A last kiss. Fine and blood. he knights and their newfound companions arrived back at the library without incident. Marcus had returned to report that Tas was safely back at the library, regaling Lillith with his tale of how they had fought off six hundred Tarsian guards and a wandering giant.
“Brian,” said Derek, “before we enter the library, go fetch Brightblade. Tell him I want to speak with him.”
Brian sighed deeply, but went to do as he was told.
Sturm Brightblade came of an honored family and he had the backing of Lord Gunthar, who was an old and valued friend of the family. When Sturm had asked that he be considered for knighthood, Lord Gunthar had supported the young man. It was Derek who had opposed Sturm’s nomination to enter the knighthood on various grounds: Sturm had not been raised in Solamnia; he had been raised by his mother, his father having been absent during his formative years; Sturm was not properly educated; he had not served as a squire to a knight; and most damning, Derek had hinted that Sturm’s parentage was subject to question.
Fortunately Sturm had not been present to hear all that Derek had said about him and his family, or there would have been bloodshed in the council hall. As it was, Lord Gunthar had answered the charges, arguing vehemently in favor of his young friend, but Derek’s charges had been enough to sink Sturm’s candidacy.
Rumor had it that when Sturm heard rumors of what Derek had said, the young man had tried to challenge Derek to a contest of honor. That was not possible, however. A mere nobody, such as Sturm Brightblade, could not challenge a Lord Knight of the Rose to mortal combat. Feeling himself disgraced, Sturm had determined to leave Solamnia. In vain, Lord Gunthar had tried to persuade Sturm to remain. Gunthar urged him to wait a year, and his name could be submitted again. In the meantime, Sturm could refute Derek’s charges. Sturm refused. He left Solamnia shortly after, taking with him his inheritance-his father’s sword and armor, part of which he was now wearing, though he had no right to do so.
Two proud and stubborn men, Brian thought, both at fault.
“We need to talk to you, Sturm,” said Brian. “In private. Perhaps the lady would like to take some time to rest,” he concluded awkwardly.
Sturm escorted the veiled woman to a stone bench near what had once been a marble fountain. He gallantly brushed off the snow, removed his cloak, and spread it out on the bench, then graciously assisted her to seat herself. The true elf, whose name was Gilthanas, had not spoken a word to any of them this entire time. He sat protectively beside the woman. Tanis stood fidgeting, looking about. He nodded in acquiescence when Sturm told him he was going to speak with his friends.
Derek led the way to a place where they could talk in private and not be overheard. Brian, who had the dread feeling he knew what was coming, found a chance to say a quick word to Sturm, holding him back when he would have followed Derek.
“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for what happened to you-in regard to the knighthood. Derek’s my friend and there’s no man I love and honor more,” Brian smiled ruefully, “but he can be a horse’s rear end sometimes.”
Sturm made no reply. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground. His face was dark with anger.
“All of us have our failings,” Brian continued. “If Derek would ever take off his armor, we’d find a human being underneath, but he can’t take off that armor, Sturm. He’s just not made that way. He expects perfection of everyone, especially himself.”
Sturm seemed to soften at this. He looked less grim.
“When the dragonarmies overran Castle Crownguard,” Brian continued, “a dragon killed his younger brother, Edwin. That is, we assume he is dead.” He paused a moment, thinking back to that terrible time, and said quietly, “We hope he is dead. Derek’s wife and child are now forced to reside with her father, because Derek cannot provide a house to shelter her. How must any man feel about that, especially a man as proud as Derek? He has nothing left, except the knighthood, this quest of his-” Brian sighed “-and his pride. Remember that, Sturm, and forgive him, if you can.”
Having said this, Brian walked away, lest Derek should suspect he’d said anything. Sturm was silent, stiff and formal when he joined Derek. Aran, peering over Derek’s helm, looked at Brian and lifted his eyebrows in a question. Brian could only shake his head. He had no idea what Derek was doing.
“Brightblade,” said Derek abruptly, “we have had our differences in the past…”
Sturm’s body trembled, his hands clenched. He said nothing, but gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement.
“I remind you that according to the Measure, in time of warfare, all personal animosities must be set aside. I am willing to do so,” Derek added, “if you are. I prove it by taking you into our confidence. I am going to reveal to you the nature of our quest.”
Brian was astonished, as all of a sudden he realized what Derek was doing. He felt himself growing so angry he had to choke back the harsh words; Derek was being conciliatory to Sturm because he needed the kender.
Sturm hesitated, then gave a great sigh, as though letting go a heavy burden, and said quietly, “I am honored by your trust, my lord.”
“You have leave to tell your friends of our mission,” Derek said, “but this must go no further.”
“I understand,” said Sturm. “I answer for their honor as for my own.”
Considering that he was speaking for outlandish folk, such as dwarves and half-elves, Derek raised an eyebrow at this, but he let it go. He needed the kender.
Derek was about to proceed when Aran interrupted.
“Is it true you killed a Dragon Highlord in Pax Tharkas?” he asked with interest.
“My friends and I assisted in a slave uprising in Pax Tharkas that resulted in the death of the Highlord,” Sturm replied.
Aran was impressed. “No need to be modest, Brightblade. You must have had more to do with it than that, for your name to be on the Highlord’s bounty list!”
“Is it?” Sturm asked, startled.
“It is. Your name and those of your companions. Show him, Brian.”
“We can do that another time. We have more important matters to discuss now,” said Derek, casting Aran an irate glance. “We have been sent by the Knight’s Council to find and bring back to Sancrist a valuable artifact called a dragon orb. We heard rumors that this orb might be found in Icereach, and we have stopped here at the ancient library to try to gain more information. The kender has been of valuable assistance to us in this.”
Sturm smoothed his mustaches, embarrassed and uneasy. “I do not like to speak ill of anyone, my lords, especially Tasslehoff, whom I have known for many years and whom I consider a friend-”
Derek frowned at the thought of anyone considering a kender a friend, but fortunately, Sturm didn’t notice.
“-you should be aware, however, that Tas, while a very good-hearted person, is known to sometimes… er… fabricate-”
“If you are trying to say that the kender is a little liar, I am aware of that,” stated Derek impatiently. “The kender is not lying now. We have proof of the veracity of his claims. I think you and your friends should come see for yourselves.”
“If Tasslehoff has been able to help you, I am glad. I’m sure Tanis will want to speak to him,” Sturm added wryly. “Now, if there is nothing more to discuss-”
“Just one thing-who is the woman in the veil?” Brian asked curiously, glancing over his shoulder.
The woman was still seated on a bench, speaking to the true elf and the half-elf. The dwarf stumped about nearby.
“Lady Alhana, daughter of the King of Silvanesti,” Sturm answered. His gaze warmed as it fell upon her.
“Silvanesti!” Aran repeated, amazed. “She is far from home. What is a Silvanesti elf doing in Tarsis?”
“The reach of the Dark Queen is long,” said Sturm gravely. “The dragonarmies are about to invade her homeland. The lady has risked her life to travel to Tarsis in search of mercenaries to help the elves fight off their foes. It was for that she was arrested. Mercenaries are not welcome in this city, nor are those who seek to hire them.”
“Do you mean to say the dragonarmies have moved so far south that they threaten to attack Silvanesti?” asked Brian, aghast.
“So it would seem, my lord,” Sturm replied. He glanced at Derek and said in tones of sympathy and regret, “I hear war has come to Solamnia as well.”
“Castle Crownguard fell to the dragonarmies, as did Vingaard,” said Derek stolidly, “and all the realm to the east. Palanthas yet stands, as does the High Clerist’s’ Tower, but the fiends may launch an attack at any moment.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” said Sturm earnestly, and he looked Derek in the eye for the first time. “Truly sorry.”
“We do not need sympathy. What we need is the power to drive these butchers from our homeland,” Derek replied harshly. “That is why this dragon orb is of such vital importance. According to the kender, it confers upon the one who masters it the ability to control dragons.”
“If that is true, it would indeed be good news for all of us who fight for the cause of freedom,” Sturm said. “I will go inform my friends.”
He walked off to speak to the half-elf.
“Now, I suppose we must be civil to these people,” said Derek dourly, and bracing himself, he went to join Sturm.
Aran stared after him. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you, Brian? He’s being nice to Brightblade so he will help us keep hold of the kender. Otherwise, Derek wouldn’t give Sturm the back of his hand.”
“Maybe,” Brian admitted. “though, to do him justice, I honestly believe Derek doesn’t think of it like that. In his mind, he’s doing this for Solamnia.”
Aran tugged on his mustaches. “You’re a good friend to him, Brian. I wish he deserved you.”
He started to reach for his flask, then remembered it was empty, and with a sigh sauntered off to make the acquaintance of Sturm Brightblade’s regrettable friends.
As it turned out, one was not so regrettable, not even to Derek, who felt no reduction of his dignity upon being introduced to the Lady Alhana. The Solamnics had not been ruled by a king for many centuries, but the knights were still respectful of royalty and charmed by it, especially by such surpassingly beautiful royalty as Alhana Starbreeze.
They proceeded to the library, where they found the kender perusing books with the magical glasses. The half-elf, who had been presented to them as Tanis Half-Elven, was inclined to be severe with Tas for running off, but eventually Tanis relented, when it appeared that Tasslehoff was actually able to read the ancient texts and was not making it all up.
While the knights and the kender and his friends were talking, Brian slipped away to go in search of Lillith. He had been disappointed to find, on his return, that she had left upon some errand. He went back to the entrance and found Marcus peering nervously up the stairs.
“There’s a bad feeling in the air,” he said. “Do you notice?”
Brian remembered Aran saying the same thing not so long ago. Now that Marcus had called his attention to it, Brian did feel ill-at-ease. As Aran had said, it was as though someone were walking across his grave.
“Where’s Lillith?” Brian asked.
“She’s praying in our chapel,” Marcus replied. He indicated a room off to one side of the main entrance. Another door, marked with the book and the scales, stood partway ajar.
Brian was startled by this. He didn’t know what to do.
“It’s just… we might be leaving soon… I wanted to see her…”
“You can go in,” Marcus said, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt-” “It’s all right.”
Brian hesitated, then he walked over and gently pushed on the door.
The chapel was quite small, large enough for only a few people at a time. At the far end was an altar. On the altar lay an open book and beside it was a scale of balance, perfectly poised so that both sides were equal. Lillith was not kneeling, as Brian had half expected. She sat cross-legged before the altar, very much at her ease. She was speaking in a low voice, but it did not seem that she was praying so much as holding a conversation with her god, for she would occasionally emphasize a point with a gesture.
Brian opened the door a little farther, intending to slip into the back of the room, but the door hinges creaked. Lillith turned around and smiled at him.
“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Gilean and I were just talking,” she said. “You speak of him as though he were a friend,” said Brian.
“He is,” said Lillith, rising to her feet. Her dimple flashed.
“But he’s a god. At least, you believe he is a god,” said Brian.
“I respect and revere him as a god,” Lillith answered, “but when I come to him, he makes me feel welcome as if I were visiting an old friend.”
Brian glanced down at the altar, trying to think of some way to change the subject, which made him uncomfortable. He looked at the book, thinking it must be some holy text, and said in astonishment, “The pages of the book are blank. Why is that?”
“To remind us that our lives are made up of blank sheets waiting to be filled,” Lillith replied. “The book of life is open when we are born, and it closes with our death. We write in it continually, but no matter how much we write, what joy or sorrow we experience or what mistakes we have made, we will always turn the page, and tomorrow’s page is always blank.”
“Some people might find that prospect daunting,” said Brian somberly, looking down at the page, so starkly white and empty.
“I find it filled with hope,” said Lillith. She moved close to him.
He took hold of her hands and clasped them in his own. “I know what I want to write on tomorrow’s page. I want to write my love for you.”
“Then let us write it on today’s page,” said Lillith softly. “We will not wait for tomorrow.”
A small cut-crystal jar filled with ink stood on the altar; beside it was a feather pen. Lillith dipped the quill in the ink and then, half-serious and half-laughing, she drew a heart on the page, as might a child, and wrote his name, Brian, inside the heart.
Brian picked up the pen and was going to write her name, but he was interrupted by the sound of horn calls coming from outside the library. Though the horns were distant, far away, still he recognized them. His stomach clenched. His heart thudded. His hand jerked and dropped the pen that had been forming the letter “L”.
He turned toward the door.
“What is that dreadful noise?” Lillith gasped.
The blaring noise was growing louder by the moment. She grimaced at the discordant, raucous blaring.
“What is it?” she asked urgently. “What does it mean?”
“The dragonarmies,” said Brian, striving to be calm for her sake. “What we feared has happened. Tarsis is under attack.”
He and Lillith looked at each other. This was the moment they must part, he to his duty, she to hers. They gave each other the gift of a precious moment, a moment to cling to each other, a moment to memorize a loved face, a moment they would each hold in the coming darkness. Then they let go, each turning away.
“Marcus,” Lillith called, running out of the chapel. “Fetch the Aesthetics! Bring them here!”
“Derek!” Brian shouted. “The dragonarmies! I’m going out to take a look!”
He was about to race up the stairs when he heard raised voices coming from the library’s interior. Brian groaned inwardly. He could guess what was going on. He turned from the stairs and made his way among the bookshelves, moving as rapidly as possible, hoping to head off a dispute.
“Where do you think you are going, kender?” Derek could be heard shouting.
“With Tanis!” Tas yelled back, sounding amazed at the question. “You’re knights. You can get along fine without me, but my friends need me!”
“We offer you our protection, Half-Elven,” Derek was saying as Brian arrived. “Are you turning that down?”
“I thank you, Sir Knight,” Tanis replied, “but as I told you, we cannot go with you. We have friends in the Red Dragon. We must return to them-”
“Bring the kender, Sturm,” Derek ordered, “and come with us.”
“I cannot, sir,” Sturm replied. He rested his hand on the half-elf’s shoulder. “He is my leader, and my first loyalty is to my friends.”
Derek was incensed that Sturm Brightblade, a Solamnic, would have the temerity to refuse a direct order from a knight who was his superior by birth, and to add insult to injury, instead proudly proclaim that he obeyed the orders of some half-breed elf.
Tanis understood. He started to say something, perhaps to try to assuage Derek’s ire, but Derek intervened.
“If that is your decision, I cannot stop you,” Derek said, cold with anger. “But this is another black mark against you, Sturm Brightblade. Remember that you are not a knight. Not yet. Pray that I am not there when the question of your knighthood comes before the Council.”
Sturm went livid. He cast a conscience-stricken look at the half-elf, who appeared considerably astonished.
“What did he say?” the dwarf demanded. “The knight’s not a knight?”
“Leave it, Flint,” said Tanis quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, of course it doesn’t matter.” Flint shook his fist under Derek’s nose. “We’re glad he’s not one of you stuck-up steel-for-brains knights! It would serve you right if we did leave you with the kender!”
“Tanis,” Sturm said in low tones, “I can explain-”
“There’s no time for explanations!” Tanis was shouting in his urgency. “Listen! They’re coming closer. Gentlemen, I wish you success. Sturm, see to the Lady Alhana. Tasslehoff, you’re coming with me.” Tanis laid firm hands on the kender. “If we get separated, we’ll meet at the Red Dragon Inn.”
The horn calls were coming closer. Tanis managed to marshal his friends together and they hurried off, following the kender, who knew the path through the bookshelves. Derek glared at the books piled on the table in frustration. There were a number not yet studied.
“At least we know there’s an orb in Icereach, and we know what it does,” Aran pointed out. “Now let’s get out of this city before all hell breaks loose.”
“The horses are stabled near the main gate. We can escape in the confusion-” Brian added.
“We need that kender!” Derek stated.
“Derek, be reasonable,” Aran said, but Derek was unpacking his armor and refused to heed him.
The time for disguising themselves was past. They might have to fight their way out of the city, and Aran and Derek buckled on their breastplates over chain mail and put on their helms. Brian, who had lost his armor when his horse ran off, had to make do with his leather. They sorted through their gear, took only what they deemed necessary, and left the rest behind. They made their way among the books, back to the entrance.
“I thank you for your assistance, Mistress,” Derek said to Lillith, who was keeping guard on the door. “How do we find the Red Dragon Inn?”
Lillith stared at him in astonishment. “This is a strange time to go inquiring for a room, sir.”
“Please, Mistress, we don’t have much time,” Derek stated.
Lillith shrugged. “Go back to the center of the city. The inn’s not far from the Hall of Justice.”
“You go on ahead,” said Brian to the others. “I’ll catch up.”
Derek cast him an annoyed glance, but made no comment. Aran grinned at Brian and winked, then he and Derek dashed up the stairs.
Brian turned to Lillith. “Shut and seal the door. They won’t find it-”
“I will,” she said. Her voice trembled a little, but she was composed and even managed a smile. “I’m waiting for the other Aesthetics to come. We have laid in supplies. We’ll be safe. Draconians are not interested in books-”
No, thought Brian, despairing, they’re only interested in killing.
He gave her a last, lingering kiss, then-hearing Derek bellowing-he tore himself away from her and ran after his friends.
“May the Gods of Light watch over you!” she called after him.
Brian glanced back over his shoulder and waved his hand in farewell. The last he saw of her, she was smiling and waving, then a shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.
Brian looked up to see the red wings and enormous red body of a dragon. The dragonfear swept over him, crushing hope and rending courage. His sword arm faltered. He staggered as he ran, barely able to breathe for the terror that seemed to darken everything around him.
The dragonarmies had not come to conquer Tarsis. They had come to destroy it.
Brian fought against the fear that twisted inside him so that he was nearly physically ill. He wondered if Derek and Aran were watching him, a witness to his weakness, and pride and anger bolstered him. He kept running. The red monster flew by, heading toward those sections of Tarsis where panic-stricken people were thronging into the streets.
Brian found Aran and Derek sheltered in the shadows of a crumbling doorway.
More red dragons came, their wings filling the skies. The knights heard the roaring of the monstrous beasts, saw them wheel and dive down upon their helpless victims, breathing great gouts of fire that incinerated everything and everyone it touched. Smoke began to rise as buildings exploded into flame. Even from this distance, they could hear the horrible screams of the dying.
Aran had gone ashen. Derek maintained his stern composure but only by great effort. He had to lick his lips twice before he could speak.
“We’re going to the inn.”
They all ducked involuntarily as a red dragon flew overheard, his belly skimming the treetops. Had the dragon looked down, he would have seen them, but the beast’s fierce eyes were staring hungrily ahead. He was eager to join in the slaughter.
“Derek, that’s madness,” Aran hissed. Sweat beaded his lip beneath his helm. “The dragon orb is what is important. Forget the damn kender!” He pointed to the thickening coils of black smoke. “Look at that! We might as well march into the Abyss!”
Derek gave him a cold look. “I’m going to the inn. If you’re afraid, I’ll meet you back at our campsite.”
He started off, running down the street, dodging from one shelter to another, diving from a doorway to a grove of trees to a building, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the dragons.
Brian looked helplessly at Aran, who flung up his hands in exasperation.
“I suppose we’ll have to go with him! At least maybe we can keep the idiot from getting himself killed.”