“You talk of peace. What peace?” he asked. “We’ve been behaving like children in a house where mother and father have fought constantly for days and now, at last, they’re quiet and civil. We smile a lot and try to be merry and eat all our vegetables and tiptoe around, scared of making a sound. Because we know, if we do, the fighting will start all over again. And we call this peace!” Tanis laughed bitterly. “Speak one false word, my lord, and Porthios will have the elves on your neck. Stroke your beard the wrong way, and the dwarves will bar the gates to the mountain once again.”
Glancing over at Lord Amothus, Tanis saw the man’s head bow, he saw the delicate hand brush his eyes, his shoulders slump. Tanis’s anger dwindled. Who was he angry at anyway? Fate? The gods?
Rising tiredly to his feet, Tanis walked over to stand at the, window, looking out over the peaceful, beautiful, doomed city.
“I don’t have the answer, my lord,” he said quietly. “If I did, I’d have a Temple built to me and a whole string of clerics following me about, I suppose. All I know is that we can’t give up. We’ve got to keep trying.”
“Another brandy, Charles,” said Sir Markham, holding out his glass once again. “A pledge, gentlemen.” He raised his glass.
“Here’s to trying... Rhymes with dying.”
13
There came a soft knock at the door. Absorbed in his work, Tanis started. “Yes, what is it?” he called.
The door opened. “It is Charles, my lord. You asked that I call you during the changing of the watch.”
Turning his head, Tanis glanced out the window. He had opened it to let in some air. But the spring night was warm and sultry and no breeze stirred. The sky was dark except for the occasional streaks of the eerie pink-tinged lightning that flashed from cloud to cloud. Now that his attention was drawn to it, he could hear the chimes striking Deepwatch, he could hear the voices of the guards newly arrived on duty, he could hear the measured tread of those departing for their rest.
Their rest would be short-lived.
“Thank you, Charles,” Tanis said. “Step in for a moment, will you?”
“Certainly, my lord.”
The servant entered, gently closing the door behind him. Tanis stared for a moment longer at the paper on the desk.
Then, his lips tightening in resolve, he wrote two more lines in a firm, elven hand. Sprinkling sand upon the ink to dry it, he began to reread the letter carefully. But his eyes misted over and the handwriting blurred in his vision. Finally, giving up, he signed his name, rolled up the parchment, and sat holding it in his hand.
“Sir,” said Charles, “are you quite well?”
“Charles...” began Tanis, twisting a ring of steel and gold that he wore upon his finger. His voice died.
“My lord?” Charles prompted.
“This is a letter to my wife, Charles,” Tanis continued in a low voice, not looking at the servant.
“She is in Silvanesti. This needs to get out tonight, before—”
“I quite understand, sir,” Charles said, stepping forward and taking charge of the letter. Tanis flushed guiltily. “I know there are much more important documents than this that need to be going out—dispatches to the knights, and such—but—”
“I have just the messenger, my lord. He is elven, from Silvanesti, in fact. He is loyal and, to be quite honest, sir, will be more than pleased to leave the city on some honorable assignment.”
“Thank you, Charles.” Tanis sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “If something were to happen, I want her to know—”
“Of course you do, my lord. Perfectly understandable. Do not give it another thought. Your seal, perhaps, however?”
“Oh, yes, certainly.” Removing the ring, Tanis pressed it into the hot wax that Charles dripped onto the parchment, imprinting in the sealing wax the image of an aspen leaf.
“Lord Gunthar has arrived, my lord. He is meeting with Lord Markham right now.”
“Lord Gunthar!” Tanis’s brow cleared. “Excellent. Am I—”
“They asked to meet with you, if it is convenient, my lord,” Charles said imperturbably.
“Oh, it’s quite convenient,” Tanis said, rising to his feet. “I don’t suppose there’s been any sign of the cita—”
“Not yet, my lord. You will find the lords in the summer breakfast parlor—now, officially, the war room.”
“Thank you, Charles,” Tanis said, amazed that he had, at last, managed to complete a sentence.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“No, thank you. I know the—”
“Very good, my lord.” Bowing, letter in hand, Charles held the door for Tanis, then locked it behind him. After waiting a moment to see if Tanis might have any last minute desires, he bowed again and departed.
His mind still on his letter, Tanis stood alone, thankful for the shadowy stillness of the dimly lit corridor. Then, drawing a shaking breath, he walked firmly off in search of the morning breakfast parlor—now the war room.
Tanis had his hand on the doorknob and was just about to enter the room when he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw a figure of darkness materialize out of the air.
“Dalamar?” Tanis said in astonishment, leaving the unopened door to the war room and walking down the hallway toward the dark elf. “I thought—”
“Tanis. You are the one I seek.”
“Do you have news?”
“None that you will like to hear,” Dalamar said, shrugging. “I cannot stay long, our fate teeters on the edge of a knife’s blade. But I brought you this.” Reaching into a black velvet pouch hanging at his side, he took out a silver bracelet and held it out to Tanis.
Taking hold of the bracelet in his hand, Tanis examined it curiously. The bracelet was about four inches in width, made of solid silver. From its width and weight, Tanis guessed, it had been designed to fit on a man’s wrist. Slightly tarnished, it was set with black stones whose polished surfaces gleamed in the flickering torchlight of the corridor. And it came from the Tower of High Sorcery.
Tanis held it gingerly. “Is it—” he hesitated, not sure he wanted to know.
“Magical? Yes,” Dalamar replied.
“Raistlin’s?” Tanis frowned.
“No.” Dalamar smiled sardonically. “The Shalafi needs no such magical defenses as these. It is part of the collection of such objects in the Tower. This is very old, undoubtedly dating back to the time of Huma.”
“What will it do?” Tanis studied the bracelet dubiously, still frowning.
“It makes the one wearing it resistant to magic.”
Tanis raised his head. “Lord Soth’s magic?”
“Any magic. But, yes, it will protect the wearer from the death knight’s power words—‘kill,’ ‘stun,’ ‘blind.’ It will keep the wearer from feeling the effects of the fear he generates. And it will protect the wearer from both his spells of fire and of ice.”
Tanis stared at Dalamar intently. “This is truly a valuable gift! It gives us a chance.”
“The wearer may thank me when and if he returns alive!” Dalamar folded his hands within his sleeves. “Even without his magic, Lord Soth is a formidable opponent, not to mention those who follow him, who are sworn to his service with oaths death itself could not erase. Yes, Half-Elven, thank me when you return.”
“Me?” Tanis said in astonishment. “But—I haven’t wielded a sword in over two years!” He stared at Dalamar intently, suddenly suspicious. “Why me?”
Dalamar’s smile widened. The slanted eyes glinted in amusement. “Give it to one of the knights, half-elf. Let one of them hold it. You will understand. Remember—it came from a place of darkness. It knows one of its own.”
“Wait!” Seeing the dark elf prepared to leave, Tanis caught hold of Dalamar’s black-robed arm.
“Just one more second. You said there was news—”
“It is not your concern.”
“Tell me.”
Dalamar paused, his brows came together in irritation at this delay. Tanis felt the young elf’s arm tense. He’s frightened, Tanis realized suddenly. But even as this thought crossed his mind, he saw Dalamar regain control of himself. The handsome features grew calm, expressionless.