Water, white-frothed and bubbling, swirled and eddied among the rocks, occasionally finding itself stranded in dark pools, then freeing itself to plunge on in a headlong rush to its final destination, the eternal sea.
“He’ll be cooler when he reaches the bottom,” Caramon finished.
“We won’t,” Tanis grumbled. The sun was hot on the cliff face. He was already sweating beneath his leather armor. Resting his hand on Caramon’s arm, he smiled at the big warrior. “You’re a wise man, my friend.”
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 Westgate 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 mere, 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. It’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 laughte
r.
“I don’t find this particularly amusing,” Tanis snapped.
Caramon choked, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Tanis, but, by the gods, Steel sounded so like Sturm, I couldn’t help myself. Do you remember that time in the inn, when we found the blue crystal staff, and all those goblins and Seeker guards were coming up the stairs, ready to tie us to the stake and burn us? And we were all running for our lives, hoping to escape through the kitchen, except Sturm.
“He just sat at the table, calmly drinking his ale. ‘What?’ he said, when you told him to run. ‘Flee? From this rabble?’ My nephew’s face, when he said that about the knights letting him in, put me in mind of Sturm that night.”
“Your nephew’s face puts me in mind of a lot of things,” Tanis said grimly, “like how Sturm and his stubbornness and his honor nearly got us killed more than once.”
“We loved him for it,” said Caramon softly.
“Yes.” Tanis sighed. “Yes, I did, though there were times, like now, when I could have wrung his knightly neck.”
“Look at it this way, Half-Elven,” Steel said in a mocking tone, “you could take this as a sign from your god, the great Paladine. If Paladine wants me inside, he’ll see to it that I get in.”
“Very well, young man, I’ll take your challenge. I’ll trust in Paladine. Perhaps, as you say, this will be a sign. But”—Tanis held up a warning finger—“don’t say a word, no matter what I say. And don’t do anything to cause trouble.”
“I won’t,” Steel said, with ice-hard dignity and disdain. “My mother’s up in those hills with a blue dragon, remember? If anything happens to me, Lord Ariakan will take out his rage on her.”
Tanis was regarding the young man intently. “Yes, we loved him for it,” he said, beneath his breath.
Steel pretended he didn’t hear. Turning his face toward the High Clerist’s Tower, he climbed up out of the brush and stepped onto the causeway. He assumed his uncle and the half-elf would follow.
Tanis and Caramon flanked the dark paladin, one on each side of him, as they proceeded down the broad road leading to the tower’s main gate. Caramon had his hand on the hilt of his sword, a grim and threatening expression on his face. Tanis kept close watch on those who passed them, waiting tensely for the expression of loathing, shocked horror—the outcry that would bring down on them a squadron of knights.
Steel walked tall and proud, the cold and handsome face impassive. If he was at all nervous, he was keeping it to himself.
Few, however, spared them a glance. Most of those who traveled this road were absorbed with their own private worries and concerns. And who would notice three armed men in this bastion of armed men? The only ones who did take note of them were the pretty young women accompanying their knightly father to the tower. They smiled at the handsome young knight in admiration, did everything short of tumbling out of their carriage to attract Steel’s attention.
Tanis was extremely puzzled by this. Did the symbols of terror and death the dark paladin wore plainly on his person no longer have any effect on people? Had the Solamnians forgotten the dread power of the Dark Queen? Or were they just mindlessly, stupidly complacent?
Tanis, glancing at Steel, saw the young man’s lip curl in scorn. He was finding this amusing.
Tanis quickened his pace. There was still the main gate to pass.
The half-elf had thought up and then discarded several arguments for allowing a Knight of Takhisis to enter the stronghold of Paladine. He had at last been forced to admit to himself that there could be no logical argument. As a last resort, he would use his standing as a renowned hero and respected government official to bully his way inside.
Wishing that he was decked out in his full ceremonial regalia, instead of his worn, albeit comfortable, traveling clothes, Tanis put on his you’ll-do-what-I-say-and-like-it mask and strode up to the knights guarding the main gate.
Caramon and Steel came to a halt about a pace behind. Steel’s face was hard, his dark eyes opaque, head thrown back in defiance.
One of the knights on guard duty stepped forward to meet them. His gaze swept over them with mild and friendly curiosity.
“Your names, gentle sirs,” said the knight courteously. “And please state your business.”
“I am Tanis Half-Elven.” Tanis was so pent up, the words came out in an explosive bark, practically a shout. Forcing himself to calm down, he added in softer tones, “This is Caramon Majere …”
“Tanis Half-Elven and the famous Caramon Majere!” The young knight was impressed. “I am honored to meet you, sirs.” In an undertone, he said to a cohort, “It’s Tanis Half-Elven. Run and fetch Sir Wilhelm.”
Probably the lord knight in charge of the gate.
“Please, there’s no need to make a fuss,” Tanis urged hastily, with what he hoped sounded like becoming modesty. “My friends and I are here on a pilgrimage to the Chamber of Paladine. We simply want to pay our respects, nothing more.”
The young knight’s face immediately assumed an expression of grave sympathy. “Yes, of course, my lord.” His gaze shifted from Caramon, who glowered and appeared ready to take on the fortress single-handedly, then the knight looked at Steel.
Tanis tensed. He could already picture it. The young guard’s astonishment changing to fury, the ringing trumpet call that would sound the alarm, bring down the portcullis, surround them with swords …
“I see you are a Knight of the Crown, sir, like myself,” the young knight was saying … and he was saying it to Steel! The Solamnic Knight touched his breastplate, on which was the symbol of the lowest of the ranks of the Knights of Solamnia. He gave Steel the knight’s salute on meeting a comrade, a lifting of the gloved hand to the helm. “I am Sir Reginald. You don’t look familiar, Sir Knight. Where did you take your training?”
Tanis blinked, stared. Were they letting the nearsighted into the knighthood these days? He looked at Steel, saw black armor adorned with the Dark Queen’s emblems: lily, axe, skull. Yet the Solamnic Knight was smiling and treating Steel as if they’d been barracks mates.
Had Steel cast some sort of spell on the knight? Was it possible? Tanis looked at him sharply, then relaxed. No, Steel was obviously as confused about what was going on as Tanis. Defiance had seeped out of the young man. He looked dazed and a little foolish.
Caramon’s mouth hung wide open. A sparrow could have flown in and nested there, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
“Where did you take your training, sir?” the knight asked again, in a friendly fashion.
“K-kendermore,” Tanis said the first thing that came into his head.
The young knight was immediately sympathetic. “Ah, rough duty, I hear. I’d rather patrol Flotsam myself. Is this your first visit to the tower? I have an idea.” The knight turned to Tanis. “After you’ve paid your respects in the Chamber of Paladine, why don’t you hand over your friend to me? I’m off duty in half an hour. I’ll take him all around the tower, show him our defenses, fortifications—”
“I don’t believe that would be a good idea!” Tanis gasped. He was shaking, sweating beneath the leather armor. “We … we’re expected in Palanthas. Our wives are waiting for us, aren’t they, Caramon?”
Caramon took the hint. His mouth snapped shut. He managed to mumble something incoherent about Tika.
“Perhaps another time,” Tanis added regretfully. He stole a glance at Steel, thinking that the young man must be getting quite a laugh out of all this.
Steel was shaken, pale, his eyes wide. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.
Well, thought Tanis, that’s what happens when you brush up against a god.
Sir Wilhelm arrived and took charge of them at once. He was, Tanis was sorry to note, one of the old-time, pompous, set-in-the-saddle type of knights; the kind who let the Oath and the Measure do his thinking for him. He was the type of knight Sturm Brightblade had always detested. Fortunately, there were far fewer of Sir Wilhelm’s sort these days than there h
ad been in the past. A pity some god—or goddess—had put him in their path.
And, of course, Sir Wilhelm was insisting on personally accompanying them to the tomb.
“Thank you, my lord.” Tanis attempted to rid himself of the man. “But this is a very poignant moment for us, as you can imagine. We would prefer to be by ourselves …”
Impossible! (Harumph) Sir Wilhelm would never permit it. (Harumph) The famous Tanis Half-Elven and the famous Caramon Majere and their young friend, a Knight of the Crown, paying his first visit to the Chamber of Paladine. No, no, (Harumph, harumph) this called for a full escort of knights!
Sir Wilhelm rounded up his escort, six knights, all armed. Forming them into ranks, he himself led the way to the Chamber of Paladine, marching with slow and solemn step, as though leading a funeral procession.
“Maybe he is,” Tanis said into his beard. “Ours.”
He glanced at Caramon. The big man shrugged unhappily. They had no choice but to follow decorously along behind.
The knights headed for two closed iron doors marked with the symbol of Paladine. Beyond those doors, a narrow staircase led down into the sepulcher.
Steel edged alongside Tanis. “What did you do back there?” he demanded, speaking in a low voice, his distrustful gaze divided between the half-elf beside him and the knights marching ahead of him.
“Me? Nothing,” Tanis returned.
Steel didn’t believe him. “You’re not some sort of mage, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” Tanis answered testily. They weren’t out of this yet, not by a long shot. “I don’t know what happened, except I could suppose that you got your sign!”
Steel was pale. The awe—and the fear—was plain on his face. Tanis relented toward the young man. Oddly enough, he found himself liking him.
“I know how you feel,” Tanis told him, speaking softly. The knights had come to the iron doors and were handing out torches to light the way down the dark staircase. “I once confronted Her Dark Majesty. Do you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to fall down on my knees and worship her.”
The Second Generation Page 8