Disclaimer: The world of Krynn belongs to Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman.
Beta reading belongs to Margit, and writing to me.
Chapter Three: An Old Wound.
Time passed away after the storm, slowly but steadily, as it always had been. The dance of the seasons left the few trees that grew inside the Tower bare and leafless in autumn, and restored their exuberance with the arrival of the warm spring weather. Singing birds went away to return once more and sing on their heavy branches, while the Knights of Solamnia, the members of the renewed and restored Order, gradually began to fall asleep over their crowns of victory.
They were now prosperous. Consideration for them and their efforts had increased nearly as much as in Huma's time, and they were hailed as heroes in the greatest part of Ansalon for the role they had played in the War of the Lance. All the important cities had a garrison of Knights protecting the security of their citizens, when only two years ago they had been despised everywhere for the old political and economical power that had made them insensitive to the sufferings of the people at the Cataclysm. For this and for having been known as the guardians of the Kingpriest's "peace" in the long years of fanatism and intolerance, the Solamnics had been mistreated by the revengeful populace until practically some days ago, until they had proven that they were no longer the symbol of oppression they had once represented.
And this, for what? To fall once more, of course, in the same self-complacency at the first appearance of truce, the young Knight thought bitterly as he looked through the window and saw another sumptuous entourage of a nobleman making their solemn entrance to the Tower. Fools! All those years of shame and persecution, the final devastating experience of that unexpected and terrible war, what had they taught them?
The same that Huma's sacrifice taught them so long ago, he answered himself full of bitterness, almost at once.
They never would change. That was their fate, as it was of any other being in Krynn: to grow wise when at need and foolish when powerful. Right now they were preparing a celebration, - the Second Anniversary of the End of the War, of all things -, inviting old heroes to pronounce long emotive speeches of past feats while the most powerful people of Krynn would be displaying their magnificence in the halls. And this instead of relying on the valiant people of all races that had fought the Dragonarmies alongside with them, to get sure that no calamity of the sort would befall the world again! Of undertaking efforts to solve the ancient rivalries, envies and injustices that had caused everything to pass in the first place, and that they were helping to preserve as if nothing had happened at all!
Thomas shrugged his shoulders violently, and thought only belatedly that his gestures could be interpreted as those of a lunatic by anyone who chanced to watch his demeanour. But, what? That's what he felt like, precisely, after having had to endure two weeks of lavish festive preparations. He had always been proud of his common sense, as the noble-peasant that he had been since his grandfather and his family had been thrown out from Thelgaard by the lies of false clerics, and then forced to work on the very fields that had once belonged to them or to die of cold and hunger in the harsh plains of Solamnia. Daily fights to preserve the crops and escape starvation had been his first and only war for a long time, but they had been so terrible that, later, when confronted with true enemies, he hadn't feared them as the others had. And that was what allowed him to understand, what made him so shrewd at this particular case.
"Ally yourself to the high ones that never knew fear, and, when the enemy destroys the small worlds where they reign, they will leave you and run away shrieking."
That was indeed what had happened to those clerics. When the Dragonarmies had attacked Thelgaard, they had fled immediately with their things, and Thomas had been left to organise the resistance in the castle of his ancestors, winning back their name and a reputation for bravery surprisingly untainted by the faintest sign of rashness. Nobody had opposed his investment as Knight of the Rose after that feat, of course, or his claims to his old heritage and the lands of Thelgaard. But, still, in spite of all those praises and honours, it seemed sometimes that he was deemed still too young to have consistent ideas about certain matters. They called him idealistic, old-fashioned, or simply admired his speech and then forgot on the spot what he had just said, each one of them for his own reasons but all behaving the same.
There was Markham of the Rose, he thought, the commander of the Palanthas garrison, that annoying flippant noble that saw war as a game and was unable to take anything seriously. There was lord Michael, with his theory of "things can return now to their normal course", a phrase that meant that everything they had conquered with their suffering, the alliance between the peoples, should be thrown away because it was not useful anymore. There were also the young Knights of the Crown, that supported him, though just as a potential way of opposing those others, following an old tradition of discontentment in the heart of the Order that was as dangerous as all other things could ever be. And then, finally, there was lord Gunthar Uth Wistan, the head of the Solamnic Order. He was an excellent man, Thomas would never deny that, but his efforts were not sufficient. He might have rank, he might have prevailed over all those conspirations and intrigues that had been so frequent in the so-called "old" times, and he might even, more or less, in his inner thoughts share some of Thomas's worries, but he was also trapped and constrained by his position, and, besides, he was not too young anymore.
The Knight got up again from the seat where he had ordered his body to sit down, and shook his head. As things were, he told himself, it was something like a macabre irony that Ariakan, of all people, was the only one who was of complete like mind with him when it come to this issue. A prisoner, an enemy that had fought in those dark armies of chaotic and egotistic creatures turned out to be the only person in this place who would look into his eyes and say he understood those feelings of his, and, even though the change that had taken place on him was an astounding one, this was still somewhat shocking.
Or maybe not?
A little smile warmed Thomas's face for a moment, and he felt able at last to sit down without much resistance from the part of his nervous limbs. As he thought about his friend, the reminder of his success always placated him to some extent, and even augmented his hopes of being listened seriously one day by those who considered him too young or "idealistic" for sound judgement. In Ariakan, they had got the opportunity of seeing for themselves, hadn't they? They welcomed him more or less with open arms now, and saw with admiration the self-discipline and the strength of will with which he had gradually been turning from what he had been before to what he had become. But still, at the same time, they had also to remember that, without him, without Thomas of Thelgaard, they would have killed him two years ago, as sure as the grass was growing now green and bright in the plains of Solamnia. Nobody could be so forgetful as to be unable to remember those events vividly, even if they did not actually see them in their mind's eye as he saw them himself, in defiance of the two whole years that divided now those tumultuous days from this placid spring festival....
* * * * * * * * *
"Who is that?"
Thomas had not been invested yet. There wasn't time for such things as ceremonies in a world that was on the brink of being lost, and he himself was not sure he would live to see the day if it finally arrived. Yet, as lord Gunthar knew very well about his valour and his strength, he had been allowed to go with the others to the temple of Neraka, after that strange crazy old man succeeded into convincing the head of the Order that the might of Takhisis was crumbling while he talked.
And, surprisingly enough, he had been right.
"They will die if they don't go out soon!" someone shouted into the roaring noise, pointing in awe at how the sinister building where Takhisis had held her last audience was beginning to move dangerously to one side in a tempest of cracks and falling stones. Draconians still passed by them, but they were fewer at each moment and they did not have any desire of fighting anymore, just of running away and saving their lives.
"Who is that?" Thomas repeated, with a louder voice. An old Knight turned his face to his.
"They are the eastern battalion. I recognise some of them", he shouted. "Look, they are slowing down because of the corpses!"
"Fools!" Thomas exclaimed, without caring at all for the shocked looks he received. "They should care about their own lives before..."
A growl interrupted him, and made all turn to the other side. At the western gate, another group of Knights were trying to emerge from the sea of creatures that were still leaving the place, fighting for survival. The sky was ominously dark and seemed to be about to fall onto their heads at any moment, so their armours only glowed with a faint and sinister light from afar.
"They're the last ones!" someone cried with relief. "Now, let's go!"
The dragons flapped their wings impatiently in response, a sign that they really saw danger imminent. But the disciplined Knights repressed their urge to call them and gave them a signal, to wait until both groups had arrived on the plain.
"What is the news?" Thomas asked to the west ones, that had come quicker. "Did you find...?"
"She...she's gone." The chief of the battalion whispered, livid. "We... we tried our best, but those...those...the Dead Knights. .They were like Death themselves!."
Thomas and his commander gathered from his words, with some effort, that Kitiara Uth Matar had been able to escape, and that Lord Soth had protected her. His Knights had attacked them and killed some of the men so the Dark Lady could ride her dragon and escape from the fated place, yet they had at least the consolation that she did not have too many followers anymore.
"And you?"
"Ariakas is dead", said the provisional substitute of the dead commander of the east battalion, shrugging his shoulders. "It appears he had been killed even before we arrived. It was whispered that...Tanis Half-Elven did it."
"And his followers?"
The rumble increased by moments, and the Knights began to look frantically for their dragons and horses without tarrying anymore. Thomas, however, stayed in place, next to his own commander, and waited to hear the tidings their exhausted companion had brought. He was tired himself after fighting the troops of the Dragon Highlords and searching for Lauralanthalasa for what had seemed an eternity of time, until his commander had decided they had done all they had could and that it was time to look for their own lives. Worse still than tired, he was on the brink of forgetting about all and lying on the ground forever, but he had to listen to his companions and avoid falling into the deadly traps of inexperience.
"We defeated some factions. Others escaped by secret paths, or so I do believe" the man said with a bitter tone. "A great part of them was concentrated in one subterranean, and there we fought for a long time. Until it really started to crumble, they did not think about escaping, even if we doubled them in number and they... had lost their Highlord. But, strange as it may seem, they were guarding someone."
It wasn't until then that, as if pointed by one of the man's darting glances, Thomas turned his head to one side and saw him for the first time. He was unconscious, hanging over the shoulders of a tall Knight with sombre looks as if he was dead. There was blood all over his body, hands and face, but his lips and his surprisingly young features were still tense with determination, and his rigid right hand grasped a dark sword with the symbol of the Queen of Dragons.
"He was alone in a room, behind all those draconians", the Solamnic captain continued. "At first, we thought he was some kind of important prisoner, but he was an enemy without a shadow of doubt, and a very stubborn one. Don't ask me who he is, but he fought us alone, and, what may sound more unbelievable, he killed five of us! Fortunately, a stone that fell from the ceiling left him unconscious, and we could get to him in the end. The Measure forbids to kill unconscious people, but as soon as he gets well he faces certain death, I daresay."
Astounded at what he had just heard, Thomas saw the eyes of his commander widening by the effect of surprise. Both turned again at the same time to stare at the prisoner, who, as if he really had noticed it, stirred in his sleep and groaned.
Five! But...but he's a youngster! He's younger than me! was the first thing that crossed Thomas's confused mind as he did so. But then, a voice inside him reminded him that he shouldn't question the statement of another Knight, especially if a superior. He just couldn't be lying.
From the sword that the young man was holding in his unconscious hand another drop of blood dripped to the ground.
"But now he will have to face a trial ", his own commander interrupted. "And there will not be a lot of time for that, of this I'm certain. Thomas!"
"My lord."
"Take care of him. We're leaving."
"Yes, my lord."
And so it had come to happen that, not a Knight yet, and without knowing too well what he was supposed to do with him, Thomas suddenly found himself with the unconscious body of an enemy in his hands. Sighing and shaking his head, he put him across his shoulders in the less incommoding way, searched for the dragon he shared with another Knight, and carried him there, marvelling at the coldness of his body.
* * * * *
It took more than a couple of days for the young prisoner to recover. If it had been the head wound alone, he would have got off sooner, but there were also the multiple reminders of the fierce battle he had fought against the Knights at the limit of his forces. Thomas, taking to heart the order that his commander had given him at the ruins of Neraka, had been always around to care for his recovery, adding this to the list of his already multiple tasks and things to care about. Sometimes, when he saw himself and the healers fretting around him, the future Knight wondered why they were taking so much trouble to look after someone who was going to die, but he nonetheless did his best to ignore those thoughts as if they were out of place, and stayed every night to look after him.
He fascinated him, in truth. Anybody could object that he of all Knights was the very last one supposed to be subject to sentimentalities, but this was not sentimental or, he was really sure of it, objectionable. Thomas had felt impressed since he had heard the story from the lips of that other Knight, and had felt for the prisoner the respect that was due for brave actions, as he had been taught as a child. He had often found himself trying to imagine how the scene could have been like, wondering how that lad could have managed to stand all alone against a whole battalion and fight with skill and strength until the stone had fallen upon his head, and he wished that he would talk to him more than a few words and a couple of growls. If he had been a Knight of Solamnia, he would have been sung and celebrated like Thomas himself was for his feats at his homeland, or perhaps even more, since Thomas had never been properly alone.
But he was the enemy.
The young man breathed heavily and turned towards him, mumbling some words in his sleep. As every time he did that, the Solamnic tried hard to decipher what he was saying, and caught something like "Kitiara" and "the crown". More enigmas still! The few times he had been awake during his illness, and the few times he had consented to utter a word since his recovery, Thomas had tried to ask him who he was and what he had been doing at the subterranean, but the only answers had been vicious frowns and stubborn silences that just augmented the curiosity of his caretaker. If he only could make him think, be reasonable...! He had the distinct sensation that there was something important and crucial for him to discover from that good-looking and brave young man, and that perhaps would throw a new light over the conspirations of the Highlords and the cause of their defeat, a thing of which Tanis Half-Elven, the Golden General and their friends had not been very talkative. Besides, he was nearly sure that he had been a prisoner of Ariakas, like the commander had supposed, for, otherwise, what would he have been doing in a subterranean chamber and guarded by so many draconians?
Perhaps he had been Kitiara's captain. Or Kitiara's lover. Or both. Or, perhaps, even...
"Will you cease staring at me?"
Hearing his heart jump at the sudden interruption, Thomas struggled to regain his serious composure after his abrupt return to reality. The prisoner, fully awake, was watching him attentively with his deep black eyes, and as always, the would-be Knight's own ones flared open as he saw him. He looked so fair, so...aristocratic! His stance was that of a born Knight, though at the same time there was something mysterious hidden in his handsome features like a dark secret, and Thomas could not quite locate where it was, nor what it might be. Perhaps it was his very long raven hair, so dark it even gave the strange impression of being blue at some sides...or perhaps his high aquiline nose, that suggested a sea hawk searching for prey. Or the intelligent eyes, and the strong lips curved in an defiant grin, as if he knew exactly in what situation he was but did not allow that to bring him down. The very fact that, once awake, washed, healed and in possession of his faculties, that youngster hadn't looked to his eyes like an average Dragon soldier was still somewhat difficult to grasp, and Thomas had the opportunity of confirming it once more.
"I was watching your sleep", he answered, recollecting his thoughts. It was better to try being friendly for once, he told himself, even if his good intentions had proved before to be of exactly the same significance for the prisoner as his severity.
"I do not need anybody to watch my sleep."
"Or to heal your wounds?" The Knight was quick.
"To kill me afterwards", the youngster retorted, quicker still. A sudden flash of pain appeared and disappeared from his countenance. "I'll ask you once more, why didn't you allow me to die where and when I wanted to die?"
"I suppose I will have to present you my excuses." Thomas growled, mostly to suppress a strange feeling of pity that he did not wholly understand. After all, whose fault was it? He had fought the Solamnics to death and had been made a prisoner. Besides, of all people that Thomas had known and that were now dead, not one had died like he had wanted. "Though it will be a bit difficult, since you don't want to tell me your name."
The prisoner made a grimace, then shook his head. "Why are you so interested in knowing my name, if I'm not interested in knowing yours, Solamnic?"
"I may be old-fashioned, but I cannot get used to have a conversation with someone called "you" ", the would-be Knight replied, sounding now rather harsh "And I want to have it as soon as possible, at least as a reparation for all the days I've been taking the trouble of caring for your health."
"I am a prisoner. You are obeying orders, and I do not owe you anything."
This, Thomas had to admit it, was completely right. Yet...
I do not owe you anything. That phrase...
"Did you ever consider owing anything to anyone?"
"What?" The prisoner arched his eyebrows, surprised at the question.
"You said you didn't owe me anything. Yet this also means that you could have owed me something if the circumstances had been different."
"Well, if you had allowed me to die in peace I would have owed you something, that's for certain", was the young man's exasperated reply. "But it's most likely that you would never have known of my gratitude. "
The Solamnic clenched his teeth and sighed, a deep, long sigh.
"Do you always have to make it so difficult?
"Do you always expect me to make it easy for you?"
"Any help would be greatly appreciated", Thomas said, beginning at last to pace around with an angry expression. "If you haven't discovered it already, I am just trying to make things easier for you, while you aren't making things easier for me. You seem to think that it's my fault that you were in the Dragonarmy, that the temple of Neraka fell, that your lord was killed and that you were captured unconscious and taken prisoner, and it isn't! You chose it the same day you decided to get into that war for whatever motivation, and I would have said the same if the situation had been inverse for both of us, since I knew I was risking everything I had and could ever have."
Turning towards the young Dragon soldier, the future Knight crossed his arms, corroborating what he had just said, or rather shouted, with a severe glance. To his surprise and annoyance, however, he could see that the youngster was not only completely unaffected by his words, but that he even seemed to show some kind of agreement at them. His shame for his outburst began to grow when he saw the absent nod of acknowledgement, and he had to swear in a low voice. Perhaps that prisoner wasn't acting very "Solamnic", but there was no doubt he was being able to control his emotions better, curse him!
Though, in fact, why was he getting upset? Was it his business or lord Gunthar's?
The answer came nearly alone to his mind. It was his scrutiny, his test, his try. He was so sure there was something more in there...
"This been said, I must add something that you already know, and it's that if you told me who you are, things could change substantially", he muttered in a hoarse tone, decided to try that other thing once more. "If you really were a prisoner, as it's thought, things would be different for you, and if you repented about whatever made you decide to be there and consented to help us, you would be surely allowed to live. The Knights are not cruel."
Only a haughty silence welcomed his words. For Thomas, it felt as if he had pronounced a deadly curse instead of a question, and he remembered that the other time it had been the same. He had already refused to answer that before....
Though this time, after some thinking, the prisoner exceptionally seemed to change his mind about his silence.
"You must be mocking me", he said, as fury began slowly to light his features in a blaze."This time as well as the last, but back then I refused even to answer that question, believing in earnest that you would interpret my silence the right way. Know, Solamnic, that I will only sell my life with a sword in my hand."
Thomas looked at him, with sudden and sincere astonishment. He could not believe what he had just heard. And still, the young man was there in front of him, looking into his eyes with a steely, adamant gaze that mirrored nothing except absolute contempt for the proposition. A Solamnic would not have acted otherwise, but a... a minion of Takhisis? What reason would he possibly have to...
Deep inside his heart, he had to accept that this had made his respect for him increase even more.
"You said I was blaming you for what happened by my fault alone", the young man continued, the first time he spoke so much since Thomas had known him. "It's not true. I'm merely trying to be left to my fate in peace! Of course I do not want to die, yet it's far more bearable than to live licking the boots of the despicable servants of Paladine, of helping my captors, of using my skills to serve their purposes and say nasty things about the father and the mother that gave me birth, the city where I grew up or the armies I conducted. I would never...."
"A very Solamnic notion!" Thomas suddenly interrupted him.
"What?"
The Solamnic snickered inwardly at the sudden look of hate and confusion the prisoner offered. At last he was getting to the point, finally he was upsetting him and getting something out of his impenetrable mask.
"Est Sularis oth Mithas; my honour is my life. Our Oath since the times of Vinas Solamnus. Did you know? Or were you so sure of yourself that you ignored the basic information about your enemies?"
"As much as you ignored us" the young man answered, rather defensively from Thomas's point of view. Oh, good, that strange anxiousness was a good sign. "My father knew you well, yet he didn't believe your waning Order would turn into a threat until you got those Dragonlances and the help of the metal dragons. And then, it was Highlord Kitiara Uth Matar who found herself in direct confrontation with you. We were preparing ourselves somewhere else and keeping our conquered territories, so I saw few of your Order until that day. I did not know a thing about your stupid code, but to the five companions of yours I killed it did not turn to be too efficient, I daresay."
"Perhaps it would have been for your commanders, hm?" Thomas replied, sitting on the edge of the bed where the prisoner had done the same. As a good Solamnic, he felt called to defend the pillar of his Order in any circumstance. "Or perhaps for your Queen? Let's remember, from what I have heard...Ariakas was killed by some conspiration... all the others began to fight over his crown, and, while everybody was killing everybody, a necromancer in the service of Takhisis did a spell that closed I don't know what gate and expelled her from the world. A nice work of harmony and concordance. You succeeded, joining your forces, in defeating yourselves!"
A loud cracking noise interrupted the future Knight. As he looked up, worried, he saw that the prisoner had turned his back to him, and was looking away now, as if wishing to hide something. So great was the tension in his muscles that Thomas had to be certain of at least one thing; that he had been the one to drive it home at last, be it for good or for bad.
"What is the matter? Can't you bear the thought that your defeat was not merely a question of luck?" he continued taunting him, putting his hand distractedly over the hilt of his sword. "There were about a hundred draconians around you and they left you alone when they saw they were outnumbered. I had about thirty brave men around me when Thelgaard was attacked, and the enemy was about ten times our number, but nobody fled and we won. Never say that "our stupid code" did not turn to be efficient for us, for it was the key of our victory. You may be a better warrior, you may kill five of us, but other five will come, and then other five, while all your so-called allies will have fled, making true that of "Evil turns against itself" , wise saying of..."
"Stop! Now!"
The words died instantly in the throat of the Solamnic, and he turned to eye the youngster warily. Now, where had that amazing display of authority come from? Did he think seriously he could give him orders?
Yet, he had shut up.
"Yes? Do you want to...say something?"
"Get out."
"What?" he hissed, incredulously. That was too much. "Are you joking?"
"Get out." the prisoner repeated, now sitting on the bed again and wiping his sweating face with both hands. After he had said it, though, he seemed to regain a faint remembrance of where he was, and his voice softened to take a strange tinge of desperation. "Please."
"Oh, right." Thomas got up with a preoccupied sigh. He had not imagined he was going to upset him that much, but still he had no idea if it would be good or bad. "I'll send for the healers again, you're not feeling well."
"No!" the prisoner protested. "My wounds are more than healed! I just want to be alone, for I'm tired...and drowsy. Don't let anybody enter here, they would only make my head spin."
"Well, if you really feel like that, I will do as you want", Thomas calmed him, heading for the door. Before he left, though, he turned around one more time, and saw those deep black eyes still staring at him. "And you can trust a Knight of Solamnia, Dragon soldier!"
"I know", he heard behind him, and then lower, in a hissing tone: "Takhisis help me, I know."
Though Thomas did not know it at that time, he had opened an old wound in the young man that would not be closed easily. Later, with the months and the years, he had finally come to think that he knew all about his friend's past anxiousness, but, in fact, there was something that still made him feel uneasy whenever he talked to him. It was a thing that was never mentioned until it became an old remembrance and a shadow of a pain, the long past knowledge of a young soldier full of pride that had refused to prevent the fall of his army while maybe having the gift of knowing what was wrong.
* * * * *
Few days later, the prisoner had told him his name at last. Thomas was the first in the whole Tower to know that they had captured Ariakan, son of Ariakas and a former high ranked commander of his father's army in spite of his age, and he was also the first to hear the amazing confession of his mother being a goddess. The rest was well known. Another few days later still, when the aspirant had been invested at last as Knight of the Rose, he had been allowed by his title to stand for Ariakan in the trial that took place, and he had claimed that right with the approval of the new indisputable head of the Order, Lord Gunthar. He did his task seriously and honestly, telling the judges in all detail everything he had spoken about with the prisoner and how he had gradually convinced him to cease acting defiantly and listen to reason. He flew in a flash of eloquence defending him for having killed the five knights in battle and as self-defence, even daring to praise his bravery and his consequence for being loyal until the last moment and for facing a whole battalion alone. And, in the end, while he was still somewhat perplexed with the very words he had just pronounced, he finished it by reminding them of the more practical aspects of his lineage...especially how useful he could be for them if he stayed alive and wanted to cooperate, something he himself was ready to be hold responsible for.
When Ariakan had entered the hall, he had not seen any black rose on the table.
In order to not allow any evidence of surprise show more than for a fraction of a second, the prisoner had shrugged his shoulders and left after the sentence had been pronounced, escorted by the same six armed guards who would have brought him to his execution. Later, however, he had thanked Thomas in a cold but courteous tone, and told him that he would pay his debt by trying to cooperate as he could without ever shunning the memory of those he had left behind, since he had always hated to owe favours to anyone.
"You are welcome." the new Knight of the Rose had answered, patting him on the back and still congratulating himself for that lucky little talk that had seemed to originate his change. "You're welcome indeed."
He had felt happy. He knew he had saved a life that, he was sure of it, would be inestimable for the Knighthood at large, a man that was valiant, strong, intelligent and honourable in spite of his background. To turn the son of Ariakas into such a person was the greatest triumph he could dream of in times of peace, and he was sure he would succeed. So sure! He just had had to picture Ariakan's reaction when he told him about the honour code of his enemies, and he was corroborated in his idea that the prisoner would eventually have to surrender to the evidence that he did not really belong to the place where he had been born.
And, what? He had been right that time, praise his sound judgement. As right as he was now about the pointlessness of that damned feast and its aftermath of alliances, if only somebody would listen to him.
* * * * * * * * * *
"When was this built?"
It was a really delightful sunny afternoon, the same one that Thomas could have admired from the window if he had been in the mood. Voices, songs and shouts were ringing merrily in the warm air, entwined with the noise of horses and carriages in a happy pandemonium that seemed just invoked by a luring spell to make the Knights forget about everything else and go to watch them. And yet, nothing of this had seemed to affect Ariakan, who was shamelessly shunning the sunrays to have a walk with a Knight of the Sword. The old veteran had taken upon him the task of teaching him the history and details of the main fortifications, and, as the weather was so splendid outside and people kept arriving in a continuous flow, they had decided to go inside the Tower, where nobody would distract them.
"In the old times. Legends say that it was Vinas Solamnus himself who did it."
"And who had that idea? It must have been someone with knowledge about war tactics as well as magic."
"Oh, no!" The Knight turned to glance at Ariakan, who was looking at the imposing structure of the innermost courtyard of the Tower with a frown. "It was a High Clerist of the old times, who was given the Orb of Dragons some say that by Paladine himself."
"Paladine? A High Clerist? But, sir Leighbar..." Ariakan objected. "The Orb of Dragons is a magic thing. Only a mage can know about his properties."
"And the clerics of old", Leighbar answered, very sure of himself and eyeing Ariakan condescendingly. And indeed, though the latter had to assent, in his inner thoughts he kept repeating as a litany: Pompous imbecile. Narrow-headed Solamnic!
"I thought you must have used magic sometime in the long life of your Order, but I see your mistrust for it has too deep roots", he said in the end, and shrugged his shoulders. "Did you never think it could be useful? After all, handled by a cleric or not, the Orb was made by magicians and could unleash a magic power."
"Made by magicians?" the Knight nearly shouted, looking as if he had been insulted. "Oh, that's what they say. I believe it was made by Paladine, or in any other case by the High Clerist with his help."
"You have the oldest tradition, so you must know." Ariakan nodded courteously to avoid an argument. "By the way, I believe I still have a question."
"Then ask it, lad! As long as it isn't about sorcerers I think I will have the knowledge you need."
"Thank you." said the young man, still snickering inwardly. "It's about the usefulness of those highly illogical fortifications now that there's no Orb. Surely you will have to do something to correct that."
"Oh, we've some plans already, meant to correct that in time", sir Leighbar answered. He and Ariakan began to descend the gloomy corridors of the Dragon Trap, and there the voice of the Solamnic Knight resounded with a hollow echo. The ex Dragon soldier shivered for a moment, unable to explain how those spurts of dry dragon blood in the walls produced such a sudden effect of oppression in his heart. "After all, there's no hurry, for we're at peace now."
"What?" Ariakan's eyes could do nothing but widen with surprise, even if he could not really say that the euphoria of the majority of the Knights was unknown to him. So much for Thomas and his ramblings. "And what if Highlord Uth Matar decided to attack you tomorrow? "
"The Dark Lady?" The Knight laughed. "I think she's more intelligent than that. She has lost, her forces aren't comparable to ours and she knows that. Besides, the Tower of the High Clerist will never fall as long as it's defended by men of faith, or so the legend goes. She must know that too."
She does. After all, her father was a Solamnic, Ariakan thought to himself, though, of course, he did not say it. Instead, he preferred to arch his eyebrows in his most well-known expression, and bit his lip to find a completely different kind of words.
"Well, I suppose that a prisoner cannot voice his opinions about the better defence of the place where he's being kept, and I for sure won't be the one to deny your unconquerable faith. Yet, this issue of the fortifications bothers me, and I would suggest to find a solution immediately, before it was too late. Imagine an attack now, while you're all celebrating the peace...the women, the children. Kitiara is an old acquaintance of mine, and I know she's far capable of doing that."
Ariakan stopped dead, fearing he had said too much. To his utmost surprise, though, he found that the Knight was looking at him affectionately for the first time since they had met, and that he actually nodded with a serious smile.
"I do not think you know a lot about political issues and treaties, lad, yet I see that your worry comes from your heart", he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. " Once you have learned what you still have to come to know, once you're older, I will be one of those that won't mind that you're a prisoner when it comes to listen to you."
"Oh, come on, sir Leighbar!" Ariakan sighed as he got away from the hand of the elder man. "I wouldn't give my trust so easily."
"If you meant evil, you wouldn't say that, right?"
The young man smiled then, surprised. " Well... I suppose not."
Or yes, he thought for himself when they continued their walk, shaking his head in a nearly imperceptible move. It was always that what guided them; honour, confidence, oaths, est Sularis oth Mithas and the rest. Their weakness, unknown by the Highlords of the Dragonarmies.
Their strength.
"Er...and, sir... how many men of faith are required to defend this Tower?"
(to be continued)