Read Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
came together with a resounding crash.
When battle was joined, Silvan and his mounted escort
galloped into the woods on the west side of the battlefield. Their
small force screened by the trees, they rode around the flank of
their own army, crossed over enemy lines, and rode around the
enemy's flank. No one noticed them. No one shouted or called
out. Those fighting saw only the foe before them. Arriving at a
point near the edge of the field, Silvan called a halt, raising his
hand. He rode cautiously to the edge of the forest, taking the com-
mander of the general's guard with him. The two looked out
upon the field of battle.
"Send out the scouting party," Silvan ordered. "Bring back
word the moment they have located the enemy commanders."
The scouts proceeded ahead through the woods, edging
closer to the field of battle. Silvan waited, watching the progress
of the war.
Combat was hand to hand. The archers on both sides were
now effectively useless, with the armies locked together in a
bloody embrace. At first, Silvan could make nothing of the con-
fusion he looked upon, but after watching several moments, it
seemed to him that the elf army was gaining ground.
"A glorious victory already, Your Majesty," his commander
said in triumph. "The vermin are falling back!"
"Yes, you are right," Silvan replied, and he frowned.
"Your Majesty does not seem pleased. We are crushing the
human insects!"
"So it would seem," said Silvan. "But if you look closely, Com-
mander, you will note that the enemy is not running in panic.
They are falling back, certainly, but their movements are calcu-
lated, disciplined. See how they hold their line? See how one man
steps in to take the place if another falls? Our troops, on the other
hand," he added with disgust, "have gone completely berserk!"
The elves, seeing the enemy in retreat, had broken ranks and
were flailing at the enemy in a murderous rage, heedless of the
shouts and cries of their commanders. Competing trumpet calls
sounded over the screams of the wounded and dying, fighting
their own battle. Silvan noted that the Dark Knights listened
closely for their trumpet calls and responded immediately to the
brayed commands, while the maddened elves were deaf to all.
"Still," Silvan said, "we cannot help but win, seeing that we
outnumber them so greatly. The only way could possibly lose
would be to turn our swords on ourselves. I will have a few
words with General Konnal on my return, however. Samar would
never permit such a lack of discipline."
"Your Majesty!" One of the scouts returned, riding at a full
gallop. "We have located the officers!"
Silvan turned his horse's head, rode after the scout. They had
advanced only a short way through the forest, before they met up
with another scout, who had been left to keep watch.
He pointed. "There, Your Majesty. On that rise. They're easy
to see."
So they were. A huge minotaur, the first Silvan had ever seen,
stood upon the rise. The minotaur wore the regalia of a Knight of
Neraka. A massive sword was buckled at his side. He was watch-
ing the progress of the battle intently. Twelve more Knights,
mounted on horses, were also observing the battle. Beside them
stood the standard-bearer, holding a flag that might have once
been white, but was now a dirty brownish red color, as if it had
been soaked in blood. An aide stood nearby, holding the reins of
a magnificent red horse.
"Surely the minotaur is their commander," Silvan said. "We
were misinformed."
"No, Your Majesty," the scout replied. "See there, behind the
minotaur. That is the commander, the one with the blood-red sash."
Silvan could not see her, at first and then the minotaur
stepped to one side to confer with another of the Knights. Behind
him, a slight, delicate human female stood on a knoll, her gaze
fixed with rapt intensity upon the battle. She carried her helm be-
neath her arm. A morning star hung from a belt at her waist.
"That is their commander?" Silvan said, amazed. "She does
not look old enough to be attending her first dance, much less
leading seasoned troops into battle."
As if she had heard him, though that was impossible, for she
was a good forty yards distant, she turned her face toward him.
He felt himself suddenly exposed to her view, and he backed up
hurriedly, keeping to the deep shadows of the dense woods.
She stared in his direction for long moments, and Silvan was
certain that they had been seen. He was about to order his men
forward, when she turned her head away. She said something to
the minotaur, apparently, for he left his conference and walked
over to her. Even from this distance, Silvan could see that the
minotaur regarded the girl with the utmost respect, even rever-
ence. He listened intently to her orders, looked over his shoulder
at the battle and nodded his homed head.
He turned and, with a wave of his hand, summoned the
mounted Knights. With a roar, the minotaur ran forward toward
the rear of his own lines. The Knights galloped after him, with
what purpose Silvan could not tell. A countercharge, perhaps.
"Now is our chance, Your Majesty!" said the commander ex-
citedly. "She stands alone."
This was beyond all possible luck, so far beyond that Silvan
mistrusted his good fortune. He hesitated before ordering his
men forward, fearing a trap.
"Your Majesty!" the commander urged. "What are you wait-
ing for?"
Silvan looked and looked. He could see no troops lying in
ambush. The mounted Knights of the enemy were riding away
from their commander.
Silvan spurred his horse and galloped forward, the other sol-
diers streaming behind him. They rode with the swiftness of an
arrow, with Silvan as the silver arrowhead, aiming straight at the
enemy's heart. They were halfway to their destination before
anyone was aware of them. The girl kept her gaze fixed on her
forces. It was her standard-bearer who spotted them. He cried out
and pointed. The red horse lifted its head, whinnied loud enough
to rival the trumpets.
At the sound, the minotaur halted in his charge and turned
around.
Silvan kept the minotaur in the comer of his eye as he rode,
dug his spurs into his horse's flank, urging more speed. The mad
race was exhilarating. A skilled rider, he outdistanced his body-
guard. He was not far from his objective now. She must have
heard the pounding hooves, but still she did not turn her head.
A great and terrible roar sounded over the battlefield. A roar
of grief and rage and fury. A roar so horrible that the sound
caused Silvan's stomach to shrivel and brought beads of sweat to
his forehead. He looked to see the minotaur rushing for him, a
great sword raised to cleave him in twain. Silvan gritted his teeth
and pressed the horse forward. If he could lay his hands on the
girl, he would use her as both shield and hostage.
The minotaur was extraordinarily fast. Though he was on foot
and Silvan was mounted, it seemed that the racing minotaur
must reach Silvan before Silvan's horse could reach the enemy
commander. Silvan looked from the minotaur to the girl. She had
still taken no notice of him. She seemed completely unaware of
her danger. Her gaze was fixed upon the minotaur.
"Galdar," she called, her voice beautifully clear, oddly deep.
"Remember your oath."
Her voice resounded over the cries and screams and clashing
steel. The call acted upon the minotaur like a spear to his heart.
He ceased his furious rush. He stared at her, his gaze pleading.
She did not relent, or so it seemed. She shifted her gaze from
him to the heavens. The minotaur gave another howl of rage and
then plunged his sword into the ground, drove it into the corn-
field with such force that he buried it halfway to the hilt.
Silvan galloped up the rise. At last the girl shifted her gaze
from the heavens. She turned her eyes full upon Silvan.
Amber eyes. Silvan had never seen the like. Her eyes did not
repel him but drew him forward. He rode toward her, and he
could see nothing but her eyes. It seemed he was riding into
them.
She clasped her morning star, hefted it in her hand, and stood
waiting him fearlessly.
Silvan dashed his horse up the small rise, came level with the
girl. She struck at him with the morning star, a blow he deflected
easily, kicking it aside with his foot. Another kick knocked the
morning star from her hand and sent her staggering backward.
She lost her balance, fell heavily to the ground. His guards sur-
rounded her. The guards killed her standard-bearer and made an
attempt to seize the horse, but the animal lashed out with its
hooves. Breaking free of the holder, the horse charged straight for
the rear lines, as if it would join the battle alone and riderless.
The girl lay stunned on the ground. She was covered with
blood, but he could not tell if it was hers or that of her standard-
bearer, who lay decapitated by her side.
Fearing she would be trampled, Silvan furiously ordered his
guards to keep back. He slid from his horse, ran to the girl and
lifted her in his arms. She moaned, her eyes fluttered. He
breathed again. She was alive.
"I will take her, Your Majesty," offered his commander.
Silvan would not give her up. He placed her on his saddle,
climbed up behind her. Clasping one arm around her tightly,
he took hold of the reins in the other. Her head rested against
his silver breastplate. He had never in his life seen any face so
delicate, so perfectly formed, so beautiful. He cradled her ten-
derly, anxiously.
"Ride!" he ordered and he started for the woods, riding
swiftly, but not so swiftly that he risked jarring her.
He rode past the minotaur, who was on his knees beside his
buried sword, his homed head bowed in grief.
"What do you men think you are doing?" Silvan demanded.
Several of the elves were starting to ride in the minotaur's direc-
tion, their swords raised. "He is not a threat to us. Leave him."
"He is a minotaur, Your Majesty. He is always a threat,"
protested the commander.
"Would you kill him unarmed and unresisting?" Silvan de-
manded sternly.
"He would have no compunction killing us, if the situation
was reversed," the commander replied grimly.
"And so now we are reduced to the level of beasts," Silvan
said coldly. "I said leave him, Commander. We have achieved our
objective. Let us get out of here before we are overrun."
Indeed, that seemed likely. The army of the Knights of Neraka
was falling back rapidly now. Their retreat was in good order,
they were keeping their lines intact. Silvan and his Knights gal-
loped from the field, Silvan bearing their prize proudly in his
arms.
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 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 toques-
tion 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 com-
manded 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 dark-
ness 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 comer. 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 comer.
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 de-
stroyed 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 ad-
vance. 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 de-
scended below ground in hopes of finding tunnels that would lead
them back north, and so on and so forth. Each theory had its op-
ponents, 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 de-
tested 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. "1 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 name. The God needs no name. The God is
the One God, the True God, the Only God."
"Lies! You will tell me what 1 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 contin-
ued. "The magic tightens, tightens all the while until you lose
consciousness. 1 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.
"1 know you. 1 know the truth."
Glaucous regarded her in silence, and though Silvan could see
only Glaucous's silhouette, he could tell that the elf was emaged
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 Gen-
eral 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 look-
ing 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 noth-
ing. 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 man-
acles 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 suffocat-
ing spell. He came closer to her, knelt on one knee before her to
bring those lovely eyes level with lUs 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, per-
haps 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,