Of all the Dragon Highlords, the Dark Lady was known to sit highest in the regard of her Dark Queen. And so the troops of draconians, goblins, hobgoblins, ogres, and humans sat at around their campfires, staring at the Tower with hungry eyes, longing to attack and earn her commendation.
The Tower was defended by a large garrison. of Knights of Solamnia who had moved out from Palanthas only a few weeks ago. Legend recalled that the Tower had never fallen while men of faith held it, dedicated as it was to the High Clerist—that position which, second only to the Grand Master, was most revered in the Knighthood.
The clerics of Paladine had lived in the High Clerist’s Tower during the Age of Dreams. Here young knights had come for their religious training and indoctrination. There were still many traces of the clerics’ presence left behind.
It wasn’t only fear of the legend that forced the dragonarmies to sit idle. It didn’t take a legend to tell their commanders that taking this tower was going to be costly.
‘Time is in our favor,’ stated the Dark Lady before she left. ‘Our spies tell us the knights have received little help from Palanthas. We’ve cut off their supplies from Vingaard Keep to the east. Let them sit in their tower and starve. Sooner or later their impatience and their stomachs will cause them to make a mistake. When they do, we will be ready.’
‘We could take it with a flight of dragons,’ muttered a young commander. His name was Bakaris, and his bravery in battle and his handsome face had done much to advance him in the Dark Lady’s favor. She eyed him speculatively, however, as she prepared to mount her blue dragon, Skie.
‘Perhaps not,’ she said coolly. ‘You’ve heard the reports of the discovery of the ancient weapon—the dragonlance?’
‘Bah! Children’s stories!’ The young commander laughed as he assisted her onto Skie’s back. The blue dragon stood glaring at the handsome commander with fierce, fiery eyes.
‘Never discount children’s stories,’ the Dark Lady said, ‘for these were the same tales that were told of dragons.’ She shrugged. ‘Do not worry, my pet. If my mission to capture the Green Gemstone Man is successful, we will not need to attack the Tower, for its destruction will be assured. If not, perhaps I will bring you that flight of dragons you ask for.’
With that, the giant blue lifted his wings and sailed off toward the east, heading for a small and wretched town called Flotsam on the Blood Sea of Istar.
And so the dragonarmies waited, warm and comfortable around their fires, while—as the Dark Lady had predicted—the knights in their Tower starved. But far worse than the lack of food was the bitter dissension within their own ranks.
The young knights under Sturm Brightblade’s command had grown to revere their disgraced leader during the hard months that followed their departure from Sancrist. Although melancholy and often aloof, Sturm’s honesty and integrity won him his men’s respect and admiration. It was a costly victory, causing Sturm a great deal of suffering at Derek’s hands. A less noble man might have turned a blind eye to Derek’s political maneuvers, or at least kept his mouth shut (as did Lord Alfred), but Sturm spoke out against Derek constantly—even though he knew it worsened his own cause with the powerful knight.
It was Derek who had completely alienated the people of Palanthas. Already distrustful, filled with old hatreds and bitterness, the people of the beautiful, quiet city were alarmed and angered by Derek’s threats when they refused to allow the Knights to garrison the city. It was only through Sturm’s patient negotiations that the knights received any supplies at all.
The situation did not improve when the knights reached the High Clerist’s Tower. The disruption among the knights lowered the morale of the footmen, already suffering from a lack of food. Soon the Tower itself became an armed camp—the majority of knights who favored Derek were now openly opposed by those siding with Lord Gunthar, led by Sturm. It was only because of the knights’ strict obedience to the Measure that fights within the Tower itself had not yet broken out. But the demoralizing sight of the dragonarmies camped nearby, as well as the lack of food, led to frayed tempers and taut nerves.
Too late, Lord Alfred realized their danger. He bitterly regretted his own folly in supporting Derek, for he could see clearly now that Derek Crownguard was going insane.
The madness grew on him daily; Derek’s lust for power ate away at him and deprived him of his reason. But Lord Alfred was powerless to act. So locked into their rigid structure were the knights that it would take—according to the Measure—months of Knights Councils to strip Derek of his rank.
News of Sturm’s vindication struck this dry and crackling forest like a bolt of lightning. As Gunthar had foreseen, this completely shattered Derek’s hopes. What Gunthar had not foreseen was that this would sever Derek’s tenuous hold on sanity.
On the morning following the storm, the eyes of the guards turned for a moment from their vigilance over the dragonarmies to look down into the courtyard of the Tower of the High Clerist. The sun filled the gray sky with a chill, pale light that was reflected in the coldly gleaming armor of the Knights of Solamnia as they assembled in the solemn ceremony awarding knighthood.
Above them, the flags with the Knight’s Crest seemed frozen upon the battlements, hanging lifeless in the still, cold air. Then a trumpet’s pure notes split the air, stirring the blood. At that clarion call, the knights lifted their heads proudly and marched into the courtyard.
Lord Alfred stood in the center of a circle of knights. Dressed in his battle armor, his red cape fluttering from his shoulders, he held an antique sword in an old, battered scabbard. The kingfisher, the rose, and the crown—ancient symbols of the Knighthood—were entwined upon the scabbard. The lord cast a swift, hopeful gaze around the assembly, but then lowered his eyes, shaking his head.
Lord Alfred’s worst fears were realized. He had hoped bleakly that this ceremony might reunite the knights. But it was having the opposite effect. There were great gaps in the Sacred Circle, gaps that the knights in attendance stared at uncomfortably. Derek and his entire command were absent.
The trumpet call sounded twice more, then silence fell upon the assembled knights. Sturm Brightblade, dressed in long, white robes, stepped out of the Chapel of the High Clerist where he had spent the night in solemn prayer and meditation as prescribed by the Measure. Accompanying him was an unusual Guard of Honor.
Beside Sturm walked an elven woman, her beauty shining in the bleakness of the day like the sun dawning in the spring. Behind her walked an old dwarf, the sunlight bright on his white hair and beard. Next to the dwarf came a kender dressed in bright blue leggings.
The circle of knights opened to admit Sturm and his escorts. They came to a halt before Lord Alfred. Laurana, holding his helm in her hands, stood on his right. Flint, carrying his shield, stood on his left, and—after a poke in the ribs from the dwarf—Tasslehoff hurried forward with the knight’s spurs.
Sturm bowed his head. His long hair, already streaked with gray though he was only in his early thirties, fell about his shoulders. He stood a moment in silent prayer, then, at a sign from Lord Alfred, fell reverently to his knees.
‘Sturm Brightblade,’ Lord Alfred declared solemnly, opening a sheet of paper, ‘the Knights Council, on hearing testimony given by Lauralanthalasa of the royal family of Qualinesti and further testimony by Flint Fireforge, hill dwarf of Solace township, has granted you Vindication from the charges brought against you. In recognition of your deeds of bravery and courage as related by these witnesses, you are hereby declared a Knight of Solamnia.’ Lord Alfred’s voice softened as he looked down upon the knight. Tears streamed unchecked down Sturm’s gaunt cheeks. ‘You have spent the night in prayer, Sturm Brightblade,’ Alfred said quietly. ‘Do you consider yourself worthy of this great honor?’