Lord Nigel, Knight of the Crown, was one of the dead. He was buried beneath a rock cairn, in the hopes that at some future date his relatives would be able to remove the body and give him proper burial in his family’s vault. As Gerard helped place the heavy stones over the corpse, he couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Nigel’s soul had gone to join the army that had defeated the Solamnic Knights—the army of the dead. In life, Lord Nigel would have shed his last drop of blood before he betrayed the Knighthood. In death, he might become their enemy. Gerard had seen the souls of other Solamnic Knights drifting on the fearful tide of the river of souls. He guessed that the dead had no choice, they were conscripts, constrained to serve. But who or what did they serve? The girl, Mina? Or someone or something more powerful?
Lord Ulrich’s manor house was constructed along simple lines. Built of stone quarried from the land on which the house stood, it was solid, massive, with square towers and thick walls. Lord Ulrich had sent his squire ahead to warn his lady wife of their coming, and there were roaring fires, fresh rushes on the floors, hot bread and mulled wine waiting for them on their arrival. The Knights ate and drank, warmed themselves and dried out their clothes. Then they met in council to try to determine what to do next.
Their first move was obvious—they sent messengers riding in haste to Sanction to warn the city that the Knights of Neraka had taken Solanthus and that they were threatening to march next on Sanction. Before the loss of Solanthus, the Knights would have scoffed at this notion. The Dark Knights of Neraka had been laying siege to Sanction for months without any success. Solamnic Knights insured that the port remained open and that supplies flowed into the city, so that while the besieged citizens didn’t live well, they didn’t starve either. The Solamnics had once almost broken the siege, but had been driven back by strange mischance. The siege continued, the balance held, neither side making any headway against the other.
But that had been before Solanthus had fallen to an army of dead souls, living dragons, a girl called Mina, and the One God.
These all figured large in the discussions and arguments that rang throughout the great hall of the manor house. A large, rectangular room, the hall had walls of gray stone covered with a few splendid tapestries depicting scenes illustrative of texts from the Measure. Thick, beeswax candles filled the hall with light. There were not enough chairs, so the Knights stood gathered around their leaders, who sat behind a large, ornately carved wooden table. Every Knight was permitted his say. Lord Tasgall, Lord of the Rose and head of the Knights’
Council, listened to them all in patient silence—including Odila, whose say was extremely uncomfortable to hear.
“We were defeated by a god,” she told them, as they shifted and muttered and glanced askance at each other. “What other power on Krynn could hurl the souls of the dead against us?”
“Necromancers,” suggested Lord Ulrich.
“Necromancers raise the bodies of the dead,” Odila stated. “They drag skeletons from the ground to fight against the living. They have never had power over the souls of the dead.” The other Knights were glum, bedraggled, dour. They looked and felt defeated. By contrast, Odila was invigorated, exalted. Her wet, black hair gleamed in the firelight, her eyes sparked as she spoke of the god.
“What of death knights such as Lord Soth?” Lord Ulrich argued. The pudgy Lord Ulrich had lost considerable weight during the long, dispirited journey. Loose skin sagged around his mouth. His usually cheerful face was solemn, his bright eyes shadowed.
“You prove my point, my lord,” Odila replied coolly. “Soth was cursed by the gods. Only a god has such power. And this god is powerful.”
She raised her voice to be heard among the angry cries and denunciations. “You have seen that for yourself! What other force could create legions of souls and claim the loyalty of the dragons, saw them! You saw them on the walls of Solanthus—red white, black and green and blue. They were not there in the service of Beryl. They were not there in the service of Malys or any other of the dragon overlords. They were there in the service of Mina. And Mina is there in the service of the One God.”
Odila’s words were drowned out by jeers and boos, but that meant only that she’d struck a weak point in their armor. None could deny a word she said.
Lord Tasgall, the elder Knight, graying, upright, stern of bearing and countenance, shouted repeatedly for order and banged his sword hilt upon the table. Eventually order was restored. He looked at Odila, who remained standing, her head with its two thick, black braids thrown back in defiance, her face flushed.
“What is your proposal—” he began, and when one of the Knights hissed, the Lord Knight silenced him with a withering glance.
“We are a people of faith,” said Odila. “We have always been people of faith. I believe that this god is trying to speak to us and that we should listen—”
The Knights thundered in anger, many shaking their fists.
“A god who brings death!” cried one, who had lost his brother in the battle.
“What of the old gods?” Odila shouted back. “They dropped a fiery mountain on Krynn!” Some of the Knights were silenced by this, had no argument. Others continued to rant and rage.
“Many Solamnics lost their faith after the Cataclysm,” Odila continued. “They claimed that the gods had abandoned us. Then we came to find out during the War of the Lance that we were the ones who had abandoned the gods. And after the Chaos War, when we woke to find the gods missing, we cried out again that they had left us. Perhaps again that is not the case. Perhaps this Mina is a second Goldmoon, coming to bring us the truth. How do we know until we investigate? Ask questions?”
How, indeed? Gerard asked himself, the seeds of a plan starting to take root in his mind. He couldn’t help but admire Odila, even as he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. She alone had the courage to say aloud what needed to be said. Too bad she lacked the tact to say it in such a way that didn’t start fistfights. The hall erupted into chaos with people arguing for and against and Lord Tasgall banging his sword hilt with such force that chips flew from the wooden table. The wrangling continued far into the night, and eventually two resolutions were presented for consideration. A small but vocal group wanted to ride to Ergoth, where the Knights still held firm, there to lick their wounds and build up their strength. This plan was favored by many until someone sourly pointed out that if Sanction fell they might build up their strength from now until the end of forever and they wouldn’t be strong enough to retake all that they had lost.
The other resolution urged the Knights to march to Sanction, there to reinforce the Knights already defending that disputed city. But, argued the minority, how do we even know they mean to go to Sanction? Why would this girl give away her plans? It is a trick, a trap. Thus they argued, back and forth. No one mentioned anything about the One God.
The council itself was divided. Lord Ulrich was in favor of riding to Sanction. Lord Siegfried, who replaced the late Lord Nigel on the council, was from Ergoth and argued that the Knights would do better to retreat.
Gerard glanced at Odila, who stood near him. She was thoughtful and very quiet, her eyes dark and shadowed. She apparently had no more arguments to present, nothing more to say. Gerard should have realized silence was a bad sign for the glib-tongued young woman. As it was, he was too absorbed in his own thoughts and plans to pay much attention to her beyond wondering what she’d expected to accomplish in the first place. When next he looked around at her, to ask her if she wanted to go get something to eat, he found that she had gone. Lord Tasgall rose to his feet. He announced that the council would take both matters under advisement. The three retired to discuss the matter in private.