Dragonlance 16 - Dragons Of A Lost Star (26 page)

The worm paid little attention to the dwarf on its back. The Urkhan was interested only in its dinner. The worm spewed liquid onto the solid rock at the side of the tunnel. The worm-spit hissed on the rock, began to bubble. Large chunks of rock split apart and fell to the tunnel floor. The Urkhan’s maw opened, seized a chunk, and swallowed it.

The worm crawled nearer, a fearsome sight. Its enormous, undulating, slime-covered body was reddish brown in color and filled half the tunnel. The floor of the tunnel shook beneath the worm’s weight. Urkhan wranglers, as they were called, helped the rider guide the worm by reins attached to straps wrapped around its body.

As the worm came closer to Gilthas and the children, it suddenly swung its blind head around, started to veer toward their side of the tunnel. For one moment, Gilthas feared they would be crushed. The girl clutched at him. He pressed her back against the wall, shielding her and as many of the children as he could with his body.

The wranglers knew their business and were quick to react. Bawling loud curses, the dwarves began to drag on the reins and beat on the Urkhan with their fists and sticks. The creature gave a great, snuffling snort and, shaking its huge head, turned back to its meal.

“There now, you see. That wasn’t so bad,” Gilthas said cheerfully.

The children did not look particularly reassured, but at a sharp word from their sister they fell back into line and began to straggle down the tunnel, keeping wary eyes on the worm as they crept past it.

Glithas remained behind, waiting. He had promised his wife that he would meet her at the entrance to the tunnel. He was starting to return to the entryway when felt her hand upon his shoulder.

“My love,” she said.

Her touch was gentle, her voice soft and soothing. She must have entered the tunnel when he was helping the children. He smiled to see her, and the darkness of despair the dragon had brought down on him departed in the glow of the larva light that glistened in her mane of golden hair. A kiss or two was all they had time to share, for both had news to impart and urgent matters to discuss.

Both began speaking simultaneously.

“My husband, the news we heard is true. The shield has fallen!”

“My wife, the dwarves have agreed!”

They both stopped, looked at each other, and laughed.

Gilthas could not remember the last time he had laughed or heard his wife laugh. Thinking this a good omen, he said, “You first.”

She was about to continue, then she glanced around, frowned. “Where is Planchet? Where are your guards?”

“Planchet remained behind to help the Marshal foil some dra-conians. As to my guards, I ordered them to return to Qualinost. Don’t scold, my dear.” Gilthas smiled. “They are needed there to help ready the defenses. Where are your guards, Madam Lioness?” he asked in mock severity.

“Around,” she said, smiling. Her elf soldiers could be quite close at hand, and he would never see them or hear them, not unless they wanted him to. Her smile faded from her lips and eyes. “We came upon the young elf girl and the children. I offered to send one of my people with her, but she refused. She said she would not think of taking a warrior from the battle.”

“A few weeks ago she danced at her first ball. Now, she cowers in a tunnel and runs for her life.” He could not go on for a moment for the emotion choking him. “What courage our people have!” he said huskily.

The two stood in the tunnel. The floor shook beneath them. The dwarven wranglers bellowed and shouted. Dwarves crouched by the entrance, waiting to assist more refugees. Other elves, coming from farther down the tunnel, walked past them. Seeing their king, they nodded and smiled and acted as if this, escaping through a dark and shaking tunnel, guided by dwarves, were an everyday occurrence.

Clearing his throat, Gilthas said, more briskly, “You have verified the first reports we heard?”

The Lioness brushed a tangle of her shining hair from her face. “Yes, but what the fall of the shield means, whether this is good or bad, cannot be told.”

“What happened? How did this come about? Did the Sil-vanesti lower it themselves?”

She shook her head, and the golden, curling, rampant mass of hair that gave her the nickname of the Lioness covered her face once more. Fondly, her husband smoothed the locks back with his hand. He loved to look upon her face. Some noble Qualinesti elven women, with their cream and rose-petal complexions, looked with disdain on the Kagonesti, whose skin was tanned a deep brown from days spent in the sunshine.

Unlike his face, wherein one could see traces of his human heritage in his square jaw and slightly more rounded eyes, her face was all elven: heart-shaped, with almond eyes. Her features were strong, not delicate, her gaze bold and decisive. Seeing him look at her with love and admiration, the Lioness captured his hand, kissed his palm.

“I have missed you,” she said softly.

“And I, you.” He sighed deeply, drew her close. “Will we ever be at peace, do you think, Beloved? Will there ever be a time when we can sleep until long, long after sunrise, then wake and spend the rest of the day doing nothing except loving each other?”

She did not answer him. He kissed the mane of hair and held her close.

“What of the shield?” he said at last.

“I talked to a runner who saw it was down, but when he tried to find Alhana and her people, they had moved on. That is not unexpected. Alhana would have immediately crossed the border into Silvanesti. We may not hear anything more from her for some time.”

“I had not let myself hope that this news was true,” Gilthas said, “but you ease my care and lift my fear. By lowering the shield, the Silvanesti show they are willing to enter the world again. I will send emissaries immediately to tell them of our plight and ask for their aid. Our people will travel there and find food and rest and shelter. If our plans fail and Qualinost falls, with our cousins’ help, we will build a large army. We will return to drive the dragon from our homeland.”

The Lioness put her hand over his mouth. “Hush, Husband. You are spinning steel out of moonbeams. We have no idea what is happening in Silvanesti, why the shield was lowered, what this may portend. The runner reported that all living things that grew near the shield were either dead or dying. Perhaps this shield was not a blessing to the Silvanesti but a curse.

“There is also the fact,” she added relentlessly, “that our cousins the Silvanesti have not acted very cousinly in the past. They named your Uncle Porthios a dark elf. They have no love for your father. They deem you a half-breed, your mother something worse.”

“They cannot deny us entry,” Gilthas said firmly. “They will not. You will not deprive me of my moonbeams, my dear. I believe the lowering of the shield is a sign of a change of heart among the Silvanesti. I have hope to offer our people. They will cross the Plains of Dust. They will reach Silvanesti, and once there our cousins will welcome them. The journey will not be easy, but you know better than anyone the courage that lives in the hearts of our people. Courage such as we saw in that young girl.”

“Yes, the journey will be hard,” the Lioness said, regarding her husband earnestly. “Our people will succeed, but they will need a leader: one who will urge us to keep going when we are tired and hungry and thirsty and there is no rest, no food, no water. If our king travels with us, we will follow him. When we arrive in Silvanesti, our king must be our emissary. Our king must speak for us, so that we do not seem a mob of beggars.”

“The senators, the Heads of House—”

“—will squabble among themselves, Gilthas, you know that. One third will want to march west instead of east. Another third will want to march north instead of south. And the other third will not want to march at all. They will fight over this for months. If they ever did manage to reach Silvanesti, the first thing they would do is drag up all the quarrels for the past three centuries, and that will be an end to everything. You, Gilthas. You are the only one who has a hope of making this work. You are the only one who can unify the various factions and lead the people across the desert. You are the only one who can smooth the way with the Silvanesti.”

“And yet,” Gilthas argued, “I cannot be in two places at once. I cannot fight to defend Qualinost and lead our people into the Plains of Dust.”

“No, you cannot,” the Lioness agreed. “You must put someone else in charge of the defense of Qualinost.”

“What sort of king flees to safety and leaves his people to die in his stead?” Gilthas demanded frowning.

“The sort of king who makes certain that the last sacrifice of those who stay behind will not be made in vain,” said his wife. “Do not think that because you do not remain to fight the dragon that you will have the easier task. You are asking a people born to the woods, born to lush gardens and bountiful water, to venture into the Plains of Dust, an arid land of shifting sand dunes and blazing sun. Place me in charge of Qualinost—”

“No,” he said shortly. “I will not hear of it.”

“My love—”

“We will not discuss it. I have said no, and I mean it. How can I do what you tell me I must do, without you at my side?” Gilthas demanded, his voice rising in his passion.

She gazed at him in silence, and he grew calmer.

“We will not speak of this anymore,” he told her.

“Yet we must speak of it sometime.”

Gilthas shook his head. His lips compressed into a tight, grim line. “What other news?” he asked abruptly.

The Lioness, who knew her husband’s moods, understood that continuing to argue would be fruitless. “Our forces harass Beryl’s armies. Yet, their numbers are so great that we are as gnats attacking a pack of ravening wolves.”

“Withdraw your people. Order them south. They will be needed to guard the survivors if Qualinost falls.”

“I thought that would be your command,” she said. “I have already done so. From now on, Beryl’s troops will move unimpeded, looting and burning and killing.”

Gilthas felt the hope that had warmed his blood seep away, leaving him once again despairing, chilled.

“Yet we will have our revenge upon her. You said that the dwarves have agreed to your plan.” The Lioness, sorry she had spoken so harshly, tried to lift him from the dark mood she saw settling on him.

“Yes,” he said. “I spoke to Tarn Bellowsgranite. Our meeting was fortuitous. I had not expected to find him in the tunnels. I had thought I would have to ride to Thorbardin to speak with him, but he has taken charge of the work himself, and thus we were able to settle the matter at once.”

“He knows that perhaps some of his own people may die defending elves?”

“He knows better than I can tell him what the cost will be to the dwarves. Yet they are willing to make the sacrifice. ‘If once the great green dragon swallows Qualinesti, she will next have an appetite for Thorbardin,’ he told me.”

“Where is the dwarven army?” the Lioness demanded. “Skulking underground, prepared to defend Thorbardin. An army of hundreds of thousands, doughty warriors. With them, we could withstand Beryl’s assault—”

“My dear,” said Gilthas, gently, “the dwarves have a right to defend their homeland. Would we elves rush to their aid if they were the ones attacked? They have done much for us. They have saved the lives of countless people, and they are prepared to sacrifice their lives for a cause that is not their own. They should be honored, not castigated.”

The Lioness glared at him, defiant for a moment, then she said with a shrug and a rueful smile. “You are right, of course. You see both sides, whereas I see only one. This is why I say again, you must be the one to lead our people.”

“I said we would speak of this later,” Gilthas returned, his voice cool.

“I wonder,” he said, changing the subject, “does that young girl cry when she is alone and wakeful in the night, her charges slumbering around her, trusting in her even when the darkness is deep?”

“No,” the Lioness answered. “She does not cry, for one of them might wake and see her tears and lose faith.”

Gilthas sighed deeply, held his wife close. “Beryl has crossed the border into our land. How many days before the army reaches Qualinost?”

“Four,” the Lioness replied.

20

The March Into Nightlund

Mina’s small army, only a few hundred in number, made up of the group of Knights who had followed her from the ghastly valley of Neraka to Sanction to Silvanesti, and now to this strange land.

The dragons flew through darkness so deep that Galdar could not see Captain Samuval flying on the dragon next to him. Galdar could not even see his own dragon’s long tail or wings for the darkness that shrouded them. He saw one dragon only and that was the strange dragon Mina rode, the death dragon, for it shimmered with a ghostly iridescence that was both terrible and beautiful. Red, blue, green, white, red-blue, as two of the souls of the dead dragons combined, then white-green, constantly changing until he grew dizzy and was forced to look away.

But his gaze was drawn back to the death dragon, marveling, awed. He wondered how Mina found courage to ride a beast that seemed as insubstantial as the morning mist, for he could see through the dragon, see the darkness beyond it. Mina had no qualms apparently, and her faith was justified, for the dragon bore her safely through the skies of Ansalon and deposited her gently and reverently on the ground.

The other dragons landed on a vast plain, allowed their riders to dismount, then took to the air again.

“Listen for my call,” Mina told the dragons. “I will have need of you.”

The dragons—giant reds and fleet blues, sly blacks, aloof whites and cunning greens—bowed low their heads, spread their wings, and bent their proud necks before her. The death dragon circled once above her head and then vanished as if it had been absorbed into the darkness. The other dragons lifted their wings and flew away, heading different directions. Their departure created a great wind that nearly blew the men over. The dragons were gone, and they were left on foot, with no mounts, in a strange land, with no idea where they were.

It was then Mina told them.

“Nightlund,” she said.

Once this land had been ruled by a Solamnic Knight named Soth. Given the chance by the gods to halt the Cataclysm, Lord Soth had failed and brought down a curse upon himself and the land. Since the time of the Cataclysm, other doomed souls, both living and dead, had found in Nightlund a place of refuge and they had come to dwell within its deep shadows. Hearing that the land had become a hideout for those fleeing the law, the Solamnic Knights, who ruled this land, had made several attempts to clean them out. These proved futile, and soon the Knights quit entering the forest, leaving it to Soth, the accursed knight, to rule. Nightlund was a no-man’s-land, where none of the living came, if they could help it.

This land had an evil reputation, even among the Dark Knights of Neraka, for the dead had no allegiances to any government of the living. Mina’s Knights and soldiers formed ranks and marched after her without a murmur of complaint. They were so confident of her now, they believed in her—and in the One God—so strongly, that they did not question her judgment.

Mina’s soldiers entered Nightlund with impunity. They encountered no enemy—living or dead. They marched beneath huge cypress trees that had been old at the time of the forging of the Graygem. They saw no living creature, no squirrel or bird, mouse or chipmunk, no deer or bear. They saw no dead, either, for none of them possessed magic, and thus the dead took no interest in them. But the soldiers and knights sensed the dead around them, sensed it as one senses he is being watched by unseen eyes. After several days of marching through the eerie forest, the men who had followed Mina into Nightlund without hesitation were starting to have second thoughts.

The fur on the back of Galdar’s neck prickled and twitched, and he was continually whipping his head around to see if something was creeping up on him. Captain Samuval complained—in low tones and only when Mina could not hear him—that he had “the horrors.” When asked what malady this might be, he could not explain, except to say that it made his feet and hands cold so that no fire could warm them and gave him an ache in his belly. The sharp crack of a falling branch sent men diving to the ground, to lie quivering in terror until someone told them what it was. Shamefaced, they would rise and carry on.

The men doubled the watch at night, though Mina told them that they had no need to set a watch at all. She did not explain why, but Galdar guessed that they were being guarded by those who had no more need of sleep. He did not find this particularly reassuring, and he often woke from a dream of hundreds of people standing around him, staring down at him with eyes that were empty of all except pain.

Mina was strangely silent during this march. She walked in the front of the line, refused all company, said no word to any man, yet Galdar could sometimes see her lips moving, as though she were speaking. When he once ventured to ask to whom she spoke, she replied, “To them,” and made a sweeping gesture with her hand that encompassed nothing.

“The dead, Mina?” Galdar asked hesitantly.

“The souls of the dead. They have no more need of the shells that once housed them.”

“You can see them?”

“The One God gives me that power.”

“But I can’t.”

“I could cause you to see them, Galdar,” Mina said to him, “but you would find it most unpleasant and disconcerting.”

“No, Mina, no, I don’t want to see them,” Galdar said hastily. “How . . . how many of them are there?”

“Thousands,” she replied. “Thousands upon thousands and thousands more after that. The souls of all who have died in this world since the Chaos War, Galdar. That is how many. And more join their ranks daily. Elves dying in Silvanesti and Qualinesti, soldiers dying defending Sanction, mothers dying in childbirth, children dying of sickness, the elderly dying in their beds—all these souls are flowing into Nightlund in a vast river. Brought here by the One God, prepared to do the bidding of the One God.”

“You said since the end of the Chaos War. Where did the souls go before that?”

“The blessed souls went to other realms beyond. Cursed souls were doomed to remain here, until they learned the lessons they were meant to learn in life. Then they, too, left for the next stage. The old gods encouraged the souls to leave. The old gods gave the souls no choice. The old gods ignored the fact that the souls did not want to depart. They longed to remain within the world and do what they could to assist the living. The One God saw this and granted the souls the gift that they could remain in the world and serve the One God. So they do, Galdar. And so they will.”

Mina looked at him with her amber eyes. “You would not want to leave, would you, Galdar?”

“I would not want to leave you, Mina,” he replied. “That is what I fear most about dying. That I would have to leave you.”

“You never will, Galdar,” Mina said to him, her voice gentle. The amber warmed. Her hand touched his arm, and her touch was as warm as the amber. “I promise you that. You never will.”

Galdar was uneasy. He hesitated to say the next, for fear she would be displeased, but he was her second-in-command, and he was responsible not only to her but to those under his command.

“How long are we going to stay here, Mina? The men don’t like it in this forest. I can’t say that I blame them. The living have no place here. We’re not wanted.”

“Not long,” she said. “I must pay a visit to someone who lives within this forest. Yes, he lives,” she emphasized the word. “A wizard by the name of Dalamar. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Galdar shook his head. He had as little to do with wizards as possible and took no interest in them or their business.

“After that,” Mina continued, “I must leave for a brief time—”

“Leave?” Galdar repeated, involuntarily raising his voice.

“Leave?” Captain Samuval came hurrying over. “What is this? Who is leaving?”

“Mina,” said Galdar, his throat constricting.

“Mina the only reason the troops stay is because of you,” said Samuval. “If you go—”

“I will not be gone long,” said Mina, frowning.

“Long or short, Mina, I’m not sure we can control the men,” said Captain Samuval. He kept jerking his head about, constantly looking over his shoulder. “And I don’t blame them. This land is cursed. Ghosts crawl all over it. I can feel them crawling all over me!”

He shivered and rubbed his arms and glanced fearfully about. “You can’t see them except out of the corner of your eye. And when you look at them, they’re gone. It’s enough to drive a man stark, staring mad.”

“I will speak to the men, Captain Samuval,” Mina replied. “You and Galdar must speak to them, as well, and you must show them by example that you are not afraid.”

“Even though we are,” the minotaur growled.

“The dead will not harm you. They have been ordered to congregate here for one purpose and one purpose alone. The One God commands them. They serve the One God, and through the intercession of the One God, they serve me.”

“What is this purpose, Mina? You keep saying that, but you tell us nothing.”

“All will be revealed. You must be patient and have faith,” Mina said. The amber eyes cooled and hardened.

Galdar and Samuval exchanged glances. Samuval held still, no longer jerked his head about or rubbed his arms, afraid of offending Mina.

“How long will you be gone?” Galdar asked.

“You will come with me to the wizard’s Tower. Then I travel north, to speak to the dragon who rules Palanthas, the dragon known as Khellendros or, as I prefer to call him, Skie.”

“Skie? He’s not even around anymore. All know that he departed on some strange quest.”

“The dragon is there,” Mina said. “He waits for me, though he does not know it.”

“Waits to attack you, maybe,” said Samuval with a snort. “He’s not like one of our blue dragons, Mina. This Skie is a butcher. He devours his own kind to gain power, just like Malystryx.”

“You should not go alone, Mina,” Galdar urged tersely. “Take some of us with you.”

“The Hand of the One God brought down Cyan Bloodbane, Mina said sternly. “The Hand of the One God will bring down Skie, if he thwarts the God’s commands. Skie will obey. He has no choice. He cannot help himself.

“You will obey me, too, Galdar, Captain Samuval,” Mina added. “As will the men.” Her tone and her look softened. “You have no need to fear. The One God rewards obedience. You will be safe in the forest of the dead. They guard you. They have no thought of harming you. Resume the march, Galdar. We must make haste. Events in the world move swiftly, and we are called.

“We are called,” muttered Galdar, after Mina had departed traveling deeper into the forest. “We are always called, it seems.”

“Called to victory,” observed Captain Samuval. “Called to glory. I don’t mind that. Do you?”

“No, not that part,” Galdar admitted.

“Then what’s wrong—besides this place frightens the pudding out of us.” Samuval glanced around the shadowed forest with a shudder.

“I guess I’d like to think I had some say in the matter,” Galdar muttered. “Some choice.”

“In the military?” Samuval chortled. “Your mama must have dropped you on your head when you were a calf if you think that!”

He looked down the path. Mina had passed beyond his sight. “Come on,” he said uneasily. “Let’s keep moving. The sooner we’re out of this place, the better.”

Galdar pondered this. Samuval was right, of course. In the military one obeyed orders. A soldier didn’t get to vote on whether or not he’d like to storm a city, whether or not he’d like to face a barrage of arrows or have a cauldron of hot boiling oil poured on his head. A soldier did what he was told to do without question. Galdar knew that, and he accepted that. Why was this any different?

Galdar didn’t know. Couldn’t answer.