City of the Lost

7 The Council

True to Lanther’s word, Sir Morrec and his escort, looking dusty and weary, returned late the next day from their conference with a group of exiled elves outside the Silvanesti shield. The Knights rode into the Citadel and dismounted in front of the main hall. At the top of the stairs by the door stood Sir Remmik, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression carefully arranged into a pleased welcome.

Across the yard, Linsha watched gladly as the Solamnic commander dismounted, handed his reins to a groom, and saluted the officer of the watch. The old man looked well, she thought. Of course, he usually did. For a man in his sixth decade of life, he had more energy and enthusiasm than many of the younger men under his command. While the other Knights walked stiffly around to work out the kinks of a long day’s ride, Sir Morrec bounced up the stairs and greeted Sir Remmik with a hearty slap on the back.

Linsha stifled a laugh at the look that passed over the fastidious Crown Knight’s face. Sir Remmik’s time of sole command was over for now, thank the absent gods, and he would subside back into his normal duties and be the charming, competent organizer Sir Morrec believed him to be. The pompous dictator in his mind would retreat back into the shadows until the next time Sir Remmik found himself in command.

“Good riddance,” Linsha muttered. She was more than ready for things to return to normal. Well, as normal as things could get around here. She needed to apprise Sir Morrec of the latest developments and Iyesta’s request for a council.

Little had changed since yesterday—that she knew about. Iyesta had put her militia on alert, and she and the other dragons had swept the length of the realm searching for the three missing dragons. Thus far, their search had been fruitless. Lanther had brought word to Linsha that the body of the missing elder had not yet been found, but the city was peacefully about its business of preparing for the Midyear Festival in two days’ time. There was nothing else suspicious happening that anyone had been able to discover. The Legion was taking Iyesta’s worries seriously, of course, within cautious reason. Falaius had sent out more operatives to try to infiltrate Thunder’s so-called army, but he warned Linsha not to expect news in the near future. It took time to gather information from an enemy encampment so far away.

Her odd feeling of uneasiness still lingered in the back of her mind, but it abated somewhat with the homecoming of Sir Morrec and the other Knights. Probably, she reasoned, because she knew if disaster struck, she greatly preferred the Knight Commander to be in charge than Sir Remmik. Now that he was back, he would help her put things in perspective. She thought about talking to him immediately, then changed her mind. Sir Remmik would demand his time for at least the next hour to tell him about every minute of every day that he was gone, then the Knights would want to eat. She would talk to him then, before she reported for night duty.

A messenger found Linsha before the hour had expired and asked her to attend the Knight Commander at his meal in the hall. Tidying her uniform, she made her way to the main keep to report to Sir Morrec. As she suspected, Sir Remmik sat beside him, talking ceaselessly while the man tried to eat.

Sir Morrec glanced up when she entered the hall and gave her a warm greeting. He gestured to the table laden with platters of food and to an empty chair across from him. Linsha preferred not to ruin her appetite by dining near Sir Remmik, but nevertheless she accepted the commander’s invitation and sat down. She nodded coolly to the second-in-command without actually looking at his face, and then held a wine glass out for the winebearer to fill.

Sir Remmik sat back in his chair, his expression cold, and launched into a detailed description of Linsha’s alleged transgressions that occurred while Sir Morrec was absent. Knowing he had planned this deliberately, Linsha ignored him and helped herself to a few small servings of the fish and vegetables that lay on platters close at hand.

Sir Morrec finally held up his hand to stem the flow of words. He watched Linsha eat her meal for a minute, then asked, “Is any of this true?”

Linsha lifted her eyes from her food and met his straightforward gaze. “Most of it. The situation in the Missing City has taken several interesting turns, and I have been trying to get a clear idea of what is going on.” She decided to omit any petty or childish remarks on the subject of Sir Remmik’s obsessive and shrewish demands.

“Tell me,” the Knight Commander said over his glass of wine.

In less time than Sir Remmik had taken, Linsha told her commander about her suspicions, the intruder she followed, the centaurs, the reports from her contacts and the Legion, her flight to see Thunder, the missing brasses, and Iyesta’s rage and concerns. The only part she did not mention was her journey through the labyrinth to see the eggs.

Sir Remmik glared at her as if he suspected she was making it all up, but Sir Morrec sat still, his long elegant features bathed in firelight, and watched her intently without interrupting her.

When she had completed her report, he asked, “What more does Iyesta plan to do about this?”

“I don’t know. I have not talked to her today because she has been searching for the triplets. Yesterday, she decided to call a council of her militia, the Legion, and the Solamnics. She is only waiting for you to return.”

The briefest spasm of dismay crossed the Knight’s face. Although he quickly dampened it, it was there long enough for Linsha to notice. “I have just returned from a lengthy journey. I have a great deal to do. When does she wish to have this council?”

“I’m sure she would hold it now if she was available. Sir, I would not put this off. Iyesta is deeply concerned and furious. We need to plan a defense for the city, coordinate our efforts with the Legion, offer our services to the militia, and extend our efforts in learning the truth behind these rumors.”

Sir Remmik could not contain himself any longer.

“Utter nonsense,” he snapped. “Just because a few brass dragons decide to leave the realm and Thunder has actually managed to gather a few men long enough to masquerade as an army of sorts doesn’t instantly spell disaster.”

“I agree, sir,” Linsha said, fighting to remain cool. “But it could spell the possibility of disaster. I don’t believe the three brasses left of their own accord, nor do I believe Iyesta will take Thunder’s posturing lightly. We need to be prepared.”

“We are prepared,” the Crown Knight insisted. “These Knights are the best trained, best supplied fighting men on the Plains. They are magnificent. Nothing can defeat them.”

“There is more to preparation than a stocked fortress and a strong Knight,” Linsha said. “We cannot fight here alone. We need the Legion, the centaur patrols, the tribesmen who ride the desert, the militia who guard the city’s walls. We need Iyesta.”

Sir Morrec steepled his fingers. “Will it not serve for you to attend this council in my place?”

Linsha had expected this. Although she greatly admired Sir Morrec for his fearlessness, his compassion, and his open-minded attitude toward the city and the Legion of Steel, he had one weakness: a deep-seated resentment toward dragons of all colors. A survivor of the Chaos War, the Dragon Purge, and several dragon attacks, he carried an antagonism toward all things relating to dragons and would do almost anything to avoid any contact with one. He tried to control his animosity and had even developed a grudging respect for Iyesta, but he usually left most of the Solamnic dealings with the brass up to Linsha.

“Not this time, Sir Morrec. We need to show a unified face to the dragon and the city.”

Reluctant though he was to face dragons, Sir Morrec understood his duty. Without further hesitation, he nodded once and helped himself to more mutton. “Of course. Make the arrangements.”

Satisfied, Linsha finished her meal and hurried to relieve the duty officer. She sent a message to Iyesta’s lair, notifying her of Sir Morrec’s return and asking for a time for the council. By dawn she had her reply. Midafternoon. She was expected to attend.

When her duty finished after sunrise, Linsha spoke briefly with Lanther outside the stable and confirmed the Legion, too, would be in attendance. Varia told her the area was quiet and Iyesta had settled into her lair for some needed rest. Linsha retired to her own bed, content in her mind that for at least the morning she could sleep in peace.

Midafternoon lolled around hot, sultry, and redolent with dust and flies. Linsha, Sir Morrec, and an escort of six Knights rode to Iyesta’s lair and arrived just as a contingent of centaurs trotted into the courtyard.

Someone called out to Linsha.

She looked over the shining hides and strong torsos and recognized the young buckskin, Leonidas. She waved a greeting to him before his stern uncle hushed him.

“Another friend of yours?” Sir Morrec asked as he dismounted.

Linsha pointed to an imaginary tear in her tunic. “The centaur with the crossbow.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Indeed. You certainly make friends in odd ways.”

Linsha did not comment. Her basic philosophy was one learned from her grandfather: You make friends where you can find them, because you never knew when a friend could offer invaluable aid, or even save your life.

Leonidas was not the only friend she saw in the group gathering in Iyesta’s courtyard. There were several other centaurs she knew and liked, Lanther, Falaius, and three Legionnaires she had worked with since her arrival in Mirage, and various acquaintances from the city council.

A fair-haired half-elf named Mariana Brownstem she met with occasionally caught her eye and nodded. The lean half-elf wore the uniform of a militia captain and stood protectively at the edge of the crowd. She kept her eyes moving over the people and her hands close to her weapons.

Linsha wanted to mingle among the people, listen to their worries, and gather what news she could, but she knew Sir Morrec wanted his escorts together. It made a stronger impression. She watched all the faces and the way people moved their bodies. She studied the dragon’s guards who stood about the courtyard, and she noted the emotions that flowed from person to person. She did not need her talent to read auras here. The tension that flowed in the courtyard was thick enough to pour over porridge. Linsha looked forward to learning what Varia overheard. The owl was already ensconced out of sight in some tree.

Fortunately, Iyesta had made arrangements to help make people comfortable. In the west end of the courtyard in the shade of three large trees, trestle tables and benches had been set up. Covered plates of sweet cakes and fruit waited beside cooled flagons of a light, fruited wine, ale, and for the strong of stomach, the Plains equivalent of the Khurish kefre sweetened with milk and honey.

As there was no sign of Iyesta and the doors of the throne room were closed, those attending the council made their way over to the tables and helped themselves while they waited for Iyesta to come. Sir Morrec and the Solamnics, looking resplendent in their blue and silver uniforms, claimed half an empty table for their own in the deepest shade and with the best view of the courtyard. They drank sparingly and ate only enough to be polite. Linsha barely touched anything.

When most of the people were seated and quietly talking among themselves, silver Pallitharkian and gold Desiristian appeared and took their places by the palace doors. Without fanfare, they opened the double doors together and bowed their heads as Iyesta emerged. Her shadow darkened the courtyard. In almost perfect unison, the gathered people bowed low before her.

Linsha was impressed. The great brass had obviously cleaned and polished her already beautiful scales until they dazzled with gold fire in the sun. She stood resplendent, the embodiment of power and grace and authority, and stared down the length of her snout at the people with her large gleaming eyes. If this doesn’t brace up the confidence of the population of the realm, Linsha thought, nothing could.

The huge dragon took her place front of the gathering, folded her wings, and lowered her head to hear what would be said. The other two dragons took up positions beside and slightly behind her.

“Lord Mayor,” said Iyesta. “Let us begin.”

For the next several hours, the leaders of the civil and military orders in Mirage discussed the latest news of Thunder’s perfidity and all it could mean to their city. Many people believed like Sir Remmik that the rumors of Thunder’s army had been blown out of proportion and that there was really little to worry about from the blue. Sable, they said, or Malys was the greater danger. But the naysayers did not argue that the Missing City needed more preparation. They made further plans for defense, including strengthening the city walls, increasing the food supplies in the warehouses, forging more arms, and stepping up the training of new recruits in the militia. More scouts would be sent out to watch every inland approach to the city, and the centaur patrols would be doubled.

Iyesta listened to the talk and added several changes to the plans, but most of the time she merely listened, observed, and occasionally offered her approval.

Linsha said little during the long discussions. She, too, sat and watched and listened and made mental notes to continue further discussions with specific people over the next couple of days. There were questions she wanted to ask that she knew would not be answered before a large group and suggestions that she could make more tactfully over a mince pie and a beer at the nearest tavern. To be honest, it was a relief to see other people finally shared her feelings of apprehension. Maybe now that the city was alert, things could get done and her unsettling intuitions would settle down and go away.

She poured herself another drink and tried not to sigh too loudly. The air was still and stiflingly hot under the trees. It gave her a headache that pounded behind her eyes and threatened to split her skull with increasing pressure. She rested her head in her hands and rubbed her temples, but nothing seemed to help. After several hours of talk, she stopped listening and turned her attention inward to the pain. All she wanted to do was go back to the Citadel, take some feverfew, and go to sleep.

The sun was an hour from sunset when Iyesta brought an end to the council. Weary, hot, and thankful it was over, the humans, centaurs, elves, and half-elves made their farewells to the brass and went their separate ways. Most were satisfied at the progress that had been made. All they needed was time and effort to complete the plans.

Sir Morrec, gritting his teeth, stayed until most of the guests were gone then went to Iyesta to pay his respects. The big dragon accepted his remarks gravely, and her red-gold eye stared at him unblinking. Iyesta knew how Sir Morrec felt about dragons, but she liked the man nonetheless.

After the Solamnics left Iyesta’s lair they rode without speaking. Linsha and Sir Morrec led two columns. The first part of their way passed through ruinous areas of the old city left deliberately unsettled by order of Iyesta. The phantom images of Gal Tra’kalas hovered around them, showing pleasant homes, flowering gardens, and elves preparing for evening.

Linsha watched the scenes around her for a little while, hoping the idyll peace would ease her headache, but it seemed to only grow worse. She felt breathless as if the air were thick and heavy and too difficult to breath. She had to force herself to sit straight in the saddle and not slump over her horse’s neck. The stillness of the evening around them became oppressive. The horses’ hooves echoed with an uncanny sound through the ruined streets.

A sudden gust of wind swept around them causing Sandhawk to tremble and toss his head. Linsha calmed the horse with her hands and knees, but her eyes stared in surprise at the ghostly scenes around her. The gust of wind that startled her horse had stirred the phantom trees and whipped up swirls of ghostly dust and debris in the vision of the elves’ old city. That wasn’t supposed to happen that she knew of. The old familiar feeling of apprehension suddenly bit her.

Another gust blew over them, a sucking wind from the east that stirred the sunken heat and sent dust devils dancing. In Gal Tra’kalas, a young elf maid ran by with her hand clutched to her head scarf and her eyes wide with dismay. A phantom dog dashed along the street, barking furiously. Other figures could be seen hurrying for shelter, closing windows, and rushing children under shelter.

“My lord,” Linsha heard one of the Knights call out. “You should see this.”

As one, the group reined to halt and followed the direction indicated by the Knight’s hand. They looked up beyond the ruins, beyond the images of the Missing City, to the western sky where the sun sat like a fiery egg on the edge of what looked like a sullen black mountain range of jagged, soaring peaks. On the nearly flat and treeless grasslands around Mirage, the phenomenon was startling.

“Kiri-Jolith’s glory!” one Knight exclaimed. “What is that?”

“Maybe it’s a dust storm,” said another.

“An eruption of volcanoes?” ventured a third.

“Could Thunder be doing that?”

After the long meeting they had just endured, the blue dragon was close on everyone’s mind, but Linsha, eyeing the odd-looking formations, doubted he was involved. For one thing, the clouds seemed to be expanding. Already the gray-black mass stretched from north to south and billowed upward at a frightening rate.

Worried, she said, “Sir Morrec, I don’t think Thunder has the power to do something like that, and I don’t believe that is a dust storm either.”

The Knight Commander squinted hard at the sky. “It reminds me of the thunderstorms we’ve seen sweep across the plains… hut I’ve never seen one quite like that.”

Around the riders the light dimmed and turned an odd gray-green color as the sun, already on its descent, was overwhelmed by the towering banks of cloud. The Knights watched the seething mass approach with frightening speed. “Sir,” said Linsha. “We should return to Iyesta’s lair. That storm looks ferocious.”

The old Knight waved aside her warning. “I agree we should seek shelter, but at dusk storms always look worse than they really are. We’ll ride on to the Citadel. We should have time to reach it.” He raised his hand and waved on the squad before she could protest. They moved out at a quick trot.

Dismayed, Linsha urged Sandhawk on. The chestnut snorted nervously and balked, his eyes rolling in fear, then he lunged forward. It took all of Linsha’s strength to keep the horse from bolting.

The other Knights’ horses were terrified, too. Their heads tucked down, they fought to snatch their bits and escape from the coming storm. They pawed the ground in their agitation, and their ears lay flat on their heads.

The wind abruptly veered from the west, and the earlier gusts strengthened to a cold, hard gale that whipped grit and dust into the Knights’ faces and threatened to tear them from their saddles. The sky darkened to black. By unspoken consent the squad sped into a canter in spite of the risk of the rough road and the panicky horses.

Linsha looked up once and saw the churning, roiling mass of clouds had almost overtaken them. She peered around desperately for some place where they could seek cover, but they were still in an empty area of the ruinous city. Only ghostly buildings rose around them in mocking illusions of shelter. Strangely enough, she could see the coming storm was still affecting that city as well. Its streets were being whipped by the same wind and the inhabitants ran for cover.

“Sir!” Linsha yelled to Sir Morrec. “We need shelter now! We won’t make it to the Citadel.”

To add emphasis to her plea, a blinding bolt of lightning exploded across the sky followed two seconds later by a crash of thunder that made the ground tremble.

The horses reared and screamed in terror. Most of the Knights fought to stay mounted. One threw up his arms and crashed to the ground where he lay motionless on his back.

Over the mining chaos of frantic horses and scared men, the lightning streamed again across the sky. In that split second moment of time, Linsha happened to be looking toward the fallen Knight when the electric white light filled her entire vision.

She blinked and the light was gone, but for that second she saw something long and thin protruding from the man’s chest. She forced Sandhawk to a trembling standstill and tried to look for the other Knights. The fallen Knight needed help, but she could see little in the increasing blackness that surrounded them.

A horse neighed to her right, and she could hear cursing and the scrape of horses’ iron shoes on stone. In the wail of the wind it was hard to hear anything. Was that a scream or just an effect of the wind?

Just then another furious bolt seared down and struck the ground close by with a jarring impact. The concussion slammed her off her horse. Sandhawk, freed of her weight, galloped away in hysterical terror.

Linsha lay flat on her back, her body one large ache and her lungs heaving to pull in some air. Somewhere close by, she heard more voices and the frantic cries of horses. Something didn’t seem right. Most of the voices were frightened, surprised, and full of panic. Others sounded fierce, and one screamed something in a language she did not understand. Her aching head reeled. How many people were out there?

She staggered to her feet and fumbled for the short sword she wore at her side. “Sir Morrec!” she cried into the howling wind.

“To me!” came a reply from her right.

Another sudden blast of lightning broke through the clouds, and in the glare of the stark light, Linsha saw her fellow Knights—mostly now on foot—locked in struggle with a strange foe. They were being attacked by tall, muscular, human-looking warriors—warriors Linsha had never seen in the Missing City. The illumination burned out and thunder rocked the sky.

Linsha’s shaking hands finally found a grip on her sword and wrenched it free. She had not seen Sir Morrec in that glimpse of fighting men, but he had to be close by. She had heard his voice.

All at once, the tempest broke. With a rapidity that stunned the senses, the world became a driving, battering vertical wall of rain and stinging sleet. Linsha was drenched in an instant. The lightning now came thick and fast followed by such thunderclaps the whole sky shook with the rolling roar.

Linsha fought her way toward her companions. Although the shouts and cries had lessened, she knew the men were close by. She just had to find them. To her dismay, the solid curtains of rain made that very difficult. She could see almost nothing, even when the lightning lit the landscape again. Rainwater filled her eyes and her mouth. The sleet stung her skin. The wind pummeled her like the fists of the gods and tried to drive her to her knees. She ducked her head against the deluge and pushed forward.

Without warning, her foot caught on a heap of rubble and she fell sprawling on the muddy ground. The impact knocked her sword out of her hand and sent it sliding into the impenetrable gloom.

“Linsha!” a voice cried in despair.

“My lord!” she screamed.

A black figure, indistinct in the violent darkness lurched toward her. A sheet of lightning whipped through the clouds overhead and in its instant light, Linsha saw the gleam of a sword in the figure’s hand. With desperate strength, Linsha hauled herself to her hands and knees and scrabbled in the mud for her sword. Her trembling fingers found nothing but gravel and muck.

She heard a noise above the wind and rain that sounded something like a boot scraping over stone, and she instinctively rolled to her left. A sword blade whistled by her shoulder, burying its tip in the ground.

Another voice shouted angrily out of the black storm. Linsha could not understand the words and yet the voice sounded vaguely familiar in its tone and depth. She struggled to her feet, tilted her head against the lashing rain, and drew her dagger. It felt small in her hand, but it was better than nothing.

She could not see the dark figure—in fact, without the lightning she could not see more than two feet in any direction.

Movement caught her eye. A swift shape flitted through her vision and out again, hidden by the torrents of rain. She twisted toward it, her hand clenched around her dagger. Lightning exploded in ropes of fire over the Missing City, and in the sudden incandescence, Linsha saw her enemy not more than four feet away from her, its sword tip lowered. She grimaced in the painful light and tried to wipe the rain out of her eyes. It seemed to her the figure raised its sword and came at her. With her lips pulled back in a silent grimace of fury, she lunged forward, her dagger raised to attack. Her body swerved past the man’s guard and her blade sank into his chest. She heard a grunt of pain and felt him sag beneath her.

Too late she saw on the edge of her vision a second shape, blacker than night, spring at her. Pain exploded in her head and face. Her legs lost all control, and she staggered sideways. She tripped over something bulky and collapsed in a heap on the cold, unyielding ground. Rain pounded on her body. Her thoughts reeled in a jumble of images and disjointed thoughts.

In the last fleeting moments of consciousness, she heard voices again, this time speaking directly above her head. They seemed to be arguing in some language Linsha had never heard. They would kill her; the small thought emerged through the fog of pain in her brain.

But they did not. One speaker stamped away, his feet squashing the rain-soaked earth. The second speaker paused a moment, then reached over her and pulled Linsha’s dagger out of her nerveless fingers. She tried to move, to speak, to indicate in some way that she resented this intrusion but could not. A heavy lassitude settled over her. Her muscles could not even tense as she waited for the pain of the dagger to slice into her flesh.

Instead, the figure raised her arm and dropped it gently over her face as if to shield her features from the pounding rain. Through the haze of pain that crept through her head, she felt a hand brush her skin. The fingers felt cold and hard as if encased in steel. She felt a pressure on her temple, then a color she had never seen before exploded in her head like a lightning blast, and she was gone, out of it all.

The storm closed down around her.