Personally, Tanis thought that if the citizens had known what horrors they faced, they would have taken their chances. As it was, however, the women put aside their rich clothing and began filling every available container with water to have available to fight fires. Those who lived in New City (not protected by walls) were evacuated into Old City, whose walls were being fortified as best they could in the little time that remained. Children were bedded down in wine cellars and storm shelters. Merchants opened shops, handing out needed supplies. Armorers gave out weapons, and the forges were still burning, late into the night, for mending swords, shields, and armor.
Looking out over the city, Tanis saw lights in most homes—people preparing for a morning that he knew from experience could never be prepared for.
With a sigh, thinking of his letter to Laurana, he made his bitter decision. But he knew it would entail argument. He needed to lay the groundwork. Turning abruptly, he interrupted Markham. “What do you guess will be their plan of attack?” he asked Lord Gunthar.
“I think that’s fairly simple.” Gunthar tugged at his mustaches. “They’ll do what they did at Kalaman. Bring the citadel as close as they can get. At Kalaman that wasn’t very close. The dragons held them back. But”—he shrugged—“we don’t have near the numbers of dragons they did. Once the citadel is over the walls, the draconians will drop from it and try to take the city from within. The evil dragons will attack—”
“And Lord Soth will sweep through the gates,” Tanis finished.
“The knights should at least get here in time to keep him from looting our corpses,” Sir Markham said, draining his snifter again.
“And Kitiara,” Tanis mused, “will be trying to reach the Tower of High Sorcery. Dalamar says no living being can get through Shoikan Grove, but he also said Kit had a charm, given to her by Raistlin. She might wait for Soth before going, figuring he can help her, as well.”
“If the Tower is her objective,” Gunthar said with emphasis on the if. It was obvious he still believed little of the tale about Raistlin. “My guess is that she will use the battle as cover to fly her dragon over the walls and land as near the Tower as possible. Maybe we could post knights around the Grove to try to stop her—”
“They couldn’t get close enough,” Sir Markham interrupted, adding a belated, “m’lord. The Grove has an unnerving effect on anyone coming within miles of it.”
“Besides, we’ll need the knights to deal with Soth’s legions,” Tanis said. He drew a deep breath. “… I have a plan, if I may be allowed to propose it?”
“By all means, Half-Elven.”
“You believe that the citadel will attack from above and Lord Soth will come through the front gates, creating a diversion that will give Kit her chance to reach the Tower. Right?”
Gunthar nodded.
“Then, mount what knights we can upon bronze dragons. Let me have Fireflash. Since the bracelet gives me the best defense against Soth, I’ll take him. The rest of the knights can concentrate on his followers. I have a private score to settle with Soth anyway,” Tanis added, seeing Gunthar already shaking his head.
“Absolutely not. You did very well in the last war, but you’ve never been trained! To go up against a Knight of Solamnia—”
“Even a dead Knight of Solamnia!” Sir Markham struck in, with a drunken giggle.
Gunthar’s mustaches quivered in anger, but he contained himself and continued coldly, “—a trained knight, as Soth is trained, and you must fall—bracelet or no bracelet.”
“Without the bracelet, however, my lord, training in swordmanship will matter very little.” Sir Markham pointed out, drinking another brandy. “A chap who can point at you and say ‘die’ has the distinct advantage.”
“Please, sir,” Tanis intervened, “I admit that my formal training has been limited, but my years wearing a sword outnumber yours, my lord, by almost two to one. My elven blood—”
“To the Abyss with your elven blood,” Gunthar muttered, glaring at Sir Markham, who was resolutely ignoring his superior, and lifting the brandy bottle again.
“I will, if I am forced, pull rank, my lord,” Tanis said quietly.
Gunthar’s face reddened. “Damn it, that was honorary!”
Tanis smiled. “The Code makes no such distinction. Honorary or not, I am a Knight of the Rose, and my age—well over one hundred, my lord—gives me seniority.”
Sir Markham was laughing. “Oh, for the gods’ sake, Gunthar, give him your permission to die. What the Abyss difference does it make anyway?”
“He’s drunk,” Gunthar muttered, casting a scathing glance at Sir Markham.
“He’s young,” Tanis replied. “Well, my lord?”
Lord Gunthar’s eyes flashed in anger. As he glared at the half-elf, sharp words of reproval came to his lips. But they were never uttered. Gunthar knew—none better—that the one who faced Soth was placing himself in a situation of almost certain death—magical bracelet or no magical bracelet. He had first assumed Tanis was either too naive or too foolhardy to recognize this. Looking into the half-elf’s dark, shadowed eyes, he realized that, once again, he had misjudged him.
Swallowing his words with a gruff cough, Lord Gunthar made a gesture at Sir Markham. “See if you can get him sobered up, Half-Elven. Then I suppose you had better get yourself into position. I’ll have the knights waiting.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Tanis murmured.
“And may the gods go with you,” Gunthar added in a low, choked voice. Gripping Tanis by the hand, he turned and stalked out of the room.
Tanis glanced over at Sir Markham, who was staring intently into the empty brandy bottle with a wry smile. He’s not as drunk as he’s letting on, Tanis decided. Or as he wishes he could be.
Turning from the young knight, the half-elf walked over to the window. Looking out, he waited for the dawn.
Laurana
My beloved wife, when we parted a week ago, we little thought this parting might be for a long, long time. We have been kept apart so much of our lives. But I must admit, I cannot grieve that we are separated now. It comforts me to know that you are safe, although if Raistlin succeeds in his designs, I fear there will be no safe havens left anywhere upon Krynn.
I must be honest, my dearest. I see no hope that any of us can survive. I face without fear the knowledge that I shall probably die—I believe I can honestly say that. But I cannot face it without bitter anger. The last war, I could afford bravery. I had nothing, so had nothing to lose. But I have never wanted so much to live as I do now. I am like a miser, coveting the joy and happiness we have found, loath to give it up. I think of our plans, the children we hope for. I think of you, my beloved, and what grief my death must bring, and I cannot see this page for the tears of sorrow and fury that I cry.
I can only ask you to let this consolation be yours as it is mine—this parting will be our last. The world can never separate us again. I will wait for you, Laurana, in that realm where time itself dies.
And one evening, in that realm of eternal spring, eternal twilight, I will look down the path and see you walking toward me. I can see you so clearly, my beloved. The last rays of the setting sun shining upon your golden hair, your eyes bright with the love that fills my own heart.
You will come to me.
I will fold you in my arms.
We will close our eyes and begin to dream our eternal dream.
BOOK 3
The Return
The gate guard lounged in the dark shadows of the gatehouse of Old City. Outside, he could hear the voices of the other guards, tight and tense with excitement and fear, talking up their courage. There must be twenty of them out there, the old guard thought sourly. The night watch had been doubled, those off duty had decided to stay rather than go back home. Above him, on the wall, he could hear the slow, steady pacing of the Knights of Solamnia. High above him, occasionally, he could hear the creak and flap of a dragon’s wing, or sometimes their voices, speaking to each ot
her in the secret tongue of the dragons. These were the bronze dragons Lord Gunthar had brought from the High Clerist’s Tower, keeping watch in the air as the humans kept watch upon the ground.
All around him he could hear the sounds—the sounds of impending doom.
That thought was in the gatekeeper’s mind, though not in those exact words, of course—neither “impending” nor “doom” being a part of his vocabulary. But the knowledge was there, just the same. The gate guard was an old mercenary, he’d been through many of these nights. He’d been a young man like those outside, once, boasting of the great deeds he’d do in the morning. His first battle, he’d been so scared he couldn’t to this day remember a thing about it.
But there’d been many battles after that. You got used to the fear. It became a part of you, just like your sword. Thinking about this battle coming up was no different. The morning would come and, if you were lucky, so would the night.
A sudden clatter of pikes and voices and a general flurry jolted the old guard out of his philosophic musings. Grumbling, but feeling a touch of the old excitement just the same, he poked his head out of the guardhouse.
“I heard something!” a young guard panted, running up, nearly out of breath. “Out—out there! Sounded like armor jingling, a whole troop!”
The other guards were peering out into the darkness. Even the Knights of Solamnia had ceased their pacing and were looking down into the broad highway that ran through the gate from New City into Old. Extra torches had been hastily added to those that already burned on the walls. They cast a bright circle of light on the ground below. But the light ended about twenty feet away, making the darkness beyond seem just that much darker. The old guard could hear the sounds now, too, but he didn’t panic. He was veteran enough to know that darkness and fear can make one man sound like a regiment.
Stumping out of the gatehouse, he waved his hands, adding with a snarl, “Back to yer posts.”
The younger guards, muttering, returned to their positions, but kept their weapons ready. The old guard, hand on his sword hilt, stood stolidly in the middle of the street, waiting.
Sure enough, into the light came—not a division of draconians—but one man (who might, however, have been big enough for two) and what appeared to be a kender.
The two stopped, blinking in the torchlight. The old guard sized them up. The big man wore no cloak, and the guard could see light reflecting off armor that might once have gleamed brightly but was now caked with gray mud and even blackened in places, as though he had been in a fire. The kender, too, was covered with the same type of mud—though he had apparently made some effort to brush it off his gaudy blue leggings. The big man limped when he walked, and both he and the kender gave every indication of having recently been in battle.
Odd, thought the gate guard. There’s been no fighting yet, leastways none that we’ve heard tell of.
“Cool customers, both of ’em,” the old guard muttered, noting that the big man’s hand rested easily on the hilt of his sword as he looked about, taking stock of the situation. The kender was staring around with usual kender curiosity. The gate guard was slightly startled to see, however, that the kender held in his arms a large, leather-bound book. “State yer business,” the gate guard said, coming forward to stand in front of the two.
“I’m Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” said the kender, managing, after a brief struggle with the book, to free a small hand. He held it out to the guard. “And this is my friend, Caramon. We’re from Sol—”
“Our business depends on where we are,” said the man called Caramon in a friendly voice but with a serious expression on his face that gave the gate guard pause.
“You mean you don’t know where you are?” the guard asked suspiciously.
“We’re not from this part of the country,” the big man answered coolly. “We lost our map. Seeing the lights of the city, we naturally headed toward it.”
Yeah, and I’m Lord Amothus, thought the guard. “Yer in Palanthas.”
The big man glanced behind him, then back down at the guard, who barely came to his shoulder. “So that must be New City, behind us. Where are all the people? We’ve walked the length and breadth of the town. No sign of anyone.”
“We’re under alert.” The guard jerked his head. “Everyone’s been taken inside the walls. I guess that’s all you need to know for the present. Now, what’s yer business here? And how is it you don’t know what’s going on? The word’s over half the country by now, I reckon.”
The big man ran his hand across an unshaven jaw, smiling ruefully. “A full bottle of dwarf spirits kinda blots out most everything. True enough, captain?”
“True enough,” growled the guard. And also true enough that this fellow’s eyes were sharp and clear and filled with a fixed purpose, a firm resolve. Looking into those eyes, the guard shook his head. He’d seen them before, the eyes of a man who is going to his death, who knows it, and who has made peace with both the gods and himself.
“Will you let us inside?” the big man asked. “I guess, from the looks of things, you could use another couple of fighters.”
“We can use a man yer size,” the guard returned. He scowled down at the kender. “But I mistrust we should just leave ’im here for buzzard bait.”
“I’m a fighter, too!” the kender protested indignantly. “Why, I saved Caramon’s life once!” His face brightened. “Do you want to hear about it? It’s the most wonderful story. We were in a magical fortress. Raistlin had taken me there, after he killed my fri—But never mind about that. Anyway, there were these dark dwarves and they were attacking Caramon and he slipped and—”
“Open the gate!” the old guard shouted.
“C’mon, Tas,” the big man said.
“But I just got to the best part!”
“Oh, by the way”—the big man turned around, first deftly squelching the kender with his hand—“can you tell me the date?”
“Thirdday, Fifthmonth, 356,” said the guard. “Oh, and you might be wantin’ a cleric to look at that leg of yours.”
“Clerics,” the big man murmured to himself. “That’s right, I’d forgotten. There are clerics now. Thank you,” he called out as he and the kender walked through the gates. The gate guard could hear the kender’s voice piping up again, as he managed to free himself from the big man’s hand.
“Phew! You should really wash, Caramon. I’ve—blooey! Drat, mud in my mouth!—Now, where was I? Oh, yes, you should have let me finish! I’d just gotten to the part where you tripped in the blood and—”
Shaking his head, the gate guard looked after the two. “There’s a story there,” he muttered, as the big gates swung shut again, “and not even a kender could make up a better one, I’ll wager.”
CHAPTER
1
hat’s it say, Caramon?” Tas stood on tiptoe, trying to peer over the big man’s arm.
“Shh!” Caramon whispered irritably. “I’m reading.” He shook his arm. “Let loose.” The big man had been leafing hurriedly through the Chronicles he had taken from Astinus. But he had stopped turning pages, and was now studying one intently.
With a sigh—after all, he’d carried the book!—Tas slumped back against the wall and looked around. They were standing beneath one of the flaming braziers that Palanthians used to light the streets at night. It was nearly dawn, the kender guessed. The storm clouds blocked the sunlight, but the city was taking on a dismal gray tint. A chill fog curled up from the bay, swirling and winding through the streets.
Though there were lights in most of the windows, there were few people on the streets, the citizens having been told to stay indoors, unless they were members of the militia. But Tas could see the faces of women, pressed against the glass, watching, waiting. Occasionally a man ran past them, clutching a weapon in his hand, heading for the front gate of the city. And once, a door to a dwelling right across from Tas opened. A man stepped out, a rusty sword in his hand. A woman followed, weeping. Leaning down,
he kissed her tenderly, then kissed the small child she held in her arms. Then, turning away abruptly, he walked rapidly down the street. As he passed Tas, the kender saw tears flowing down his face.
“Oh, no!” Caramon muttered.
“What? What?” Tas cried, leaping up, trying to see the page Caramon was reading.
“Listen to this—‘on the morning of Thirdday, the flying citadel appeared in the air above Palanthas, accompanied by flights of blue dragons and black. And with the appearance of the citadel in the air, there came before the Gates of Old City an apparition, the sight of which caused more than one veteran of many campaigns to blench in fear and turn his head away.
“ ‘For there appeared, as if created out of the darkness of the night itself, Lord Soth, Knight of the Black Rose, mounted upon a nightmare with eyes and hooves of flame. He rode unchallenged toward the city gate, the guards fleeing before him in terror.
“ ‘And there he stopped.
“ ‘ “Lord of Palanthas,” the death knight called in a hollow voice that came from the realms of death, “surrender your city to Lord Kitiara. Give up to her the keys to the Tower of High Sorcery, name her ruler of Palanthas, and she will allow you to continue to live in peace. Your city will be spared destruction.”
“ ‘Lord Amothus took his place upon the wall, looking down at the death knight. Many of those around him could not look, so shaken were they by their fear. But the lord—although pale as death himself—stood tall and straight, his words bringing back courage to those who had lost it.”
Test of the Twins: Legends, Volume Three (Dragonlance Legends) Page 19
