The dead and the living. he wolves had fled, but the danger had not. Derek had gone off to the dragon’s lair to find the orb. Laurana and the others remained in the tunnels beneath a castle under siege. Sounds of fighting echoed faintly down the tunnels. The Ice Folk had managed to fight their way inside the castle and were battling the enemy within its walls. Their day was not finished. The wizard was dead, but those who served him were not.
Sturm sheathed his sword and knelt down to compose the bodies of his comrades. He shut the staring eyes and covered Aran’s ghastly face with his own cloak. He washed the blood from Brian’s face with handfuls of snow.
Laurana had feared Gilthanas would rush off after Derek, perhaps even fight him for the dragon orb. Gilthanas did not leave. He stared at the bodies of the two knights, remembering that only last night they had been alive, laughing, talking, smiling, and singing. He bowed his head, his eyes filled with tears. Laurana stood at his side. He put his arm around her, and together they knelt in the snow to pay their respects to the dead. Flint made a swipe at his eyes and cleared his throat. Tasslehoff smeared blood over his face as he blew his nose on Caramon’s handkerchief.
The dead lay in some semblance of peace, their arms crossed over their breasts, their swords clasped in their still hands.
Sturm raised his eyes skyward and prayed quietly, “‘Return this man to Huma’s breast, beyond the wild, impartial skies; grant to him a warrior’s rest, and set the last spark-’”
“Time for that later,” Derek interrupted.
He came from the dragon’s lair and he held a leather sack in his hand tied with a drawstring. “I have the dragon orb. We must get out of here before we are discovered.”
He glanced down at Aran and Brian, lying on the blood-stained ice, and a spasm passed over his face. His eyes dimmed; his lips trembled. He pressed his lips tightly together. His eyes cleared.
“We will return for the bodies after we have made certain the dragon orb is safe,” he said, cold, impassive.
“You go on, my lord,” said Sturm quietly. “I will remain with the fallen.”
“What for? They are not going anywhere!” Derek rasped angrily.
Flint scowled and growled deep in his throat. Laurana stared at Derek in shock.
Sturm stood quiet, unmoving.
Derek flashed them all an irate glance. “You think me callous, but I am thinking of them. Listen to that!” He gestured down a tunnel. They could all hear the unmistakable sounds of battle-clashing metal, shouts and oaths and screams-and those sounds were growing louder.
“These knights gave their lives to secure the dragon orb. Would you have their sacrifice go to waste, Brightblade? Perhaps you think we should all stay here and die with them? Or do we finish our quest and live to sing of their bravery?”
No one said a word.
Derek turned and walked off, heading back the way they had come. He did not look behind to see if the others were following.
“Derek is right,” said Sturm at last. “We should not let their sacrifice be in vain. Paladine will watch over them. Harm will not come to them until we can return to claim them and take them home.”
Sturm gave a knight’s salute to each of the fallen, then he walked after Derek.
Gilthanas retrieved what arrows he could find and went after Sturm. Flint harumphed and rubbed his nose and, grabbing hold of Tasslehoff, gave the kender a shove and told him to get a move on and quit standing there sniveling like a big baby.
Laurana lingered in the chamber with the dead. Friend. Foe. Picking up the frostreaver, stained with the wizard’s blood, she walked to her destiny.
The Fall of Ice-Reach Castle