The History of Krynn: Vol IV

by Dragon Lance

  These “executions” were enacted before the emperor could object – no bodies were left for his necromancers. Vinas thus had won the emperor’s favor with the same act that made him popular with the people.

  Vingaard had been returned to the empire, the rebels had been shielded, and Vinas had even requested to permanently oversee the border state. Despite his better sense, he hoped he and his friends could continue the charade that made this impossible paradise possible.

  Vinas sat alone in his chambers. He could no longer think of these rooms, this castle, or this country as Antonias’s, Although the castle’s appointments – the otherworldly paintings and tapestries of dragons, the mahogany furnishings and bronze fixtures – were just as they had been when Antonias lived, Vinas felt they were his, that he had always lived in Vingaard Keep.

  Only the doorknob exposed that lie. It bore a bright left-handprint of the former king. Already, though, the print was tarnishing green, replaced by Vinas’s larger, right-hand mark. In half a year, even that vestige of Antonias would be gone.

  In all ways, Vinas was inheriting the life of this other man. He sat in Antonias’s seat, slept in his bed, ate at his table, commanded his people... all of it felt natural to Vinas. All of it had a rightness.

  It is this way with fate, he thought as he had every hour of the last month. I made the wrong choice when I agreed to take the appointment as head of the imperial guard. Since then, I have been defending all the wrong things and have been shaped by the evil I defended. This life, here, among these good people, this is what was destined for me. Fate made another man live through the part of my life I have thrown away, and then brought me here to take Antonias’s place.

  Taking Antonias’s place... even now, he felt a fraud. How could Vinas, a warrior, ever take the place of Antonias, a visionary, a man of peace?

  A knock came at the door. Vinas did not stir from the desk, but only said, “Come in.”

  The door swung inward. It was followed by a thin, tousle-haired young man in the impeccable livery of the emperor. “A message to you, Commander, from His Highness, Emperor Emann Quisling of Ergoth.”

  Without turning around, Vinas signaled for the document. His fingertips tingled in anticipation. It was light – mere paper – though he knew what was written on that paper had the weight of the empire behind it:

  From His Highness, Emann Quisling,

  Emperor of Ergoth,

  To Vinas Solamnus,

  Commander of the Armies of Ergoth.

  Greetings,

  I am pleased with the head of “King” Antonias Leprus. Your mage did a fine job preserving it, eyes open in that beatific attitude. I do wish it had still been animate, but because you had to behead him during a treaty talk, I understand. By the way, what a stroke of brilliance, to fool him into letting you into the keep to parley!

  I am pleased also by your executions of his men. Your thorough and unflinching actions are to be commended. I will remind you that Antonias likely had agents among the townsfolk. Immediately upon receiving this missive, begin an inquisition among the villagers. I expect you’ll have to schedule another thousand executions in the next month, and a few hundred more before your replacement arrives.

  I regret I must deny your request to be permanently assigned the post. As my darling Phrygia pointed out, now that the uprising is crushed, we need you back in Daltigoth to end other local insurrections.

  Don’t worry, Vingaard will be in excellent hands. I am sending my grand nephew, Terriatas. He is more than your match in ruthless cruelty, and he has a perverse twist as well. Those you executed will seem lucky once Terriatas takes over. He has a few last matters to conclude before he will be available, but should arrive in two springs.

  Until then, keep up the iron grip. I’m still waiting for last year’s back taxes, as well as those of this year, and the double punitive assessment. You’ve four months to gather them. Think of these taxes as another weapon, it’ll break the backs of the honest folk and flush the last rebels out of hiding.

  I’m counting on you. Excellent work.

  The messenger was gone, the door closed, when Vinas let the missive drift down from his hand and come to rest upon the bronze bootjack Antonias had used every night to remove... the very boots Vinas now wore.

  *

  One Month Hence, 14 Argon, 1200 Age of Light

  In the upper dining hall, among the stars, Vinas met with Gaias, Luccia, Titus, and the sixteen division generals of his armies in Vingaard. They filled the ornate table, and were in good humor, as victors always are. One of the sixteen unknowingly sat where Antonias’s body had fallen. The blood had been scrubbed meticulously away.

  It was the same dining hall among the blue stars, except that the ghosts of old Vingaard seemed forever banished from the place. Ergothian banners filled the air. The candelabra bore medallions of the empire. The servant whites had been replaced by the black garb of Ergothian domesticity. The war was irrevocably concluded, and the victors feasted on the food of the fallen, in the very seats where their predecessors reigned.

  Vinas rose to address the group. He was white-faced and grave. “Friends, I have decided a new course for Vingaard. An old course, actually.” He focused a smoldering gaze on the group before him, searching their hearts. “I plan to renew the treason of Antonias.”

  Someone guffawed before realizing the commander was not jesting.

  Vinas was kind enough not to look at the man, and continued, “You all have realized we are the villains here. You can see there is nothing to gain in taxing this prosperous place into poverty. It is sheer wickedness to slay anyone else in the name of the empire.”

  He paused, brooding. “Here are the emperor’s orders. Read them for yourselves.” He tossed the seal-broken paper onto the table. None dared snatch it up. “It talks of an inquisition among the peasants. It talks of another thousand slain this next month, and more thereafter. It talks of Vingaard being given to Terriatas, grand-nephew to Emann and a man both ruthless and cruel. I must either follow these dictates or defy them.”

  A general muttered through his auburn beard, “What folly!”

  Vinas turned toward him. “It is never folly to defy evil.” The words felt so natural coming from his mouth; they seemed his own. “To defend what is right and good, reform what is corrupt, and destroy what is evil.... That is my intention.”

  “Commander,” interrupted a mustachioed general, “the rebellion is crushed. Let it remain so.”

  “What has been crushed?” Vinas shot back. “Not a rebellion, but rebels. People have been crushed.” Color was returning to his face. “The folk of Vingaard have been and continue to be crushed – beneath the boot of Ergoth and her corrupt rulers. I have seen the wickedness of that oppression. I have embodied it, myself, embodied it and advanced it. I can do so no longer. If I must fight, I choose the better fight.”

  “This is madness,” hissed the man with the auburn beard. “You are only one man.”

  “Emann, too, is only one man. All this while, the battle was between two men, Emann and Antonias,” Vinas said quietly. “Now I have taken up Antonias’s sword.

  “Antonias fell, but he withdrew from the fight. I will not. I will fight on the principles of courage, temperance, justice, and wisdom – the four corners of honor. They were the hallmarks of my father, and of Antonias. They will be mine. I, and however many soldiers will rally to me, will march under the banner of honor.”

  “Commander,” the mustachioed man said, “all warriors say they fight with honor. What is different about you?”

  “My soldiers and I will convert those we can and slay only those we must. We will fight bravely and wisely. We will fight justly, sword to sword and dagger to dagger. We will grant quarter whenever it is asked. We will heal when we are able. We will save Vingaard and all other people who cleave to these ideals.”

  “Yes, ideals,” said the bearded man. “That is all they are – fluffy words floating around, meaningless. War
s are not won with ideals, but with soldiers and savageries.”

  “I am a soldier,” said Luccia, standing, “and I will fight for these ideals.”

  “I, as well,” came Gaias’s calm voice.

  Titus stood, too, his massive figure outlined against the stars. “I am not a warrior, but I will fight beside you. Let me say, I for one am glad to see your old, reckless, starry-eyed self back in the land of the living!”

  Amid the nervous laughter that followed, two other men and three women stood, adding their assent.

  “Before you join me,” Vinas said, “know what awaits you. We will face deprivation, starvation, ostracization. I will not pillage the countryside for shelter and food. We will only accept what is freely given to us. There will be ten foes for each one of us, ten who will fight with cruelty and self-serving brutality. We will be fighting the sorts of warriors we ourselves have been these past years. This will be no quick affair, either, but will take the patient work of the main portion of our lives.”

  Three more soldiers pledged themselves.

  “Do not fear to refuse this battle. I will not harm those who wish to return to Daltigoth and fight for the empire. They will be allowed to go.”

  Six more added their assent, and the only two who remained were the warrior with the auburn beard and the mustachioed man.

  The first of these said, “I will not fight for you. You are the worst traitor of all.”

  The second, more quietly, said, “I will resign my post. It has been a privilege to serve under you.”

  “You both are welcome to leave,” Vinas said, gesturing toward the door. “You have my word of honor, you will not be harmed if you leave now, quickly and quietly.”

  The mustachioed man drew the pin of office from his cloak, laid it on the table, and walked from the room. The other man watched him suspiciously, and when he heard no sounds of struggle on the stairs outside, did likewise.

  When they were gone, Luccia asked, “Commander, don’t you fear they will make trouble among the troops?”

  “There will be no time for that,”, Vinas replied. “In moments, the horns will sound, and I will address the armies, myself. They will each have the same choice you have had.” He looked around the table.

  Luccia was fearful but smiling. Gaias looked grim and determined. Titus beamed proudly. The others wore looks of hopeful resolve.

  “A fine group of officers, I have,” he said. He raised a wine goblet to them. “Here is to the rebirth of honor in Ansalon. Here’s to a free Vingaard!”

  The shouts of “Hear! hear!” echoed among the stars.

  Meus Pater

  How strange it is, Father, to stand before three armies of gathered warriors – whose lives and deaths have been in your hands – and tell them you were wrong.

  The priests of Gilean tell us that all our deeds and misdeeds are written in one great book that shall be read to all creatures at the end of the world. Perhaps.

  Stranger, though, is the forgiveness of the people. It is as though, in my admitting my error, I have at last become one of them. Perhaps, before, I had the power to command them. Now, when they know what failings I myself must overcome, now I can inspire them.

  XIV

  Five Months Hence, 14 Phoenix, 1200 Age of Light

  The midday sky was a blue-black depth charged with gray swarms of ice. Snow came down thickly on the bundled backs of the laboring wagons. It mounded on the horses’ croups and withers, occasionally sloughing to the ground in sheets.

  A mantle of cold gray snow draped Titus’s shoulders. The drivers followed his dim, lumbering figure as though pursuing a shade through the underworld.

  “It should be up here, soon enough,” Titus shouted back through the blizzard.

  He paused in his march, waving the first wagon past. Rubbing ice out of his eyebrows, he unfolded a crumpled, amateurishly rendered map. Its lines were indistinguishable from the folds. He rubbed the side of the wagon passing him, clearing snow from the emblem painted on it: a plainsman with a golden halo of wheat.

  Stuffing the scrap back into his vest, Titus bounded to the head of the line, telling the lead driver, “I could have sworn it would be here.”

  “Who’s out there?” came a suspicious voice from the storm.

  Titus looked about, seeing no speaker. He shouted into the blizzard, “Chancellor Titus, priest of Paladine.”

  “We don’t need any blessings,” the craggy words came.

  Titus laughed deeply, a sound that sent the snow cascading from his back. “Not even the blessing of bread? Of food?”

  Only the anxious wind answered for some time, and then, “Who sent you? The emperor?”

  Again the laugh. “Oh, no. If we were from the emperor, we would be extorting bread out of you. No, we represent Commander Solamnus.”

  “Commander Solamnus? Vinas Solamnus?”

  “The same. Though you might not recognize him these days. He’s grown a great drooping mustache and has ceased dressing like a plainsman when he wants to dole out food.”

  In the darkness, a sliver of light grew up to the height of a man – a door opening. From it emerged a frail creature, sexless and ageless. As that withered figure approached, she – for it was a woman – grew in solidity. She seemed to be packed together out of the snow. Two more forms appeared in the open doorway, small bodies with eyes that glowed wide with the queer light of the storm.

  “Get back in there!” the old woman shouted, head turned over her shoulder. The children vanished into the golden glow. “And close the door.” That, too, was done.

  When she turned back around, she paused, eyes level with Titus’s belt buckle. Without the slightest hint of fear, she leaned her head back until she could see the black bulk of Titus’s head, high above. “How can Commander Solamnus afford to feed you and still dole out bread?”

  He knelt, bringing his toothy smile even with her face. “He’s a dreamer. Dreamers can do anything.”

  She spat into the storm. “You men are going to die in this storm, tonight.”

  “No, ma’am,” Titus replied. “We’ve strict orders against it. We don’t want to be dead without leave.”

  She nodded seriously and turned, strolling toward the shadows of the food wagon. Flipping back a loose corner of tarp, she saw open-topped boxes full of venison, hard breads, jerkied beef, frozen haunches of pork, bottles of wine. “What other miracles does this Vinas Solamnus have planned?” she asked.

  Without moving from the front of the line, Titus said, “Well, currently he’s marching with a ragtag army of volunteers, hoping to conquer Ergoth. He seems to think it would be better for everyone involved if peasants could actually feed themselves with the food they raise, could actually clothe and shelter themselves. Taxes, currently, make that virtually impossible. I know, I know, it sounds unrealistic...”

  “It sounds ideal,” the woman said. With no apparent effort, she hoisted a frozen ham to her shoulder and began walking back to her hovel. “We’ll tell the neighbors once I get my pick. Oh, and, Chancellor, see if you can’t grab a few loaves of rye and a bottle of wine.”

  *

  Four Months Hence, 2 Mishamont, 1201 Age of Light

  Luccia banked atop Terraton. The griffon’s claws brushed the naked crown of a vallenwood tree. Luccia glanced back, seeing the fast-flitting shadows of her company flying low above the treetops. The beasts were silent as falcons at the hunt, their feathers mere flashes of spring gold in the wind-stirred forest. Their wings followed the contour of the trees, aerial valleys and rills.

  “Just a bit lower,” Luccia urged Terraton. The spirited beast slipped down a narrow cleft that led to a clearing, where smoke rose in jagged columns.

  “That’s it.”

  One more nudge from her heels and Terraton shot from the cleft into the sparkling air above a small Ergothian outpost. The others followed. Terraton released a fierce griffon scream as he ripped past the stockaded wall of the fortress. The rest of the cavalry voiced th
eir own shrieks.

  The horrifying cacophony... the lightning-fast silhouettes... the flaming arrows that pelted down onto walls and guard towers and set them alight... the claws that ripped mounted crossbows from the walls and could do worse to bones and flesh... all of it convinced the ten defenders to heed the better part of valor.

  They ran.

  As Luccia and her cavalry sped by overhead, she cried, “Tell Emann that justice is coming!”

  She and her riders pursued the fleeing troops awhile before doubling back to the fortress. This time they approached casualty. The ground team had reached the fortress. Even now, five horsemen were dismounting and stood with hands placed on hips, appraising their new station.

  “Do you need us any longer, lieutenants?” Luccia called down to them as Terraton made a long, looping pass around the perimeter of the clearing.

  “No, Colonel. Thanks,” said a young man, waving them onward. “I think I hear your next team.”

  Just then, five more horsemen plunged at a gallop into and out of the clearing. Marking their speed and direction, Luccia sent Terraton roaring out after them.

  Twelve remote Ergothian fortresses had been captured so far this month, each of them bloodlessly. Twenty-eight more, and the road to Solanthus would be secured, ready for the main force.

  There would be blood at Solanthus. That much was a certainty. There would be a long siege and, at last, blood.

  Luccia’s jaw clamped grimly. She guided Terraton toward the next columns of smoke rising on the far horizon.

  *

  Two Months Hence, 24 Bran, 1201 Age of Light

  Gaias marched through long green grass, lifting his boots high to keep from getting tangled.

  The kender weren’t being so careful. They seemed to enjoy falling down. The novelty first had been discovered by Pitty Stingtail, who had been strumming his whippik and singing when he went down. His whoop of surprise and the boooiiing sound of the whippik as he landed made interesting improvisations in the song. The thirty-some others laughed heartily, and then joined in singing, taking every opportunity to fall on their instruments to see what new sounds would be made.