Caramon, looking embarrassed, shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve got three boys of my own, that's all.”
Tanis heard words unspoken.
“Let's go,” he said abruptly. He looked back at Sara.
“I’ll wait for you here,” she said, standing in front of the cave. “Flare’s upset. It would never do to leave her alone. She might follow Steel.”
Tanis nodded and started down the mountainside again, this time moving more slowly, taking more care.
“The gods bless you for this,” Sara called fervently.
“Yes, well, one of the gods is likely going to bless us,” Tanis muttered.
He didn’t care to think which one.
Chapter Nine
Black Lily, White Rose
“The fortress, known as the High Clerist’s Tower, was built by Vinas Solamnus, founder of the Knights of Solamnia, during the Age of Might. The fortress guards the West-gate Pass, leading into and out of one of the major cities of Ansalon, the city of Palanthas.
“After the Cataclysm, which many people mistakenly blamed on the Knights of Solamnia, the High Clerist’s Tower was practically deserted, abandoned by the knights, who were in hiding for their lives. During the War of the Lance, the tower was reoccupied and was crucial to the defense of Palanthas and the surrounding countryside. Astinus has recorded the heroic deeds of those who fought and held the tower. You can find the record in the great Library of Palanthas, under the title Dragons of Winter Night.
“In that book, you will read of Sturm Brightblade, who died, facing alone the terror of the dragons. Thus it runs:
“ 'Sturm faced east. Half-blinded by the sun’s brilliance, Sturm saw the dragon as a thing of blackness. He saw the creature dip in its flight, diving below the level of the wall, and he realized the blue was going to come up from beneath, giving its rider the room needed to attack. The other two dragon riders held back, watching, waiting to see if their lord required help finishing this insolent knight.
“ 'For a moment the sun-drenched sky was empty, then the dragon burst up over the edge of the wall, its horrifying scream splitting Sturm’s eardrums, filling his head with pain. The breath from its gaping mouth gagged him. He staggered dizzily, but managed to keep his feet as he slashed out with his sword. The ancient blade struck the dragon’s left nostril. Black blood spurted into the air. The dragon roared in fury.
“ 'But the blow was costly. Sturm had no time to recover. ” 'The Dragon Highlord raised her spear, its tip flaming in the sun. Leaning down, she thrust it deep, piercing through armor, flesh, and bone.' ”
Steel cast a smug glance at the two men accompanying him. He observed the effect of his recitation on each of them. “Good god.” His uncle’s jaw sagged, the big man’s round and somewhat stupid (so Steel thought scornfully) face was dumbstruck. The half-elf was eyeing the dark paladin grimly.
“You have a good memory,” Tanis remarked. “It is requisite, so my lord Ariakan teaches, for a warrior to know his enemy,” Steel returned. He did not mention that it was his mother, Sara, who had first told him the tale, long ago, when he was a child.
Tanis’s eyes shifted their gaze to one of the high walls near the central tower. “On that battlement, your father died. If you go up there, you can still see his blood on the stones.”
Steel glanced up, out of curiosity, if nothing more. The wall was not empty these days. Knights walked it, keeping ceaseless vigilance, for, though the War of the Lance was over, Solamnia was not at peace. Yet, as Steel looked, the knights suddenly vanished, left only one, standing alone, knowing he was doomed to die, accepting his death with resignation, believing it was necessary, hoping it would serve to rally the disorganized and demoralized knights to fight on.
Steel saw flame and the bright sun, saw black blood and the red flowing over silver armor. His heart beat * faster, with a secret pride. He had always loved this story, one reason he could recite it with such accuracy. Was that because it held some deeper meaning, some meaning only his soul recognized? ...
Steel was suddenly conscious of the two men, standing quietly at his side.
Of course not. Don’t be a fool, Steel berated himself. You’re playing into their hands. If s just a story, nothing more. He shrugged. “I see a wall. Let’s get on with this.” They had come down out of the hills on the west side of the High Clerist’s Tower. A short distance away from where they crouched, hiding in the brush, a wide causeway led to the main tower entrance. Below that entrance was the Chamber of Paladine, where Sturm Brightblade and the other knights who had fallen during the tower’s defense lay buried.
All the Knights and would-be Knights of Takhisis had spent many hours studying the layout of the High Clerist"s Tower, a layout provided them by Ariakan, who had been imprisoned here.
But it is one thing to look at a drawing, and quite another to look at the structure itself. Steel was impressed. He hadn’t pictured the fortress quite this big, quite this imposing. He made haste to banish the feeling of awe, however, and began to count the number of men walking the battlements, the number standing guard at the main gate. Such information would be useful to his lord.
The causeway was always heavily traveled, and this morning was no different from any other. A knight, his lady wife, and several pretty daughters, rode slowly past them. Various tradesmen were bringing in wagon loads of food and casks of ale and wine. A regiment of knights on horseback, accompanied by their squires and pages, cantered out of the gate, on their way to fight bands of marauding hobgoblins or draconians, or maybe just to parade the streets of Palanthas in an impressive show of force. Steel noted what weapons they carried and the size of their baggage train. Ordinary citizens were leaving and arriving, some with business dealings, some coming to seek charity, others coming to complain of dragons raiding their villages. A group of grinning kender—chained together, hand and foot—were being marched out of the tower by grim-faced knights, who relieved the indignant “borrowers” of all their possessions before turning them loose outside the fortress walls.
“You don’t see Tas, do you?” Caramon was peering intently at the kender, as they ran, giggling, past him.
“Paladine forbid!” said Tanis fervently. “We’ve got enough trouble.”
“Just how do you propose we get inside?” Steel asked coolly. He’d seen—as had both the men—the knights guarding the main entrance stop and question every person who sought admittance.
“They let the kender in,” Caramon pointed out.
“No, they didn’t,” Tanis returned. “You know the old saying, 'If a rat can get in, so can a kender.' You wouldn’t fit in through a kender hole anyway, Caramon.”
“That’s true,” said the big man, unperturbed.
“I’ve got an idea,” Tanis said. He held out the blue cloak to Steel. “Put this on over your armor. Keep behind Caramon. I’ll engage the knights at the gate in conversation and you two slip in past me ...”
“No,” said Steel.
“What do you mean, 'No'?” Tanis was exasperated.
“I won’t hide myself or my allegiance. I won’t creep in like ... like a kender.” Steel’s voice was filled with scorn. “The knights will admit me as I am, knowing who and what I am, or not at all.”
Tanis’s expression hardened. He was about to argue, when Caramon interrupted him by an outburst of laughter.
“I don’t find this particularly amusing,” Tanis snapped.