The Second Generation

Chapter One The Strange Request of a Blue Dragon Rider

It was autumn on Ansalon, autumn in Solace. The leaves of the vallenwood trees were the most beautiful they’d ever been, so Caramon said—the reds blazing brighter than fire, the golds sparkling more brilliantly than the newly minted coins that were coming out of Palanthas. Tika, Caramon’s wife, agreed with him. Never had such colors been seen before in Solace.

And when he stepped out of the inn, went to haul in another barrel of brown ale, Tika shook her head and laughed.

“Caramon says the same thing every year. The leaves are more colorful, more beautiful than the year before. It never fails.”

The customers laughed with her, and a few teased the big man, when he came back into the inn, carrying the heavy barrel of brown ale on his back.

“The leaves seem a tad brown this year,” commented one sadly.

“Drying up,” said another.

“Aye, they’re falling too early, before they’ll have a chance to completely turn,” another remarked.

Caramon looked amazed. He swore stoutly that this wasn’t so and even dragged the disbelievers out onto the porch and shoved their faces in a leafy branch to prove his point.

The customers—longtime residents of Solace—admitted he was right. The leaves had never before looked so lovely. At which Caramon, as gratified as if he’d painted the leaves personally, escorted the customers back inside and treated them to free ale. This, too, happened every year.

The Inn of the Last Home was especially busy this autumn. Caramon would have liked to ascribe the increase intrade to the leaves; there were many who made the pilgrimage to Solace, in these days of relative peace, to see the wondrous vallenwood trees, which grew here and nowhere else on Krynn (despite various claims to the contrary, made by certain jealous towns, whose names will not be mentioned).

But even Caramon was forced to agree with the practical-minded Tika.

The upcoming Wizards' Conclave was having more to do with the increased number of guests than the leaves—beautiful as they were.

A Wizards' Conclave was held infrequently on Krynn, occurring only when the top-ranking magic-users in each of the three orders—White, Red, and Black—deemed it necessary that all those of all levels of magic, from the newest apprentice to the most skilled sorcerer, gather to discuss arcane affairs.

Mages from all over Ansalon traveled to the Tower of Wayreth to attend the conclave. Also invited were certain individuals of those known as the Graystone Gem races, whose people did not use magic, but who were involved in the crafting of various magical items and artifacts. Several members of the dwarven race were honored guests. A group of gnomes arrived, encumbered with blueprints, hoping to persuade the wizards to admit them. Numerous kender appeared, of course, but they were gently, albeit firmly, turned away at the borders.

The Inn of the Last Home was the last comfortable inn before a traveler reached the magical Forest of Wayreth, where stood one of the Towers of High Sorcery, ancient headquarters of magic on the continent.

Many mages and their guests stopped at the inn on their way to the tower .

“They’ve come to admire the color of the leaves,” Caramon pointed out to his wife. “Most of these mages could have simply magicked themselves to the tower without bothering to stop anywhere in between.”

Tika could only laugh and shrug and agree with her husband that, yes, it must be the leaves, and so Caramon went about inordinately pleased with himself for the rest of the day.

Neither made mention of the fact that each mage who came to stay in the inn brought with him or her a small token of esteem and remembrance for Caramon’s twin brother, Raistlin. A mage of great power, and far greater ambition, Raistlin had turned to evil and very nearly destroyed the world. But he had redeemed himself at the end by the sacrifice of his own life, over twenty years ago. One small room in the inn was deemed Raistlin’s Room and was now filled with various tokens (some of them magical) left to commemorate the wizard’s life. (No kender were ever permitted anywhere near this room!)

The Wizards' Conclave was only three days away, and this night, for the first time in a week, the inn was empty. The mages had all traveled on, for the Wayreth Forest is a tricky place—you do not find the forest, it finds you. All mages, even the highest of their rank, knew that they might spend at least a day wandering about, waiting for the forest to appear.

And so the mages were gone, and none of the regulars had yet come back. The townsfolk, both of Solace and neighboring communities, who stopped by the inn nightly for either the ale or Tika’s spiced potatoes or both, stayed away when the mages came. Magic-users were tolerated on Ansalon, (unlike the old days, when they’d been persecuted), but they were not trusted, not even the white-robed mages, who were dedicated to good.

The first year the conclave had been held—several years after the War of the Lance—Caramon had opened his inn to mages (many inns refuse to serve them). There had been trouble. The regular customers had complained loudly and bitterly, and one had even been drunk enough to attempt to bully and torment a young red-robed wizard.

That was one of the few times anyone in Solace could remember seeing Caramon angry, and it was still talked of to this day, though not in Caramon’s presence. The drunk was carried out of the inn feet first, after his friends had removed his head from a fork in a tree branch grown into the inn.

After that, whenever a conclave occurred, the regulars took their business to other taverns, and Caramon served the mages. When the conclave ended, the regulars returned, and life went on as normal.

“But tonight,” said Caramon, pausing in his work to look admiringly at his wife, “we get to go to bed early.”

They had been married some twenty-two years, and Caramon was still firmly convinced that he had married the most beautiful woman in Krynn.

They had five children, three boys: Tanin, twenty years old, at the time of this story; Sturm, who was nineteen; sixteen-year-old Palin; and two small girls, Laura and Dezra, ages five and four. The two older boys longed to be knights and were always off in search of adventure, which is where they were this night. The youngest boy, Palin, was studying magic. (“It's a passing fancy,” Caramon said. “The boy’ll soon outgrow it.") As for the little girls... well, theirs is another story.

“It"ll be nice,” Caramon repeated, “to get to bed early for a change.”

Sweeping the floor vigorously, Tika pursed her mouth, so that she wouldn’t give herself away by laughing, and replied, with a sigh, “Yes, the gods be praised. I’m so tired, I’ll probably fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.”

Caramon looked anxious. He dropped the cloth he was using to dry the freshly washed mugs and sidled around the bar. “You’re not that tired, are you, my dear? Palin’s at school, and the two older boys are away visiting Goldmoon and Riverwind, and the girls are in bed, and if s just the two of us, and I thought we might... well... have a little time to... uh ... talk.”

Tika turned away so that he wouldn’t see her grin. “Yes, yes, I am tired,"

she said, heaving another weary sigh. “I had all those beds to make up, plus the new cook to supervise, and the accounts to settle ...”

Caramon’s shoulders slumped. “Well, that’s all right,” he mumbled.

“Why don’t you just go on to bed, and I’ll finish—”

Tika threw down her broom. Laughing, she flung her arms around her husband—as far as they would go. Caramon’s girth had increased markedly over the years.

“You big doorknob,” she said fondly. “I was only teasing. Of course, we’ll go to bed and 'talk,' but you just remember that 'talking' was what got us the boys and the girls in the first place! Come on.” She tugged playfully at his apron. “Douse the lights and bolt the door. We’ll leave the rest of the work until morning.”

Caramon, grinning, slammed shut the door. He was just about to slide the heavy wooden bar across it when there came a faint knock from outside.

“Oh, blast!” Tika frowned. “Who could that be at this time of night?"

Hastily, she blew out the candle in her hand. “Pretend we didn’t hear it. Maybe they’ll go away.”

“I don’t know,” the soft-hearted Caramon began. “It’s going to frost tonight—”

“Oh, Caramon!” Tika said, exasperated. “There are other inns—”

The knocking was repeated, louder this time, and a voice called, “Innkeep? I’m sorry if s late, but I am alone and in desperate need.”

“It"s a woman,” said Caramon, and Tika knew she’d lost. Her husband might—just might—be persuaded to allow a man to go in search of another inn on a cold night, but a woman, especially one traveling alone—never.

It didn’t hurt to argue a bit anyway. “And what’s a lone female doing wandering about at this time of night? Up to no good, I’ll wager.”

“Oh, now, Tika,” began Caramon, in the wheedling tone she knew so well, “you can’t say that. Maybe she’s going to visit a sick relative and darkness caught her on the road or—”

Tika lit the candle. “Go ahead. Open up.”

“I’m coming,” the big man roared. Heading for the door, he paused, glanced back at his wife. “You should toss a log onto the kitchen fire. She might be hungry.”

“Then she can eat cold meat and cheese,” Tika snapped, slamming the candle down on the table.

Tika had red hair and, though its color had grayed and softened with age, her temper had not. Caramon dropped the subject of hot food.

“She’s probably real tired,” he said, hoping to pacify his wife. “Likely she’ll go straight to her room.”

“Humpf!” Tika snorted. “Are you going to open the door or let her freeze out there?” Arms akimbo, she glared at her husband.

Caramon, flushing and ducking his head, hastened to open the door.

A woman stood framed in the doorway. She was not what either had expected, however, and even the soft-hearted Caramon, at the sight of her, appeared to have second thoughts about letting her in.

She was heavily cloaked and booted and wore the helm and leather gloves indicative of a dragon rider. That in itself was not unusual; many dragon riders passed through Solace these days. But the helm and cloak and gloves were a deep blue, trimmed in black. The light caught a glint of blue scales, glistening on her leather breeches and black boots. A blue dragon rider.

Such a person had not been seen in Solace since the days of the war, for good reason. Had she been discovered in daylight, she would have been stoned. Or, at the very least, arrested and made prisoner. Even these days, twenty-five years after the end of the war, the people of Solace remembered clearly the blue dragons that had burned and leveled their town, killed many of their kin. And there were veterans who’d fought in the War of the Lance—Caramon and Tika among them—who recalled with hatred the blue dragons and their riders, servants of the Queen of Darkness.

The eyes in the shadow of the blue helm met Caramon’s steadily. “Do you have a room for the night, Innkeep? I have ridden far, and I am very tired.”

The voice that came from behind the mask sounded wistful, weary... and nervous. The woman kept to the shadows that had gathered around the door. Awaiting Caramon’s answer, she glanced over her shoulder twice, looking not at the ground, but at the skies.

Caramon turned to his wife. Tika was a shrewd judge of character—an easy skill to acquire, if you like people, which Tika did. She gave a quick, abrupt nod.

Caramon backed up and motioned for the dragon rider to enter. She took one final look over her shoulder, then hastily slid inside, keeping out of the direct light. Caramon himself took a look out the door before he shut it.

The sky was brightly lit; the red and the silver moons were up and close together, though not as close as they’d be in a few days' time. The black moon was out there, too, somewhere, the moon only those who worshipped the Dark Queen could see. These celestial bodies held sway over three forces: good, evil, and the balance between.

Caramon slammed the door shut and dropped the heavy bar across it.

The woman flinched at the sound of the bar thudding into place. She’d been trying to unlatch the clasp of the pin that held her cloak together—a large brooch wrought of mother-of-pearl that gave off a faint and eerie glow in the dimness of the candlelit inn. Her hands shook, and she dropped the brooch to the floor. Caramon bent and started to pick it up. The woman moved quickly to forestall him, attempted to hide it.

Caramon stopped her, frowning. “An odd adornment,” he said, forcing open the woman’s hand for Tika to view the pin. He found, now that he studied it, that he was loath to touch it.

Tika peered at the brooch. Her lips tightened. Perhaps she was thinking her infallible judge of character had failed her at last. “A black lily.”

A black, waxen flower with four pointed petals and a blood-red center, the black lily is reputed by elven legend to spring up from the graves of those who have met their deaths by violence. The black lily is said to grow from the heart of the murdered victim and, if plucked, the broken stem will bleed.

The dragon rider snatched her hand away, slid the brooch back into the black fur that trimmed her cloak.

“Where’ve you left your dragon?” Caramon asked grimly.

“Hidden in a valley near here. You needn’t worry, Inn-keep. She’s under my control and completely loyal to me. She won’t harm anyone.” The woman withdrew the blue leather helm she wore to protect her face during flight. “I give you my word.”

Once the helm was removed, the frightening, formidable dragon rider disappeared. In its place stood a woman of perhaps middle age; it was hard to tell how old she was by looking. Her face was lined, but with sorrow more than years. Her braided hair was gray, prematurely gray, it seemed. Her eyes were not the cruel, hard, merciless eyes of those who serve Takhisis, but were gentle and sad and... frightened.

“And we believe you, my lady,” said Tika, with a defiant glance at the silent Caramon—a glance that, to be honest, the big man didn’t deserve.

was always slow to react, not because he was thick-witted (as even his best friends had once thought, in his youth), but because he always considered each new or unusual occurrence from every conceivable angle.

Such rumination gave him the appearance of slowness, and frequently drove the quick-thinking among his comrades (including his wife) to distraction. But Caramon refused to be hurried and often came up with some astonishingly insightful conclusions in consequence.

“You’re shivering, my lady,” Tika added, while her husband stood flat-footed, staring at nothing. Tika left him be. She knew the signs of her husband’s mind at work. She drew the woman close to the fire pit. “Sit here. I’ll stir up the blaze. Would you like some hot food? It will take me only a minute to whip up the kitchen fire—”

“No, thank you. Don’t bother about the fire. It’s not the cold that makes me shiver.” The woman said the last in a low voice. She fell more than sat on a bench.

Tika dropped the poker she was using to stoke the fire. “What is wrong, my lady? You’ve escaped some dreadful prison, haven’t you? And you’re being pursued.”

The woman lifted her head and looked at Tika in wonder, then the woman smiled wanly. “You are near the mark. Does so much show in my face?” She put a trembling hand to her lined and faded cheek.

“Husband.” Tika stood up briskly. “Where’s your sword?”

“Huh?” Jolted from his thoughts, Caramon jerked his head up. “What? Sword?”

“We’ll wake the sheriff. Turn out the town militia. Don’t worry, my lady.” Tika was busily untying her apron. “They won’t take you back—”

“Wait! No!” The woman appeared more frightened of all this activity on her behalf than she was of whatever danger threatened her.

“Stop a minute, Tika,” Caramon said, resting his hand on his wife’s shoulder. And when Caramon spoke in that tone, his headstrong wife always listened. “Calm down.”

He turned to the dragon rider, who had jumped to her feet in alarm.

“Don’t worry, my lady. We won’t tell anyone you’re here until you want us to.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, the woman sank back down onto the bench.

“But, darling—” Tika began.

“She came here on purpose, my dear,” Caramon interrupted. “She didn’t stop at the inn just for a room. She cameon purpose to find someone living in Solace. And I don’t think she escaped some evil place. I think she left.” His voice grew grim. “And I think that when she leaves here, she’s going back—of her own free will.”

The woman shuddered. Her shoulders hunched, her head bowed.

“You are right. I have come to find someone in Solace. You, an innkeeper, you would know where I could locate this man. I must talk to him tonight. I dare not stay long. Time .. .” Her fingers, in their blue gloves, twisted together.

“Time is running out.”

Caramon reached for his cloak, which hung on a peg behind the bar. “Who is it? Tell me his name, and I’ll run to fetch him. I know everyone living in Solace ...”

“Wait a moment.” The prudent Tika stopped him. “What do you want with this man?”

“I can tell you his name, but I cannot tell you why I want to see him, more for his sake than my own.”

Caramon frowned. “Will this bring whatever danger you’re in down on him as well?”

“I can’t say!” The woman avoided looking at him. “Perhaps. I’m sorry for it, but...”

Slowly, Caramon shook his head. “I can’t wake a man in the middle of the night and take him to what may be his doom—”

The woman lifted anguished eyes. “I could have lied to you. I could have told you that all will be well, but I don’t know that. I know only that I bear a terrible secret and I must share it with the one other person alive who has the right to know it!” She reached out, caught hold of Caramon’s hand. “A life is at stake. No, sir, more than a life! A soul!”

“It’s not up to us to judge, sweetheart,” said Tika. “This man, whoever he is, must decide for himself.”

“Very well. I’ll go fetch him.” Caramon flung his cloak around his shoulders.

“What” s the name?”

“Majere,” said the woman. “Caramon Majere.”

“Caramon!” repeated Caramon, astounded.

The woman mistook his astonishment for reluctance. “I know I’m asking the impossible. Caramon Majere—a Hero of the Lance, one of the most renowned warriors of Ansalon. What could he have to do with the likes of me? But, if he won’t come, tell him ...” She paused, considering what she might say. 'Tell him I’ve come about his sister.”

“His sister!” Caramon fell back against the wall. The thud shook the inn.

“Paladine help us!” Tika clasped her hands together tightly. “Not... Kitiara?"

Chapter Two Kitiara’s Son

Caramon took off his cloak. He intended to hang it on the peg, but missed.

The cloak slid to the floor. He didn’t bother to pick it up. The woman watched all this with growing suspicion.

“Why aren’t you going to fetch this man?”

“Because you’ve already found him. I am Caramon Majere.”

The woman was startled, then obviously dubious.

“You can ask anyone,” Caramon said simply, waving a hand to indicate the inn and beyond. “What would I gain by lying?” He flushed, patted his broad belly, and shrugged. “I know I may not look much like a hero . . .”

The woman smiled suddenly. The smile made her seem younger. “I was expecting a great lord. I’m glad you’re not. This will be ... easier.”

She studied him intently. “Now that I look at you, I might have recognized you. She described you to me—'a big man, more brawn than brains, always thinking of where his next meal is coming from.' Forgive me, sir. Those were Kitiara’s words, not mine.”

Caramon’s expression darkened. “I suppose you know, my lady, that my sister is dead. My half-sister, I should say. And you know that Kitiara was a Dragon Highlord, in league with the Queen of Darkness. And why would she tell you anything about me? She may have been fond of me, once, I suppose, but she forgot about that in a hurry.”

“I know what Kitiara was, better than most,” the woman said, with a sigh. “She lived with me, you see, for several months. It was before the war. About five years before. Will you hear my story from the beginning? I have traveled many hundreds of miles to find you, at great peril.” “Maybe we should wait until morning—” She shook her head. “No, I dare not. It is safer for me to travel before dawn. Will you hear my story? If you choose not to believe me ..."

She shrugged. “Then I will leave you in peace.”

“I’ll make some tarbean tea,” said Tika. She left for the kitchen, first laying her hand on her husband’s massive shoulder, silently enjoining him to listen.

Caramon sat down heavily. “Very well. What is your name, my lady? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Sara Dunstan. I am—or was—a resident of Solamnia. And it is there, in a small village not too distant from Palanthas, where my tale begins.

“I was about twenty years old then. I lived alone, in a cottage that had belonged to my parents. They had both died of the plague, some years before. I caught it, but I was one of the lucky ones who survived. I earned my trade as a weaver; having learned the craft from my mother. I was a spinster. Oh, I’d had chances to marry, when I was young, but I turned them down. Too picky, the townsfolk said, but the truth was, I never found anyone I loved, and I couldn’t settle for less.

“I wasn’t particularly happy. Few were in those hard times before the war. We didn’t know what lay ahead of us, or we would have counted ourselves blessed.”

She accepted a glass of hot tea. Tika took her place beside her husband and handed him a mug of tea. He accepted it, put it down, and promptly forgot about it. His face was grim. “Go on, my lady.”

“You shouldn’t call me a lady. I’m not. I never was. As I said, I was a weaver. I was working at my loom in my home, one day, when there came a banging on my door. I looked outside. I thought at first it was a man standing on my stoop, but I suddenly realized it was a young woman, dressed in leather armor. She wore a sword, like a man, and her hair was manlike, black, and cut short.”

Tika glanced at Caramon to see his reaction. The description fit Kitiara exactly. But Caramon’s face was expressionless. “She started to ask me for something—water, I think—but before she could say anything, she passed out at my feet.

“I carried her into my house. She was very ill. I could tell that much. I ran to the old woman, a druidess, who was the village healer. That was in the days before the clerics of Mishakal had returned to us, but the druidess was skilled in her own way and saved many lives. Perhaps that’s why we never fell for any of those false clerics and their tricks.

“By the time the druidess came back, the woman—Kitiara, she said her name was—had recovered consciousness. She was trying to get out of bed, but was too weak. The old woman examined her, told her to lie back down and stay down.

“Kitiara refused. 'It’s only a fever,' she said. 'Give me something for it, and I’ll be on my way.'

“'It’s not a fever, as you well know,' the druidess told her. 'You’re with child, and if you don’t lie down and rest, you’re going to lose the baby.'”

Caramon’s face went white, all the blood draining from it in a rush. Tika, pale herself, was forced to put down her mug of tea, for fear she might spill it. She reached out and took hold of Caramon’s hand. His grip on hers was thankful, crushing.

“'I want to lose the brat!' Kitiara began to curse, savagely. I’d never heard a woman talk like that, say such foul things.” Sara shuddered. “It was dreadful to listen to, but it didn’t bother the old druidess.

“'Aye, you’ll lose the baby, but you’ll lose yourself at the same time. You’ll die if you don’t take care.'

“Kitiara muttered something about not believing a toothless old fool, but I could tell that she was scared—perhaps because she was so weak and sick. The druidess wanted to have Kitiara carried to her house, but I said no, I would take care of her. Perhaps you think this was strange, but I was lonely and... there was something I admired about your sister.”

Caramon shook his head, his face dark.

Sara smiled, shrugged. “She was strong and independent. She was what I would have been if I’d had courage enough. And so she stayed with me. She was very ill. She did have the fever; the kind you get from swamps. And fretting about the baby. She obviously didn’t want it, and her anger over being with child didn’t help her any.

“I nursed her through the fever. She was sick for almost a month or more.At last she grew better, and she didn’t lose the baby. But the fever left her very weak—you know how it is. She could barely lift her head from the pillow."

Sara sighed. “The first thing she asked, when she was well, was for the druidess to give her something to end her pregnancy.

“The old woman told Kitiara that, by then, it was too late. She would kill herself. Kitiara didn’t like that, but she was too weak to argue, too weak to do much of anything. But from that day, she began to count the days until the baby’s birth. That day I'll be rid of the little bastard' she’d say, 'and I can move on.' ”

Caramon made a gulping noise, coughed, and looked stern. Tika squeezed his hand.

“The time of the birthing came,” Sara continued. “Kitiara had recovered her strength by then, and it was well she did, 'for the birth was a long and difficult one. After two days of hard labor, the baby was finally born—a boy. He was strong and healthy. Unfortunately, Kitiara wasn’t. The druidess (who didn’t like her) told Kitiara bluntly that she was probably going to die and that she should tell someone who the baby’s father was, so that he could come and claim his offspring.

“That night, when she was near death, Kitiara told me the name of the baby’s father and all the circumstances surrounding the child’s conception. But, because of those circumstances, and who the father was, she forced me to vow not to tell him.

“She was vehement about that. She made me swear an oath—a terrible oath—on the memory of my own mother. 'Take the boy to my brothers. Their names are Caramon and Raistlin Majere. They will bring my son up to be a great warrior. Caramon, especially. He’s a good fighter. I know, I taught him.'

“I promised her. I would have promised her anything. I felt so sorry for her. She was so low-spirited and feeble, I was certain she was going to die. 'Is there something I can take to your brothers that will convince them the child is yours? Otherwise, why would they believe me?' I asked her. 'Some piece of jewelry they would recognize?' ”

“ 'I have no jewelry. All I have is my sword. Take my sword to Caramon. He will know it. And tell him... tell him...' Kitiara glanced weakly around the room.

Her gaze went to the baby, who was screaming lustily in a cradle by the fire.

“ 'My little brother used to cry like that,' she whispered. 'He was always sickly, Raistlin was. And when he’d cry, Caramon would try to tease him out of it. He’d make shadow figures, like this.' She held up her hand—poor thing, it was all she could do to lift it—and she formed her fingers into the shape of a rabbit’s head. Like this.

“ 'And Caramon would say, 'Look, Raist. Bunnies.' ”

Caramon gave a great groan and lowered his face into his hands. Tika put her arm around him and said something to him softly.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said, concerned. “I forgot how terrible this must be for you. I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant to prove—”

“If s all right, my lady.” Caramon lifted his head. His face was haggard and drawn, but he was composed. “The memories are hard sometimes, especially coming... like this. But I believe you now, Sara Dunstan. I’m sorry I didn’t before. Only Kit or... or Raist... would have known that story.”

“There is no need to apologize.” Sara took a swallow of the tea and wrapped her chill hands around the mug to warm them. “Of course, Kitiara did not die. The old druidess couldn’t believe it. She said Kitiara must have made a pact with Takhisis. I often thought about that, later on, when I heard Kitiara was responsible for the deaths of so many. Did she promise the Dark Queen souls in exchange for her own? Was that why Takhisis let her go?”

“What a dreadful fancy!” Tika shivered.

“Not a fancy,” said Sara, subdued. “I’ve seen it done.”

She was silent for long moments. Caramon and Tika stared at her in horror.

They saw her now as they had seen her when she first entered—wearing the helm of evil, wearing the death lily as an ornament.

“The baby lived, you said,” Caramon stated abruptly, frowning. “I presume Kit left him behind.”

“Yes.” Sara resumed her tale. “Kitiara was soon strong enough to travel. But while she was recovering, she had taken a liking to the baby. He was a fine boy, alert and wellformed. 'I can’t keep him,' she said to me. 'Momentous things are about to happen. Armies are forming in the north. I mean to earn my fortune with my sword. Find him a good home. I’ll send money for his upbringing and, when he is old enough to go to war with me, I’ll come back for him.'”

“ 'What about your brothers?' I ventured to suggest.

“She turned on me in a rage. 'Forget I ever said I had kin! Forget all I told you. Especially forget what I said about the father!'

“I agreed. And then I asked her if I could keep the child.” Sara stared at the fire, her face flushed. “I was so lonely, you see. And I’d always wanted a baby of my own. It seemed to me that the gods—if there were gods—had answered my prayers.

“Kitiara was pleased with the idea. She had come to trust me, and I think she even liked me a little—as much as she could ever like any other woman. She promised to send me money, whenever she had any. I said I didn’t care about that. I could support myself and a child. And I promised her I would write her letters, telling her about the boy. She kissed the child, when she left, and then put him into my arms.

“What will you name him?” I asked.

“ 'Call him Steel,” she said. And she laughed when she said it—a kind of joke, considering the baby’s surname.”

“That would be 'Half-Elven,' ” Caramon muttered aside to Tika. “I don’t see much joke in that, except on poor Tanis. All these years.” He gave a gloomy shake of his head. “Never knowing.”

“Hush!” Tika whispered. “You can’t say that for sure.”

“What?” Sara overheard. “What are you saying?”

“Sorry, but I don’t get the joke,” said Caramon. “About the baby’s name. 'Half-Elven,' you see.”

“Half-Elven?” Sara was perplexed.

Blushing, extremely embarrassed, Caramon coughed and said, “Look, we all knew about Tanis and Kit, so you don’t have to hide it anymore—”

“Ah, you think the baby’s father was Tanis Half-Elven,” said Sara, suddenly understanding. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Are you sure?” Caramon was puzzled. “Of course, there could have been someone else—”

“Any man in trousers,” Tika muttered beneath her breath.

“But you said this baby was born four years before the war. Kit and Tanis were lovers. And that must have been just after she left Solace with—"

Caramon’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at Sara. “That’s not possible!” he growled. “Kit was lying. I don’t believe it.”

“What do you mean?” Tika demanded. “I don’t understand! Who are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember back then—”

“Caramon, I was a little girl when you and Raistlin and the others left Solace. And no one of you ever talked about what happened during those five years.”

“It’s true we never spoke of those journeys,” said Caramon slowly, formulating his thoughts. “We went in search of the true gods, that was our goal. But, looking back on it, I realize now that we really went in search of ourselves. How can a man or woman describe that journey? And so, we’ve kept silent, kept the stories in our hearts, and let the legend-spinners, who are only after a steel piece, make up whatever fool tales they choose.”

He gazed long and sternly at Sara, who stared down at the mug of tea, grown cold in her hands.

“I admit I have no proof. That is,” she amended, “I have proof, but nothing I can produce at this moment.”

She raised her head defiantly. “You believed me up until now.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Caramon said heavily. He rose to his feet and walked over to stand by the fire.

“Would somebody tell me what’s going on? What’s the baby’s name?” Tika demanded, exasperated.

“Steel,” Sara answered. “Steel Brightblade."

Chapter three White Rose, Black Lily

“May all the gods preserve us!” Tika gasped. “But that would mean ... What a strange lineage! Blessed Paladine!” She stood up, staring, horrified, at Caramon. “She killed him! Kitiara killed the father of her own child!”

“I don’t believe it,” Caramon said thickly. Hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers, he kicked moodily at a log that threatened to roll out of the grate, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. “Sturm Brightblade was a knight—in his soul, if not by the rules of the order. He would never—” Caramon paused, his face flushed. “Well, he wouldn’t.”

“He was also a man. A young man,” Sara said gently.

“You didn’t know him!” Caramon rounded on her angrily.

“But I came to, later. Will you hear the rest of my story?”

Tika laid her hand on her husband’s broad shoulder. “'Closing your ears won’t shut truth’s mouth,'” she said, repeating an elven proverb.

“No, but it silences gossip’s wagging tongue,” Caramon muttered. “Tell me this: Is that baby still alive?”

“Yes, your nephew lives,” Sara answered steadily, her expression sad and troubled. “He is twenty-four years old. It is on his behalf that I’ve come.”

Caramon heaved a great sigh that came from the ache in his heart. “Go on, then.”

“As you said, Kitiara and the young knight left Solace, headed northward. They sought news of their fathers, who had both been Knights of Solamnia, and so it seemed logical that they should journey together. Although, from what I gather, they were an ill-matched pair.

“Things went wrong between them, right from the beginning. The very nature of their searches was different. Sturm’s quest was a holy one. He went looking for a father who had been a paragon of knighthood. Kit’s quest wasn’t. She knew, or at least suspected, that her father had been cast out of the knighthood in disgrace. She may have even been in contact with him. Certainly something was drawing her to the Dark Queen’s armies, forming in secret in the north.

“Kit thought that young Brightblade, with his serious-minded dedication and religious fervor, was amusing at first. But that didn’t last long. She was soon bored by him. And then, he began to seriously annoy her. He refused to stay in taverns, claiming they were places of wickedness. He spent every night saying his ritual prayers. By day, he lectured her sternly on her sins. She might have tolerated this, but then the young knight made a terrible mistake. He sought to take charge, to take command.

“Kitiara could not permit this. You knew her. She had to be in control of any situation.” Sara smiled sadly. “Those few months she spent in my house, we did things her way. We ate what she wanted to eat. We talked when she wanted to talk.

“ „Sturm was infuriating,' Kit told me, and her dark eyes flashed when she spoke of him, months later. 'I was the elder, the more experienced warrior. I helped train him! And he had the nerve to begin to order me around!'

“Another person would have simply said, 'Look, my friend, we’re not getting along. This isn’t working out. Let us each go our own separate ways.' But not Kitiara. She wanted to break Sturm, teach him a lesson, teach him who was stronger. At first, she said, she considered goading him into a duel, beating him in a contest at arms. But then she decided that wasn’t humiliating enough. She devised a suitable vengeance. She would prove to the young knight that his armor of self-righteousness would buckle at the first blow. She would seduce him.”

Caramon’s jaw was set, his face rigid. He shifted his great bulk uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Much as he wanted to doubt, it was obvious—knowing the two as he did—that he could see the truth of what had happened much too clearly.

“Brightblade’s seduction became a game for Kit, added spice to what had become a dull, uneventful trip. You know how charming your sister could be when she wanted. She stopped quarreling with Sturm. She pretended to take seriously all he said and did. She admired him, praised him. Sturm was honorable, idealistic, perhaps a little pompous—he was young, after all—and he began to think he had tamed this wild woman, led her to the paths of goodness. And, I’ve no doubt, he was falling a little bit in love with her. It was then she began to tempt him.

“The poor young knight must have struggled long with his passions. He had taken vows of chastity until marriage, but he was human, with a young man’s hot blood. At that age, the body sometimes seems to act with a will of its own, drags the reluctant spirit along with it. Kitiara was experienced in such matters. The unworldly young knight was not. I doubt if he knew what was happening to him until it was too late, his desire more than he could bear.”

Sara lowered her voice. “One evening, he was chanting his prayers. This was the moment Kitiara had chosen. Her vengeance would be complete, if she could seduce him from his god.

“She did so.”

Sara fell silent. All three were silent. Caramon stared bleakly into the dying fire. Tika twisted her apron in her hands.

“The next morning,” Sara continued, “realization came to the young knight. To him, what they’d done had been sinful. He intended to do what he could to make reparation. He asked her to marry him. Kitiara laughed. She ridiculed him, his vows, his faith. She told him it had all been a game. She didn’t love him.

In fact, she despised him.

“She achieved her goal. She saw him crushed, shamed, as she had hoped. She taunted him, tormented him. And then she left him.

“She told me how he looked,” Sara said. ” 'Like I’d driven a spear through his heart. The next time he’s as white as that, they’ll bury him!' ”

“Damn Kit,” Caramon swore softly. He beat his fist into the brick fireplace wall. “Damn her.”

“Hush, Caramon!” Tika said swiftly. “She is dead. Who knows what dread retribution she now faces?”

“I wonder if her suffering is enough,” Sara said quietly. “I was young and idealistic myself. I could only imagine how the poor man must have felt. I tried to say as much to Kitiara, but she grew angry. 'He deserved it,' she claimed. And, after all, he’d had his revenge on her. That was how she viewed her pregnancy—his revenge. And that was why she made me promise not to tell anyone that he was the father.”

Caramon stirred. “Then why are you telling me? What does it matter now? If it’s true, it’s best forgotten. Sturm Brightblade was a good man. He lived and died for his ideals and those of the knighthood. My own son’s named after him. I won’t have that name dishonored.” His face darkened. “What is it you’re after? Money? We don’t have much, but—”

Sara rose to her feet. Her face was livid; she looked as if he’d struck her. “I don’t want your money! If that was what I was after, I could have come to you years ago! I came to seek your help, because I heard you were a good man. I obviously heard wrong.”

She started toward the door.

“Caramon, you lummox!” Ilka ran after Sara and caught hold of her, just as she was putting on her cloak. “Please, forgive him, my lady. He didn’t mean it. He’s hurt and upset, that"s all. This is a shock to both of us. You ... you’ve lived with this knowledge for years, but this has hit us right between the eyes. Come back, sit down.” Tika drew Sara back to the bench.

Caramon’s face was red and hot as the embers. “I’m sorry, Sara Dunstan. Tika’s right. I feel like an ox that"s been felled by an axe. I don’t know what I’m saying. How can we help you?”

“You must hear the rest of my story,” said Sara. But she staggered as she tried to sit down and would have fallen but for Tika’s hold on her. “Forgive me. I’m so tired.”

“Shouldn’t you rest first?” Tika suggested. “Surely there would be time in the morning ...”

“No!” Sara sat up straight. “Time is what we lack. And this weariness is not of the body, but of the spirit.

“Kitiara’s son was six weeks old when she left him. Neither he nor I ever saw her again. I can’t say I was sorry. I loved the baby as much as if he were my own. Maybe more, for, as I said, he seemed to have been given to me as a gift from the gods to heal my loneliness. Kitiara kept her promise. She sent money to me and gifts to Steel. I could keep track of Kitiara’s rise in fortune over the years, because the sums of money increased and the gifts were more costly. The presents were all warlike in nature: small swords and shields, a small knife with a silver hilt carved with a dragon for his birthday. Steel adored them. As she had foreseen, he was a born warrior.

“When he was four, the war broke out. The money and gifts stopped coming. Kitiara had more important matters on her mind. I heard stories of the Dark Lady. I heard how she had risen in favor with Highlord Ariakas, the general of the armies of evil. I remembered what she’d said to me—how, when the boy was old enough to ride to battle, she would return for him. I looked at Steel. He was only four, but he was stronger and taller, more intelligent, than most children his age.

“If I ever missed him, I was sure to find him in the tavern, listening with open mouth and eager eyes to the stories of battle. The soldiers were mercenaries—a bad lot. They made fun of the Knights of Solamnia, called them weak men who hid inside their armor. I didn’t like what Steel was learning. Our town was small and unprotected except for this rabble, and I feared that they were in league with the Dark Queen’s forces. And so I left.

“My son”—Sara cast Caramon a fierce look, daring him to defy her—“and I moved to Palanthas. I thought we would be safe there, and I wanted the boy to grow up among the Knights of Solamnia, to learn the truth about honor and the Oath and the Measure. I thought this might... might...”

Sara paused and drew a shivering breath before she continued. “I hoped it might counteract the darkness I saw in him.”

“In a child?” Tika was disbelieving.

“Even as a child. Perhaps you think it’s because I knew the disparity of the two strains of blood that ran in him, but I swear to you, by the gods of good, whose names I can no longer say in innocence, that I could literally see the battle being fought for his soul. Every good quality in him was tainted with evil; every evil quality gilded with good. I saw this then! I see it more now.”

She lowered her head. Two tears slid down her pale cheeks. Tika put an arm around her. Caramon left his place by the fire and stood protectively near her as she continued her tale.

“It was in Palanthas that I first heard about Sturm Brightblade. I heard the other knights talk about him—not in particularly approving tones. He was said to associate with outlandish folk—an elf maid, a kender, and a dwarf. And he was defying authority. But the ordinary people of the city liked and trusted Sturm, when they didn’t like or trust many of the other knights. I talked about Sturm with Steel, took every opportunity to make Steel aware of his father’s nobility and honor ...”

“Did Steel know the truth?” Caramon interrupted.

Sara shook her head. “How could I tell him? It would have confused him. If s odd, but he never asked me who his parents were. I never made any secret of the fact that I wasn’t his real mother. Too many in my small town knew the truth. But I lived—I still live—in dread of the question: who are my real father and mother?”

“You mean”—Caramon looked astonished—“he doesn’t know? To this day?”

“He knows now who his mother is. They took care to tell him that much. But he has never once asked his father’s name. Perhaps he doesn’t think I know.”

“Or perhaps he doesn’t want to find out,” Tika suggested.

“I still think he should have known,” Caramon argued.

“Do you?” Sara cast him a bitter glance. “Think of this. Remember the battle for the High Clerist’s Tower. As you know, the knights won. The Dragon Highlord, Kitiara, was defeated, but at what a terrible cost. As you said, she killed Sturm Brightblade, killed him as he stood alone on the battlements.

“I was horrified when I heard this news. Can you imagine what I felt? To look at Steel and know that his mother had slain the man who was his father. How could I explain such things to a boy when I didn’t understand them myself?”

Caramon sighed. “I don’t know,” he said moodily. “I don’t know.”

Sara went on. “We were living in Palanthas when the war ended. And then I was truly frightened, terrified that Kitiara might start searching for her son. Maybe she did. At any rate, she didn’t find us. Some time later, I heard she had taken up with the dark elf mage, Dalamar—apprentice to her brother, Raistlin, who was now Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas.”

Caramon’s face softened, grew grave and wistful, as always, when Raistlin was mentioned.

“Forgive me, Caramon,” Sara said softly, “but when I heard the stories about your brother Raistlin, all I could think of was-here is more dark blood, running in my child’s veins. And it seemed to me that Steel drifted deeper into the shadows every day. He wasn’t like other boys hisage. All boys play at war, but, for Steel, war wasn’t a game. Soon the other children refused to play with him. He hurt them, you see.”

Tika’s eyes widened. “Hurt them?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Sara said quickly. “He was always sorry afterward. He takes no pleasure in inflicting pain, thank the gods. But, as I said, the games weren’t games to him. He fought with a fierce ardor that shone in his eyes.

Imaginary enemies were very real to him. And so the other children shunned him.

He was lonely, I know, but he was proud, and he would never admit it.

“And then came the war over Palanthas, when Lord Soth and Kitiara attacked the city. Many people lost their lives. Our home was destroyed in the fires that raged through the city, but I wept with thankfulness when I heard that Kitiara was dead. At last, I thought, Steel is safe. I prayed that the dark cloud would be lifted from him, that he would begin to grow toward the light.

My hopes were dashed.

“One night, when Steel was twelve, I was awakened by a knocking at the door. I looked out the window and saw three figures, cloaked in black, riding horseback. All my fears returned to me. They frightened me so much, in fact, that I woke Steel and told him we must flee, escape by the back door. He refused to go. I think... I think some dark voice called to him. He told me to run, if I wanted. He would not. He wasn’t afraid.

“The men battered down the door. Their leader was... Do you recall, I spoke of Ariakas?”

“Highlord of the Red Dragon army. He died in the temple, during the final assault What has he got to do with this?”

“Some say he was Kit’s lover,” Tika inserted.

Sara shrugged. “She wouldn’t have been the first, and likely not the last. But, according to what I’ve heard, Zeboim, daughter of Takhisis, was enamored of Ariakas, became his lover, and bore him a son, named Ariakan. Ariakan fought in the ranks, under his father’s command, during the War of the Lance. He is a skilled warrior who fought courageously in battle. When he was captured, more dead than alive, by the Knights of Solamnia, they were so impressed with his courage that, although he was their prisoner, they treated him with every respect.

“Ariakan was their prisoner for many years, until they finally released him, mistakenly thinking that—in these times of peace—the man could do no harm. Ariakan had learned much during his enforced stay with the knights. He came to admire them, even as he despised them for what he considered their weaknesses.

“Shortly after his release, Ariakan was visited by Takhisis, in the form of the Dark Warrior. She commanded him to start an order of knights dedicated to her, as the Solamnic Knights are dedicated to Paladine. 'Those who are boys now will grow up in my service,' she told him. 'You will raise them to worship me. I will own them, body and soul. When they are men, they will be prepared to give their lives in my cause.'

“Almost immediately, Ariakan began to recruit boys for this unholy army.”

Sara’s voice sank. “Ariakan was the man at the door.”

“Blessed Paladine!” Tika murmured, stricken.

“He had found out about Kit’s son.” Sara shook her head. “I’m not sure how. Ariakan claimed that Kit had told his father about the boy. I don’t believe that. I think . . . I think it was the wizard Dalamar, evil Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, who led Ariakan to us—”

“But Dalamar would have told me,” Caramon protested. “He and I are... well—”

Sara stared at him, her eyes wide.

“Not friends,” Caramon said, thinking the matter through, “but we have a mutual respect for each other. And the boy is my nephew, after all. Yes, Dalamar would have told me—”

“Not likely!” Tika sniffed. “When all’s said and done—he’s a black-robed mage. Dalamar serves the Dark Queen and himself, not necessarily in that order. If he saw that Steel might prove valuable...” She shrugged.

“Perhaps Dalamar was only following orders,” Sara whispered, glancing fearfully out the window, into the night. “Takhisis wants Steel. I believe that with all my heart. She has done everything in her power to take him... and she is close to succeeding!”

“What do you mean?” Caramon demanded.

“It is the reason I am here. That night, Ariakan made Steel an offer. Ariakan would make Steel a dark paladin.”

Sara reached for her cloak, held up the brooch of the black lily in a trembling hand. “A Knight of Takhisis.”

Caramon was aghast. “Such an evil order doesn’t exist.”

“It does,” Sara said in a low voice, “though few know it. But they will. They will."

She sat silently shivering and, at length, drew her cloak back around her.

“Go on,” Caramon said grimly. “I think I see where this is heading.”

“Kitiara’s son was among the first Ariakan sought. I must admit he is shrewd, is Ariakan. He knew exactly how to handle Steel. Ariakan spoke to the boy man-to-man. He told him he would teach him to be a mighty warrior, a leader of legions. He promised Steel glory, riches, power. Steel was entranced. He agreed, that night, to go with Ariakan.

“Nothing I said or did, no tears I shed, moved Steel. I won only one concession—that I could come with him. Ariakan agreed to this only because he figured I could be useful to him. He would need someone to cook for the boys, mend their clothes, clean up after them. That... and he took a fancy to me,"

Sara finished softly.

“Yes,” she added, partly ashamed, partly defiant, “I became his mistress. I was his mistress many years, until I grew too old to please him anymore.”

Caramon’s face darkened.

“I understand,” said Tika, patting the woman’s hand. “You sacrificed yourself for your son. To be near him.”

“That was the only reason! I swear to you!” Sara cried passionately. “I hate them and what they stand for! I hate Ariakan. You don’t know what I have endured! Many times, I wanted to kill myself. Death would have been far easier. But I couldn’t leave Steel. There is good in him, still, though they’ve done all they could to trample out the spark. He loves me and respects me, for one thing. Ariakan would have rid himself of me long ago, but for Steel. My son has protected me and defended me—to his own detriment, though he never speaks of it. He has watched others rise to knighthood ahead of him.

Ariakan has held Steel back, all because of me.

“Steel is loyal. He is honorable, like his father. Both to a fault, perhaps, for as he is loyal to me, so he is loyal to them. His life is bound up in this evil knighthood. And, at last, he has been offered the chance to become one of them. In three nights' time, Steel Brightblade will swear the oath, make his vows, and give his soul to the Queen of Darkness. This is why I have come to you, why I have risked my life, for if Ariakan discovers what I’ve done, he will kill me. Not even my son will be able to stop him.”

“Faith, my lady,” said Caramon, troubled. “What do you want me to do? Give you refuge? That is easily handled—”

“No,” said Sara. Timidly, she touched Caramon’s hand. “I want you to stop my son—your nephew—from taking the vows. He is the soul of honor, though that soul is dark. You must convince him that he’s making a terrible mistake.”

Caramon stared at her in astonishment. “If you—his mother, a woman he loves—haven’t been able to change him, all these years, what can I do? An uncle he never knew, a stranger. He won’t listen to me.”

“Not to you,” Sara agreed, “but he might listen to his father.”

“His father’s dead, my lady.”

“I’ve heard that the body of Sturm Brightblade is enshrined in the High Clerist’s Tower. I’ve heard it said that the body possesses miraculous holy powers. Surely, the father would reach out to help his son!”

“Well. .. maybe.” Caramon appeared dubious. “I’ve seen some strange things in my life, but I still don’t understand. What is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to take Steel to the High Clerist’s Tower.”

Caramon’s jaw sagged. “Just like that! And what if he doesn’t want to go?”

“Oh, he won’t,” Sara said confidently. “You’re going to have to use force. Probably take him at sword point. And that won’t be easy. He’s strong and a skilled warrior, but you can do it. You’re a Hero of the Lance.”

Perplexed, baffled, Caramon gazed at the woman in uncomfortable silence.

“You must do it,” Sara pleaded, clasping her hands in supplication. Tears slid unheeded down her cheeks; weariness and fear and sorrow finally overcame her. “Or Sturm’s son will be lost!”

Chapter Four Caramon Tries to Remember Where he Put his Armor

“Well,” said Tika, jumping briskly to her feet, “if you two are going to leave before dawn, you’d better get started.”

“What?” Caramon stared at his wife. “You can’t be serious.”

“I most certainly am.”

“But—”

“The boy’s your nephew,” Tika informed him, hands on her hips.

“Yes, but—”

“And Sturm was your friend.”

“I know that, but—”

“If s your duty. And that's that,” Tika concluded. “Now, where did we pack away your armor?” She eyed him critically. “The breastplate won’t fit, but the chain mail might—”

“You expect me to go riding a blue dragon into a... a—” Caramon looked at Sara.

“Fortress,” she told him. “On an island, far to the north, in the Sirrion Sea.”

“An island fortress. A secret stronghold filled with legions of dark paladins dedicated to the service of the Dark Queen! And once in this fortress, I’m supposed to snatch up a trained knight in the prime of his life and haul him off to pay a visit to the High Clerist's Tower. And if I even get there alive, which I doubt I’ll do, then you expect the Solamnic Knights to just let us stroll in? Me and a knight of evil?”

Caramon was forced to shout this last. Tika had walked out on him, into the kitchen.

“If one side doesn’t kill me,” he bellowed, “the other will!”

“Hush, dear, you’ll wake the children.” Tika returned, carrying a bag, redolent with the odor of roasted meat, and a waterskin. “You’ll be hungry by morning. I’ll just go fetch you a fresh shirt. You’ll have to see to the armor. I remember—it’s in the big chest under the bed. And don’t worry, dear,” she said, stopping to give him a hurried kiss. “I’m sure Sara has devised a way to get you inside the fortress. As for the High Clerist’s Tower, Tanis will come up with a plan.”

“Tanis!” Caramon regarded her blankly.

“Well, of course, you’re going to pick up Tanis on the way. You can’t go alone. You’re not in the best of shape. Besides...” She glanced at Sara, who had donned her cloak and was standing impatiently by the door. Tika took hold of her husband’s ear and pulled his head down to her level. “Kitiara may have lied,” she whispered. “Tanis may be the real father. He should see the boy.

“Then, too,” she added aloud, as Caramon rubbed his ear, “Tanis is the only one who can get you into the High Clerist’s Tower. The knights will have to let him inside. They wouldn’t dare offend him or Laurana.”

Tika turned to Sara with an explanation. “Laurana is Tanis’s wife. She was one of the leaders of the Knights of Solamnia during the War of the Lance. She is highly revered among them. Now she and Tanis are both serving as liaisons between the knights and the elven nations. Her brother, Porthios, is the Speaker of the elven nations. To offend either Tanis or Laurana would be tantamount to offending the elves, and the knights would never do such a thing. Would they, Caramon?”

“I s’pose.” Caramon looked dizzy. Events were happening too fast. Tika knew this was the case, knew how to handle her husband. She had to keep things moving fast. If once he stopped and got to thinking about it, he’d never budge. As it was, she could already see him mulling it over.

“Maybe we should wait until the boys come back from the plains,” he hedged.

“No time, dear,” Tika said, having anticipated this. “You know that they always spend a month with Riverwind and Goldmoon, going out hunting and learning woodcraft and that sort of thing. Besides, once they set eyes on Goldmoon’s beautiful daughters, our boys will be even less anxious to leave. Now, off with you.” She pushed Caramon, blinking and scratching his head, toward the door that led back to their private chambers. “Do you remember how to reach Tanis’s castle?”

“Yes, I remember!” Caramon snapped quickly.

Too quickly. And therefore Tika knew he didn’t remember; he was having to think about it, which was good, because that meant he’d be occupied with trying to figure out how to reach Tanis’s dwelling for the length of time it would take him to get ready. Which meant he’d be well on his way before it occurred to him to consider anything else.

Like the danger.

Once he was out of sight, Tika’s briskness evaporated. Her shoulders sagged.

Sara, keeping watch out the window, turned at the sudden silence. Seeing the bleak and unhappy look on Tika’s face, Sara walked over to stand beside her.

“Thank you for what you’ve done. I know this can’t be easy for you to let him go. I won’t say there isn’t any danger. That would be lying. But you’re right. I have thought of a way to sneak him inside the fortress. And taking Tanis Half-Elven with us is an excellent idea.”

“I should be used to it,” said Tika, clutching the meat sack in her hands. “I sent my two boys off yesterday. They’re younger than your son. They want to be knights. I smile when I tell them good-bye. I call after them that I’ll see them in a week or a month or whatever. And I don’t let myself think that I may not, that I may never see them again. But the knowledge is there, in my heart.”

“I understand,” said Sara, “I’ve done it myself. But at least you know your boys are riding in the sunlight. They are not shrouded by darkness ...” She put her hand to her mouth and choked back a sob.

Tika put her arm around her.

“What if I’m too late?” Sara cried in a low voice. “I should have come sooner, but. . . I never believed he would really go through with it. I always hoped he would give it up!”

“It will be all right,” Tika soothed her. “It will all be all right.”

Caramon came out of the bedroom. He was draped in chain mail, which fit well over his shoulders, but didn’t quite do its job covering his middle. The big man wore an aggrieved expression.

“You know, Tika,” he said, solemnly, staring down at the clanking mail with a frown. “I don’t remember this stuff being this heavy."

Chapter Five Tanis Half-Elven has an Unpleasant Surprise

Caramon did finally recall how to reach Tanis’s castle, located in Solanthus, but he knew the directions only by traveling overland, not by dragon back.

Sara, however, was familiar with the entire continent of Ansalon—a familiarity Caramon found disquieting.

“Ariakan has excellent maps,” she said, in some confusion.

Caramon wondered just why the Knights of Takhisis had excellent maps of the continent. Unfortunately, the reason wasn’t difficult to guess.

The journey took hardly any time at all. Far too little time, for Caramon, who sat hunched on the back of the dragon saddle, cold and hungry (he’d long since eaten the meat), all the sleep startled out of him. He was trying to think of how he was going to explain this strange tale to his friend Tanis. And what if Tanis is the father? Caramon mulled the matter over. Am I doing him a favor by springing a son on him? What will Laurana say? She never had any use for Kit, that’s for damn sure. And what about Tanis’s own son? How will this make him feel?

The more he thought about it, the sorrier Caramon was he’d decided to come. At length, he ordered Sara to turn back, to return him to his inn, but she either couldn’t hear him—for the rush of the wind in their ears—or was pointedly ignoring him. He might jump out of the saddle, but—from this height—that was out of the question.

It did occur to Caramon that he was armed and that he might overpower Sara. But, after giving this some serious thought, he realized that even if he did manage to overpower Sara, he would never be able to control her blue dragon, which was giving him suspicious looks as it was. And by the time Caramon had reached this conclusion, they had landed on a hilltop overlooking Tanis’s castle.

Caramon dismounted from the dragon. It was not yet dawn, but sunrise wasn’t far off. Sara calmed the dragon, left it orders to stay put—or so Caramon assumed, since he couldn’t understand what she was saying—then she began walking toward the palatial dwelling. Realizing Caramon wasn’t following, she turned to him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m not sure,” Caramon said, considering.

Sara looked frightened, as if she might start to cry again.

Caramon sighed. “Yes,” he said gloomily. “I’m coming.”

“Caramon Majere! Of all the lame-brained—Excuse us a moment, will you, mistress?” Tanis said politely to Sara.

Grabbing hold of Caramon’s arm, the half-elf dragged the big man to the far side of the large, firelit room.

“This could be a trap,” Tanis whispered. “Did you ever consider that?”

“Yes,” Caramon said.

“And?” Tanis demanded.

“I don’t think it is,” Caramon responded, after a moment’s thought.

Tanis sighed. “You obviously haven’t—”

“I mean,” Caramon continued, “why would these dark paladins set a trap for me, a middle-aged innkeeper? That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“No, but—” Tanis looked embarrassed. “Maybe the trap wasn’t meant for you...”

“I know,” Caramon said, nodding wisely. “You’re far more important. But it was Tika who suggested I talk to you, not Sara. And,” he added gravely, after another moment’s profound thought, “I don’t believe Tika’s setting a trap for you, Tanis.”

“Well, of course, she isn’t,” Tanis snapped. “It’s just... All right, so maybe if s not a trap. Maybe I... I don’t want...” He shook his head and started over.

“I remember that terrible day Kitiara died. She had tried to kill Dalamar, remember? He stopped her....”

Tanis paused and swallowed. “She died in my arms. And then the death knight came to claim her. I could hear her voice, pleading with me to save her from that dread fate. 'Even now, in death, she’s reaching out to you ...' Dalamar told me then. She’s still doing it, Caramon.”

“No, she’s not, Tanis. This is her son ...”

“If you believe that woman, Sara.”

Caramon was troubled. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know what to believe. But, you’re right. We have to find out the truth, and do what we can to help this young man, no matter whose son he is. Besides, it will give me a chance to see what Ariakan is up to. We’ve heard reports of these dark paladins before now, but we had no way of knowing if they were true or merely rumors. It appears”—he glanced grimly at Sara, a chilling figure in her blue helm and black-trimmed cloak—“that they are true.

“But now,” Tanis added with a wry smile and a shake of his head, “I have to face the truly difficult task. I have to go tell this to my wife.”

Tanis spent an hour alone with Laurana. Caramon, pacing the entry hall of the half-elf’s mansion, could well imagine the nature of the conversation.

Tanis’s elven wife, Laurana, knew all about the relationship between Kitiara and her husband. Laurana had been understanding, especially since the affair was over and finished long ago. But what about now—when there was the possibility of a child? A very good possibility, as far as Caramon was concerned. He simply could not bring himself to believe the father was really Sturm.

“Yet, why would Kit lie?” he asked himself.

The answer was beyond Caramon. But then he’d never been able to explain why his older half-sister had done half the things she’d done.

Tanis came out of the room, his arm around his wife. Laurana was smiling, and Caramon breathed easier. She even paused to say a few whispered words to Sara, who sat, slumped, weary and exhausted, in a corner near the fireplace. Caramon noted then how young Laurana looked, in comparison to her husband—the tragedy of elven-human relationships. Though Tanis had elven blood in his veins, the human blood was growing gray, as the saying went. When the two had wed, over twenty years ago, they had looked to be of equal age. Now they could have been father and daughter.

“But they knew this when they married,” Caramon said to himself. “They’re making the most out of the time they have together. And that’s what counts.”

Tanis was ready to travel almost immediately. As official ambassador and liaison between the Solamnic Knights and the elven nations, he spent much of his time on the road, as did his wife. He had donned a suit of leather armor—favored by elves—and a green cloak. Seeing him thus, Caramon was reminded poignantly of their old adventuring days.

Perhaps Laurana was thinking the same, for she ruffled the beard that only a half-human elf could grow, and made some teasing comment in Elvish that caused Tanis to smile. He bid his wife farewell. She kissed him gently, and he held her fondly. Then he bid farewell to his son—a frail and weak youth, doted on by both parents, who watched him with anxious, loving eyes. The young man was elven through and through, with no trace of his father visible. His complexion was the sickly white of one who rarely steps outside. Not surprising that Tanis and Laurana keep him locked in a cage like a baby bird, Caramon thought, considering the number of times they’ve nearly lost him. If he was all elf, he’d be content to spend his time with his nose in a book. But he’s human, too. Look at those eyes, Tanis. Look at him when he watches you ride off to adventure, to see wondrous sights he’s only read about.

“Someday, Tanis,” Caramon said softly, “you’re going to come home and find the cage empty.”

They trudged up the hill, to where the blue dragon was dozing, its wings folded at its sides.

“What are you muttering about?” Tanis asked Caramon grumpily.

The half-elf was regarding the blue dragon with a grim face, keeping a close watch on it. The dragon was apparently not pleased at the smell of elf. It woke up instantly, its nostrils flared. Tossing its head in disgust, the beast snaked out its head and showed its fangs.

Sara Dunstan was a skilled dragon rider, however. With a sharp word of reprimand, she brought her mount swiftly, if sulkily, under control. Caramon climbed into the saddle first, then reached down from his rear seat in the two-person dragon saddle to haul up his friend with an easy swing of a massive arm.

“I was thinking to myself that your boy looks well,” Caramon lied.

Tanis squirmed to get into a halfway comfortable position, practically an impossibility. He would be forced to cling to the back of Caramon’s seat—either that or sit in the big man’s lap.

“Thanks,” said Tanis, brightening, his proud gaze going to his son, who stood on the lawn, gazing at them with wide, almond-shaped eyes. “We think he’s getting better. If we just knew what was wrong with him! . . . Not even Revered Daughter Crysania can tell us.”

“Maybe he just needs to spend some time in the fresh air. You should let him come visit us,” Caramon suggested. “My boys would take him out riding, hunting ...”

“We’ll see,” Tanis said politely, in a not-on-your-life tone. “Any signs of pursuit, mistress?”

Caramon scanned the skies. It had been near dawn when they’d arrived.

The morning was well advanced now, the late autumn sun burning off night’s chill. There was no sign of any other dragons that he could see.

“With luck, they haven’t missed me,” Sara said, though she looked worried.

“I’m a dragon trainer now. I am often gone, exercising the mounts. I foresaw the need for this.”

She spoke a word to the dragon. The blue leapt into the air, propelled by its powerful hind legs, strong wings beating to lift it. They circled the castle once, in order for the dragon to get its bearings, then they soared northward.

“We will arrive at the fortress after dark,” Sara told them. “I regret the loss of this day, but, it can’t be helped, and what time we’ve lost we will hopefully make up. Will there be trouble with the Solamnic Knights?” she asked Tanis anxiously.

“There will always be trouble with the Solamnic Knights,” Tanis growled.

He was in an ill humor, for which Caramon really couldn’t blame him. After all, the half-elf might well be journeying to meet a son he never knew he had.

“But with Paladine’s help, we’ll get through it.”

The blue dragon glared round at them ferociously. Sara spoke sharply, and the beast sullenly turned its head.

“I wouldn’t mention that god’s name again,” she suggested quietly.

None of them could think of anything to say after that. Talking was difficult anyway; they were forced to shout over the rush of air created by the dragon’s powerful wings. And so they traveled in silence, flying far beyond Ansalon, far beyond known civilized lands, flying into darkness.

Two days left.

Two days to save a soul.

Chapter Six Fortress of Storm’s Keep

“My god!” said Tanis grimly, taking care not to mention which god he was calling on to witness his astonishment. “If s huge!”

“What’s the fortress called?” Caramon asked Sara.

“Storm’s Keep,” she answered. Her words were blown back to him by the violent wind, and it seemed to Caramon that it was the wind that spoke.

“Ariakan named it. He said that when those gates open, a storm will be unleashed on Ansalon that will destroy everything in its path.”

The fortress was located far north of Ansalon’s mainland. Vast and forbidding, Storm’s Keep was built on a large island of jagged rock. The glistening black walls of the stronghold were continually bathed by the spray from the crashing waves of the Sirrion Sea. Watch fires burned on the tall, tooth-edged towers. The light served to guide the flight of dragons, whose wings were black silhouettes against the stars as the beasts wheeled and turned in the night sky.

“What’s all the commotion?” Caramon asked nervously. “This isn’t on your account is it?”

Sara reassured him. “It’s just the soldiers, practicing night attacks. Ariakan says that was a mistake the Dragon Highlords made during the last war—fighting in daylight. The knights and their mounts are being trained to fight in the dark, use the darkness to their advantage.”

“Not a ship could get near this place,” Tanis muttered, eyeing the white foam of the breakers smashing against the steep rock shoreline.

“The seas are far too rough to sail. Not even the minotaurs will venture this far north—one reason Ariakan chose this island. It is accessible only by dragon and by magic.”

“At least no one should notice us in all the activity,” said Caramon.

“Yes,” Sara agreed. “This is what I was thinking.”

No one did notice them, or at least pay much attention to them. A gigantic red dragon shrieked at them in irritation, when the smaller blue dived between the red and the tower under “assault.” The two dragons exchanged curses and snarls in their own language; the soldier atop the red added his own insults, which Sara answered in kind. She held her course, her destination in sight, cutting swiftly through the mock battle.

Caramon, subdued and appalled, stared around in horror, awed by the strength in numbers and the daring skill of the black-armored paladins, who were easily routing the towers' “defenders.” And the dragons were not even using their most powerful weapon—their breath, which could spew acid, belch fire, cast lightning. Tanis’s face was stern and grim, noting and attempting to impress on his mind every detail.

Sara ordered the dragon to land in a cleared area far from the main part of the fortress: This section of the compound was relatively quiet, in sharp contrast to the commotion going on at the battle site.

“These are the stables,” she said in a low voice to Caramon and Tanis, as they dismounted. “Keep quiet and let me do the talking.”

Both men nodded, then hunched their shoulders deep into blue cloaks trimmed with black, which they wore over their own armor. Sara had brought one with her, thinking she would only have to disguise Caramon.

She gave Tanis her own cloak, first taking care to remove the black lily brooch.

“You mustn’t touch it,” she warned him. “It has been blessed by the dark clerics. It might do you harm.”

“You touch it,” he said to her.

“I am used to it,” she returned softly.

The blue dragon settled down in the vast, open yard, an enormous landing site located outside the fortress’s walls.

Beyond, a long row of stalls echoed with the frustrated, eager whinnies of horses. Excited by the sounds of battle, they wanted their turn.

“The knights are taught to ride and fight on horseback, as well as dragon back,” Sara told them.

“Ariakan thinks of everything, doesn’t he? Where do you keep the dragons?"

Tanis asked. “Surely not here.”

“No, the island isn’t large enough. The dragons have homelands of their own. No one is quite certain where. They come when summoned.”

“Hsst!” Caramon tugged on Sara’s sleeve. “Company.”

A hobgoblin was running over to stare at them.

“Who’s that?” the goblin demanded suspiciously, holding up a torch that sputtered in the rain. “No blues out tonight! What the—Ariakan’s woman!”

Sara took off her helm and shook out her hair. “Lord Ariakan to you, worm. And I am no one’s woman, except my own. You do remember my name, don’t you, Glob? Or has it slipped your pea-brained mind?”

The goblin sneered. “What you doing out this night, S-s-s-ara?” He hissed the name mockingly. “And who be these two?” Little piggy eyes had caught sight of Caramon and Tanis, though the men took care to stand well out of the torchlight.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t ask too many questions, Glob,” Sara replied coolly. “Lord Ariakan doesn’t like underlings who meddle in his affairs. See to it my dragon has whatever she wants. You two.” She didn’t look behind her, but motioned to Caramon and Tanis. “Come with me.”

The two walked past the goblin, who appeared somewhat daunted at the mention of Ariakan’s affairs, and stepped back. But the goblin squinted intently as the two, shrouded in their cloaks, passed him. And at that moment, as ill luck—or the Dark Queen—would have it, a gust of wind swept round the stable yard and whipped back Tanis’s long, graying hair to reveal a shapely, pointed ear.

The goblin sucked in a shrill breath. Leaping over to Tanis, he caught hold of his arm and thrust the lighted torch in his face, so close that he nearly caught the man’s beard on fire.

“Elf!” the goblin shrieked, adding a curse.

Caramon had his hand on his sword, but Sara threw herself in between the big man and the goblin.

“Glob, you fool! Now you’ve done it! Ariakan will have your ears for this!”

Snatching the torch from the goblin’s hand, Sara hurled it into the mud. The flame sputtered and went out.

“What you mean?” demanded Glob. “What I do? He be a damn elf! A spy!”

“Of course, he’s a spy,” Sara snarled. “You’ve just unmasked one of my lord’s double agents! You may have jeopardized the entire mission! If Ariakan hears of this, he’ll have your tongue cut out!”

“Me no talk,” Glob returned sullenly. “Lord-man know that.”

“You’d talk fast enough if some white-robed mage got hold of you,” Sara predicted grimly.

Caramon had released his sword, but he stood large and threatening. Tanis flipped his cloak over his face and glowered balefully at the goblin.

The goblin’s face twisted in a scowl. He stared at Tanis with hatred. “I don’t care what you say. I go report this.”

“It’s your tongue,” said Sara, shrugging. “Remember what happened to Blosh. And if you don’t, go ask him. But don’t hold your breath, waiting for him to answer.”

The goblin flinched. The aforementioned tongue flicked nervously over its rotting yellow teeth. Then, with another glare at Tanis, the goblin ran off.

“This way,” said Sara.

Caramon and Tanis trudged after her. Both cast oblique glances at the goblin and saw the creature accost a tall man in black armor. The goblin, talking in a shrill voice, pointed at them. They all caught one word: elf.

“Keep walking,” Sara said. “Pretend you don’t notice.”

“I should have wrung the creature’s neck,” Caramon muttered, hand on his sword hilt.

“Nowhere to hide the body,” Sara said in cool, practical tones. “Someone would have found the wretch and there would have been the Abyss to pay. Discipline is strict here.”

“Ariakan’s whore ...” The goblin’s voice carried clearly.

Sara’s lips tightened, but she managed a smile. “I don’t think we have much to worry about. Ah, there, see?”

“Speak of Mistress Sara with respect, toad!”

The knight struck the goblin across the face, sent the creature sprawling backward into the stable muck. Then the knight strode on about more pressing matters.

Sara continued walking.

“This business about us being spies. That was fast thinking,” said Tanis, at her shoulder. Caramon, glancing around watchfully, brought up the rear.

“Not really.” Sara shrugged. “I had already planned out my story, in case we were seen. Ariakan has been bringing his agents here, mostly to impress them, I think. A goblin made the mistake of blabbing that he recognized one. Ariakan had the creature’s tongue cut out. That gave me the idea.”

“Will the dragon say anything?”

“I’ve told the dragon the same story. Flare is loyal to me, anyway. Blues are. They’re not like reds.”

“That knight seemed to respect you ...” Tanis began.

“Unusual—for a whore.” Sara finished his sentence for him.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“No, but it’s what you were thinking.” Sara walked on in bitter silence, her eyes blinking against the rain and spray that lashed her face.

“I’m sorry, Sara,” Tanis said, resting his hand on her arm. “Truly.”

She sighed. “No, I’m the one to apologize. You spoke only the truth.” Lifting her head proudly, she turned to face him. “I am what I am. I’m not ashamed. I would do it again. What would you sacrifice for your own son—your wealth? Your honor? Your very life?”

Clouds scudded across the night sky and, suddenly, for one instant, Solinari, the silver moon, was free of them. Its bright light shone down on Storm’s Keep, and for a strange instant, Tanis saw the future illuminated for him, as if Sara’s words had opened a door of a moonlit room. He had only a swift glimpse of danger and peril, swirling about his frail son like the driving rain, and then clouds blew back across Solinari, hiding it from sight, blotting out its silver light. The door shut, leaving Tanis disturbed and frightened.

“Ariakan didn’t mistreat me,” Sara was saying some what defensively, mistaking the half-elf’s shaken silence for the silence of disapproval. “It was always understood between us that he would use me for his pleasure, nothing more. He will not take a wife, not now. He is over forty, married to war.

“ 'All true knights should have only one true love' he says. 'And that true love is battle.' He considers himself a father to the young paladins. He teaches them discipline and respect for their fellow knights, respect for their enemies. He teaches them honor and self-sacrifice. Such things, he deems, are the secrets of the Solamnic Knights' victory.

“'The knights did not defeat us,' Ariakan tells the young men. 'We defeated ourselves, by selfishly pursuing our own petty ambitions and conquests instead of banding together to serve our great queen.' ”

“ 'Evil turns upon itself/ ” quoted Tanis, trying to banish the terror that haunted him, the afterimage of the startling vision of his son.

“Once it did,” said Sara, “but no more. These knights have been raised together from childhood. They are a close-knit family. Every young paladin here would willingly sacrifice his life to save his brother ... or to further the Dark Queen’s ambitions.”

Tanis shook his head. “I find that hard to believe, Sara. It is the nature of evil to be selfish, to look out for oneself to the detriment of others. If this were not so ..."

He faltered, fell silent.

“Yes,” Sara urged him to continue. “What if it were not so?”

“If evil men were to act out of what they perceive to be noble cause and purpose, if they were willing to sacrifice themselves for such causes ...” Tanis looked grave. “Then, yes, I think the world might well be in trouble.”

He drew his cloak more closely about him. The chill, damp air made him shiver.

“But that just isn’t the way things work, thank the gods.”

“Reserve your judgment and your thanks,” Sara said in a soft, trembling voice. “You haven’t yet met Sturm’s son."

Chapter Seven Why have You never Asked?

Sara’s house was a two-room dwelling, one of a number huddled against the outside walls of the fortress, as if the house itself was frightened of the crashing waves beating on the rocks and sought the protection of stolid walls. Tanis could hear the boom of the waves, crashing with monotonous regularity less than a mile away from where they stood. Salt spray blew against their cheeks, left brine on their lips.

“Hurry,” Sara said, unlocking the door. “Steel will be off duty soon.”

She hustled them inside. The house was small, but snugly built, warm and dry. Furnishings were sparse. An iron pot hung in a large stone fireplace. A table and two chairs stood near the fire. Behind a curtain, in another room, was a bed and a large wooden chest.

“Steel lives in the barracks with the other knights,” Sara said, bustling about, hastily throwing meat and a few vegetables into the pot, while Caramon stirred up the fire. “But he is permitted to eat his meals with me.”

Tanis, lost in his own gloomy reflections, still haunted by that vision of his son, said nothing.

Sara poured water in the pot. Caramon had a roaring blaze going beneath it.

“You two hide back there, behind the curtain,” Sara instructed, pushing them toward the bedroom. “I don’t need to warn you to keep quiet. Fortunately, the wind and the waves generally make enough noise that it’s sometimes hard to hear ourselves talk.”

“What’s your plan?” Tanis asked.

In answer, Sara removed a small vial from her pocket, held it up for him to see.

“Sleeping potion,” she whispered. Tanis nodded in understanding. He was about to say — something more, but Sara shook her head warningly and drew the curtains shut with a snap. The two men, left in semi-darkness, backed up against a wall and stood opposite each other. In case the young man happened to thrust the curtain aside, all he would see at first glance was an empty room.

Caramon discovered a tear in the fabric, which permitted him to see what was going on. Tanis found his own peephole. Both looked and listened in wary, tense silence.

Sara stood near the pot. She held the vial—unstoppered—in her hand.

But she didn’t pour it.

Her face was pale. She bit her lip. Her hand shook.

Tanis cast a look of alarm at Caramon.

She’s not going to go through with it! the half-elf’s eyes conveyed warningly.

Caramon’s hand closed over his sword hilt. The two braced themselves, though neither had any very clear idea what they would do if she didn’t.

Suddenly, with a mutter that might have been a prayer, Sara poured the contents of the vial into the stew pot.

A thundering knock sounded on the door. She poured the vial into the heart of the blaze and wiped her hand hastily across her eyes.

“Come in,” she called.

Grabbing a broom, she began to sweep up water and mud that had been tracked across the floor.

The door opened. A young man entered. Caramon nearly fell through the curtain in an attempt to see. Tanis waved at the big man, urged him back, but the half-elf himself had his eye plastered to the hole.

The young man had his back to them. Taking off his wet cloak, he unbuckled his sword belt from around his waist. He leaned the sword, sheathed in its black scabbard—decorated with an axe, a skull, and the black lily—against the wall. He took off his breastplate, then removed his helm with a quick, impatient gesture that made Tanis’s heart constrict with painful memories.

He’d seen Kitiara remove her helm with that very gesture.

Leaning over Sara, the young man kissed her cheek and placed a hand on her shoulder. “How are you, Mother? You don’t look well. Have you been ill?”

Sara had trouble answering. She shook her head. “No, just busy. I’ll tell you later. You’re wet to the bone, Steel. Go warm yourself. You’ll catch your death.”

Steel untied a leather thong and shook out a quantity of dark hair. Both the hidden watchers recognized those darkcurls. Kitiara had worn her hair short; her son wore it long, tumbling over his broad shoulders. As he stepped over to the fire and held his hands out to the blaze, the flames lit his face.... His face ...

Caramon gave a great, wheezing gasp.

“What was that noise?” Steel glanced around sharply.

Caramon clapped his hand over his mouth and moved away from the curtain. Tanis, hardly daring to breathe, held perfectly still.

“It’s the wind, rattling that broken window,” Sara re sponded.

“I fixed it the last time I was here,” Steel said, frowning. He took a step toward the curtain.

“Well, the latch is loose again,” Sara said. “Come, eat your dinner before it gets cold. You can’t do anything to mend the latch while this storm lasts.”

Steel cast a last glance at the curtained room, then turned and walked back to the fireplace. Shifting his position slightly, Tanis could continue to see what was happening.

Steel took a bowl and ladled out broth and meat. A puzzled look crossed his face. He sniffed at the bowl.

Tanis shook his head and gestured toward the living room, warning Caramon to make himself ready. The two of them, catching the younger man off guard, might stand a chance.

Lifting a spoon, Steel tasted the broth, grimaced, and tossed the bowl’s contents back into the pot.

Sara, stricken, stared at him. “What—what's the matter?”

“ 'Eat it before it gets cold,' ” Steel repeated. He was fondly teasing, mimicking her voice. “Mother, I’d have to set that stew out in the storm for it to get much colder. It’s not cooked yet!”

“I... I’m sorry, dear.”

Sara was limp with relief, and so was Tanis. But he was worried about her.

She was trembling, her face ashen. Steel couldn’t help but notice.

“What is it, Mother?” he asked, once again serious. “What’s wrong? I heard you were out this night What were you doing?”

“I . . . I was ferrying a couple of spies . . . from the continent—”

“The continent!” Steel’s dark brows came together in a frown. “Spies! This is not safe, Mother. You take too great a risk. I’ll speak to Lord Ariakan—”

“If s all right, Steel,” Sara said, regaining her composure. “He didn’t send me. I took the task upon myself. It was either that or let some stranger ride Flare. I couldn’t permit that. You know how temperamental she can be.”

Turning her back on the young man, Sara picked up the poker and stirred the fire.

Steel watched her, his countenance dark and thoughtful. “I find this talk of ferrying spies odd, Mother. I didn’t think you were that committed to our cause.”

Sara paused in her work. “It’s not the cause, Steel,” she said in a low voice, her eyes on the flames. “You know that well. I do this for you.”

Steel’s lip curled. His expression was suddenly hard and cold. Tanis, watching, knew that look. So did Caramon. The big man tensed to jump.

“You ferry spies for me, Mother?” Steel’s tone was mocking, suspicious.

Flinging the poker down on the stones, Sara stood up and faced her son.

“Someday, Steel, you will ride to war. Whether I approve or not, I will do my part to keep you safe.” She clasped her hands. “Oh, my son! Reconsider! Do not take these vows! Do not give up your soul—”

The young man was exasperated. “We’ve gone over this before, Mother—”

Sara flung herself at him, caught hold of him. “You don’t mean it, Steel! I know you don’t! You can’t give your soul to Her Dark Majesty....”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mother.” Steel returned. He wrenched himself loose from his mother’s grip.

“Yes, you do. You have doubts.” Her voice dropped low, and she glanced somewhat nervously out the window into the rain-lashed dawn. “I know you do. That’s why you’ve waited this long to take the vows. Don’t let Ariakan pressure you—”

“The decision is mine, Mother!” Steel’s voice had a knife’s edge. “War is coming, as you say. Do you think I want to go into battle on foot, leading a party of hobgoblins, while men with half my ability fight on dragons, attain honor and glory? I will take the vows, and I will serve the Dark Queen to the best of my ability. As for my soul, it is my own. And it will stay that way. It belongs to no man, to no goddess.”

“Not yet,” Sara said.

Steel did not respond. Thrusting her aside, he stalked across the room, stood staring into the stew pot.

“Is that edible yet? I’m starving.”

“Yes,” said Sara, with a sigh, “it is hot. Sit down.”

At her sorrowful tone, he looked around, grudgingly remorseful. “You sit down, Mother. You look exhausted.”

Respectful, attentive, he led Sara to a chair and held it for her. Sara sank into the chair, then gazed at him with wistful eyes. The young man obviously found her silent pleading disturbing. He turned from her abruptly.

Ladling out two bowls of soup, he placed one in front of each of them.

Sara stared at hers.

Steel began to eat his with a healthy appetite. Tanis let out a relieved breath and heard Caramon do the same. How long would it take the potion to act?

“You’re not eating,” Steel observed.

Sara was watching him. Her hands, beneath the table, were curled into fists in her lap. “Steel,” she said, in a strange voice, “why have you never asked me about your father?”

The young man shrugged. “Perhaps because I doubted that you would be able to give me an answer.”

“Your mother told me who he was.”

Steel grinned—a crooked grin that brought back such vivid, painful memories, Tanis was forced to shut his eyes.

“Kitiara told you what she thought you wanted to hear, Mother. It’s all right.

Ariakan has told me all about Kitiara. He told me about my father, as well,"

Steel added offhandedly.

“He did?” Sara was astonished. The hands in her lap ceased to move.

“Well, not his name.” Steel ate more stew. “But everything else about him.”

Damn, this is a slow-acting potion! Tanis thought.

“Ariakan said my father was a valiant warrior,” Steel continued, “a noble man who died courageously, gave his life for the cause he believed in. But Ariakan warned me that I must never try to learn my father’s identity. 'It carries with it a curse, that will fall on you, if you come to know the truth.' An odd thing to say, but you know what a romantic Ariakan is...”

The spoon fell from Steel’s nerveless fingers. “What the—” Blinking, he put his hand to his forehead. “I feel so strange...”

Suddenly, his eyes focused. He drew in a breath. He tried to stand, but swayed on his feet. “What. . . have you done?... Traitor! No, I won’t let—”

Lurching forward, he reached out a shaking hand, then fell across the table, sending the bowls flying. He made one last, feeble effort to rise, then collapsed there, unconscious.

“Steel!” Sara bent over him and brushed back the dark, curly hair from the handsome, stern face. “Oh, my son...”

Tanis hurried from behind the curtain, Caramon on his heels.

“He’s out cold and will be for some time by the looks of it. Well, Caramon, what do you think?” Tanis studied the young man’s features.

“He’s Kit’s son, there’s no doubt about that.”

“Yes, you’re right there,” Tanis said quietly. 'The father?”

“I don’t know.” Caramon’s face wrinkled in intense concentration. “It could be Sturm. When I first set eyes on him, I almost thought it was Sturm. I. . . I was fairly taken aback! But, then, after that, all I saw was Kit.” The big man shook his head. “At least there’s no elf blood in him, Tanis.”

Tanis had never truly suspected as much. And so he was surprised to find himself relieved ... and some part of him disappointed.

“No, he is not my son, that much is certain,” Tanis said aloud to Caramon. “I didn’t think it likely anyway. Ariakan might have taken the boy if he had elven blood—there are dark elves, after all—but I doubt it. Does Ariakan know the truth, do you think?” Tanis looked at Sara questioningly.

“He might. That would be one reason he’s never told Steel his father’s name, warned him not to ask, added some old wives' tale about the curse.”

“Old wives generally know what they’re talking about,” Tanis said. “Curses can take many forms. The young man’s going to be in for an unpleasant shock, if nothing else.”

“And he’s going to be furious when he wakes up,” Caramon pointed out. “I doubt if he’ll even listen to us, much less believe anything we tell him. This is hopeless, Sara. Your plan won’t work—”

“It can. It must! I will not lose him!” She glared at them fiercely. “You saw him. You heard him! He is not totally given over to evil. He might change his mind. Please, help me! Help him! Once we get him away from here, away from this dark influence—once he sees the High Clerist’s Tower and remembers ...”

“Very well. We’ll try,” Tanis said. “After all, we’ve come this far. I’ll take one arm—”

“This is my work, Tanis.” Caramon shouldered him aside.

Accustomed to carrying barrels of ale on his broad back, Caramon picked the young man up bodily and heaved him effortlessly over a broad shoulder.

Steel’s head and flaccid arms dangled in front, his long hair practically brushing the ground. Grunting, Caramon settled the young man more securely, then nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Sara flung a cloak over Steel, grabbed a cloak for herself and her dragon rider helm. Opening the door a crack, she peered out. The rain had ceased for the moment, and the stars shone. The constellation of the Dark Queen, very near, gleamed with ominous brilliance. Storm clouds were massing again on the horizon.

Sara motioned, and they hastened out. They met no one until they neared the stables, then ran almost headlong into a knight in black armor.

He glanced at Steel and smiled coolly. “Another casualty? The young men threw themselves into their training this night. The clerics will earn their keep today.” Saluting, the knight went about his business.

The fortress was quiet, most of the men either resting after the night’s endeavors or, as the knight had said, recovering from their wounds. Several dragons kept watch, perched atop the tall towers. Guards walked the battlements, probably more for the sake of training and discipline than because they actually feared assault. Ariakan had nothing to fear. Not now. Not yet. Few knew he was here, or what he plotted.

But now I know, Tanis realized uneasily. I can carry the warning, except that it may already be too late. Traitor, Steel called Sara. Is she? Has she really done that much damage to their cause? He thought back to what she’d said that very night. Her main goal was to keep Steel safe. To do that, she had served evil in silence for over ten years. She had broken that silence at last, but only out of desperation, only to save the young man from the final, irrevocable commitment.

They reached the cleared area. Sara put her hand to the brooch she wore on her breast. A blue dragon appeared in the sky, soaring toward them.

“If you can summon dragons,” said Tanis, following up on this thoughts, $2"you could have escaped this place long ago.”

“You are right.” Sara hovered near Steel, hanging limply in Caramon’s grasp. “But I would have had to go alone. He would have refused to come with me. I couldn’t leave him here by himself. My influence is all that has kept him walking in the light.”

“But you could have warned someone. The Knights of Solamnia might have been able to stop Ariakan.” Tanis gestured at the mighty fortress. “Now, he is too strong.”

“What would your knights have done?” Sara demanded. “Come with their dragons? Their lances? And what would that have accomplished? Ariakan and the knights would have fought to the death, all our deaths. No, I couldn’t risk it. Back then, I still had hope. Someday, Steel might see how evil they are. He might agree to come with me. . . . But now ...” She shook her head bleakly.

The blue dragon landed on the ground near them. Flare was agitated at the sight of Steel’s seemingly lifeless form, but Sara quieted the dragon with a few softly spoken words of explanation. Flare still appeared dubious, but the blue obviously trusted Sara and was extremely solicitous of Steel. The dragon never took its eyes off the young man, as Caramon secured him in the saddle, then wedged himself in uncomfortably behind.

Sara approached the dragon. Tanis laid his hand over hers, halting her.

“We’ll do what you ask, Sara Dunstan, but the final decision will rest with Steel. Unless you plan to lock him up in a cellar and throw away the key,” he added dryly.

“This will work,” she insisted.

Tanis kept hold of her wrist. “Sara, if it doesn’t, you’ve lost him. He’ll never forgive you for this act, for betraying him, betraying the knighthood. You know that, don’t you?”

She stared at the lifeless form of her son, her face as cold and unlovely as the black lily brooch. Tanis saw, then, the true strength of the woman who had dwelt in this dark prison for so many dark years.

“I know,” she said, and pulled herself up onto the dragon.

Chapter Eight The high Clerist’s Tower

“What have you done, Mother?” the young paladin demanded furiously.

Awakening in the mountains, on a windswept promontory overlooking the High Clerist’s Tower, Steel was groggy and disoriented at first, but realization, then anger, soon burned away the potion-induced mists.

“I want to give you a chance to reconsider what you are doing,” Sara told him.

She did not plead or beg; she was not a pathetic figure. She was calm and dignified and, as the two faced each other, Tanis saw a resemblance that was not born in the blood, but sprang from long years of mutual respect and affection.

Whatever clay the father and mother had brought into this world, it was Sara who had formed and molded it.

Steel swallowed any bitter recriminations or angry words. Instead he turned his dark-eyed gaze on Tanis and Caramon.

“Who are these men?”

“They are friends of your father,” Sara replied.

“So that’s what this is about,” Steel said, favoring both Tanis and Caramon with a cold and haughty stare.

Magnificent in his youth and strength, retaining his pride and his composure when his head must have been swimming and his mind groping about in befuddled confusion, Steel won the grudging admiration of both men.

The blue dragon sniffed the air, shook her head, and snarled. Silver dragons, favored by the Knights of Solamnia, occasionally patrolled the skies above the tower. None could be seen in the skies this early, but the blue obviously scented something she didn’t like.

Sara calmed Flare and led her into a large opening in the rocks, where the dragon would be at least partially hidden from view—the main reason she had chosen this particular landing site. The three men remained standing on the rock ledge, regarding each other in uncomfortable silence.

Steel looked ill, was unsteady on his feet, but he would obviously sooner die than admit to weakness, and so neither Tanis nor Caramon made any offer of assistance or comfort.

Caramon nudged Tanis.

“Do you remember the autumn the war started, right after we’d left Solace with Goldmoon and Riverwind? We ran afoul of draconians and Sturm was wounded. Blood covered his face. He could barely stand, let alone walk, and yet he never said a word of complaint, refused to stop...”

“Yes,” said Tanis quietly, looking at the young man. “I remember.” The memory was very vivid, just now.

Steel—aware that he was under scrutiny, if not discussion—turned proudly away.

Tanis eyed the dark paladin’s black armor—hideously adorned with symbols of death—and wondered gloomily just how he and the others were supposed to march into the High Clerist's Tower. And, as if this wasn’t trouble enough, when Sara emerged from the cave, Tanis knew at a glance that there was more.

“What is it, Sara? What's wrong?”

Caramon cast a nervous glance at the sky. “Not a patrol—”

“Flare claims that we were followed,” Sara said in a low voice, not looking at Steel. “That knight... he must have suspected something.”

“Great, just great!” Tanis muttered. “How many?”

Sara shook her head. “One blue with a single rider. He’s not here now. He returned to the fortress ... once he found out where we were bound ...”

“But the Knights of Takhisis will come for us,” said Steel with a cool and triumphant smile. He turned to Sara. “We can leave now, Mother, before any harm is done. Leave these two old fossils to their moldy memories.”

Sighing, he touched her cheek gently. “I know what you’re trying to do, Mother, but it won’t work. Nothing will make me change my mind. Let us go back home. I’ll see to it that Lord Ariakan doesn’t blame you. I will tell my lord this mad scheme was my idea. A dare, taken over wine and dice, to spit on the High Clerist’s Tower—”

Caramon made a rumbling sound, deep in his chest. “Mind how you talk, boy,” he growled. “Your father’s blood is red on those stones. His body lies inside.”

Steel was obviously taken aback. He regained his composure swiftly, however, and shrugged. “So my father died in the assault—”

“He died defending the tower,” said Tanis, observing the young man intently, “and the knighthood.”

“He is honored among all Ansalon,” Caramon added. “His name, like Huma’s, is spoken with reverence.”

“That name is Sturm. Sturm Brightblade,” said Sara softly. “And that is the name you bear, Steel.”

The young man had gone white. He stared at them all in disbelief that rapidly darkened to suspicion. “I don’t believe you.”

“To tell you the truth,” Tanis said, treading on Caramon’s foot to warn him to keep silent, “neither do we. This woman here”—he gestured at Sara—“came to us with some wild tale of a liaison between your mother and a man who was our friend, a liaison of which you were the unwitting product. We refused to believe her, and so we told her to bring you here to prove it.”

“Why?” Steel demanded, sneering. “What will this prove?”

“Good question, Tanis,” Caramon said under his breath. “What will this prove?”

Tanis looked at Sara for the answer.

Take my son inside the tower, her eyes begged him. Let him see the knights. He will remember how he honored them in his childhood. I know he will. My stories will come back to him.

“I wish to Paladine I had your faith, mistress,” Tanis said into his beard. He scratched his chin, trying to think up some excuse. This whole scheme was beginning to make less and less sense, becoming more and more dangerous.

Aloud, he said the first thing that came to mind, “There’s a jewel that hangs around your father’s neck. It was buried with him. The star jewel is magical. It was given to him by an elven queen, Alhana Starbreeze. This jewel will...”

“Will what?” Steel mocked him. “Dissolve when I enter the sacred chamber.”

“It will tell us the truth,” Tanis snapped, irritated by this arrogant youngster.

“Believe me, I don’t like this any more than you do. What? What’s that you say, Caramon?” “The elf jewel is just a love token. It won’t..."

“You’re right, my friend,” Tanis interrupted him loudly. “It is a wondrous jewel. Very magical.”

“This is a trick,” said Steel. He put his hand to his sword belt, forgetting that he’d taken off his sword. It was back in his mother’s house. Flushing, he clenched his fists. “You intend to take me prisoner. Once we get to the tower, you’ll hand me over to the knights. That’s your plan, isn’t it, Mother?”

“No, Steel!” Sara cried. “I never meant that, truly. Neither do these men. If you decide, after all this, to return to Storm’s Keep, we will do nothing to stop you. The decision will be yours, Steel.”

“I pledge you, by my honor and my life, that this is not a trick. I will guard you as if you were my own son,” Tanis said quietly.

“Me, too, Nephew.” Caramon nodded, then rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You’re my flesh and blood. You have my word. I swear by my own children—your cousins.”

Steel laughed. “You’ll fight in my defense. Thank you, but I doubt if the day will come when I need the services of two soft, middle-aged—” He paused, suddenly struck by what he’d heard. “Nephew. Cousins.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“Your uncle, Caramon Majere,” Caramon replied with dignity. “And this is Tanis Half-Elven.”

Steel eyed Caramon speculatively, curiously. “My mother’s half-brother."

The dark-eyed gaze shifted to Tanis.

“And one of her lovers, according to Lord Ariakan.” The young man’s lip curled.

Tanis’s skin burned. It’s over and done, past and gone, he reminded himself. Kitiara’s been dead these many years. I love Laurana. I do, with all my heart and soul. I haven’t thought of Kit in all these years, and now a flash of the eye, a turn of the head, her crooked grin, and it all comes back to me. My shame, my indiscretion. Our youth... our joy ...

“So you two are here to save me from myself,” Steel was saying, with bitter sarcasm.

“We only want to give you another option,” said Tanis, shoulders hunched against the raw and biting wind, against the equally biting memories. “As Sara says, the final decision will be yours.”

“That’s why we fought the war, Nephew,” Caramon added. “To ensure that people had choices.”

“Nephew.” Steel smiled, and it was meant to be a sneering and arrogant smile. But his lips trembled before he could tighten them, and there was, for the space of a faltering heartbeat, a glimpse of the face of an unhappy, lonely child.

It was then, in that moment, that Tanis came to truly believe that this young man was Sturm’s son. In that expression of bleak pride and anguish, Tanis saw again the young knight who had grown up during a time when the Knights of Solamnia were themselves hated and reviled, when he’d been despised, made to feel ashamed of his birthright.

Sturm had known what it was to be different from others. He had used his pride as a shield against hatred and prejudice. That shield of pride had been heavy to carry in the beginning, but Sturm had learned to ease pride’s weight with forbearance and compassion. This dark paladin bore the shield’s weight eagerly, willingly, and it had left cruel marks on him.

Tanis opened his mouth, almost spoke his thoughts aloud, then he reconsidered. No poor words of mine will penetrate that shield, that dark, cruel armor. He is Sturm’s son, yes, but Kitiara’s son, too, a child of unholy darkness and hallowed light.

“You owe both these gentlemen an apology, Steel,” Sara was sternly berating the young man. “They have proven their mettle in battle, something you have yet to do. It is not for you to speak to them with disrespect.”

Steel’s handsome face flushed at his mother’s chiding, but he had been raised in a strict school. “I do apologize, sirs,” he said stiffly. “I have heard of your exploits during the war. You may find this difficult to believe,” he added with a grim smile, “but we who serve Queen Takhisis have been taught to honor you.”

Tanis did indeed find this hard to believe, didn’t like to consider the implications. “Then you have been taught to honor your father’s deeds—”

“If Sturm Brightblade is my father,” Steel countered. “I have been taught to admire his heroic death—one who stood alone against many enemies. And I have also been taught to honor the memory of my mother, Kitiara, the Dragon Highlord who slew him.”

That remark effectively silenced everyone. Caramon shuffled his big feet, coughed, and stared down at the ground. Tanis heaved an exasperated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. A curse if Steel found out who his father was—so Ariakan had told the young paladin. Tanis was beginning to believe it. He couldn’t for the life of him see how anything good could come out of this unhappy situation.

Steel turned his back on them all. Walking over to the cliff’s edge, he gazed down with interest on the High Clerist's Tower.

“I’m sorry, Sara,” Tanis said in an undertone. “I’ll say this for the last time. Your scheme isn’t going to work. Nothing we say or do is going to make any difference to him. Steel is right. The two of you should leave now. Go back to your home.”

The woman’s shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes and put a trembling hand to her lips. Tears slid down the careworn face. She couldn’t speak, but nodded her head.

“C’mon, Caramon,” Tanis said. “We’ve got to get off this mountain before dark—”

“Wait a minute,” Steel said abruptly. He turned around, then stalked over to stand in front of Sara. Putting his hand on her chin, he turned her face to the sunlight. “You’re crying,” he said softly, and there was wonder in his voice. “All these years, I’ve never seen you cry.”

He would have known how to defend himself against a battalion of knights, but his mother’s tears disarmed him completely.

“Do you truly want me to go through with this... folly?” he asked, frustrated, helpless, bewildered.

Sara’s face brightened. Eagerly, she clung to him. “Oh, yes, Steel. Please! Do this for me.”

Tanis and Caramon stood silently by, waiting. Steel gazed at her, his face a battlefield, revealing the struggle waging within. Then, with a dark, sidelong glance at the two older men, he said coldly, “I will accompany you, sirs—for her sake.”

Turning on his heel, he walked to the edge of the ledge, leapt lightly onto another rock ledge below it, and started down the mountainside, picking his way among the tangle of rocks with the nimble dexterity and strength of youth.

Caught flat-footed by the unexpected move, Tanis hurried after, but his elegant and expensive boots—meant for walking his estate, not climbing mountains—slipped on a patch of gravel. He lost his balance and might have tumbled down the cliff had not a strong hand grasped the collar of his tunic and dragged him back.

“Take it slow, my friend,” said Caramon. “We’ve a long way to go, and this isn’t going to be easy on either our boots or our bones.” He nodded down at Steel, whose dark curls could barely be seen among the boulders. “Let our young friend go it alone awhile. He needs time to think. His mind must feel about like that creek there.”

Water, white-frothed and bubbling, swirled and eddied among the rocks, occasionally finding itself stranded in dark pools, then freeing itself to plunge on in a headlong rush to its final destination, the eternal sea.

“He’ll be cooler when he reaches the bottom,” Caramon finished.

“We won’t,” Tanis grumbled. The sun was hot on the cliff face. He was already sweating beneath his leather armor. Resting his hand on Caramon’s arm, he smiled at the big warrior. “You’re a wise man, my friend.”

Caramon, looking embarrassed, shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve got three boys of my own, that's all.”

Tanis heard words unspoken.

“Let's go,” he said abruptly. He looked back at Sara.

“I’ll wait for you here,” she said, standing in front of the cave. “Flare’s upset. It would never do to leave her alone. She might follow Steel.”

Tanis nodded and started down the mountainside again, this time moving more slowly, taking more care.

“The gods bless you for this,” Sara called fervently.

“Yes, well, one of the gods is likely going to bless us,” Tanis muttered.

He didn’t care to think which one.

Chapter Nine Black Lily, White Rose

“The fortress, known as the High Clerist’s Tower, was built by Vinas Solamnus, founder of the Knights of Solamnia, during the Age of Might. The fortress guards the West-gate Pass, leading into and out of one of the major cities of Ansalon, the city of Palanthas.

“After the Cataclysm, which many people mistakenly blamed on the Knights of Solamnia, the High Clerist’s Tower was practically deserted, abandoned by the knights, who were in hiding for their lives. During the War of the Lance, the tower was reoccupied and was crucial to the defense of Palanthas and the surrounding countryside. Astinus has recorded the heroic deeds of those who fought and held the tower. You can find the record in the great Library of Palanthas, under the title Dragons of Winter Night.

“In that book, you will read of Sturm Brightblade, who died, facing alone the terror of the dragons. Thus it runs:

“ 'Sturm faced east. Half-blinded by the sun’s brilliance, Sturm saw the dragon as a thing of blackness. He saw the creature dip in its flight, diving below the level of the wall, and he realized the blue was going to come up from beneath, giving its rider the room needed to attack. The other two dragon riders held back, watching, waiting to see if their lord required help finishing this insolent knight.

“ 'For a moment the sun-drenched sky was empty, then the dragon burst up over the edge of the wall, its horrifying scream splitting Sturm’s eardrums, filling his head with pain. The breath from its gaping mouth gagged him. He staggered dizzily, but managed to keep his feet as he slashed out with his sword. The ancient blade struck the dragon’s left nostril. Black blood spurted into the air. The dragon roared in fury.

“ 'But the blow was costly. Sturm had no time to recover. ” 'The Dragon Highlord raised her spear, its tip flaming in the sun. Leaning down, she thrust it deep, piercing through armor, flesh, and bone.' ”

Steel cast a smug glance at the two men accompanying him. He observed the effect of his recitation on each of them. “Good god.” His uncle’s jaw sagged, the big man’s round and somewhat stupid (so Steel thought scornfully) face was dumbstruck. The half-elf was eyeing the dark paladin grimly.

“You have a good memory,” Tanis remarked. “It is requisite, so my lord Ariakan teaches, for a warrior to know his enemy,” Steel returned. He did not mention that it was his mother, Sara, who had first told him the tale, long ago, when he was a child.

Tanis’s eyes shifted their gaze to one of the high walls near the central tower. “On that battlement, your father died. If you go up there, you can still see his blood on the stones.”

Steel glanced up, out of curiosity, if nothing more. The wall was not empty these days. Knights walked it, keeping ceaseless vigilance, for, though the War of the Lance was over, Solamnia was not at peace. Yet, as Steel looked, the knights suddenly vanished, left only one, standing alone, knowing he was doomed to die, accepting his death with resignation, believing it was necessary, hoping it would serve to rally the disorganized and demoralized knights to fight on.

Steel saw flame and the bright sun, saw black blood and the red flowing over silver armor. His heart beat * faster, with a secret pride. He had always loved this story, one reason he could recite it with such accuracy. Was that because it held some deeper meaning, some meaning only his soul recognized? ...

Steel was suddenly conscious of the two men, standing quietly at his side.

Of course not. Don’t be a fool, Steel berated himself. You’re playing into their hands. If s just a story, nothing more. He shrugged. “I see a wall. Let’s get on with this.” They had come down out of the hills on the west side of the High Clerist’s Tower. A short distance away from where they crouched, hiding in the brush, a wide causeway led to the main tower entrance. Below that entrance was the Chamber of Paladine, where Sturm Brightblade and the other knights who had fallen during the tower’s defense lay buried.

All the Knights and would-be Knights of Takhisis had spent many hours studying the layout of the High Clerist"s Tower, a layout provided them by Ariakan, who had been imprisoned here.

But it is one thing to look at a drawing, and quite another to look at the structure itself. Steel was impressed. He hadn’t pictured the fortress quite this big, quite this imposing. He made haste to banish the feeling of awe, however, and began to count the number of men walking the battlements, the number standing guard at the main gate. Such information would be useful to his lord.

The causeway was always heavily traveled, and this morning was no different from any other. A knight, his lady wife, and several pretty daughters, rode slowly past them. Various tradesmen were bringing in wagon loads of food and casks of ale and wine. A regiment of knights on horseback, accompanied by their squires and pages, cantered out of the gate, on their way to fight bands of marauding hobgoblins or draconians, or maybe just to parade the streets of Palanthas in an impressive show of force. Steel noted what weapons they carried and the size of their baggage train. Ordinary citizens were leaving and arriving, some with business dealings, some coming to seek charity, others coming to complain of dragons raiding their villages. A group of grinning kender—chained together, hand and foot—were being marched out of the tower by grim-faced knights, who relieved the indignant “borrowers” of all their possessions before turning them loose outside the fortress walls.

“You don’t see Tas, do you?” Caramon was peering intently at the kender, as they ran, giggling, past him.

“Paladine forbid!” said Tanis fervently. “We’ve got enough trouble.”

“Just how do you propose we get inside?” Steel asked coolly. He’d seen—as had both the men—the knights guarding the main entrance stop and question every person who sought admittance.

“They let the kender in,” Caramon pointed out.

“No, they didn’t,” Tanis returned. “You know the old saying, 'If a rat can get in, so can a kender.' You wouldn’t fit in through a kender hole anyway, Caramon.”

“That’s true,” said the big man, unperturbed.

“I’ve got an idea,” Tanis said. He held out the blue cloak to Steel. “Put this on over your armor. Keep behind Caramon. I’ll engage the knights at the gate in conversation and you two slip in past me ...”

“No,” said Steel.

“What do you mean, 'No'?” Tanis was exasperated.

“I won’t hide myself or my allegiance. I won’t creep in like ... like a kender.” Steel’s voice was filled with scorn. “The knights will admit me as I am, knowing who and what I am, or not at all.”

Tanis’s expression hardened. He was about to argue, when Caramon interrupted him by an outburst of laughter.

“I don’t find this particularly amusing,” Tanis snapped.

Caramon choked, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Tanis, but, by the gods, Steel sounded so like Sturm, I couldn’t help myself. Do you remember that time in the inn, when we found the blue crystal staff, and all those goblins and Seeker guards were coming up the stairs, ready to tie us to the stake and burn us? And we were all running for our lives, hoping to escape through the kitchen, except Sturm.

“He just sat at the table, calmly drinking his ale. 'What?' he said, when you told him to run. 'Flee? From this rabble?' My nephew’s face, when he said that about the knights letting him in, put me in mind of Sturm that night.”

“Your nephew’s face puts me in mind of a lot of things,” Tanis said grimly, “like how Sturm and his stubbornness and his honor nearly got us killed more than once.”

“We loved him for it,” said Caramon softly.

“Yes.” Tanis sighed. “Yes, I did, though there were times, like now, when I could have wrung his knightly neck.”

“Look at it this way, Half-Elven,” Steel said in a mocking tone, “you could take this as a sign from your god, the great Paladine. If Paladine wants me inside, he’ll see to it that I get in.”

“Very well, young man, I’ll take your challenge. I’ll trust in Paladine. Perhaps, as you say, this will be a sign. But”— Tanis held up a warning finger—“don’t say a word, no matter what I say. And don’t do anything to cause trouble.”

“I won’t,” Steel said, with ice-hard dignity and disdain. “My mother’s up in those hills with a blue dragon, remember? If anything happens to me, Lord Ariakan will take out his rage on her.”

Tanis was regarding the young man intently. “Yes, we loved him for it,” he said, beneath his breath.

Steel pretended he didn’t hear. Turning his face toward the High Clerist’s Tower, he climbed up out of the brush and stepped onto the causeway. He assumed his uncle and the half-elf would follow.

Tanis and Caramon flanked the dark paladin, one on each side of him, as they proceeded down the broad road leading to the tower’s main gate. Caramon had his hand on the hilt of his sword, a grim and threatening expression on his face. Tanis kept close watch on those who passed them, waiting tensely for the expression of loathing, shocked horror—the outcry that would bring down on them a squadron of knights.

Steel walked tall and proud, the cold and handsome face impassive. If he was at all nervous, he was keeping it to himself.

Few, however, spared them a glance. Most of those who traveled this road were absorbed with their own private worries and concerns. And who would notice three armed men in this bastion of armed men? The only ones who did take note of them were the pretty young women accompanying their knightly father to the tower. They smiled at the handsome young knight in admiration, did everything short of tumbling out of their carriage to attract Steel’s attention.

Tanis was extremely puzzled by this. Did the symbols of terror and death the dark paladin wore plainly on his person no longer have any effect on people? Had the Solamnians forgotten the dread power of the Dark Queen? Or were they just mindlessly, stupidly complacent?

Tanis, glancing at Steel, saw the young man’s lip curl in scorn. He was finding this amusing.

Tanis quickened his pace. There was still the main gate to pass.

The half-elf had thought up and then discarded several arguments for allowing a Knight of Takhisis to enter the stronghold of Paladine. He had at last been forced to admit to himself that there could be no logical argument. As a last resort, he would use his standing as a renowned hero and respected government official to bully his way inside.

Wishing that he was decked out in his full ceremonial regalia, instead of his worn, albeit comfortable, traveling clothes, Tanis put on his you’ll-do-what-I-say-and-like-it mask and strode up to the knights guarding the main gate.

Caramon and Steel came to a halt about a pace behind. Steel’s face was hard, his dark eyes opaque, head thrown back in defiance.

One of the knights on guard duty stepped forward to meet them. His gaze swept over them with mild and friendly curiosity.

“Your names, gentle sirs,” said the knight courteously. “And please state your business.”

“I am Tanis Half-Elven.” Tanis was so pent up, the words came out in an explosive bark, practically a shout. Forcing himself to calm down, he added in softer tones, “This is Caramon Majere ...”

“Tanis Half-Elven and the famous Caramon Majere!” The young knight was impressed. “I am honored to meet you, sirs.” In an undertone, he said to a cohort, “It’s Tanis Half-Elven. Run and fetch Sir Wilhelm.”

Probably the lord knight in charge of the gate.

“Please, there’s no need to make a fuss,” Tanis urged hastily, with what he hoped sounded like becoming modesty. “My friends and I are here on a pilgrimage to the Chamber of Paladine. We simply want to pay our respects, nothing more.”

The young knight’s face immediately assumed an expression of grave sympathy. “Yes, of course, my lord.” His gaze shifted from Caramon, who glowered and appeared ready to take on the fortress single-handedly, then the knight looked at Steel.

Tanis tensed. He could already picture it. The young guard’s astonishment changing to fury, the ringing trumpet call that would sound the alarm, bring down the portcullis, surround them with swords...

“I see you are a Knight of the Crown, sir, like myself,” the young knight was saying .. . and he was saying it to Steel! The Solamnic Knight touched his breastplate, on which was the symbol of the lowest of the ranks of the Knights of Solamnia. He gave Steel the knight’s salute on meeting a comrade, a lifting of the gloved hand to the helm. “I am Sir Reginald. You don’t look familiar, Sir Knight. Where did you take your training?”

Tanis blinked, stared. Were they letting the nearsighted into the knighthood these days? He looked at Steel, saw black armor adorned with the Dark Queen’s emblems: lily, axe, skull. Yet the Solamnic Knight was smiling and treating Steel as if they’d been barracks mates.

Had Steel cast some sort of spell on the knight? Was it possible? Tanis looked at him sharply, then relaxed. No, Steel was obviously as confused about what was going on as Tanis. Defiance had seeped out of the young man. He looked dazed and a little foolish.

Caramon’s mouth hung wide open. A sparrow could have flown in and nested there, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Where did you take your training, sir?” the knight asked again, in a friendly fashion.

“K-kendermore,” Tanis said the first thing that came into his head.

The young knight was immediately sympathetic. “Ah, rough duty, I hear. I’d rather patrol Flotsam myself. Is this your first visit to the tower? I have an idea.” The knight turned to Tanis. “After you’ve paid your respects in the Chamber of Paladine, why don’t you hand over your friend to me? I’m off duty in half an hour. I’ll take him all around the tower, show him our defenses, fortifications—”

“I don’t believe that would be a good idea!” Tanis gasped. He was shaking, sweating beneath the leather armor. “We ... we’re expected in Palanthas. Our wives are waiting for us, aren’t they, Caramon?”

Caramon took the hint. His mouth snapped shut. He managed to mumble something incoherent about Tika.

“Perhaps another time,” Tanis added regretfully. He stole a glance at Steel, thinking that the young man must be getting quite a laugh out of all this.

Steel was shaken, pale, his eyes wide. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.

Well, thought Tanis, that’s what happens when you brush up against a god.

Sir Wilhelm arrived and took charge of them at once. He was, Tanis was sorry to note, one of the old-time, pompous, set-in-the-saddle type of knights; the kind who let the Oath and the Measure do his thinking for him. He was the type of knight Sturm Brightblade had always detested. Fortunately, there were far fewer of Sir Wilhelm’s sort these days than there had been in the past. A pity some god—or goddess—had put him in their path.

And, of course, Sir Wilhelm was insisting on personally accompanying them to the tomb.

“Thank you, my lord.” Tanis attempted to rid himself of the man. ” But this is a very poignant moment for us, as you can imagine. We would prefer to be by ourselves ...”

Impossible! (Harumph) Sir Wilhelm would never permit it. (Harumph) The famous Tanis Half-Elven and the famous Caramon Majere and their young friend, a Knight of the Crown, paying his first visit to the Chamber of Paladine. No, no, (Harumph, harumph) this called for a full escort of knights!

Sir Wilhelm rounded up his escort, six knights, all armed. Forming them into ranks, he himself led the way to the Chamber of Paladine, marching with slow and solemn step, as though leading a funeral procession.

“Maybe he is,” Tanis said into his beard. “Ours.”

He glanced at Caramon. The big man shrugged unhappily. They had no choice but to follow decorously along behind.

The knights headed for two closed iron doors marked with the symbol of Paladine. Beyond those doors, a narrow staircase led down into the sepulcher.

Steel edged alongside Tanis. “What did you do back there?” he demanded, speaking in a low voice, his distrustful gaze divided between the half-elf beside him and the knights marching ahead of him.

“Me? Nothing,” Tanis returned.

Steel didn’t believe him. “You’re not some sort of mage, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Tanis answered testily. They weren’t out of this yet, not by a long shot. “I don’t know what happened, except I could suppose that you got your sign!”

Steel was pale. The awe—and the fear—was plain on his face. Tanis relented toward the young man. Oddly enough, he found himself liking him.

“I know how you feel,” Tanis told him, speaking softly. The knights had come to the iron doors and were handing out torches to light the way down the dark staircase. “I once confronted Her Dark Majesty. Do you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to fall down on my knees and worship her.”

Tanis shivered at the memory, though it had happened years ago. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Queen Takhisis is not my god, but she is a god. I’m just a poor, puny mortal. How could I help but revere her?”

Steel made no answer. He was thoughtful, stern, withdrawn to some inner core of himself. Paladine had given the young knight the sign he’d mockingly demanded. What meaning did it hold for him—if any?

The iron doors swung open. The knights, marching with solemn tread, began to descend the stairs.

Chapter Ten “My Honor Is My Life"

The half-elf’s explanation made sense to Steel. Paladine was a god—a weak and sniveling god, compared to his opposite, the Dark Queen,, but a god nonetheless. It was right and proper for Steel to feel awed in Paladine’s presence—if that’s what had truly happened back there at the gate.

Steel even tried to laugh at the incident—it was too funny, these pompous knights leading their most feared enemy around by the hand.

The laughter died on his lips.

They had begun to descend the steps that led into the sepulcher—a place of awful majesty, holy and sacred. Here lay the bodies of many brave men, among them Sturm Brightblade.

Est Sularus oth Mithas. My Honor is My Life.

Steel heard a voice, deep and resonant, repeat those words. He looked quickly around, to see who had spoken.

No one had. All walked silently down the stairs, voices muted in respect and reverence.

Steel knew who had spoken. He knew himself to be in the presence of the god, and the young man was daunted.

Steel’s challenge to Tanis had been made out of sheer bravado, made in order to quell the sudden aching longing that seared Steel’s soul, the longing to know himself. Part of Steel wanted desperately to believe that Sturm Brightblade—noble, heroic, tragic knight—was truly his father. Another part was appalled.

A curse if you find out, Ariakan had warned him.

Yes, so it would be, but... to know the truth!

And therefore, Steel had challenged the god, dared Paladine to tell him.

It seemed the god had taken the young man’s dare.

His heart subdued, Steel’s soul bowed down in worship.

The Chamber of Paladine was a large rectangular room lined with stone coffins that held the heroes of the ancient past and the more recent dead of the War of the Lance.

Following the entombment of the bodies of Sturm Brightblade and the other knights who had fallen defending the tower, the iron doors to the chamber were shut and sealed. If the tower fell into enemy hands, the bodies of the dead would not be desecrated.

A year after the war had ended, the knights broke the seals, opened the chamber, and made it a place of pilgrimage, as they had done with Huma’s Tomb. The Chamber of Paladine had been rededicated; Sturm Brightblade was made a national hero. Tanis had been present that day, as had his wife, Laurana; Caramon and Tika; Porthios and Alhana—rulers of Silvanesti and Qualinesti, the elven nations; and the kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot.

Raistlin Majere, Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas and already turned to darkness, had not come, but he had sent a message of respect for his old comrade and friend.

The bodies of the dead had been laid unceremoniously on the floor during the dark days of the war. At this ceremony, they were given proper and seemly burial. A special catafalque had been built to hold Sturm’s body.

Made of marble and carved with images of the knight’s heroic exploits, the catafalque stood in the very center of the chamber. Sturm’s body lay on it, not entombed.

Some sort of magic had kept the body from decay these twenty-some years. No one was certain, but most believed the magic emanated from the elven jewel, given to him in love by Alhana Starbreeze. The jewel was a token exchanged between lovers; it was not supposed to have any such powerful arcane properties. But, then, love works its own magic.

Tanis had not visited the chamber since that day. That solemn occasion had been far too painful and blessed for him to repeat. Now he had returned, but he didn’t feel either solemn or blessed. Looking around the room, with its ancient coffins, covered with dust, the catafalque standing in the center, Tanis felt trapped. If anything went wrong, they were a long way from the stairs, the iron doors, and escape.

“Nothing will go wrong,” Tanis said to himself. “Steel will look on the body of his father, and he’ll either be affected by it or he won’t. Personally, I don’t expect this to have any effect on him. As near as I can judge, that young man is well on his way to the Abyss. But, then, what do I know? I never expected us to get this far.”

Sir Wilhelm, looking as sorrowful as if he were burying his own kin, led the way to the catafalque. The six knights formed ranks around it—three on either side. Sir Wilhelm stood at stiff attention at the head of the bier.

Tanis approached the catafalque. He looked on the face of his friend—the face that seemed as one with the carved marble, yet held the remembrance of life; a thing the coldstone could never emulate. Tanis forgot Steel; he felt peace surround him. He no longer grieved for his friend; Sturm had died as he had lived—with honor and courage.

It did Tanis good to see the knight’s untroubled sleep. Tanis’s fretful worries over his own son, over the hectic political situations, the brooding threat of war, all vanished. Life was good, sweet; but there was a greater good waiting.

Sturm Brightblade lay on his marble bier, his hands folded over the hilt of an antique sword—his father’s sword. He was clad in his father’s armor. The star jewel, shining with the light of love, gleamed on his breast.

A dragonlance lay alongside him. Next to it was a wooden rose, carved by the hands of a grieving old dwarf, now sleeping his own restful sleep.

Beside the rose, encapsulated in crystal, was a white feather, a final gift of a loving kender.

Tanis knelt on one knee beside the body. His head level with the knight’s, Tanis spoke to his friend softly in Elvish. “Sturm, honorable, gentle, noble heart. I know you have forgiven Kitiara for what she did to you, for her treachery, her deceit—more painful for you than the spear she finally used to slay you. This young man is her son, far too much her son, I fear.

“Yet, there is, I think, something of you in him, my friend. Now that I stand here, I believe that you truly are his father. I see the resemblance in your features, but, stronger than physical evidence, I see you in this young man’s spirit, in his dauntless courage, in his nobility of character, in the compassion for others that he counts as a mark against himself.

“Your son is in danger, Sturm. The Dark Queen draws him near, whispering her words of seduction, promising him glory that must surely end in ultimate defeat. He needs your help, my friend, if such help is possible for you to grant. I regret disturbing your peaceful slumber, but I am asking you, Sturm, to do whatever you can to draw your son away from the dark path he now walks.”

Tanis stood up. Brushing his hand across his eyes, he looked over at Caramon.

The big man knelt on the opposite side of the catafalque. “I’d give up my life for my children,” he said, in a quiet voice, “if I thought that would save them from danger. I know that you’ll... Well, you’ll do what's right, Sturm. You always did.”

With this somewhat enigmatic request, Caramon stood up. Turning his back, he snuffled loudly, then wiped his eyes and nose on his shirt sleeve.

Tanis looked at Steel. The young man had held back. He stood alone, away from the knights, away from the catafalque, though he stared at the body with dark and burning eyes. He continued to stand, unmoving. His face, pale and cold and hard, was the exact copy of the face of the slumbering knight. Both might well have been carved out of marble.

“So much for that,” Tanis said to himself. “Poor Sara. Still, she tried.”

Sighing, he took a step forward. It was time to leave. Suddenly Steel made a convulsive lunge for the marble catafalque.

“Father!” he cried brokenly, and it wasn’t the man’s voice who spoke, but the voice of the child, bereft, alone.

Steel’s hands closed over the cold hands of the corpse.

A flash of white light, a light pure and radiant, cold and awful, surged through all present, left them paralyzed and half-blind.

Tanis rubbed his eyes, trying to knead out the vibrant afterimage, trying frantically to see through a bursting of fiery red and vivid yellow spots. Elven eyesight is keen, and elven eyes adjust better to darkness and to light than do human eyes. Or perhaps, in this instance, it was the eyes of the heart that saw clearer than those of the head. Sturm Brightblade stood in the chamber.

So real was the vision—if vision it was—that Tanis very nearly called out his friend’s name, very nearly reached out to once again clasp his friend’s hand.

Something kept the half-elf silent. Sturm’s gaze was fixed on his son, and in it was sorrow, understanding, love.

Sturm spoke no word. He reached to his breast, clasped his hand over the star jewel. The dazzling white light was briefly diminished. Sturm reached out to his son.

Steel stared at his father; the young man was more livid than the corpse.

Sturm’s hand touched Steel on the breast. The light of the jewel flared.

Steel put his hand swiftly to his breast, fumbled for something there, and closed his hand over it. White light pulsed briefly in Steel’s grasp, welled through his fingers, then the light was darkness. Steel thrust whatever had been in his hand inside his armor.

“Sacrilege!” Sir Wilhelm gave a hoarse cry of outrage and fury, then drew his sword from its scabbard.

At last, the fiery halo disappeared. Tanis could see clearly and the sight unnerved and appalled him.

The body of Sturm Brightblade was gone. The corpse had disappeared. All that remained was the helm, the shining antique armor, and the ancient sword, lying on the bier.

“We have been deceived!” Sir Wilhelm was thundering. “This man is not one of us! He is not a Solamnic Knight. He is a servant of the Dark Queen! A minion of evil! Seize him! Slay him!”

“The magic jewel!” another knight cried. “It’s gone! He has stolen it! The jewel must be on his person!”

“Take him! Search him!” Sir Wilhelm howled. Brandishing his sword, he leapt for Steel.

Weaponless, Steel reached instinctively for the nearest blade at hand. He grabbed the sword—his father’s sword—from atop the catafalque. Bringing the blade up, he easily blocked Sir Wilhelm’s wild downward slash. The young man threw the older knight backward, to fall with a clatter of armor among the ancient, dust-covered coffins.

The other knights closed in. Strong and skilled as he was, Steel could never hope to fight off seven at once.

Tanis drew his sword. Leaping over the catafalque, he jumped down beside Steel.

“Caramon! Guard his back!” Tanis yelled.

Caramon stood gaping. “Tanis! I thought I saw—”

“I know! I know!” Tanis shouted. “I saw it, too!” He had to do something to jolt the big man from his dazed wonderment. “Caramon, you took an oath! You swore you’d protect Steel like your own son.”

“So I did,” Caramon said with dignified gravity. Picking up the knight nearest him, who happened to block his way, the big man flung the knight bodily aside. Drawing his sword, Caramon put his back to Steel’s.

“You don’t have to do this for me,” Steel gasped through bloodless lips. “I don’t need you to fight my battles!”

“I’m not doing this for you,” Tanis returned. “I’m doing this for your father.”

Steel stared at him, suspicious, disbelieving.

“I saw what happened,” Tanis said simply. “I know the truth.”

He pointed at the dark paladin’s breastplate, the armor decorated with the foul insignia of the Dark Queen. And shining from beneath it was a glimmer of white light.

Relief flooded Steel’s face—the young man must have been wondering if what had happened had truly happened or if he were going mad. Immediately, he recollected himself, his face hardened. Steel was, once again, one of Takhisis’s Knights. He turned grimly to face his foes.

The Solamnic Knights stood with swords drawn, but did not immediately pursue the attack. Tanis Half-Elven was a powerful force in the land, and Caramon Majere a respected and popular hero. The knights looked uneasily to their commander for orders.

Sir Wilhelm was struggling to regain his feet. For him, the answer was obvious. “The other two have been subverted by evil! They are all the servants of the Dark Queen. Seize all three!”

The knights leapt to the attack. Steel fought well; he was young, skilled, and had been waiting for just such a contest all his life. His eyes gleamed and his blade flashed in the torchlight. But the young Knights of Solamnia were his equals. Now that they could see the evil in their midst, their eyes shone with a holy light; they were defending their honor, avenging sacrilege. Four of them surrounded Steel, intent on capturing him alive, determined to wound him, not kill him.

Blades dashed. Bodies heaved and shoved. Soon, Steel was bleeding from a gash across his forehead. Two of the knights were also blooded, but they fought with renewed strength and fervor. They backed Steel up against the catafalque.

Tanis did what he could to help, but he hadn’t wielded a sword in anger in many years. Caramon was huffing and wheezing and grunting, sweat rolling off the big man’s head. He was getting in one blow to his opponent’s six, but Caramon—with his size and strength—always managed to make that one blow count. His sword rang like a hammer falling on an anvil.

All three were trying to fight their way through to the stairs, but the knights were equally intent on cutting off this escape route. Fortunately, Sir Wilhelm had not thought of sending one of the knights for reinforcements. Probably he was hoping for the glory of capturing the Dark Queen’s paladin himself.

Either that, or he didn’t dare risk reducing the size of his small force.

“If we can make it up the stairs,” Tanis said to Caramon, as the two fought side-by-side, “we can rush the main gate. There were only two guards there. And after that...”

“Let"s just... get that far!” Caramon was leaning on the side of the catafalque, still fighting gamely, though the big man' was gasping for breath.

“Damn heavy ... chain mail!”

Tanis could no longer see Steel; he was encircled by a wall of silver armor.

But Tanis could hear the ring of the young man’s sword and could tell, by the numerous fresh wounds on the Knights of Solamnia, that Steel was still battling. He would keep fighting until they cut him down. He would never let himself be taken alive.

He wouldn’t disgrace the memory of his father.

Every muscle in Tanis’s body ached. Fortunately, his opponent, a young knight, was in such awe of the great hero that he was fighting only halfheartedly. Sir Wilhelm was looking exasperated. This battle should have been over by now. He glanced at the stairs. Now he was going to raise the alarm, shout for reinforcements.

If that happened, they were doomed.

“Sturm Brightblade,” Tanis said softly, “you got us into this. The least you can do is help get us out!”

The iron doors, decorated with Paladine’s symbol, stood open at the top of the stairs. It might have been a freakish prank of nature, or it might have been the breath of the god. Suddenly, a great gust of wind blasted through the door, blew out the torches as if they’d been candles, and plunged the tomb into darkness. Lifting the dust of centuries, the wind tossed dirt into the faces of the Solamnic Knights.

Sir Wilhelm, in the act of drawing a deep breath to call for help, sucked in a great cloud of dust. He began to choke and cough. The knights staggered around blindly, their eyes filled with grit, their mouths coated.

Oddly, the dust didn’t affect Tanis. He located Steel in the darkness by the faint white light gleaming from beneath his breastplate. Grabbing hold of the young paladin, who was raising his sword over his suddenly disadvantaged foe, Tanis yelled in the young man’s ear.

“Let"s get out of here!”

He thought for a minute he was going to face an argument—Sturm would have argued—but then Steel flashed Tanis a grin—a crooked grin, Kitiara’s crooked grin. Sword in hand, he ran for the stairs. Tanis found Caramon by the sound of heavy breathing.

Resting his hand on the big man’s shoulder, Tanis said, “The stairs, our only chance. Can you make it?”

Caramon nodded—too spent to talk—and started lumbering after Steel. On his way past the catafalque, Tanis rested his hand lightly, briefly, on the antique armor.

“Thank you, my friend,” Tanis whispered.

They clamored up the staircase. Bursting through the iron doors, Steel headed for the main gate. The fire of battle shone in his dark eyes. Tanis caught hold of him and nearly pulled the eager young man off his feet. Steel glared at him in fury and struggled to free himself.

Tanis held the young man fast. “Caramon, the doors!”

Caramon grabbed hold of the iron doors, swung them shut, then glanced hurriedly around for something to keep them shut. Several heavy marble blocks being used in repair work stood nearby. Heaving and grunting, Caramon shoved one of the blocks against the doors, just as footsteps could be heard stumbling up the stairs. A blow hit the iron doors, but they didn’t budge.

Blows and muffled shouts came from inside the Chamber of Paladine. It would be only a matter of moments before someone heard.

“Now, we go,” said Tanis to the young man. “Try to look as if nothing has happen—Oh, forget it.”

Caramon was red in the face, huffing and puffing like an enraged bull. Tanis’s shirt sleeves hung in ribbons around his left arm; he was bleeding from a wound he never knew he’d taken. Steel’s head was bloodied, his armor dented and scratched.

And, Tanis thought, I have the feeling no one will ever again mistake a Knight of Takhisis for a Knight of Solamnia.

He was right. The three had no sooner reached the main gate when there came a trumpet call behind them. It was the alarm, the call to arms. The knights guarding the gate jumped to action, immediately began to take defensive measures.

Within moments, the gate would be shut, secured.

“Run for it!” Tanis ordered. “And keep running,” he said to Steel.

They made a wild and desperate dash for the closing gates. The knights on duty took one look at Steel and, drawing their swords, rushed to stop him.

Lightning breath crackled outside the gate. The tip of a gigantic, blue wing could be seen swooping past. Civilians caught outside were screaming about dragons. Panic-stricken, the frightened people stampeded the entrance, hampering both the knights' attack and their ability to shut the gate.

Tanis and Caramon joined the melee. It took them both to drag away Steel, who had turned to slash at an opposing knight.

Outside the tower, the blue dragon, Flare, was flying low over the heads of the terrified crowd, sending people tumbling into the ditches. Occasionally, the dragon increased the panic by blasting holes in the ground and the fortress walls with her lightning breath.

“Sara!” Tanis yelled, waved his arm.

Sara guided the dragon to the ground. She reached out a hand, pulled Tanis onto the saddle. He, in turn, caught hold of the still-battling Steel and, with Caramon’s help from behind, managed to heave the young man up onto the dragon’s back. Caramon jumped on last. Sara shouted a command, and Flare soared into the sky.

The knights ran out of the fortress, shouting and cursing, in Paladine’s name, those who had committed the heinous act of desecrating the sacred tomb. Arrows flew from the bowmen posted on the walls. Tanis was more worried about the silver dragons, who guarded the fortress, and who had taken to the air when the trumpet had sounded.

But either the silver dragons had no desire to fight a blue and break the uneasy truce that existed among the dragons at this time, or the silvers, too, were being held back by an immortal hand. They eyed Flare balefully, but let her fly away in safety.

Perched on the back of a blue dragon, Tanis glanced down at the arrows, now whistling harmlessly beneath them.

“How,” he wondered gloomily, “am I ever going to explain all this?"

Chapter Eleven His father’s Sword

At Tanis’s suggestion, Flare flew for the foothills of the Khalkist Mountains, still a no-man’s-land, where they could rest in safety and figure out what to do next.

None of them spoke during the journey. Sara cast frequent worried glances at Steel. Tanis had explained, in a few brief words, some—not all—of what had occurred in the chamber. It would be up to Steel to tell her fully and completely what had happened to him.

Sara asked Steel about it, several times, but the young man didn’t answer. He didn’t even seem to hear her. He sat staring out into the deep blue sky, his gaze abstracted, eyes dark and fathomless, his thoughts unreadable.

At length Sara gave up and concentrated on flying. She chose a suitable landing place, a wide clearing surrounded by a thick forest of pine trees.

T

“We’ll camp here for the night,” Tanis said. “We can all use the sleep. Then, in the morning, we’ll decide what to do, where to go.” Sara agreed.

Steel said nothing. He hadn’t spoken a word since they had left the High Clerist’s Tower. Immediately on landing, he jumped lightly from the dragon’s back and took off for the forest. Sara was going to follow, but Caramon stopped her.

“Let him go,” he said gently. “He needs time to think. A lot has happened to that young man. The person who went into that chamber isn’t the same one who came out.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Sara said with a sigh. She stood staring into the woods, her hands twisting together nervously. “Will he . . . Has this changed his mind, do you think?”

“Only he knows that,” Tanis said.

Sara sighed again, then glanced at him anxiously. “Is there any doubt in your mind that he is the son of Sturm Brightblade?”

“None whatsoever,” Tanis answered firmly.

Sara smiled. Looking more hopeful, she went to settle the dragon down for the night.

“Just what did happen back there in the chamber, Tanis?” Caramon asked in a low voice, as they set about building a small cooking fire. “Did I really see what I thought I saw?”

Tanis pondered. “I don’t know for certain, Caramon. I’m not that sure myself. There was a blinding light, and my eyes were dazzled, but I could swear I saw Sturm standing there. He held out his hand, and the next thing I knew, the elven jewel was hanging around Steel’s neck.”

“Yeah, that"s what I saw, too.” Caramon pondered. “Still, it could have been a trick. Maybe he did steal it—”

“I don’t think so. I saw the look on his face. Steel was the most startled person in that chamber. He stared at the jewel in amazement, then he grabbed hold of it and hid it beneath his armor. Trust your heart, Caramon. Sturm gave Steel the jewel and his sword. He gave them both to his son.”

“What will he do with them—an elven love token and the sword of a Knight of Solamnia? Surely, he won’t go back to that horrid place now?”

“That"s up to him,” Tanis said quietly.

“And if he does decide to stay, what do we do with him? And his mother?"

Caramon asked. “I can’t very well take them home with me. I’ll be lucky if the sheriff and his men aren’t waiting for me on the inn steps when I get back. Not to mention the fact that Ariakan will be out looking for his lost paladin. Maybe you—”

“I’m going to have to do some fast talking to keep from getting arrested myself,” Tanis said, with a wry smile. He scratched his beard and turned the matter over in his mind. “We could take Steel and Sara to Qualinesti,” he decided at last. “They’d both be safe there. Not even Lord Ariakan would dare follow them into the elven kingdom. Alhana would let Steel in, once she saw the jewel, heard his story.” Caramon shook his head. “Won’t be much of a life for that young man, will it? Living among the elves. No offense, Tanis, but you and I both know how they’ll treat him. I don’t suppose the Solamnic Knights would let him into the knighthood?”

“I hardly think so,” Tanis said dryly. “Then what will he do? Become a mercenary? Sell his sword to the highest bidder? An aimless drifter...” “What were we, my friend?” Tanis asked him. “We were wanderers,” Caramon said, after a moment’s profound thought. “But Sturm Brightblade wasn’t.”

Steel was gone all afternoon. Tanis slept. Caramon—always thinking about where his next meal was coming from—went fishing. He caught some trout in a nearby stream. Adding pine nuts and wild onions he found growing in the forest, he wrapped the trout in the wet leaves and cooked the fish on rocks heated in the fire.

By sunset, Sara was growing exceedingly anxious. She was about to send Flare to search for the young man when he appeared, walking out of the shadows of the trees. Saying nothing, Steel squatted down by the fire. He laid the sword, sheathed in its ancient seaboard, in the grass at his side. Then he helped himself to the fish.

Tanis waited for Sara to ask her son the question she had been longing to ask him ever since his escape from the tower. But now either she was afraid to hear the answer or else she was waiting for him to broach the subject, because she kept silent. Her fond and loving gaze never left him, however.

He concentrated on the food, appeared to be avoiding his mother’s eyes.

Tanis had the feeling the young man’s decision had been made. Steel was wondering, perhaps, how to tell her.

The meal continued in silence, until Caramon, looking skyward, touched Tanis’s arm.

“Company,” Caramon said.

Tanis stood up swiftly. Off toward the west, from the direction of Palanthas, four dragons veered and wheeled against the red and orange streaks of the dying sun.

“Damn! And here we sit, all cozy in front of a fire! You’d think we were on a picnic! I’ve been away from this sort of thing for too long, my friend,” Tanis said ruefully.

“Douse that,” Caramon ordered.

Steel was already doing so, flinging dirt on the fire to keep it from smoking.

“What kind of dragons are they? Can you see?” Caramon was squinting. He tried to sound hopeful. “Maybe Solamnic Knights, out on patrol.”

“Knights, all right, but not Solamnic,” Tanis said grimly.

“Those are blue dragons,” Sara agreed, with certainty.

Her own blue dragon was restive, stamping its feet, lashing its tail. Well-disciplined, the beast was keeping quiet, not calling out to its mates, as it would have been inclined to do otherwise. But it was obvious the dragon had recognized its fellows and couldn’t understand why it wasn’t being permitted to join them.

Steel watched the dragons. “Half-Elven, you know these parts. Is there some town nearby, within walking distance?”

Sara clasped her hands together, her eyes bright with joy.

Tanis considered. “There’s a village of hill dwarves at the base of the mountain. I should say if s about a day’s journey from here. The dwarves trade with Palanthas. Caravans come and go all the time.”

“Excellent,” Steel said, keeping his gaze on the distant blues. “I didn’t want to leave you stranded. I’m taking Flare with me.”

The joy drained from Sara’s eyes; the blood drained from her face.

“They’re searching for me, of course,” the young man continued briskly. “I’ll fly to join them. You will be safe here. My return should satisfy Lord Ariakan.

He’ll call off the pursuit/'

Sara gave a low, anguished cry.

Steel looked at her and paled, but the firm resolve on his face did not weaken. He shifted his gaze back to the two men.

“I have decided to keep the sword,” Steel said defiantly, as if he expected an argument. “It is old-fashioned, admittedly, but I have never seen a sword so well-constructed.”

Tanis nodded and faintly smiled. “The blade is yours, by right. Your father gave it to you. Care for his sword well, Steel Brightblade. The blade is accustomed to being treated with respect. Its lineage is long and proud.”

“According to your father,” Caramon said, “the sword will break only if the one who wields it breaks first.”

“The blade never broke when Sturm carried it,” Tanis added, “not even at the end.”

Steel was obviously overcome. The dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears. His hands gently, reverently clasped the hilt, decorated with the rose and the crown. “It is a fine weapon,” he said in a low, husky voice. “I will give it the care and honor it deserves, you may be sure of that.”

He will keep the sword, Tanis thought, but what of the jewel he wears around his neck? Does he have it still? Or did he rid himself of it in the forest? What will he say about that? Nothing, apparently.

Steel was continuing. “I want to thank you, Tanis Half-Elven, and you, Caramon Majere, for fighting at my side. I know that you’ve let yourselves in for serious trouble, maybe even danger, for my sake. I won’t forget it.” He drew the sword, held it up before him. “With my father’s blade, I offer honor to you both.”

He gave them each the knight’s salute. Then, thrusting the sword carefully into its battered scabbard, he turned, at last, to Sara.

Despairing, she stretched out her arms to him. “Steel—” He took hold of her, embraced her, held her close. “You promised it would be my decision, Mother.” “Steel, no! How can you? After what you saw, after what happened!” Sara began to weep.

Gently, but firmly, Steel broke free of her loving grip. “Take care of her, won’t you, Uncle?” he said softly, to Caramon. “Keep her safe.”

“I will, Nephew.” Caramon took hold of Sara and drew her away.

Turning on his heel, the young man ran for the blue dragon. Flare was eager, waiting. Steel leapt onto the dragon’s back. The creature spread its wings.

Sara broke loose from Caramon’s grip and ran to her son.

“You’re doing this for my sake! Don’t, please, don’t!”

His handsome face was cold and hard, stern and implacable. He looked away from her, stared out into the setting sun.

“A curse, Lord Ariakan said. A curse if I discovered the truth.” He sighed, then, glancing down, said coldly, “Stand back, Mother. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

Caramon caught hold of the weeping Sara and pulled her out of the way of the dragon’s great wings.

Steel spoke a word. Flare soared into the air. The dragon circled them once.

They could see the young man’s face—white against the blue wings.

And perhaps it was Tanis’s imagination or maybe a trick of the dying sunlight, but he thought he saw an argent flash, as from an elven jewel, in the young man’s hand.

The blue dragon disappeared into the darkening sky, heading north.

Chapter Twelve His Mother’s Blood

The winds blew fiercely on Storm’s Keep. Waves lashed the rocks, broke across them in torrents of spray and foam. Lightning flared in the dark clouds; thunder rumbled, shook the foundations of the fortress. It was midnight.

The clear notes of a trumpet shattered the darkness. Lord Ariakan stood in the center of the courtyard of Storm’s Keep, surrounded by a circle of knights. Torches sputtered and flickered in the rain. The knights' black armor glistened. The black lily of violent death adorned each black breastplate, the flower’s severed stem entwined around a bloody axe. Black cloaks, trimmed in blue, white or red—depending on the knight’s order—whipped about their armored bodies, but did little to protect them from the driving rain.

The Knights of Takhisis reveled in the rain, reveled in the storm. It was a mark of their goddess’s favor. Soon, the young man to be invested into the knighthood would—if the high priestess deemed him worthy—emerge from the temple, where he had spent the day in vigil and in prayer.

In deep-voiced unison, the knights began to chant Her Dark Majesty’s praises.

Inside the temple, in deathly silence, Steel Brightblade lay prostrate, in full armor, on the floor before the dark altar. He had spent the day lying on the chill, dank stone, abasing himself before his goddess. The temple was empty, except for him; none were permitted to disturb the knight’s vigil.

At the sound of the trumpet call, a woman emerged from the thick black curtains in back of the obsidian altar. The woman was old and bent. Her hair was gray and worn long, straggling down over her crooked shoulders.

She walked with slow steps, shuffled across the stone floor. Her eyes were red-rimmed, shrewdly intelligent. She wore the black robes and dragon necklace of a high priestess of Takhisis.

A favorite of the Dark Queen’s, the priestess had immense power. It was whispered that, years ago, she had participated in the dread ceremonies that had produced draconians from the stolen eggs of the good dragons.

There was not a knight on Storm’s Keep, Lord Ariakan among them, who did not tremble at the old woman’s look, her touch.

She came to stand before the young knight, who lay with his face pressed against the stones, his dark hair streaming about him, gleaming blue-black in the light of the altar candles. On the altar, awaiting the Dark Queen’s blessing, was his helm, fashioned in the shape of a hideous, grinning skull, and his breastplate, with its lily and its axe. But not his sword, as was customary.

“Rise,” said the priestess.

Weak from fasting and from lying, encased in chain mail, on the cold floor, Steel rose stiffly and awkwardly to his knees. His head remained bowed. Not daring to lift his eyes to the holy priestess, he clasped his hands before him.

She observed him closely, then, reaching out a clawlike hand, she placed her fingers beneath his chin. The nails dug into his flesh. He flinched at her touch, which was far colder than the stones. She raised his face to the light, to her scrutiny.

“You now know the name of your father?”

“Yes, Holiness,” Steel said steadfastly, “I do.”

“Say it. Speak it before the altar of your queen.”

Steel swallowed, his throat constricted. He hadn’t thought this would be so difficult.

“Brightblade,” he whispered.

“Again.”

“Brightblade.” His voice rang out, defiantly proud.

The priestess was not displeased, it seemed.

“Your mother’s name.”

“Kitiara Uth Matar.” Again, this time fiercely, with pride.

The priestess nodded.

“A worthy lineage. Steel Uth Matar Brightblade, do you hereby dedicate your body, your heart, your soul to Her Dark Majesty, Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, Dark Warrior, Dragon Queen, She-of-Many-Faces?”

“I do so,” Steel answered calmly.

The priestess smiled a secret, dark smile.

“Body and heart and soul, Steel Uth Matar Brightblade?” she repeated.

“Yes, of course,” he answered, troubled. This was not part of the ritual, as he had been taught. “Why should you doubt me?”

In answer, the priestess took hold of a slender, steel chain that encircled the young man’s neck. She tugged on the chain, drew forth its ornament.

An elven jewel, carved in the shape of a star, pale and gleaming, hung from the steel chain.

“What is this?” the priestess hissed.

Steel shrugged, tried to laugh. “I stole it from the corpse of my father, at the same time I stole his sword. The knights were furious. I struck fear into their hearts!”

His words were bold, but they echoed too loudly, hollow and discordant, in the silence of the temple.

The priestess placed her fingertip gingerly on the jewel.

A flash of white light, a sizzling sound.

The priestess snatched her hand back with a shrill cry of’pain.

“It is an artifact of good!” She spat the word. “I cannot touch it. No one who is a true servant of Her Dark Majesty could touch that cursed jewel. Yet you, Steel Brightblade, wear it with impunity.”

Steel, deathly pale, stared at her in dismay. “I’ll forsake it! I’ll take it off,” he cried. His hand closed over the jewel, shrouding its brilliant light in darkness.

“If s just a bauble. It means nothing to me!”

He made ready to yank the jewel from its silver chain.

The priestess stopped him.

“Wear the cursed jewel. It is the Dark Queen’s wish and pleasure that you do so. May it serve to remind you of this warning. Think of my words every time you look upon the jewel, Steel Brightblade. She-of-Many-Faces has many eyes. She sees all. There is nothing you can hide from her.

“Your heart is hers, your body is hers. But not your soul. Not now....

“But it will be.” The priestess pressed her wrinkled face so near the young man’s that he felt her fetid breath hot upon his cheek. “And, in the meantime, Steel Uth Matar Brightblade, you will be of inestimable value to your queen.”

The dry and withered lips kissed Steel upon his brow.

Shivering, sweating, he forced himself to hold still beneath the awful touch.

“Your helm and breastplate lie upon the altar. Both have been blessed by the Dark Queen. Stand, Sir Knight, and put them on.”

Steel stared at the priestess in astonishment, then dawning joy. The priestess, with that secret smile, turned and left him. Parting the black curtains, she disappeared back into the innermost regions of the temple.

Two boys, in their teens, entered through the front temple doors. From now on, the younger would be his page, the older his squire. They stood silently, respectfully, waiting to assist the knight with his armor. Both boys gazed at Steel with admiration and envy, no doubt dreaming of their own future investiture, seeing it embodied in him.

Shaking, barely able to stand, Steel reverently approached the altar. One hand, his right, rested on the black breastplate, adorned with the death lily.

The other hand, his left, stole to the jewel around his neck. His eyes closed.

Tears burned beneath the lids. Angrily, he started, once again, to the rip the jewel from his neck.

His hand slid from it, fell limply upon the altar.

The trumpet call sounded, twice more.

In the courtyard of Storm’s Keep, Lord Ariakan stood, waiting to knight the dark paladin with his father’s sword.

Steel Uth Matar Brightblade, Knight of the Lily, son of Sturm Brightblade, Knight of the Crown, son of Dragon Highlord Kitiara Uth Matar.

Lifting the helm, with its skull-like grin, Steel placed it on his head. Then, kneeling before the altar, he offered a grateful prayer to his queen, Takhisis.

Rising proudly, extending his arms, he motioned for his squire to buckle on the black and shining breastplate.