Dragons of the Highlord Skies

by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman

  “We have no time for fairy tales,” Derek said tersely. “Gentlemen, we will be going ashore soon and we have our packing to finish.”

  He left the railing and went striding across the deck.

  “You give it to the goddess for me,” said Aran to the old man, clapping him on the shoulder, “with my thanks.”

  Glancing back, Brian saw the old man still standing there, still watching them. Then the captain’s voice rang out with an order to all hands to prepare to drop anchor. The old man tossed the wolf carvings overboard and dashed off to obey.

  Derek disappeared below decks, heading to the small cabin the three knights shared. Aran followed after him, taking a pull from his flask as he went. Brian lingered to gaze out to sea. The breeze blew off the glacier that was far to the south and carried with it the nip of winter. The waves were sun-dappled gold on top, blue below. The wind plucked at the hem of his cloak. Sea birds wheeled in the sky, or bobbed up and down placidly on the surface of the water.

  Brian wished he’d taken the old man’s wolf carving. He wished he’d made an offering to the sea goddess, whoever she was. He imagined her: beautiful and capricious, dangerous and deadly. Brian lifted his hand to salute her.

  “Thank you for a safe voyage, my lady,” he said, half-mocking and half-serious.

  “Brian!” Derek’s irate voice echoed up from down below.

  “Coming!” Brian called.

  The knights did not stay long in Rigitt. They hired horses for the journey north to Tarsis that would take them across the Plains of Dust. The road was still passable, though there had been snow up north around Thorbardin, or so Aran heard from a drinking companion, a mercenary who had just traveled that route.

  “He advised us not to stay inside Tarsis,” Aran told them, as they were loading supplies onto the horses. “He suggests we make camp in the hills and enter the city during the day. He said we should keep the fact that we’re Knights of Solamnia to ourselves. The Tarsians have no love for us, it seems.”

  “The Measure states: ‘A knight should walk openly in the sunshine, proudly proclaiming his nobility to the world’,” Derek quoted.

  “And if the Tarsians toss us out of the city on our noble posteriors, what of our mission to find the dragon orb?” asked Aran, grinning.

  “They won’t toss us out. You have this information on the authority of some rag-tag sellsword,” said Derek disparagingly.

  “The captain told me much the same, Derek,” Brian said.

  “Prior to the Cataclysm, the knights made Tarsis a Lord City of Solamnia, despite the fact that the city was hundreds of miles away. That way, the knights could protect the city from enemies. Then came the Cataclysm and the knights couldn’t protect themselves, much less a city far from Solamnia. The knights who had lived in Tarsis—those who survived—returned to Palanthas, leaving the Tarsians to fight their battles alone.”

  “The Tarsians have never forgiven us for abandoning them,” Brian concluded.

  “Perhaps we could find a loophole—” Aran began.

  Brian shot him a warning glance, and Aran, rubbing his nose, rephrased his suggestion.

  “Perhaps the Measure makes some provision for such a delicate political situation.”

  “You should be better versed in the Measure,” said Derek reprovingly, “otherwise you would know what it says. We will not enter Tarsis under false pretenses. We will present our credentials to the proper authorities and receive their permission to enter the city. There will be no trouble if we behave honorably, whereas there would be trouble if we were caught sneaking into the city like thieves.”

  “You make it sound like I’m suggesting we enter the city dressed in black with sacks over our heads,” said Aran, chuckling. “There’s no need to flaunt the fact that we’re knights. We don’t have to lie—just pack up our fancy tabards and the hand-tooled leather armor, replace our ornate helms with plain, take off the badges that mark our rank, remove our spurs, and wear ordinary, serviceable clothing. Maybe trim our mustaches.”

  That last was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Derek did not even deign to respond. He made a final adjustment to the horse’s bridle, then left to go settle the bill with the innkeeper.

  Aran shrugged and reached for his flask. He took a couple of sips, then offered the flask to Brian, who shook his head.

  “Derek does talk sense, Aran,” Brian argued. “It might go badly for us if we were caught trying to hide our true identities. Besides, I can’t imagine the Tarsians would still hate us after three hundred years!”

  Aran looked at him and smiled. “That’s because you can’t imagine hating anyone, Brian.” He sauntered over to look out the stable door, then, seeing Derek was out of earshot, he returned to his friend. “Do you know why Lord Gunthar asked me to come on this mission?”

  Brian could guess, but he didn’t want to. “Aran, I don’t think—”

  “I’m here to make certain Derek doesn’t screw it up,” Aran said flatly. He took another drink.

  Brian winced at the crudeness of the expression. “Derek’s a Knight of the Rose, Aran. He’s your superior and mine. According to the Measure—”

  “Piss on the Measure!” said Aran sharply, his jovial mood evaporating. “I’m not going to allow this mission to fail because Derek cares more about adhering to some moldy old code of antiquated laws than he does about saving our nation.”

  “Perhaps without those laws and the noble tradition they represent, the nation wouldn’t be worth saving,” Brian remarked moodily.

  Aran rested his hand affectionately on his friend’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Brian.”

  “So is Derek,” said Brian earnestly. “We’ve known him a long time, Aran. We’ve both been his friends for years.”

  “True,” said Aran, shrugging again, “and we’ve both seen how much he’s hardened and changed.”

  Brian sighed. “Be patient with him, Aran. He’s suffered a lot. The loss of castle, his brother’s terrible death …”

  “I will be patient,” said Aran, “up to a point. Now I’m going to indulge in a stirrup cup. Join me?”

  Brian shook his head. “Go on. I’ll wait for Derek.”

  Aran mounted his horse and rode off to enjoy a final mug of ale and to refill his flask before starting out.

  Brian remained in the stable, adjusting the horse’s bridle. Damn Aran anyway! Brian wished Aran hadn’t told him the true reason he’d come. Brian didn’t like to think Lord Gunthar trusted Derek so little he’d set a friend to spy on him, and Brian didn’t like hearing Aran had accepted such a demeaning assignment. Knights did not spy on each other. That must be in the Measure somewhere.

  If so, Derek didn’t quote those parts, for he had his own spies in the court of Lord Gunthar. Perhaps Derek’s spies had told him that Aran was a spy. Brian leaned his head against the horse’s neck. He could almost believe Queen Takhisis had returned to the world, planting the seeds of discord among those who had once been the champions of honor and valor. The seeds had taken root in fear and were now flourishing into noxious weeds of hatred and mistrust.

  “Where is Aran?” Derek’s voice roused Brian from his dark reflections.

  “He went to get some ale,” Brian said.

  “We’re not on a kender outing,” Derek said grimly. “He takes nothing seriously, and now I suppose we must go haul him out of some bar.”

  Derek was wrong. They found Aran, wiping foam from his mouth, waiting for them on the road that led to Tarsis.

  The three set out, with Aran in the middle, Derek on his right, and Brian on his left. He recalled with sudden vividness another quest, their very first.

  “Do you remember when the three of us were squires, and we were tired of tilting at the quintain and whacking each other with wooden swords. We decided to prove ourselves and so we—”

  “—decided to go to Nightlund to seek the death knight!” Aran began to chuckle. “By my soul, I had not thought of that in a long time. We rode
three days into what we fancied was Nightlund, though in truth we never got close, and then we came to that empty castle. It was deserted. The walls were cracked, the battlements crumbling. One of the towers was charred and burned, and we knew we’d found it—Dargaard Keep. The accursed home of the dread Lord Soth.” Aran’s chuckles turned to laughter. “Do you remember what happened next?”

  “I’m not likely to forget,” said Brian. “I lost five years of my life that night. We camped out near the keep to keep watch on it, and sure enough, we saw a strange blue light flickering in one of the windows.”

  “Ha, ha! The blue light!” Aran guffawed.

  “We girded on our armor—”

  “—that didn’t fit us, because it was stolen from our masters,” Aran recalled. “All of us were scared out of our wits, but we would none of us admit it and so we went forth.”

  “Derek was our leader. Remember, Derek? You gave the signal, and we charged inside and”—Brian could barely speak for mirth—“we were met by a dwarf—”

  “—who’d set up an illegal spirit distillery inside the keep …” Aran roared with laughter. “The blue light we saw was the fire cooking his mash! He thought we were there to steal his brew and he came roaring at us from the shadows, waving that bloody great ax. He looked ten feet tall, I swear!”

  “And we gallant knights ran off in three different directions with him chasing after us, shouting he was going to chop off our ears!”

  Aran was doubled over the pommel of his saddle. Brian was laughing so hard, he could barely see. He wiped his streaming eyes and glanced over at Derek.

  The knight sat bolt upright on his horse. He gazed straight ahead, slightly frowning. Brian’s laughter trailed off.

  “Don’t you remember that, Derek?” he asked. “No,” said Derek. “I don’t.”

  He spurred his horse to a gallop, making it clear he wanted to ride alone.

  Aran brought out his flask, then fell into line behind Derek. Brian chose to bring up the rear. There were no more stories, no more laughter. As for singing songs of heroic deeds to enliven the journey, Brian tried to recall one, but found he couldn’t.

  Singing would only annoy Derek anyway.

  The three rode north in silence, as the gray clouds massed and the snow began to fall.

  2

  Abrupt end of a peaceful journey.

  The Measure reconsidered.

  he journey to Tarsis was long, cold and miserable. The wind blew incessantly across the Plains of Dust and was both a curse and a blessing; a curse in that its chill fingers plucked aside cloaks and jabbed through the warmest clothing, a blessing in that it kept the road clear of mounding snow drifts.

  The knights had brought firewood with them, figuring there would be little chance of finding wood on the way. They did not have to make use of it, however, for they were invited to spend the first night with the nomads who lived in this harsh land.

  The Plainsmen gave them shelter consisting of a hide tent and food for themselves and their horses. All this, yet they never spoke a word to them. The knights woke in the gray of dawn to find the Plainsmen dismantling their tent around them. By the time the knights had made their morning ablutions, the nomads were ready to depart. Derek sent the affable Aran to give the Plainsmen their thanks.

  “Very strange,” Aran commented on his return, as Brian and Derek were readying the horses.

  “What is?” Derek asked.

  “The man we took for their leader seemed to be trying to tell me something. He kept pointing north and frowning and shaking his head. I asked him what he meant, but he didn’t speak Common or any other language I tried. He pointed north three times, then he turned and walked off.”

  “Perhaps the road to the north is blocked by snow,” Brian suggested.

  “Could be what he meant, I suppose, but I don’t think so. It seemed more serious than that, as if he were trying to warn us of something bad up ahead.”

  “I was thinking to myself last night it was odd to find the Plainsmen traveling this time of year,” said Brian. “Don’t they usually make permanent camp somewhere during the winter months?”

  “Maybe they’re fleeing something,” said Aran. “They were in a hurry this morning, and the chief certainly looked grim.”

  “Who can tell what such savages do or why,” said Derek dismissively.

  “Still, we should be on our guard,” Brian suggested.

  “I am always on my guard,” returned Derek.

  The snow let up and a freshening wind whisked away the clouds. The sun shone, warming them and making their journey more pleasant. At Derek’s insistence, they still wore the accoutrements of knighthood: tabards marked with the rose, the crown, or the sword, depending on their rank; their ornate helms; tall boots with the spurs each had won; and fine woolen cloaks. They had covered many miles the day before and hoped that by hard riding and stopping only long enough to rest the horses they would reach Tarsis before nightfall.

  The day passed uneventfully. They did not find any places where the road was blocked. They met no other people, nor did they see signs anyone else had traveled this way. They gave up trying to puzzle out what the Plainsman had meant.

  Toward late afternoon, the clouds returned and the sun disappeared. The snow started, falling furiously for a time, then the squall lifted and the sun came back. This continued on the rest of the afternoon, the knights riding from patches of snow into patches of sunlight and back to snow, until the weather grew so confused—as Aran quipped—they could see the snowflakes glitter in the sun.

  During one of the flurries, the knights topped a slight rise and found, on their way down, the vast expanse of the plains spread out before them. They could see bands of snow glide across the prairie, and during a break in one of the small storms, a walled city.

  The city disappeared in a sudden burst of blowing snow, but there was no doubt that it was Tarsis. The sight cheered them, as did the thought of an inn with a blazing fire and hot food. Aran had said no more about camping in the hills.

  “The captain of the ship recommended an inn known as the Red Dragon,” Brian said.

  “Not exactly a propitious name,” Aran remarked dryly.

  “You can throw salt over your shoulder and turn around in a circle thirteen times before you go inside,” said Derek.

  Aran looked at him in astonishment, then he caught Derek’s smile. The smile was stiff, as if not much used, but he was smiling.

  “I’ll do that,” Aran said, grinning.

  Brian breathed a sigh of relief, glad to feel the tension between them ease. They rode on, climbing yet another gentle rise. Topping this one, they saw ahead of them a deep, rock-strewn gully spanned by a wooden bridge.

  The knights halted as a sudden snow squall enveloped them in white, obscuring their vision. When the snow lessened and they could see the bridge again, Aran started to urge his horse forward. Derek raised a warding hand.

  “Hold a moment,” he said.

  “Why?” Aran halted. “Did you see something?”

  “I thought I did, before that last squall. I saw people moving on the other side of the bridge.”

  “No one there now,” said Aran, rising in his saddle and gazing ahead.

  “I can see for myself,” said Derek. “That’s what bothers me.”

  “This would be a good place for an ambush,” observed Brian, loosening his sword in its scabbard.

  “We could find another place to cross,” Aran suggested. He was one of the few knights skilled in archery, and he reached for the bow he wore slung on his back.

  “They’ve seen us. If we turn back, it will look suspicious. Besides,” Derek added coolly, “I’d like to see who is lurking about this bridge and why.”

  “Maybe it’s trolls,” Aran said, grinning, recalling the old child’s tale, “and we’re the billy goats.”

  Derek pretended he hadn’t heard. “The bridge is narrow. We’ll have to cross in single-file. I will go first. Keep close beh
ind me. No weapons, Aran. Let them think we haven’t seen them.”

  Derek waited until another flurry of snow descended on them then touched his horse lightly on the flanks and started forward at a slow pace.

  As his horse reached the bridge, Aran said in a low voice, “‘It’s only I, Billy Goat Gruff!’”

  Derek half-turned in the saddle. “Damn it, Aran, be serious for once!”

  Aran only laughed and urged his horse forward, falling in behind Derek. Brian, keeping watch over his shoulder, brought up the rear.

  The knights rode slowly across the bridge. Though the snow concealed them, the horse’s hooves clattered on the wooden planks, effectively announcing their coming. They kept their ears stretched, but could hear nothing. Brian, peering behind them through the intermittent flurries, saw no one following them. He might have concluded Derek was jumping at shadows, but he knew the man too well for that. Derek might be a prize ass at times, but he was an excellent soldier—intuitive and keenly observant. Even Aran, though he’d joked about billy goats, was not joking now. He had his hand on his sword’s hilt and was keeping close watch.

  Derek was about halfway across the bridge. Aran was coming along behind him, his horse clattering over the wooden slats, and Brian’s horse was behind Aran’s, when three strangers suddenly reared up out of the snow and began walking toward them. The strangers were enveloped in long cloaks that trailed over the snowy ground. They kept their hoods drawn over their heads, making it impossible to see their faces. Large leather gloves covered their hands, and they wore heavy boots.

  Whoever they were, the horses didn’t like them. Derek’s horse snorted and laid back its ears. Aran’s horse danced sideways, while Brian’s nervously backed and shied.

  “Well met, fellow travelers!” one of the strangers called out as he ambled toward the bridge. “Where are you bound in such foul weather?”

  Brian stirred in the saddle. The stranger spoke Common well enough and was trying to sound friendly, but Brian tensed. He had detected a faint sibilant hissing at the end of the word “travelers.” Thus might a draconian speak the word. And draconians had been known to try to disguise their scaly bodies in long cloaks with hoods. Brian wondered if his companions had heard the hiss too and if they were likewise on their guard. He didn’t dare turn to look at them or act as if anything was out of the ordinary.