The Knights of the Thorn were a dying breed. Once a mighty wing of the Knights of Takhisis's attack, they wielded powerful magic, taking their honored place among the Knights of the Lily and the Skull. They wore robes of gray, breaking with the long tradition of magic upon Krynn, declaring themselves a separate order from the Black, Red, and White-robed mages. The battle to establish their independence was hard-fought, but won.
Now, however, the Thorn Knights were little more than functionaries, relics of a passed age. Not even their fellow Knights respected them. Even though Takhisis had fled Krynn along with all the other gods during the Chaos War, her paladins and clerics still commanded a measure of respect even among dragonkind. The Knights of the Skull, as they were known, were a fearful lot; absolutely fanatical and absolutely confident in their ultimate place at the side of their Dark Queen, they were virtually fearless in battle and ruthless in all their affairs. The Knights of the Lily were the consummate warriors, as pure as the fire from the world forge, and just as unforgiving. The Knights of the Thorn… well, their glory had passed, it seemed. Those who remained were generally venomous old men and women, hating themselves and what they had become but unable to let it all go and seek a new life.
For now, Trevalyn's main concern was for the mission to Castle uth Wistan, somewhere near the center of the southern forest of the Isle of Sancrist. He'd never been here, nor had any evil creature, not at any time within living memory, for this was the land of the Whitestone Glade, the heart and soul of Solamnic Knights, where Vinus Solamnus received the vision that led to the founding of the Knights, many centuries ago. The very thought of such a good and holy place filled Trevalyn with loathing. Everything about this mission bothered him. He and the Knights of his talon were coming not to make war, but peace. They were forbidden to attack anyone, even if provoked. Nothing about this seemed right. He was filled with foreboding and unease. To make matters worse, the crisp autumn air made his joints ache. Not for the first time since they began this journey across the chill Sirrion Sea, the Knight of the Thorn longed for his warmer northern home.
Trevalyn's musings were interrupted by a movement from Lord Tohr, the leader of their little expedition. He saw Lord Tohr pointing to the left. There, still some distance ahead, the white-stone battlements of a large and ancient castle rose above the treetops, sharply illuminated by the pale moon overhead. All its windows and casings glowed with yellow light, while the trees surrounding it were starkly silhouetted by several large bonfires burning in the castle's courtyard.
"Castle uth Wistan," Lord Tohr shouted into the wind. The dragon nodded his great head and began to descend.
As they dropped to treetop level, their passing stirred the leaves of the tallest trees. At this height, they were able to hear the woods ringing with horns and saw lines of torches winding along the trails towards the castle. Looking down, Trevalyn and Alya were amazed at the speed with which the citizens of this land answered the call to arms. It seemed little less than half an hour had passed since the first signal fire was lit, announcing their approach, and already the people were rushing to take up positions of defense. Torchlight glinted from polished helms and gleaming spears, sparkling below them like stars in the surface of a vast lake.
Suddenly, a clearing opened before them, and Castle uth Wistan loomed ahead, brightly lit by numerous bonfires both outside its walls and within the courtyard beyond. A great throng of armed warriors stood in ranks before the gate, with captains astride armored horses flanking their lines. Here and there, a long silver dragonlance protruded from their ranks, glinting dangerously in the firelight. The dragon growled and increased his speed.
Alya was pleased to see that as their dragon cleared the trees and burst into view in the sky above the castle, the ranks of the gate guards wavered, while their captains struggled to regain control of their frightened mounts. The dragon flew straight toward them, huge and menacing, his dragonfear surging before it like a tide, spreading panic among the guards. As he neared the castle walls, he banked and pulled up sharply, skimming the battlements with his long rudder-like tail as he shot high into the sky above the castle. Alya looked behind her as they rose almost vertically and saw the hated Knights of Solamnia pouring from the castle into the courtyard below. As the pressure of the steep climb pressed her back in the dragonsaddle, she thrilled in the dragon's fancy flying, but she knew Lord Tohr was probably furious, if not a little frightened. He hated flying and especially heights.
The dragon continued to rise showily into the night sky, slowing, until he finally stalled high above Castle uth Wistan. He seemed to hang there for a moment, and in the stillness Alya heard cries of fear as the other dragons glided over the castle below them. Then the dragon began to fall, performing a backwards pike like a diver, until his nose was pointed once more at the ground below. He fell like a spear, his wings tucked close to its body, the wind of his speed becoming a deafening roar. The ground rushed up toward them. Lord Tohr began to pound the dragon on the neck with his fist, and slowly the creature unfolded his wings and slowed their descent, his massive joints and wing tendons creaking.
As they dropped past the walls of the castle, the dragon's wings fanned the flames of the bonfires and sent swarms of sparks and clouds of hot ash billowing throughout the courtyard. At last, the dragon folded back his wings, dropping the last few feet to the ground. His claws scrabbled at the cobblestones paving the courtyard as he settled to earth.
Lord Tohr remained seated while the other dragons descended around them, one by one, the wind from their wings filling the air with smoke and ash from the bonfires. Slowly they filled all the courtyard with their massive blue-scaled bodies, standing shoulder to shoulder, wings brushing against one another as they shifted uncomfortably. The courtyard grew strangely quiet. No one dismounted as yet. The Knights of Takhisis waited for a signal from their leader, and meanwhile they silently studied their old enemies, the Knights of Solamnia.
Across from them, standing before the huge wooden doors that opened into the main part of the castle, several dozen Knights of Solamnia maintained their ranks despite their fear of the blue dragons. Outwardly they showed no emotion, but Alya was pleased to see many sweating nervously. Several seemed almost incapable of standing still, shifting constantly from foot to foot as though ready to flee at any moment. Alya laughed under her breath.
Still Lord Tohr did not move from his seat just behind the dragon's neck. Perhaps he was allowing the tension between the two groups of Knights to build, perhaps he was unwilling to make the first move, as it might show weakness on his part, or perhaps he was still recovering from their wild ride. In any case, the dragons plainly showed they were becoming uneasy. The great blue ridden by Tohr and Alya rumbled deep in his chest.