Read Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
makes up his mind."
"Then you had better hope His Majesty lives a long, long
time," said Medan. "1 should think he would, since you watch
over him so closely and attend to his needs so assiduously. You
can't really fault the king, Palthainon," the marshal added, "His
Majesty is, after all, exactly what you and the late Senator Rashas
have made him-a young man who dares not even take a piss
without looking to you for permission."
"His Majesty's health is fragile," Palthainon returned stiffly.
"It is my duty to remove from him from the burden of the cares
and responsibilities of the ruler of the elven nation. Poor young
man. He can't help dithering. The human blood, you know,
Marshal. Notoriously weak. And now, if you will excuse me, I
will go pay my respects to His Majesty."
The marshal, who was human, bowed wordlessly as the pre-
fect, whose mask was, most appropriately, that of a stylized bird
of prey, went over to peck at the young king. Politically, Medan
found Prefect Palthainon extremely useful. Personally, Medan
thought Palthainon utterly detestable.
Marshal Alexius Medan was fifty-five years old. He had
joined the Knights of Takhisis under the leadership of Lord Ari-
akan prior to the Chaos War that had ended the Fourth Age of
Krynn and brought in the Fifth. Medan had been the commander
responsible for attacking Qualinesti over thirty years ago. He had
been the one to accept the surrender of the Qualinesti people and
had remained in charge ever since. Medan's rule was strict, harsh
where it needed to be harsh, but he was not wantonly cruel. True,
the elves had few personal freedoms anymore, but Medan did not
view this lack as a hardship. To his mind, freedom was a danger-
ous notion, one that led to chaos, anarchy, the disruption of
society.
Discipline, order, and honor-these were Medan's gods, now
that Takhisis, with a complete lack of discipline and of honor, had
tumt;d traitor and run away, leaving her loyal Knights looking
like utter fools. Medan imposed discipline and order on the Qua-
linesti. He imposed discipline and order on his Knights. Above
all, he imposed these qualities on himself.
Medan watched with disgust as Palthainon bowed before the
king. Well knowing that Palthainon's humility was all for show,
Medan turned away. He could almost pity the young man
Gilthas.
The dancers swirled about the marshal, elves dressed as
swans and bears and every other variety of bird or woodland
creature. Jesters and clowns clad in gay motley were in abun-
dance. Medan attended the masquerade because protocol re-
quired it, but he refused to wear a mask or a costume. Years ago,
the marshal had adopted the elven dress of loose flowing robes
draped gracefully over the body as being most comfortable and
practicable in the warm and temperate climate of Qualinesti.
Since he was the only person in elven dress attending the mas-
querade, the human had the odd distinction of looking more like
an elf than any other elf in the room.
The marshal left the hot and noisy dance floor and escaped,
with relief, into the garden. He brought no body guards with him.
Medan disliked being trailed about by Knights in clanking armor.
He was not overly fearful for his safety. The Qualinesti had no
love for him, but he had outlived a score of assassination at-
tempts. He could take care of himself, probably better care than
any of his Knights. Medan had no use for the men being taken
into the Knighthood these days, considering them to be an undis-
ciplined and surly lot of thieves, killers, and thugs. In truth,
Medan trusted elves at his back far more than his own men.
The night air was soft and perfumed with the scents of roses
and gardenias and orange blossoms. Nightingales sang in the
trees, their melodies blending with the music of harp and lute. He
recognized the music. Behind him, in the Hall of the Sky, lovely
elf maidens were performing a traditional dance. He paused and
half-turned, tempted to go back by the beauty of the music. The
maidens were performing the Quanisho, the Awakening Prome-
nade, a dance said to drive elf men wild with passion. He won-
dered if it would have any effect on the king. Perhaps he might be
moved to a write a poem.
"Marshal Medan," said a voice at his elbow.
Medan turned. "Honored Mother of our Speaker," he said
and bowed.
Laurana extended her hand, a hand that was white and soft
and fragrant as the flower of the camellia. Medan took her hand, .
brought the hand to his lips.
"Come now," she said to him, "we are by ourselves. Such
formal titles need not be observed between those of us who are-
how should I describe us? 'Old enemies'?"
"Respected opponents," said Medan, smiling. He relin-
quished her hand, not without some reluctance.
Marshal Medan was not married, except to his duty. He did
not believe in love, considered love a flaw in a man's armor, a
flaw that left him vulnerable, open to attack. Medan admired
Laurana and respected her. He thought her beautiful, as he
thought his garden beautiful. He found her useful in assisting
him to find his way through the sticky mass of fine-spun cobweb
that was the elven version of government. He used her and he
was well aware that in return she used him. A satisfactory and
natural arrangement.
"Believe me, madam," he said quietly, "I find your dislike of
me much preferable to other people's friendship."
He glanced meaningfully back into the palace, where
Palthainon was standing at the young king's side, whispering
into his ear.
Laurana followed his gaze. "I understand you, Marshal," she
replied. "You are a representative of an organization I believe to
be wholly given over to evil. You are the conqueror of my people,
our subjugator. You are allied with our worst enemy, a dragon
who is intent upon our total destruction. Yet, I trust you far more
than I trust that man."
She turned away abruptly. "I do not like this view, sir. Would
you mind if we walked to the arboretum?"
Medan was quite willing to spend a lovely moonlit night in
the most enchanting land on Ansalon in company with the land's
most enchanting woman. They walked side by side in compan-
ionable silence along a walkway of crushed marble that glittered
and sparkled as if it would mimic the stars. The scent of orchids
was intoxicating.
The Royal Arboretum was a house made of crystal, filled with
plants whose fragile and delicate natures could not survive even
the relatively mild winters of Qualinesti. The arboretum was
some distance from the palace. Laurana did not speak during
their long walk. Medan did not feel that it was his place to break
this peaceful silence, and so he said nothing. In silence, the two
approached the crystal building, its many facets reflecting the
moon so that it seemed there must be a hundred moons in the sky
instead of just one.
They entered through a crystal door. The air was heavy with
the brfath of the plants, which stirred and rustled as if in welcome.
The sound of the music and the laughter was completely shut
Out "Laurana sighed deeply, breathed deeply of the perfume that
scented the warm, moist air.
She placed her hand upon an orchid, turning it to the moonlight.
"Exquisite," said Medan, admiring the plant. "My orchids
thrive-especially those you have given me-but I cannot pro-
duce such magnificent blossoms."
"Time and patience," Laurana said. "As in all things. To con-
tinue our earlier conversation, Marshal, I will tell you why I re-
spect you more than Palthainon. Though your words are not easy
for me to hear sometimes I know that when you speak, you speak
from your heart. You have never lied to me, even when a lie
might have served your purpose better than the truth.
Palthainon's words slide out of his mouth and fall to the ground,
then slither away into the darkness."
Medan bowed to acknowledge the compliment, but he would
not enter into further disparagement of the man who helped him
keep Qualinesti under control. He changed the subject.
"You have left the revelries at an early hour, madam. I hope
you are not unwell," he said politely.
"The heat and the noise were too much to bear," Laurana
replied. "I came out into the garden for some quiet."
"Have you dined?" the marshal asked. "Could I send the ser-
vants for food or wine?"
"No, thank you, Marshal. I find I have very little appetite
these days. You can serve me best by keeping me company for a
while, if your duties do not call you away."
"With such a charming companion, I do not think that death
himself could call me away," the Marshal returned.
Laurana glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes, smiled
slightly. "Humans are not generally given to such pretty
speeches. You have been around elves much too long, Marshal. In
fact, I believe you are more elf than human now. You wear our
clothes, you speak our language flawlessly, you enjoy our music
and our poetry. You have issued laws that protect our woodlands,
laws stronger than those we might have passed ourselves. Per-
haps I was wrong," she added lightly. "Perhaps you are the con-
quered and we are, in truth, your conquerors."
"You make sport of me, madam," Medan returned, "and you
will probably laugh when I say that you are not far wrong. I was
blind to nature before I came to Qualinesti. A tree was a thing I
used to build a wall for a fortress or a handle for my battle-axe.
The only music I enjoyed was the martial beating of the war
drum. The only reading in which I took pleasure were dispatches
from headquarters. I freely admit that I laughed when I first en-
tered this land to see an elf speaking respectfully to a tree or talk-
ing gently to a flower. And then, one spring, after I had been
living here about seven years, I was amazed to find myself ea-
gerly awaiting the return of the flowers to my garden, wondering
which would blossom first, wondering if the new rosebush the
gardener had planted last year would bloom. At about the same
time, I discovered the songs of the harpist running through my
mind. I began to study the poetry to learn the words.
"In truth, Madam Lauralanthalasa, I do love your land. That
is why," Medan added, his expression darkening, "1 do my best
to keep this land safe from the wrath of the dragon. That is why I
must harshly punish those of your people who rebel against my
authority. Beryl wants only an excuse to destroy you and your
land. By persisting in resistance, by committing acts of terror and
sabotage against my forces, the misguided rebels among your
people threaten to bring destruction down upon you all."
Medan had no idea how old Laurana must be. Hundreds of
years, perhaps. Yet she was as beautiful and youthful as the days
when she had been the Golden General, leading the armies of
light against the forces of Queen Takhisis during the War of the
Lance. He had met old soldiers who spoke still of her courage in
battle, her spirit that rallied the flagging spirits of the crumbling
armies and led them to victory. He wished he could have known
her then, though they would have been on opposite sides. He
wished he could have seen her riding to battle on the back of her
dragon, her golden hair a shining banner for her troops to follow.
"You say that you trust in my honor, madam," he continued
and he took hold of her hand in his earnestness. "Then you must
believe me when I tell you that I am working day and night to try
to save Qualinesti. These rebels do not make my task easy. The
dragon hears of their attacks and their defiance and grows ex-
tremely angry. She wonders aloud why she wastes her time and
money ruling over such troublesome subjects. I do my best to pla-
cate her, but she is fast losing patience."
"Why do you tell me this, Marshal Medan?" Laurana asked.
"What has this to do with me?"
"Madam, if you have any influence over these rebels, please
stop them. Tell them that while their acts of terror may do some
harm to myself and my troops, in the long run, the rebels are
harming only their own people."
"And what makes you think that I, the Queen Mother, have
anything to do with rebels?" Laurana asked. A flush came to her
cheeks. Her eyes glittered.
Medan regarded her in silent admiration for a moment, then
replied, "Let us say that I f
who fought the Dark Queen and her minions so tenaciously over
fifty years ago during the War of the Lance has ceased to do
battle."
"You are wrong, Marshal," Laurana protested. "1 am old, too
old for such matters. No, Sir"-she forestalled his speaking-"I
know what you are going to say. You are going to say that I look
as young as a maiden at her first dance. Save your pretty compli-
ments for those who desire to hear them. I do not. I have no heart