Dragons of a Fallen Sun

by Margaret Weis

  He reached the shadows of the trees. The girl stirred and moaned again and opened her eyes.

  Silvan looked down into them, saw himself encased in amber.

  The girl was a docile captive, causing no trouble, accepting her fate without complaint. When they arrived back in camp, she refused Silvan’s offers of assistance. Sliding gracefully from Silvan’s horse, she gave herself willingly into custody. The elves clapped iron manacles on her wrists and ankles and marched her into a tent that was furnished with nothing but a pallet of straw and a blanket.

  Silvan followed her. He could not leave her.

  “Are you wounded? Shall I send the healers to you?”

  She shook her head. She had not spoken a word to him or to anyone. She refused his offer of food and drink.

  He stood at the entrance to the prison tent, feeling helpless and foolish in his regal armor. She, by contrast, blood-covered and in chains, was calm and self-possessed. She sat down cross-legged on her blanket, stared unblinking into the darkness. Silvan left the tent with the uncomfortable feeling that he was the one who had been taken prisoner.

  “Where is Glaucous?” Silvan demanded. “He wanted to question her.”

  But no one could say what had become of Glaucous. He had not been seen since the start of the battle.

  “Let me know when he comes to interrogate her,” Silvan commanded and went to his tent to remove his armor. He held still this time, still and unmoving, as his squire detached the buckles and lifted the armor from him piece by piece.

  “Congratulations, Cousin!” Kiryn entered the tent, ducking through the tent flap. “You are a hero! I will not need to write your song, after all. Your people are already singing it!” He waited for a laughing response, and when it did not come, he looked at Silvan more closely. “Cousin? What is it? You don’t look well. Are you wounded?”

  “Did you see her, Kiryn?” Silvan asked. “Go away!” he shouted irritably at his squire. “Get out. I can finish this myself.”

  The squire bowed and left. Silvan sat down upon his cot, one boot on and one boot off.

  “Did I see the prisoner? Only a glimpse,” Kiryn said. “Why?”

  “What did you think of her?”

  “She is the first human I have ever seen, and I did not find her as ugly as I had been led to believe. Still, I thought her extremely strange. Bewitching. Uncanny.” Kiryn grimaced. “And is it now the custom among human females to shave their heads?”

  “What? Oh, no. Perhaps it is the custom of the Knights of Neraka.” Silvan sat with his boot in his hand, staring at the darkness and seeing amber eyes. “I thought her beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

  Kiryn sat down beside his cousin. “Silvan, she is the enemy. Because of her, hundreds of our people lie dead or dying in that blood-soaked field.”

  “I know. I know!” Silvan cried, standing up. He tossed the boot into the corner. Sitting down, he began to tug viciously on the other. “She wouldn’t say a word to me. She wouldn’t tell me her name. She just looked at me with those strange eyes.”

  “Your Majesty.” An officer appeared at the entrance. “General Konnal has asked me to relate to you the news. The day is ours. We have won.”

  Silvan made no response. He had ceased to tug on the boot, was once again staring into the dark tent corner.

  Kiryn rose, went outside. “His Majesty is fatigued,” he said. “I’m certain he is overjoyed.”

  “Then he’s the only one,” said the officer wryly.

  Victory belonged to the elves, but few in the elven camp that night rejoiced. They had halted the enemy’s advance, driven him back, kept him from reaching Silvanost, but they had not destroyed him. They counted thirty human bodies upon the field of battle, not four hundred as they had anticipated. They laid the blame to a strange fog that had arisen from the river, a dank, chill, gray fog that hung low over the ground, a swirling, obfuscating fog that hid foe from foe, comrade from comrade. In this fog, the enemy had simply disappeared, vanished, as if the blood-soaked ground had opened up and swallowed him.

  “Which is probably exactly what happened,” said General Konnal to his officers. “They had their escape arranged in advance. They retreated, and when the fog came, they ran to their hideout. They are skulking about in the caves somewhere near here.”

  “To what purpose, General?” Silvan demanded impatiently.

  The king was feeling irritable and out of sorts, restless and antsy. He left his tent that was suddenly cramped and confining, came to confer with the officers. Silvan’s courage had been praised and lauded. He was undoubtedly the hero of the hour, as even General Konnal admitted. Silvan cared nothing for their praise. His gaze shifted constantly to the tent where the girl was being held prisoner.

  “The humans have no food, no supplies,” he continued, “and no way of obtaining any. They are cut off, isolated. They know that they can never take Silvanost now. Surely, if anything, they will attempt to retreat back to the borders.”

  “They know we would cut them down if they tried that,” Konnal said. “Yet, you are right, Your Majesty, they cannot remain in hiding forever. Sooner or later they must come out, and then we will have them. I just wish I knew,” he added, more to himself than to anyone else, “what they are planning. For there was a plan here as certain as I live and breathe.”

  His officers offered various theories: The humans had panicked and were now scattered to the four winds, the humans had descended below ground in hopes of finding tunnels that would lead them back north, and so on and so forth. Each theory had its opponents, and the elves argued among themselves. Growing weary of the debate, Silvan left abruptly, walked out into the night.

  “There is one person who knows,” he said to himself, “and she will tell me. She will talk to me!”

  He strode purposefully toward her tent, past the bonfires where the elves sat disconsolately, reliving the battle. The soldiers were bitter and chagrined at their failure to annihilate the detested foe. They swore that when it was dawn they would search beneath every rock until they found the cowardly humans, who had run away to hide when it became clear defeat was imminent. The elves vowed to slay them, every one.

  Silvan discovered that he wasn’t the only one interested in the prisoner. Glaucous stood at the entrance to her tent, being cleared for admittance by the guard. Silvan was about to advance and make himself known when he realized that Glaucous had not seen him.

  Silvan was suddenly interested to hear what Glaucous would ask her. He circled around to the rear of the prisoner’s tent. The night was dark. No guard stood back here. Silvan crept close to the tent, being careful to make no sound. He quieted even his breathing.

  A candle on the floor inside the tent flared, brought to life two dark silhouettes—the girl’s with her smooth head and long, graceful neck and the elf, tall and straight, his white robes black against the light. The two stared at each other unspeaking for long moments and then, suddenly, Glaucous recoiled. He shrank back away from her, though she had done nothing to him, had not moved, had not raised her hand, had not said a word.

  “Who are you?” he demanded and his voice was awed.

  “I am called Mina,” she replied.

  “And I am—”

  “No need to tell me,” she said. “I know your name.”

  “How could you?” he asked, amazed. “You couldn’t. You have never seen me before.”

  “But I know it,” she replied calmly.

  Glaucous had regained his self-possession. “Answer me one thing, witch. How did you pass through my shield? By what magic? What sorcery did you use?”

  “No magic,” she said. “No sorcery. The Hand of the God reached down and the shield was lifted.”

  “What hand?” Glaucous was angry, thinking she mocked him. “What god? There are no gods! Not anymore!”

  “There is One God,” Mina stated.

  “And what is the name of this god?”

  “The God has no nam
e. The God needs no name. The God is the One God, the True God, the Only God.”

  “Lies! You will tell me what I want to know.” Glaucous lifted his hand.

  Silvanoshei expected Glaucous to use the truth-seek, as had been done to him.

  “You feel your throat start to close,” said Glaucous. “You gasp for air and find none. You begin to suffocate.”

  “This is not the truth-seek,” Silvan said to himself. “What is he doing?”

  “Your lungs burn and seem about to burst,” Glaucous continued. “The magic tightens, tightens all the while until you lose consciousness. I will end the torment, when you agree to tell me the truth.”

  He began to chant strange words, words that Silvan did not understand, but which he guessed must be words to a magical spell. Alarmed for Mina’s safety, Silvan was ready to rush to her rescue, to tear the fabric of the tent with his bare hands if need be to reach her.

  Mina sat calmly on the cot. She did not gasp. She did not choke. She continued to breathe normally.

  Glaucous ceased his chant. He stared at her in amazement. “You thwart me! How?”

  “Your magic has no effect on me,” Mina said, shrugging. The chains that bound her rang like silver bells. She looked up at him. “I know you. I know the truth.”

  Glaucous regarded her in silence, and though Silvan could see only Glaucous’s silhouette, he could tell that the elf was enraged and, also, that he was afraid.

  Glaucous left the tent abruptly.

  Troubled, fascinated, Silvan came around to the front of the tent. He waited in the darkness until he saw Glaucous enter General Konnal’s tent, then approached the guard.

  “I will speak with the prisoner,” he said.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The guard bowed, started to accompany the king.

  “Alone,” Silvan said. “You have leave to go.”

  The guard did not move.

  “I am in no danger. She is chained and manacled! Go fetch yourself some dinner. I will take over your watch.”

  “Your Majesty, I have my orders—”

  “I countermand them!” Silvan said angrily, thinking he was cutting a very poor figure in the sight of those amber eyes. “Go and take the fellow of your watch with you.”

  The guard hesitated a moment longer, but his king had spoken. He dared not disobey. He and his companion walked off toward the cooking fires. Silvan entered the tent. He stood looking at the prisoner, stood inside the amber of her eyes, warm and liquid around him.

  “I want to know … if … if they are treating you well.…” What a stupid thing to say! Silvan thought, even as the words fumbled their way out of his mouth.

  “Thank you, Silvanoshei Caladon,” the girl said. “I need nothing. I am in the care of my God.”

  “You know who I am?” Silvan asked.

  “Of course, you are Silvanoshei, son of Alhana Starbreeze, daughter of Lorac Caladon and of Porthios of the House of Solostaran.”

  “And you are …?”

  “Mina.”

  “Just Mina?”

  She shrugged and when she shrugged, the chains on her manacles chimed. “Just Mina.”

  The amber began to congeal around Silvan. He felt short of breath, as if he were the one to fall victim to Glaucous’s suffocating spell. He came closer to her, knelt on one knee before her to bring those lovely eyes level with his own.

  “You mention your god. I would ask you a question. If the Knights of Neraka follow this god, then I must assume that this god is evil. Why does someone so young and so beautiful walk the ways of darkness?”

  Mina smiled at him, the kind and pitying smile one bestows upon the blind or the feebleminded.

  “There is no good, there is no evil. There is no light, there is no darkness. There is only one. One truth. All the rest is falsehood.”

  “But this god must be evil,” Silvan argued. “Otherwise why attack our nation? We are peace-loving. We have done nothing to provoke this war. Yet now my people lie dead at the hands of their enemy.”

  “I do not come to conquer,” Mina said. “I come to free you, to save you and your people. If some die, it is only that countless others may live. The dead understand their sacrifice.”

  “Perhaps they do,” said Silvan with a wry shake of his head. “I confess that I do not. How could you—a human, single and alone—save the elven nation?”

  Mina sat quite still for long moments, so still that her chains made no sound. Her amber eyes left him, shifted to stare into the candle’s flame. He was content to sit and gaze at her. He could have been content to sit at her feet and gaze at her all night, perhaps all his life. He had never seen a human woman with such delicate features, such fine bone structure, such smooth skin. Every movement was graceful and fluid. He found his eyes drawn to her shaved head. The shape of the skull was perfect, the skin smooth with a faint shimmering red down upon it, which must be like feathery down to touch …

  “I am permitted to tell you a secret, Silvanoshei,” said Mina.

  Silvan, lost in her, started at the sound of her voice. “Who gives you this permission?”

  “You must swear that you will tell no one else.”

  “I swear,” said Silvan.

  “Truly swear,” said Mina.

  “I swear,” Silvan said slowly, “on my mother’s grave.”

  “An oath I cannot accept,” Mina returned. “Your mother is not dead.”

  “What?” Silvan sank back, amazed. “What are you saying?”

  “Your mother lives, and so does your father. The ogres did not kill your mother or her followers, as you feared. They were rescued by the Legion of Steel. But your parents’ story is ended, they are in the past. Your story is just begun, Silvanoshei Caladon.”

  Mina reached out her hand, the chains ringing like altar bells. She touched Silvan’s cheek. Exerting a gentle pressure, she drew him near. “Swear to me by the One True God that you will not reveal what I am about to tell you to anyone.”

  “But I don’t believe in this god,” Silvan faltered. Her touch was like the lightning bolt that had struck so near him, raised the hair on his neck and arms, sent prickles of desire through his bloodstream.

  “The One God believes in you, Silvanoshei,” Mina told him. “That is all that matters. The One God will accept your oath.”

  “I swear, then, by the … One God.” He felt uncomfortable, saying the word, felt uncomfortable swearing the vow. He did not believe, not at all, but he had the strange and uneasy impression that his vow had been recorded by some immortal hand and that he would be held to it.

  “How did you enter the shield?” Mina asked.

  “Glaucous raised the shield so that I could—” Silvan began, but he stopped when he saw her smile. “What? Did this God lift it for me, as you told Glaucous?”

  “I told him what he wanted to hear. In effect, you did not enter the shield. The shield captured you while you were helpless.”

  “Yes, I see what you are saying.” Silvan remembered back to the night of the storm. “I was unconscious. I collapsed on one side of the Shield and when I woke, I was on the other. I did not move. The shield moved to cover me! Of course, that is the explanation!”

  “The shield will stand firm against an attack, but it will try to apprehend the helpless, or so I was given to know. My soldiers and I slept and while we slept, the shield moved over us.”

  “But if the shield protects the elves,” Silvan argued. “How could it admit our enemies?”

  “The shield does not protect you,” Mina replied. “The Shield keeps out those who would help you. In truth, the shield is your prison. Not only your prison, it is also your executioner.”

  Silvan drew back, away from her touch. Her nearness confused him, made thinking difficult. “What do you mean?”

  “Your people are dying of a wasting sickness,” she said. “Every day, many more succumb. Some believe the shield is causing this illness. They are partly right. What they do not know is that the lives of the
elves are being drained to provide energy to the shield. The lives of your people keep the shield in place. The shield is now a prison. Soon it will be your tomb.”

  Silvan sank back on his heels. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I have proof,” Mina said. “What I speak is true. I swear by my God.”

  “Then give your proof to me,” Silvan urged. “Let me consider it.”

  “I will tell you, Silvanoshei, and gladly. My God sent me here with that purpose. Glaucous—”

  “Your Majesty,” said a stern voice outside the tent.

  Silvan cursed softly, turned swiftly.

  “Remember, not a word!” Mina warned.

  His hand trembling, Silvan opened the tent flap to see General Konnal, flanked by the two guards.

  “Your Majesty,” General Konnal repeated and his voice held a patronizing tone that grated on Silvan, “not even a king may dismiss those who guard such an important and dangerous prisoner. Your Majesty places himself in peril, and that cannot be allowed. Take up your positions,” the general ordered.

  The elf guard moved to stand in front of the prison tent.

  Words of explanation clustered thick on Silvan’s tongue, but he couldn’t articulate any of them. He might have said that he was there to interrogate the prisoner about the shield, but that was coming too close to her secret, and he feared he could not mention one without revealing the other.

  “I will escort Your Majesty back to his tent,” said Konnal. “Even heroes must sleep.”

  Silvan maintained a silence that he hoped was the silence of injured dignity and misunderstood intentions. He fell into step beside the general, walked past campfires that were being allowed to die down. Those elves not out on patrol, searching for the humans, had wrapped themselves in their blankets and were already asleep. Elf healers tended to the wounded, made them comfortable. The camp was quiet and still.

  “Good night, General,” said Silvan coldly. “I give you joy on your victory this day.” He started to enter his tent.

  “I advise Your Majesty to go straight to bed,” the General said. “You will need to be rested for tomorrow. To preside over the execution.”