“By the time the druidess came back, the woman—Kitiara, she said her name was—had recovered consciousness. She was trying to get out of bed, but was too weak. The old woman examined her, told her to lie back down and stay down.
“Kitiara refused. ‘It’s only a fever,’ she said. ‘Give me something for it, and I’ll be on my way.’
“ ‘It’s not a fever, as you well know,’ the druidess told her. ‘You’re with child, and if you don’t lie down and rest, you’re going to lose the baby.’ ”
Caramon’s face went white, all the blood draining from it in a rush. Tika, pale herself, was forced to put down her mug of tea, for fear she might spill it. She reached out and took hold of Caramon’s hand. His grip on hers was thankful, crushing.
“ ‘I want to lose the brat!’ Kitiara began to curse, savagely. I’d never heard a woman talk like that, say such foul things.” Sara shuddered. “It was dreadful to listen to, but it didn’t bother the old druidess.
“ ‘Aye, you’ll lose the baby, but you’ll lose yourself at the same time. You’ll die if you don’t take care.’
“Kitiara muttered something about not believing a toothless old fool, but I could tell that she was scared—perhaps because she was so weak and sick. The druidess wanted to have Kitiara carried to her house, but I said no, I would take care of her. Perhaps you think this was strange, but I was lonely and … there was something I admired about your sister.”
Caramon shook his head, his face dark.
Sara smiled, shrugged. “She was strong and independent. She was what I would have been if I’d had courage enough. And so she stayed with me. She was very ill. She did have the fever; the kind you get from swamps. And fretting about the baby. She obviously didn’t want it, and her anger over being with child didn’t help her any.
“I nursed her through the fever. She was sick for almost a month or more. At last she grew better, and she didn’t lose the baby. But the fever left her very weak—you know how it is. She could barely lift her head from the pillow.” Sara sighed. “The first thing she asked, when she was well, was for the druidess to give her something to end her pregnancy.
The old woman told Kitiara that, by then, it was too late. She would kill herself. Kitiara didn’t like that, but she was too weak to argue, too weak to do much of anything. But from that day, she began to count the days until the baby’s birth. That day ‘I’ll be rid of the little bastard,’ she’d say, ‘and I can move on.’ ”
Caramon made a gulping noise, coughed, and looked stern. Tika squeezed his hand.
“The time of the birthing came,” Sara continued. “Kitiara had recovered her strength by then, and it was well she did, for the birth was a long and difficult one. After two days of hard labor, the baby was finally born—a boy. He was strong and healthy. Unfortunately, Kitiara wasn’t. The druidess (who didn’t like her) told Kitiara bluntly that she was probably going to die and that she should tell someone who the baby’s father was, so that he could come and claim his offspring.
“That night, when she was near death, Kitiara told me the name of the baby’s father and all the circumstances surrounding the child’s conception. But, because of those circumstances, and who the father was, she forced me to vow not to tell him.
“She was vehement about that. She made me swear an oath—a terrible oath—on the memory of my own mother. Take the boy to my brothers. Their names are Caramon and Raistlin Majere. They will bring my son up to be a great warrior. Caramon, especially. He’s a good fighter. I know, I taught him.’
“I promised her. I would have promised her anything. I felt so sorry for her. She was so low-spirited and feeble, I was certain she was going to die. ‘Is there something I can take to your brothers that will convince them the child is yours? Otherwise, why would they believe me?’ I asked her. ‘Some piece of jewelry they would recognize?’ ”
“ ‘I have no jewelry. All I have is my sword. Take my sword to Caramon. He will know it. And tell him … tell him …’ Kitiara glanced weakly around the room. Her gaze went to the baby, who was screaming lustily in a cradle by the fire.
“ ‘My little brother used to cry like that,’ she whispered. ‘He was always sickly, Raistlin was. And when he’d cry, Caramon would try to tease him out of it. He’d make shadow figures, like this.’ She held up her hand—poor thing, it was all she could do to lift it—and she formed her fingers into the shape of a rabbit’s head. Like this.
“ ‘And Caramon would say, ‘Look, Raist. Bunnies.’ ”
Caramon gave a great groan and lowered his face into his hands. Tika put her arm around him and said something to him softly.
“I’m sorry,” Sara said, concerned. “I forgot how terrible this must be for you. I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant to prove—”
“It’s all right, my lady.” Caramon lifted his head. His face was haggard and drawn, but he was composed. “The memories are hard sometimes, especially coming … like this. But I believe you now, Sara Dunstan. I’m sorry I didn’t before. Only Kit or … or Raist … would have known that story.”
“There is no need to apologize.” Sara took a swallow of the tea and wrapped her chill hands around the mug to warm than. “Of course, Kitiara did not die. The old druidess couldn’t believe it. She said Kitiara must have made a pact with Takhisis. I often thought about that, later on, when I heard Kitiara was responsible for the deaths of so many. Did she promise the Dark Queen souls in exchange for her own? Was that why Takhisis let her go?”
“What a dreadful fancy!” Tika shivered.
“Not a fancy,” said Sara, subdued. “I’ve seen it done.”
She was silent for long moments. Caramon and Tika stared at her in horror. They saw her now as they had seen her when she first entered—wearing the helm of evil, wearing the death lily as an ornament.
“The baby lived, you said,” Caramon stated abruptly, frowning. “I presume Kit left him behind.”
“Yes.” Sara resumed her tale. “Kitiara was soon strong enough to travel. But while she was recovering, she had taken a liking to the baby. He was a fine boy, alert and well formed. ‘I can’t keep him,’ she said to me. ‘Momentous things are about to happen. Armies are forming in the north. I mean to earn my fortune with my sword. Find him a good home. I’ll send money for his upbringing and, when he is old enough to go to war with me, I’ll come back for him.’ ”
“ ‘What about your brothers?’ I ventured to suggest
“She turned on me in a rage. ‘Forget I ever said I had kin! Forget all I told you. Especially forget what I said about the father!’
“I agreed. And then I asked her if I could keep the child.” Sara stared at the fire, her face flushed. “I was so lonely, you see. And I’d always wanted a baby of my own. It seemed to me that the gods—if there were gods—had answered my prayers.
“Kitiara was pleased with the idea. She had come to trust me, and I think she even liked me a little—as much as she could ever like any other woman. She promised to send me money, whenever she had any. I said I didn’t care about that I could support myself and a child. And I promised her I would write her letters, telling her about the boy. She kissed the child, when she left, and then put him into my arms.
“What will you name him?” I asked.
“ ‘Call him Steel,’ ” she said. And she laughed when she said it—a kind of joke, considering the baby’s surname.”
“That would be ‘Half-Elven,’ ” Caramon muttered aside to Tika. “I don’t see much joke in that, except on poor Tanis. All these years.” He gave a gloomy shake of his head. “Never knowing.”
“Hush!” Tika whispered. “You can’t say that for sure.”
“What?” Sara overheard. “What are you saying?”
“Sorry, but I don’t get the joke,” said Caramon. “About the baby’s name. ‘Half-Elven,’ you see.”
“Half-Elven?” Sara was perplexed.
Blushing, extremely embarrassed, Caramon coughed and said, “Look, we
all knew about Tanis and Kit, so you don’t have to hide it anymore—”
“Ah, you think the baby’s father was Tanis Half-Elven,” said Sara, suddenly understanding. “No, you’re wrong.”
“Are you sure?” Caramon was puzzled. “Of course, there could have been someone else—”
“Any man in trousers,” Tika muttered beneath her breath.
“But you said this baby was born four years before the war. Kit and Tanis were lovers. And that must have been just after she left Solace with—” Caramon’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at Sara. “That’s not possible!” he growled. “Kit was lying. I don’t believe it.”
“What do you mean?” Tika demanded. “I don’t understand! Who are you talking about?”
“Don’t you remember back then—”
“Caramon, I was a little girl when you and Raistlin and the others left Solace. And no one of you ever talked about what happened during those five years.”
“It’s true we never spoke of those journeys,” said Caramon slowly, formulating his thoughts. “We went in search of the true gods, that was our goal. But, looking back on it, I realize now that we really went in search of ourselves. How can a man or woman describe that journey? And so, we’ve kept silent, kept the stories in our hearts, and let the legend-spinners, who are only after a steel piece, make up whatever fool tales they choose.”
He gazed long and sternly at Sara, who stared down at the mug of tea, grown cold in her hands.
“I admit I have no proof. That is,” she amended, “I have proof, but nothing I can produce at this moment.”
She raised her head defiantly. “You believed me up until now.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Caramon said heavily. He rose to his feet and walked over to stand by the fire.
“Would somebody tell me what’s going on? What’s the baby’s name?” Tika demanded, exasperated.
“Steel,” Sara answered. “Steel Brightblade.”
Chapter Three
White Rose, Black Lily
“May all the gods preserve us!” Tika gasped. “But that would mean … What a strange lineage! Blessed Paladine!” She stood up, staring, horrified, at Caramon. “She killed him! Kitiara killed the father of her own child!”
“I don’t believe it,” Caramon said thickly. Hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers, he kicked moodily at a log that threatened to roll out of the grate, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. “Sturm Brightblade was a knight—in his soul, if not by the rules of the order. He would never—” Caramon paused, his face flushed. “Well, he wouldn’t.”
“He was also a man. A young man,” Sara said gently.
“You didn’t know him!” Caramon rounded on her angrily.
“But I came to, later. Will you hear the rest of my story?”
Tika laid her hand on her husband’s broad shoulder. “ ‘Closing your ears won’t shut truth’s mouth,’ ” she said, repeating an elven proverb.
“No, but it silences gossip’s wagging tongue,” Caramon muttered. “Tell me this: Is that baby still alive?”
“Yes, your nephew lives,” Sara answered steadily, her expression sad and troubled. “He is twenty-four years old. It is on his behalf that I’ve come.”
Caramon heaved a great sigh that came from the ache in his heart “Go on, then.”
“As you said, Kitiara and the young knight left Solace, headed northward. They sought news of their fathers, who had both been Knights of Solamnia, and so it seemed logical that they should journey together. Although, from what I gather, they were an ill-matched pair.
“Things went wrong between them, right from the beginning. The very nature of their searches was different. Sturm’s quest was a holy one. He went looking for a father who had been a paragon of knighthood. Kit’s quest wasn’t. She knew, or at least suspected, that her father had been cast out of the knighthood in disgrace. She may have even been in contact with him. Certainly something was drawing her to the Dark Queen’s armies, forming in secret in the north.
“Kit thought that young Brightblade, with his serious-minded dedication and religious fervor, was amusing at first. But that didn’t last long. She was soon bored by him. And then, he began to seriously annoy her. He refused to stay in taverns, claiming they were places of wickedness. He spent every night saying his ritual prayers. By day, he lectured her sternly on her sins. She might have tolerated this, but then the young knight made a terrible mistake. He sought to take charge, to take command.
“Kitiara could not permit this. You knew her. She had to be in control of any situation.” Sara smiled sadly. “Those few months she spent in my house, we did things her way. We ate what she wanted to eat. We talked when she wanted to talk.
“ ‘Sturm was infuriating,’ Kit told me, and her dark eyes flashed when she spoke of him, months later. ‘I was the elder, the more experienced warrior. I helped train him! And he had the nerve to begin to order me around!’
“Another person would have simply said, ‘Look, my friend, we’re not getting along. This isn’t working out. Let us each go our own separate ways.’ But not Kitiara. She wanted to break Sturm, teach him a lesson, teach him who was stronger. At first, she said, she considered goading him into a duel, beating him in a contest at arms. But then she decided that wasn’t humiliating enough. She devised a suitable vengeance. She would prove to the young knight that his armor of self-righteousness would buckle at the first blow. She would seduce him.”
Caramon’s jaw was set, his face rigid. He shifted his great bulk uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Much as he wanted to doubt, it was obvious—knowing the two as he did—that he could see the truth of what had happened much too clearly.
“Brightblade’s seduction became a game for Kit, added spice to what had become a dull, uneventful trip. You know how charming your sister could be when she wanted. She stopped quarreling with Sturm. She pretended to take seriously all he said and did. She admired him, praised him. Sturm was honorable, idealistic, perhaps a little pompous—he was young, after all—and he began to think he had tamed mis wild woman, led her to the paths of goodness. And, I’ve no doubt, he was falling a little bit in love with her. It was then she began to tempt him.
The poor young knight must have struggled long with his passions. He had taken vows of chastity until marriage, but he was human, with a young man’s hot blood. At that age, the body sometimes seems to act with a will of its own, drags the reluctant spirit along with it. Kitiara was experienced in such matters. The unworldly young knight was not I doubt if he knew what was happening to him until it was too late, his desire more than he could bear.”
Sara lowered her voice. “One evening, he was chanting his prayers. This was the moment Kitiara had chosen. Her vengeance would be complete, if she could seduce him from his god.
“She did so.”
Sara fell silent. All three were silent. Caramon stared bleakly into the dying fire. Tika twisted her apron in her hands.
“The next morning,” Sara continued, “realization came to the young knight. To him, what they’d done had been sinful. He intended to do what he could to make reparation. He asked her to marry him. Kitiara laughed. She ridiculed him, his vows, his faith. She told him it had all been a game. She didn’t love him. In fact, she despised him.
“She achieved her goal. She saw him crushed, shamed, as she had hoped. She taunted him, tormented him. And then she left him.
“She told me how he looked,” Sara said. “ ‘Like I’d driven a spear through his heart. The next time he’s as white as that they’ll bury him!’ ”
“Damn Kit,” Caramon swore softly. He beat his fist into the brick fireplace wall. “Damn her.”
“Hush, Caramon!” Tika said swiftly. “She is dead. Who knows what dread retribution she now faces?”
“I wonder if her suffering is enough,” Sara said quietly. “I was young and idealistic myself. I could only imagine how the poor man must have felt. I tried to s
ay as much to Kitiara, but she grew angry. ‘He deserved it,’ she claimed. And, after all, he’d had his revenge on her. That was how she viewed her pregnancy—his revenge. And that was why she made me promise not to tell anyone that he was the father.”
Caramon stirred. “Then why are you telling me? What does it matter now? If it’s true, it’s best forgotten. Sturm Brightblade was a good man. He lived and died for his ideals and those of the knighthood. My own son’s named after him. I won’t have that name dishonored.” His face darkened. “What is it you’re after? Money? We don’t have much, but—”
Sara rose to her feet. Her face was livid; she looked as if he’d struck her. “I don’t want your money! If that was what I was after, I could have come to you years ago! I came to seek your help, because I heard you were a good man. I obviously heard wrong.”
She started toward the door.
“Caramon, you lummox!” Tika ran after Sara and caught hold of her, just as she was putting on her cloak. “Please, forgive him, my lady. He didn’t mean it. He’s hurt and upset, that’s all. This is a shock to both of us. You … you’ve lived with this knowledge for years, but this has hit us right between the eyes. Come back, sit down.”
Tika drew Sara back to the bench.
Caramon’s face was red and hot as the embers. “I’m sorry, Sara Dunstan. Tika’s right. I feel like an ox that’s been felled by an axe. I don’t know what I’m saying. How can we help you?”
“You must hear the rest of my story,” said Sara. But she staggered as she tried to sit down and would have fallen but for Tika’s hold on her. “Forgive me. I’m so tired.”
“Shouldn’t you rest first?” Tika suggested. “Surely there would be time in the morning …”
“No!” Sara sat up straight. “Time is what we lack. And this weariness is not of the body, but of the spirit.
“Kitiara’s son was six weeks old when she left him. Neither he nor I ever saw her again. I can’t say I was sorry. I loved the baby as much as if he were my own. Maybe more, for, as I said, he seemed to have been given to me as a gift from the gods to heal my loneliness. Kitiara kept her promise. She sent money to me and gifts to Steel. I could keep track of Kitiara’s rise in fortune over the years, because the sums of money increased and the gifts were more costly. The presents were all warlike in nature: small swords and shields, a small knife with a silver hilt carved with a dragon for his birthday. Steel adored them. As she had foreseen, he was a born warrior.
The Second Generation Page 3