Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (41 page)

left for battle, for defiance. My heart is in the tomb where my dear

husband, Tanis, lies buried. My family is all that matters to me

now. I want to see my son happily married, I want to hold grand-

children in my arms. I want our land to be at peace and I am will-

ing to pay tribute to the dragon for our land to remain at peace."

Medan regarded her skeptically. He heard the ring of truth in

her voice, but she was not telling him the entire truth. Laurana

had been a skilled diplomat in the days following the war. She

was accustomed to telling people what they wanted to hear while

subtly swaying them to believe what she wanted them to believe.

Still, it would have been extremely impolite to openly doubt her

words. And if she meant them, Medan pitied her. The son on

whom she doted was a spineless jellyfish who took hours to

decide whether to have strawberries or blueberries for luncheon.

Gilthas was not likely to ever take such an important step as

making up his mind to wed. Unless, of course, someone else

picked out his bride for him.

Laurana averted her head but not before Medan had seen the

tears welling in her almond eyes. He changed the subject back to

orchids. He was attempting to grow some in his own garden and

was having minimal success. He discussed orchids for a long

while, giving Laurana a chance to regain her composure. A quick

touch of her hand to her eyes and she was once more in control.

She recommended her own gardener, a master with orchids.

Medan accepted the offer with pleasure. The two of them lin-

gered another hour in the arboretum, discussing strong roots and

waxen flowers.

"Where is my honored mother, Palthainon?" Gilthas, Speaker

of the Sun, asked. "I have not seen her this past half-hour."

The king was dressed in the costume of an elven ranger, all in

greens and browns, colors that were becoming to him. Gilthas

ind it difficult to believe that someone

looked quite impressive, though few elven rangers were likely to

go about their duties attired in the finest silken hose and shirts, or

a hand-tooled and gold-embossed leather vest with matching

boots. He held a cup of wine in his hand, but he only sipped at it

out of politeness. Wine gave him a headache, everyone knew.

"I believe that your mother is walking in the garden, Your

Majesty," said Prefect Palthainon, who missed nothing of the com-

ings and goings of the House Royal. "She spoke of needing air.

Would you have me send for her? Your Majesty does not look well."

"I am not well," Gilthas said. "Thank you for your kind offer,

Palthainon, but do not disturb her." His eyes darkened, he looked

out upon the throng of dancers with sadness and wistful envy.

"Do you think anyone would take it amiss if I were to retire to my

room, Prefect?" he asked in a low voice.

"Perhaps a dance would cheer Your Majesty," Palthainon

said. "There, look at how the lovely Amiara smiles at you." The

prefect leaned near the king to whisper, "Her father is one of the

wealthiest elves in all of Qualinesti. Silversmith, you know. And

she is perfectly charming-"

"Yes, she is," said Gilthas in disinterested agreement. "But I

do not feel equal to dancing. I am feeling faint and nauseated. I

believe that I really must retire."

"By all means, if Your Majesty is truly not well," said

Palthainon reluctantly. Medan was right. Having robbed the king

of a spine, the prefect could not very well fault the young man for

crawling about on his hands and knees. "Your Majesty should

rest in bed tomorrow. I will take care of the affairs of state."

"Thank you, Palthainon," Gilthas said quietly. "If I am not.

needed, I will spend the day working on the twelfth canto in my

new poem."

He rose to his feet. The music came to a sudden halt. The

dancers ceased in mid-whirl. Elven men bowed, elven women

curtsied. The elven maidens looked up in expectation. Gilthas

seemed embarrassed by the sight of them. Ducking his head, he

stepped down off the dais and walked quickly toward the door

that led to his private chambers. His personal servant accompa-

nied him, walking ahead of the king, bearing a glowing cande-

labra to light His Majesty's way. The elven maidens shrugged and

glanced about demurely for new partners. The music began

again. The dancing continued.

Prefect Palthainon, muttering imprecations, headed for the re-

freshment table.

Gilthas, glancing back before he left the room, smiled to him'-

self. Turning, he followed the soft glow of the candlelight through

the darkened hallways of his palace. Here no courtiers flattered

and fawned, here no one was permitted to enter without first ob-

taining permission from Palthainon, who lived in constant fear

that some day someone else might wrest away the marionette's

strings. Kagonesti guards stood at every entrance.

Freed from the music and the lights, the twittering laughter

and the whispering conversations, Gilthas breathed a sigh of

relief as he walked the well-guarded corridors. The newly built

palace of the Speaker of the Sun was a large and airy dwelling of

living trees that had been magically altered and lovingly trans-

formed into ceilings and walls. The tapestries were made of flow-

ers and plants coaxed to form beautiful works of art that changed

daily depending on what was in bloom. The floors of some of the

rooms of the palace, such as the dancing room and the audience

chambers, were made of marble. Most of the private rooms and

the hallways that wound among the boles of the trees were car-

peted with fragrant plants.

The palace was considered something of a marvel among the

Qualinesti people. Gilthas had insisted that all the trees standing

on the land be utilized in the shapes and positions in which the

trees had grown naturally. He would not permit the Wood-

shapers to coax them into bending themselves into unnatural

poses to accommodate a staircase or shifting their branches to

provide more light. Gilthas intended this as a sign of honor to the

trees, who were pleased, it seemed, for they flourished and

thrived. The result was, however, an irregular maze of leafy cor-

ridors, where those new to the palace would often lose them-

selves for hours on end.

The king did not speak, but walked with his head bowed and

his hands clasped behind him. He was often to be seen in this at-

titude, roaming restlessly the halls of the palace. It was known

that at these times he was mulling over some rhyme or trying to

work out the rhythm of a stanza. The servants knew better than

to interrupt him. Those who passed bowed low and said nothing.

The palace was quiet this night. The music of the dance could

be heard, but it was soft and muted by the gentle rustling of the

thickly entangled leaves that formed the high ceiling of the corri-

dor through which they walked. The king lifted his head, glanced

about. Seeing no one, Gilthas moved a step closer to his servant.

"Planchet," said Gilthas in a low voice, speaking the human

language which few elves spoke, "where is Marshal Medan? I

thought I saw him go into the garden."

"He did, Your Majesty," his servant replied, answering in the

same language, soft and low, not turning around to look at the

king lest someone should be watching them. Palthainon's spies

were everywhere.

"That's unfortunate," said Gilthas, frowning. "What if he's

still hanging about out there?"

"Your mother noticed and followed after him immediately,

Your Majesty. She will keep him occupied."

"You are right," said Gilthas with a smile, a smile only a

trusted few ever saw. "Medan will not bother us this night. Is

everything ready?"

"I have packed food enough for a day's journeying, Your

Majesty. The knapsack is hidden in the grotto."

"And Kerian? Does she know where to meet me?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I 'left the message in the usual spot. It was

gone the next morning when I went to check. A red rose was in its

place."

"You have done well, as always, Planchet," Gilthas said. "I do

not know what I would do without you. I want that rose, by the

way."

"The rose is with Your Majesty's knapsack," said Planchet.

The two ceased talking. They had arrived at the Speaker's

personal chambers. The king's Kagonesti guards-ostensibly

body guards, but in reality, prison guards-saluted as His

Majesty approached. Gilthas paid them no heed. The guards were

in Palthainon's pay, they reported every movement the king

made to the prefect. Servants waited in the king's bedroom to

assist His Majesty in undressing and preparing for bed.

"His Majesty is not feeling well," Planchet announced to the

servants as he placed the candelabra upon a table. "I will attend

him. You have leave to go."

Gilthas, pale and languishing, dabbed his lips with his lace

handkerchief and went immediately to lie down upon his bed,

not even bothering to take off his boots. Planchet would see to

that for him. The servants, who were accustomed to the king's ill

health and his desire for solitude, had expected nothing else after

the rigors of a party. They bowed and departed.

"No one is to disturb His Majesty," Planchet said, shutting the

door and locking it. The guards also had keys, but they rarely

used them now. In the past, they had checked upon the young

king on a frequent basis. They always found him where he was

supposed to be, sick in bed or dreaming over his pen and paper,

and at last they'd stopped checking.

Planchet listened at the door a moment, waited to hear the

guards relax and return to their games of chance with which they

whiled away the long and boring hours. Satisfied, he crossed the

room, threw open the doors that led to the balcony, and looked

out into the night.

" All is well, Your Majesty."

Gilthas jumped from the bed and headed for the window.

"You know what to do?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. The pillows are prepared that will take

your place in the bed. I am to keep up the pretence that you are

in the room. I will not permit anyone to visit you."

"Very good. You need not worry about Palthainon. He will not

put in an appearance until tomorrow morning. He will be too busy

signing my name and affixing my seal to important documents."

Gilthas stood by the balustrade of the balcony. Planchet af-

fixed a rope to the balustrade, held it fast. "A profitable journey,

Your Majesty. When do you return?"

"If all goes well, Planchet, I will be back by midnight tomor-

row night."

" All will go well," said the elf. He was several years older

than Gilthas, hand-picked by Laurana to serve her son. Prefect

Palthainon had approved the choice. Had the prefect bothered to

check Planchet's background, which included many years of

loyal service to the dark elf Porthios, the prefect might not have.

"Fate smiles upon Your Majesty."

Gilthas had been looking into the garden, searching for signs

of movement. He glanced back quickly. "There was a time I could

have argued with that statement, Planchet. I used to believe

myself the unluckiest person in this world, snared by my own

vanity and conceit, imprisoned by my own fear. There was a time

I used to see death as my only escape."

Impulsively, he reached out and grasped the hand of his ser-

vant. "You forced me to look away from the mirror, Planchet. You

forced me to stop staring into my own reflection, to turn and look

upon the world. When I did, I saw my people suffering, crushed

beneath the heel of black boots, living in the shadows of dark

wings, facing a future of despair and certain destruction."

"No longer do they live without hope," said Planchet, gently

withdrawing his hand, embarrassed by the king's regard. "Your

Majesty's plan will succeed."

Gilthas sighed. "Let us hope so, Planchet. Let us hope that

Fate smiles on more than me. Let us hope she smiles upon our

people."

He descended the rope nimbly, hand over hand, and dropped

lightly into the garden. Planchet watched from the balcony until

the king had disappeared into the night. Planchet then shut the

doors and walked back over to the bed. He placed the pillows on

it and arranged the coverlet convincingly about them so that if

anyone looked, they would see what appeared to be a body in

the bed.

"And now, Your Majesty:' Planchet said loudly, picking up a

small harp and running his hands over the strings, "take your

sleeping draught and I will play some soft music to lull you into

slumber."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TASSLEHEOFF, THE ONE AND ONLY

"Despite being in pain and extreme discomfort, Sir Gerard

was satified with the way things were going thus far. He

had a throbbing headache from where the elf had kicked

him. He was tied to his horse, dangling head down over the