Gunthar rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He was in his element now. “It’s a matter of logistics, Tanis. Pure and simple. Look, here are the Dragon Highlord’s armies, bottled up in Sanction. Now I admit the Highlord is strong, she has a vast number of draconians, goblins, and humans who would like nothing better than to see the war start up again. And I also admit that our spies have reported increased activity in Sanction. The Highlord is up to something. But attacking Palanthas! Name of the Abyss, Tanis, look at the amount of territory she’d have to cover! And most of it controlled by the Knights! And even if she had the manpower to fight her way through, look how long she’d have to extend her supply lines! It would take her entire army just to guard her lines. We could cut them easily, any number of places.”
Gunthar pulled on his mustaches again. “Tanis, if there was one Highlord in that army I came to respect, it was Kitiara. She is ruthless and ambitious, but she is also intelligent, and she is certainly not given to taking unnecessary risks. She has waited two years, building up her armies, fortifying herself in a place she knows we dare not attack. She has gained too much to throw it away on a wild scheme like this.”
“Suppose this isn’t her plan,” Tanis muttered.
“What other plan could she possibly have?” Gunthar asked patiently.
“I don’t know,” Tanis snapped. “You say you respect her, but do you respect her enough? Do you fear her enough? I know her, and I have a feeling that she has something in mind...” His voice trailed off, he scowled down at the map.
Gunthar kept quiet. He’d heard strange rumors about Tanis Half-Elven and this Kitiara. He didn’t believe them, of course, but felt it better not to pursue the subject of the depth of the half-elf’s knowledge of this woman further.
“You don’t believe this, do you?” Tanis asked abruptly. “Any of it?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Gunthar smoothed both his long, gray mustaches and, bending down, began to roll up the map, using extreme care. “Tanis, my son, you know I respect you—
“We’ve been through that.”
Gunthar ignored the interruption. “And you know that there is no one in this world I hold in deeper reverence than Elistan. But when you two bring me a tale told to you by one of the Black Robes—and a dark elf at that—a tale about this wizard, Raistlin, entering the Abyss and challenging the Queen of Darkness! Well, I’m sorry, Tanis. I am not a young man anymore by any means. I’ve seen many strange things in my life. But this sounds like a child’s bedtime story!”
“So they said of dragons,” Tanis murmured, his face flushing beneath his beard. He stood, head bowed, for a moment, then, scratching his beard, he looked at Gunthar intently. “My lord, I watched Raistlin grow up. I have traveled with him, seen him, fought both with him and against him. I know what this man is capable of!” Tanis grasped Gunthar’s arm with his hand. “If you will not accept my counsel, then accept Elistan’s! We need you, Lord Gunthar! We need you, we need the Knights. You must reinforce the High Clerist’s Tower. We have little time. Dalamar tells us that time has no meaning on the planes of the Dark Queen’s existence. Raistlin might fight her for months or even years there, but that would seem only days to us. Dalamar believes his master’s return is imminent. I believe him, and so does Elistan. Why do we believe him, Lord Gunthar? Because Dalamar is frightened. He is afraid—and so are we.
“Your spies say there is unusual activity in Sanction. Surely, that is evidence enough! Believe me, Lord Gunthar, Kitiara will come to her brother’s aid. She knows he will set her up as ruler of the world if he succeeds. And she is gambler enough to risk everything for that chance! Please, Lord Gunthar, if you won’t listen to me, at least come to Palanthas! Talk to Elistan!”
Lord Gunthar studied the man before him carefully. The leader of the Knights had risen to his position because he was, basically, a just and honest man. He was also a keen judge of character. He had liked and admired the half-elf since meeting him after the end of the war. But he had never been able to get close to him. There was something about Tanis, a reserved, withdrawn air that permitted few to cross the invisible barriers he set up.
Looking at him now, Gunthar felt suddenly closer than he had ever come before. He saw wisdom in the slightly slanted eyes, wisdom that had not come easily, wisdom that came through inner pain and suffering. He saw fear, the fear of one whose courage is so much a part of him that he readily admits he is afraid. He saw in him a leader of men. Not one who merely waves a sword and leads a charge in battle, but a leader who leads quietly, by drawing the best out of people, by helping them achieve things they never knew were in them.
And, at last, Gunthar understood something he had never been able to fathom. He knew now why Sturm Brightblade, whose lineage went back unsullied through generations, had chosen to follow this bastard half-elf, who—if rumors were true—was the product of a brutal rape. He knew now why Laurana, an elven princess and one of the strongest, most beautiful women he had ever known, had risked everything—even her life—for love of this man.
“Very well, Tanis.” Lord Gunthar’s stern face relaxed, the cool, polite tones of his voice grew warmer. “I will return to Palanthas with you. I will mobilize the Knights and set up our defenses at the High Clerist’s Tower. As I said, our spies did inform us that there is unusual activity going on in Sanction. It wont hurt the Knights to turn out. Been a long time since we’ve had field drill.”
Decision made, Lord Gunthar immediately proceeded to turn the household upside down, shouting for Wills, his retainer, shouting for his armor to be brought, his sword sharpened, his griffon readied. Soon servants were flying here and there, his lady-wife came in, looking resigned, and insisted that he pack his heavy, fur-lined cloak even though it was near Spring Dawning celebration.
Forgotten in the confusion, Tanis walked back to the fireplace, picked up his mug of ale, and sat down to enjoy it. But, after all, he did not taste it. Staring into the flames, he saw, once again, a charming, crooked smile, dark curly hair... .
6
How long she and Raistlin journeyed through the red-tinged, distorted land of the Abyss, Crysania had no idea. Time ceased to have any meaning or relevance. Sometimes it seemed they had been here only a few seconds, sometimes she knew she had been walking the strange, shifting terrain for weary years. She had healed herself of the poison, but she felt weak, drained. The scratches on her arms would not close. She wrapped fresh bandages about them each day. By night, they were soaked through with blood.
She was hungry, but it was not a hunger that required food to sustain life so much as a hunger to taste a strawberry, or a mouthful of warm, fresh-baked bread, or a sprig of mint. She did not feel thirst either, and yet she dreamed of clear running water and bubbling wine and the sharp, pungent aroma of tarbean tea. In this land, all the water was tinged reddish brown and smelled of blood.
Yet, they made progress. At least so Raistlin said. He seemed to gain in strength as Crysania grew weaker. Now it was he who helped her walk sometimes. It was he who pushed them onward without rest, passing through town after town, always nearing, he said, Godshome. The mirror image villages of this land below blurred together in Crysania’s mind—Que-shu, Xak Tsaroth. They crossed the Abyss’s New Sea—a dreadful journey. Looking into the water, Crysania saw the horror-filled faces of all who had died in the Cataclysm staring up at her.
They landed at a place Raistlin said was Sanction. Crysania felt her weakest here, for Raistlin told her it was the center of worship for the Dark Queen’s followers. Her Temples were built far below the mountains known as the Lords of Doom. Here, Raistlin said, during the War, they had performed the evil rites that turned the unhatched children of the good dragons into the foul and twisted draconians.