Dragons of Summer Flame

by Tracy Hickman

  The knights heard the story in a silence that seemed to encompass all the world. Into the silence fell the Nightlord’s voice, as disturbing as a pebble dropped into still water.

  “I told you, my lord! It is this White Robe’s doing! And his as well.” She stabbed a finger suddenly at Steel. “They are in league! Both traitors! It is they who are responsible for Her Holiness’s death.”

  “Commanders, dismiss your men,” Ariakan ordered. “Return them to their duties. Nightlord, take Palin Majere to a cell. He is to be held for further questioning. The sentence of death will be postponed until this matter is settled. I will be in the temple, investigating this further.” Ariakan turned to depart.

  Trevalin, greatly daring, spoke up. “My lord!”

  Ariakan, irritated, looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, Subcommander, what do you want?”

  “My lord, since Steel Brightblade has been vindicated and no substantial charges have been leveled against him, I ask that you return him to his rightful rank and place among my command.”

  “Free him at your own peril, Lord Ariakan!” Lillith said, her voice soft and lethal. “Free him, and the knighthood falls!”

  Ariakan gazed at the Nightlord with disfavor. He glanced at Steel, then shrugged. “Very well, Subcommander. Brightblade, I give you permission to return to your talon, but you are not to leave the fortress.”

  Lord Ariakan left for the makeshift Temple of Takhisis, which had been established outside the walls of the High Clerist’s Tower. Though the dark knights officially ruled the tower, they had discovered that no holy object dedicated to Her Dark Majesty could be brought within the tower walls.

  The Nightlord, shaking her head over her lord’s folly, motioned to several of her knights, gave Palin into their custody. The sorcerers bound Palin by the arms, stripped him of his spell components, and gagged his mouth. He still retained the Staff of Magius, however.

  The Nightlord approached. Compressing her lips tightly, determined that she would betray no weakness, she stretched out her hand, suddenly seized hold of the staff, wincing in anticipation of the pain.

  Her face cleared, smoothed. She regarded the staff first in amazement, then with triumph. Exulting, she wrenched it free of Palin’s grip.

  He waited for the staff to react, to punish the Nightlord for her audacity.

  Nothing happened. The staff might have been an ordinary staff.

  “The Staff of Magius appears to have chosen a new owner,” Lillith said to him. “This is a mark of Her Dark Majesty’s approbation. My lord must be made aware of the truth.” Smiling, secret, subtle, she added, “And he will be. He will see for himself.”

  Caressing the staff, running her fingers over the smooth wood, the Nightlord motioned for the guards to take the young mage.

  As the Gray Robes dragged Palin away, he cast a last look at Steel. You must believe me! he said silently. You must convince him!

  Steel remained impassive, but he continued to follow Palin thoughtfully with his eyes until the young man had been removed from the courtyard. Even after Palin was gone, Steel remained standing, staring.

  Trevalin clapped Steel on the back, recalled his attention. “Congratulations, Brightblade! Drawn from the brink of death. How do you feel? Elated? Relieved?”

  “Confused,” answered Steel.

  15

  Unease. Paths cross.

  Dry lightning.

  teel returned to his quarters with the other knights in his talon. His armor and—most importantly—his sword were given back to him, with Lord Ariakan’s personal commendation. Steel breakfasted with Subcommander Trevalin and his comrades, who wanted to hear about the knight’s adventures with the White Robe.

  Steel was not inclined to discuss Palin. The knight sat in brooding silence, made only short answers to his friends’ questions. Finding him unwilling to talk, the knights shifted their discussions to their recent travels in Qualinesti, to the battle that never was.

  “Elves!” Trevalin sneered. “I’ve seen toads with more honor. They came crawling to us in the dead of night. Some of their own senators served Qualinesti up—spitted—on a platter. One of them … What was his name?”

  “Rashas,” offered a knight.

  “Yes, Rashas. Gave this long speech all about the integrity and nobility of the elves—as opposed to our lack of those qualities—and then calmly sat down and signed the papers that put his people firmly under the heel of my lord’s boot. All very civilized.” Trevalin laughed. “Their ruler is a mere boy. This Rashas leads the kid around by the ears. He’s the son of Tanis Half-Elven, by the way, Brightblade.”

  Steel, who had been thinking of other things, looked up. “Who is?”

  “The ruler of the elves. Gilthas, I think that’s his name. Slimy elf words—they slide right out of my head. The boy doesn’t have his father’s spirit, that’s for certain. Or his mother’s, either, if all the stories they tell about the Golden General are true.”

  “I’m not so sure, Trevalin,” one of the knights argued. “He may sit on his throne as meek and quiet as a mouse, but he gets a look about him sometimes … Well, if I were that fat senator, I’d keep an eye on that boy.”

  “Bah!” Trevalin snorted. “The only elf worth anything is that fellow Porthios. Now there’s a fighter. True to form, the elves sent their only good leader into exile. He lives like a bandit, so they say.”

  “Word has it that he and his warriors raided Red Talon’s camp,” another knight offered. “Killed three of their dragons and escaped before anyone knew they were there.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it.” Trevalin nodded. “He’s smart and capable and has, for an elf, some shreds of honor, or so I hear. I could meet him in battle and not feel like I wanted to go take a bath afterward. Every time that Rashas elf got near me, I wanted to wash the filth from my hands.”

  There was more talk about the war, but Steel quit paying attention. He kept hearing Palin’s words. They ran over and over in Steel’s mind, mingled with the strains of the song the prisoner knights had sung in his honor. Steel dimly recalled having heard the song before, though he couldn’t remember where. Probably as a child, growing up in Palanthas during the war. He had not thought about it, certainly, in twenty years. Yet, the melody sang in his memory, solemn, reverent, a hymn of victory, honoring self-sacrifice, yet touched with the sorrow of irretrievable loss. He didn’t know the words to it; they were in ancient Solamnic, but that didn’t matter, for it was Palin’s words he heard, floating on top of the song, like oil on water.

  “Brightblade!”

  Steel jerked his head up.

  Trevalin laid a hand on Steel’s shoulder. “Go to bed, my friend. I doubt you’ve had much sleep these past few nights.”

  Steel obeyed, more to escape company than because he felt he needed the rest. It was difficult to sleep anyway. The heat was stifling, seemed to suck the air out of the rooms. He lay in bed, bathed in sweat, wondering what the Gray Robes were doing to Palin. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

  Steel was not squeamish; he’d seen men die before, seen them tortured. But this was different. The Nightlord wasn’t attempting to illicit information from Palin. She was trying to force him to give up the staff, which was his by right. That, to Steel’s mind, was stealing, and therefore dishonorable. He was well aware that the Gray Robes viewed acquisition of the enemy’s staff the way Steel would view acquisition of an enemy fortress, but he couldn’t help his disgust and revulsion. As Trevalin had said about the elf Rashas, whenever Steel was near the Nightlord, he wanted to go away and wash the filth off his hands.

  The young mage had behaved most honorably, and he would be treated most shamefully.

  “At the very least,” Steel determined drowsily, “I could see to it that Palin obtains a quick and painless death. He deserves that much.”

  Steel was wondering how he might accomplish this when, the next thing he knew, torchlight had replaced the sunlight. He had slept the day through.
>
  Nighttime brought no relief from the heat. The temperature had climbed so high during the day that those standing guard duty in the sweltering sun soon keeled over, had to be constantly replaced by fresh troops. Several of the young page boys had been reprimanded for attempting to cook an egg on the paving stones, but the officer who had caught them carried the fried egg about with him the rest of the day, showed it to everyone he met.

  Lord Ariakan completed his investigation into the death of the high priestess, ordered the funeral to be held immediately, the body burned. It would never do to leave a corpse lying about in this heat. He had found no mark on her, no wound, magically caused or otherwise. The woman had been old, over a hundred, some claimed. He judged her death to be of natural causes and spent the remainder of the day trying to quell the rumors that were running rife among the superstitious brutes.

  Steel woke to find his comrades just going to their beds. Fully rested and restive, he would never be able to sleep. He sought out Trevalin, asked if the subcommander knew what had happened to the White Robe.

  Not particularly interested in the matter, Trevalin said he presumed the Nightlord had taken the young man down to what used to be the abandoned dragontraps, which the Thorn Knights had made their headquarters. Trevalin advised Steel, rather curtly, to have nothing more to do with either the White Robe or the Gray.

  On reflection, Steel decided that this was good advice. He could do nothing to save Palin and might actually make matters worse for the young man. He was a mage; he’d chosen his lot in life; he’d chosen his own fate. Determined to put Palin out of his mind, Steel decided to pay a visit to Flare.

  The blue dragon had been extremely difficult to work with during the trip to Qualinesti, Trevalin had told Steel. She had complained about every rider, never found one that suited her. She had battled with her mate, inflicted a bite on his snout that had put the blue male out of commission for a week. The dragonmaster could do nothing with Flare, had reported her unfit for duty. The other dragons were keeping their distance.

  Steel hoped she would return to normal once he was back, though he knew she would likely sulk for a week before she decided to forgive him. In order to hasten the process, he intended to stop by the kitchen, see if he couldn’t persuade the night cook to give him a suckling pig. Flare was fond of pork, and Steel trusted she would accept the morsel as a peace offering.

  He was walking the empty and silent corridors, on his way to the tower’s fourth level, where the kitchens were located, when a flash of color caught his eye. Any color at all was out of place amid the somber, severe shades of black and gray worn by the knights. It did not belong here. And this was a collision of colors, wildly clashing, appearing extremely bright in the torchlight and completely, suspiciously, out of place.

  Adding to his suspicions concerning the glimpse of color was the fact that it moved, vanished, the moment Steel turned to look for it. He thought he heard a sound, as if a voice had been about to speak, but had been immediately and suddenly muffled.

  Loosening his sword in its sheath, Steel went to investigate. The sound had come from behind a stone staircase, hidden in a recessed area away from the light. Steel walked soft-footed, hoping to be able to sneak up on the spy—for he had concluded that’s what the intruder must surely be. The knight was not wearing his armor in the heat; he made hardly any noise. Rounding the staircase, he saw two forms, dark against the shadows. One was robed and hooded in black. That was not unusual, with all the clerics of Takhisis about, but the other was most unusual. Steel saw—to his astonishment—a kender.

  “That’s him!” the kender was saying in a muted voice to his robed companion. “I’d know him anywhere! He looks just like Sturm, you see. I think we should ask him—”

  Steel advanced, moving swiftly, creeping up on them from behind. The two were so engrossed in their conversation, that he was able to sneak quite close before they heard him. Reaching out, Steel grabbed the kender’s topknot, gave it a twist, wrapped it around his hand.

  “Ask me what?” he demanded.

  “Ouch! Ah! Don’t! That hurts!” The kender squealed. Reaching up, he tried unsuccessfully to break Steel’s grip.

  “Let him go!” ordered the robed figure with a female voice.

  Steel ignored the cleric, dragged the protesting kender into the light. He recognized that voice, but he wanted to be certain.

  He was.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, giving the kender a shake.

  “Ow! Oiy! You’re pulling out my hair!” the kender wailed.

  The black-robed cleric took hold of Steel’s hand, attempted to pry it loose. “I told you to let him go!”

  Steel flung the kender back against the wall, turned to the cleric. Her hood had slipped in the struggle. Shining hair glistened silver in the torchlight.

  Seeing recognition in Steel’s eyes, the woman caught hold of her hood, pulled it over her face.

  Too late.

  “You!” he said in astonishment.

  She said nothing, but cast him a scathing glance. Turning her back on him, she tended to the kender, who was rubbing his head and wiping his eyes and demanding to know—somewhat breathlessly—if he had any hair left.

  Steel glanced swiftly around, wondering if anyone else was nearby. The stairs were located in a recessed area off a hallway. The dinner hour was long past; the only people likely to be in this part of the tower were the cook and his helpers. Steel’s first thought was to sound the alarm, rouse the guard, have these two arrested. It was his first thought and what he knew he should do—fully intended to do, except that he found himself not doing it.

  He took hold of the woman’s shoulder, drew her and the kender back again into the shadows.

  I’ll interrogate them first, he said to himself, then turn them over to the guards. “What in Takhisis’s name are you doing here?” Steel demanded aloud. He couldn’t recall either the woman’s or the kender’s name.

  The kender started to answer, but shut his mouth when the woman pinched him.

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” the woman said to Steel loftily. “But, if you must know, I’m a cleric of Takhisis now. I’m transporting this prisoner—”

  “That’s me,” the kender said helpfully.

  “—to prison,” the woman concluded with a frown for the kender.

  “He must be an important prisoner,” Steel remarked, “for you to miss the funeral ceremonies.”

  The woman’s golden eyes flickered. “Funeral?” she said faintly, plucking at the black velvet cloth with her hand. “I … I hadn’t heard. Who died?”

  “Your own high priestess,” Steel said relentlessly. “Every other cleric in this place is in deep mourning. As for that lame story about a prisoner kender, no one would believe that. Any cleric of Takhisis who found a kender wandering around in here would have dispatched him to Chemosh in an instant. You’d better try again.”

  He had to give the woman credit. She accepted defeat with courage. Though she was white to the lips, and though it took tremendous effort, she managed to regain her composure. Her jaw clenched, her lips tightened, she drew herself tall, and faced him with dignity.

  “What will you do to us? Summon the guard?”

  “I’m asking the questions. What are you doing here? The truth, this time.”

  The woman bit her lip, finally admitted, “We’re here to rescue Palin. But we can’t discover where they’re holding him.”

  “Not in the jail,” the kender added, “I checked there already. See, Usha, I was right! This is Steel, and he likely knows where Palin is.”

  “Do you?” She leaned near him, put her hand on his arm. “Will you tell us? You don’t have to take us there. Just tell us, and then let us go. What harm will that do? Palin came here to save your life. You can’t let him die!”

  Steel silently cursed the woman, cursed the kender, cursed the luck that had led him into their paths, right when he himself was thinking that Palin did
not deserve to die, that there was something ignoble in Steel himself for allowing the young mage to be put to death.

  And that made Steel pause to consider. Was it merely bad luck that had led him to these two? Or was it something more? Was it the hand of his queen? Surely, it was Takhisis who had brought him here. He sensed her presence, sensed it in the darkness that shrouded him. Yet … what did Her Majesty want him to do? Apprehend these two? Give them over to certain death? Or did she want him to help them free Palin?

  When in doubt, every knight was taught to consult the Dark Queen’s Vision. Steel had always been confused by the enigmatic, puzzling nature of his own view of the Vision and in this instance, it was of little help. He felt pulled in two directions, one urging him to betray Usha and Tas, the other urging him to assist them.

  The one thing of which Steel was certain was the story Palin had told Lord Ariakan. Steel himself had been feeling restless and uneasy. The air crackled of danger, as it crackled with dry lightning. Something somewhere was going terribly wrong.

  “Come with me,” he said abruptly to Usha and Tas. “Keep your hood pulled low over your face.”

  “Thank you!” Usha said fervently.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Steel returned in cold disdain. “I’m not going down there to free Palin. I need to talk to him, find out more about this business about the Graygem. I’m taking you and the kender with me just to keep an eye on you. I may decide to turn you both in. And don’t say a word, either of you. If anyone stops us, let me do the talking.”

  The two nodded; the kender starting to say something, Usha hushing him. Steel wondered how they planned on spiriting Palin out of this fortress, almost asked, but decided that the less he knew, the better. They must have a way; the woman was a mage, after all.