Almost exactly what had recently happened with the Majere brothers.
The thought made his skin shiver, and Steel was not ordinarily prey to such sensations.
“You’re being a fool, Brightblade,” he told himself sternly, ashamed of his momentary lapse into superstition.
“Still, it is strange,” he told himself, peering through the darkness, trying without success to catch a moonlit glimmer of the bench’s cold white marble, “I had forgotten all about that old bench.…” He smiled to himself in the darkness, a soft smile, a sad one.
He knew about the gods now. He had dedicated his life to one of them, a dark goddess, the goddess who ruled the darkness of his soul. She would punish him, should he seek out that restful bench. Not only that, but undoubtedly Paladine would vent his anger on any servant of Her Dark Majesty who would dare venture into his holy precinct. Just to step on the grass, as he had done, would be considered sacrilege.
Palin was staring at him, about to speak, when a low, deep-throated growl silenced them both.
The growl was savage, fearless, and it came from behind.
“Don’t move!” Palin warned softly. He was facing Steel, could see the knight’s back. “It’s a tiger. About ten paces behind you. It—”
“Don’t be alarmed, Gentlemen,” said a calm, cool voice from the darkness. “This is Tandar, my guide. He won’t hurt you. It is late to walk the streets. Are you lost? Troubled? Is there any way I can be of help?”
Steel moved, pivoting slowly, carefully, his hand on his sword’s hilt. Palin hastened to the knight’s side.
The tiger stepped into a glade of silver moonlight. It was a white tiger, extremely rare in Ansalon. Its stripes were black and gray, its eyes green with flecks of gold, dangerously intelligent. The beast was huge, massive in girth, its paws the size of a man’s head. A golden collar gleamed on its neck. Dangling from the collar was a medallion bearing a golden dragon—the symbol of Paladine.
It was not the tiger who had spoken, though by its intelligent look, the beast might have. The speaker was a woman. She emerged from the shadows to stand at the tiger’s side, her hand resting gently on its head. “My guide,” she had termed the animal. As she stepped into Solinari’s light, Steel saw why she walked the night in the company of this great beast.
This woman must always walk the night, for she would never see daylight. The woman was blind.
Steel recognized her then. Revered Daughter Crysania, High Priestess of the Temple of Paladine, the leader of the god’s worshippers on Ansalon.
Some twenty years had passed since Crysania, out of an ambition as dark as the mage’s own, had accompanied Raistlin Majere into the Abyss. She had very nearly died there. Only when she was lying in that dread place, alone and blind, had she, at last, been able to see. She had returned to the world, blind to its beauty, but no longer blind to its pain. The church had grown strong under her wise leadership, its clerics beloved.
Her skin was as white as Solinari’s glow, her hair black, netted in silver. The marks of her trials and struggles were etched on her face, yet serenity and faith graced her. She was beautiful, as the temple itself was beautiful—cool, stalwart, blessed.
Steel looked to Palin to speak, but the mage was apparently tongue-tied. The dark paladin might have suggested that they slip away, make good their escape, but for the tiger, who was watching them narrowly.
“A mage and a knight,” Lady Crysania said, approaching them. “I presume you are not lost wanderers, then, but on some sort of mission. Have you come to seek Paladine’s blessing?”
The tiger growled again, softly. Obviously, it was time to speak up. Steel elbowed Palin, nudged him in the ribs.
“Not … not exactly, Revered Daughter,” Palin said faintly. His face was pale and glistened with sweat, not all of it due to the night’s heat.
White-robed mages were expected to revere Paladine and follow his precepts. Rescuing a notorious black-robed wizard from the Abyss was probably not high on the god’s list of things he would expect his followers to accomplish.
“Palin Majere,” said Lady Crysania. “I bid you welcome.”
“How … how did you know?” Palin gasped.
Crysania laughed, her laughter like the music of silver bells. “How did I know? I can smell the spice and rose petals of your spell components, and so I knew you were a mage. When you spoke, I recognized your voice. You have the tone of your father, but the way you talk … you remind me of your uncle.” The last she said in a low voice.
Palin’s face, formerly pale, was now bright red, as if Lunitari were shining on him. He had no reply to this, nor did the Revered Daughter appear to expect one. Smiling pleasantly, she turned the dark, sightless eyes on Steel.
“I knew the knight by the rattle of his sword. Surely Palin Majere walks in company with one of his warrior brothers. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Tanin Majere or Sturm Majere?”
There were many ways Steel might answer. The easiest: to feign to be one of the Majere brothers. A hoarse and raspy tone would disguise the voice, could be explained away by a cold in the head. A brief exchange of pleasantries and they would be on their way. Whereas, if Steel told the truth …
He looked at the tiger. The beast stared at him. There was a wisdom in the eyes not to be found in the eyes of any dumb animal, no matter how intelligent. If the tiger attacked, the beast’s weight would carry Steel to the ground. He might be able to stab it, but not before its yellow teeth would tear out his throat.
Certain bold words came back to him.
I will not enter Palanthas dressed as an innkeeper …
Nor hide behind another man’s name.
“You are mistaken, Revered Daughter,” Steel said coolly, politely. “My name is Steel Brightblade, Knight of the Lily. I have the honor to serve Her Dark Majesty, Takhisis.”
Palin rolled his eyes, shook his head. “Now you’ve done it!” he whispered.
The tiger muttered softly in its throat. Lady Crysania soothed her guide with her hand. Her brow was furrowed, her expression troubled.
“You proclaim this in the open, in the city of Palanthas?” she asked, not threatening, but in wonder.
“I proclaim it to you, Revered Daughter,” Steel returned. “A sighted man could see who I am. There is no honor, only shame, in taking unfair advantage of one whom the gods have chosen to walk in shadow. Still greater shame lies in deceiving a woman as noble and courageous as yourself, my lady.”
Crysania’s sightless eyes widened.
“What Tanis Half-Elven told us years ago about you knights was right,” she murmured. “Paladine help us!” Her sightless gaze turned inward, pondering, then her face shifted once again to Palin. “What are you doing here, young mage? Why do you travel in company with this knight, who—though honorable—is nevertheless dedicated to evil?”
“I am this knight’s prisoner, Revered Daughter,” Palin replied. “My brothers are both dead. The Knights of Takhisis have landed on the northern coast, near Kalaman. Tanis Half-Elven is on his way to give this news to the knights in the High Clerist’s Tower.”
“A prisoner. Then they have demanded ransom.”
“Yes, Revered Daughter. That is why we are here.” Palin fell silent, obviously hoping the cleric would ask him nothing else.
“You are going to the Tower of High Sorcery.”
“Yes, Revered Daughter,” Palin answered.
The tiger suddenly shook himself, as if he’d just stepped out of the sea and was shaking off the water. The great head moved restlessly beneath Crysania’s fingers.
“If you wanted ransoming, young mage, you would go to the Tower of High Sorcery at Wayreth. The Wizards’ Conclave decides such issues.” Crysania’s voice had sharpened.
“Forgive me, Revered Daughter,” Palin said with quiet firmness. “But I am not at liberty to discuss this. I have given this knight my word of honor.”
“And should we be considered less honorable than our enemies?�
� Crysania asked with a half-smile. “That is what you imply. My lord Dalamar does not know you are coming, does he?”
“No, my lady,” Palin replied softly.
“You are planning to enter through the Shoikan Grove. You will not survive. Your word of honor will not be of much use to you in that dread place. I know,” she added, with a shiver. “I have walked it.”
She was silent. Again the sightless gaze turned inward.
Steel wanted to leave, yet he was uncertain how to extricate himself. Lady Crysania lifted her head, faced them both, her eyes staring somewhere in between them.
“You are wondering, perhaps, why I do not summon the city guards to deal with you. This meeting does not come about by chance. I do not often walk the temple grounds after midnight. But this night, I couldn’t sleep. I supposed it was the heat and went out to seek a breath of cooler air. But now I know it was Paladine’s will that I find you, that we find each other. And whatever you are doing, I feel his will guiding you.”
Palin stirred, cast a sidelong glance at Steel. The dark paladin shrugged, smiled. Queen Takhisis was known to work in mysterious ways.
“You will never win your way through the Shoikan Grove alive. Here.” Lady Crysania reached to her throat, drew forth a medallion. Gold flashed in the silver moonlight. Unfastening the clasp, she removed the medallion, held it out. “Take this, Palin Majere. It will not protect you from the undead guardians of that dread place, but it will lift the fear from your heart, give you courage to walk the darkness.”
Palin looked stricken, as guilty as any thief caught with his fingers in the poor box. “I can’t accept this, Revered Daughter. It … isn’t right. You don’t know …” He fell silent.
Lady Crysania reached for the mage’s hand. She found it, pressed the medallion into his palm.
“Paladine be with you,” she said.
“Thank you, my lady.” Palin clutched the medallion, not knowing what else to do or say.
“It is time we were going,” Steel said, deciding to take command of the situation. He made a formal bow to Lady Crysania. “I would offer to provide you safe escort back to your chambers, my lady, but I see that you are already well protected.”
Lady Crysania smiled, though immediately afterward, she sighed. “I believe you would, Sir Knight. It grieves me to see such nobility of heart and spirit dedicated to darkness. And how will you enter the Shoikan Grove, Sir Knight? Your queen does not rule there. Her son, Nuitari, is the dread monarch of that evil place.”
“I have my sword, my lady,” Steel answered simply.
She took a step nearer, the sightless eyes staring at him, and suddenly it seemed to him—startlingly—that she could see him. She reached out her hand to him, rested her hand on his breast, on the armor with the death lily, the skull. The cleric’s touch was like a flame, searing his soul, and it was like cool water, bringing him ease. For the first time in his life, Steel was helpless, had no idea what to do.
“You, too, have a guardian, I see,” Lady Crysania said to him. “Two guides! One of dark, one of light. The guide who stands on your left, on your heart-side, is a woman. She wears blue armor and carries the helm of a Dragon Highlord in one hand and a lance in the other. The tip of the lance is wet with blood. She is nearest to your heart. The guide on your right is a man, a Knight of Solamnia. He holds no weapon. His sheath is empty. A bloody hole, made by a lance, pierces his body. This man is nearest to your soul. Both want to guide you. Which will you choose to follow?”
She finished speaking, removed her hand. Steel slumped, as if she had been holding him up. He sought proud words, but none came. He could only stare at her in amazement. What she had described had been the Vision—given to him by Queen Takhisis.
The tiger padded up, pressed the white-and-black-striped body protectively against Crysania. She bid Palin and Steel good night.
“My blessing go with you,” she said to them softly.
Her hand upon the tiger’s head, the cleric of Paladine retraced her steps, was soon lost in the shadows.
Palin was staring, openmouthed, at Steel. The dark knight was in no mood to talk. Half-angry, half-frightened, wholly embarrassed, Steel turned on his heel and walked rapidly back down the street, back the way they’d come. He heard the footsteps of the mage, the flapping of his robes, as Palin hurried to catch up.
Steel walked even more swiftly, as if he could outwalk the fiends plucking at his soul.
“I don’t need a guide!” he whispered furiously. “I grew up alone. I don’t need either of you—father or mother!”
He didn’t cease his rapid pace until he emerged from an alleyway and there, before him, stood the trees of the ancient, dreaded Shoikan Grove.
There had once been five Towers of High Sorcery on Ansalon. Strongholds of the mages, the towers were viewed as threats by those who feared the wizards’ power. In order to protect themselves from attack, the wizards gave each tower a guardian forest. The forest for the Tower of Daltigoth caused a debilitating lethargy to overcome any who ventured into it; they would fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. The Tower of Istar—shattered during the Cataclysm—caused those who entered to forget completely why they’d come. The Tower of the Ruins raised such heated passions in the breasts of those who encroached upon its grounds that they lost all interest in anything else. The forest surrounding the Tower of Wayreth evades trespassers. No matter how hard they try, they cannot find it. But of all these, the Shoikan Grove is the most terrible. The others were blessed by the followers of Solinari and Lunitari. The followers of Nuitari, the Black Robes, blessed the Shoikan Grove.
Its gigantic oak trees stand unmoving. No wind, not even the violent winds of cyclone and hurricane, can cause so much as a single leaf to shiver. Their massive boughs intertwine, forming a canopy so thick that the sun’s light cannot penetrate it. The Shoikan Grove is shrouded in perpetual night. Its shadows are never warmed, are as chill as death.
Nuitari himself cast the enchantment of fear on the grove. All who approach it—even those who come invited by the master within the tower—experience crippling terror that strikes at the heart of every living person. Most cannot even stand to come within sight of the trees. Those of extraordinary bravery who actually make it as far as the grove itself usually do so only by crawling on their knees. Few have ever made it farther. One was Caramon Majere. One was Revered Daughter Crysania. Another was Kitiara. Both of these latter two were given medallions to counteract the fear, to help them through. As for Caramon, he had barely escaped with his sanity intact.
Now Steel Brightblade stood in the shadows of the Shoikan Grove. The enchantment seized him, casting on him the fear—terrible, helpless, debilitating, and unreasoning. It was the fear of death, a surety to those who would set foot within; the fear of the torment and torture that would precede the end; and the even greater fear of the eternal torment and torture promised after.
He could not fight such fear, for it was god-inspired. The fear wrung him, drained him, gripped his bowels, clenched his stomach. Fear dried his mouth, constricted his muscles, dampened his palms. Fear very nearly drove him to his knees.
He heard the voices of the undead, as dry and brittle as bone.
“Your blood, your warmth, your life. Ours! Ours! Come closer. Bring us your sweet blood, your warm flesh. We are cold, cold, cold beyond endurance. Come closer, come closer.”
The darkness of the grove, darkness eternal, never brightened by any light, save perhaps the unseen light of the black moon, flowed over Steel. He prayed to Takhisis, though he knew his prayer would not be answered. Her Dark Majesty’s rule ended at the border of these woods. Here her son, Nuitari, lord of dark magic, reigned supreme. And all knew that he rarely listened to his parent.
To die in battle—Steel had always assumed that would be his fate. To lie on a marble bier, the weapons of his enemy at his feet, mourned, praised by his comrades—that was Steel’s dream of death.
Not this. Torn apart by the rending
, tearing nails of the undead; dragged beneath the ground, clawing and grasping, sinking, suffocating. And then, after death came as a mercy, his soul would be held in thrall, forced to serve the god of the undead, Chemosh.
A voice, a new voice, interrupted that of the chill hissings of Chemosh’s slaves. A woman, clad in blue armor, strolled out from the shadows of the tall trees. The woman was lovely, her hair cropped short to fit comfortably beneath her helm. Dark curls framed her face. Her dark eyes were alluring. She smiled—a crooked smile—and laughed. She laughed at him.
“Look at you! Sweating and shivering like a child on the Night of the Eye! Did I bear a coward for a son? By my queen, if I did, I’ll feed you to Chemosh myself!”
The Blue Lady approached him, her walk swaggering. A sword hung from her hip; a blue cloak stirred restlessly around her, though the night air was breathless and still.
Steel knew her. He had never seen her in life, but he knew her. She had come to him once before—in the Vision.
“Mother …” he whispered.
“Don’t call me ‘Mother’!” Kitiara jeered. “You are no son of mine. My son is not a coward. I walked that dread grove. And here you stand, thinking of turning tail and running!”
“I’m not!” Steel retorted, all the more angrily because he had considered retreating. “I—”
But the vision vanished, withdrew back into the darkness.
Gritting his teeth, his hand closing over the hilt of his sword, Steel strode forward, heading straight for the Shoikan Grove. He had forgotten about Palin, forgotten that such a being as the mage existed. It was a battle now, between the grove and himself. He did not hear the footsteps hastening after him. He jumped, startled, when a hand touched his arm. Whirling, he drew his sword.
Dragons of Summer Flame Page 25
