“One man’s Abyss is another man’s Paradise, it seems,” said Gilthas, smiling. “You may keep your Paradise, Wanderer, and you are welcome to it. I will keep my trees and cool water.”
“I hope you will,” said Wanderer, “but I would not count upon it.”
“Why?” Gilthas asked, alarmed. “What do you know?”
“Nothing for certain,” said Wanderer. Checking his horse, he turned to face Gilthas. “I was of two minds whether to tell you this or not. These days, rumors drift upon the wind like the cottonwood seeds.”
“Yet, obviously, you give this rumor credence,” Gilthas said.
When Wanderer still did not speak, Gilthas added, “We intend to go to Silvanesti no matter what has happened. I assure you, we have no plans to remain any longer in the desert than is necessary for us to cross it.”
Wanderer gazed out across the sand to the mass of elves, bright spots of color that had blossomed among the rocks without benefit of life-giving rain.
“The rumors say that Silvanesti has fallen to the Dark Knights.” Wanderer turned his dark eyes to Gilthas. “You’ve heard nothing of this?”
“No,” replied Gilthas. “I have not.”
“I wish I could give you more details, but, needless to say, your people do not confide in us. Do you believe it?”
Even as Gilthas shook his head firmly in the negative, his heart sank. He might speak confidently before this stranger and before his people, but the truth was that he had heard nothing from the exiled Silvanesti queen, Alhana Starbreeze, in many weeks, not since before the fall of Qualinost. Alhana Starbreeze had been waging a concerted fight to reenter Silvanesti, to destroy the shield that surrounded it. The last Gilthas had heard, the shield had fallen and she and her forces were poised on the border, ready to enter her former homeland. One might argue that Alhana’s messengers would have a difficult time finding him, since he’d been on the move, but the Silvanesti Wildrunners were friends with the eagles and the hawks and all whose sight was keen. If they had wanted to find him, they could have. Alhana had sent no runners, and perhaps this explained why.
Here was yet another burden to bear. If this was true, they were not fleeing danger, they were running headlong toward it. Yet, they could not stay in the desert.
At least if I have to die, let it be under a shade tree, Gilthas thought. He straightened in the saddle. “I thank you for this information, Wanderer. Forewarned is forearmed. Now I should no longer delay telling my people that help is coming. How many days will take us to reach the King’s Highway?”
“That depends on your courage,” said Wanderer. Gilthas could not see the man’s lips, due to the folds of cloth that swathed his face, but he saw the dark eyes warm with a smile. “If all your people are like you, I should not think the journey will take long at all.” Gilthas was grateful for the compliment. He wished he had earned it. What is taken for courage might only be exhaustion, after all.
10
Breaking into Prison
Gerard planned to enter Solanthus on foot. He stabled the animal at a roadhouse about two miles from the city—a roadhouse recommended by young Richard. Taking the opportunity to eat a hot meal (about the best that could be said for it), Gerard caught up on the local gossip. He put out that he was a sell-sword, wondered if there might be work in the great City. He was immediately told all he needed and more than he wanted to know about the disastrous rout of the Solamnic Knights and the takeover of the city by the Dark Knights of Neraka. There had not been many travelers after the fall of Solanthus several weeks ago, but the inn’s mistress was hopeful that business would soon improve. Reports coming from Solanthus indicated that the citizens were not being tortured and slaughtered in droves as many had feared, but that they were well treated and encouraged to go about their daily lives as though nothing had happened. Oh, certainly, a few people had been hauled off to prison, but they had probably deserved it. The person in charge of the Knights, who was said to be a slip of a girl, was not lopping off heads, but was preaching to the people of a new god, who had come to take care of them. She had gone so far as to order an old temple of Paladine cleaned out and restored, to be dedicated to this new god. She went about the city healing the sick and performing other miracles. The people of Solanthus were becoming enamored of her.
Trade routes between Solanthus and Palanthas, long closed, had now been reopened, which made the merchants happy. All in all, the innkeeper stated, things could be worse.
“I heard there were evil dragons about,” Gerard said, dunking his stale bread in the congealing gravy, the only way to make either palatable. “And worse than that.” He lowered his voice. “I heard that the dead walked in Solanthus!”
The woman sniffed. She’d heard something along these lines, but she’d seen nothing of any dragons herself, and no ghost had come to the roadhouse asking for food. Chuckling at her own humor, she went bustling off to provide indigestion to some other unsuspecting guest, leaving Gerard to feed the rest of his meal to the roadhouse dog and ponder what he’d heard. He knew the truth of the matter. He’d seen the red and blue dragons flying above the city, and he’d seen the souls of the dead surrounding the city’s walls. The hair still rose on the back of his neck whenever he thought about that army of empty eyes and gaping mouths, wispy hands with ragged fingers that stretched out to him over the gulf of death. No, that had been very real. Inexplicable, but real.
He was startled to hear that the people of Solanthus were being so well treated, but not much surprised to hear that they had apparently taken Mina to their hearts. He’d had only a brief talk with the charismatic leader of the Dark Knights, and yet he retained a vivid picture of her: he could see the fell, amber eyes, hear the timbre of her voice, recall every word she’d spoken. Did the fact that she was treating the Solanthians well make his job easier or more difficult? He argued one way and the other and at length came to the conclusion that the only way to find out was to go there and see for himself.
Paying for his meal and for the stabling of the horse for a week, Gerard set out for Solanthus on foot.
Coming within sight of the city walls, he did not immediately enter. He sat down in a grove of trees, where he could see but not be seen. He needed more information on the city, and he needed that information from a certain type of person. He had been sitting there for about thirty minutes when a wicket at the main gate opened up and several small bodies shot out, as though forcibly propelled from behind.
The small bodies picked themselves up, dusted themselves off as though this were nothing out of the ordinary, and, after shaking hands all round, set off upon their separate ways. One of the small bodies happened to pass quite close to Gerard. He called out, accompanying his call with a friendly gesture, and the small body, which belonged to a kender, immediately came over to chat.
Reminding himself that this was for a worthy cause, Gerard braced himself, smiled in a friendly manner at the kender, and invited him to be seated.
“Goatweed Tangleknot,” said the kender, by way of introduction. “My goodness, but you’re ugly,” he added cheerfully, peering up into Gerard’s pockmarked face, admiring his corn-yellow and recalcitrant hair. “You’re probably one of the ugliest humans I’ve ever met,” The Measure promised that all who made the supreme sacrifice for the sake of their country would be rewarded in the afterlife. Gerard figured that this particular experience should gain him a suite of rooms in some celestial palace. Gritting his teeth, he said he knew he wouldn’t win any prizes as queen of the May dance.