Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (19 page)

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 behind 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.

Then Aran, riding ahead of him, said softly in Solamnic, “Not trolls. Lizards.”

Brian shifted his hand beneath his cloak to grasp the hilt of his sword.

Derek eyed the strangers warily, then said, “Since we are on the road to Tarsis and that city lies directly ahead of us, it would seem safe to say that Tarsis is where we are bound.”

“Mind if we ask you a few questions?” the draconian inquired, still friendly.

“Yes, we do,” said Derek. “Now stand aside and let us cross.”

“We’re looking for some people,” the draconian continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “We have a message for them from our master.”

Brian caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A fourth draconian was off to the side of the road, half-hidden behind a signpost. Hooded and cloaked like the others, the draconian was far shorter than his three companions. He was moving about inside his cloak, and Brian thought perhaps the creature was about to draw a weapon. Instead, the draconian brought forth a document of some sort. The creature consulted the document, then called out something to his comrades and shook his head.

The leader glanced over at the draconian with the paper and then, shrugging, said affably, “My mistake. A good journey to you gentlemen,” and turned to walk off.

The knights stared at each other. “Keep riding,” Derek ordered.

The knights rode on. Derek’s horse made it across the bridge, and Aran’s was close behind when a gust of wind swirled down the gully, seized the corner of Derek’s cape and blew it back over his shoulder. The rose of his Order, embroidered on his tabard, flared bright red, the only color in the white, snow-covered landscape.

“Solamnics!” The word hissed from the short, squat draconian by the sign post. “Kill them!”

The draconians whipped around. They flung back their cloaks, revealing themselves as baaz draconians, the footsoldiers of the dragonarmies. Snatching off their gloves, they drew long, curve-bladed swords. Their bodies might be covered in scales and they held their weapons in clawed hands, but they were fierce and intelligent fighters, as the three knights had reason to know, for they had fought against them in Vingaard and at Castle Crownguard.

Sword in hand, Derek spurred his horse directly at the lead draconian, trusting that the beast’s stamping hooves would force the attacking draconian to retreat or be trampled. Unfortunately, Derek’s horse was a hired nag, not a trained war horse. The horse was terrified by the strange-smelling lizard-man and it reared back on its hind legs, whinnying frantically and nearly dumping Derek out of the saddle.

Derek struggled to calm the horse and keep his seat, and for the moment he could pay attention to little else. Seeing one knight in trouble, a draconian came at him, sword raised. Aran rode his horse between Derek’s plunging steed and his attacker. Slashing at the draconian with his sword, Aran cut the monster across the face.

Blood sprayed. A large chunk of bloody flesh sagged loose from the creature’s jaw. The draconian hissed in pain, but he kept coming and tried to jab the curve-bladed sword into Aran’s thigh. Aran kicked at the blade with his booted foot and knocked it from the draconian’s hand.

Brian spurred his horse off the bridge, heading to block off the third draconian, who was running to join the others. As he rode, he kept an eye on the short, squat draconian near the signpost and saw in amazement that the creature appeared to be growing! Then Brian realized the draconian was not growing; he was merely standing upright. A bozak draconian, he had been squatting comfortably on his haunches. Now he rose up to his full seven-foot height.

The bozak did not reach for a weapon. He lifted his voice in a chant and raised his hands, fingers extended toward Aran.

Brian bellowed, “Aran! Duck!”

Aran did not waste time asking why but flung himself forward, pressing against his horse’s neck. An eerie pinkish light flared through the falling snow. Balls of fire shot from the draconian’s fingers. The missiles whistled harmlessly over Aran’s back, showering sparks as they passed.

Shouting challenges, Brian drew his sword and galloped his horse toward the bozak, hoping to stop the creature from casting another spell. He heard, behind him, the clash of steel and Derek yelling something, but Brian did not dare lose sight of his enemy long enough to see what was happening.