‘Too bad,’ he reflected coolly as he walked away. ‘The fight will probably be over by the time she gets the news. A pity. She would have wanted to be present at the fall of the High Clerist’s Tower. Still,’ he reflected, ‘perhaps tomorrow night we’ll sleep in Palanthas—she and I.’
12
Death on the plains.
Tasslehoff’s discovery.
The sun climbed high in the sky. The knights stood upon the battlements of the Tower, staring out across the plains until their eyes ached. All they could see was a great tide of black, crawling figures swarming over the fields, ready to engulf the slender spear of gleaming silver that advanced steadily to meet it.
The armies met. The knights strained to see, but a misty gray veil crept across the land. The air became tainted with a foul smell, like hot iron. The mist grew thicker, almost totally obscuring the sun.
Now they could see nothing. The Tower seemed afloat on a sea of fog. The heavy mist even deadened sound, for at first they heard the clash of weapons and the cries of the dying. But even that faded, and all was silent.
The day wore on. Laurana, pacing restlessly in her darkening chamber, lit candles that sputtered and flickered in the foul air. The kender sat with her. Looking down from her tower window, Laurana could see Sturm and Flint, standing on the battlements below her, reflected in ghostly torchlight.
A servant brought her the bit of maggoty bread and dried meat that was her ration for the day. It must be only mid-afternoon, she realized. Then movement down on the battlements caught her attention. She saw a man dressed in mud-splattered leather approach Sturm. A messenger, she thought. Hurriedly, she began to strap on her armor.
‘Coming?’ she asked Tas, thinking suddenly that the kender had been awfully quiet. ‘A messenger’s arrived from Palanthas!’
‘I guess,’ Tas said without interest.
Laurana frowned, hoping he wasn’t growing weak from lack of food. But Tas shook his head at her concern.
‘I’m all right,’ he mumbled. ‘Just this stupid gray air.’
Laurana forgot about him as she hurried down the stairs.
‘News?’ she asked Sturm, who peered over the walls in a vain effort to see out onto the field of battle. ‘I saw the messenger—’
‘Oh, yes.’ He smiled wearily. ‘Good news, I suppose. The road to Palanthas is open. The snow melted enough to get through. I have a rider standing by to take a message to Palanthas in case we are def—’ He stopped abruptly, then drew a deep breath. ‘I want you to be ready to go back to Palanthas with him.’
Laurana had been expecting this and her answer was prepared. But now that the time had come for her speech, she could not give it. The bitter air dried her mouth, her tongue seemed swollen. No, that wasn’t it, she chided herself. She was frightened. Admit it. She wanted to go back to Palanthas! She wanted to get out of this grim place where death lurked in the shadows. Clenching her fist, she beat her gloved hand nervously on the stone, gathering her courage.
‘I’m staying here, Sturm,’ she said. After pausing to get her voice under control, she continued, ‘I know what you’re going to say, so listen to me first. You’re going to need all the skilled fighters you can get. You know my worth.’
Sturm nodded. What she said was true. There were few in his command more accurate with a bow. She was a trained swordsman, as well. She was battle-tested—something he couldn’t say about many of the young knights under his command. So he nodded in agreement. He meant to send her away anyhow.
‘I am the only one trained to use the dragonlance—’
‘Flint’s been trained,’ Sturm interrupted quietly.
Laurana fixed the dwarf with a penetrating stare. Caught between two people he loved and admired, Flint flushed and cleared his throat. ‘That’s true,’ he said huskily, ‘but—I—uh—must admit—er, Sturm, that I am a bit short.’
‘We’ve seen no sign of dragons, anyhow,’ Sturm said as Laurana flashed him a triumphant glance. ‘The reports say, they’re south of us, fighting for control of Thelgaard.’
‘But you believe the dragons are on the way don’t you?’ Laurana returned.
Sturm appeared uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps,’ he muttered,
‘You can’t lie Sturm, so don’t start now. I’m staying it’s what Tanis would do—’
‘Damn it, Laurana!’ Sturm said, his face flushed. ‘Live your own life’. You can’t be Tanis! I can’t be Tanis! He isn’t here! We’ve got to face that!’ The knight turned away suddenly. ‘He isn’t here,’ he repeated harshly.
Flint sighed, glancing sorrowfully at Laurana. No one noticed Tasslehoff, who sat huddled miserably in a corner.
Laurana put her arm around Sturm. ‘I know I’m not the friend Tanis is to you, Sturm. I can never take his place. But I’ll do my best to help you. That’s what I meant. You don’t have to treat me any differently from your knights—’
‘I know, Laurana,’ Sturm said. Putting his arms around her, he held her close. ‘I’m sorry I snapped at you.’ Sturm sighed. ‘And you know why I must send you away. Tanis would never forgive me if anything happened to you.’
‘Yes, he would,’ Laurana answered softly. ‘He would understand. He told me once that there comes a time when you’ve got to risk your life for something that means more than life itself. Don’t you see, Sturm? If I fled to safety, leaving my friends behind, he would say he understood. But, deep inside, he wouldn’t. Because it is so far from what he would do himself. Besides’—she smiled—‘even if there were no Tanis in this world, I still could not leave my friends.’
Sturm looked into her eyes and saw that no words of his would make any difference. Silently, he held her close. His other arm went around Flint’s shoulder and drew the dwarf near.
Tasslehoff, bursting into tears, stood up and flung himself on them, sobbing wildly. They stared at him in astonishment.
‘Tas, what is it?’ Laurana asked, alarmed.
‘It’s all my fault! I broke one! Am I doomed to go around the world breaking these things?’ Tas wailed incoherently.
‘Calm down,’ Sturm said, his voice stern. He gave the kender a shake. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I found another one,’ Tas blubbered. ‘Down below, in a big empty chamber.’
‘Another what, you doorknob?’ Flint said in exasperation.
‘Another dragon orb!’ Tas wailed.
Night settled over the Tower like a thicker, heavier fog. The knights lighted torches, but the flame only peopled the darkness with ghosts. The knights kept silent watch from the battlements, straining to hear or see something, anything...
Then, when it was nearly midnight, they were startled to hear, not the victorious shouts of their comrades or the flat, blaring horns of the enemy, but the jingle of harness, the soft whinny of horses approaching the fortress.
Rushing to the edge of the battlements, the knights shone torches down into the fog. They heard the hoofbeats slowly come to a halt.
Sturm stood above the gate. ‘Who rides to the Tower of the High Clerist?’ he called.
A single torch flared below. Laurana, staring down into the misty darkness, felt her knees grow weak and grabbed the stone wall to support herself. The knights cried out in horror.
The rider who held the flaming torch was dressed in the shining armor of an officer in the dragonarmy. He was blonde, his features handsome, cold, and cruel. He led a second horse across which were thrown two bodies—one of them headless, both bloody, mutilated.
‘I have brought back your officers,’ the man said, his voice harsh and blaring. ‘One is quite dead, as you can see. The other, I believe, still lives. Or he did when I started on my journey. I hope he is still living, so that he can recount for you what took place upon the field of battle today. If you could even call it a battle.’