Read Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun Online
Authors: Margaret Weis
sir!" The acolyte was regarding Gerard with obvious admiration.
"Marshal Medan told everyone the story when he brought you to
us. He carried you in his arms himself, sir. He was covered with
your blood. He said you were a true hero and that you were to re-
ceive the very best care, to spare no effort. We have had seven
dark mystics working on you. You! A prisoner!" The young man
laughed and shook his head.
Gerard shoved the bowl of soup away, uneaten. He had lost
his appetite. Mumbling something to the effect that he was
weaker than he'd supposed, he lay back among his pillows. The
acolyte fussed over him, adjusting his bandages and checking to
see if any of his wounds had ripped open. He said that they were
all almost healed, then left, telling Gerard he should sleep.
Gerard closed his eyes, pretended to be asleep, but sleep was
far from coming. He had no idea what was going on. He could
only guess that this Medan was playing some sort of sadistic
game that would end in Gerard's torture and death.
This decided, he was at peace, and he slept.
"No, don't wake him," said a voice, deep and familiar. "I just
came to see how he was doing this morning."
Gerard opened his eyes. A man wearing the armor of a Knight
of Neraka, with a marshal's sash, stood by the side of the bed. The
man was in his fifties. His face was sun-darkened, heavily lined,
stem, and grim, but it was not a cruel face. It was the face of a
commander who could order men to their deaths but who took
no pleasure in it.
Gerard knew him immedia tel y. Marshal Medan.
Laurana had spoken of the marshal with a certain grudging
respect, and Gerard could now understand why. Medan had
governed a hostile race for thirty years, and there had been no
death camps established, no gallows set up in the marketplace,
no burning and looting and wanton destruction of elven house-
holds and business. Medan saw to it that the dragon's tribute
was collected and paid. He had learned to play elven politics
and, according to Laurana, he played it well. He had his spies
and his informers. He dealt harshly with rebels, but he did so to
maintain order and stability. He kept tight hold on his troops. No
small feat in these days when the Knights of Neraka were re-
cruited from the dregs of society.
Gerard was forced to abandon the notion that this man would
use him for sport, would make a mockery of him and of his death.
But if that were true, then what was Medan's game? What was
the tale of elves attacking?
Gerard pushed himself to a sitting position, made his salute as
best he could with his chest and arm bound with bandages. The
marshal might be the enemy, but he was a commander and
Gerard was bound to give him the respect that was due his rank.
The marshal returned the salute and told Gerard to lie back,
take care not to reopen his wounds. Gerard barely heard him. He
was thinking of something else. He was thinking back to the
attack.
Medan had ambushed them for a reason-to catch Palin and
recover the artifact. That means Medan knew exactly where to
find us, Gerard said to himself. Someone told him where we were
going to be and when.
Someone had betrayed them, but who? Someone in Laurana's
own household? That was hard to credit, yet Gerard thought of
the elf who had left to go "hunting" and had not returned. Per-
haps he had been killed by the Knights. Perhaps not.
His thoughts were in bubbling turmoil. What had happened
to Palin and the kender? Had they managed to escape safely? Or
were they being held prisoner, too?
"How do you feel, sir?" Medan asked, regarding Gerard with
concern.
"I am much better, my lord, thank you," Gerard replied. "I
want to tell you, sir, that there is no need to continue with this
pretense, which, perhaps, you do out of concern for my health.
I know I am your prisoner. There is no reason why you should
believe me, but I want you to know that I am not a spy.
"I am-
"-a Solamnic Knight." Medan finished, smiling. "Yes, I am
aware of that Sir-" He paused.
"Gerard uth Mondar, my lord," Gerard replied.
"And I am Marshal Alexis Medan. Yes, Sir Gerard, I know you
are a Solamnic." Medan pulled up a chair, seated himself near
Gerard's bed. "I know you are my prisoner. I want you to keep
your voice down." He glanced at the dark mystics, who were
moving about at the far end of the room. "These two pieces of in-
formation will be our little secret."
"My lord?" Gerard gaped. If the dragon Beryl had plum-
meted out of the skies and landed in his soup, he could not have
been more astonished.
"Listen to me, Sir Gerard," Medan said, resting a firm hand on
the Solaminc's arm. "You were captured wearing the armor of a
Knight of Neraka. You claim that you are not a spy, but who will
believe you, do you suppose? No one. Do you know the fate that
would befall you, as a spy? You would be interrogated by men
skilled in the art of making other men talk. We are quite modern
and up to date here in Qualinesti. We have the rack, the wheeL
red-hot pincers, bone-crackers. We have the iron maiden with her
painful and deadly embrace. After a few weeks of such interro-
gation, you would, I think, be quite glad to tell your interrogators
everything you know and a lot of things you didn't. Anything to
end the torment."
Gerard opened his mouth, but Medan exerted painful pres-
sure on his arm and Gerard kept silent.
"What would you tell them? You would tell them about the
queen mother. You would tell them that Laurana was harboring a
human mage who had discovered a valuable magical artifact. Be-
cause of Laurana's intervention, this mage and the artifact are
now safely beyond Beryl's reach."
Gerard breathed an inward sigh. Medan was watching him
closely. "Yes, I thought you might be glad to hear that" he said
dryly. "The mage escaped. The dragon Beryl was thwarted in her
desire for the magical artifact. You will die. You will be glad to
die. Your death will not save Laurana."
Gerard was silent, taking this all in. He wriggled and
squirmed in the grasp of Medan's logic. The Knight could see no
way out. He would have liked to think he could withstand any
torture, go to his death mute and silent, but he could not be cer-
tain. He'd heard of the effects of the rack-how it pulled the joints
out of the socket, left a man crippled, for the injuries would never
fully heal. He had heard stories of the other torments they could
inflict on a man; he recalled Palin's twisted hands, deformed fin-
gers. He pictured Laurana's hands, white, slender, marred with
the calluses where she had once held a sword.
Gerard cast another glance at the black-robed mystics. The
Knight looked back at Medan. "What do you want me to do, my
lord?" he asked quietly.
"You will go along with the tale I have concocted about the
battle with the elves. In return for your heroic actions, I will take
you on as my aide. I need someone I can trust," Medan said
wryly. "I believe that the life of the queen mother is in danger. I
do what I can to shield her, but it may not be enough. I need a~
assistant who has the same regard for the queen mother as I have
myself."
"Yet, my lord," said Gerard, bewildered, "you yourself spy
upon her."
"For her own protection," Medan returned. "Believe me, I do
not enjoy it."
Gerard shook his head, looked up at the marshal. "My lord,
here is my answer. I ask that you draw your sword and kill me.
Here, where I lie in this bed. I cannot offer any resistance. I ab-
solve you in advance of the crime of murder. My death here and
now will solve all our problems."
Medan's grim face relaxed into a smile. "Perhaps not as many
as you might think. I refuse, of course. I have taken a liking to
you, Solamnic. I would not have missed seeing that fight you put
up for all the jewels in Qualinesti! Most other Knights I know
would have flung down their weapons and taken to their heels."
Medan's expression darkened, his tone grew bitter. "The days
of glory for our order are long dead. Once we were led by a man
of honor, a man of courage. A man who was the son of a drag-
onlord and Zeboim, Goddess of the Sea. Who is our leader now?"
Medan's lip curled. "An accountant. A man who wears a
money belt instead of sword belt. Those he makes Knights no
longer win their places through valor in battle or by deeds of
bravery. They buy their rank with cold cash."
Gerard thought of his own father and felt his skin grow
flushed and hot. He had not bought his way into the Knighthood,
at least he could credit himself there. But his father had certainly
bought his son's way into every soft-cushioned assignment that
came along. "The Solamnics are no better," he muttered, lowering
his gaze, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sweat-soaked sheet.
"Indeed? I am sorry to hear that," Medan said and he did
sound genuinely disappointed. "Perhaps, in these last days, the
final battle will be fought by men who choose honor instead of
choosing sides. I hope so," he added quietly, "or else I believe that
we are all lost."
"Last days?" Gerard asked, uneasily. "What do you mean, my
lord?"
Medan looked about the room. The mystics had departed.
They were alone, the two of them.
"Beryl is going to attack Qualinesti," Medan said. "I don't
know when, but she is gathering her armies. When she does, I
will have a bitter choice to make." He looked at Gerard intently.
"I do not want the queen mother to be part of that choice. I will
need someone I can trust to help her escape."
This man is in love with Laurana! Gerard realized, amazed.
Not so surprising, he supposed. He was a little bit in love with
her himself. One could not be around her without becoming en-
chanted by her beauty and grace. Still Gerard hesitated.
"Have I mistaken you, sir?" Medan asked, and his voice was
cold. He rose to his feet. "Perhaps you are as devoid of honor as
the rest."
"No, my lord," Gerard said emphatically. Strange as it
seemed, he wanted the marshal to think well of him. "I worked to
become a Knight. I read books on the art of warfare. I studied
strategy and tactics. I have held my place in tourney and joust. I
became a Knight to defend the helpless, to find honor and glory
in battle and instead, because of my father's influence"-Gerard
paused, a shame-filled pause- "I guarded a tomb in Solace."
Medan said nothing, looked down at him, waited for his
decision.
"I accept your offer, my lord," Gerard said. "I do not under-
stand you, but I will do what I can to help the Qualinesti," he said
pointedly, "and the queen mother."
"Fair enough," said the marshal. With a curt nod, Medan
turned, started to walk away. Halting, he glanced back over his
shoulder.
"I joined the Knighthood for the same reasons you did, young
man," he said, and then strode to the do04 his footsteps loud, his
cloak sweeping behind him. "If the healers pronounce you welL
you will move into my house tomorrow."
Gerard settled back into his bed.
I do not trust him, Gerard reflected. I will not allow myself to
trust him or admire him. He could be lying about the dragon.
This could all be a trick. To what end, I do not know, but I will
remain watchful and on my guard.
At least, he thought, feeling a strange sort of contentment
wash through him, I'll be doing more than freeing some damn
kender who manages to lock himself in a tomb.
Medan left the hospitaL well pleased with his interview. He
did -not trust the Solamnic, of course. Medan trusted no one
these days. The marshal would watch the man closely over the
next few days, see how he acquitted himself. He could always
take the Solamnic up on his offer and run his sword through
him.
At least, I do not doubt his courage or his loyalty to his
friends, the marshal reflected He has proven these to me already.
The marshal turned his steps toward Laurana's house. He en-
joyed the walk. Qualinesti was beautiful in all seasons, but
summer was his favorite, the season of festivals, with its myriad
flowers, the soft air filled with exquisite perfumes, the silvery
green of the leaves and the wondrous bird song.
He took his time, pausing to lean over garden walls to admire
a flaming display of day lilies lifting their orange heads to the
sunshine. He lingered in the walkway to watch a shower of white
blossoms shaken from a snow-ball bush by a fluttering robin.
Coming upon an elf from House Woodshaper, Medan stopped
the man to discuss a blight he feared had overtaken one of his
rose bushes. The Woodshaper was hostile, made it clear he talked
to Medan only because he was forced to do so. Medan was polite,
respectfuL his questions were intelligent. Gradually the elf
warmed to his topic and, in the end, promised to come to the