The Rose and the Skull Read online

  "But Lord Gunthar, surely we can find Knights somewhere else," Sir Quintayne said.

  "Where, Quintayne? Recruiting hasn't been this low since the days following the Cataclysm," Gunthar said.

  "I've always thought we should open the order to dwarves and elves," Lady Meredith said. "There are examples from the past—the dwarf Kharas and the elven princess Laurana."

  "They were only honorary members," Quintayne said.

  "You forget, we were led to victory by Laurana during the War of the Lance," Meredith snapped.

  "And Tanis Half-Elven, more recently," young Ellinghad added. Quintayne scowled at the interruption. "Nevertheless—" he said, but never got to finish his thought.

  As they approached the door to the courtyard, guards poured out of barracks rooms lining the corridor before them, hastily strapping on armor as they rushed outside.

  Gunthar stopped at the door and hushed their arguments, saying to Lady Meredith, "The elves and dwarves have their own problems. How do I look?" He nervously smoothed his mustaches.

  Lady Meredith stepped up to him and adjusted the hang of his sword, her cobalt blue eyes twinkling. She took the moment to whisper to him, "Milord, are you absolutely certain this is the right thing?"

  "No," he returned with a smile.

  "Lord Gunthar, before you proceed," Liam Ehrling said from the back. "I wish it known that I am utterly opposed to this. The Knights of Takhisis cannot be trusted."

  "I am sure, Sir Liam," Gunthar returned, "that they feel the same way about us."

  The captain of the guards of Castle uth Wistan stepped in from the courtyard and bowed to Lord Gunthar. "Milord, we are ready."

  5

  "Do you feel them?" Alya shouted into the wind.

  "Feel what?" Tohr asked in return, twisting in the dragonsaddle to better hear his lieutenant.

  "Eyes, in the forest below, watching us," she shouted as she leaned forward in the large, three-man saddle.

  "What did you say?" asked the Knight riding behind her. She ignored him.

  "I hadn't noticed," Tohr answered her.

  For a moment, their dragon ceased the slow beat of his wings and glided through the night air above the Forest of Gunthar. He twisted its great cerulean-scaled head around to gaze at the riders on his back.

  "I feel them," he said in a voice which boomed like a great bass drum. "And I've seen them, too, silver dragons, lurking about down there in the dark. They don't want us here," he said, then returned to his flying. The riders lurched back in their seats as the dragon's great wings resumed their slow rhythm, and the creature rose to fly over a tall tree-covered hill rising from the dark ahead.

  As they turned, Alya Starblade glanced behind them. In the dark sky, she picked out eleven other blue dragons, all similarly accoutered with the large, three-man dragonsaddles. They flew in perfect formation, four groups of three each. Occasionally, starlight glinted off a buckle here or a spur there, the only sign that each dragon also carried riders. She shifted again in the seat, trying to ease her aching back. The saddles were almost unbearably uncomfortable, having been originally designed for the transport of draconian troops, and the heavy dragonscale armor she wore didn't make things any better.

  At least, she thought, there aren't any silvers following us, upsetting our blues.

  "How much longer before we get there?" shouted the Knight behind her. Alya ignored him, but she was wondering the same thing herself. The flight from Qualinost was the most grueling dragon flight she'd ever undertaken in her brief but eventful career as a Knight of Her Dark Majesty, Takhisis. Silently, she cursed the short supply of blue dragons of late. Even only a few years ago, all thirty-six Knights sent on this expedition could have ridden their own dragons, in battle harnesses that were a luxury compared to these blasted draconian contraptions. But the coming of the new dragons from across the sea had changed all that. Blues and reds were vanishing, the black dragons had retreated to their murky swamps and meres, the greens had gone the-gods-only-knew where, and the whites were useless, restricted as they were to the arctic regions.

  As much as she hated boats, Alya almost wished they had taken a ship, but then she remembered how unsafe it was to sail to Sancrist these days. Her youngest sister had gone down with Donkaren, a war galleon in the Knights of Takhisis's navy, when it was attacked by the red dragon Pyrothraxus off the coast of the Isle of Cristyne. That was only a few months ago, at the beginning of summer, but already the leaves of the trees were turning to gold and auburn. The pain of that loss was still fresh to her.

  A growl from their dragon started Alya from her thoughts. Below them, gray stone battlements shone dully in the starlight. The tops of the towers of a Solamnic castle rose from the trees crowning a hill. The dragon's flight took it within spear-throwing distance of the castle's towers, and as they flew over it, Alya was delighted to see the startled faces of a group of sleepy guards staring up at them in surprise and horror. She laughed into the wind.

  "This land would be so easy to take," she said. The dragon agreed with a laughing rumble, which attested its willingness to join such an endeavor.

  "What?" asked the Knight behind her.

  Without turning, her commander and the leader of this expedition, Sir Tohr Malen said, "Yes, but you couldn't keep it. Look behind you."

  Alya turned. A huge bonfire, built in an iron rack atop one of the castles towers, flared and burst into flame as she watched. In its light, she saw the figures of armed men running frantically about, pointing at the sky. One by one, the other dragons also passed over the castle, their bluescaled bellies sharply underlit by the fire.

  "Now look there," Sir Tohr said.

  In the darkness a few miles ahead of them, atop another hill, a glimmer of fire sparkled. Soon, it too was a raging bonfire. At Tohr's command, the dragon banked to avoid flying too near it. Before long, as far as they could see, hilltops blazed with signal fires. Some seemed to blink, as Alya saw men waving blankets before them.

  "What are they doing?" she asked.

  "They have a code," Tohr answered. "They are not only signaling that danger is approaching but also what kind of danger. It is really quite ingenious."

  "I could stop them," the dragon offered.

  "There is no need. We are expected," Tohr said.

  "Are you sure? Those people seem quite surprised to see us," Alya said of a tiny village carved from the forest below them. In the clearing, she saw villagers dashing about with torches and staring fearfully over their shoulders at the sky.

  "But we aren't being attacked by silver dragons," Tohr answered her. "Don't imagine for a moment we could have gotten this far if Gunthar hadn't forewarned the silvers of our arrival."

  "Steer clear of the signal fires and villages," Tohr ordered the dragon. "We want to avoid any possibility of an incident."

  "Yes, Lord Tohr," the dragon growled.

  "And when you leave us, fly straight back to Neraka where our supreme commander Mistress Mirielle Abrena awaits your return. As long as you are over Sancrist, the silvers will be watching you, so no looting along the way, or you'll ruin everything."

  "Yes, Lord Tohr."

  Alya leaned well forward in the saddle and placed her hand on Tohr's arm. At her touch, he started but did not turn. "And no fraternizing with your superiors, soldier," he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  "Yes, Lord Tohr," she answered in a low voice.

  "What?" asked the Knight behind her.

  Finally, Alya answered him. "No one was speaking to you, Trevalyn," she snapped at him over her shoulder.

  For perhaps the hundredth time, he tugged his cloak closer around his body. "I hope this doesn't take much longer," Trevalyn snarled. "I must have rest and time to study my spells."

  "Why? You can't cast them!" Alya laughed.

  "It is the curse of the mage that he must nightly renew his spells," the Knight said, repeating it like a mantra.

  "Magic is dead. It vanished with the moons," Alya ta
unted. "You are here as a representative of the Order of the Thorn, nothing more. Don't try your tricks and mysteries on me. You have no power." She turned, saying under her breath, "And I don't know why the Thorns are still part of the Knighthood anyway. They're useless."

  It is well that she couldn't see Trevalyn's face at that moment. He imagined spouts of flame erupting from her eye sockets, finally contenting himself with watching the panorama of Sancrist Isle at night, spread below him like a velvet ebon blanket sprinkled with shining jewels.

  Swiftly, their dragon led the winding way among the low forested hills of southern Sancrist, flying just above the treetops, because it was well known that Lord Tohr Malen did not care for heights. Trevalyn eyed the rich forest lands below with something akin to contempt. He was of a desert-loving race; he cared little for forests and farmlands, except to destroy them with his magic. Now his magic was gone, as Alya had said. At the end of the Chaos War, when the gods fled Krynn, they took magic with them, leaving the mages of the world powerless, as empty and hopeless as princes robbed of their birthright. Still, some inkling of magic was left to Trevalyn. His senses were still attuned to things. The wind brought to his keen nostrils the sweet heathery smell of cattle and cattle barns, the toothy aroma of wood smoke and roasting meat, but it also roused the wet, rotted-wood stink of silver dragons, reminding him that this land was guarded ceaselessly by those cursed shining foes. There, in an undercurrent of the breeze, floated the sulfurous but utterly alien fume of the strange new dragon who lorded over the northern half of this island. Trevalyn knew of Pyrothraxus—what mage didn't know of the new dragons from across the sea, what mage didn't see them in their dreams and long for the magic they seemed to possess?

  The Knights of the Thorn were a dying breed. Once a mighty wing of the Knights of Takhisis's attack, they wielded powerful magic, taking their honored place among the Knights of the Lily and the Skull. They wore robes of gray, breaking with the long tradition of magic upon Krynn, declaring themselves a separate order from the Black, Red, and White-robed mages. The battle to establish their independence was hard-fought, but won.

  Now, however, the Thorn Knights were little more than functionaries, relics of a passed age. Not even their fellow Knights respected them. Even though Takhisis had fled Krynn along with all the other gods during the Chaos War, her paladins and clerics still commanded a measure of respect even among dragonkind. The Knights of the Skull, as they were known, were a fearful lot; absolutely fanatical and absolutely confident in their ultimate place at the side of their Dark Queen, they were virtually fearless in battle and ruthless in all their affairs. The Knights of the Lily were the consummate warriors, as pure as the fire from the world forge, and just as unforgiving. The Knights of the Thorn… well, their glory had passed, it seemed. Those who remained were generally venomous old men and women, hating themselves and what they had become but unable to let it all go and seek a new life.

  For now, Trevalyn's main concern was for the mission to Castle uth Wistan, somewhere near the center of the southern forest of the Isle of Sancrist. He'd never been here, nor had any evil creature, not at any time within living memory, for this was the land of the Whitestone Glade, the heart and soul of Solamnic Knights, where Vinus Solamnus received the vision that led to the founding of the Knights, many centuries ago. The very thought of such a good and holy place filled Trevalyn with loathing. Everything about this mission bothered him. He and the Knights of his talon were coming not to make war, but peace. They were forbidden to attack anyone, even if provoked. Nothing about this seemed right. He was filled with foreboding and unease. To make matters worse, the crisp autumn air made his joints ache. Not for the first time since they began this journey across the chill Sirrion Sea, the Knight of the Thorn longed for his warmer northern home.

  Trevalyn's musings were interrupted by a movement from Lord Tohr, the leader of their little expedition. He saw Lord Tohr pointing to the left. There, still some distance ahead, the white-stone battlements of a large and ancient castle rose above the treetops, sharply illuminated by the pale moon overhead. All its windows and casings glowed with yellow light, while the trees surrounding it were starkly silhouetted by several large bonfires burning in the castle's courtyard.

  "Castle uth Wistan," Lord Tohr shouted into the wind. The dragon nodded his great head and began to descend.

  As they dropped to treetop level, their passing stirred the leaves of the tallest trees. At this height, they were able to hear the woods ringing with horns and saw lines of torches winding along the trails towards the castle. Looking down, Trevalyn and Alya were amazed at the speed with which the citizens of this land answered the call to arms. It seemed little less than half an hour had passed since the first signal fire was lit, announcing their approach, and already the people were rushing to take up positions of defense. Torchlight glinted from polished helms and gleaming spears, sparkling below them like stars in the surface of a vast lake.

  Suddenly, a clearing opened before them, and Castle uth Wistan loomed ahead, brightly lit by numerous bonfires both outside its walls and within the courtyard beyond. A great throng of armed warriors stood in ranks before the gate, with captains astride armored horses flanking their lines. Here and there, a long silver dragonlance protruded from their ranks, glinting dangerously in the firelight. The dragon growled and increased his speed.

  Alya was pleased to see that as their dragon cleared the trees and burst into view in the sky above the castle, the ranks of the gate guards wavered, while their captains struggled to regain control of their frightened mounts. The dragon flew straight toward them, huge and menacing, his dragonfear surging before it like a tide, spreading panic among the guards. As he neared the castle walls, he banked and pulled up sharply, skimming the battlements with his long rudder-like tail as he shot high into the sky above the castle. Alya looked behind her as they rose almost vertically and saw the hated Knights of Solamnia pouring from the castle into the courtyard below. As the pressure of the steep climb pressed her back in the dragonsaddle, she thrilled in the dragon's fancy flying, but she knew Lord Tohr was probably furious, if not a little frightened. He hated flying and especially heights.

  The dragon continued to rise showily into the night sky, slowing, until he finally stalled high above Castle uth Wistan. He seemed to hang there for a moment, and in the stillness Alya heard cries of fear as the other dragons glided over the castle below them. Then the dragon began to fall, performing a backwards pike like a diver, until his nose was pointed once more at the ground below. He fell like a spear, his wings tucked close to its body, the wind of his speed becoming a deafening roar. The ground rushed up toward them. Lord Tohr began to pound the dragon on the neck with his fist, and slowly the creature unfolded his wings and slowed their descent, his massive joints and wing tendons creaking.

  As they dropped past the walls of the castle, the dragon's wings fanned the flames of the bonfires and sent swarms of sparks and clouds of hot ash billowing throughout the courtyard. At last, the dragon folded back his wings, dropping the last few feet to the ground. His claws scrabbled at the cobblestones paving the courtyard as he settled to earth.

  Lord Tohr remained seated while the other dragons descended around them, one by one, the wind from their wings filling the air with smoke and ash from the bonfires. Slowly they filled all the courtyard with their massive blue-scaled bodies, standing shoulder to shoulder, wings brushing against one another as they shifted uncomfortably. The courtyard grew strangely quiet. No one dismounted as yet. The Knights of Takhisis waited for a signal from their leader, and meanwhile they silently studied their old enemies, the Knights of Solamnia.

  Across from them, standing before the huge wooden doors that opened into the main part of the castle, several dozen Knights of Solamnia maintained their ranks despite their fear of the blue dragons. Outwardly they showed no emotion, but Alya was pleased to see many sweating nervously. Several seemed almost incapable of standing still, shifting constant
ly from foot to foot as though ready to flee at any moment. Alya laughed under her breath.

  Still Lord Tohr did not move from his seat just behind the dragon's neck. Perhaps he was allowing the tension between the two groups of Knights to build, perhaps he was unwilling to make the first move, as it might show weakness on his part, or perhaps he was still recovering from their wild ride. In any case, the dragons plainly showed they were becoming uneasy. The great blue ridden by Tohr and Alya rumbled deep in his chest.

  Nor did any of the Knights of Solamnia make a gesture to break the standoff. They stood quietly, their features aloof, even disdainful. Alya searched the group for their leader, Lord Gunthar uth Wistan, finally spotting him in center of the group. Though one of the oldest living men on Krynn, the Grand Master of the Knights of Solamnia still stood tall and proud, like a Knight from a greater age, but one now long passed. He stood perfectly still, his back erect, one hand resting on the pommel of the great sword hanging at his side as he surveyed the dragons and their riders.

  A little to the left and just behind the Grand Master lurked another man, a Knight who had been described in detail to Alya. He stood a head taller than Lord Gunthar, and his locks and long Solamnic mustaches were still dark, despite the fact that he was one of the oldest of the active members of the Knighthood. Not so old as Gunthar, but still, he'd been among the Knights at the High Clerist's Tower when the armies of Takhisis attacked the city of Palanthas. Unmarried, with no children and no familial ties to distract him, Sir Liam Ehrling, Lord High Justice, was utterly dedicated to the Knighthood. He was the protege of Lord Gunthar and was universally expected to succeed as Lord of Knights when the ancient Grand Master finally died. Though his face remained as expressionless as stone, his dark eyes smoldered beneath his brows, and he glanced more often, Alya noted with some interest, at Lord Gunthar than at the dragons and Knights of Takhisis gathered in all their glory and terror before him.