The sun rose red the next morning, glimmering through a haze of smoke hovering above the dragonarmies. In the courtyard of the Tower of the High Clerist, the shadows of night had not yet lifted before activity began. One hundred knights mounted their horses, adjusted the girths, called for shields, buckled on armor, while a thousand footmen milled around, searching for their proper places in line.
Sturm, Laurana, and Lord Alfred stood in a dark doorway watching in silence as Lord Derek, laughing and calling out jokes to his men, rode into the courtyard. The knight was resplendent in his armor, the rose glistening on his breastplate in the first rays of the sun. His men were in good spirits, the thought of battle making them forget their hunger.
‘You’ve got to stop this, my lord,’ Sturm said quietly.
‘I can’t!’ Lord Alfred said, pulling on his gloves. His face was haggard in the morning light. He had not slept since Sturm awakened him in the waning hours of the night. ‘The Measure gives him the right to make this decision.’
In vain had Alfred argued with Derek, trying to convince him to wait just a few more days! Already the wind was starting to shift, bringing warm breezes from the north.
But Derek had been adamant. He would ride out and challenge the dragonarmies on the field. As for being outnumbered, he laughed in scorn. Since when do goblins fight like Knights of Solamnia? The Knights had been outnumbered fifty to one in the Goblin and Ogre wars of the Vingaard Keep one hundred years ago, and they’d routed the creatures with ease!
‘But you’ll be fighting draconians,’ Sturm warned. ‘They are not like goblins. They are intelligent and skilled. They have magic-users among their ranks, and their weapons are the finest in Krynn. Even in death they have the power to kill—’
‘I believe we can deal with them, Brightblade,’ Derek interrupted harshly, ‘And now I suggest you wake your men and tell them to make ready.’
‘I’m not going,’ Sturm said steadily. ‘And I’m not ordering my men to go, either.’
Derek paled with fury. For a moment he could not speak, he was so angry. Even Lord Alfred appeared shocked.
‘Sturm,’ Alfred began slowly, ‘do you know what you are doing?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Sturm answered. ‘We are the only thing standing between the dragonarmies and Palanthas. We dare not leave this garrison unmanned. I’m keeping my command here.’
‘Disobeying a direct order,’ Derek said, breathing heavily. ‘You are a witness, Lord Alfred. I’ll have his head this time!’ He stalked out. Lord Alfred, his face grim, followed, leaving Sturm alone.
In the end, Sturm had given his men a choice. They could stay with him at no risk to themselves—since they were simply obeying the orders of their commanding officer—or they could accompany Derek. It was, he mentioned, the same choice Vinas Solamnus had given his men long ago, when the Knights rebelled against the corrupt Emperor of Ergoth. The men did not need to be reminded of this legend. They saw it as a sign and, as with Solamnus, most of them chose to stay with the commander they had come to respect and admire.
Now they stood watching, their faces grim, as their friends prepared to ride out. It was the first open break in the long history of the Knighthood, and the moment was grievous.
‘Reconsider, Sturm,’ Lord Alfred said as the knight helped him mount his horse. ‘Lord Derek is right. The dragonarmies have not been trained, not like the Knights. There’s every probability we’ll route them with barely a blow being struck.’
‘I pray that is true, my lord,’ Sturm said steadily.
Alfred regarded him sadly. ‘If it is true, Brightblade, Derek will see you tried and executed for this. There’ll be nothing Gunthar can do to stop him.’
‘I would willingly die that death, my lord, if it would stop what I fear will happen,’ Sturm replied.
‘Damn it, man!’ Lord Alfred exploded. ‘If we are defeated, what will you gain by staying here? You couldn’t hold off an army of gully dwarves with your small contingent of men! Suppose the roads do open up? You won’t be able to hold the Tower long enough for Palanthas to send reinforcements.’
‘At the least we can buy Palanthas time to evacuate her citizens, if—’
Lord Derek Crownguard edged his horse between those of his men. Glaring down at Sturm, his eyes glittering from behind the slits in his helm, Lord Derek raised his hand for silence.
‘According to the Measure, Sturm Brightblade,’ Derek began formally, ‘I hereby charge you with conspiracy and—’
‘To the Abyss with the Measure!’ Sturm snarled, his patience snapping. ‘Where has the Measure gotten us? Divided, jealous, crazed! Even our own people prefer to treat with the armies of our enemies! The Measure has failed!’
A deathly hush settled over the knights in the courtyard, broken only by the restless pawing of a horse or the jingle of armor as here and there a man shifted in his saddle.
‘Pray for my death, Sturm Brightblade,’ Derek said softly, ‘or by the gods I’ll slit your throat at your execution myself!’ Without another word, he wheeled his horse around and cantered to the head of the column.
‘Open the gates!’ he called.
The morning sun climbed above the smoke, rising into the blue sky. The winds blew from the north, fluttering the flag flying bravely from the top of the Tower. Armor flashed. There was a clatter of swords against shields and the sound of a trumpet call as men rushed to open the thick wooden gates.
Derek raised his sword high in the air. Lifting his voice in the Knight’s salute to the enemy, he galloped forward. The knights behind him picked up his ringing challenge and rode forth out onto the fields where—long ago—Huma had ridden to glorious victory. The footmen marched, their footsteps beating a tattoo upon the stone pavement. For a moment, Lord Alfred seemed about to speak to Sturm and the young knights who stood watching. But he only shook his head and rode away.
The gates swung shut behind him. The heavy iron bar was dropped down to lock them securely. The men in Sturm’s command ran to the battlements to watch.
Sturm stood silently in the center of the courtyard, his gaunt face expressionless.
The young and handsome commander of the dragonarmies in the Dark Lady’s absence was just waking to breakfast and the start of another boring day when a scout galloped into camp.
Commander Bakaris glared at the scout in disgust. The man was riding through camp wildly, his horse scattering cooking pots and goblins. Draconian guards leaped to their feet, shaking their fists and cursing. But the scout ignored them.
‘The Highlord!’ he called, sliding off his horse in front of the tent. ‘I must see the Highlord.’
‘The Highlord’s gone,’ said the commander’s aide.
‘I’m in charge,’ snapped Bakaris. ‘What’s your business?’
The ranger looked around quickly, not wanting to make a mistake. But there was no sign of the dread Dark Lady or the big blue dragon she rode.
‘The Knights have taken the field!’
‘What?’ The commander’s jaw sagged. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes!’ The scout was practically incoherent. ‘Saw them! Hundreds on horseback! Javelins, swords. A thousand foot.’
‘She was right!’ Bakaris swore softly to himself in admiration. ‘The fools have made their mistake!’
Calling for his servants, he hurried back to his tent. ‘Sound the alarm,’ he ordered, rattling off instructions. ‘Have the captains here in five minutes for final orders.’ His hands shook in eagerness as he strapped on his armor. ‘And send the wyvern to Flotsam with word for the Highlord.’
Goblin servants ran off in all directions, and soon blaring horn calls were echoing throughout the camp. The commander cast one last, quick glance at the map on his table, then left to meet with his officers.