Dragonlance 10 - The Second Generation (45 page)

"Everything's going to be fine, dearest," Tanis said cheerfully. Kissing his wife, he held her close.

"Gil left this behind, knowing we'd find it. He wants us to come after him. He wants to be stopped. This is his rooster crow of independence, that's all. I'll find him at the Black Swan—exhausted, but too proud to admit it, pretending he's going to ride on, secretly hoping I'll argue him out of it."

"You won't scold him…" Laurana asked anxiously. "No, of course, not. We'll have a man-to-man talk. It's long coming. Maybe he and I will even spend the night away from home, ride back together in the morning." Tanis warmed to the idea. Now that he thought of it, he had never spent the day alone with his son. They would talk, really talk. Tanis would let Gil know that his father understood.

"This might actually prove to be good for the boy, my dear." Tanis was up, out of bed, and dressing for travel. "Perhaps I should go, too…"

"No, Laurana," Tanis said firmly. "This is between Gil and me." He paused in his preparations.

"You don't really understand why he's done this, do you?"

"No elven youth would do such a thing," Laurana said softly, the tears shining in her eyes. Tanis bent down, kissed her lustrous hair. He remembered a half-elven youth who had run away from his people, his home; a half-elven youth who had run away from her. He guessed that she must be remembering the same. The hunger for change—the human curse. Or blessing.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll bring him back safely."

"If only he understood! We would sacrifice anything for him…"

Laurana talked on, but Tanis wasn't listening, not to her. He was listening to the voice of another woman, another mother.

What would you sacrifice for your own son—your wealth? Your honor? Your very life? These were Sara's words—Sara, surrogate mother of Steel Brightblade.

Chilled, fearful, Tanis remembered the vision. He had not thought about it for years, had put it out of his mind. Once again he stood in the evil fortress of Lord Ariakan, Knight of Takhisis. Dark clouds parted; Solinari's silver light shone through, giving Tanis a swift glimpse of danger and peril, swirling about his frail son like the driving rain. And then Solinari was swallowed by dark clouds. The vision was gone. And he had forgotten it.

Until now.

"What's wrong?" Laurana was staring at him, frightened.

How well she knew him! Too well…

"Nothing," he said, forcing a reassuring smile. "I had a bad dream last night, that's all. I guess it's still affecting me. About the war. You know."

Laurana knew. She had those dreams, too. And she knew he wasn't telling her the truth, not because he didn't love her or trust her or respect her, but simply because he couldn't He had learned at an early age to keep his inner torments and hurts and fears well-hidden. To betray any weakness would give someone the advantage over him. She couldn't blame him. She'd seen how he'd been raised. A half-human in elven society, he was permitted to live in Qualinesti out of charity and pity. But he had never been accepted. The elves had always let him know he was—and would ever be—an outsider.

"What about Rashas?" she asked, tactfully changing the subject.

"I'll deal with Rashas," Tanis said grimly. "I might have known he'd be behind this. Always plotting. I wonder why Porthios puts up with him."

"Porthios has other worries, my dear. But now that Silvanesti is free of Lorac's dream, Porthios can finally return home and deal with matters in his own land."

Lorac's dream. Lorac had been an elven king, ruler of Silvanesti before the War of the Lance. Afraid that his land was about to fall victim to the invading armies of the Dark Queen, Lorac had tried to use one of the powerful, magical dragon orbs to save his people, his land. Instead, tragically, Lorac had fallen victim to the orb. The evil dragon, Cyan Bloodbane, had taken over Silvanesti, whispered dark dreams into Lorac's ears.

The dreams had become reality. Silvanesti was a haunted and devastated land, crawling with evil creatures that were both real and, at the same time, a product of Lorac's fear-twisted vision. Even after Lorac's death and the Dark Queen's defeat, Silvanesti had not been completely freed of the darkness. For long years, the elves had fought the remnants of the dream, fought the dark and evil creatures that still roamed the land. Only now, had they finally defeated them.

Tanis thought of Lorac's story, thought grimly that it had relevance in this day. Once again, some of the elves were acting irrationally, out of fear. Some of the old, set-in-their-ways elves like Senator Rashas…

"At least now Porthios has something to take his mind off his troubles—now that Alhana is pregnant,"

Tanis said, trying to present a cheerful front, even as he began lacing on his leather armor. Laurana looked at the armor, which he never wore unless he expected trouble. She bit her lip, but said nothing about it. She continued the conversation, followed his lead.

"I know Alhana is pleased. She has wanted a child for so long. And I think Porthios is pleased, as well, though he tries to act as if fatherhood were nothing special. Just doing his duty by the people. I see a warmth between them that has been missing all these years. I really believe that they are beginning to care for each other."

"About time," Tanis muttered. He had never much liked his brother-in-law. Tying his traveling cloak around his shoulders, he picked up a knapsack, then leaned over to kiss his wife's cheek. "Goodbye, love. Don't fret if we're not back right away."

"Oh, Tanis!" Laurana gazed at him searchingly.

"Don't be afraid. The boy and I need to talk. I see that now. I should have done it a long time ago, but I had hoped…" He stopped, then said, "I'll send you word." Buckling on his sword, he kissed her again, and was gone.

His son's trail was easy to pick up. Spring rains had deluged Solanthus for a month; the ground was muddy, the horse's hoofprints deep and clear. The only other person who had ridden this road lately was Sir William, delivering Caramon's message, and the knight had ridden in the opposite direction, toward Solamnia, whereas the Black Swan was located on the road that led south to Qualinesti. Tanis rode at a relaxed pace. The morning sun was a slit of fire in the sky, and the dew glittered in the grass. The night had been clear, cool enough to make a cloak feel good, but not chill.

"Gil must have enjoyed his ride," Tanis said to himself. He remembered, with guilty pleasure, another young man and another midnight journey. "I had no horse when I left. I walked from Qualinesti to Solace in search of Flint. I had no money, no care, no sense. It's a wonder I made it alive."

Tanis laughed ruefully, shook his head. "But I was shabby enough that no robber looked twice at me. I couldn't afford to sleep in an inn, and so I stayed out of fights. I spent the nights walking beneath the stars, feeling that at last I was able to breathe deeply.

"Ah, Gil." Tanis sighed. "I did the very thing I promised myself a hundred times I would never do. I bound you and fettered you. The chains were made of silk, forged by love, but they were still chains. Yet how could I do otherwise? You are so precious to me, my son! I love you so much. If anything were to happen…

"Stop it, Tanis!" he sternly reprimanded himself. "You're only borrowing trouble, and you know what the interest on that debt can cost you. It's a lovely day. Gil will have a fine ride. And we'll talk tonight, really talk. That is, you'll talk, Son. I'll listen. I promise." Tanis continued to follow the horse's tracks. He saw where Gil had allowed the animal its head, saw signs of a mad gallop, both horse and rider giddy with freedom. But then the young man had calmed the horse, proceeded forward at a sensible pace, not to tire the animal. "Good for you, boy," Tanis said proudly. To take his mind off his worry, he began considering what he would say to Rashas of the Thalas-Enthia. Tanis knew the elf well. Near the same age as Porthios, Rashas was enamored of power, enjoyed nothing more than political intrigue. He had been the youngest elf ever to sit on the senate. Rumor had it that he hounded his father until the elder elf finally collapsed under the pressure and relinquished his seat to his son. During the War of the Lance, Rashas had been a burr beneath the saddle of Solostaran, Speaker of the Sun. Solostaran's successor, Porthios, was now having to cope with this irritant.

Rashas persistently advocated elven isolation from the rest of the world. He made no secret of the fact that, in his opinion, the Kingpriest of Istar had been right in offering bounties on dwarves and kender. Rashas would have made one change, however: He would have added humans to the list. Which made all this completely inexplicable. Why was this cagey old spider trying to lure Gilthas, of all people—a quarter-human—into his web?

"At any rate," Tanis muttered into his beard, "this will give me a chance to settle my own score with you, Rashas, old childhood friend. I remember every one of your snide comments, the whispered insults, the cruel little practical jokes. The beatings I took from you and your gang of bullies. I wasn't allowed to hit you then, but, by Paladine, there's nobody going to stop me now!" The delightful anticipation of smashing his fist into Rashas's pointed chin kept Tanis entertained throughout the better part of the morning. He had no idea what Rashas wanted with his son, but he guessed it couldn't be anything good.

"It's too bad I didn't tell Gil about Rashas," Tanis mused. "Too bad I never told him much of anything about my early life in Qualinesti. Maybe it was a mistake to keep him away from there. If we hadn't, he would have known about Rashas and his type. He wouldn't have fallen for whatever clever scheme the senator's plotting. But, I wanted to protect you, Gil. I didn't want you to suffer what I suffered. I…"

Tanis stopped his horse, turned the animal around. "Damn it to the Abyss." He stared down at the dirt road, cold dread constricting his heart.

He slid off his horse for a better look. The mud, now slowly hardening in the bright sun, told the tale all too clearly. There was only one creature in all of Krynn that left tracks like this: three front claws that dug deep in the ground, a back claw, and the sinuous twisting mark of a reptilian tail.

"Draconians… four of them."

Tanis examined the prints. His horse, snuffling at them, shied away in disgust. Catching the animal, Tanis held its head near the tracks until it became accustomed to the smell. Remounting, he followed the trail. It could be coincidence, he told himself. The draconians could merely be traveling the same direction as Gil.

But Tanis became convinced, after another mile, that the creatures were stalking his son. At one point, Gil had turned his horse off the trail, led the animal down an embankment to a small stream. At this juncture, the draconians also left the trail. Tenaciously tracking the horse's hoofprints down to the creek, the draconians trailed the horse along the water's edge, followed the hoof marks back up to the road.

In addition, Tanis saw signs that the draconians were taking care to keep out of sight. At various points, the clawed footprints would leave the trail and seek the safety of the brush. This road was not particularly well traveled, but farmers used it, as did the occasional venturing knight.

If these draconians were ordinary raiders, living off the land, they would not hesitate to attack a lone farmer, steal his wagon and horses. These draconians were hiding from those who passed along the road; they obviously were on a mission.

But what connection could draconians have with Rashas? The elf had his faults, certainly, but conspiring with creatures of darkness wasn't one of them.

Fearful, alarmed, Tanis spurred his horse. The tracks were hours old, but he wasn't far from the Black Swan. The inn was located in the fairly substantial town of Fair Field. Four draconians would never dare venture into a populated area. Whatever their intention, they would have to strike before Gil reached the inn.

Which meant Tanis might well be too late.

He rode along the trail, traveling at a moderate pace, keeping his eyes on the prints—both the clawed prints and those made by Gil's horse. The young man obviously had no idea he was being followed. He was riding along at an easy walk, enjoying the scenery, reveling in his newfound freedom. The draconians never deviated from their course.

And then, Tanis knew where they would strike.

A few miles outside of Fair Field, the road entered a heavily wooded area. Oak and walnut trees grew thick, their tangled limbs branching across the trail, blocking out the sunlight, keeping the road in deep shadow. In the days after the Cataclysm, the forest was reputed to have been a refuge for robbers and, to this day, was known unofficially as Thieves Acres. Caves honeycombed the hillsides, providing hiding places where men could hide and gloat over their loot. It was the perfect spot for an ambush. Sick with fear, Tanis left off tracking, urged his horse forward at a gallop. He almost rode down a startled farmer, who shouted at him, wondering what was the matter. Tanis didn't waste time bothering to answer. The forest was in sight, a long length of dark green banding the road ahead of him. The shadows of the trees closed over him; day turned to dusk in the blink of an eye. The temperature dropped noticeably. Here and there, patches of sunlight filtered through the overhanging tree limbs. Compared to the darkness around him, the light was almost blinding in its intensity. But soon even these few glimpses of the sun were lost. The trees closed in. Tanis slowed his horse. Though he grudged the wasted time, he dared not miss whatever tale the ground had to tell him.

All too soon, he read the story's end. He couldn't have missed it, no matter how fast he was riding. The dirt road was churned and cut up to such an extent that Tanis found it impossible to decipher what exactly had occurred. Horse's hooves were obliterated by draconian claws; here and there he thought he saw the impression of a slender elven foot. Add to this a strange set of claw prints. These looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't immediately identify them.

He dismounted, searched the area, and forced himself to be patient, not to overlook the slightest detail.