Dragonlance 16 - Dragons Of A Lost Star (23 page)

The Knight was clad in a leather vest, padded for protection, worn over a knee-length tunic that was belted at the waist. The flash of metal came from a half-helm that covered the head but had no visor. A red ribbon fluttered from the top of the half-helm, the padded vest was decorated with a red rose. A long bow slung over the shoulders indicated that the Knight had been out hunting, as evidenced by the carcass of a stag hanging over the back of a pack mule. The Knight’s horse was nearby, head down, grazing.

Gerard cursed himself for not having kept closer watch. Had he been paying attention, instead of larking about like a schoolboy, he would have heard horse and rider approaching.

The Knight’s booted foot was planted firmly atop Gerard’s sword belt and sword. The Knight held a long sword in one gloved hand. In the other, a coil of rope.

Gerard could not see the Knight’s face, due to the shadows of the trees, but he had no doubt that the expression would be grim and stern and undoubtedly triumphant.

He stood in the middle of the stream that was growing colder by the second and pondered on the odd quirk in human nature that makes us feel we are far more vulnerable naked than when wearing clothes. Shirt and breeches will not stop arrow, knife, or sword, yet had he been dressed, Gerard would have been able to face this Knight with confidence. As it was, he stood in the stream and gaped at the Knight with about as much intelligence as the fish that were making darts at his bare legs.

“You are my prisoner,” said the Solamnic, speaking Common. “Come forth slowly and keep your hands raised so that I may see them.”

Gerard’s discomfiture was complete. The Knight’s voice was rich and mellow and unquestioningly feminine. At that moment, she turned her head to glance warily about her, and he saw two long thick braids of glossy blue-black hair streaming out from beneath the back of the half-helm.

Gerard felt his skin burn so hot that it was a wonder the water around him didn’t steam.

“Lady Knight,” he said when he could find his voice, “I concede readily that I am your prisoner, at least for the moment, until I can explain the unusual circumstances, and I would do as you command, but I am . . . as you can see . . . not dressed.”

“Since your clothes are here on the bank, I did not think that you would be,” the Knight returned. “Come out of the water now.”

Gerard thought briefly of making a dash for it to the opposite bank, but the stream ran deep and swift, and he was not that good a swimmer. He doubted if he could manage it. He pictured himself floundering in the water, drowning, calling for help, destroying what shreds of dignity he might have left.

“I don’t suppose you would turn your head, Lady, and allow me to dress myself?” he asked.

“And let you stab me in the back?” Laughing she leaned forward. “Do you know, Knight of Neraka, I find it amusing that you, a champion of evil, who has undoubtedly slaughtered any number of innocents, burned villages, robbed the dead, looted, and raped, are such a shrinking lily.”

She was pleased with her joke. The emblem of the Dark Knights on which her foot rested, was the skull and the lily.

“If it makes you feel better,” the Lady Knight continued, “I have served in the Knighthood for twelve years, I have held my own in battle and tourney. I have seen the male body not only unclothed but ripped open. Which is how I will view yours if you do not obey me.” She raised her sword. “Either you come out or I will come in after you.”

Gerard began to splash through the water toward the bank. He was angry now, angry at the mocking tone of the woman, and his anger in part alleviated his embarrassment. He looked forward to fetching his pack and exhibiting his letter from Gilthas, proving to this female jokester that he was a true Knight of Solamnia here on an urgent mission and that he probably outranked her.

She watched him carefully every step of the way, her face evincing further amusement at the sight of his nakedness—not surprising, since his skin was shriveled like a prune, and he was blue and shaking with the cold. Arriving at the bank, he cast one furious glance at her and reached for his clothes. She continued to stand with her foot on his sword, her own sword raised and at the ready.

He dressed himself in the leather trousers he’d brought with him. He was going to ignore the tunic, that lay crumpled on the bank, hoping that she might not notice the emblem stitched on the front. She lifted it with the tip of her sword, however, and tossed it at him.

“Wouldn’t want you to get sunburned,” she said. “Put it on. Did you have a nice flight?”

Gerard’s heart sank, but he made a game try. “I don’t know what you mean. I walked—”

“Give it up, Neraka,” she said to him. “I saw the blue dragon. I saw the beast land. I marked its trail and followed it and found you.” She regarded him with interest, all the while keeping the sword pointed at him and dangling the length of rope in her hands. “So what were you intending to do, Neraka? Spy on us, maybe? Pretend to be some loutish farm lad coming to the city for a good time? You appear to have the lout part down well.”

“I am not a spy,” he said through teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. “I know that you’re not going to believe this, but I am not a Dark Knight of Neraka. I am a Solamnic, like yourself—”

“Oh, that is rich! A blue Solamnic riding a blue dragon.” The Lady Knight laughed heartily, then flicked her hand and, with alacrity tossed the loop of rope over his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t hang you here, Neraka. I mean to take you back to Solanthus. You can tell your tale to an admiring audience. The inquisitor has been in low spirits these days. You’ll cheer him right up, I’m sure.”

She jerked the rope, grinned to see Gerard grab it to keep from choking. “Whether you arrive there alive, half-alive, or barely breathing is up to you.”

“I’ll prove it,” Gerard stated. “Let me open my pack—”

He looked down on the ground. The pack was not there.

Gerard searched frantically along the riverbank. No pack. And then he remembered. He had left the pack with the letter hooked to the dragon’s saddle. The saddle and the pack were back in the cave with the blue dragon.

He bowed his head that was dripping wet, too overwhelmed to swear. The hot words were in his heart but they couldn’t make it past the lump in his throat to reach his tongue. Raising his head, he looked at the Lady Knight, looked her full in the eyes that, he noted, were tree-leaf green.

“I swear to you, Lady, on my honor as a true Knight that I am a Solamnic. My name is Gerard uth Mondar. I am stationed in Solace, where I am one of the honor guard for the Tomb of the Last Heroes. I can offer no proof of what I say, I admit that, but my father is well known among the Knighthood. I am certain there are Lord Knights in Solanthus who will recognize me. I have been sent to bring urgent news to the Council of Knights in Solanthus. In my pack, I have a letter from Gilthas, king of the elves—”

“Ah, yes,” she said, “and in my pack I have a letter from Mulberry Miklebush, queen of the kender. Where is this pack with this wonderful letter?”

Gerard muttered something.

“I didn’t catch that, Neraka?” She bent nearer.

“It’s attached to the saddle of the . . . blue dragon,” he said glumly. “I could go fetch it. I give you my word of honor that I would return and surrender myself.”

She frowned slightly. “I don’t, by any chance, have hay stuck in my hair, do I?”

Gerard glared at her.

“I thought I might,” she said. “Because you obviously think I have just fallen out of the hay wagon. Yes, Sweet Neraka, I’ll accept the word of honor of a blue dragonrider, and I’ll let you run off and fetch your pack and your blue dragon. Then I’ll wave my hankie to you as you both fly away.”

She prodded him in the belly with her sword.

“Get on the horse.”

“Listen, Lady,” Gerard said, his anger and frustration growing. “I know that this looks bad, but if you’ll use that steel-covered head of yours for thinking, you’ll realize that I’m telling the truth! If I were a real dragonrider of Neraka, do you think you’d be standing here poking me with that sword of yours? You’d be food for my dragon about now. I am on an urgent mission. Thousands of lives are at stake— Stop that, damn you!”

She had been prodding him with her sword at every third word, steadily forcing him to fall back until he bumped into her horse. Furious, he thrust aside the sword with his bare hand, slicing open his palm.

“I do love to hear you talk, Neraka,” she said. “I could listen to you all day, but, unfortunately, I go on duty in a few hours. So mount up, and let’s be off.”

Gerard was now so angry that he was seriously tempted to summon the dragon. Razor would make short work of this infuriating female, who had apparently been born with solid steel in her head instead of on top of it. He controlled his rage, however, and mounted the horse. Knowing full well what she intended to do with him, he put his hands behind his back, wrists together.

Sheathing her sword, keeping a firm grip on the rope that was around his neck, she tied his wrists together with the same length of rope, adjusting it so that if he moved his arms or any part of his body, he’d end up strangling himself. All the while, she kept up her jocular banter, calling him Neraka, Sweet Neraka, and Neraka of Her Heart and other mocking endearments that were galling in the extreme.

When all was ready, she took her horse’s reins and led the horse through the forest at a brisk walk.

“Aren’t you going to gag me?” Gerard demanded.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Your words are music to my ears, Neraka. Speak on. Tell me more about the king of the elves. Does he dress in green gossamer and sprout wings from his back?”

“I could yet summon the dragon,” Gerard stated. “I do not because I do not want to hurt you, Lady Knight. This proves what I have been telling you, if you’d only think about it.”

“It might,” she conceded. “You may well be telling the truth. But you may well not be telling the truth. You might not be summoning the dragon because the beasts are notoriously untrustworthy and unpredictable and would just as soon kill you as me. Right, Neraka?”

Gerard was beginning to understand why she had not gagged him. He could think of nothing to say that would not incriminate himself or make matters worse. Her argument about the evil nature of blue dragons was one he might have made himself before he had come to know Razor. Gerard had no doubt that if he summoned Razor to deal with this Knight, the dragon would make short work of her and leave Gerard untouched. But while Gerard would have preferred Razor to this annoying female as a traveling companion any day, he could not very well countenance the horrible death of a fellow Solamnic, no matter how obnoxious she might be.

“When I reach Solanthus, I will send a company to slay the dragon,” she continued. “He cannot be far from here. Judging from the explosions I heard, we will have no trouble finding evidence of his hiding place.”

Gerard was reasonably certain that Razor could take care of himself, and that left him concerned for the welfare of his fellow Knights. He decided that the best course of action he could take now was to wait until he came before the council. Once there, he could explain himself and his mission. He was confident the council would believe him, despite his lack of credentials. Undoubtedly there would be someone on the council who knew him or knew his father. If all went well, he would return to Razor and both he, the dragon, and a force of Knights would fly to Qua-linesti. After this Knight had made her most abject and humble apologies.

They left the wooded stream bank behind, entered the grasslands not far from where the dragon had alighted. Gerard could see in the distance the road leading to Solanthus. The tops of the city’s towers were just visible over the tips of the tall grass.

“There is Solanthus, Neraka,” she said, pointing. “That tall building there on your left is—”

“My name is not Neraka. My name is Gerard uth Mondar. What are you called?’ he asked, adding in a muttered undertone, “besides godawful?”

“I heard that!” she sang out. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “My name is Odila Windlass.”

“Windlass. Isn’t that some sort of mechanical device on board a ship?”

“It is,” she replied. “My people are seafaring.”

“Pirates, no doubt,” he remarked caustically.

“Your wit is as small and shriveled as certain other parts of you, Neraka,” she returned, grinning at his embarrasment.

They had reached the road by now, and their pace increased. Gerard had ample opportunity to study her as she walked alongside him, leading the horse and the pack mule. She was tall, considerably taller than he was, with a shapely, muscular build. She did not have the dark skin of the seafaring Ergothians. Her skin was the color of polished mahogany, indicating a blending of races somewhere in her past.

Her hair was long, falling in two braids to her waist. He had never seen such black hair, blue-black, like a crow’s wing. Her brows were thick, her face square-jawed. Her lips were her best feature, being full, heart-shaped, crimson, and prone to laughter, as she had already proven.

Gerard would not concede that she had any good features. He had little use for women, considering them conniving, sneaking, and mercenary. Of the women he distrusted and disliked most, he decided that dark-haired, dark-complexioned female Knights who laughed at him ranked at the top of his list.