Sara exhaled in a slow breath. It was over.
The knights, pleased with their success, shook hands and slapped each other on the back. Both looked tired and battered, but neither man was seriously injured.
They rested for a few minutes before the Solamnic Knight walked over to the bizarre hut and gestured to Derrick. They entered the shelter. Then Sara saw them come out carrying a wooden strongbox. Back inside they went and brought out more boxes, some leather bags, and a few pieces of finely crafted weaponry and armor. Soon they had a goodly pile of spoils from the beast's lair.
They fell into conversation again, this time over the heap of treasure and valuables. Sara watched in growing alarm as the talk grew heated. Both men argued their point with increasing aggression and animosity. Their faces darkened, their gestures turned sharp and savage.
Suddenly swords were drawn. The blades angrily clashed above the heap of spoils.
Stop it! Sara tried to cry, but she could not move her lips.
Once they crossed swords, neither knight would surrender to the other. They were too evenly matched and too stubborn with pride. Ferociously they fought across the same ground they had struggled over together. The Solamnic drew blood first, cutting Derrick deeply across the thigh. The Dark Knight crashed back against the giant's body, his face contorted in pain. Blood flowed freely from the wound.
Stop it! cried Sara's soul.
Neither knight could hear her. Derrick threw himself forward and brought his sword whistling around in a vicious undercut toward his opponent's ribs.
The Knight of the Rose was too exhausted to avoid the blow completely. He swerved left just enough so Derrick's blade missed his ribs, but the sharp edge slid across the chain mail and caught him under the armpit, where the mail did not protect him. Blood soaked his tunic and mail.
Now both men bled freely. They swayed and staggered across the slippery mud and hacked at each other in clumsy, brutal blows that became automatic. There was no thought left in either knight, only the primal need to kill.
There could be no victor in a battle such as this. While Sara stared, wracked by grief, Derrick struck a heavy blow to the Solamnic's leg. The knight could not evade it. The blade slashed deep into the muscle just behind his knee.
The Knight of the Rose could no longer hold himself up. Disbelieving, torn by pain, he toppled over and crashed into the mud.
Derrick looked stunned. He sank slowly to his knees, unaware of the blood that soaked his leather leggings. The color drained from his face. He tried to lean his weight on his sword, but he had no strength left. His eyes rolled up into his head, his hands slipped off the bloody sword, and he fell sideways beside the other knight. His ribs rose and fell, then sank slowly into stillness.
The vision stopped on this scene, everything held in place as if a sorcerer had frozen an image in a mirror.
Sara stared frantically at the two knights for some sign of life until her head pounded and her eyes burned with tears. The picture blurred and wavered; the dark well of her vision swirled inward.
"No," she cried out loud. "He can't be…" Somewhere within her, she was aware of pain, deep and biting, and of anger at the senseless waste.
"Mother," a voice whispered beside her.
The image of Derrick dissolved into dark motes and was blown away on a sudden gust of wind.
"Mother."
Steel? Sara raised her head, her hope raw in her heart at the sound of that beloved voice. Her fingers clutched at the cold stone, and she pulled herself to her feet.
"Steel?" she cried brokenly, and her hand came to rest again over his cold appendage.
A dazzling light flared beside her. She blinked and rubbed the spots in her eyes, half-blinded by the unexpected light. By squinting hard, she adjusted her sight to the new radiance and finally saw its source.
Steel stood at the foot of the catafalque. Or something did. His lifeless body still lay supine on the marble, yet his image stood before her, his form bathing her in soft white light. The vision looked so real, Sara reached out her hand to touch him, then jerked it back, afraid to learn that the image might not be her son.
He smiled at her then, his crooked grin filled with love and understanding, and Sara lost any doubt. Sometimes a mother's love sees clearer than fallible eyes.
She did not try to speak. She simply filled her gaze with him, his fine features, his black hair, the line of his jaw, the angle of his shoulders. She soaked in his presence like dry earth absorbing a spring rain.
He lifted his hand, and his fingers closed around something. A second light, pure and white, welled from his fist. Steel reached out to the only mother he ever had.
Sara was shaking like a leaf. Instinctively she held out her hand, palm up.
"Mother," Steel said, his words ringing in the dark tomb. "All we have is each other," and he dropped the white light into her hand.
The light pulsed like a tiny star, dazzling and exquisitely beautiful. A sudden burst of radiance surged through Sara and sent her senses reeling.
"Steel!" she cried frantically. She could no longer see him, could no longer feel the stone-coldness of his hand. The light became a darkness so complete that Sara could not bear it. She staggered and fell onto something frigid and unrelenting that sapped away what little strength she had left. She tried once to push herself up and found she had not the energy to move her arms or legs. She sagged down to the stone floor and lay there while the cold seeped insidiously into her limbs.
Unable to move, unwilling to leave, she closed her eyes. Her breath fluttered out in a sigh, and her weary spirit fled to the comfort of sleep.
23
"Do you think she enjoys sleeping on snow-covered stone?" the first voice murmured.
"Sure. Why else would she do it?" answered a second.
"It is rather cold tonight. We might find her frozen stiff in the morning."
The second voice sounded pleased by that prospect. "Do you think so? They'd have to pry the body off the step. That might be interesting to watch."
Sara listened to this conversation in an offhand sort of way. It meant nothing to her.
"Do you think she's dead already?" the second voice added hopefully.
A finger poked Sara's shoulder. "No. Look, she's warm and still breathing, too."
Small hands patted her belt and her clothes. "See This?" said the first excitedly. "She's a dragon rider."
"Ooooh, I wonder where her dragon is. I'd love to see a dragon. I haven't seen any dragons since the summer it got so hot.
"That's probably a good thing. There are some dragons I never want to see."
Something about the talk of dragons set off a nagging spark in Sara's exhausted mind. Dragons? No, just one dragon. A special one of deep blue. Flare? No, her memory told her, Flare was dead. Cobalt, then. He was alone, looking for someone.
"He will be back," she whispered to the two voices.
"She said something!" the first voice cried in excitement. "Maybe she'll wake up now and talk to us."
A finger poked her shoulder harder. "Hey, dragon rider, are you asleep?"
The voices, Sara noted, were childlike and pleasant, too high-pitched to be human. She groaned, then hauled her eyes open and found herself literally nose to nose with two kender bent over her face.
"She's awake," yelped the first voice. This voice belonged to a slender female with a round apple face and a bountiful topknot of nut-brown hair. She grinned at Sara.
Her companion, a young male kender, asked without preamble, "Why are you sleeping on the stone steps? Is it an adventure, a penance, a bet? Is it fun? Could we try it with you?"