by Doug Niles
“Ah, yes, the blues,” said Aeren. “Their coming was not welcome in any part of the forest.”
“But surely they are not hateful to you. Do you not all serve the same Dark Queen?” asked Silvanoshei.
“Bah,” Aeren said scornfully. “I’ve always hated blue dragons—not as much as I hated elves, of course, or the serpents of gold and silver and their other metallic kin-dragons, but I hate blues nonetheless.”
“Why?” asked the young elf.
“They’re forever currying the Dark Queen’s favor. And they’re too precise, too willing to give up their freedom to answer their goddess’s call. Once, as a young wyrmling, I was seared by the bolt of a blue’s lightning breath. I still have the scars,” the dragon stated sternly.
“I know they came to the forest and the city. Did they come to your lair?” asked Silvanoshei.
“Not at first, but I knew the blues had come with every intention of taking my new territory away from me. My first clue was an acrid scent carried by the southward breeze, a hint of char and ozone reminiscent of a nearby lightning strike. I emerged from my lair to watch the blues from the shelter of the leafy forest. I saw them fly over in precise formation, four ranks of five dragons each.
“Even worse was the sight of the long banner that trailed from a lance borne by one of the riders. The five-colored heads of evil dragonkind, here worked in a pattern around a white flower that looked like a death lily, could only mean that these serpents were flying under the sanction of Takhisis, the Queen of Darkness.”
The Siege of Qualinost
Chapter Eleven
“My lord Speaker, the dragonarmies have come again! We must flee!”
“Stop … speak a little more carefully.” Gilthas sat up in bed, looking at the excited Kagonesti slave who had burst into his bedchamber. “What’s this about dragonarmies?”
“They have come. The Blue Wing returns!” cried the slave, an elder male who had been a part of the migration westward thirty years ago.
By now the young Speaker was fully awake. He climbed from the bed and went to look out the window. Qualinost, to all appearances, was a city in peaceful slumber. The sky was clear, and he saw no sign of any dragon or other attacker. He turned on the slave, irritated at being so rudely awakened.
“What are you talking about—dragonarmies? It’s not possible! Who told you this, and where are they supposedly attacking?”
“They have swept southward from Solamnia and crossed the Newsea. Already they have struck the outposts on the borders!” continued the servant, his eyes wide. “Oh, lord, there is no stopping them! We’re all going to die!”
Gilthas was sliding into his boots, shrugging his robe over his shoulders. Once more he looked out the window. His house—the official dwelling of the Speaker of the Sun—was located directly beside the Tower of the Sun, and that lofty spire blocked his view to the northeast, but even so, he assumed he would see some sign of trouble if there was in fact an invasion occurring.
Still, he couldn’t suppress a sense of alarm as he left his house and started across the wide garden leading to the tower. He noticed other nobles gathering, a strange urgency gripping the city, considering that it was the middle of the night. They came from all directions, silent, exchanging worried glances and frightened looks. Gilthas felt a flash of worry, a thought of his mother and father in their house so far to the north. If war came, they were sure to be in the middle of it—and he couldn’t help feeling that he should be with them to offer whatever help and comfort he could.
At the base of the tower, he found Rashas, and Guilderhand as well. The nobles and senators filed into the chamber with unseemly haste. Torches and magical lanterns lit the great council hall at the base of the tower, light reflected and magnified by the burnished gold of the walls and the numerous mirrors set into alcoves. The gathering was a startling and motley collection. Some of the elders were barefoot, while others were wearing wrinkled or even dirty robes.
Voices rattled and screeched as rumors were exchanged, questions asked, fears aired.
“What’s going on?” one matron was demanding of anyone and everyone within earshot.
“I heard Haven is burning!” a well-fed merchant declared, wiping sweat from his brow and staring wildly around the chamber.
“An army—blue-skinned troops, big as ogres—crossed the border this evening!” This came from an orange grower who owned many groves.
And more cries chimed in, universal in their notes of hysteria and certainty:
“They fly the banner of the Dark Queen!”
“Their general rides a blue dragon!”
“Thousands of troops … they butcher anyone in their path!”
Gilthas climbed the steps to the rostrum and glanced over a sea of anxious faces. Elves looked from him to Rashas and back again. They both raised their hands to try to quiet the crowd, but the gesture had little effect in damming the stream of frightened words.
The Speaker shouted, somehow finding the depth to roar his voice across the chamber. “Elves of Qualinesti! Gather and attend! We need to learn what’s happening, not stampede under an avalanche of rumors!”
The elves grew still, nervously looking back and forth. There remained a dull rumble of whispers, but this was mainly due to hasty explanations passed to the new arrivals who kept filtering through the partially opened doors. Gilthas noted the presence of even some of the youngsters who had typically avoided the meetings of the Thalas-Enthia, radicals such as Queralan, a young captain of archers who had held his seat in the senate for only a few years, and Anthelia, mistress of a clan of prominent artists and glassmakers. These two now looked just as afraid as everyone else.
“Is there anyone here who has seen these invaders?”
“I have!” a voice shot through the circular chamber. Guilderhand had spoken loudly. He stood near the back, and now he held up both hands in a gesture that was both contemptuous and soothing.
“Please give us your testimony,” Gilthas said quickly.
The spy was dressed in his usual traveling garb, right down to the muddy boots and stained, torn cloak. Still, he strode up the steps of the rostrum as if he belonged there as much as the highest noble. He turned to the crowd, and with a sweeping gesture of his hands, drew the attention of every elf to himself.
“I am sorry to report that the rumors are true, right down to the worst of the tales. The war in the north, about which we have heard fleeting reports, has swept southward to draw Qualinesti into its tendrils. Right now there is a force approaching our fair city, an unstoppable army of brutish warriors, Dark Knights, and blue dragons. They breached the borders of our realm during the night and march with remarkable haste.”
Gilthas drew a deep breath, trying to absorb this incomprehensible news. “What do you know of their numbers … of the makeup of the force?”
“Their legions are huge, my lord Speaker,” replied Guilderhand with a bow that somehow seemed like a mockery. “They filed past me on the Haven road for many hours, and still I could not see the end of the column. As to the warriors that make up the bulk of the force, they are like nothing I have ever seen. Huge, blue-skinned, and all but naked, they march toward battle with jeers and laughs. Truly, they seem monstrously cruel.”
“And the knights and dragons?”
“With my own eyes, I saw twoscore dragons take wing and fly back and forth over the army on the ground. All were blues, and each was ridden by an armored warrior. They flew with discipline, these wyrms, and seemed ever watchful and vigilant.
“As to the knights on the ground, these might have been armed and armored from Solamnia, so like those human warriors did they seem, save that they ride under the banner of the Dark Queen.”
The mention of that hateful goddess brought another bubbling of concern through the chamber, and like a master speaker Guilderhand waited for the whispering to die down.
“They rode in companies. I saw ten companies of forty or fifty knights each. All
wore heavy armor, and their horses were huge, monstrous creatures that could crush an elf with one hoof. Many of the knights were lancers, while others had great swords and shields. From the order of their road march, I deduce that they would have no difficulty launching a precise charge. They could ride down any rank of warriors who dared to stand in their path.”
“And they are now in the kingdom, on the roads to Qualinost?” Gilthas pressed, his heart sinking at the thought of such an onslaught.
“I predict that by tomorrow they will reach the bridges leading to the city itself. I have also heard rumors, tales claiming that more of these invaders have entered the western parts of the realm. Naturally we have not been able to confirm those tales.”
“Of course not,” the speaker agreed dejectedly. Oh, why had the griffons abandoned them? If the elves had the services of those once loyal fliers, he knew that at least they’d be able to get word back and forth through the kingdom. As it was, they were feeling their way blindly, could only hope that they acted before it was too late.
“Were you observed?” asked the young senator Quaralan, speaking to Guilderhand. “Did you spy on the army from concealment or move about in disguise?”
“Oh, great lord, it was a harrowing time,” replied the spy. “I tried to hide myself in the undergrowth, where I watched the army pass for some time. Ultimately I was observed and captured by the blue warriors—brutes, they were called. Much to my horror, they took me to see the general commanding this army!”
Cries of horror and sympathy rose from the elven crowd, but Guilderhand raised his hands again, gesturing for silence, for calm.
“Shortly before I was to enter his presence, they held me near a wagon of the Dark Knight sorcerers—Knights of the Thorn, they are, and they wear robes of gray.” The spy held up his hand, in which he gripped a ring of bright gold. “It was from there that I made my escape, stealing this ring of powerful magic. It gave me the power to teleport away, and so I made my way back here. If not, I would certainly have been put to death!”
More shouts of outrage and fear echoed in the chamber.
“We must activate the rest of the city militia,” Gilthas declared, trying to mask his own despair. “Get elves standing at each of the bridges, ready to defend Qualinost against the first sign of attack!”
“What good will that do?” Rashas demanded vehemently, contemptuously. “Weren’t you listening? This is a force that can trample anything that stands in its path! Would you send every young elf in Qualinost to his death?”
Gilthas spun around, at first too surprised even to speak. He gaped at the senator in astonishment, finally shaking his head, forcing out the words. “What would you have us do, then? Flee to Ergoth again, the second exile in thirty years? And even if we wanted to, you know there’s no time for the city’s population to get away!”
“Now is not the time for us to lose our heads,” Rashas replied, his tone calm and soothing. The Speaker realized that somehow Rashas had again made Gilthas appear to be an excitable youngster. Now the elder senator addressed the crowd of elves in general. “What else do we know of this army, these ‘Knights of Takhisis’? Who leads them?”
“I was able to learn a few things during my brief captivity. Their leader is now in Palanthas, a man called Lord Ariakan,” Guilderhand explained. “He is said to be the son of the Dragon Highlord Ariakas, who was once the Emperor of Ansalon. His mother is unknown, though there are those who claim her to be the goddess Zeboim.”
“A lackey of the Dark Queen’s … I admit that the tale makes a certain amount of sense,” Rashas mused.
“I know that these Dark Knights have already conquered Kalaman and much of the north—without bloodshed,” claimed one noble elf, who was a regular importer of marble quarried near that fabled city on the northern coast. “Even allowed the Lord Mayor of Kalaman to hold his seat. Business there has been better than ever.”
“The Kalamans didn’t fight?” This question was asked by Quaralan, who seemed to be making himself spokesman for the young hotheads who had scorned Gilthas’s appointment to the Speaker’s throne.
The noble merchant shrugged. “Perhaps there’ll be a battle at the High Clerist’s Tower, where the Solamnics are trying to hold off the invaders. Of course, if that tower is lost, Palanthas itself would be pretty much defenseless. I would expect that they would let the invaders march in. It would be foolish to let the place get burned down when they don’t have enough troops even to man their own walls.”
“And they have the proof before them, for it’s a fact that Ariakan’s army spared Kalaman!” shouted another elf. “I know this from my brother, who is a seller of silk there. The mayor maintains his station, and the council, too. Indeed, he says that these knights have been a boon in some ways. They’ve stopped the thievery that was always such a problem near the docks.”
Gilthas felt he had to take some steps to control this discussion. He stood straight and assumed his sternest glare as he looked around the chamber. “Am I to assume that the attitude of the Thalas-Enthia is that we welcome these invaders with open arms, that we invite them into our capital and perhaps hope that they will help us solve some recurring problems regarding merchandising and crime?”
His sarcasm was heavy and apparent. After all, Qualinost had no crime to speak of, and virtually every elf in this chamber was rich beyond the dreams of even the most avaricious human noble. Even so, his scornful remarks were greeted mostly with silence, a few elves exchanging nervous glances.
“It seems logical that we should at least meet with the leader of this army,” Rashas said. “There can be no harm in diplomatic negotiations, in finding out what his intentions are.” He addressed Guilderhand. “Is this Lord Ariakan himself leading the troops that are marching on Qualinost?”
“The best information I could gather is no, Esteemed Senator. The commander of this army is called Lord Salladac. He is reputedly a trusted lieutenant of Ariakan’s and has been given complete command of the campaign in Qualinesti.”
“At the very least, we should arm ourselves and make ready to fight!” Gilthas declared, surprising himself with his own vehemence. He heard several shouts of agreement, though they were scattered far and wide through the crowded chamber.
“Who will command?” asked Rashas. “Our most experienced general, Palthainon, is in the west, trying to solve the bandit problem.”
“Then I shall take charge of the troops,” Gilthas said coldly, ignoring the looks of astonishment he saw on many faces. He was prepared to challenge for his right to do so when, to his surprise, Rashas spoke in support.
“I commend the Speaker for his excellent suggestion,” declared the senator. “He has the necessary authority to bring together such recruits as we can gather in a short time.”
“Hear, hear!” Cries of support came from here and there in the chamber, though it was nothing like a universal acclamation.
“At the same time,” Rashas continued, “we have to realize that there is no profit in excessive bloodshed. The honorable members of the Thalas-Enthia must consider the minimum terms that we would require to arrive at a nonmartial solution.”
Gilthas shook his head in astonishment. “You’d be prepared to abandon the defense of the city, of the kingdom, before the first arrow is loosed?”
“I make the suggestion merely because I know that it will make sense for us to be prepared for every eventuality. We all applaud our young Speaker’s courage and the Tightness of your intentions. But bear in mind that war is serious business, and that we are facing a great force, well practiced in the arts of subjugation and conquest. Courage and honor are worthy concepts for any elf, but foolish sacrifice is nothing more than a waste.”
“Where are the Dark Knights now?” Gilthas asked, turning back to Guilderhand. He wondered how the spy had so easily escaped from these ruthless and efficient attackers, but there was no time to follow up on that question.
“They crossed the border after marching alon
g the Southway. I predict they will be no more than five miles away by the dawn.”
“Then we really don’t have any time to lose,” the Speaker declared. He addressed the group at large. “I urge you all to go home, to arm your servants and to take up weapons yourselves. Armed elves should congregate …” Where? Suddenly Gilthas felt overwhelmed by the task. He didn’t even know how to bring his armed elves together! He thought fleetingly of his father, missing Tanis with a powerful sense of longing. Surely the heroic half-elf would know what to do.
“The Hall of the Sky?” suggested Rashas smoothly. The suggestion was perfect. The “hall” was in a fact a huge clearing in the center of the city, large enough to accommodate a good-sized force.
“Yes—meet at the hall, and spread the word!”
The agitated crowd began to disperse, but Gilthas took Rashas aside before the senator left the hall. “I need to send a message,” said the young Speaker. The thought of his father had brought to mind another concern, something that he was determined to address.
“A message? Where?” inquired Rashas, irritated at the delay.
“I want to send for my mother. With war threatening the land, she should come to Qualinesti. I know that my father will be fighting, and it would be best to have her return here to her homeland.” Where she’ll be safe, Gilthas wanted to add, but he didn’t say it, for he knew that it wasn’t true.
Surprisingly, Rashas thought for only a few seconds and then nodded sagely. “An excellent idea,” he replied. “By all means, send for Laurana. Encourage her to come with all haste.”
Watching the senator’s back, Gilthas tried to fathom the elder’s response. He had expected some resistance, even an outright refusal. Now he was worried that Rashas had agreed so easily.
Still, he would send the message by fast courier, then turn to the matter of raising a defense force. Relieved to have reached some course of action, Gilthas left the hall, followed by many worried elves. But he took little notice of the throng around him as he made his way back to his house, wondering what he should wear, where he would find a weapon. And what would he do with a weapon if he had one?