Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (30 page)

weren't many-were arrow-slits. The exterior and interior walls

of the fortress were plain and unadorned. So stark and grim was

the fortress that it was often mistaken by visitors for either a

prison or a countinghouse. The sight of black-armored figures pa-

trolling the walls soon corrected their first impression, which

wasn't, after all, so very far wrong. The below-ground level of the

fortress housed an extensive dungeon and, two levels below that

and more heavily guarded, was the Knights' Treasury.

Lord of the Night Targonne had his headquarters and his

living quarters in the fortress. Both were economical in design,

strictly functional, and if the fortress was mistaken for a count-

inghouse, its commander was often mistaken for a clerk. A visitor

to the Lord of the Night was led into a small, cramped office with

bare walls and a sparse scattering of furniture, there to wait while

a small, bald, bespectacled man dressed in somber, though well-

made clothes, completed his work of copying figures in a great

leather-bound ledger.

Thinking that he was in the presence of some minor func-

tionary, who would eventually take him to the Lord of the Night,

the visitor would often roam restlessly about the room, his

thoughts wandering here and there. Those thoughts were

snagged in midair, like butterflies in a web, by the man behind

the desk. This man used his mentalist powers to delve into every

portion of the visitor's mind. After a suitable length of time had

passed, during which the spider had sucked his captive dry, the

man would raise his bald head, peer through his spectacles, and

acquaint the appalled visitor with the fact that he was in the pres-

ence of Lord of the Night Targonne.

The visitor who sat in the lord's presence this day knew very

well that the mild looking man seated across from him was his

lord and governor. The visitor was second in command to Lord

Milles and, although Sir Roderick had not yet met Targonne, he

had seen him in attendance at certain formal functions of the

Knighthood. The Knight stood at attention, holding himself

straight and stiff until his presence should be acknowledged.

Having been warned about Targonne's mentalist capabilities, the

Knight attempted to keep his thoughts stiffly in line as well, with

less success. Before Sir Roderick even spoke, Lord Targonne knew

a great deal of what had happened at the siege of Sanction. He

never liked to exhibit his powers, however. He asked the Knight,

in a mild voice, to be seated.

Sir Roderick, who was tall and brawny and could have lifted

Targonne off the floor by the coat collar with very little exertion,

took a seat in the only other chair in the office and sat on the

chair's edge, tense, rigid.

Perhaps due to the fact that he had come to resemble what he

most loved, the eyes of Morham Targonne resembled nothing so

much as two steel coins-flat, shining, and cold. One looked into

those eyes and saw not a soul, but numbers and figures in the

ledger of Targonne's mind. Everything he looked upon was

reduced to debits and credits, profits and loss, all weighed in the

balance, counted to the penny, and chalked up into one column or

another.

Sir Roderick saw himself reflected in the shining steel of those

cold eyes and felt himself being moved into a column of unnec-

essary expenditures. He wondered if it was true that the specta-

cles were artifacts salvaged from the ruins of Neraka and that

they gave the wearer the ability to see into one's brain. Roderick

began to sweat in his armor, though the fortress with its massive

stone and concrete walls was always cool, even during the

warmest months of the summer.

"My aide tells me you have come from Sanction, Sir Roder-

ick," said Targonne, his voice the voice of a clerk, mild and pleas-

ant and unassuming. "How goes our siege of the city?"

It should be noted here that the Targonne family had exten-

sive holdings in the city of Sanction, holdings they had lost when

the Knights of Neraka lost Sanction. Targonne had made the

taking of Sanction one of the top priorities for the Knighthood.

Sir Roderick had rehearsed his speech on the two-day ride

from Sanction to Jelek and he was prepared with his answer.

"Excellency, I am here to report that on the day after

Midyear Day, an attempt was made by the accursed Solamnics

to break the siege of Sanction and to try to drive off our armies.

The foul Knights endeavored to trick my commander, Lord

Milles, into attacking by making him think they had abandoned

the city. Lord Milles saw through their plot and he, in turn, led

them into a trap. By launching an attack against the city of

Sanction, Lord Milles lured the Knights out of hiding. He then

faked a retreat. The Knights took the bait and pursued our

forces. At Beckard's Cut, Lord Milles ordered our troops to turn

and make a stand. The Solamnics were summarily defeated,

many of their number killed or wounded. They were forced to

retreat back inside Sanction. Lord Milles is pleased to report,

Excellency, that the valley in which our armies are encamped

remains safe and secure."

Sir Roderick's words went into Targonne's ears. Sir Roderick's

thoughts went into Targonne's mind. Sir Roderick was recalling

quite vividly fleeing for his life in front of the rampaging Solam-

nics, alongside Lord Milles who, commanding from the rear, had

been caught up in the retreating stampede. And elsewhere in the

mind of the Knight was a picture Targonne found very interest-

ing, also rather disturbing. That picture was that of a young

woman in black armor, exhausted and stained with blood, re-

ceiving the homage and accolades of Lord Milles's troops. Tar-

gonne heard her name resound in Roderick's mind: "Mina!

Mina!"

With the tip of his pen the Lord of the Night scratched the thin

mustache that covered his upper lip. "Indeed. It sounds a great

victory. Lord Milles is to be congratulated."

"Yes, Excellency." Sir Roderick smiled, pleased. "Thank you,

Excellency."

"It would have been a greater victory if Lord Milles had actu-

ally captured the city of Sanction as he has been ordered, but I

suppose he will attend to that little matter when he finds it con-

venient."

Sir Roderick was no longer smiling. He started to speak,

coughed, and spent a moment clearing his throat. "In point of

fact, Excellency, we most likely would have been able to capture

Sanction were it not for the mutinous actions of one of our junior

officers. Completely contrary to Lord Milles's command, this of-

ficer pulled an entire company of archers from the fray, so that we

had no covering fire necessary for us to launch an attack upon

Sanction's walls. Not only that, but in her panic, this officer or-

dered the archers to shoot their arrows while our own soldiers

were yet in the line of fire. The casualties we sustained were due

completely to this officer's incompetence. Therefore Lord Milles

felt it would not be wise to proceed with the attack."

"Dear, dear," Targonne murmured. "1 trust this young officer

has been dealt with summarily."

Sir Roderick licked his lips. This was the tricky part. "Lord

Milles would have done so, Excellency, but he felt it would be

best to consult with you first. A situation has arisen that makes it

difficult for his lordship to know how to proceed. The young

woman exerts some sort of magical and uncanny influence over

the men, Excellency."

"Indeed?" Targonne appeared surprised. He spoke somewhat

dryly. "The last I heard, the magical powers of our wizards were

failing. I did not know any of our mages were this talented."

"She is not a magic-user, Excellency. Or at least, so she says.

She claims to be a messenger sent by a god-the One, True God."

"And what is the name of this god?" Targonne asked.

"Ah, there she is quite clever, Excellency. She maintains that

the name of the god is too holy to pronounce."

"Gods have come, and gods have gone," Targonne said im-

patiently. He was seeing a most astonishing and disquieting

sight in Sir Roderick's mind, and he wanted to hear it from

the man's lips. "Our soldiers would not be sucked in by such

claptrap."

"Excellency, the woman does not make use of words alone.

She performs miracle&--miracles of healing the likes of which we

have not seen in recent years due to the weakening of our mys-

tics. This girl restores limbs that have been hacked off. She places

her hands upon a man's chest, and the gaping hole in it closes

over. She tells a man with a broken back that he can stand up, and

he stands up! The only miracle she does not perform is raising the

dead. Those she prays over."

Sir Roderick heard the creaking of a chair, looked up to see

Targonne's steel eyes gleaming unpleasantly.

"Of course"-Sir Roderick hastened to correct his mistake-

"Lord Milles knows that these are not miracles, Excellency. He

knows that she is a charlatan. It's just that we can't seem to figure

out how she does it," he added lamely. "And the men are quite

taken with her."

Targonne understood with alarm that all of the foot soldiers

and most of the Knights had mutinied, were refusing to obey

Milles. They had transferred their allegiance to some shaven-

headed chit in black armor.

"How old is this girl?" Targonne asked, frowning.

"She is reputed to be no more than seventeen, Excellency," Sir

Roderick replied.

"Seventeen!" Targonne was aghast. "Whatever induced

Milles to make her an officer in the first place?"

"He did not, Excellency," said Sir Roderick. "She is not part of

our wing. None of us had ever seen her before her arrival in the

valley just prior to the battle."

"Could she be a Solarnnic in disguise?" Targonne wondered.

"I doubt that, Excellency. It was due to her that the Solarnnics

lost the battle," Sir Roderick replied, completely unconscious that

the truth he had just now spoken accorded ill with the fabrica-

tions he'd pronounced earlier.

Targonne noted the inconsistency but was too absorbed in the

clicking abacus of his mind to pay any attention to them, beyond

marking down that Milles was an incompetent bungler who

should be replaced as speedily as possible. Targonne rang a silver

bell that stood upon his desk. The door to the office opened, and

his aide entered.

"Look through the rolls of the Knighthood," Targonne or-

dered. "Locate a- What is her name?" he asked Roderick,

though he could hear it echo in the Knight's mind.

"Mina, Excellency."

"Meenaa," Targonne repeated, holding the name in his mouth

as if he were tasting it. "Nothing else? No surname?"

"Not to my knowledge, Excellency."

The aide departed, dispatched several clerks to undertake the

task. The two Knights sat in silence while the search was being

conducted. Targonne took advantage of the time to continue to

sift through Roderick's mind, which affirmed his surmise that the

siege against Sanction was being handled by a nincompoop. If it

hadn't been for this girl, the siege might well have been broken,

the Dark Knights defeated, annihilated, the Solamnics in tri-

umphant and unhindered possession of Sanction.

The aide returned. "We find no knight named 'Mina' on ~~e

rolls, Excellency. Nothing even close."

Targonne made a dismissive gesture, and the aide departed.

"Brilliant, Excellency!" Sir Roderick exclaimed. "She is an im-

poster. We can have her arrested and executed."

"Hunh." Targonne grunted. "And just what do you think

your soldiers will do in that instance, Sir Roderick? Those she has

healed? Those she has led to victory against the detested foe? The

morale among Milles's troops was not that good to begin with."

Targonne flipped a hand at a stack of ledgers. "I've read the re-

ports. The desertion rate is five times higher among Milles's

troops than with any other commander in the army.

"Tell me this"- Targonne eyed the other Knight shrewdly-

"are you capable of having this Mina girl arrested? Do you have

guards who will obey your order? Or will they most likely arrest

Lord Milles instead?"

Sir Roderick opened his mouth and shut it again without re-

plying. He looked around the room, looked at the ceiling, looked

anywhere but into those steel eyes, horribly magnified by the

thick glass of the spectacles, but still he seemed to see them

boring into his skull.

Targonne clicked the beads upon his mental abacus. The girl

was an imposter, masquerading as a Knight. She had arrived at

the moment she was most needed. In the face of terrible defeat,

she had achieved stunning victory. She performed "miracles" in

the name of a nameless god.

Was she an asset or a liability?

If liability, could she be turned into an asset?

Targonne abhorred waste. An excellent administrator and a