Dragonlance 08 - Dragons of the Highlord Skies (42 page)

“Hand over your money—” Kit began.

To her astonishment, the priest surged to his feet. Grasping his medallion, he held it out in front of him and cried out in fury, “May Queen Takhisis hear my prayer and shrivel your heart. May she flay your flesh from your bones, suck the breath from your body, and destroy you utterly!”

His flabby body shook with rage, his voice resounded with confidence. He had no doubt that the dark goddess would answer him, and for a terrifying moment, neither did Kitiara. The night air crackled with the power of his prayer and she cringed, waiting for the wrath of Takhisis to immolate her.

Nothing happened.

The crackling subsided and dwindled away. Kitiara’s flesh remained intact. Her heart continued to beat. She kept right on breathing.

Kit raised her head. The priest was still holding the medallion, but he was starting to look uneasy. “Takhisis!” he cried, and now there was a note of panic in his voice, “shrivel this miscreant’s heart and flay the flesh—”

Kitiara burst out laughing.

“You are calling on the wrong god if you want to stop
me
, dark father. Next time, try praying to Paladine. Now strip off those robes. I want your belt, your jewelry and that fat purse of yours. Quickly!”

She emphasized her words with her knife, prodding him in the midriff. The priest tore off his chain and his rings and flung them to the ground at her feet. Then he stood there, glowering, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Dark father, the only reason I don’t gut you is that I don’t want to ruin those warm robes,” Kit told him.

She was nervous, fearing someone might come. She walked forward, the point of her blade darting at his neck.

“But if you force me—”

The priest tossed his purse at her head, then, cursing her to every dark god he could think of, he dragged his robes off over his head. Kit made a bundle, tying up the money and the jewels inside the robes and cloak. She slapped his horse’s rump, so that the animal bounded off down the road, leaving the dark priest to stand shivering in his breeches, still calling down imprecations on her.

Chuckling, Kit entered the forest, wending her way through the thick underbrush to where she had Windracer concealed. The last she saw of the priest, he was running down the road, yelling loudly for his horse. Kit had seen the slash marks made by his riding crop on the animal’s neck, and she guessed the horse was not going to be inclined to stop and wait for him.

Kitiara pulled on the sumptuous black velvet robes of a high ranking priest over her own clothes. She draped the golden chain with the Queen’s medallion around her neck. The rings he’d worn were too big for her fingers. She put them in the purse that was filled with steel coins.

“How do I look?” she asked Windracer, modeling for the horse, who appeared to approve. Perhaps he, too, could foresee the best inns, the finest oats, the warmest stables.

Kitiara was transformed from a lowly sellsword into a wealthy priest of Takhisis. No one would think to question how she came to be in possession of such a valuable horse. She could ride the main roads by day. She could sleep in real beds, not spend her nights in ravines. Her pursuers would be searching for a renegade Highlord, a warrior woman. They would never think to look for a high-ranking spiritor. The wretched priest would tell his tale to the first sheriff he encountered, but as far as he knew, he’d been attacked by a beggar or perhaps, since she’d mentioned Paladine, a servant of the God of Light.

Kitiara laughed heartily. She ate a good meal—the priest’s own dinner—and then mounted her horse. She rode on, heading north. She had left one danger behind.

Unfortunately, that left her plenty of time to reflect upon the truly appalling danger that lay ahead.

11

The frostreaver.

The making of a squire.

aurana’s idea for the attack on Ice Wall Castle caused an uproar. The knights were opposed, her friends were in favor, while Harald was dubious but interested. They spent that night and the next day arguing about it. Harald eventually agreed to go along with it, mainly because Raggart the Elder approved it, but partly because Derek was opposed to it. Derek said tersely that no military man of any sense would go into battle armed with only faith in gods who, if they existed at all, had proved themselves faithless. He would have no part of it.

Brian had to admit that on this issue he sided with Derek. Laurana’s plan was ingenious, but it depended on the gods, and even Elistan said that he could not guarantee the gods would join the battle.

“Yet you are willing to risk your life because you believe the gods, on the off-chance,
might
come to your aid,” Aran pointed out, politely offering his flask around before taking a drink himself.

“I did not say that. I said I have faith the gods will aid us,” Elistan replied.

“But in the next breath, you say you can’t promise they will do so,” Aran argued good-naturedly.

“I would never presume to speak for the gods,” Elistan said. “I will ask them humbly for their help, and if they deem it right, they will grant it. If for some reason they refuse to give their aid, then I will accept their decision, for they know what is best.”

Aran laughed. “You’re giving the gods a break. If they help you, they get the credit, but if they don’t, you supply them with excuses.”

“Let my try to explain,” said Elistan, smiling. “You told me that you have a dearly loved nephew who is five years old. Let us say this child begs you to allow him to play with your sword. Would you give him what he wants?”

“Of course not,” said Aran.

“You love your nephew very much. You want him to be happy, yet you would deny him this. Why?”

“Because he is a child. For him, a sword is a toy. He does not yet have the mental capacity to understand the danger he would pose to himself and others around him.” Aran grinned. “I see what you are saying, sir. You claim this is the reason the gods do not give us everything we ask for. We might cut ourselves to ribbons.”

“Granting us all our wishes and desires would be the same as allowing that little child to play with your sword. We cannot see the gods’ eternal plan and how we fit into it. Thus, we ask in faith and hope we will be given what we want, but if not, we have faith that the gods know what is best for us. We accept the will of the gods and move forward.”

Aran considered this, washing it down with a pull from the flask, but he still shook his head.

“Are you a believer in these gods?” he asked, turning to Sturm.

“I am,” Sturm replied gravely.

“Do you believe that the gods truly know what is best for you?”

“I have proof,” Sturm said. “When we were in Thorbardin, searching for the Hammer of Kharas, I prayed to the gods to give the hammer to me. I wanted the sacred hammer to forge the legendary dragonlances. At least, that is what I told myself. I was angry with the gods when they saw fit to give the hammer to the dwarves.”

“You’re still angry about that!” Flint said with a shake of his head.

Sturm gave a wry smile. “Perhaps I am. I do not to this day understand why the gods saw fit to leave the hammer in the dwarven kingdom when we need it so sorely. But I do know why the gods did not give the hammer to me. I came to realize I did not want the hammer for the good of mankind but for my own good. I wanted the hammer because it would bring me glory and honor. To my shame, I even went so far as to agree to participate in a dishonorable scheme to keep the hammer and defraud the dwarves.

“When I realized what I had done, I asked the gods for forgiveness. I like to think I would have used the hammer for good, but I am not sure. If I was willing to sink so low to obtain it, perhaps I would have sunk even lower. The gods did not give me what I thought I wanted. They gave me a greater gift—knowledge of myself, my weakness, my frailties. I strive daily to overcome these faults, and with the help of the gods and my friends, I will be a better man.”

Brian looked at Derek as Sturm was speaking, especially the part about wanting the hammer for his own glory. But Derek wasn’t listening. He was still arguing with Harald, still trying to persuade the chief to go along with his scheme. Perhaps it was just as well Derek did not hear Sturm’s admission. Derek’s opinion of Sturm, already low, would have dropped below sea level.

Aran continued to question Elistan about the gods, asking their names and how Mishakal differed from Chislev, and why there were gods of neutrality, such as Lillith had talked about, and how the balance of the world was maintained. Aran listened to Elistan’s responses attentively, though Brian guessed that Aran’s interest in these newfound gods was purely academic. Brian couldn’t imagine the cynical Aran embracing religion.

Derek’s voice rose sharply, stopping the discussion.

“You expect me to entrust the success of my mission to the ravings of a couple of old men and the foolish notions of a girl? You are mad!”

Harald stood up and gazed down at Derek.

“Mad or not, if you want my people to attack the castle, Sir Knight, then we do it my way—or rather, the way of the elf woman. Tomorrow morning at dawn.”

Harald walked out. Derek fumed, frustrated, but ultimately impotent. He had to either take this offer or forego his mission. Brian sighed inwardly.

An unwelcome thought suddenly crossed Brian’s mind. No one knew anything about this dragon orb. What if it turned out to be an artifact of evil? Would Derek still take it back to Solamnia just to realize his own ambition? Brian had the unhappy feeling Derek would.

Brian looked at Sturm, a man who had freely admitted he’d been weak, who spoke openly of his flaws and faults. Compare that to Derek, a Knight of the Rose, tested and proven in battle, confident, sure of himself—a man who would scorn to admit he had faults, would refuse to acknowledge any weakness.

Are you sure he’s a knight?
the kender had asked.

In many ways, Sturm Brightblade was a truer knight than Derek Crownguard. Sturm, with all his weaknesses, flaws, and doubts, strove every day to live up to the high ideal of knighthood. Sturm had not come on this quest seeking the dragon orb. He had come because Derek had commandeered the kender, and Sturm would not abandon his friend. Whereas Brian knew quite well that Derek would sacrifice the kender, the Ice Folk, everyone, including his friends, to gain what he wanted. Derek would say (and perhaps he would believe) he was doing this for the good of all mankind, but Brian feared it was only for the good of Derek Crownguard.

Derek left the chieftent in a rage. Aran went after Derek to try to calm him down. Harald, Raggart, and Elistan, along with Gilthanas and Laurana, removed to a tent that Raggart had now dedicated to the gods to discuss their plans for assaulting the castle on the morrow. Tasslehoff had not been seen in hours, and Flint, certain the kender had fallen into a hole in the ice, said he was going to see if he could locate him.

Brian had an idea regarding Brightblade. Derek would be furious and likely turn against Brian forever, but he felt this could be the right thing to do. Brian had just one doubt about Sturm, one question to ask him before putting his plan in motion. Sturm was about to go with Flint to search for the kender, when Brian stopped him.

“Sturm,” said Brian, “could I speak to you a moment in private?”

Flint said he could find the dratted kender on his own and left Sturm alone with Brian. Brian’s tent being occupied, Brian asked Sturm if they could go to his.

“I have a question for you,” Brian said, once they had settled themselves among the furs. “This is none of my business, and my question is impertinent. You have every right to be angry with me for asking. If you are, that’s fine. I will understand. I will also understand if you refuse to answer.”

Sturm looked grave, but indicated Brian could go ahead.

“Why did you lie to your friends about being a knight? Before you answer”—Brian admonished, raising a warning hand—“I have seen the regard and esteem in which your friends hold you. I know it wouldn’t have made any difference to them whether you were a knight or not. You agree that this is true?”

“Yes, that is true,” Sturm said in a low voice, so low Brian had to lean forward to hear him.

“And when they found out you had lied, that made no difference to them either. They still admire you, trust you, and look up to you.”

Sturm lowered his head and passed his hand over his eyes. He could not speak for his emotions.

“Then why lie?” Brian asked gently.

Sturm lifted his head. His face was pale and drawn, but he smiled when he spoke. “I could tell you that I never lied to them. You see, I never told them in so many words that I was a knight. But I led them to believe I was. I wore my armor. I spoke about the knighthood. When someone referred to me as a knight, I did not deny it.”

He paused, gazing thoughtfully into the past. “After my return, if Tanis had said to me, ‘Sturm, are you now a Knight of Solamnia?’ I think I would have found the strength to tell him that my candidacy had been turned down.”

“Unjustly,” Brian said firmly.

Sturm looked startled. He had not expected support from this quarter.

“Please go on with your explanation,” Brian urged. “Don’t think I’m asking out of smugness or idle curiosity. I’m trying to sort out some things for myself.”

Sturm appeared slightly perplexed, but he proceeded. “Tanis did not ask me that question. He took it for granted I was a knight, and so did my other friends. Before I could put things right, all hell broke loose. There was the blue crystal staff and hobgoblins and a lady to protect. Our lives changed forever in an instant, and when the time came when I could have told my friends the truth, it was too late. The truth would have caused complications.

“Then there was my pride.” Sturm’s expression darkened. “I could not have endured Raistlin’s smug triumph, his snide remarks.”

Sturm sighed deeply. His voice softened and he seemed to be speaking to himself, as though Brian were not there, “And I wanted to be a knight so badly. I could not bear to relinquish it. I vowed to be worthy of it. You must believe that. I vowed I would never do anything to disgrace the knighthood. I believed that if I lived my life as a knight, I could somehow make the lie right. I know what I did was wrong, and I am deeply ashamed. I have ruined forever my hopes of becoming a knight. I accept this as my punishment. But if the gods will it, I hope someday to stand before the Council, confess my sins, and ask their forgiveness.”

“I think you are a better knight than many of us who bear the title,” said Brian quietly.

Sturm only shook his head and smiled. He started to say something, but was interrupted by Flint, who thrust his head into the tent to yell, “That blasted kender! You won’t believe the fix he’s got himself into
this
time! You better come.”

Sturm excused himself and hurried off to rescue Tas from his latest predicament. Brian remained in the tent, thinking things over, and at last he made up his mind. He would do it, though he thought it likely Derek would never speak to him again.

That night, the Ice Folk held a celebration to honor the gods and ask their blessing for the attack on Ice Wall Castle. Derek grumbled that he supposed he would have to attend, since otherwise it would offend his host, but he added grimly that he wouldn’t stay long. Aran stated that, for his part, he was looking forward to it; he enjoyed a good party. Brian was also looking forward to the celebration, but for a different reason.

The chieftent had been cleared of all work, leaving room for dancing. Several of the elders sat around an enormous drum, and they beat on it softly as Raggart the Elder related tales of the old gods he had heard from his father and his father before him. Sometimes chanting, sometimes singing, the old man even performed a few dance steps. Raggart the Younger then took over, relating stories of heroes in past battles to embolden the hearts of the warriors. When he was finished, Tasslehoff, sporting a black eye but otherwise fine, sang a bawdy song about his own true love being a sailing ship, which completely mystified the Ice Folk, though they applauded politely.