The Second Generation

by Margaret Weis

  “When he was four, the war broke out. The money and gifts stopped coming. Kitiara had more important matters on her mind. I heard stories of the Dark Lady. I heard how she had risen in favor with Highlord Ariakas, the general of the armies of evil. I remembered what she’d said to me—how, when the boy was old enough to ride to battle, she would return for him. I looked at Steel. He was only four, but he was stronger and taller, more intelligent, than most children his age.

  “If I ever missed him, I was sure to find him in the tavern, listening with open mouth and eager eyes to the stories of battle. The soldiers were mercenaries—a bad lot. They made fun of the Knights of Solamnia, called them weak men who hid inside their armor. I didn’t like what Steel was learning. Our town was small and unprotected except for this rabble, and I feared that they were in league with the Dark Queen’s forces. And so I left.

  “My son”—Sara cast Caramon a fierce look, daring him to defy her—“and I moved to Palanthas. I thought we would be safe there, and I wanted the boy to grow up among the Knights of Solamnia, to learn the truth about honor and the Oath and the Measure. I thought this might … might …”

  Sara paused and drew a shivering breath before she continued. “I hoped it might counteract the darkness I saw in him.”

  “In a child?” Tika was disbelieving.

  “Even as a child. Perhaps you think it’s because I knew the disparity of the two strains of blood that ran in him, but I swear to you, by the gods of good, whose names I can no longer say in innocence, that I could literally see the battle being fought for his soul. Every good quality in him was tainted with evil; every evil quality gilded with good. I saw this then! I see it more now.”

  She lowered her head. Two tears slid down her pale cheeks. Tika put an arm around her. Caramon left his place by the fire and stood protectively near her as she continued her tale.

  “It was in Palanthas that I first heard about Sturm Brightblade. I heard the other knights talk about him—not in particularly approving tones. He was said to associate with outlandish folk—an elf maid, a kender, and a dwarf. And he was defying authority. But the ordinary people of the city liked and trusted Sturm, when they didn’t like or trust many of the other knights. I talked about Sturm with Steel, took every opportunity to make Steel aware of his father’s nobility and honor …”

  “Did Steel know the truth?” Caramon interrupted.

  Sara shook her head. “How could I tell him? It would have confused him. It’s odd, but he never asked me who his parents were. I never made any secret of the fact that I wasn’t his real mother. Too many in my small town knew the truth. But I lived—I still live—in dread of the question: who are my real father and mother?”

  “You mean”—Caramon looked astonished—“he doesn’t know? To this day?”

  “He knows now who his mother is. They took care to tell him that much. But he has never once asked his father’s name. Perhaps he doesn’t think I know.”

  “Or perhaps he doesn’t want to find out,” Tika suggested.

  “I still think he should have known,” Caramon argued.

  “Do you?” Sara cast him a bitter glance. “Think of this. Remember the battle for the High Clerist’s Tower. As you know, the knights won. The Dragon Highlord, Kitiara, was defeated, but at what a terrible cost. As you said, she killed Sturm Brightblade, killed him as he stood alone on the battlements.

  “I was horrified when I heard this news. Can you imagine what I felt? To look at Steel and know that his mother had slain the man who was his father. How could I explain such things to a boy when I didn’t understand them myself?”

  Caramon sighed. “I don’t know,” he said moodily. “I don’t know.”

  Sara went on. “We were living in Palanthas when the war ended. And then I was truly frightened, terrified that Kitiara might start searching for her son. Maybe she did. At any rate, she didn’t find us. Some time later, I heard she had taken up with the dark elf mage, Dalamar—apprentice to her brother, Raistlin, who was now Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas.”

  Caramon’s face softened, grew grave and wistful, as always, when Raistlin was mentioned.

  “Forgive me, Caramon,” Sara said softly, “but when I heard the stories about your brother Raistlin, all I could think of was—here is more dark blood, running in my child’s veins. And it seemed to me that Steel drifted deeper into the shadows every day. He wasn’t like other boys his age. All boys play at war, but, for Steel, war wasn’t a game. Soon the other children refused to play with him. He hurt them, you see.”

  Tika’s eyes widened. “Hurt them?”

  “He didn’t mean to,” Sara said quickly. “He was always sorry afterward. He takes no pleasure in inflicting pain, thank the gods. But, as I said, the games weren’t games to him. He fought with a fierce ardor that shone in his eyes. Imaginary enemies were very real to him. And so the other children shunned him. He was lonely, I know, but he was proud, and he would never admit it.

  “And then came the war over Palanthas, when Lord Soth and Kitiara attacked the city. Many people lost their lives. Our home was destroyed in the fires that raged through the city, but I wept with thankfulness when I heard that Kitiara was dead. At last, I thought, Steel is safe. I prayed that the dark cloud would be lifted from him, that he would begin to grow toward the light. My hopes were dashed.

  “One night, when Steel was twelve, I was awakened by a knocking at the door. I looked out the window and saw three figures, cloaked in black, riding horseback. All my fears returned to me. They frightened me so much, in fact, that I woke Steel and told him we must flee, escape by the back door. He refused to go. I think … I think some dark voice called to him. He told me to run, if I wanted. He would not. He wasn’t afraid.

  “The men battered down the door. Their leader was … Do you recall, I spoke of Ariakas?”

  “Highlord of the Red Dragonarmy. He died in the temple, during the final assault. What has he got to do with this?”

  “Some say he was Kit’s lover,” Tika inserted.

  Sara shrugged. “She wouldn’t have been the first, and likely not the last. But, according to what I’ve heard, Zeboim, daughter of Takhisis, was enamored of Ariakas, became his lover, and bore him a son, named Ariakan. Ariakan fought in the ranks, under his father’s command, during the War of the Lance. He is a skilled warrior who fought courageously in battle. When he was captured, more dead than alive, by the Knights of Solamnia, they were so impressed with his courage that, although he was their prisoner, they treated him with every respect.

  “Ariakan was their prisoner for many years, until they finally released him, mistakenly thinking that—in these times of peace—the man could do no harm. Ariakan had learned much during his enforced stay with the knights. He came to admire them, even as he despised them for what he considered their weaknesses.

  “Shortly after his release, Ariakan was visited by Takhisis, in the form of the Dark Warrior. She commanded him to start an order of knights dedicated to her, as the Solamnic Knights are dedicated to Paladine. Those who are boys now will grow up in my service,’ she told him. ‘You will raise them to worship me. I will own them, body and soul. When they are men, they will be prepared to give their lives in my cause.’

  “Almost immediately, Ariakan began to ‘recruit’ boys for this unholy army.”

  Sara’s voice sank. “Ariakan was the man at the door.”

  “Blessed Paladine!” Tika murmured, stricken.

  “He had found out about Kit’s son.” Sara shook her head. “I’m not sure how. Ariakan claimed that Kit had told his father about the boy. I don’t believe that. I think … I think it was the wizard Dalamar, evil Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, who led Ariakan to us—”

  “But Dalamar would have told me,” Caramon protested. “He and I are … well—”

  Sara stared at him, her eyes wide.

  “Not friends,” Caramon said, thinking the matter through, “but we have a mutual
respect for each other. And the boy is my nephew, after all. Yes, Dalamar would have told me—”

  “Not likely!” Tika sniffed. “When all’s said and done—he’s a black-robed mage. Dalamar serves the Dark Queen and himself, not necessarily in that order. If he saw that Steel might prove valuable …” She shrugged.

  “Perhaps Dalamar was only following orders,” Sara whispered, glancing fearfully out the window, into the night. “Takhisis wants Steel. I believe that with all my heart. She has done everything in her power to take him … and she is close to succeeding!”

  “What do you mean?” Caramon demanded.

  “It is the reason I am here. That night, Ariakan made Steel an offer. Ariakan would make Steel a dark paladin.” Sara reached for her cloak, held up the brooch of the black lily in a trembling hand. “A Knight of Takhisis.”

  Caramon was aghast. “Such an evil order doesn’t exist.”

  “It does,” Sara said in a low voice, “though few know it. But they will. They will.” She sat silently shivering and, at length, drew her cloak back around her.

  “Go on,” Caramon said grimly. “I think I see where this is heading.”

  “Kitiara’s son was among the first Ariakan sought. I must admit he is shrewd, is Ariakan. He knew exactly how to handle Steel. Ariakan spoke to the boy man-to-man. He told him he would teach him to be a mighty warrior, a leader of legions. He promised Steel glory, riches, power. Steel was entranced. He agreed, that night, to go with Ariakan.

  “Nothing I said or did, no tears I shed, moved Steel. I won only one concession—that I could come with him. Ariakan agreed to this only because he figured I could be useful to him. He would need someone to cook for the boys, mend their clothes, clean up after them. That … and he took a fancy to me,” Sara finished softly.

  “Yes,” she added, partly ashamed, partly defiant, “I became his mistress. I was his mistress many years, until I grew too old to please him anymore.”

  Caramon’s face darkened.

  “I understand,” said Tika, patting the woman’s hand. “You sacrificed yourself for your son. To be near him.”

  “That was the only reason! I swear to you!” Sara cried passionately. “I hate them and what they stand for! I hate Ariakan. You don’t know what I have endured! Many times, I wanted to kill myself. Death would have been far easier. But I couldn’t leave Steel. There is good in him, still, though they’ve done all they could to trample out the spark. He loves me and respects me, for one thing. Ariakan would have rid himself of me long ago, but for Steel. My son has protected me and defended me—to his own detriment, though he never speaks of it. He has watched others rise to knighthood ahead of him. Ariakan has held Steel back, all because of me.

  “Steel is loyal. He is honorable, like his father. Both to a fault, perhaps, for as he is loyal to me, so he is loyal to them. His life is bound up in this evil knighthood. And, at last, he has been offered the chance to become one of them. In three nights’ time, Steel Brightblade will swear the oath, make his vows, and give his soul to the Queen of Darkness. This is why I have come to you, why I have risked my life, for if Ariakan discovers what I’ve done, he will kill me. Not even my son will be able to stop him.”

  “Faith, my lady,” said Caramon, troubled. “What do you want me to do? Give you refuge? That is easily handled—”

  “No,” said Sara. Timidly, she touched Caramon’s hand. “I want you to stop my son—your nephew—from taking the vows. He is the soul of honor, though that soul is dark. You must convince him that he’s making a terrible mistake.”

  Caramon stared at her in astonishment. “If you—his mother, a woman he loves—haven’t been able to change him, all these years, what can I do? An uncle he never knew, a stranger. He won’t listen to me.”

  “Not to you,” Sara agreed, “but he might listen to his father.”

  “His father’s dead, my lady.”

  “I’ve heard that the body of Sturm Brightblade is enshrined in the High Clerist’s Tower. I’ve heard it said that the body possesses miraculous holy powers. Surely, the father would reach out to help his son!”

  “Well … maybe.” Caramon appeared dubious. “I’ve seen some strange things in my life, but I still don’t understand. What is it you want me to do?”

  “I want you to take Steel to the High Clerist’s Tower.”

  Caramon’s jaw sagged. “Just like that! And what if he doesn’t want to go?”

  “Oh, he won’t,” Sara said confidently. “You’re going to have to use force. Probably take him at sword point. And that won’t be easy. He’s strong and a skilled warrior, but you can do it. You’re a Hero of the Lance.”

  Perplexed, baffled, Caramon gazed at the woman in uncomfortable silence.

  “You must do it,” Sara pleaded, clasping her hands in supplication. Tears slid unheeded down her cheeks; weariness and fear and sorrow finally overcame her. “Or Sturm’s son will be lost!”

  Chapter Four

  Caramon Tries to Remember Where He Put His Armor

  “Well,” said Tika, jumping briskly to her feet, “if you two are going to leave before dawn, you’d better get started.”

  “What?” Caramon stared at his wife. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I most certainly am.”

  “But—”

  “The boy’s your nephew,” Tika informed him, hands on her hips.

  “Yes, but—”

  “And Sturm was your friend.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “It’s your duty. And that’s that,” Tika concluded. “Now, where did we pack away your armor?” She eyed him critically. “The breastplate won’t fit, but the chain mail might—”

  “You expect me to go riding a blue dragon into a … a—” Caramon looked at Sara.

  “Fortress,” she told him. “On an island, far to the north, in the Sirrion Sea.”

  “An island fortress. A secret stronghold filled with legions of dark paladins dedicated to the service of the Dark Queen! And once in this fortress, I’m supposed to snatch up a trained knight in the prime of his life and haul him off to pay a visit to the High Clerist’s Tower. And if I even get there alive, which I doubt I’ll do, then you expect the Solamnic Knights to just let us stroll in? Me and a knight of evil?”

  Caramon was forced to shout this last. Tika had walked out on him, into the kitchen.

  “If one side doesn’t kill me,” he bellowed, “the other will!”

  “Hush, dear, you’ll wake the children.” Tika returned, carrying a bag, redolent with the odor of roasted meat, and a waterskin. “You’ll be hungry by morning. I’ll just go fetch you a fresh shirt. You’ll have to see to the armor. I remember—it’s in the big chest under the bed. And don’t worry, dear,” she said, stopping to give him a hurried kiss. “I’m sure Sara has devised a way to get you inside the fortress. As for the High Clerist’s Tower, Tanis will come up with a plan.”

  “Tanis!” Caramon regarded her blankly.

  “Well, of course, you’re going to pick up Tanis on the way. You can’t go alone. You’re not in the best of shape. Besides …” She glanced at Sara, who had donned her cloak and was standing impatiently by the door. Tika took hold of her husband’s ear and pulled his head down to her level. “Kitiara may have lied,” she whispered. “Tanis may be the real father. He should see the boy.

  “Then, too,” she added aloud, as Caramon rubbed his ear, “Tanis is the only one who can get you into the High Clerist’s Tower. The knights will have to let him inside. They wouldn’t dare offend him or Laurana.”

  Tika turned to Sara with an explanation. “Laurana is Tanis’s wife. She was one of the leaders of the Knights of Solamnia during the War of the Lance. She is highly revered among them. Now she and Tanis are both serving as liaisons between the knights and the elven nations. Her brother, Porthios, is the Speaker of the elven nations. To offend either Tanis or Laurana would be tantamount to offending the elves, and the knights would never do such a thing. Would th
ey, Caramon?”

  “I s’pose.” Caramon looked dizzy. Events were happening too fast.

  Tika knew this was the case, knew how to handle her husband. She had to keep things moving fast. If once he stopped and got to thinking about it, he’d never budge. As it was, she could already see him mulling it over.

  “Maybe we should wait until the boys come back from the plains,” he hedged.

  “No time, dear,” Tika said, having anticipated this. “You know that they always spend a month with Riverwind and Goldmoon, going out hunting and learning woodcraft and that sort of thing. Besides, once they set eyes on Goldmoon’s beautiful daughters, our boys will be even less anxious to leave. Now, off with you.” She pushed Caramon, blinking and scratching his head, toward the door that led back to their private chambers. “Do you remember how to reach Tanis’s castle?”

  “Yes, I remember!” Caramon snapped quickly.

  Too quickly. And therefore Tika knew he didn’t remember; he was having to think about it, which was good, because that meant he’d be occupied with trying to figure out how to reach Tanis’s dwelling for the length of time it would take him to get ready. Which meant he’d be well on his way before it occurred to him to consider anything else.

  Like the danger.

  Once he was out of sight, Tika’s briskness evaporated. Her shoulders sagged.

  Sara, keeping watch out the window, turned at the sudden silence. Seeing the bleak and unhappy look on Tika’s face, Sara walked over to stand beside her.

  “Thank you for what you’ve done. I know this can’t be easy for you to let him go. I won’t say there isn’t any danger. That would be lying. But you’re right. I have thought of a way to sneak him inside the fortress. And taking Tanis Half-Elven with us is an excellent idea.”