Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (16 page)

minotaur, went back to the sky, which was unusually dark, now

that she had captured the moon. The light, the only light, was in

her eyes. "It is not the right time."

"When will it be the right time?" Galdar pursued.

"Mortals have no faith in anything anymore. They are like

men lost in a fog who can see no farther than their own noses, and

so that is what they follow, if they follow anything at all. Some are

so paralyzed with fear that they are afraid to move. The people

must acquire faith in themselves before they are ready to believe

in anything beyond themselves."

"Will you do this, Commander? Will you make this happen."

"Tomorrow, you will see a miracle," she said.

Galdar settled himself upon the rock. "Who are you, Com-

mander?" he asked. "Where do you come from?"

Mina turned her gaze upon him and said, with a half-smile,

"Who are you, Sub commander? Where do you come from?"

"Why, I'm a minotaur. I was born in-"

"No." She shook her head gently. "Where before that?"

"Before I was born?" Galdar was confused. "I don't know. No

person does."

"Precisely," said Mina and turned away.

Galdar scratched his homed head, shrugged in his turn. Ob-

viously she did not want to tell him, and why should she? It was

none of his business. It made no difference to him. She was right.

He had not believed in anything before this moment. Now he had

found something in which to believe. He had found Mina.

She confronted him again, said abruptly, "Are you still tired?"

"No, Talon Leader, I am not," Galdar replied. He had slept

only a few hours, but the sleep had left him unusually refreshed.

Mina shook her head. "Do not call me 'Talon Leader.' I want

you to call me 'Mina.' "

"That is not right, Talon Leader," he protested. "Calling you

by your name does not show proper respect."

"If the men have no respect for me, will it matter what they

call me?" she returned. "Besides," she added with calm convic-

Ition, "the rank I hold does not yet exist."

Galdar really thought she was getting a bit above herself now,

needed taking down a notch or two. "Perhaps you think you should

be the 'Lord of the Night,'" he suggested by way of a joke, naming

the highest rank that could be held by the Knights of Neraka.

Mina did not laugh. "Someday, the Lord of the Night will

kneel down before me."

Galdar knew Lord Targonne well, had difficulty imagining

the greedy, grasping, ambitious man kneeling to do anything

unless it might be to scoop up a dropped copper. Galdar didn't

quite know what to say to such a ludicrous concept and so fell

silent, returning in his mind to the dream of glory, reaching for it

as a parched man reaches out to water. He wanted so much to be-

lieve in it, wanted to believe it was more than mirage.

"If you are certain you are not tired, Galdar," Mina continued,

"I want to ask a boon of you."

"Anything, Tal- Mina," he said, faltering.

"Tomorrow we ride into battle." A little frown line marred Mina's

smooth complexion. "I have no weapon, nor have I ever been trained

in the use of one. Have we time to do so tonight, do you think?"

Galdar's jaw went slack. He wondered if he'd heard correctly.

He was so stunned, he could at first make no reply. "You. . .

you've never wielded a weapon?"

Mina shook her head calmly.

"Have you ever been in battle, Mina?"

She shook her head again.

"Have you ever seen a battle?" Galdar was feeling desperate.

"No, Galdar." Mina smiled at him. "That is why I am asking

for your help. We will go a little ways down the road to prac-

tice, so that we will not disturb the others. Do not worry. They

will be safe. Foxfire would warn me if an enemy approached.

Bring along whatever weapon you think would be easiest for

me to learn."

Mina walked off down the road to find a suitable practice

field, leaving an amazed Galdar to search through the weapons

he and the others carried, to find one suitable for her, a girl who

had never before held a weapon and who was, tomorrow, going

to lead them into battle.

Galdar cudgeled his brain, tried to knock some common sense

back into his head. A dream seemed reality, reality seemed a

dream. Drawing his dagger, he stared at it a moment, watched the

moonlight flow like quicksilver along the blade. He jabbed the

point of the dagger into his arm, the arm Mina had restored to

him. Stinging pain and the warm flow of blood indicated that the

arm was real, confirmed that he was indeed awake.

Galdar had given his promise, and if he had one thing left to

him in this life that he hadn't sold, battered, or flung away, it was

his honor. He slid the dagger back into its sheathe upon his belt

and looked over the stock of weapons.

A sword was out of the question. There was no time to train

her properly in its use, she would do more damage to herself or

those around than to a foe. He could find nothing that he deemed

suitable, and then he noticed the moonlight shining on one

weapon in particular, as if it were trying to bring it to his atten-

tion-the weapon known as a morning star. Galdar eyed it.

Frowning thoughtfully, he hefted it in his hand. The morning star

is a battlehammer adorned with spikes on the end, spikes the fan-

ciful said give it the look of a star, hence its name. The morning

star was not heavy, took relatively little skill to learn to use, and

was particularly effective against knights in armor. One simply

bashed one's opponent with the morning star until his armor

cracked like a nutshell. Of course, one had to avoid the enemy's

own weapon while one was doing the bashing. Galdar picked up

a small shield and, armed with these, trudged off down the road,

leaving a horse to stand watch.

"I've gone mad," he muttered. "Stark, staring mad."

Mina had located an open space among the rocks, probably

used as a wayside camping place for those long-ago armies that

had marched along the road. She took hold of the morning star,

eyed it critically, hefted it to test its weight and balance. Galdar

showed her how to hold the shield, where to position it for best

advantage. He instructed her in the use of the morning star, then

gave her some simple exercises so that she could accustom herself

to the feel of the weapon.

He was gratified (and relieved) to learn that Mina was a quick

study. Though her frame was thin, she was well-muscled. Her

balance was good, her movements were graceful and fluid.

Galdar raised his own shield, let her take a few practice blows.

Her first strike was impressive, her second drove him backward,

her third put a great dent in his shield and jarred his arm to the

marrow.

"I like this weapon, Galdar," she said approvingly. "You have

chosen well."

Galdar grunted, rubbed his aching arm, and laid down his

shield. Drawing his broadsword from its sheathe, he wrapped the

sword in a cloak, bound the cloth around it tightly with rope, and

took up a fighting stance.

"Now we go to work," he said.

At the end of two hours, Galdar was astonished at his pupil's

progress.

"Are you certain you have never trained as a soldier?" he

asked, pausing to catch his breath.

"I have never done so," said Mina. "Look, I will show you."

Dropping her weapon, she held out the hand that had been wield-

ing the morning star to the moonlight. "Judge my truthfulness."

Her soft palm was raw and bloody from opened blisters. Yet

she had never once complained, never flinched in her strikes,

though the pain of her wounds must have been excruciating.

Galdar regarded her with undisguised admiration. If there is

one virtue the minotaurs prize, it is the ability to bear pain in

stoic silence. liThe spirit of some great warrior must live in you,

Mina. My people believe that such a thing is possible. When one

of our warriors dies courageously in battle, it is the custom in

my tribe to cut out his heart and eat it, hoping that his spirit will

enter our own."

"The only hearts I will eat will be those of my enemies," said

Mina. "My strength and my skill are given to me by my god." She

bent to pick up the morning star.

"No, no more practice this night," said Galdar, snatching it

out from under her fingers. "We must tend to those blisters. Too

bad," he said, eyeing her. "1 fear that you will not be able to even

set your hand to your horses' reins in the morning, much less

hold a weapon. Perhaps we should wait here a few days until you

are healed."

"We must reach Sanction tomorrow," said Mina. "So it is or-

dered. If we arrive a day late, the battle will be finished. Our

troops will have suffered a terrible defeat."

"Sanction has long been besieged," Galdar said, disbelieving.

"Ever since the foul Solamnics made a pact with that bastard who

rules the city, Hogan Bight. We cannot dislodge them, and they do

not have the strength to drive us back. The battle is at a stalemate.

We attack the walls every day and they defend. Civilians are

killed. Parts of the city catch fire. Eventually they'll grow weary

of this and surrender. The siege has lasted for well over a year

now. I don't see that a single day will make any difference. Stay

here and rest."

"You do not see because your eyes are not yet fully open,"

Mina said. "Bring me some water to wash my hands and some

cloth to wipe them clean of blood. Have no fear. I will be able to

ride and to fight."

"Why not heal yourself, Mina?" Galdar suggested, testing her,

hoping to see another miracle. "Heal yourself as you healed me."

Her amber eyes caught the light of the coming dawn, just

starting to brighten the sky. She looked into the dawn and the

thought came to his mind that she was already seeing tomorrow's

sunset.

"Many hundreds will die in terrible agony," she said in a soft

voice. "The pain I bear, I bear in tribute to them. I give it as gift to

my god. Rouse the others, Galdar. It is time."

Galdar expected more than half the soldiers to depart as they

had threatened to do in the night. He found on his return to camp

that the men were already up and stirring. They were in excellent

spirits, confident excited, speaking of the bold deeds they would

do this day. Deeds that they said had come to them in dreams

more real than waking.

Mina appeared among them, carrying her shield and her

morning star in hands that still bled. Galdar watched her with

concern. She was weary from her exercise and from the previous

day's hard ride. Standing upon the road, isolated, alone, she

seemed suddenly mortal, fragile. Her head drooped, her shoul-

ders sagged. Her hands must bum and sting, her muscles ache.

She sighed deeply and looked heavenward, as if questioning

whether or not she truly had the strength to carry on.

At sight of her, the Knights lifted their swords, clashed them

against their shields in salute.

"Mina! Mina!" they chanted and their chants bounded back

from the mountains with the stirring sound of a clarion's call.

Mina lifted her head. The salute was wine to her flagging

spirits. Her lips parted, she drank it in. Weariness fell from her

like cast-off rags. Her armor shone red in the lurid light of the

rising sun.

"Ride hard. We ride this day to glory," she told them, and the

Knights cheered wildly.

Foxfire came at her command. She mounted and grasped the

reins firmly in her bleeding, blistered hands. It was then that

Galdar, taking his place alongside her, running at her stirrup,

noted that she wore around her peck a silver medallion upon a

silver chain. He looked at it closely, to see what the medallion

might have engraved upon its surface.

The medallion was blank. Plain silver, without mark.

Strange. Why should anyone wear a blank medallion? He had no

chance to ask her, for at that instant Mina struck her spurs to her

horse's flank.

Foxfire galloped down the road.

Mina's Knights rode behind her.

CHAPTER SIX

THE FUNERAL OF CARAMON MAJERE

At the rising of the sun-a splendid dawn of gold and

purple with a heart of deep, vibrant red-the people of

Solace gathered outside the Inn of the Last Home in silent

vigil, offering their love and their respect for the brave, good and

gentle man who lay inside.

There was little talk. The people stood in silence presaging the

great silence that will fall eventually upon us all. Mothers quieted

fretful children, who stared at the Inn, ablaze with lights, not un-

derstanding what had happened, only sensing that it was some-

thing great and awful, a sensation that impressed itself upon their

unformed minds, one they would remember to the end of their

own days.

"I'm truly sorry, Laura," Tas said to her in the quiet hour

before dawn.

Laura stood beside the booth where Caramon was accus-