Read Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
minotaur, went back to the sky, which was unusually dark, now
that she had captured the moon. The light, the only light, was in
her eyes. "It is not the right time."
"When will it be the right time?" Galdar pursued.
"Mortals have no faith in anything anymore. They are like
men lost in a fog who can see no farther than their own noses, and
so that is what they follow, if they follow anything at all. Some are
so paralyzed with fear that they are afraid to move. The people
must acquire faith in themselves before they are ready to believe
in anything beyond themselves."
"Will you do this, Commander? Will you make this happen."
"Tomorrow, you will see a miracle," she said.
Galdar settled himself upon the rock. "Who are you, Com-
mander?" he asked. "Where do you come from?"
Mina turned her gaze upon him and said, with a half-smile,
"Who are you, Sub commander? Where do you come from?"
"Why, I'm a minotaur. I was born in-"
"No." She shook her head gently. "Where before that?"
"Before I was born?" Galdar was confused. "I don't know. No
person does."
"Precisely," said Mina and turned away.
Galdar scratched his homed head, shrugged in his turn. Ob-
viously she did not want to tell him, and why should she? It was
none of his business. It made no difference to him. She was right.
He had not believed in anything before this moment. Now he had
found something in which to believe. He had found Mina.
She confronted him again, said abruptly, "Are you still tired?"
"No, Talon Leader, I am not," Galdar replied. He had slept
only a few hours, but the sleep had left him unusually refreshed.
Mina shook her head. "Do not call me 'Talon Leader.' I want
you to call me 'Mina.' "
"That is not right, Talon Leader," he protested. "Calling you
by your name does not show proper respect."
"If the men have no respect for me, will it matter what they
call me?" she returned. "Besides," she added with calm convic-
Ition, "the rank I hold does not yet exist."
Galdar really thought she was getting a bit above herself now,
needed taking down a notch or two. "Perhaps you think you should
be the 'Lord of the Night,'" he suggested by way of a joke, naming
the highest rank that could be held by the Knights of Neraka.
Mina did not laugh. "Someday, the Lord of the Night will
kneel down before me."
Galdar knew Lord Targonne well, had difficulty imagining
the greedy, grasping, ambitious man kneeling to do anything
unless it might be to scoop up a dropped copper. Galdar didn't
quite know what to say to such a ludicrous concept and so fell
silent, returning in his mind to the dream of glory, reaching for it
as a parched man reaches out to water. He wanted so much to be-
lieve in it, wanted to believe it was more than mirage.
"If you are certain you are not tired, Galdar," Mina continued,
"I want to ask a boon of you."
"Anything, Tal- Mina," he said, faltering.
"Tomorrow we ride into battle." A little frown line marred Mina's
smooth complexion. "I have no weapon, nor have I ever been trained
in the use of one. Have we time to do so tonight, do you think?"
Galdar's jaw went slack. He wondered if he'd heard correctly.
He was so stunned, he could at first make no reply. "You. . .
you've never wielded a weapon?"
Mina shook her head calmly.
"Have you ever been in battle, Mina?"
She shook her head again.
"Have you ever seen a battle?" Galdar was feeling desperate.
"No, Galdar." Mina smiled at him. "That is why I am asking
for your help. We will go a little ways down the road to prac-
tice, so that we will not disturb the others. Do not worry. They
will be safe. Foxfire would warn me if an enemy approached.
Bring along whatever weapon you think would be easiest for
me to learn."
Mina walked off down the road to find a suitable practice
field, leaving an amazed Galdar to search through the weapons
he and the others carried, to find one suitable for her, a girl who
had never before held a weapon and who was, tomorrow, going
to lead them into battle.
Galdar cudgeled his brain, tried to knock some common sense
back into his head. A dream seemed reality, reality seemed a
dream. Drawing his dagger, he stared at it a moment, watched the
moonlight flow like quicksilver along the blade. He jabbed the
point of the dagger into his arm, the arm Mina had restored to
him. Stinging pain and the warm flow of blood indicated that the
arm was real, confirmed that he was indeed awake.
Galdar had given his promise, and if he had one thing left to
him in this life that he hadn't sold, battered, or flung away, it was
his honor. He slid the dagger back into its sheathe upon his belt
and looked over the stock of weapons.
A sword was out of the question. There was no time to train
her properly in its use, she would do more damage to herself or
those around than to a foe. He could find nothing that he deemed
suitable, and then he noticed the moonlight shining on one
weapon in particular, as if it were trying to bring it to his atten-
tion-the weapon known as a morning star. Galdar eyed it.
Frowning thoughtfully, he hefted it in his hand. The morning star
is a battlehammer adorned with spikes on the end, spikes the fan-
ciful said give it the look of a star, hence its name. The morning
star was not heavy, took relatively little skill to learn to use, and
was particularly effective against knights in armor. One simply
bashed one's opponent with the morning star until his armor
cracked like a nutshell. Of course, one had to avoid the enemy's
own weapon while one was doing the bashing. Galdar picked up
a small shield and, armed with these, trudged off down the road,
leaving a horse to stand watch.
"I've gone mad," he muttered. "Stark, staring mad."
Mina had located an open space among the rocks, probably
used as a wayside camping place for those long-ago armies that
had marched along the road. She took hold of the morning star,
eyed it critically, hefted it to test its weight and balance. Galdar
showed her how to hold the shield, where to position it for best
advantage. He instructed her in the use of the morning star, then
gave her some simple exercises so that she could accustom herself
to the feel of the weapon.
He was gratified (and relieved) to learn that Mina was a quick
study. Though her frame was thin, she was well-muscled. Her
balance was good, her movements were graceful and fluid.
Galdar raised his own shield, let her take a few practice blows.
Her first strike was impressive, her second drove him backward,
her third put a great dent in his shield and jarred his arm to the
marrow.
"I like this weapon, Galdar," she said approvingly. "You have
chosen well."
Galdar grunted, rubbed his aching arm, and laid down his
shield. Drawing his broadsword from its sheathe, he wrapped the
sword in a cloak, bound the cloth around it tightly with rope, and
took up a fighting stance.
"Now we go to work," he said.
At the end of two hours, Galdar was astonished at his pupil's
progress.
"Are you certain you have never trained as a soldier?" he
asked, pausing to catch his breath.
"I have never done so," said Mina. "Look, I will show you."
Dropping her weapon, she held out the hand that had been wield-
ing the morning star to the moonlight. "Judge my truthfulness."
Her soft palm was raw and bloody from opened blisters. Yet
she had never once complained, never flinched in her strikes,
though the pain of her wounds must have been excruciating.
Galdar regarded her with undisguised admiration. If there is
one virtue the minotaurs prize, it is the ability to bear pain in
stoic silence. liThe spirit of some great warrior must live in you,
Mina. My people believe that such a thing is possible. When one
of our warriors dies courageously in battle, it is the custom in
my tribe to cut out his heart and eat it, hoping that his spirit will
enter our own."
"The only hearts I will eat will be those of my enemies," said
Mina. "My strength and my skill are given to me by my god." She
bent to pick up the morning star.
"No, no more practice this night," said Galdar, snatching it
out from under her fingers. "We must tend to those blisters. Too
bad," he said, eyeing her. "1 fear that you will not be able to even
set your hand to your horses' reins in the morning, much less
hold a weapon. Perhaps we should wait here a few days until you
are healed."
"We must reach Sanction tomorrow," said Mina. "So it is or-
dered. If we arrive a day late, the battle will be finished. Our
troops will have suffered a terrible defeat."
"Sanction has long been besieged," Galdar said, disbelieving.
"Ever since the foul Solamnics made a pact with that bastard who
rules the city, Hogan Bight. We cannot dislodge them, and they do
not have the strength to drive us back. The battle is at a stalemate.
We attack the walls every day and they defend. Civilians are
killed. Parts of the city catch fire. Eventually they'll grow weary
of this and surrender. The siege has lasted for well over a year
now. I don't see that a single day will make any difference. Stay
here and rest."
"You do not see because your eyes are not yet fully open,"
Mina said. "Bring me some water to wash my hands and some
cloth to wipe them clean of blood. Have no fear. I will be able to
ride and to fight."
"Why not heal yourself, Mina?" Galdar suggested, testing her,
hoping to see another miracle. "Heal yourself as you healed me."
Her amber eyes caught the light of the coming dawn, just
starting to brighten the sky. She looked into the dawn and the
thought came to his mind that she was already seeing tomorrow's
sunset.
"Many hundreds will die in terrible agony," she said in a soft
voice. "The pain I bear, I bear in tribute to them. I give it as gift to
my god. Rouse the others, Galdar. It is time."
Galdar expected more than half the soldiers to depart as they
had threatened to do in the night. He found on his return to camp
that the men were already up and stirring. They were in excellent
spirits, confident excited, speaking of the bold deeds they would
do this day. Deeds that they said had come to them in dreams
more real than waking.
Mina appeared among them, carrying her shield and her
morning star in hands that still bled. Galdar watched her with
concern. She was weary from her exercise and from the previous
day's hard ride. Standing upon the road, isolated, alone, she
seemed suddenly mortal, fragile. Her head drooped, her shoul-
ders sagged. Her hands must bum and sting, her muscles ache.
She sighed deeply and looked heavenward, as if questioning
whether or not she truly had the strength to carry on.
At sight of her, the Knights lifted their swords, clashed them
against their shields in salute.
"Mina! Mina!" they chanted and their chants bounded back
from the mountains with the stirring sound of a clarion's call.
Mina lifted her head. The salute was wine to her flagging
spirits. Her lips parted, she drank it in. Weariness fell from her
like cast-off rags. Her armor shone red in the lurid light of the
rising sun.
"Ride hard. We ride this day to glory," she told them, and the
Knights cheered wildly.
Foxfire came at her command. She mounted and grasped the
reins firmly in her bleeding, blistered hands. It was then that
Galdar, taking his place alongside her, running at her stirrup,
noted that she wore around her peck a silver medallion upon a
silver chain. He looked at it closely, to see what the medallion
might have engraved upon its surface.
The medallion was blank. Plain silver, without mark.
Strange. Why should anyone wear a blank medallion? He had no
chance to ask her, for at that instant Mina struck her spurs to her
horse's flank.
Foxfire galloped down the road.
Mina's Knights rode behind her.
CHAPTER SIX
THE FUNERAL OF CARAMON MAJERE
At the rising of the sun-a splendid dawn of gold and
purple with a heart of deep, vibrant red-the people of
Solace gathered outside the Inn of the Last Home in silent
vigil, offering their love and their respect for the brave, good and
gentle man who lay inside.
There was little talk. The people stood in silence presaging the
great silence that will fall eventually upon us all. Mothers quieted
fretful children, who stared at the Inn, ablaze with lights, not un-
derstanding what had happened, only sensing that it was some-
thing great and awful, a sensation that impressed itself upon their
unformed minds, one they would remember to the end of their
own days.
"I'm truly sorry, Laura," Tas said to her in the quiet hour
before dawn.
Laura stood beside the booth where Caramon was accus-