The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

But he was everything. Phrygia had decided long ago to take possession of him, and truly she and Caitiff had done much to corrupt the man, already. Commander Vinas Solamnus was now as ruthless as he was moral. He had slain for the good of a wicked imperial family. He had been true to an unholy pact.

  Somehow, through all of it, Vinas had taken possession of Phrygia rather than the other way around. She could think of no one else, nothing else.

  It was absurd. She was empress of the greatest nation in. the world. Her afternoon shadow, cast down from the height of the tower, was gigantic, a black shroud covering half of Vinas’s army. What was one small man to her?

  Everything.

  The Vingaard Uprising had come at the perfect time.

  Caitiff had suggested she send Vinas away – to shape him into a man who could slay Emann and take the throne. In truth, Caitiff knew that Phrygia had been trapped in the commander’s eyes and arms. Until Vinas left, Phrygia would make a useless conspirator. She had agreed that sending Vinas away would save them both.

  That was her gravest mistake, she now knew. Caitiff was wrong; neither of them could be saved. At least, if damned, they should be together.

  Phrygia shivered. The city somehow seemed colder already, emptier. How could he simply march away like that, with no word of farewell? How could he so simply and passively submit to this banishment? Half of Phrygia, perhaps all of Phrygia, had hoped, had half-expected that he would rail against the orders, would rise up and slay her husband and take his place. The people would have welcomed Vinas. They would have worshiped him. And she, at his side, would have been the happiest, most powerful woman in the world.

  No. He did none of this. Instead of dragging a knife across the emperor’s throat and tossing his body into the vulture pit, Vinas had knelt before the man. He willingly, happily, paraded his way out of Daltigoth, away from Phrygia.

  She considered her shadow again. Vinas was not the only one who could cast the world in a black pall.

  The last of the soldiers marched through the archway. Idiot women called after them and wept and threw flowers in their wake.

  Phrygia took her shadow with her down the stairs... to the laboratory of the court mage. Caitiff might be wrong – having conquered death, all liches are incurable optimists – but he was still powerful. A few well-placed and wicked spells could make Vinas Solamnus hers.

  *

  Luccia watched the small shadow of her griffon flit among the dusk-red trees below. The wind was cold. The griffon struggled wearily to hold himself in the sky. His golden pelt bunched against the chill. His down feathers stood beneath the slick plumes of his wings.

  “Easy, Terraton,” she said, patting the creature’s eagle neck. “Just one more stop. Then we’ll fly to the rest of the pride and bed down.”

  The creature gave no sardonic shriek as an answer. He truly was tired.

  Colonel Luccia had sent her captain, and the rest of her mounted company, wheeling north to scout out the grasslands. They were to slay any bandits or other menaces, and then prepare an infantry camp ten miles northeast of Daltigoth. Vinas and his ground forces would spend the night there.

  Meanwhile, Luccia had flown Terraton on a long, sweeping rearward path. They had searched for hostile forces in two hundred miles of land and fifty miles of ocean. It would not do to empty Daltigoth of its divisions only to have the city taken from the icy southeast. She had found no signs of armies, only spooked ice barbarians, shambling walrus men, and the occasional yeti. Such creatures had no use for cities, nor any means to capture one.

  During the past three hours, Luccia and Terraton had been bearing eastward. They hoped to find the army just as it finished setting camp. Behind them, the sun was abandoning the sky. The orb took with it the warm updrafts that had kept Terraton aloft all day. Soon, whether they found the army camp or not, the griffon and his rider would have to quit the sky.

  There, on what looked like the impossible rim of the world, she saw the dim, smoky glow of bivouacs.

  “There, Terraton, get us there, and you can rest a bit.”

  The griffon bore her onward, past a granite escarpment and a long, greenish lake. Before them, the flames grew to pillars that could have been spotted a hundred miles away.

  Vinas had already begun his campaign of audacity.

  Every aspect of his march was to be legendary in scale – bivouacs the size of bonfires, horses as massive as elephants, daytime battles and nighttime revels.... Vinas would orchestrate a march so bold that no historian, let alone any living man, could ignore him.

  With aching wings, Terraton topped a final strip of forest. He soared levelly toward the hilltop encampment. The sentries near the forest edge waved them on, lowering short bows from the sky. As Terraton glided above the heads of soldiers, bustling among the fires, the warriors began to notice the griffon’s approach. They fell a step or two to either side, like water parting before a landing heron. Horses shied and screamed as the silhouette of their ancient enemy flashed past in the darkening sky.

  Terraton was too tired even to mock them. He let the winds from the fires buoy him along until he neared the hilltop. There, the command tent was pitched. He glided to a landing.

  Luccia swung from the saddle and found her own legs sore from the long ride. She crouched for a moment, letting the aches stretch themselves out, then stood and patted Terraton on the neck. “Thanks, friend. Rest now a bit. I’ve a report to make. Then it’s one more mile to the griffon camp.”

  The eagle-lion did not answer except with a nip.

  The shriek of a horse brought Luccia’s attention to the main tent. Beside it, a black charger reared. It spun deadly hooves at the griffon. From the tent charged a powerfully built man, who gripped the charger’s reins and, by strength and soothing words, brought it back to ground.

  “What the devil is spooking Courage?” the man roared darkly.

  “Commander Solamnus, I have a report,” Luccia said.

  He smiled in recognition. “Yes, Colonel Luccia. What is your report?”

  She cleared her throat. “I circled the land and sea south of Daltigoth, and found no sign of enemy movement.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” replied Vinas casually. He pivoted and led his horse back to the far side of the command tent.

  Luccia gaped. Was that a dismissal? She started to turn toward her own mount, then spun on her heel and stalked after the commander. She found him at the back of the tent, hobbling the charger out of sight of the griffon. “That’s it, then? ‘Glad to hear it, Colonel’? Back to work, Colonel?” she asked.

  He finished with the horse and patted its shoulder. “Well, I guess so,” he replied with an apologetic shrug. “Good work. Get some rest.” He walked around her, heading for the tent flaps.

  “Wait a moment,” she said, pursuing him over the trampled grass. “My orders said you asked for me and my company. They said you wanted me, specifically”

  He paused at the mouth of the tent. “Right. You’re the one I want. I’m sorry, Luce. I’m just a little distracted. Would you like to step inside?” he asked, pulling back the tent flap and motioning her inside.

  She tried not to drop her scowl. “Of course, I would.” She ducked, entering the flap, and nearly sprawled over the lantern-lit and paper-strewn table that occupied the center of the tent.

  “Oh!” she said as she caught her balance.

  Underchancellor Titus sat on one side of the field table, his back pressed against the sloping roof of the tent. He waved in greeting. “Hello, Luce. It’s good to see your lovely face.”

  Before she could reply, Colonel Gaias added, “Greetings, Colonel.” He smiled through his gray beard.

  She was still blinking in surprise when Vinas barged in behind her and sent her sprawling a second time. He quickly backed away, red-faced. With a sheepish smile, he took a stool at the cleric’s side.

  Luccia stared at them, amazed. They looked like three boys in a tree house, savoring the novelty of their surroun
dings. Finding an empty stool, Luccia sat down, cradling her chin in her hands. “So, which one of you is going to show me the club handshake?”

  Ignoring her comment, Vinas spoke. “We’ve been working out the wording of my speech tonight. We’ve almost finished, but there are a few rough spots you could help us smooth out.”

  Vinas drew the pages toward himself and straightened them with fidgety motions of his hands. “For instance, here, where I want to establish a connection with the soldiers, the text currently reads: ‘Some of you have sisters you didn’t like much, but surely you defended them. You defended their honor. Will you not, then, defend Daltigoth, your sister?’”

  Luccia looked thoughtful for a moment. “It sounds too tentative, too speculative. And what’s this about comparing the city to an unpopular sister?”

  Vinas bit his lip. “Well, some of these troops hate Daltigoth. I don’t want to distance them by assuming they all love the city.”

  “Instead, you want to distance those who truly love the city and wish to defend it?” asked Luccia.

  Vinas shuffled through the pages. “I thought it would be easier to arouse hatred of Vingaard than love of Daltigoth. Listen to this: ‘We will scatter their bones so that not even the vultures can find all the pieces. We will bash their children’s heads against rocks —’”

  “Wait a moment,” interrupted Luccia. “If you plan on asking me to bash children’s heads against rocks, you’ll have to find a new griffon colonel.”

  He cocked his head. “Of course I’m not going to ask that. This is all rhetoric, meant to stir emotions.”

  “It’s lies, in other words?”

  Vinas nodded reluctantly. “Yes, I suppose, but they are expedient, harmless lies.”

  “Harmless?” said Luccia. “If one of your soldiers takes you literally and smashes a child’s head against a stone, that is certainly not harmless.”

  “Right,” he said, nodding. “I’ll take that part out. And I’ll spice up the business about the sister. What we need are moving but harmless lies, then – something more symbolic and motivational. If we’re going to win this war, we need a thorough mythology to inspire it.”

  “Is that all you care about,” asked Luccia, “winning the war? What about the old days, Vinas? What about starving people and obese nobles? You used to right wrongs, not defend them.”

  Vinas looked chastened for a moment. “Look, I was young then. We can’t change the world. The best we can do is fight the momentary battles – and win.”

  “I’m not sure I would go that far,” said Titus. He felt an inspiration and started scribbling out some fresh words. “I’ve got an idea!”

  Luce nodded toward the door. “I’ll be outside, taking Terraton to the water troughs. You boys seem to know what you’re doing.”

  Meus Pater

  This is what I said to them, Father, to the three thousand souls I led up and out of Daltigoth:

  Hear me, colonels and soldiers. Hear me, lieutenants and horsemen, war wizards and griffon riders. Hear me, heart of Ergoth.

  We camp here, on a road that joins two great cities. The one we just left, Daltigoth, is nursing mother to most of us, is sister to some of us, is daughter, even, to a few.

  This city raised me, and many of you. Her proud people, bustling plazas, broad roads, and vine-overgrown villas have been aunts and uncles to us – the watchful, tolerant guardians of our youth. But look no farther than yourself for proof of that fine lineage. From this parent city of ours has marched today the most glorious army ever assembled beneath sun or moons.

  They liked that part, and cheered in their multitude. For a moment, the grassy hillside was a shouting, crashing sea. Then they were calmed. I spoke on.

  Daltigoth has been sister to me, and to many of you. She was the beloved sibling against whom I strived, and battled, and took my measure. She was worthy, and I often found myself falling short of her wisdom or strength, her beauty or fortitude. Always, though, whether infighting her or defending her, I loved her and learned from her.

  How many of you were wished well on your way by sisters – whether by blood or patriotism – and their fragile fear, fear that you, their brothers, might not return from this war?

  The moan that circled among the warriors then was quieter than their first cheer, but more deeply felt.

  And, Daltigoth, my daughter. Many of you have daughters and sons, I know. My own daughter, this day, told me she would wait and watch until I returned. I told her I might be a long while on the road, perhaps a year or more. I told her she could not possibly stay awake until I returned. She said simply, ‘Then I will open my eyes very wide, so that I will never lose sight of you.’

  Ah, Father, now I had them. Their hearts were laid open to me as to a long sword. It made me wish I did indeed have a daughter.

  I march for her, for my Dalla girl. We march for daughter Daltigoth and sister Daltigoth and mother Daltigoth, all. We defend their honor, their very lives. And upon their honest hope and constant faith in us, let us swear to keep our eyes wide open, that we never lose sight of them.

  What pernicious poetry, aye, Father? I had roused their deepest selves with the goad of family and the imperative of peril. Now, I had only to channel the welling fear and hatred.

  We march down the very throat of hell. We march to that second great city whose men have reviled their mothers and pillaged their sisters and left their daughters, heel-bound and bare, to die in the freezing rain. Their city is called Vingaard, for they jealously guard their grapes and lavish care on their wine. But it is poison. They drink it to numb wits and knuckles before they return home to beat their wives. They crush beneath their bloody feet the sweet souls of their mothers, making the vinegar of ingratitude, and the sweet minds of their sisters, making the heady burgundy of brutality, and the sweet hearts of their daughters, making the debauched brandy of incest.

  I see you cringe, you riders of heavy horses, you bearers of lances and spell-slaying mages. I see you, who have slain in multitudes, shying from the horrid crimes of our horrid foes. And well you should. I would have spared you such descriptions, but I feared that if you were not duly prepared for the monstrosities you face upon the battlefield, you might pity them.

  There is no pity for such men, no pity but to slay them quickly and tread upon their still-breathing bodies in your haste to slay their companions!

  The roar returned. This time it was not shouts of joy, but of anger, of vengeance. The air was full of fists and swords and axes. I was glad there were no hapless foes around for such fury to be spent upon. No, I wanted it preserved, wrapped around those three thousand hearts. I wanted the soldiers to nurture their hatred as a mother suckles a babe. By the time we actually strode into battle, the enmity would be fully formed, and each man would fight like two men. Each would be beside himself with rage.

  Heroes of Daltigoth! Hear me, heroes! Hear me! Our work here, on this road, and there, in distant Vingaard, will be the stuff of legends. I am not the hero of that legend. Each of you is. Let this march be told not in a great epic, but in a thousand great epics. We stand on the terrible threshold of history. Now, let us cross to destiny!

  It was a good speech, Father, wouldn’t you say? The crowd certainly thought so. Chancellor Titus wrote the whole thing down, and sealed it in a steel case, and sent it back to the emperor. He thought it worthy of history.

  I’ll deliver a new one each night. By the time we are within sight of Vingaard Keep, my men will be rabid for rebel blood.

  I wonder why Luce flew away in the middle of it.

  VI

  Eight Days Hence, 7 Argon, 1199 Age of Light

  The first attackers struck like falcons.

  With only half a day’s march remaining before Caergoth, the army had headed into a narrow gorge, where the road sided a dry river. The only other path would have added two days to their journey, and provided other opportunities for ambush. If this had been hostile country, Commander Solamnus would never have
led his army into that cliff-flanked pass. But this was the heartland of Ergoth.

  Commander Solamnus had assiduously sent advance forces to scour the countryside. Not a griffon had seen the archers. Not a war dog had sniffed them out. Not a scout had flushed them from cover, nor had any magic spell detected their whispers.

  The Ergothians were even singing an old marching song when the first arrows whined in among them.

  Twelve infantrymen slumped to the ground. Two of the soldiers went limp as dolls, arrows sticking comically from their ears. The others flopped a bit. One, stumbling, got up, only to fall on the shaft in his chest and drive it out his back.

  The song died. It had taken a heartbeat for everyone to realize this was not some pantomime on this bright, safe afternoon. In the sudden silence, more arrows sang. Another dozen men went down. This time, three horses pranced with shafts jutting, half-buried, from their flanks.

  Then – commands, shouts, spells, oaths.

  “Get those horses out of here!” Vinas shouted to the cavalrymen while Courage wheeled and stamped. “Mages, infantry, archers – take cover! Fire at will!”

  The commands were being obeyed even before Vinas formulated a plan. These were well-picked men. They knew what to do.

  Commander Solamnus spurred Courage toward a cleft in the base of the cliff wall. Arrows pelted down in a deadly hail all around. He charged past a scowling Ergothian war wizard, who squinted up through a sphere of Vermillion energy that shimmered around him. Dust rolled in Courage’s wake as steed and warrior plunged into the narrow gap. Of his own accord, Courage halted and spun about to face the action.

  Vinas leapt from the saddle, taking with him his short bow and a raw, sweet fury. Courage shrieked and reared, lashing out with his hooves.

  Vinas spared the spirited animal a glance, and saw fletchings had made a shallow wound in the horse’s stifle. The shot had come from the rear. Courage’s legs kicked into a thornbush. The plant broke loose from the wall and tumbled down to the ground, and in the process it transformed into a man in the green and black livery of an Ergothian scout.