Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun (7 page)

grew bored with them-and had been looking forward for some

time for the chance to show off his prowess.

Pleased to have the opportunity, Silvan buckled the belt

around his slender waist and returned to the officers, the sword

clanking and banging against his thigh.

Elven runners continued to arrive with reports. The unnatural

fire was consuming the barricade at an alarming rate. A few ogres

had attempted to cross it. Illuminated by the flames, they had

provided excellent targets for the archers. Unfortunately, any

arrow that came within range of the fire was consumed by the

flames before it could strike its target.

The strategy for retreat settled-Silvan didn't catch much of

it, something about pulling back to the south where they would

meet up with a force from the Legion of Steel-the officers re-

turned to their commands. Samar and Alhana remained standing

together, speaking in low, urgent tones.

Drawing his sword from his sheath with a ringing sound,

Silvan gave it a flourish and very nearly sliced off Samar's arm.

"What the-" Samar glared at the bloody gash in his sleeve,

glared at Silvan. "Give me that!" He reached out and before

Silvan could react, snatched the sword from his grasp.

"Silvanoshei!" Alhana was angry, as angry as he had ever

seen her. "This is no time for such nonsense!" She turned her back

on him, an indication of her displeasure.

"It is not nonsense, Mother," Silvan retorted. "No, don't turn

away from me! This time you will not take refuge behind a wall

of silence. This time you will hear me and listen to what I have

to say!"

Slowly Alhana turned around. She regarded him intently, her

eyes large in her pale face.

The other elves, shocked and embarrassed, did not know

where to look. No one defied the queen, no one contradicted her,

not even her willful, headstrong son. Silvan himself was amazed

at his courage.

"I am a prince of Silvanesti and of Qualinesti," he continued.

It is my privilege, it is my duty to join in the defense of my

people. You have no right to try to stop me!"

"I have every right my son," Alhana returned. She grasped

his wrist her nails pierced his flesh. "You are the heir, the only

heir. You are all I have left. . . ." Alhana fell silent regretting her

words. "I am sorry. I did not mean that. A queen has nothing of

her own. Everything she has and is belongs to the people. You are

all your people have left Silvan. Now go collect your things," she

ordered, her voice tight with the need to control herself. "The

knights will take you deeper into the woods-"

"No, Mother, I will not hide anymore," Silvan said, taking

care to speak firmly, calmly, respectfully. His cause was lost if he

sounded like petulant child. "AII my life, whenever danger

threatened, you whisked me away, stashed me in some cave,

stuffed me under some bed. It is no wonder my people have

small respect for me." His gaze shifted to Samar, who was watch-

ing the young man with grave attention. "I want to do my part for

a change, Mother."

"Well spoken, Prince Silvanoshei," said Samar. "Yet the elves

have a saying. A sword in the hand of an untrained friend is

more dangerous than the sword in the hand of my foe.' One does

not learn to fight on the eve of battle, young man. However, if you

are serious about this pursuit I will be pleased to instruct you at

some later date. In the meanwhile, there is something you can do,

a mission you can undertake."

He knew the response this would bring and he was not

wrong. Alhana's arrow-sharp anger found a new target.

"Samar, I would speak with you!" Alhana said, her voice cold,

biting, imperious. She turned on her heeL stalked with rigid back

and uplifted chin to the rear of the burial mound. Samar, defer-

entiaL accompanied her.

Outside were cries and shouts, horns blasting, the deep and

terrible ogre war chant sounding like war drums beneath it. The

storm raged, unabated, giving succor to the enemy. Silvan stood

near the entrance to the burial mound, amazed at himsel£ proud

but appalled, sorry, yet defiant fearless and terrified all at the

same time. The jumble of his emotions confused him. He tried to

see what was happening, but the smoke from the burning hedge

had settled over the clearing. The shouts and screams grew

muted, muffled. He wished he could eavesdrop on the conversa-

tion, might have lingered near where he could hear, but he con-

sidered that childish and beneath his pride. He could imagine

what they were saying anyway. He'd heard the same conversa-

tion often enough.

In reality, he was probably not far wrong.

"Samar, you know my wishes for Silvanoshei," Alhana said,

when they were out of earshot of the others. "Yet you defy me

and encourage him in this wild behavior. I am deeply disap-

pointed in you, Samar."

Her words, her anger were piercing, struck Samar to the heart

and drew blood. But as Alhana was queen and responsible to her

people, so Samar was also responsible to the people as a soldier.

He was committed to providing his people with a present and a

future. In that future, the elven nations would need a strong heir,

not a milksop like Gilthas, the son of Tanis Half-Elven, who cur-

rently played at ruling Qualinesti.

Samar did not speak his true thoughts, however. He did not

say, "Your Majesty, this is the first sign of spirit I've seen in your

son, we should encourage it." He was diplomat as well as

soldier.

"Your Majesty," he said, "Silvan is thirty years old-"

" A child-" Alhana interrupted.

Silvan bowed. "Perhaps by Silvanesti standards, my queen.

Not by Qualinesti. Under Qualinesti law, he would have at-

tained ranking as a youth. If he were in Qualinesti, he would al-

ready be participating in military training. Silvanoshei may be

young in years, Alhana," Samar added, dropping the formal

title as he did sometimes when they were alone together, "but

think of the extraordinary life he has led! His lullabies were war

chants, his cradle a shield.. He has never known a home. Rarely

have his parents been both together in the same room at the

same time since the day of his birth. When battle called, you

kissed him and rode forth, perhaps to your death. He knew that

you might never come back to him, Alhana. I could see it -in

his eyes!"

"I tried to protect him from all that," she said, her gaze going

to her son. He looked so like his father at that moment that her

pain overwhelmed her. "If I lose him, Samar, what reason do I

have to prolong this bleak and hopeless existence?"

"You cannot protect him from life, Alhana," Samar countered

gently. "Nor from the role he is destined to play in life. Prince

Silvanoshei is right. He has a duty to his people. We will let him

fulfill that duty and"-he laid emphasis on the word-"we will

take him out of harm's way at the same time."

Alhana said nothing, but by her look, she gave him reluctant

permission to speak further.

"Only one of the runners has returned to camp," Samar con-

tinued. "The others are either dead or are fighting for their lives.

You said yourself, Your Majesty, that we must send word to the

Legion of Steel, warning them of this attack. I propose that we

send Silvan to apprise the knights of our desperate need for

help. We have only just returned from the fortress, he remem-

bers the way. The main road is not far from the camp and easy

to find and follow.

"The danger to him is small. The ogres have not encircled us.

He will be safer away from camp than here." Samar smiled. "If

I had my way, my Queen, you would go back to the fortress

with him."

Alhana smiled, her anger dissipated. "My place is with my

soldiers, Samar. I brought them here. They fight my cause. They

would lose all trust and respect if I deserted them. Yes, I concede

that you are right about Silvan," she added ruefully. "No need to

rub salt in my many wounds."

"My queen, I never meant-"

"Yes, you did, Samar," Alhana said, "but you spoke from

the heart, and you spoke the truth. We will send the prince

upon this mission. He will carry word of our need to the Legion

of Steel."

"We will sing his praises when we return to the fortress," said

Samar. "And I will purchase him a sword suited to a prince, not

a clown."

"No, Samar," said Alhana. "He may carry messages, but he

will never carry a sword. On the day he was born, I made my vow

to the gods that he would never bear arms against his people.

Elven blood would never be spilled because of him."

Samar bowed, wisely remained silent. A skilled commander,

he knew when to bring his advance to a halt, dig in, and wait.

Alhana walked with stiff back and regal mien to the front of

the cave.

"My son," Alhana said and there no emotion in her voice, no

feeling. "I have made my decision."

Silvanoshei turned to face his mother. Daughter of Lorac,

ill-fated king of the Silvanesti, who had very nearly been his

people's downfall, Alhana Starbreeze had undertaken to pay

for her father's misdeeds, to redeem her people. Because she

had sought to unite them with their cousins, the Qualinesti, be-

cause she had advocated alliances with the humans and the

dwarves, she was repudiated, cast out by those among the Sil-

vanesti who maintained that only by keeping themselves aloof

and isolated from the rest of the world could they and their cul-

ture survive.

She was in mature adulthood for the elves, not yet nearing her

elder years, incredibly beautiful, more beautiful than at any other

time of her life. Her hair was black as the depths of the sea, sunk

far below where sunbeams can reach. Her eyes, once amethyst,

had deepened and darkened as if colored by the despair and pain

which was all they saw. Her beauty was a heartbreak to those

around her, not a blessing. Like the legendary dragonlance,

whose rediscovery helped bring victory to a beleaguered world,

she might have been encased in a pillar of ice. Shatter the ice,

shatter the protective barrier she had erected around her, and

shatter the woman inside.

Only her son, only Silvan had the power to thaw the ice, to

reach inside and touch the living warmth of the woman who was

mother, not queen. But that woman was gone. Mother was gone.

The woman who stood before him, cold and stem, was his queen.

Awed, humbled, aware that he had behaved foolishly, he fell to

his knees before her.

"I am sorry, Mother," he said. "1 will obey you. I will leave-"

"Prince Silvanoshei," said the queen in a voice he recognized

as being her court voice, one she had never used to him. He did

not know whether to feel glad or to weep for something irrevo-

cably lost. "Commander Samar has need of a messenger to run

with all haste to the outpost of the Legion of Steel. There you will

apprise them of our desperate situation. Tell the Lord Knight that

we plan to retreat fighting. He should assemble his forces, ride

out to meet us at the crossroads, attack the ogres on their right

flank. At the moment his knights attack we will halt our retreat

and stand our ground. You will need to travel swiftly through

the night and the storm. Let nothing deter you, Silvan, for this

message must get through."

"I understand, my queen," said Silvan. He rose to his feet,

flushed with victory, the thrill of danger flashing like the light-

ning through his blood. "I will not fail you or my people. I thank

you for your trust in me."

Alhana took his face in her hands, hands that were so cold

that he could not repress a shiver. She placed her lips upon his

forehead. Her kiss burned like ice, the chill struck through to his

heart. He would always feel that kiss, from that moment after. He

wondered if her pallid lips had left an indelible mark.

Samar's crisp professionalism came as a relief.

"You know the route, Prince Silvan," Samar said. "You rode it

only two days before. The road lies about a mile and a half due

south of here. You will have no stars to guide you, but the wind

blows from the north. Keep the wind at your back and you will

be heading in the right direction. The road runs east and west,

straight and true. You must eventually cross it. Once you are on

the road, travel westward. The storm wind will be on your right

cheek. You should make good time. There is no need for stealth.

The sound of battle will mask your movements. Good luck,

Prince Silvanoshei."

"Thank you, Samar," said Silvan, touched and pleased. For

the first time in his life, the elf had spoken to him as an equal,

with even a modicum of respect. "I will not fail you or my

mother."

"Do not fail your people, Prince," said Samar.

With a final glance and a smile for his mother, a smile she did

not return, Silvan turned and left the burial mound, striking out