‘No, my lord,’ Sturm answered, according to ancient ritual, ‘but I most humbly accept it and vow that I shall devote my life to making myself worthy.’ The knight lifted his eyes to the sky. ‘With Paladine’s help,’ he said softly, ‘I shall do so.’
Lord Alfred had been through many such ceremonies, but he could not recall such fervent dedication in a man’s face.
‘I wish Tanis were here,’ Flint muttered gruffly to Laurana, who only nodded briefly.
She stood tall and straight, wearing armor specially made for her in Palanthas at Lord Gunthar’s command. Her honey-colored hair streamed from beneath a silver helm. Intricate gold designs glinted on her breastplate, her soft black leather skirt—slit up the side to allow freedom of movement—brushed the tips of her boots. Her face was pale and grim, for the situation in Palanthas and in the Tower itself was dark and seemingly without hope.
She could have returned to Sancrist. She had been ordered to, in fact. Lord Gunthar had received a secret communique from Lord Alfred relating the desperate straits the knights were in, and he had sent Laurana orders to cut short her stay.
But she had chosen to remain, at least for a while. The people of Palanthas had received her politely—she was, after all, of royal blood and they were charmed with her beauty. They were also quite interested in the dragonlance and asked for one to exhibit in their museum. But when Laurana mentioned the dragonarmies, they only shrugged and smiled.
Then Laurana found out from a messenger what was happening in the High Clerist’s Tower. The knights were under siege. A dragonarmy numbering in the thousands waited upon the field. The knights needed the dragonlances, Laurana decided, and there was no one but her to take the lances to the knights and teach them their use. She ignored Lord Gunthar’s command to return to Sancrist.
The journey from Palanthas to the Tower was nightmarish. Laurana started out accompanying two wagons filled with meager supplies and the precious dragonlances. The first wagon bogged down in snow only a few miles outside of the city. Its contents were redistributed between the few knights riding escort, Laurana and her party, and the second wagon. It, too, foundered. Time and again they dug it out of the snow drifts until, finally, it was mired fast. Loading the food and the lances onto their horses, the knights and Laurana, Flint, and Tas walked the rest of the way. Theirs was the last group to make it through. After the storm of last night, Laurana knew as did everyone in the Tower—no more supplies would be coming. The road to Palanthas was now impassable.
Even by strictest rationing, the knights and their footmen had food enough for only a few days. The dragonarmies seemed prepared to wait for the rest of the winter.
The dragonlances were taken from the weary horses who had borne them and, by Derek’s orders, were stacked in the courtyard. A few of the knights looked at them curiously, then ignored them. The lances seemed clumsy, unwieldy weapons.
When Laurana timidly offered to instruct the knights in the use of the lances, Derek snorted in derision. Lord Alfred stared out the window at the campfires burning on the horizon. Laurana turned to Sturm to see her fears confirmed.
‘Laurana,’ he said gently, taking her cold hand in his, ‘I don’t think the Highlord will even bother to send dragons. If we cannot reopen the supply lines, the Tower will fall because there will be only the dead left to defend it.’
So the dragonlances lay in the courtyard, unused, forgotten, their bright silver buried beneath the snow.
11
A Kender’s Curiosity.
The Knights ride forth.
Sturm and Flint walked the battlements the night of Sturm’s knighting, reminiscing.
‘A well of pure silver—shining like a jewel—within the heart of the Dragon Mountain,’ Flint said, awe his voice. ‘And it was from that silver Theros forged the dragonlances.’
‘I should have liked—above all things—to have seen Huma’s Tomb,’ Sturm said quietly. Staring out at the campfires on the horizon, he stopped, resting his hand on the ancient stone wall. Torchlight from a nearby window shone on his thin face.
‘You will,’ said the dwarf ‘When this is finished, we’ll go back. Tas drew a map—not that it’s likely to be any good—’
As he grumbled on about Tas, Flint studied his other old friend with concern. The knight’s face was grave and melancholy—not unusual for Sturm. But there was something new, a calmness about him that came not from serenity, but from despair.
‘We’ll go there together,’ he continued, trying to forget about his hunger. ‘You and Tanis and I. And the kender, too, I suppose, plus Caramon and Raistlin. I never thought I’d miss that skinny mage, but a magic-user might be handy now. It’s just as well Caramon’s not here. Can you imagine the bellyaching we’d hear about missing a couple of meals?’
Sturm smiled absently, his thoughts far away. When he spoke, it was obvious he hadn’t heard a word the dwarf said.
‘Flint,’ he began, his voice soft and subdued, ‘we need only one day of warm weather to open the road. When that day comes, take Laurana and Tas and leave. Promise me.’
‘We should all leave if you ask me!’ the dwarf snapped. ‘Pull the knights back to Palanthas. We could hold that town against even dragons, I’ll wager. Its buildings are good solid stone. Not like this place!’ The dwarf glanced around the human-built Tower with scorn. ‘Palanthas could be defended.’
Sturm shook his head. ‘The people won’t allow it. They care only for their beautiful city. As long as they think it can be saved, they won’t fight. No, we must make our stand here.’
‘You don’t have a chance,’ Flint argued.
‘Yes, we do,’ Sturm replied, ‘if we can just hold out until the supply lines can be firmly established. We’ve got enough manpower. That’s why the dragonarmies haven’t attacked—’
‘There’s another way,’ came a voice.
Sturm and Flint turned. The torchlight fell on a gaunt face, and Sturm’s expression hardened.
‘What way is that, Lord Derek?’ Sturm asked with deliberate politeness.
‘You and Gunthar believe you have defeated me,’ Derek said, ignoring the question. His voice was soft and shaking with hatred as he stared at Sturm. ‘But you haven’t! By one heroic act, I will have the Knights in my palm’—Derek held out his mailed hand, the armor flashing in the firelight—‘and you and Gunthar will be finished!’ Slowly, he clenched his fist.
‘I was under the impression our war was out there, with the dragonarmies,’ Sturm said.
‘Don’t give me that self-righteous twaddle!’ Derek snarled. ‘Enjoy your knighthood, Brightblade. You paid enough for it. What did you promise the elfwoman in return for her lies? Marriage? Make a respectable woman of her?’
‘I cannot fight you—according to the Measure—but I do not have to listen to you insult a woman who is as good as she is courageous,’ Sturm said, turning upon his heel to leave.
‘Don’t you ever walk away from me!’ Derek cried. Leaping forward, he grabbed Sturm’s shoulder. Sturm whirled in anger, his hand on his sword. Derek reached for his weapon as well, and it seemed for a moment that the Measure might be forgotten. But Flint laid a restraining hand on his friend. Sturm drew a deep breath and lifted his hand away from the hilt.
‘Say what you have to say, Derek!’ Sturm’s voice quivered.
‘You’re finished, Brightblade. Tomorrow I’m leading the knights onto the field. No more skulking in this miserable rock prison. By tomorrow night, my name will be legend!’