Dragons of a Fallen Sun

by Margaret Weis

  “There! What did I tell you, Kiryn? Something important has happened,” said Silvan, gnawing his lower lip. “And will the messenger come to me? No, he will go straight to your uncle. I am king, not General Konnal!”

  Silvan turned from the window, his expression dark and grim. “I am becoming what I most detest. I am becoming my cousin Gilthas. A puppet dancing on another’s strings!”

  “If you are a puppet, Silvan, then that is because you want to be a puppet,” Kiryn said boldly. “The fault is yours, not my uncle’s! You have shown no interest in the day-to-day business of the kingdom. You could have read those edicts, but you were too busy learning the newest dance steps.”

  Silvan looked at him, anger flaring. “How dare you speak to me like that. I am your—” He checked himself. He had been about to say, “your king!” but realized that in view of the conversation, that would sound ridiculous.

  Besides, he admitted, Kiryn had spoken nothing more than the truth. Silvan had enjoyed playing at being king. He wore the crown upon his head, but he would not take up the mantle of responsibility and drape it around his shoulders. He drew in a deep breath, let it out. He had behaved like a child, and so he had been treated like a child. But no more.

  “You are right, Cousin,” Silvan said, his tone calm and even. “If your uncle has no respect for me, why should he? What have I done since I came here but skulk about in my room playing games and eating sweets. Respect must be earned. It cannot be dictated. I have done nothing to earn his regard. I have done nothing to prove to him and to my people that I am king. That ends. Today.”

  Silvan threw open the huge double doors that led to his chambers, threw them open with such force that they banged back against the walls. The sound startled the guards, who had been dozing on their feet in the quiet, drowsy afternoon. They clattered to attention as Silvan strode out the door and walked right past them.

  “Your Majesty!” cried one. “Where are you going? Your Majesty, you should not be leaving your room. General Konnal has ordered … Your Majesty!” The guard found he was speaking to the king’s back.

  Silvan descended the long, broad marble staircase, walking rapidly, with Kiryn at his heels and the guards hastening along behind.

  “Silvan!” Kiryn remonstrated, catching up, “I didn’t intend that you should take charge this very moment. You have much to learn about Silvanesti and its people. You’ve never lived among us. You are very young.”

  Silvan had understood his cousin’s intentions quite well. He paid him no heed, but kept walking.

  “What I meant,” Kiryn continued, dogging Silvan’s footsteps, “was that you should take more interest in the daily business of the kingdom, ask questions. Visit the people in their homes. See how we live. There are many of the wise among our people who would be glad to help you learn. Rolan of the kirath is one. Why not seek his advice and counsel? You would find him far wiser than Glaucous, if less pleasing.”

  Silvan’s lips tightened. He walked on. “I know what I am doing,” he said.

  “Yes, and so did your Grandfather Lorac. Listen to me, Silvan,” Kiryn said earnestly. “Don’t make the same mistake. Your grandfather’s downfall was not the dragon Cyan Bloodbane. Pride and fear were Lorac’s downfall. The dragon was the embodiment of his pride and his fear. Pride whispered to Lorac that he was wiser than the wise. Pride whispered that he could flout rules and laws. Fear urged him to act alone, to refuse help, to turn a deaf ear to advice and counsel.”

  Silvanoshei halted. “All my life, Cousin, I’ve heard that side of the story, and I have accepted it. I have been taught to be ashamed of my grandfather. But in recent days I’ve heard another side, a side no one mentions because they find it easy to blame my grandfather for their troubles. The Silvanesti people survived the War of the Lance. They are alive today because of my grandfather. If he had not sacrificed himself as he did, you and I would not be standing here discussing the matter. The welfare of the people was Lorac’s responsibility. He accepted that responsibility. He saved them, and now instead of being blessed by them he is denigrated!”

  “Who told you this, Cousin?” Kiryn asked.

  Silvan saw no reason to answer this, and so he turned on his heel and continued walking. Glaucous had known his grandfather. He had been very close to Lorac. Who would know better the truth of the matter?

  Kiryn guessed the name Silvan did not speak. He walked a few paces behind his king, said no more.

  Silvan and his oddly assorted escort, consisting of his cousin and the clamoring guards, strode rapidly through the corridors of the palace. Silvan passed by magnificent paintings and wondrous tapestries without a glance. His boots rang loudly on the floor, expressive of his haste and his determination. Accustomed only to silence in this part of the palace, the servants came running to see what was amiss.

  “Your Majesty, Your Majesty,” they murmured, bowing in fluttered confusion and looking at each other askance when he had gone by, as much as to say, “The bird has flown the cage. The rabbit has escaped the warren. Well, well. Not surprising, considering that he is a Caladon.”

  The king left the royal quarters of the palace, entered the public areas, which were crowded with people: messengers coming and going, lords and ladies of House Royal standing in clusters talking among themselves, people bustling about with ledgers under their arms or scrolls in their hands. Here was the true heart of the kingdom. Here the business of the kingdom was accomplished. Here—on the side of the palace opposite the royal quarters where Silvan resided.

  The courtiers heard the commotion, paused and turned to see what was going on, and when they saw it was their king, they were astonished. So astonished that some lords forgot to bow, remembered only belatedly and then because scandalized wives poked them in the ribs.

  Silvan noted the difference between the two sides of the palace immediately. His lips tightened. He ignored the courtiers and brushed aside those who tried to speak. Rounding a corner, he approached another set of double doors. Guards stood here, but these guards were alert, not dozing. They came to attention when the king approached.

  “Your Majesty,” said one, moving as if to block his way. “Forgive me, Sire, but General Konnal has given orders that he is not to be disturbed.”

  Silvan gazed long at the man, then said, “Tell the general he will be disturbed. His king is here to disturb him.”

  Silvan enjoyed watching the struggle on the guard’s face. The elf had his orders from Konnal, yet here stood his king before him. The guard had a choice to make. He looked at the pale eyes and set jaw of the young king and saw in them the blood line that had ruled Silvanesti for generations. This guard was an older man, perhaps he had served under Lorac. Perhaps he recognized that pale fire. The guard bowed with respect, and, throwing open the doors, announced in firm tones, “His Majesty, the King.”

  Konnal looked up in amazement. Glaucous’s expression was one of astonishment at first, but that swiftly changed to secret pleasure. Perhaps he, too, had been waiting the day when the lion would tear free of his chains. Bowing, Glaucous cast a glance at Silvan that said plainly, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I am under the general’s control.”

  “Your Majesty, to what do we owe this honor?” Konnal asked, highly irritated at the interruption. He had obviously received some unsettling news for his face was flushed, his brows contracted. He had to struggle to maintain a show of politeness, and then his voice was cold. Glaucous was disturbed by something as well. His face was grim, he seemed disturbed and anxious.

  Silvan did not reply to the general’s question. Instead, he turned to the elf of the kirath, who immediately bowed very low.

  “You bring news, sir?” the king asked imperiously.

  “I do, Your Majesty,” said the kirath.

  “News of importance to the kingdom?”

  The kirath stole a glance at Konnal, who shrugged in response.

  “Of the utmost importance, Your Majesty,” the kirath replied.

&n
bsp; “And you do not bring that news to your king!” Silvan was pale with anger.

  The general intervened. “Your Majesty, I would have apprised you of the situation at the proper time. This matter is extremely serious. Immediate action must be taken—”

  “So you thought you would tell me of the matter after you had taken the action,” said Silvan. He looked back at the kirath. “What is your news, sir? No, don’t look at him! Tell me! I am your king!”

  “A force of Dark Knights has managed to penetrate the shield, Your Majesty. They are inside the borders of Silvanesti and marching toward Silvanost.”

  “Dark Knights?” Silvan repeated, astonished. “But how …? Are you certain?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the kirath replied. “I saw them myself. We had received reports of an army of ogres assembling outside the shield. We went to investigate these reports and it was then we discovered this force of about four hundred human soldiers inside the shield. The officers are those known to us as the Dark Knights of Takhisis. We recognized their armor. A company of archers, probably mercenaries, marches with them. They have among their number a minotaur, who is second in command.”

  “Who is their leader?” Silvan asked.

  “There is not time for this—” Konnal began.

  “I want to know all the details,” Silvan stated coldly.

  “The leader is very strange, Your Majesty,” the kirath replied. “She is a human female. That in itself is not surprising, but this leader is a child, even among their kind. She cannot be more than eighteen human years, if she is that. Yet she is a Knight, and she is their commander. She wears the black armor, and the soldiers defer to her in everything.”

  “That is odd,” said Silvan, frowning. “I can hardly believe it. I am familiar with the structure of the Dark Knights, who now call themselves Knights of Neraka. I have never heard of a person that young being made a Knight, much less an officer.”

  Silvan shifted his gaze to Konnal. “What do you plan to do about this threat, General?”

  “We will mobilize the army, at once, Your Majesty,” Konnal replied stiffly. “I have already given orders to do so. The kirath are following the enemy’s progress through our land. We will march out to meet them, and we will repulse them and destroy them. Their force numbers only four hundred. They have no supplies, no means of acquiring supplies. They are cut off, isolated. The battle will not last long.”

  “Do you have any experience fighting against the Knights of Neraka, General Konnal?” Silvan asked.

  Konnal’s face darkened. He pursed his lips. “No, Your Majesty. I have not.”

  “Do you have any experience fighting against any foe other than a dream foe?” Silvan pursued.

  Konnal was extremely angry. He went livid. Two bright flaring spots of red stained his cheeks. Jumping to his feet, he slammed his hands on the desk. “You young—”

  “General!” Glaucous came back from wherever his thoughts had been wandering to hastily intervene. “He is your king.”

  Konnal muttered something that sounded like, “He is not my king …” but he said the words beneath his breath.

  “I have fought against these Knights and their forces, General,” Silvan continued. “My father and mother fought the Dark Knights in the forests around Qualinesti. I have fought ogres and human brigands. I have fought elves, as you may know, General.”

  The elves they had fought had been elven assassins sent out before the shield was put in place, sent to murder Porthios and Alhana, who had been declared dark elves, perhaps on the orders of General Konnal.

  “Although I myself did not fight,” Silvan said, bound to be truthful, “I have been witness to many of these battles. In addition, I have taken part in the meetings during which my father and mother and their officers planned their strategies.”

  “And yet, the Dark Knights managed to capture Qualinesti, despite your father’s best efforts,” Konnal said, with a slight curl of his lip.

  “They did, sir,” Silvan replied gravely, “and that is why I warn you not to underestimate them. I agree with your decision, General. We will send out a force to fight them. I would like to see a map of the area.”

  “Your Majesty—” Konnal began impatiently, but Silvanoshei was already spreading a map on the desk.

  “Where are the Dark Knights, kirath?” Silvan asked.

  The kirath stepped forward, indicated with his finger on the map the location of the troops. “As you can see, Your Majesty, by following the Thon-Thalas River, they entered the shield here at the Silvanesti border, where the two intersect. Our reports indicate that they are currently hugging the banks of the Thon-Thalas. We have no reason to believe that they will deviate from that course, which will lead them directly into Silvanost.”

  Silvan studied the map. “I agree with the kirath that they are not likely to abandon the road that runs alongside the river. To do so would be to risk losing themselves in unfamiliar wilderness. They know they have been seen. They have no reason to hide. They have every reason to move with haste. Their only hope is to attack us while we are presumably reeling from the shock of finding them inside our borders.”

  He glanced pointedly at Konnal as he said this. The general’s face was stone hard, stone cold. He said nothing.

  “I suggest that here”—Silvan placed his finger on the map—“would be an excellent location for us to engage them. The enemy will come down out of the hills to find our forces spread out in this valley. They will find themselves trapped between the river on one side and hills on the other, which will make it difficult for them to deploy their forces to best advantage. While the foot soldiers hit them from the front, a company of cavalry can circle around and hit them from the rear. We will gradually close the jaws of our army”—he moved his finger from the footmen in the front to the cavalry in the rear, forming a semicircle—“and swallow them.”

  Silvan looked up. Konnal stared down at the map, frowning, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “That is a good plan, Your Majesty,” Glaucous said, sounding impressed.

  “General Konnal?” Silvan demanded.

  “It might work,” General Konnal conceded grudgingly.

  “My only concern is that the Knights may hide in the wilderness,” Silvan added. “If they do that, we will have a difficult time flushing them out.”

  “Bah! We will find them,” Konnal stated.

  “It seems your forces cannot find an immense green dragon, General,” Silvan returned. “They’ve been searching for Cyan Bloodbane for thirty years. If this army of humans was to separate, scatter, we might search for them for a century.”

  Glaucous laughed, causing the general to cast him a baleful glance.

  “I find nothing amusing in any of this,” Konnal said. “How did this spawn of evil come through that precious shield of yours, Glaucous? Answer me that?”

  “I assure you, General, I do not know,” Glaucous said and his face was once again troubled, shadowed. “Not yet, at any rate. There is some fell magic at work here. I can smell it.”

  “All I smell is the stench of humans,” Konnal said bitterly.

  “I suggest that we try to capture alive this strange woman-child who leads them. I would like very much to speak to her. Very much indeed,” Glaucous added, frowning.

  “I agree with Glaucous, General.” Silvanoshei turned to Konnal. “You will give the necessary orders. And you will arrange for me to join the army.”

  “Out of the question,” Konnal said shortly.

  “I will go,” said Silvan imperiously, staring intently at the general, daring him to defiance. “You will make the arrangements, sir. Would you have me cower under the bed while my people ride to defend their homes?”

  Konnal considered, then he made an ice-rimed bow to the king. “Very well. If your Majesty insists, I will see to it,” he said.

  Silvan turned on his heel. He left the room in a flurry of robes. Kiryn cast a thoughtful glance at Glaucous, then followed af
ter the king. The guards closed the doors behind them, took up their posts.

  “I would be interested to know why you changed your mind, General,” Glaucous said quietly.

  “Battles are chancy affairs,” Konnal replied, shrugging. “No one knows how they will turn out. No one knows who may fall victim to the enemy. If His Majesty were to suffer some hurt—”

  “—you would make him a martyr,” said Glaucous, “as you made his parents martyrs. You will be blamed. Never doubt it. You should not permit him to go.” The mage was grave, withdrawing into himself again. “I have a presentiment that, if he does, something awful will happen.”

  “Something awful has already happened, in case you hadn’t noticed!” Konnal said angrily. “Your magic is failing, Glaucous! Like all the others! Admit it!”

  “Your fear is talking, my friend,” said Glaucous. “I understand that, and I forgive you for impugning my magical skills. I forgive you this time.” His voice softened. “Consider well what I have said. I will endeavor to persuade His Majesty to reconsider riding to war. If I cannot do so, permit him to come, but keep him safe.”

  “Leave me!” Konnal said harshly. “I do not need a wizard telling me what to do.”

  “I will leave,” said Glaucous, “but remember this, General. You need me. I stand between the Silvanesti and the world. Cast me aside, and you cast aside all hope. I am the only one who can save you.”

  Konnal spoke no word, did not look up.

  27

  The Touch of the Dead

  his evening, while Silvanoshei prepared himself for his first battle, Goldmoon prepared herself as if for battle. For the first time in many long weeks, Goldmoon asked that a hand mirror be brought to her quarters. For the first time since the storm, she lifted the mirror and looked at her face.