Gerard smiled to indicate that he appreciated the joke. “I have urgent news for Marshal Medan,” he said, and reaching into his black leather gauntlet he brought out a well-worn paper which he handed over with bored air of one who has done this many times before.
The elf did not even glance at the paper, but passed it to the officer of the Neraka Knights. The officer paid more attention to it. He studied it closely and then studied Gerard. The officer returned the paper to Gerard, who retrieved it and placed it back inside his glove.
“What business have you with Marshal Medan, Captain?” the officer inquired.
“I have something he wants, sir,” Gerard replied. He jerked a thumb. “This kender.”
The officer raised his eyebrows. “What does Marshal Medan want with a kender?”
“There is a warrant for the little thief, sir. He stole an important artifact from the Knights of the Thorn. A magical artifact that once purportedly belonged to Raistlin Majere.”
The elf’s eyes flickered at this. He regarded them with more interest.
“I’ve heard nothing of any bounty,” the officer stated, frowning. “Or any robbery, for that matter.”
“That is not surprising, sir, considering the Gray Robes,” Gerard said with a wry smile and a covert glance around.
The officer nodded and twitched an eyebrow. The Gray Robes were sorcerers. They worked in secret, reporting to their own officers, working to forward their own goals and ambitions, which might or might not coincide with the rest of the Knighthood. As such, they were widely distrusted by the warrior Knights, who viewed the Knights of the Thorn with the same suspicion that men of the sword have viewed men of the staff for centuries.
“Tell me of this crime,” the officer said. “When and where was it committed?”
“As you know, the Gray Robes have been combing the Forest of Wayreth, searching for the magical and elusive Tower of High Sorcery. It was during this search that they uncovered this artifact. I do not know how or where, sir. That information was not provided to me. The Gray Robes were transporting the artifact to Palanthas for further study, when they stopped at an inn for some refreshment along the way. It was there the artifact was stolen. The Gray Robes missed it the next morning when they awoke,” Gerard added with a meaningful roll of his eyes. “This kender had stolen it.”
“So that’s how I got it!” Tas said to himself, fascinated. “What a perfectly wonderful adventure. Too bad I can’t remember it.”
The officer nodded his head. “Damn Gray Robes. Dead drunk, no doubt. Carrying a valuable artifact. Just like their arrogance.”
“Yes, sir. The criminal fled with his booty to Palanthas. We were told to be on the lookout for a kender who might try to fence stolen artifacts. We watched the mageware shops, and that was how we caught him. And a weary journey I’ve had of it to bring him back here, guarding the little fiend day and night.”
Tas attempted to look quite fierce.
“I can imagine.” The officer was sympathetic. “Was the artifact recovered?”
“I am afraid not, sir. He claims to have ‘lost’ it, but the fact that he was discovered in the mageware shop led us to believe that he has stashed it somewhere with the intent to produce it when he had closed a bargain. The Thorn Knights plan to question him regarding its whereabouts. Otherwise, of course”—Gerard shrugged—“we could have spared ourselves the trouble. We would have simply hung the thieving nit.”
“The headquarters for the Thorns is down south. They’re still looking for that damned tower. A waste of time, if you ask me. Magic is gone from the world again and I say good riddance.”
“Yes, sir,” Gerard replied. “I was instructed to report to Marshal Medan first, this being under his jurisdiction, but if you think I should proceed directly—”
“Report to Medan, by all means. If nothing else, he will get a good laugh out of the story. Do you need help with the kender? I have a man I could spare—”
“Thank you, sir. As you can see, he is well-secured. I anticipate no trouble.”
“Ride on, then, Captain,” said the officer, indicating with a wave of his hand that the gate was to be lifted. “Once you’ve delivered the vermin, ride back this way. We’ll open a bottle of dwarf spirits, and you will tell me of the news from Palanthas.”
“I will do that, sir,” said Gerard, saluting.
He rode through the gate. Tasslehoff, bound and gagged, followed. The kender would have waved his manacled hands in a friendly good-bye, but he considered that this might not be in keeping with his new identity—Highwayman, Stealer of Valuable Magical Artifacts. He quite liked this new persona and decided he should try to be worthy of it. Therefore, instead of waving, he scowled defiantly at the knight as they rode past.
The elf had been standing in the road all this time, maintaining a deferential and bored silence. He did not even wait until the gate was lowered to go back to the gatehouse. The twilight had deepened to night and torches were being lit. Tasslehoff, peering over his shoulder as the pony clattered across the wooden bridge, saw the elf squat down beneath a torch and draw out a leather bag. A couple of the Knights knelt down in the dirt and they began a game of dice. The last Tas saw of them, the officer had joined them, bringing with him a bottle. Few travelers passed this way since the dragon now patrolled the roads. Their watch was a lonely one.
Tasslehoff indicated by various grunts and squeaks that he would be interested in talking about their successful adventure at the gate—in particular he wanted to hear more details about his daring theft—but Gerard paid no attention to the kender. He did not ride off at a gallop, but, once he was out of sight of the bridge he urged Blackie to increase his pace markedly.
Tasslehoff assumed that they would ride all night. They were not far from Qualinost, or at least so he remembered from his previous journeys to the elven capital. A couple of hours would find them in the city. Tas was eager to see his friends once again, eager to ask them if they had any idea who he was, if he wasn’t himself. If anyone could cure magnesia, it would be Palin. Tasslehoff was extremely surprised when Gerard suddenly reined in his horse and, professing himself exhausted by the long day, announced that they would spend the night in the forest.
They made camp, building a fire, much to the kender’s astonishment, for the Knight had refused to build a fire prior to this, saying that it was too dangerous.
“I guess he figures we’re safe now that we’re inside the borders of Qualinesti.” Tasslehoff spoke to himself, for he was still wearing the gag. “I wonder why we stopped though? Maybe he doesn’t know how close we are.”
The Knight fried some salt pork. The aroma spread throughout the forest. He removed Tasslehoff’s gag so that the kender could eat and was instantly sorry he’d done so.
“How did I steal the artifact?” Tas asked eagerly. “That’s so exciting. I’ve never stolen anything before, you know. Stealing is extremely wrong. But I guess in this case it would be all right, since the Dark Knights are bad people. What inn was it? There are quite a few on the road to Palanthas. Was it the Dirty Duck? That’s a great place. Everyone stops there. Or maybe the Fox and the Unicorn? They don’t much like kender, so probably not.”
Tasslehoff talked on, but he couldn’t induce the Knight to tell him anything. That didn’t really matter much to Tas, who was perfectly capable of making up the entire incident himself. By the time they had finished eating and Gerard had gone to wash the pan and the wooden bowls in a nearby stream, the bold kender had stolen not one but a host of wondrous magical artifacts, snatching them out from under the very noses of six Thorn Knights, who had threatened him with six powerful magicks, but who had, all six, been dispatched by a skilled blow from the kender’s hoopak.
“And that must have been how I came down with magnesia!” Tas concluded. “One of the Thorn Knights struck me severely on the headbone! I was unconscious for several days. But, no,” he added in disappointment. “That couldn’t be true for otherwise I wouldn�
��t have escaped.” He pondered on this for a considerable time. “I have it,” he said at last, looking with triumph at Gerard. “You hit me on the head when you arrested me!”
“Don’t tempt me,” Gerard said. “Now shut up and get some sleep.” He spread out his blanket near the fire, which had been reduced to a pile of glowing embers. Pulling the blanket over himself, he turned his back to the kender.
Tasslehoff relaxed on his blanket, gazed up at the stars. Sleep wasn’t going to catch him tonight. He was much too busy reliving his life as the Scourge of Ansalon, the Menace of Morgash, the Thug of Thorbardin. He was quite a wicked fellow. Women would faint and strong men would blanch at the mere sound of his name. He wasn’t certain exactly what blanching entailed, but he had heard that strong men were subject to it when faced with a terrible foe, so it seemed suitable in this instance. He was just picturing his arrival in a town to find all the women passed out in their laundry tubs and the strong men blanching left and right when he heard a noise. A small noise, a twig snapping, nothing more.
Tas would not have noticed it except that he was used to not hearing any noises at all from the forest. He reached out his hand and tugged on the sleeve of Gerard’s shirt.
“Gerard!” Tas said in a loud whisper. “I think someone’s out there!”
Gerard snuffled and snorted, but didn’t wake up. He hunched down deeper in his blanket.
Tasslehoff lay quite still, his ears stretched. He couldn’t hear anything for a moment, then he heard another sound, a sound that might have been made by a boot slipping on a loose rock.
“Gerard!” said Tasslehoff. “I don’t think it’s the moon this time.” He wished he had his hoopak.
Gerard rolled over at that moment and faced Tasslehoff, who was quite amazed to see by the dying fire that the Knight was not asleep. He was only playing possum.
“Keep quiet!” Gerard said in a hissing whisper. “Pretend you’re asleep!” He shut his eyes.
Tasslehoff obediently shut his eyes, though he opened them again the next instant so as to be sure not to miss anything. Which was good, otherwise he would have never seen the elves creeping up on them from the darkness.
“Gerard, look out!” Tas started to shout, but a hand clapped down over his mouth and cold steel poked him in the neck before he could stammer out more than “Ger—”
“What?” Gerard mumbled sleepily. “What’s—”
He was wide awake the next moment, trying to grab the sword that lay nearby.
One elf stomped down hard on Gerard’s hand—Tas could hear bones crunch and he winced in sympathy. A second elf picked up the sword and moved it out of the Knight’s reach. Gerard tried to stand up, but the elf who had stomped on his hand now kicked him viciously in the head. Gerard groaned and rolled over on his back, unconscious.
“We have them both, Master,” said one of the elves, speaking to the shadows. “What are your orders?”
“Don’t kill the kender, Kalindas,” said a voice from the darkness, a human’s voice, a man’s voice, muffled, as if he were speaking from the depths of a hood. “I need him alive. He must tell us what he knows.”
The human was not very woods-crafty apparently. Although Tas couldn’t see him—the human had remained in the shadows—Tas could hear his booted feet mashing dry leaves and breaking sticks. The elves, by contrast, were as quiet as the night air.
“What about the Dark Knight?” the elf asked.
“Slay him,” said the human indifferently.
The elf placed a knife at the Knight’s throat.
“No!” Tas squeaked and wriggled. “You can’t! He’s not really a Dark—ulp!”
“Keep silent, kender,” said the elf, who held onto Tas. He shifted the point of his knife from the kender’s throat to his head. “Make another sound and I will cut off your ears. That will not affect your usefulness to us.”
“I wish you wouldn’t cut off my ears,” said Tas, talking desperately, despite feeling the knife blade nick his skin. “They keep my hair from falling off my head. But if you have to, you have to, I guess. It’s just that you’re about to make a terrible mistake. We’ve come from Solace, Gerard’s not a Dark Knight, you see. He’s a Solamnic—”
“Gerard?” said the human suddenly from the darkness. “Hold your hand, Kellevandros! Don’t kill him yet. I know a Solamnic named Gerard from Solace. Let me take a look.”
The strange moon had risen again. Its light was intermittent, coming and going as dark clouds glided across its empty, vacuous face. Tas tried to catch a glimpse of the human, who was apparently in charge of this operation, for the elves deferred to him in all that was done. The kender was curious to see him, because he had a feeling he’d heard that voice before, although he couldn’t quite place it.
Tas was doomed to disappointment. The human was heavily cloaked and hooded. He knelt beside Gerard. The Knight’s head lolled to one side. Blood covered his face. His breathing was raspy. The human studied his face.
“Bring him along,” he ordered.
“But, Master—” The elf called Kellevandros started to protest.
“You can always kill him later,” said the human. Rising, he turned on his heel and walked back into the forest.
One of the elves doused the fire. Another elf went to calm the horses, particularly the black, who had reared in alarm at the sight of the intruders. A third elf put a gag in Tas’s mouth, pricking Tas’s right ear with the tip of the knife the moment the kender even looked as if he might protest.
The elves handled the Knight with efficiency and dispatch. They tied his hands and feet with leather cord, thrust a gag into his mouth, and fixed a blindfold around his eyes. Lifting the comatose Knight from the ground, they carried him to his horse and threw him over the saddle. Blackie had been alarmed by the sudden invasion of the camp, but he now stood quite calm and placid under an elf’s soothing hand, his head over the elf’s shoulder, nuzzling his ear. The elves tied Gerard’s hands to his feet, passing the rope underneath the horse’s belly, securing the Knight firmly to the saddle.
The human looked at the kender, but Tas couldn’t get a glimpse of his face because at that moment an elf popped a gunny sack over his head and he couldn’t see anything except gunny sack. The elves bound his feet together. Strong hands lifted him, tossed him headfirst over the saddle, and the Scourge of Ansalon, his head in a sack, was carried off into the night.
14
The Masquerade
s the Scourge of Ansalon was being hauled off in ignominy and a sack, only a few miles away in Qualinost the Speaker of the Sun, ruler of the Qualinesti people, was hosting a masquerade ball. The masquerade was something relatively new to the elves—a human custom, brought to them by their Speaker, who had some share of human blood in him, a curse passed on by his father, Tanis Half-Elven. The elves generally disdained human customs as they disdained humans, but they had taken to the masquerade, which had been introduced by Gilthas in the year 21 to celebrate his ascension to the throne twenty years previously. Each year on this date he had given a masquerade, and it was now the social highlight of the season.
Invitations to this important event were coveted. The members of House Royal, the Heads of Household, the Thalas-Enthia—the elven Senate—were invited, as well as the top ranking leaders of the Dark Knights, Qualinesti’s true rulers. In addition, twenty elf maidens were chosen to attend, hand-picked by Prefect Palthainon, a former member of the elven Senate and now the chief magistrate newly appointed by the Knights of Neraka to oversee Qualinesti. Palthainon was nominally Gilthas’s advisor and counselor. Around the capital he was jocularly referred to as the “Puppeteer.”
The young ruler Gilthas was not yet married. There was no heir to the throne nor any prospect of one. Gilthas had no particular aversion to being married, but he simply could not quite make up his mind to go through with it. Marriage was an immense decision, he told his courtiers, and should not be entered into without due consideration. What if he made a mistake an
d chose the wrong person? His entire life could be ruined, as well as the life of the unfortunate woman. Nothing was ever said of love. It was not expected that the king should be in love with his wife. His marriage would be for political purposes only; this had been determined by Prefect Palthainon, who had chosen several eligible candidates from among the most prominent (and the most wealthy) elven families in Qualinesti.
Every year for the past five years, Palthainon had gathered together twenty of these hand-chosen elven women and presented them to the Speaker of the Sun for his approbation. Gilthas danced with them all, professed to like them all, saw good qualities in them all, but could not make up his mind. The prefect controlled much of the life of the Speaker—disparagingly termed “the puppet king” by his subjects—but Palthainon could not force his majesty to take a wife.
Now the time was an hour past midnight. The Speaker of the Sun had danced with each of the twenty in deference to the prefect, but Gilthas had not danced with any one of the elven maidens more than once—for a second dance would be seen as making a choice. After the close of every dance, the king retired to his chair and sat looking upon the festivities with a brooding air, as if the decision over which of the lovely women to dance with next was a weight upon him that was completely destroying his pleasure in the party.
The twenty maidens glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes, each hoping for some sign that he favored her above all the others. Gilthas was handsome to look upon. The human blood was not much apparent in his features, except, as he had matured, to give him a squareness of jaw and chin not usually seen in the male elf. His hair, of which he was said to be vain, was shoulder-length and honey-colored. His eyes were large and almond-shaped. His face was pale; it was known that he was in ill health much of the time. He rarely smiled and no one could fault him for that for everyone knew that the life he led was that of a caged bird. He was taught words to speak, was told when to speak them. His cage was covered up with a cloth when the bird was to be silent.
Dragons of a Fallen Sun Page 27
