Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  “Why do you belittle yourself?” Steel asked. “A man should know his own worth.”

  “I do. I’m worth precisely nothing. But that will soon change.”

  “When you find your uncle. But he wore the black robes, didn’t he? You wear the white. Will you change, Majere?”

  A good question. Palin had been wondering that himself. “No,” he said, at length. “I made my decision during my Test. I am satisfied with who I am, though perhaps not what I am. If I’m ambitious, if I want to better myself, that’s not a bad thing. My uncle will understand.”

  “And he will teach his black art to a White Robe?” Steel snorted. “That’s the day I become a cleric of Paladine!” He glanced sidelong at Palin. “You’ll change, Majere. Mark my words.”

  “You better hope I don’t,” Palin said coolly. “If I do, I certainly won’t feel honor-bound to keep my word and remain your prisoner. You might find my dagger in your back.”

  Steel smiled, very nearly laughed out loud. “A good answer. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “There’s your sign.” Palin pointed, ignoring the sarcasm. “A one-eyed fish.”

  “Ah! Excellent!” Steel walked up to the door. Glancing around to make certain no one was in sight, he knocked on the door in a peculiar manner.

  Palin, mystified, waited in silence.

  Apparently whoever lived here was a light sleeper, if the owner was asleep at all. After the briefest delay, a panel set into the door opened a crack. A woman, wearing a black eye-patch, peered out. “We’re closed, good sirs.”

  “Yet the tide is rising,” Steel returned conversationally. “All those who would take advantage should have their boats in the water.”

  The panel slammed shut, but almost immediately the door opened.

  “Come in, sirs,” said the woman. “Come in.”

  The two entered the fish shop. It was clean, the floor scrubbed. The tables normally used for displaying the freshly caught fish were bare, would not be filled until the boats came in with the morning’s catch. Brown bottles containing fish oil stood in a row on a shelf. The smell of fresh fish was quite strong, but not unpleasant. The woman shut the door behind them, gazed keenly at Palin’s staff and its softly beaming light.

  “It’s magic,” Palin explained, “but it won’t hurt you.”

  The woman laughed. “Oh, I am well aware of that, Master Mage. I know all about the Staff of Magius.”

  Palin, not certain he liked that answer, tightened his grip on the staff, studied the woman closely. She was middle-aged, attractive, despite the eye-patch. She was fully dressed, which Palin might have thought odd for this time of night, but then his being here at all was so strange and irrational that a female fishmonger wearing an eye-patch, up and dressed in the middle of the night, seemed just another part of a waking dream.

  “I am Steel Brightblade, my lady,” said the knight, bowing over the woman’s rough and reddened hand as if it were the soft hand of a noble gentlewoman. “Knight of the Lily.”

  “I had word of your corning, Sir Knight,” answered the woman. “And this would be Palin Majere.”

  She turned to Palin, her one visible eye gleaming in the staff’s light. Her clothes were as plain and simple as those of any peasant, but her bearing was regal; her voice cultured, educated. And here she stood in a fish shop!

  “Yes! I am Palin … Majere, my … my lady,” he said, astonished. “How did you know?”

  “The dragon, of course. I am Katherine, Warrior of the Lily, a member of Her Dark Majesty’s knighthood.”

  “A Knight of … of Takhisis?” Palin gaped.

  “Of high rank,” Steel added, with emphasis. “Lady Katherine fought in the War of the Lance.”

  “Under Lord Ariakus’s command,” Katherine explained. “That is how I lost my eye, in a fight with an elf.”

  “I’m … I’m sorry, my lady,” Palin stammered.

  “Don’t be. The elf lost more than his eye. I knew your uncle, by the way, Raistlin Majere. He had just assumed the black robes when I met him. I found him … charming. Sickly, but charming.” Lady Katherine turned back briskly to Steel.

  “You want to enter Palanthas unnoticed?”

  “Yes, my lady, if that is possible.”

  “Nothing easier. That is, of course, one of the reasons why I am here. And why I maintain this disguise.” She looked directly at Palin as she said this, as if guessing his thoughts.

  He felt his face burn, but a chill gripped him. Through this shop the servants of the Dark Queen infiltrate Palanthas! Spies, recruiters for the knights, perhaps murderers, assassins come to the fishmonger’s. She helps them enter the city unobserved. Why have they shown this to me? Unless they know for certain that my tongue will be silenced. How not? I’m a prisoner, after all.

  Of half a mind to flee, Palin glanced back at the door. He could probably make it before Steel caught him, at least outside. His shouts would bring the guards.

  Palin imagined himself screeching for help—very much like the gully dwarf—and his face burned even hotter.

  Lady Katherine smiled at him and, again, Palin had the impression she knew everything he had been thinking.

  “This way, then, if you are determined to enter. You found the shop without difficulty, Knight Brightblade?” She led the way over to a wooden fish table shoved up against the back wall.

  “A gully dwarf told us where you were located, my lady.”

  “Ah, that would be Alf. Yes, I posted him to keep a lookout for you.”

  “Not much of a lookout,” Palin said. “He told us he’d never heard of the place.”

  “And he managed to get some money out of you, didn’t he, White Robe? Cunning creatures, gully dwarves. People don’t give them enough credit. Here we are.” Katherine placed her hands on the table. “We must move this to one side.”

  “Allow me, my lady,” Steel offered, and shifted the heavy table with ease.

  Katherine walked over to what appeared to be a solid wall of stone. Placing her hand on it, she pushed. A section of the wall turned on a pivot, revealing a hidden passageway.

  “Proceed through the tunnel. You will emerge in an alley. It is on the property of the Thieves’ Guild, but we pay them well for their silence—and their protection. Yellow Eye will accompany you, to ensure that there is no trouble.”

  Katherine whistled in a peculiar manner.

  Palin assumed Yellow Eye was one of the lady’s henchmen, wondered where the man had been keeping himself. The mage was startled out of his notion and nearly out of his wits by a raucous caw and a rush of black wings. Palin instinctively raised his arms to ward off attack, but the bird lighted gently on his shoulder. It was, Palin could see now, a crow.

  Cocking its head, Yellow Eye peered at Palin. The bird’s eyes gleamed like amber in the lamp light.

  “He likes you,” said Lady Katherine. “A good omen.”

  “For my side or yours?” Palin spoke before he thought.

  “Do not be disrespectful, Majere,” Steel said angrily.

  “Don’t scold him, Brightblade.” Lady Katherine intervened. “The young man says what he thinks—a characteristic he must have inherited from his uncle. If Paladine and Takhisis both stood before you, Palin Majere, to whom would you pray for assistance? Which one, do you suppose, would be most likely to help you achieve your goal?”

  Palin realized suddenly, guiltily that he had not asked Paladine for his divine help.

  “It’s getting late.” Palin turned to Steel. “We should be going.”

  Lady Katherine’s smile broadened to a grin. The crow let out another ear-splitting caw, which sounded very much like laughter. Edging along Palin’s shoulder, the bird playfully nibbled at the mage’s ear.

  The crow’s beak was sharp, its bite painful. Its claws dug into Palin’s shoulder.

  Steel gave his thanks and bid the lady a gracious and courteous farewell.

  Lady Katherine returned the compliment, wished them success in the
ir endeavor.

  Accompanied by the crow, riding triumphantly on Palin’s shoulder, Palin and Steel entered the narrow tunnel. The staff lit their way. As the tunnel grew darker, the staff’s light grew brighter—a phenomenon Palin had noticed before. The tunnel was taking them beneath the Old City wall, he realized, wondering how the knights had managed to dig it without arousing anyone’s suspicion.

  “Magic, I suppose,” he said to himself, recalling the Gray Knight wizards. There were probably some of those very wizards in Palanthas itself, living right under Dalamar’s nose.

  Wait until I tell him about this, Palin thought, reveling in the idea. Such information alone surely should be worth the price of the wizard’s help!

  The tunnel was not very long, only as long as the City Wall was wide. Another door led them out into an alley. Steel paused before opening it.

  “You better douse that light,” he said.

  Palin agreed. “Dulak,” he whispered, and the crystal went dark.

  In complete darkness, Palin could see nothing, not even the crow that remained perched on his shoulder. He heard the bird rustle its feathers, heard Steel groping for the door’s handle.

  The door opened a crack. Silver light poured inside. Lunitari was setting, but Solinari was on the rise, for which Palin was deeply grateful. He could draw on the moon for assistance with his magical spells, enhance their power. He would need all the help he could get, traveling through the deadly Shoikan Grove. He was about to pray to Paladine, and then he remembered Lady Katherine’s question.

  Palin said no prayers. He decided to trust to himself.

  “Keep close to me,” Steel warned softly.

  Palin recalled that they were near the Thieves’ Guild. The young mage’s hand slid into his pouch; took hold of a few rose petals. The words to the sleep spell were on his lips. Steel had his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  They crept out into the alley.

  Unexpectedly—they’d neither heard nor seen a thing—a tall, dark figure loomed up right in front of them, blocked their way.

  Before Steel could draw his blade or Palin could frame the words for his spell, Yellow Eye emitted a loud and stern-sounding caw.

  The figure vanished, as if it had never been.

  “Impressive,” Palin said, expelling his breath in a relieved sigh.

  “Sneaky, like vermin,” Steel said disparagingly, but he kept his hand on his sword and started searching the alleyway.

  “What do we do with Yellow Eye?” Palin was about to ask, when the crow flapped its wings, emitted another loud caw, and then bit Palin—hard—on the neck.

  He cried out in pain, clapped his hand over the wound.

  “What the—?” Steel turned so fast he nearly lost his balance.

  “That damn bird bit me!” Palin said, furious and hurting.

  “Is that all?” Steel demanded angrily. “I thought a legion of thieves had jumped you, at the very least.”

  “The blasted bird drew blood!” Palin removed his hand and looked at the dark smear left on his fingers.

  The crow gave another caw—this one sounding snickering—and winged its way back over the wall.

  “You won’t die of a crow bite,” said Steel. He walked to the end of the alley, peered into the street.

  The street was silent, deserted. A few lights shone defiantly, impudently in the warehouse-type building that housed the Thieves’ Guild, but none of its members walked the streets. Or, if they did, neither Steel nor Palin saw them.

  Steel looked up and down the road cautiously, then raised his gaze above the rooftops. “That’s the tower, there.”

  He pointed at a tall structure, the tallest in Palanthas. Solinari’s light did not touch the tower; it stood in a shadow of its own creation. Yet, they could both see it quite clearly. Perhaps the black moon shed its unholy radiance upon the blood-red minarets. Palin nodded, unable to speak. The enormity of his task suddenly daunted him.

  “I’m a fool,” he said to himself. “I should turn around and go back home right now.”

  He wouldn’t and he knew it. He’d come too far, risked too much …

  Come too far …

  Palin stared around, confused.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  Steel smiled—a knowing smile. “Inside the walls of the city of Palanthas.”

  Palin blinked. “How … how did we get here?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No … I … I have no idea …” Palin put his hand to his head. He felt dizzy, disoriented.

  “Dwarf spirits do that to a man,” Steel remarked offhandedly. “You’ll feel better soon.”

  “Dwarf spirits? I … I don’t drink. And you would never stop at a tavern! Not when we’re in such danger.” Palin was suddenly quite angry. “Tell me what’s going on here! You have to tell me!”

  “No,” said Steel calmly. “I don’t.”

  Palin felt a stab of sharp pain and something warm trickling down his neck. Reaching behind, he found that he’d been wounded, was bleeding.

  He couldn’t recall how that had happened either.

  Steel started walking down the street, heading in the direction of the tower.

  Palin, bewildered, followed.

  From somewhere above came the eerie, mocking caw of a crow.

  18

  Temple of life.

  Grove of death.

  he summer night was dark, hot. The citizens of Palanthas slept fitfully if at all. Lights flickered in many homes. People could be seen hanging out their windows, searching the skies in vain hope of rain, or walking back and forth in their bedrooms, trying to soothe whimpering, fretful children. Steel and Palin kept to the shadows, avoiding notice and questions, particularly those about why a man should walk in this heat wrapped in a cloak.

  The two were near their destination. Steel could see the tower above him, yet—frustrated—he couldn’t seem to find the street leading to it. Palin was no help. He had been to the tower before, but had traveled there only along the roads of magic. Arriving at an intersection, the two spent a moment debating which way to turn. Palin left it up to Steel, but he took the wrong street, apparently, for they ended up standing on a wide expanse of grassy lawn that stretched, like a carpet of welcome, from the street to a building made of white marble. The smell of flowers hinted at gardens that could be only dimly seen by Solinari’s silver light and the white light flowing from the building itself.

  Pain constricted Steel’s heart, pain long forgotten, its ache stirred up in the cauldron of the past.

  “I know where we are,” he said.

  “The Temple of Paladine! The last place we want to be!” Palin sounded alarmed. “We’ve come a street too far east. We should have turned right back there, not left.” He glanced at Steel. “I’m surprised you should know of the temple.”

  “When I was a child, Sara brought me here, after the attack on Palanthas. We lost our house to the fires that raged through the city. Sara came here to give thanks that we hadn’t lost our lives. It was here I learned of my mother’s death—and who was responsible.”

  Palin made no response. He rubbed the place on his neck where Lady Katherine’s familiar—the crow—had bitten him. The pain would not last long; the magic of that bite would last a lifetime, prevent Palin from remembering that he’d ever met a lady knight turned fishmonger. Palin was set to retrace their footsteps. Steel started to follow, but didn’t. He paused to linger a moment before the temple, even took a step or two on the close-cropped grass.

  Dark bundles dotted the lawn, and for a moment Steel thought that there must have been a battle and these were the bodies left behind. Then he realized that these bodies were living; the only battle they fought was one against the heat. People were slumbering peacefully on the lawn.

  Steel knew this place well, far better than he had implied. Perhaps his coming had not been accidental. Perhaps he had been drawn here, as had often happened before.

  Steel’s yout
h had been a troubled one. He never lived the easy, carefree days of childhood touted by the poets. The war between light and dark, between conflicting emotions and desires was not a new one. He had fought this battle since his earliest days. The dark, represented by the image of his mother in her blue dragon armor, had impelled Steel even as a child to rule, to control—no matter what the cost to himself or others.

  And when he couldn’t, when the other children had rebelled against his authority, refused to obey him, the darkness had urged him to lash out, to hurt them. The light, represented in his dreams by the image of an unknown, silver-clad knight, caused Steel to be remorseful afterward. He wrestled with the turbulence in his soul, felt pulled two different ways by powerful forces he did not understand. Sometimes he feared he must be rent in twain if he did not choose one or the other. At times like these, he had fled to this refuge. He had come to Paladine’s temple.

  Steel had not known why. He was young, as immortal as the gods, he thought, and so had no great need of the gods. He had not gone into the temple itself. Its marble walls were stifling, confining. Not far from where he stood was an aspen tree. Beneath the tree was a marble bench, an old one, a relic of some noble family of ancient days. Cold and hard, the stone bench was not comfortable to sit upon and was generally avoided by most worshippers.

  Steel loved it. A frieze had been carved into the back of the bench. Of crude workmanship, probably done by some apprentice learning his trade, the frieze portrayed the funeral of a Solamnic Knight and had been done as a memorial. The frieze pictured the knight, lying on his stone bier, his arms folded across his chest, his shield leaning (improperly, but such is artistic license) at the side of the bier. On either side of the knight’s body—all of them identical and all looking very solemn and stern—were twelve knight escorts.

  Steel remembered sitting on the grass, his chin on his arms, his arms on the bench. Here, for a brief time, the tumult in his soul ceased, the hot fury in his brain subsided, his clenched fists relaxed. He stared at the frieze, endowed it with boyish, imaginative life. Sometimes, the funeral was his own; he’d died performing heroic deeds, of course. He liked to imagine that he had died saving the lives of the other children—his so-called friends—and that now, too late, they had come to appreciate him. Other times he pictured himself attending the funeral of another knight. Steel saw himself not as one of the mourners, but as the knight’s slayer. The tourney had been an honorable one. The knight had died heroically, and Steel had come to his funeral to pay him homage.