounded up by day, their pouches searched, and released the following morning with strict orders to “move along,” which the kender gleefully obeyed, only to be replaced by a new batch.

  During the summer, traders set up stalls along the road leading from the plains below to the tower’s main gate. There they sold everything from ribbons and silk scarves (for fair ladies to bestow as favors on their chosen knights), to food, ale, elven wine, and (below the counter) dwarf spirits.

  Tourneys, featuring jousting, archery contests, mock battles, drill formations, and exhibitions of proficiency in riding horses and dragons, were held regularly to train the young knights, keep the older ones fighting fit, and delight the public.

  Times for the knights had been good … until this summer.

  As the sun’s heat baked the dirt roads, travel across Krynn withered and died like the crops in the field. The man whose only harvest is dust and dirt cannot pay the roving tinker to mend his plow. The tinker cannot pay his bills at the inn. The innkeeper has no money to buy food needed to serve her guests.

  Couriers still arrived, more than usual, bearing ominous tidings of famine and fire. A few die-hard travelers wandered in, half-dead from the glaring sun. The traders closed up their stalls and moved back to Palanthas. Tourneys were no longer held. Too many knights, clad in their heavy armor, had collapsed in the heat. Only the kender, afflicted by their national disease known as Wanderlust, continued to frequent the tower on a regular basis, arriving sunburned and dusty and commenting cheerfully on the remarkable change in the weather.

  A group of kender were being ushered out the evening Tanis Half-Elven arrived. The knight in charge turned them loose, ordered them away from the gate. After making a quick head count, the guard vanished precipitously, returning with two more kender, who had become separated from the group and were discovered in the dining hall. The knight relieved them of several pieces of cutlery, six pewter plates adorned with the seal of the knights, two linen napkins, and a pepper box.

  Ordinarily, the kender would have loitered outside the tower, hoping for a chance to get back in. This morning, however, the kender were distracted by the arrival of Tanis on griffin-back.

  As soon as the griffin set down outside the front gate, on the main road leading into the tower, the kender swarmed around, staring with friendly interest at the griffin. That fierce beast—not liking kender—glared back at them with its beady black eyes. When any strayed too close, the griffin ruffled its feathers in irritation and gnashed its beak threateningly at them, much to the kender’s delight.

  Foreseeing that one or more kender might end up as the griffin’s breakfast, Tanis, with many expressions of gratitude, dispatched the beast back to Porthios. The griffin left swiftly and gladly. The kender sent up a wail of disappointment and immediately attached themselves to Tanis.

  Keeping fast hold of his sword in one hand and his money pouch in another, the half-elf waded through the kender sea, trying to reach the tower and not making much headway. Fortunately, the sound of hooves, galloping in the distance, caused the kender to abandon Tanis and turn their attention to this new arrival. Tanis hastened quickly toward the entrance.

  The knight on duty saluted Tanis, who was a frequent visitor to the tower.

  “Welcome, my lord. I will see that you are escorted to the guest hall, to rest after your long—”

  “No time,” Tanis said abruptly. “I must see Sir Thomas immediately.”

  Tanis’s old friend and former leader of the knights, Lord Gunthar uth Wistan, had retired last year. Thomas of Thalgaard, Lord Knight of the Rose, was now commander of the High Clerist’s Tower. A man in his early forties, Sir Thomas had the reputation for being a tough, able commander. His lineage in the knighthood was long. Thomas’s grandfather had been a Knight of Solamnia, but had been robbed of his holdings by a sect of false priests during the dark years after the Cataclysm. Thomas’s fathe
r had swallowed his pride, indentured himself to the priests in order to work as a slave on the land his family had once owned. Young Thomas’s first mount, therefore, had been a plow horse; his first battles were fought against grubs and weevils. He had watched his father work himself to death, saw him die a slave, and vowed that he would become a knight.

  Thomas had had his chance during the War of the Lance. His small village lay in the path of the dragonarmies. Fearing imminent attack, the false priests fled, taking with them everything of value and leaving the people to the mercy of the draconians. A youth of twenty, Thomas rallied his friends and neighbors, urged them all to seek shelter inside the castle. He defended his holdings with such skill and daring that the castle held out against the might of the dragonarmies until the war’s end.

  Tanis did not know Sir Thomas well, but, from what he had seen of him, the half-elf judged the knight to be a man of intelligence and common sense.

  “I must see Sir Thomas at once,” Tanis repeated. “I have urgent news.”

  “Certainly, my lord,” the knight answered, and dispatched a messenger in search of the commander.

  Tanis was not kept waiting long. Never one to stand on ceremony, Sir Thomas himself appeared. He greeted Tanis cordially, then, noting the half-elf’s impatience, invited him to take a private walk along the battlements.

  “You have news,” Thomas said, when they were alone together. “And, to judge by your expression, it’s not good.”

  “Then you have not received the report, my lord?”

  “Report of what? I’ve heard nothing this past week.”

  “Lord Ariakan has launched his assault. North Keep and Valkinord have both fallen. Kalaman might now be under siege. As near as I can judge, the dark knights are launching a two-pronged attack, one army advancing through the Khalkist Mountains, the other planning on coming downriver from Kalaman.”

  The commander stared at Tanis in astonishment.

  “My lord, the knights sent to fortify Kalaman were wiped out, almost to a man,” Tanis said quietly. “They fought bravely, but they were vastly outnumbered. I have with me a list of the dead.” He withdrew a folded packet, handed it to Lord Thomas. “To give Ariakan credit, my lord, the dead are being accorded all respect.”

  “Yes, he would,” Thomas commented, glancing down the list, his face stern, jaw hard-set. “I knew them, every one,” he said at last. Refolding the list, he tucked it into his belt. “I will see to it that their families are notified. You knew two of them, I believe. The Majere boys.”

  “I knew them. I helped bury them,” Tanis returned grimly. “Their younger brother, Palin, was taken prisoner, is being held for ransom. It was his captor, a Knight of Takhisis, who brought us this news. You know this knight, too, my lord. His name is Brightblade, Steel Brightblade.”

  “Son of Sturm Brightblade. Yes, I recall that incident. You tried to save the young man from evil. He ended up desecrating his father’s tomb, stealing his sword.”

  That wasn’t quite what happened, but Tanis—who had been arrested and brought up on charges for his part in the “incident”—knew better than to argue. He’d presented the facts before the Knights’ Council and had, at least, cleared his name and that of his friend Caramon. But he had not been able to convince the knights that it was Sturm himself who had bequeathed his sword to his son. Nor, looking back on it now, was Tanis certain of what had truly happened. It seemed to him that he and Sturm had both failed. Steel Brightblade was, as far as Tanis could judge, completely given over to the side of darkness.

  “Kalaman under siege …” Thomas shook his head, baffled. “I find it hard to believe, Half-Elven. No disparagement, but Ariakan has only a handful of knights.”

  “My lord, according to Palin, Lord Ariakan’s army is far more than a handful. His army is immense. He has recruited barbarians from lands to the east, humans who stand as tall as minotaur and who fight just as fiercely. They are led by knights on dragonback and have, among their ranks, renegade magic-users. Dalamar, head of the Wizards’ Conclave on Ansalon, can testify to the power of these sorcerers.”

  “No doubt he can, since he is on their side.”

  “No, my lord. You are mistaken. This is not generally known, but recently the wizards of the three moons led an attack against the Gray Knights, as they are known. The wizards of the three moons were utterly vanquished. One of their number, Justarius, was killed. I’m not certain whose side Dalamar is on, but I don’t think it is Ariakan’s. Dalamar cannot forgive his queen for turning her back on him, in order to grant greater power to her own mages.”

  Thomas frowned. Like all knights, he distrusted magic-users of any color, wanted as little to do with them as possible. He waved the discussion of magic aside as being unimportant and irrelevant.

  “Kalaman can withstand a siege for a long time. Time enough for us to send reinforcements.”

  “I’m not so certain—” Tanis began.

  “My lord!” A young page came dashing, panting, up the stairs. “My lord, a courier has arrived. He—”

  “Where are your manners, boy?” Thomas brought the page up short. “Here with me is a lord to whom you owe proper respect, as well as to myself. Discipline must be maintained,” the knight added in an undertone to Tanis.

  The page, scarlet to his ears, straightened, then hastily bowed, first to Tanis, then to Sir Thomas. But before his bow was half-finished, the boy was talking again.

  “The courier, my lord. He’s downstairs. We had to help him off his horse. He’s ridden that hard …” The page halted, out of breath.

  “More bad news, I fear,” Sir Thomas observed wryly. “No one ever rushes to tell us good news.”

  The two men descended, returned to the front gate.

  The courier lay stretched out on the floor, a cloak beneath his head. At the sight of him, Sir Thomas frowned, for the man wore the livery of the city guard of Kalaman. His clothes were stained with dried blood.

  “He was so stiff we had to lift him off his horse, my lord,” the knight at the gate reported. “He has had nothing to eat, he says, but has ridden day and night to reach us.”

  “My lord!” The man, seeing Sir Thomas, struggled to rise.

  “No, no, Lad. Rest easy. What is your news?” Thomas knelt beside the man.

  “Kalaman, my lord!” The soldier gasped. “Kalaman … has fallen!”

  Thomas looked up at Tanis. “You were right, it appears,” he said quietly.

  “They came from the sea, my lord,” the soldier was explaining in a weak voice. “From the sea and the air. We … had no warning. They attacked … in the night. Dragons and … huge beasts the knights termed mammoths … The city … surrendered …”

  The man tried to continue, but fell back. A Knight of the Sword—a follower of the god Kiri-Jolith, who was granted the power to heal—began attending to the injured courier. After a cursory examination, the knight looked up at Sir Thomas.

  “He is not severely wounded, my lord, but suffers from loss of blood and exhaustion. He needs to rest.”

  “Very well. Find him a comfortable bed. Let me know when he’s able to talk again. I need details. The rest of you men, keep this to yourselves. No man breathes a word.”

  They bore the courier away on a litter, took his foundered horse to the stables.

  “I know all I need to know anyway,” Sir Thomas remarked to Tanis. The two stood alone in the hall; the knight at the entrance had returned to his duties. “Kalaman has fallen. This is dire news. If it reaches Palanthas, we’ll have a riot on our hands.”

  Tanis was doing some quick figuring. “As I said, Ariakan has an immense army, one he can split with impunity.”

  “I see his plan,” Sir Thomas said thoughtfully. “He attacks the east coast with half his strength, marches them west through the mountains. With the other half of his army he attacks the northeast, brings those troops south to meet up with the advancing forces on the other side of the Khalkists. On the way, he’ll pick up the
ogres and goblins and draconians who’ve been hiding out in the mountains. He’ll have to leave troops to hold Kalaman and protect his supply lines, but, with the additional forces, by the time he arrives here, he’ll be back up to full strength.” Sir Thomas smiled ruefully.

  “I know him, you see. We used to discuss a plan very much like this, Ariakan and I, back in the old days. We were friends while he was a prisoner here. Ariakan was always a good soldier,” Thomas added reflectively, shaking his head. “We made him a better one.”

  “So what will be his next move?” Tanis asked.

  Sir Thomas gazed out the front gate, looked to the east. “He’s on his way here. And there’s not a damn thing we can do to stop him.”

  17

  Eluding the patrols.

  An odd sort of fish wife.

  One eye and yellow eye.

  don’t know whether they had these in your day or not, but now what they call ‘smugglers patrols’ walk the docks at night,” Palin whispered to his companion. “Then there’s the port authority. They’ve rebuilt the Old City wall. Guards patrol there now. They’ve never forgotten Dragon Highlord Kitiara’s raid on the city.”

  Palin could see Steel and the dragon only dimly. The knight worked in the lambent light cast by the moon and stars, and reflected off the water, to unload the supplies. They had landed on a peninsula that formed the western shore of the Bay of Branchala. Occasionally, Palin caught a flash of moonlit armor, or could see the tall, muscular figure outlined in silhouette against the star-pocked night sky.

  Steel removed the bundle carrying the weapons that were never worn on dragonback unless the knight was flying into battle. He buckled on his long sword, thrust a short sword into his belt, slid a dagger into the top of his boot. He left the arrows, bow, and lance with the dragon.

  “If my mother and your uncle had worked together, instead of at cross purposes,” Steel remarked, “I might be the one hosting that party at the lord’s house.”

  Palin did not miss the subtle reminder that Raistlin had been in league with the dark powers, then—as perhaps he was now. The memory of the Test in the Tower of High Sorcery, when Palin had met his uncle—at least he had thought it was his uncle—nagged at the edge of his mind. The image of Raistlin had been pure illusion, conjured up by Dalamar and the other wizards in order to test Palin, to see if he would succumb to the same temptations that had once beset his uncle.