Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [167]
She could have returned to Sancrist. She had been ordered to, in fact. Lord Gunthar had received a secret communique from Lord Alfred relating the desperate straits the knights were in, and he had sent Laurana orders to cut short her stay.
But she had chosen to remain, at least for a while. The people of Palanthas had received her politely—she was, after all, of royal blood and they were charmed with her beauty. They were also quite interested in the dragonlance and asked for one to exhibit in their museum. But when Laurana mentioned the dragonarmies, they only shrugged and smiled.
Then Laurana found out from a messenger what was happening in the High Clerist’s Tower. The knights were under siege. A dragonarmy numbering in the thousands waited upon the field. The knights needed the dragonlances, Laurana decided, and there was no one but her to take the lances to the knights and teach them their use. She ignored Lord Gunthar’s command to return to Sancrist.
The journey from Palanthas to the Tower was nightmarish. Laurana started out accompanying two wagons filled with meager supplies and the precious dragonlances. The first wagon bogged down in snow only a few miles outside of the city. Its contents were redistributed between the few knights riding escort, Laurana and her party, and the second wagon. It, too, foundered. Time and again they dug it out of the snow drifts until, finally, it was mired fast. Loading the food and the lances onto their horses, the knights and Laurana, Flint, and Tas walked the rest of the way. Theirs was the last group to make it through. After the storm of last night, Laurana knew, as did everyone in the Tower, no more supplies would be coming. The road to Palanthas was now impassable.
Even by strictest rationing, the knights and their footmen had food enough for only a few days. The dragonarmies seemed prepared to wait for the rest of the winter.
The dragonlances were taken from the weary horses who had borne them and, by Derek’s orders, were stacked in the courtyard. A few of the knights looked at them curiously, then ignored them. The lances seemed clumsy, unwieldy weapons.
When Laurana timidly offered to instruct the knights in the use of the lances, Derek snorted in derision. Lord Alfred stared out the window at the campfires burning on the horizon. Laurana turned to Sturm to see her fears confirmed.
“Laurana,” he said gently, taking her cold hand in his, “I don’t think the Highlord will even bother to send dragons. If we cannot reopen the supply lines, the Tower will fall because there will be only the dead left to defend it.”
So the dragonlances lay in the courtyard, unused, forgotten, their bright silver buried beneath the snow.
11
A kender’s curiosity.
The Knights ride forth.
Sturm and Flint walked the battlements the night of Sturm’s knighting, reminiscing.
“A well of pure silver—shining like a jewel—within the heart of the Dragon Mountain,” Flint said, awe his voice. “And it was from that silver Theros forged the dragonlances.”
“I should have liked—above all things—to have seen Huma’s Tomb,” Sturm said quietly. Staring out at the campfires on the horizon, he stopped, resting his hand on the ancient stone wall. Torchlight from a nearby window shone on his thin face.
“You will,” said the dwarf. “When this is finished, we’ll go back. Tas drew a map, not that it’s likely to be any good—”
As he grumbled on about Tas, Flint studied his other old friend with concern. The knight’s face was grave and melancholy—not unusual for Sturm. But there was something new, a calmness about him that came not from serenity, but from despair.
“We’ll go there together,” he continued, trying to forget about