*****

 

Four years passed as though they were seconds. I was known as a favorite of the Superior Master, so many fine women wanted to become mine. I chose a spouse quickly, and we had two strong sons and one daughter before the end of the fourth year. When my fourth year ended, I had finished training six others in the combat techniques that Gilthanas had shown me. In addition, the Superior Master and others who had returned from the mainland spent many hours telling us what it was like there, and I narrowed down Gilthanas's potential destinations. One of us would travel toward the city of Flotsam on the Blood Bay, one to Kurmost on the shores of an elven forest, two would travel to the distant city of Palanthas, and six of us would journey to city of Kalaman, for it was there that Gilthanas and his love once lived. Maybe the silver dragon was still there, and maybe we would need great numbers to slay her.

Some dark nights, as I lay in my woman's arms, I wondered if it was right to kill Gilthanas, particularly since he had succeeded in opening my mind to an entire world beyond Elian and showed me some of the combat arts of his people. While I had shown him some of our martial arts in return, he will not have had years to practice countermeasures to them as we had done.

In the end, it came down to my duty to the Superior Master, the safety of my people, and the future tales of my sacrifice that my children would tell. However, did I really want glory so badly that I was willing to kill a wonderful being such as Gilthanas for it?

 

The Eternal Moment, 28sc

I eventually arrived at the only decision I could. As the light flashed off the steel of our blades, a thought about whether he had ever found even a hint of his lost love flashed into my mind.

I would never know. At the end of this moment, the blood of one or both of us would be spilled upon the dusty ground. This moment that could barely be qualified as an instant, yet which could possibly last forever for one or both us, would be one of finality one way or the other.

 

Dragon's Graveyard, 23sc

 

The mist parted and Gilthanas found himself under a moonlit sky, looking up at a rim of dark, forbidding cliffs. The boat was nosing into a small cove, and gentle waves broke upon a fringe of sugar-white sand.

Though his mind tried to accept the facts as explained by the Superior Master on Claren Elian, his emotions found it impossible to believe that five years had passed since he had embarked from that eastern realm with Silvara's name on his lips. It had been a full ten years since he had discovered this boat on Icewall Glacier and had first set sail in pursuit of his beloved Silvara.

But now, perhaps, that quest was coming to an end. He had set the boat on a search for Silvara as he left the Elian Wilds. Now the elf stood in the hull, watching the beach as the boat glided forward, nudging gently into the soft sand. He climbed over the prow and took a moment to ensure that the craft was firmly beached—though he reminded himself that, whatever happened here, he was finished with it.

Then he looked to the land, taking in the lofty semicircle of cliff that rose directly from the fringe of sand to soar high into the night sky. The face of the stone was smooth and, in the darkness, almost featureless. If a path, ravine, or sloping ledge led upward, he could see no sign of such a route. Perhaps daylight would reveal something useful.

Until then, he decided he would examine the length of the beach. In fact, the night sky was very bright, with a full moon casting brilliant moonlight. That white orb now appeared to be at zenith.

He paused, turning his eyes skyward and studying the white circle with fresh curiosity. It struck him as a very odd coincidence that, after a journey of hundreds of miles, coursing around the long coast of a continent, he should arrive at his destination underneath a full moon—and with that moon apparently at the summit of its climb through the skies. His interest quickened as, beyond the white, he saw a slender crescent of shadow pass across the face. The moon was being eclipsed by Krynn.

This alignment confirmed his guess: His presence here, now, could not possibly be a coincidence.

"The Dragon's Graveyard appears only when the moon is eclipsed by the world."

Gilthanas, startled by the deep voice behind him, looked in the direction of the sound. He saw a narrow gap in the face of the cliff, but the rock walls closed in overhead and concealed the niche in full shadow. Then he gasped as a brown metallic head emerged, followed by a serpentine neck of the same bronzed color.

"A dragon!" he gasped, his head pounding. "Then it's true—this is a place hallowed by your kind, by the dans of Good dragons."

"Indeed it is," murmured the serpent, slithering forward so that much of its gleaming body emerged from the narrow crack. This was a bronze dragon now scowling unhappily before Gilthanas. The wyrm crouched, catlike, with its head looming directly over the prone elf. "So much so that we resent the intrusions of other, lesser folk. Explain yourself, elf... tell me why I should not kill you right now."

"I am not your enemy." Gilthanas slowly rose to his feet, gratified that the dragon pulled its jaws back slightly to give him room to stand. The serpent regarded him with dark, slitted eyes, and he couldn't help but remember Silvara. She is a metallic dragon too, a silver cousin to this bronze.

Yet there were differences, even more than similarities, between the two serpents. This was a male, with the thick brow ridge and broad snout of his gender. His voice was deep and menacing, utterly lacking the softness Gilthanas remembered in the speech of his beloved. And his manner, despite his slight withdrawal, remained menacing.

"I have come here seeking a silver dragon," Gilthanas said. "I want to know if she still lives... and if not, to mourn her."

"Perhaps a worthy quest," mused the serpent. "Though presumptuous of you to assume that you are a worthy mourner for one of my kin-dragons. Why do you seek to do this?"

"She and I. . . ." Gilthanas suddenly realized that he couldn't tell this bronze serpent the truth, at least not the whole truth. "We fought together during in the War of the Lance," he blurted. "She was a bold and beautiful flier, and together we slew many of the Dark Queen's wyrms."

"A great hero, you must be," said the wyrm mockingly. Yet for the first time Gilthanas heard uncertainty in that voice. It occurred to him that this was a much younger dragon than Silvara—though his tail remained out of sight, he was no more than half as long as his former consort.

"Is this beach the Dragon's Graveyard," Gilthanas asked. He saw no sign of tombs, or any other monuments or remains. "Have I come to the right place?"

"The graveyard lies not on the beach itself; however, you are at the right place, at the right time," replied the wyrm. "You will not be allowed within ... the graveyard lies beneath the sea, and only a Good dragon may go there."

Gilthanas shook his head, more and more frustrated. "Do you know Silvara, Sister of Heart?" he asked boldly. "Can you tell me if her bones lie in the graveyard?"

"Silvara!" replied the serpent, all but gasping. His eyes narrowed, and he lowered the crocodilian jaws to regard the elf coldly. The next words tumbled forth in a sneer. "She is indeed a heroine of our metallic clans ... and she has not been here. So far as I know, she has vanished."

Gilthanas felt the hope flowing from his body and forced himself to resist the urge to slump in dejection. He would not reveal weakness in front of this wyrm. "How ... how do you know?" he demanded. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I am Sterellus, guardian of the graveyard. And I have been posted here these many years, holding this place proof against the monster dragons that have recently claimed lands to the north and south of here."

"Monster wyrms?" Gilthanas remembered the stories of the great red dragon, Malystryx, who had menaced the eastern portion of Ansalon, and of the other Evil dragons that had started taking other territories. He shuddered at the thought that, during the years of his voyage, even more of these horrendous overlords had claimed parts of the land. "What dragons? Where are they?" he pressed.

"There is Red Fenalysten in the deserts to the south ... and Black Mohrlex, who makes his home in Nordmaar's swamp. And finally, closest to us here, there is the mighty Green Lorrinar, who has sought to remake the Woods of Lahue. Any one of them would seize the treasures here, if he could but discover this place and best our guardian."

"That is, you?" asked Gilthanas. "Forgive me, Sterellus, but I have heard of these overlords . . . that they are true monsters, greater by far than any mortal dragon. How is it that you could stop one of them, should he come here?"

The bronze snorted, and for a moment Gilthanas wondered if he had gone too far. Still, he held firm, masking his misgivings with an expression of bland curiosity.

"I would meet them in ambush," snarled the dragon, though not without that tremor in his voice. "Now, go away from here! I have never seen Silvara, not here, not anywhere! And I do not want to see you any more!"

The serpent backed into the notch in the cave, and Gilthanas strolled along, staying close to those metallic jaws. The nervousness in Sterellus was uncharacteristic of a dragon, and the elf's suspicions had been fanned into flame.

"Leave! Do you hear?" demanded the wyrm, lifting his head up high. Now the whole dragon, including the serpentine neck, had withdrawn into the crack in the cliff face.

Gilthanas drew his sword in a lightning gesture. He cracked the flat of the blade against those jaws, then stepped forward to hold the enchanted weapon against the joint where the neck met the bronze breast.

"I think you're lying," he said conversationally. "And I will leave—but not until you tell me the truth."

"Ouch!" cried the dragon, trying to twist away. But the cave was too narrow, and the sharp blade held him pressed against a cold stone wall, with no room to wiggle.

"You're right... I'm not here to guard this place! I'm too young, too small, too weak!"

"You are!" agreed Gilthanas, pressing harder. "Tell me more!"

"I'm dying!" squawked the bronze, with such passion that the elf eased up his pressure and stared at the slitted eyes in shock. There was a misty film over those pupils, a rasp to the breath that came from the great nostrils.

"I can see that.. . I'm sorry," said the elf.

"It is a pernicious disease resistant to magic ... it has been eating away my insides for too long, now. Some of the elders claim that I was born with this illness and that it's a part of me. I have been waiting here, for the right time."

"And while you were waiting here you saw Silvara, didn't you?" Gilthanas demanded. "Was she here?" He lowered his blade, but kept his gaze on those huge eyes.

"Yes, yes she was! I tried to keep her here, to have her keep me company until I died ... but said she had a place to go, and she flew away!"

"Then she lives?" Gilthanas pressed, his heart soaring even as his weapon pressed forward aggressively. "How long ago was this?"

"Years, many winters!" blurted Sterellus. "I don't know how long ago!"

"Where did she go?"

"She told me that she wanted to see a friend ... a creature she knew who lived on a lofty mountaintop."

"Who? Where was this?"

"I don't know!" insisted the bronze dragon.

Abruptly Sterellus stiffened, his eyelids closing as if he had entered some sort of trance. Gilthanas pressed the blade harder into the supple neck, but this time he drew no further reaction. The bronze dragon's attention was directed elsewhere. A low, tuneless sound emerged from the great jaws, and the prince realized that the creature was singing a mournful song.

Slowly, carefully, the elf backed away. He cast a glance over his shoulder and was astonished to see the waters slowly receding to left and right, revealing a shimmering pathway along the floor of the bay. In the distance, half concealed by foaming froth, he saw objects of bright silver and long skeletons of white bone.

Then Sterellus was moving. The bronze dragon padded out of his crack and crossed the beach, starting along the pathway that led to the Dragon's Graveyard. Gilthanas took a step after, but water spilled toward him in gentle waves that lapped with enough menace that he knew this place wasn't for him.

The dragon moved farther along the road toward his grave, and Gilthanas looked along the shore. Silvara had been here and had left to go to a high mountain. Where?

He couldn't know, but he did know something about this coast. Kalaman was not far from here—Kalaman, the city where he had been honored as lord, had been revered as governor for so many years. He had friends there, and they were wise people, with access to maps and libraries.

In that instant he made up his mind. He would go there, seek what help he could find and try to discern where this mountain might be. He cast one look at the enchanted boat and knew that he would leave it here. It might take him months to reach Kalaman, but that was all... and with Silvara before him his quest had taken on new urgency. No longer could he afford a five-year interval while he traveled with magical ease.

He looked again along the path leading into the sea. Those were bones there, white skeletal remains of mighty creatures. Silver and gold glittered among the remains, and here and there he saw signs of other objects—a marble statue here, there an array of chalices adorned with glittering diamonds. That was a magical place—a sacred place. And Sterellus was right, Gilthanas knew ... it was a place of dragons. He had no business there and could feel only relief at the knowledge that his beloved Silvara had not ventured into it.

He slid his sword back into its scabbard and took a last look at the shimmering roadway. Sterellus was in there, his life waning, ultimately finished. Gilthanas turned his back and started to walk, no longer willing to waste time.

He had a treasured love to reclaim.

 

They Also Serve: Kalaman 23sc

 

From the journal of Sir Migel Aurrafil,

Chief Advisor to Tierrel Rychner, Lord of Kalaman

23rd day of Fleurgreen, 23sc — Spring is nearly over. That has never meant much here in Kalaman—our climate varies so little from season to season—but it does mark the passage of time. Summer once brought joy and festivities to the city. The common folk were apt to gambol across the commons simply for the joy of being alive. But no longer.

Now, the spineless fools are afraid to walk the streets at midday. Ships still sail into our harbor, and commerce still pumps life-sustaining steel into our economy, but only just barely. The sailors remain aboard their ships, not daring to wander into the heart of town (not that it would do them any good to do so, anyway). The city is but a shadow of its once great self.

A shadow? Even in my despair, a hint of my renowned humor shows through.

The cause of all this misery is the shadow that has fallen over Kalaman—indeed across all of Nightlund. Who feels safe in a city thrown into perpetual twilight? No one! The sun never sets on Kalaman—but neither does it ever rise. It simply hangs there, just below the horizon, painting the sky blood red. From the moment the gods left, we have been the butt of their final joke. They may have deemed this the "Age of Mortals," but the gods made sure to leave their mark indelibly on all our lives.

And yet the rabble is so starved for someone to look to in their hour of need that the people continue to pray to Paladine, Mishakal, and the other departed gods—the very gods who inflicted this curse upon them. What the people need is a hero—a flesh-and-blood figure—who can banish the fear from their minds. If Lord Rychner had a greater rapport with the masses, we would have turned the fortunes of the city around by now.

Sadly, though he is a man of impeccable taste and breeding, Lord Rychner will never be a man of the people. This puts the people in a very delicate situation. We need a leader—a hero to the bedraggled commoners—but it must be someone who poses no threat to Lord Rychner's position— and my own job. For months, I have struggled with this issue.

Today, the neatest solution possible walked right up to the palace and knocked on the front doors.

Imagine our surprise when the royal trumpets blared to herald the arrival of the former governor of Kalaman, Gilthanas of Qualinesti! Here is a man the people loved! The brother of the Golden General who freed the city from the Blue Dragonarmy, he led the defense against further attacks and stood as a symbol of freedom. I wager that if, for some reason, you were to walk into ten different pubs throughout the city, you'd find that nine of them either have a tapestry bearing Gilthanas's image, a favorite song of his exploits, or a traditional toast to his health wherever he may be.

Gilthanas led Kalaman out of its worst years and into a golden age. If anyone can rouse the imagination and enthusiasm of the simple folk, it is he. As an elf, Gilthanas does not appear to have aged a day, unlike the people of the city. Gilthanas is a walking symbol of all that once was great about Kalaman and yet may be great again. All I have to discover is whether or not he desires to return to his former post—and if he does, whether he has an opening for a senior advisor. I owe Lord Rychner a great deal, but I owe myself even more.

 

From the diary of Lady Jennetta Aurrafil

10 Holmswelt 23sc—Migel is such a boor. I haven't the faintest clue why I married him. No, that's not true. I really had no choice. When you're the last daughter of the last daughter in a long line of last daughters, you cannot afford to reject a proposal from the likes of Migel Aurrafil. Still, when he courted me, he was a completely different man, throwing money at the most frivolous things just to make me smile. People still talk about how he convinced Lord Rychner to hold a special ball just so that he could propose to me in front of the city's finest families. I fancied that he was the most wonderfully romantic man in all the world.

After ten years of marriage, though, and after an endless series of coteries and galas, I have discovered this truth: A man possessing money and influence can also possess a complete lack of wit, grace, and tenderness. I can think of no better proof of this than my own Migel.

All those extravagances and the public courtship were merely to increase his own reputation. The fact I was the benefactor of them held practically no weight in his eyes. That he wooed the daughter of a peasant and successfully introduced her to polite society only proved he was a man who knew the hearts of "the common folk," cementing his position as Lord Rychner's chief advisor. I am merely one of the cobblestones used to pave his path to power.

Tonight, I suffered through yet another tedious formal affair, one carefully calculated, no doubt, to provide my dear husband with more influence in the affairs of state. Still, there was a distinct difference in the air tonight, and it manifested itself with the arrival of the guest of honor—ex-Governor Gilthanas. The room practically silenced as all present bent an ear to eavesdrop on his conversation.

Gilthanas is a well-spoken man and very pleasing to the eye. I remember my mother telling me about seeing him address the populace after the forces of Evil were driven from the city once and for all. Her recollections did not half-capture the feeling of facing him in person. I'm certain that every man in the room was piqued with envy as the women nattered about his style and grace.

Every man, that is, but Migel. He stayed so close to Gilthanas that one might think them joined at the hip. I'm not sure what my husband has in mind, except that whatever it is will increase his stature in the palace. I do know that Gilthanas cannot discern the whole of it; a man as noble as that would have no part in Migel's petty power plays.

I hope Gilthanas decides to remain in Kalaman for a time. The city would be a significantly better place if he could bestow even a smattering of his integrity and honor upon our so-called leaders.

 

Sir Migel's Journal

17th day of Paleswelt, 23sc—Things could not proceed more perfectly. In the three months since Gilthanas's return, we have seen a marked and continued increase in the morale of commoner and gentry alike. And once it became clear Gilthanas had no intention of remaining in Kalaman very long (thus posing no threat to the political status quo), his natural charm beguiled even the nobles. When I asked him about his family in Qualinesti, he mentioned briefly that he intended to see them again, but when pressed, also stated that he had no intention of taking his nephew's place on the throne. Although this hadn't been a fear of mine, I find it heartening to know that he doesn't wish to rule elsewhere when we need him so much here.

However, I, for one, am saddened by his disinterest in regaining his post. Just think of what I could do as chief advisor to this great man! Still, it is important I take advantage of his presence now, for Gilthanas seems eager to depart.

Just this afternoon, I found him poring over maps and charts in the palace library. As I asked him where he planned to go next, hoping to glean some insight into his motives, I noticed he had drawings of several far-flung regions sitting open before him. He made some polite, noncommittal reply, but I discerned he did not know where his travels would take him. Something, or someone, was leading him on a merry chase and so far has eluded even his keen senses.

If I am right, and his quarry, whoever or whatever it may be, is beyond his sight, then I may have a trump card to play. But does Gilthanas chase a person or a treasure? Whatever it is must be incalculably valuable, for he refuses to discuss it with anyone in the palace. In order to know how best to handle the situation, though, I must have a better understanding of his circumstances.

I believe I have just taken steps that will provide me the information I require.

As Gilthanas asked me questions regarding the maps in the library, I feigned complete ignorance (after all, why furnish him with answers when he is not forthcoming to my own inquiries?). I did, however, tell him of Jennetta's passion for cartography. He will, no doubt, seek her counsel and, in the process, open his heart to her (she seems to breed that sort of confidence in everyone she meets). In an effort to aid him, she certainly will pass information to her husband that Gilthanas might never entrust to me.

As always, my wife proves useful in ways that a more genteel woman never would. Her coarser talents provide me with resources and insights that any other man in my position couldn't possibly match. Her common heritage is at once a blessing on my reputation and an excuse for any breach of protocol I am forced to make. The ultimate irony lies in the fact that Jennetta feels she needs me more than I do her. She would, I believe, leave me in an instant if she perceived how heavily I rely upon her; my reputation and career would shatter were that to happen. Thankfully, she cannot see beyond her own fears of poverty.

On another subject, I must admit that I find it troublesome that some agency out there wishes to destroy our hopes for a brighter future. This very day some fellows in dark, loose-fitting garb confronted Gilthanas within the palace. Thankfully, his skill with his blade and the support of the palace guards prevented him from falling to these unknown men. Gilthanas himself hasn't the least idea of who these fellows are or why they would want to kill him. I fully intend to find out who is behind this.

 

Lady Jennetta's Diary

12 Reapember 23sc—Gilthanas sought me out again today. (I have finally grown used to referring to him by name rather than "Your Grace" or some other formal title.) He is quite exhilarated by the plans he and Migel have drawn up. And to think, they never would have arrived at this solution were it not for me.

When Gilthanas first came to me, I was almost overawed by being alone with him. After all, it is not every day that a simple cartographer's daughter gets a private audience with a man of legend. It was only when he explained that he came to me because of my family's occupation that I calmed enough to enjoy his company. If any good came from growing up in that cramped shop, being able to aid Gilthanas is certainly it.

He began by questioning me about faraway places like the Isle of Sancrist, the hills surrounding Palanthas, and even the fabled Dragon Isles. At first, I could discern no rhyme or reason to his interests, but slowly it dawned on me—they were all places that have mountains where silver dragons have been known to congregate. I further surmised that he must be looking for his former lieutenant (and, if palace rumors are to be believed, paramour), Silvara. Although she most often appeared in the from of a wild elf, whenever the dragonarmies attempted to retake the city, she resumed her natural shape—that of a silver dragon. Shortly after the war, the Artist's Guild decorated their hall with a grand mosaic of Gilthanas riding into battle on Silvara's back.

Though I was loath to pry into his personal matters, once it became obvious that I suspected the truth, Gilthanas insisted on telling me the tale of how he and Silvara parted. A tear still comes to my eye as I reflect on it. Why is it that we can only recognize the important moments in our lives when we view them in memory? Gilthanas's heart will not be whole again until he finds Silvara—yet he has only the vaguest clue where to search.

Together, we have fixed upon a dozen sites that seem likely places Silvara might have gone. They are spread across the entire continent and beyond. It would obviously take Gilthanas years to visit them all. Meanwhile, Silvara might move along to anywhere else she pleases—perhaps even across one of the great seas. The matter seemed hopeless.

One night, I could bear the sorrow no longer. In Wretched tears, I came to Migel, the only source of solace available, and surprisingly, he actually comforted me and attentively listened to all I had to say.

When I finished, instead of berating me for being an emotional fool, he held me close and soothed me. Stroking my head with his palm. "Everything will be all right," he promised. And so, it seems, it will be.

Migel spoke with Gilthanas the next day. He convinced him that such a quest would take a lifetime (even for an elf) and still might bear no fruit. Instead, my husband offered to speak to Lord Rychner on Gilthanas's behalf. Kalaman was in a state of peace. Surely the lord would spare a half-dozen of his swiftest riders to scour the land to search for news of Lady Silvara. They could cover the entire continent in less than a year, and should their efforts prove fruitless, more riders could embark immediately to cover six more paths. If they met with success, Gilthanas would know exactly where to go without wasting years on futile journeys.

I have never been more proud of my husband than the day he convinced Lord Rychner to support this plan. And I have never seen a happier soul than Gilthanas when he heard the news.

For the past several weeks, Gilthanas and I have pored over my grandfather's maps daily, plotting out the six best courses for the riders to follow. I believe we are nearly through.

Paladine, if you can yet hear our prayers, I beg you to grant whatever blessings you can to this endeavor. No soul I have ever met deserves happiness more than Gilthanas.

 

Sir Migel's Journal

8th day of Gildember, 23sc—If ever there has been a more perfect plan than this, I know nothing of it. I not only have secured an increase in the prosperity of the city as a whole, but I also have made myself indispensable to both Lord Rychner and Governor Gilthanas. My Lord cannot do without me, for I am the one who knows how to keep Gilthanas from leaving the city. The governor, on the other hand, relies upon me to keep him updated on the progress of our continent-wide search for his former consort.

Gilthanas has agreed to accept his former title for as long as he remains in Kalaman. We told him, not untruthfully, that it would elate the masses to hear about the decision. After all, in every appearance his return brings back the golden years. Gilthanas may not be able to dispel the eternal twilight that grips the city, but he has worked every other sort of miracle the people could hope for.

At the governor's behest, the open-air market once again fills the streets with produce, baked goods, and all manner of handicrafts. Market days are only three times a week (as opposed to the daily affair they were in years past), but before Gilthanas's return, there hadn't been a market day in nearly five years.

The governor himself wanders the market each day, greeting everyone he meets with a firm handshake and a civil nod of his head. And he always makes it a point to buy one or two items from the stalls, even if the palace larders are full. "The only way to raise confidence is to act confident," he has told me on several occasions. At his insistence all members of the palace staff must spend at least an hour a week walking the market, and he strongly encourages us to make at least one purchase.

As a result of the market days, other shops in the town square have not only reopened, but also are doing business unlike any they've known for years. More and more trade ships consider Kalaman a necessary stop, and their sailors come into the city rather than staying on their ships at night. Inns throughout town again have more full rooms than empty ones, and the Vingaard Brewery cannot produce its dark, viscous ale fast enough to meet demand.

Kalaman very well may soon regain its position as the trade port second only to Palanthas. And given the fact that Palanthas is now under the sway of both the Knights of Takhisis and the Great Blue, Skie, many traders may find it more profitable to move their cargo through our fair dry. And it is all thanks to me.

Would it be too much to think that one day I might hold an office of my own? Lord Mayor, perhaps? That is not too much to ask for bringing life and prosperity back to an entire city. All I have to do to ensure my success is keep Gilthanas in Kalaman, and that is accomplished easily enough. Additionally, although no progress has been made on discovering who would send assassins after him, I feel that since no further attempts have been made on his life, Gilthanas no longer has anything to fear from that unknown aggressor.

Keeping him here is easily enough done. After all, I have kept him this long on nothing more than a promise and a prayer. I see no reason why this situation cannot be maintained indefinitely.

 

Lady Jennetta's Diary

3 Frostkolt 24sc—What a false friend I am! Gilthanas came to me today, and though he is as stoic as anyone I've ever met, he confided in me that his heart begins to despair of ever seeing Silvara again. I listened with rapt attention, cooed where I ought, and advised him to be patient. "These things take time," I said. "She has had nearly two decades to sequester herself. You can't expect to locate her in just a few short months."

He smiled and patted my hand. "Of course you are correct" he said and smiled gamely. It was all I could do to smile back. How can I live with this terrible secret? And what kind of friend am I if I do not share it with Gilthanas?

Last night, I came to Migel's study to inquire as to any items he might require from next week's first market day. When I arrived, though, he was engaged in conversation with Rika, that detestable toady he calls a clerk. Rather than barge in on their discussion, I resolved to wait silently by the door and enter only when there came a break in the discourse. It was never my intention to eavesdrop, but when I heard Gilthanas's name mentioned, my curiosity got the better of me. To my utter dismay, they were talking about what lies they could fabricate to make Gilthanas believe that the search for Silvara was proceeding smoothly.

"We must give him something solid—a sighting or a merchant who met Silvara along his travels," Rika intoned as he paced back and forth across the library. Migel, seated behind his reading desk, watched him with a scowl.

"Sit down!" my husband ordered, then returned to the issue at hand. "It must not be solid enough to cause him to leave. If the elf thought that someone had recently seen his dragon wench, he would be on his way there before the words finished echoing in the grand hall. No." And here he stroked his chin in a manner that sent a chill through my entire body. "If it must be a rumor, then it must be an old one. An innkeeper who saw Silvara three years ago."

"Yes!" Rika said fidgeting in the seat he'd taken. "She stopped in Palanthas on her way to who-knows-where."

Migel waved his hand dismissively. "Palanthas is too large a city. I think Throtl would be a more useful locale. A person could be going anywhere from that goblin-infested hole, particularly if that person was really a silver dragon."

With that, both Migel and Rika began to laugh in the most malicious manner. I was quite taken aback and must have gasped out loud, for my husband rushed to the library door and threw it open, catching me in the bright light of the reading lamps.

"How long were you standing here?" he demanded, holding me firmly by the wrist. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know that you are a detestable villain." I'd never spoken to Migel in such a tone. He released his grip on my arm. "Enough so that when I share it with Gilthanas, he will see you for the liar that you are. He will leave Kalaman as quickly as he can, and you will be left to explain why."

My husband smiled cruelly at me.

"And what happens then?" He turned and strolled casually back to his seat at the desk. "When Gilthanas leaves what will happen to our city? Do you think the market will remain open without our great governor here to instill the simple folk with confidence? Of course not. Kalaman will plunge immediately back into the dark and frightened times we faced until six months ago. Gilthanas is the only one holding this renaissance together."

"What of it?" I asked. "He owes us nothing. Rather, it is we who owe everything to Gilthanas. Is this how we show our thanks? By lying to him about his one true love? By making a mockery of the only thing that matters to him?"

"All we are doing, my dear wife, is creating hope in his breast so that he will remain patient while we find his love. It does no one any good to have our much beloved governor running off to chase shadows and rumors across the country-side. No, all we are doing is giving him faith that he and Silvara will one day be reunited. As long as they end up together, does it really matter that Gilthanas's faith is placed in a lie?"

I couldn't tell right from wrong anymore. Damn Migel and his artful words.

"Is it kinder to keep Gilthanas in Kalaman, where he can ease the suffering of the entire population, than to let him run hither and yon on a search that might never end?"

I could not answer.

"I suggest you think about that, my dear, before you condemn both the governor and the entire city to what is likely to be decades more of darkness and confusion."

So I held my tongue when Gilthanas and I met. And though I still cannot answer whether telling him the truth is the correct course of action, I'm not certain how long I can perpetuate Migel's half-truths.

 

Sir Migel's Journal

28th day of Brookgreen, 24sc—I am surrounded by buffoons! Sailors already provide Gilthanas with too many rumors of places Silvara may be without my own incompetent staff presenting him with ones of their own creation. I swear, I would kill Rika this very instant if I did not think that any replacement I found would be twice as inept.

This morning, I found my fool clerk regaling the governor with a preposterous tale about a silver dragon protecting Goldmoon and her mystics on the Isle of Schallsea. Thankfully, the dragon in the story was a male, and so Gilthanas paid it no heed.

To make matters worse, one of my riders returned to Kalaman today. He and the others have been living high on the hog in Ohme for the past six months, toasting every sunrise and sunset. It seems they have run through the satchel of steel I gave them quicker than anticipated. There are coins to spare in the treasury these days, so that is no obstacle.

My problem is that word has gotten about that my man has arrived. Gilthanas already has demanded an audience with the rider, and it was all I could do to convince him to delay until the man had time to rest. Now I have spent the entire afternoon coaching the sod on what to say—exactly which lies we have told the governor and what specific answers to give to specific questions. I can only pray this simple man does not fall to pieces in the presence of "the hero of the people." (If I had known how troublesome that title would be, I'd never have suggested it. Gilthanas now seems to have an almost arcane power over the common folk—they can hardly speak clearly in his presence, let alone think.)

To make matters worse, the rider brings with him news of a sighting of the governor's dragon maid. Apparently, Silvara has been seen flying around a particular spire in the Astivar Mountains. The rider says the place is called the Peak of Clouds, and legend tells that it is home to a wise and benevolent kyrie hermit. Whether or not such a bird-man lives there does not concern me at all. However, it is imperative Gilthanas not find out about this rumor.

Matters here in Kalaman are at a critical juncture. If we can increase outgoing trade by another four ships a week, we can add another pier to our waterfront. And that will in turn bring more merchant ships to the harbor. We stand at the verge of fulfilling all my dreams for our city. I cannot allow the governor's romantic interests to jeopardize Kalaman's future—my future!

 

Lady Jennetta's Diary

1 Yurthgreen 24sc—I am a cowardly, faithless woman, and I deserve all the shame I've brought upon myself. For the past ten months, I have done nothing but lie to a man with a heart as noble and a spirit as pure as any I've ever encountered. I believed my husband, a man I know to be of scandalous honor, and accepted his word that when actual news of Silvara arrived, he would pass it immediately on to Governor Gilthanas. Somehow, I trusted that when a choice was to be made between personal comfort and moral responsibility, my own Migel would choose the righteous path.

What a fool I am.

I have made a point of staying within a discreet distance of my husband whenever he entertains members of his staff. Oh, I played the dutiful hostess and feigned bored disinterest, but in truth, I listened carefully to every word searching for some hint of deception. That hint came last night.

The tedious Rika, after one glass of wine more than his usual limit, made a passing comment about the rider who visited the palace last week. That toady said something to the effect of, "He took his truth back to Ohme."

Migel cast upon the toady such a withering gaze that Rika immediately commented on how late the evening had gotten and showed himself to the door. For my part, I, pretending to notice nothing amiss, bid Rika's vanishing form a fond good evening, then commented on how odd my husband's clerk was behaving. This seemed to satisfy Migel that Rika's slip of the tongue had eluded me.

The next day, while Migel was in court advising Lord Rychner on the matter of proposed construction along the waterfront, I re-entered his library and found his personal journal. Oh, what a fetid tangle of intrigue and lies I found therein, the very worst of which was the matter concerning Governor Gilthanas.

Migel finds this matter too important to leave to chance, and so do I. I have no doubt that Gilthanas saw through my husband's courtly politics, but I fear he did not know how rotten Migel is at the core—that is, until I brought the journal to the governor's quarters.

I was unsure as to how Gilthanas would react. Would he throw down the tome, quickly gather his belongings, and leave the city by the most opportune method available? Perhaps he would grab his sword and stalk over to the council chambers to exact revenge on Migel. (I was likewise uncertain as to whether or not I would perform my wifely duty of begging the governor to spare my husband's life.)

What he did, however, took me completely by surprise.

Governor Gilthanas, upon reading that his own true love, Silvara, had been spotted at the Peak of Clouds, kissed my hand in a most elegant manner.

"Dear Jennetta, you have saved me. While others in Kalaman only muddied the waters of my mind, you have been a spring of truth, light, and honor. I have not the words to thank you, but I hope that you will find some measure of satisfaction that it was your kindness that allowed me to find my heart. Do not let the scoundrels in this palace ever question your integrity or sincerity."

And with that, he was gone.

Despite the governor's words, though, I know that I have been an unfaithful wife. I've broken every rule of conduct Migel taught me when he took me from my family and brought me into this world of courtly delight. I no longer deserve this life of privilege.

And so I too have packed my belongings and prepare to leave the city. I've not touched one of the jewel-encrusted necklaces or golden earrings. Those belong to Migel, and even before I was a lady, I was never a thief. No, I take only the clothes on my back (a cotton shirt and tweed trousers that Migel never allowed me to wear) and my grandfather's maps. Perhaps I'll walk some of the roads he sketched, presuming they're still passable.

This diary, as well as Migel's journal, I will leave with a bookseller I know in the market. I fear my husband was right when he said that without Gilthanas, Kalaman will return to the days of cowering in the twilight, fearing what may lurk in the shadows. If that is the city's future, so be it. The citizens cannot rely on some shining hero to banish the darkness from their lives. Most heroes, I've come to suspect, are more like Migel than Gilthanas. And the more power we give them over our lives, the more there truly is to fear in the gathering darkness.

 

The Peak of Clouds, 25sc

 

"Now, working with the element of rock ... that's the next lesson... at least I think it is ... isn't it? What is that form of magic called, anyway?"

"Geomancy?" Gilthanas answered helpfully, as he always did when his teacher's mind wandered.

"Precisely!" Keelak nodded his feathered head, bobbing his full body forward and back on his skinny legs. The kyrie puffed out his chest and stretched tall. "I see that I have taught you well."

"Of course you have," Gilthanas replied. "Have I not absorbed every lesson you have imparted to me?"

"I remember when you first climbed up here—twenty years ago, it was—and we started with lessons on aeromancy. It took you most of that time just to learn a spell that would move a little gust of wind."

Gilthanas cleared his throat in embarrassment, then spoke. "Actually, it was only a little more than a year ago when I first climbed to your peak." The prince couldn't help but make the correction. Certainly he was prepared for most of his pedagogue's little imaginings, but he would not allow himself to be remembered as a fool.

Even if, when he had first started his studies of the new magic, he had been as helpless as a babe trying to swim up a raging stream.

He recalled his arrival here at the Peak of Clouds ... of the sheer, obviously unclimbable mountain that had risen before him from the tangled heart of the Astivar Mountains. It had taken him two weeks to find the hidden passage near the base of the mountain, and even that had not been an easy route to the summit. Chilly and lightless, the secret way had wound through a maze of corridors and ascending shafts within the massif. He had wandered for many days, seeking only to work his way upward.

Dwarves lived there, and he had spent tense moments in a confrontation with the mountain dwellers. He learned that they were masters of the undermountain, but cared little for the upper reaches—and nothing at all for the exterior of the summit. At length they had given him leave to pass.

And finally he had emerged here, on the cloud-wrapped summit. Keelak had greeted him as though he had been expecting him—later, the elf realized that the absent-minded kyrie had simply thought that he recognized Gilthanas from a series of lessons he'd been conducting in his mind.

But within that mind, which sometimes seemed as fog-shrouded as the mountaintop, there lurked a brilliant sense of intuition and an instinctive understanding of the changes that had been wrought in the world with the arrival of the Age of Mortals. Keelak had longed to share this knowledge, and so he had demanded that Gilthanas become his pupil.

At first the elven wanderer had refused, intending only to learn what the ancient kyrie knew of Silvara before continuing on his way. The creature revealed that he had in fact known Silvara and that she had departed from here for a destination she had made known to the kyrie. But Keelak, despite his apparent senility, had been shrewd enough to negotiate a deal: Only after Gilthanas studied his teachings, and learned enough of the new magic to master three schools of sorcery would he impart this information.

Now, thirteen months later, Gilthanas willingly admitted that the kyrie had proven to be an adept teacher. While he might not have remembered what he ate for breakfast, he seemed to understand the way that stone and air, fire and water were linked to the powers lurking within a mortal heart. He had shown the elf how to harness those forces and use the power in a way that was much like the magic of old.

During that time, it seemed to Gilthanas as though the world had shrunk around him. Nine days out of ten the aptly named Peak of Clouds was encased in murk so thick that the kyrie and the elf might have been enclosed in a walled room. They conducted their studies and their lives on the flat plateau of the mountaintop—a circle the size of a large playing field. A narrow passageway descended to a series of caverns where the two sought refuge during the rare intervals of bad weather, but for the most part Gilthanas and Keelak had lived outside.

On the rare days when the clouds blew away and the extent of the Astivar Mountains was revealed as a dazzling vista, Gilthanas never tired of drinking in the view. The mountain range was green and lush, vibrant with water and life, and often draped with decorative tendrils of mist that swathed the lower valleys.

To east and west were more dire panoramas, however. In the direction of the rising sun he could see as far as the fetid swamp of the black dragon overlord called Mohrlex. Several times the elf had seen that monstrous form, like a great shadow of impossible proportions, sweep through the sky over his realm, or wallow and cavort in one of the shallow ponds. In the other direction lay the sprawling, thick forest enhanced for the reclusive dragon, Lorrinar. He had never observed the great green master of that realm, but Keelak assured him that the serpent existed and that he was a ruthless overlord.

Though the kyrie lived simply, these were days of comfort and pleasure for the elven prince. He found the challenge of using his mind a refreshing process, and he showed a remarkable adeptness in learning the ways of the new magic. He could mold air into a variety of shapes, call up—or tame—the wind, and even weave spells or gain information merely by concentrating his efforts. He had mastered three schools—divination, enchantment, and aeromancy—but lately he had been growing restless, and he knew that soon it would be time to ask the kyrie to fulfill his end of the bargain.

That chance was propelled by outside circumstances, as Gilthanas was attempting to convince Keelak that he had, in fact, only been here for little more than year.

The first of the black-clad figures appeared on their plateau with a suddenness that froze Gilthanas in place. Two more of the masked intruders quickly popped into view, while the first launched himself across the mountaintop with a rush. All were fully concealed but wore loose clothes that gave them freedom of movement. Each wielded a longsword in one hand and a short, narrow dagger in the other.

Fortunately, Gilthanas had never abandoned the habit of wearing his sword when he was thus exposed. He drew the weapon and met the other's slashing attack with a quick parry. Cold, dark eyes glared at him through a slit in the mask, and then the mysterious attacker spun away and, in the same gesture, threw a sharp dagger straight at Gilthanas's heart.

The steel sword whipped past and the knife clattered away—and now the elf knew the tactics, recognized that these intruders were trained assassins similar to the ones that had attacked him in Kalaman. Who they were and who had sent them were questions he forced aside for the moment. Abandoning any thought of mercy, he charged and stabbed the knife-thrower through the chest.

But the other two were rushing forward. His gangly, feathered arms flapping, Keelak hopped forward, screeching at the assassins to halt. Gilthanas groaned as one of the figures slashed the gentle kyrie across his face and chest. Keelak tumbled to the ground.

Another attacker whirled closer, and the elf struck him down. But his own thrust left him vulnerable, and he recoiled suddenly with a sensation of burning pain across his cheek.

He was cut! His first thought was that he had lost an eye, and his vision swam with red. He struck unerringly, however, and the last of the assassins bled his life onto the stone cold mountaintop. Gilthanas clapped a hand to his face, feeling the bloody cut, but finding that his eye remained whole.

In moments Gilthanas was kneeling beside the stricken Keelak. The elf shuddered in horror as he saw the deep gash and the blood welling into a wide pool. He thought that the kyrie was already dead, but then the wounded face twitched and one eye cracking open.

"Good pupil, you were ..." croaked the dying creature. "You deserve your True Heart ... your silver one. Seek her among the gnomes ... in their tower by the sea ..."

And the kyrie said no more.

 

A Moment in Time: The Assassin's Path

 

A sharp, well-forged blade in the hands of an expert swordsman can cut the flesh without the person feeling anything—until the blood starts spilling over the skin. It was just such a blow I struck against Gilthanas, the first elf I had ever met.

Or did I?

We had lunged at each other, each of us deflecting each other's blow at the last moment, our swords ringing. We both kept our balance and whirled away from each other, slashing as we went.

But did I strike him?

It would take a moment for the brain to realize the body was dying. And some moments can last forever.

 

Following the Path, 25sc

Some days seem like years. That is how the days felt while I was traveling with a white-haired elf who called herself Stalker. I rarely saw her face—she kept the hood of her cloak drawn at all times, much like the Emissary did back on Elian. Also like the Emissary, she kept herself wrapped in layers of cloth that kept her sex and race ambiguous—and her array of poisoned blades hidden—to all but the keenest of observers. Her expert talent at voice mimicry made it even more difficult to discern what sex she was when first dealing with her. It wasn't until she disrobed in an effort to seduce me on our second night traveling together that I was even certain she was female.

I ended up traveling with Stalker after becoming an unwilling guest of Khellendros, the mighty blue dragon who rules the sandy lands of Ansalon's northwest. After explaining to the Dark Knights who detained me in Palanthas that I was an Elian agent of the Red, I was taken to a cave not far from the city. Here, I met their fearsome master. It was the first time I had been in the presence of a dragon, and it took all my strength of will not to just whirl and flee even before he spoke, so strong was the sense of menace and dread that surrounded him.

When Khellendros spoke, it was with a deep voice that was surprisingly rich and comforting, not at all the hissing, reptilian sound that I would have expected. Further, his Elian was as perfect as that spoken by any native of my island. He said that he had an interest in Gilthanas as well; he cared naught for the silver dragon, but he wanted the elf captured and imprisoned within his dungeons. When I restated that my mission, and that of my brethren, was to slay Gilthanas, Khellendros asked, "Does it matter to Malystryx whether Gilthanas is dead or imprisoned?"

I replied that it probably didn't. The Emissary's main concern seemed to be the silver dragon. There was no question that we were to slay the silver dragon, should we encounter her. The Emissary had made that clear during the years we waited for Gilthanas to emerge from his magical passage.

The dragon responded, "My main concern is that Gilthanas and his old comrades in arms caused me many difficulties half a century ago. I do not want to see those difficulties arise again, so I want him neutralized—unlike the others, he is not old and feeble. If the Golden General wasn't preoccupied in her homeland, I would be taking similar steps to have her dealt with as well."

I pointed out that if he was dead, Gilthanas would never pose a problem again. Although the dragon agreed that I made a compelling case, he asked mat I trust in his experience with Gilthanas and in the wisdom of the ages that he— both the elf and the dragon—represented. "We are both far wiser and cunning than you could ever hope to become Solov, despite the fact that you are highly intelligent."

We discussed the matter further, and we eventually agreed to imprison Gilthanas in Khellendros's dungeons since this option was just as good as having him dead. I made it clear, however, that I was not skilled at subterfuge nor was I at all talented in taking foes alive. The dragon bared his fangs in what I suppose passes for a smile among his kind and said, "I suspected as much. That is why I have chosen to provide you with an ally."

Stalker stepped from the deepest shadow in the cave already wrapped in her many cloaks. She did not speak Elian, but she spoke the tongue of elves and of the Solamnians—languages I had mastered to some extent with the aid of the Superior Master.

"If you find yourself incapable of taking Gilthanas alive," Khellendros said, "Stalker can do so. None in my service are as adept as Stalker in directing victims into traps ... even if the traps are somewhat overmuch at times."

"But they work," came the soft voice from within the shadows of the hood.

Khellendros had a report that Gilthanas was in Kalaman. When I mentioned that some of my brethren had traveled to that region, he stated that the local lords were supporting Gilthanas and that my fellow Masters had been killed in battle with palace guards. He restated the need for more elaborate tactics like those practiced by Stalker. I considered the wisdom of his words and took Stalker as my temporary ally.

If anyone demonstrates why women should not be warriors, it is Stalker. Never mind their duty to their men and society at large to bear children so that someone can carry on the bloodline and retell the tales of their fathers' deeds, but they act entirely too capriciously for their own good. First, after I rejected her on our second night together and explained that I was devoted to the woman I had at home, she laughed at me for not taking advantages when they were offered to me. "Life's supposed to be fun," she said. "Besides, women are more than brood mares for you men. When you start seeing what is truly around you, you'll find that we have a lot more to offer than just children."

As we journeyed, her behavior grew even more tiresome than it had been when we started. She would take care to point out other women who bore weapons, sometimes urging me to spar with them. I always refused. No woman could stand up to my expert combat maneuvers. Stalker always shrugged and said that my "overweening pride and ability to underestimate possible foes" would prove to be my downfall or that my "blindness" would lead me to an early grave.

When we had the luxury of an inn to stay in, she would often find an engaging companion and leave me to my own devices. Usually I sat in front of the common room's fire and watched its dancing flames, thinking of home or of the mission. Sometimes I went up to my private room and practiced combat maneuvers in an attempt to keep from thinking of what I'd left behind. One thing I noted, though, was that when we left the inn, Stalker's companion was discreet enough not to make an appearance. I silently thanked these men for not bowing to her own "overweening pride."

During one of her trysts at a campsite, however, curiosity got the best of me. I crept after her and a companion who she'd found traveling on the road that day, following them to the edge of a stream, where I discovered the depths of depravity that makes up Stalker's soul. As both she and her companion seemed lost in the passion of the moment, she grabbed a dagger from their discarded clothing and drove it into his eye without warning. I retreated from this scene after that, for she didn't stop with his death. I had to wonder what kind of monster the dragon had saddled me with.

As our travels continued, I kept a careful eye on Stalker, trying to determine if she used any pattern to select her victims. I came to realize that she killed only the ones who responded crassly to her advances; she merely robbed the others and left them tied to a nearby tree ... although the ropes were usually so poorly tied that I suspect the victim worked himself free within a few hours. I admit that on one level I feel as though she was doing the world a favor. Any man too weak to resist her temptations would probably just spawn another weakling.

When I asked her about it, Stalker defined these acts as keeping life "fun" and keeping her spirits high, and she became very annoyed when I expressed disapproval. I have to admit that I found her to be a far more palatable companion after a night of "fun," as she seemed cheerful after it and would appear quite interested in intellectual pursuits. For hours, she would engage me in philosophical discourse about the definitions of "fun" and "honor" and "right" and "wrong."

All of these irritations seem like nothing compared to the last one, however. We had entered Nightlund several days before, crossing the Vingaard River and moving into the unnatural pall that hung over all of this country. It rained steadily as we traveled eastward. The roads turned into streams of mud, slowing our progress.

As we trudged along the road, she became very aggressive in her assertion that murdering men was perfectly acceptable because it made her happy—especially in these dreary surroundings. Although I felt an urge to argue this point with my weapons instead of words, I reminded myself that she was the servant of one of the Red's allies and restrained myself.

As we started to get tired, we were lucky enough to come within view of a run-down inn. Stalker suggested that we spend the "night" in dry and comfortable surroundings. "Clean sheets will go a long way to making me more cheerful about life in general, even if there's never a sun in the sky around here."

I made Stalker promise that if we stayed at the inn, she would not kill any of the other patrons or staff. She swore that she wouldn't.

The name of the inn was "A Knight's Rest." It was run by a family who all had big ears and looked as sickly as the vegetation of the shadow-drenched landscape around us. Few guests had arrived, so securing rooms was easy.

Stalker insisted that we enjoy a decent meal together after stowing our gear and changing into dry clothes. While we sat in the common room eating the bland food that I had found typical of most regions I'd visited across Ansalon, the word "Gilthanas" drifted toward us from the bar-counter. We looked in that direction as one and saw a human woman in mud-spattered boots and trousers. The innkeeper's wife was hanging her sodden cloak next to the fireplace, while the woman pulled maps from a leather satchel and opened them on the counter. Stalker rose to her feet and sauntered toward her, pulling back her hood. I followed. As Stalker walked, her posture seemed to change—as it always did when she was about to fool a victim into trusting her. I found the way she could change her bearing and personality in the space of a moment remarkable.

The woman pointed to one of her maps, saying, "This road and that road are wiped out, Will. And that one ... that one you can pretty much write off as well. From what I've heard, there's some sort of nest of walking dead near the bridge."

The innkeeper cursed. "Between the dragons, the undead, and the damn shadow that's been hanging over the land, there's not going to be any travelers left anymore!"

Stalker said, "Pardon me for interrupting, but we overheard you mention the name 'Gilthanas.' We happen to be looking for an elf-prince named Gilthanas. We were led to believe at the last inn that he is currently residing in Kalaman. If you know of him, can you tell us whether he is still in the city?"

She regarded us with suspicion. "Are you friends of his?"

"My friend here is a former adventuring companion of Gilthanas's. And me . .. well, many years ago, I gave my heart to him, and he gave me his. We'd given him up for dead, so naturally I—"

"Are you Silvara?" The woman suddenly looked very excited. Stalker didn't laugh, but I have no doubt that she was having a difficult time containing herself when she leaned closer to the woman and answered in the affirmative. The woman started to excitedly dig through her maps. "Oh, to think I would meet both you and Gilthanas! My husband treated him most ill, your ladyship, he—"

"Please," Stalker said softly, brushing her white hair from her eyes. "We Good dragons do not stand on ceremony. Just call me Silvara."

"Us meeting here makes me wonder if the gods of Good might not be watching over us after all."

Stalker took her hands into hers, looked into her eyes, and said in an earnest tone, "They do, my friend. The gods aren't gone. They are just testing us. And if we remain strong, they will return."

Stalker made many other soothing noises and told many other lies, and when she was done, not only did we have a complete account of Gilthanas's activities during his year in Kalaman but we also had news of his destination. Further, she gave us the only map she possessed of the area around the Woods of Lahue for our journey to the Peak of Clouds. When she left, she seemed to walk on air. I told Stalker that she had been cruel to the poor woman.

Stalker replied with a grin, "I gave her hope. How can that be cruel?"

I said that they were all lies.

"Those 'lies' got us what we needed," she noted impatiently. "Now get off your moral high horse and start thinking about what we should do next." Without waiting, she continued, "I'm now wondering if those reports we heard of a silver dragon heading west out of Nightlund might have been true. If Gilthanas is looking for Silvara, she's probably also looking for him, hoping for the kind of sappy, lovey-dovey reunion that makes right-thinking people sick to their stomachs. I think this woman might be wrong in her belief that Gilthanas was going east. After all, he came from the east."

I pointed out that her logic was flawed, as he had arrived by boat and may have disembarked at any point along the coast, which puts his direction of travel in question. She scowled at me and said, "I don't believe in logic. Logic has never done me any good. I think we should head west."

I said I had no intention of going back in the direction we just came from.

"Look, even if Gilthanas is still in this area, if we go back west, we can set a trap for him, nice and close to Khellendros's strongholds. Along the way, I can drop some references that might make him think Silvara went that way ... after all, if I could make that silly woman think I was Silvara without even trying, just imagine what I could do if I made a serious go at impersonating her? I could lead him right into our arms!"

I told her that I didn't think the kind of cat-and-mouse games that she so enjoyed were appropriate when hunting one such as Gilthanas. I said I wanted to confront him in an honorable fashion and then give him the chance to surrender to her or be killed by me.

"Where's the fun in that?" she asked. "Don't you get any pleasure out of toying with your prey? If you ask me, that's half the fun ... letting your prey come to you, and then letting it 'escape,' if there's time for that."

"No," I replied. "That is not how we conduct ourselves. Masters of Ranks kill our quarries, swiftly and as simply as possible. Death is no game."

"Everything's a game, my too-serious friend. If you don't learn to play, you'll find yourself regretting all the fun you passed up." She sighed and stretched. "You know, I think I'm starting to realize that you and I don't exactly make a good team. Our masters may have common interests, but we just aren't working out. Why don't we try it this way: I'll head back westward in case that woman was wrong, and you go east through the green dragon's domain to see if he really did go looking for that magical mountain."

I pointed out that she was supposed to help capture Gilthanas in case I found him. I also pointed out that she was supposed to work with me if she found him first.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said. She searched through the many layers of her clothing. She drew forth a golden ring with a bright red stone and threw it on the table. In rattled across the boards and came to rest between my hands. "This ring's part of a matched set. They'll let us summon each other. You'll wear one, I'll wear the other, and whichever of us finds Gilthanas first rubs the stone. The other stone will then turn bright blue. That person then twists the stone, and he or she will be transported to the vicinity of where the other one knows Gilthanas to be. All you or I have to do is concentrate on wanting to find him... and then the one who got the message will be where the sender was thinking about!"

She couldn't explain anything else about how the rings worked—"It's magic! What do you want from me?!"—and so I took the ring and we parted ways.

At least I was rid of her. And even if she found Gilthanas first, I believed she would be honorable enough to contact me via the rings. Similarly, I believed her honorable enough not to betray me by giving me a cursed magical item. I believed that our service to masters who were allies would be enough to keep her madness in check.

I would then be there in a moment, and then the quest would be over.

 

Winston's Tower, 26sc

 

How long had he been wandering the wilds of Ansalon? Gilthanas no longer knew, nor cared. Instead, he allowed himself a moment of elation as he craned his neck and studied the lofty expanse of the tall, narrow structure rising from the coast. The ship pitched and rolled beneath his feet as the captain worked her into the rough waters along the Karthay shore, but the elf had eyes only for his destination. He was fascinated by the elaborate image atop the spire, like shining glass facets that formed a sort of rosebud. The ship's captain informed him that the object had once been a lighthouse beacon, but that it had not worked during the man's lifetime on the sea.

A dozen clues had brought the elven prince to this tower built as a fortress to ancient Istar, and now, a monument to gnome technology. His latest information had suggested that Silvara had come here, and he had doggedly followed her trail, even to the point of booking passage from the mainland. As payment, he had used the platinum coins he had found on the bodies of the assassins who had slain Keelak and attempted to kill Gilthanas himself. Unfortunately, his search of the bodies hadn't yielded any information regarding the source of their mission. That was a mystery that the elf had vowed to address eventually.

A stone wharf extended into the sea from the base of the cliff below the tower. The captain ordered a boat lowered, and the crew rowed close enough that Gilthanas could leap to the dock. With a few surreptitious glances, the sailors rowed back to their ship, which hastened to put on canvas and get away from this place. The elf could only chuckle as he made his way up the stairs carved into the cliff face. He was here, and perhaps he would find answers within this towering edifice.

His elation passed quickly as he began to consider the problem of entering and searching the tower. The dark face that he had first assumed was stone now looked to be smooth metal, without even the joints that might have made scaling a stone wall at least a possibility. A ramp curled around the base of the tower, leading past several open, beckoning doorways, but the prince decided to make a little more cautious approach.

Halfway around the tower he found another irregularity in the wall: a series of stone steps rising to a small platform against the base of the structure. They looked like the stairs leading to a typical entryway, except he could see no door. He climbed to the space and examined the wall closely for any sign of a seam or break. The only thing he could discover was a small silver button extending perhaps a finger's width from the wall. Otherwise, he found no sign of any break or any mark in the metal plate that would have indicated a door.

Gilthanas, like most inhabitants of Krynn, knew a little of gnomes. "Tinkers," they were called, and they had a legendary fascination with invention. The development of a complicated machine was the typical life's goal of any gnome worth his or her weight in salt. Occasionally these machines worked, usually in some way not anticipated by the inventor. Quite often, the machine proved deadly to its designer and to anyone else who happened to come within reach of its claws, gears, levers, wheels, and so forth.

Thus, Gilthanas regarded that silver button in the wall with a certain amount of trepidation. He knocked on the wall, determining from the sound that it was in fact metal, and it seemed to be quite thick. He pushed and prodded along the surface as far as he could reach, even drawing his sword and tapping over his head, to no avail. In the end, his lack of patience led him to the inescapable conclusion: He had to press the button.

He placed his thumb on the silver circle and pushed. The button glided into the wall with smooth ease, though he felt some sort of mechanism engage on the other side. For two long, long heartbeats, nothing happened.

And then Gilthanas was pressed flat, crumpling against the surface under his feet. In a split second he realized that the platform was rising at tremendous speed—that acceleration pressed him down. He was lifted dozens of feet up the face of the tower and then, abruptly, the platform snapped to a halt.

The elf, of course, kept rising, catapulted high into the air by the forceful lift. His stomach lurched and his senses whirled, but he had the presence of mind to look upward. At the top of the tower, he saw a platform extend, and he immediately deduced that this was a landing that should have caught him on his way down, after he had been lifted past it. However, it had clearly emerged too early, and the elf smashed into the bottom of the platform's surface with numbing force.

Only his quick wits saved his life. Anticipating the impact, he had lifted his arms over his head to cushion the blow to his skull and kicked his legs out to either side. One foot flailed through a gap in the girder supporting the platform, and then he was hanging upside down, his knee crooked through the opening while the world spun dizzily more than a hundred feet below.

Immediately some sort of machine cranked into motion, pulling the platform back toward the rim of the tower. The girders folded, and Gilthanas perceived that, in a few seconds, his leg would be pinched or perhaps even severed at the knee between massive steel beams. With a desperate lurch, he pulled himself around, catching the edge of the metal rod with his hands and extricating his foot from the rapidly shrinking gap. As the girders folded together, he flung himself forward and sprawled onto the top of the tower, watching in amazement as the platform settled to become merely a part of the flat floor.

"That went well," he murmured to himself, rising to his feet, dusting himself off, and checking for broken bones. His head hurt, his leg was chafed, and his fingers were cramped from the strain of supporting his weight, but nothing seemed permanently damaged. The great light loomed above him, and he passed several deadly looking devices that might have been weapons of bombardment. He didn't touch any of them.

He found a trapdoor leading through the top of the tower and gingerly lifted it, relieved to find that no machines were involved. A short ladder led him to the metallic floor of a round room, which seemed to occupy the full circle of the tower's diameter. Bright light emerged from several panels along the walls, fully illuminating the place.

Immediately he caught the scent of death. Looking around, he saw several doors and a few dead gnomes sprawled on the floor before one of them. There were various tables and shelves with strange mechanisms upon them in here. One in particular caught his eye: It was a massive assemblage of gears and pulleys attached to a spear. It had apparently worked, for impaled on the spear was the body of another dead gnome—no doubt the intrepid inventor himself.

The elf felt his spirits sinking. How was he going to learn anything here if all the gnomes were dead? Still, he had only started to explore the tower.

He went to one of the doors unblocked by corpses, and opened it to reveal a long shaft with a chain circling over a pulley mounted in the roof. As soon as he had pulled the portal wide, the chain started clinking, and a quick downward look showed him that some sort of compartment was rising toward him. Common sense told him to slam the door and run, but some perverse curiosity held him in place. The approaching cage slowed, finally coming to a gentle stop perfectly in line with the floor of the room.

Within that cage, not surprisingly, were several dead gnomes in various stages of decomposition. Recognizing this as some sort of lift, Gilthanas had seen enough—he would try to find an old-fashioned stairway. When he closed the door, his intuition was rewarded as he heard the chain whip through the pulley with unfettered speed. A second later he heard the cage crash into the floor far, far below.

Further search revealed a dark stairwell behind another door, and the elf slowly began to descend. His eyes were attuned to minimal light, but even so, he found it hard to make out any details in here. Lower and lower he crept, pausing to open an occasional door and carefully explore chambers beyond. He found the remains of many gnomes, as well as odd bits of machinery, but nothing that indicated anyone was alive. Always he went back to the stairs, still making his way downward.

He estimated that he was nearing the bottom of the tower when he heard a faint cry, the sound echoing through the hollow metal. "Hello?" he called. "Is someone there?"

"Help!" The cry was repeated, urgently. "But be careful."

"I'm coming!"

He moved as quickly as he could, calling out again, hearing the responses in a male voice that, though weak, was clearly invigorated by hope.

Finally, he stood before a silver door, with a series of buttons down the right side of the frame. The voice seemed to be coming from within.

"Who's in there? Are you hurt?" Gilthanas asked.

"My name is Lethagas ... and I'm not hurt, at least not any more. I've been in here for years—it's been that long since I've heard a living voice! Please, get me out!"

"I'll try," Gilthanas promised, though he looked askance at the array of buttons. "Do you know which button I should push?"

"Don't push any of them!" The voice came back, so shrill with panic that Gilthanas jumped back from the silver door. "That is, can you try just pushing on the door?"

He did, and surprisingly enough the portal swung easily open to reveal a spacious room of metal walls illuminated by the same white brightness he had noticed above. With a sob of joy, the prisoner called Lethagas stumbled forward, hastily interposing his body between the silver door and its frame.

"It wasn't locked?" Gilthanas said in amazement, at the same time seeing the golden hair and slender, pointed ears of a fellow elf.

"No, but it fit so smoothly into the wall that there was no way to pry it open from the inside."

"You've been in there for years? How did you survive?"

Mutely, Lethagas pointed at a series of nozzles along the far wall. As the two elves watched, one of these spewed a narrow stream of water, which splashed on the floor and then flowed through a grate just below. The next nozzle then dropped a few plops of green goo, which also dribbled through the grate.

"Automatic food and water," Leth replied, tautly. "Fiendish, isn't it?"

"More likely accidental," Gilthanas said. "How did you come to be here?" he asked, guiding Lethagas out of the tower.

"I was on an adventure with two friends ... we were looking for a machine that would help us defend Qualinost. We thought there would be good profit in it, so we flew here on griffins that have always been loyal to my family. One of my friends died atop the tower, pierced by some kind of spear-machine. The other one got tangled in some gears—I saw him mangled before my eyes."

"And you... ?"

"I was just looking for a place to rest. I stepped into this room, the door closed behind me, and then I spent several years here until you came along. I owe you my thanks—not to mention my sanit, and my life."

"Glad I could help," Gilthanas said. "But what is it about Qualinesti that it needs defenses?"

"The Dark Knights and the Speaker of the Sun are still at odds, to be sure, but new threats are taking shape. Sooner or later one of the Great Dragons is certain to lay claim to our forests."

Many more questions came to Gilthanas, but he didn't get the chance to ask them.

"But what's your story, friend?" Leth asked. "Not to mention, how did you survive this far?"

He was about to answer when both elves became aware of two voices, clearly bickering, and coming closer.

"Put a lock on the door, I said ... I said it would work better with a lock, but no! You had to be right, again!" The speaker was a male, but his tone was high-pitched and almost frantic with irritation.

"It would have worked!" insisted the other, in an even higher, apparently female, voice. "But who said they could open it from the outside! That's not even fair!"

A moment later, two gnomes strolled into view, coming up the stairs that Gilthanas had been descending. They were short and plump, barely waist high to the elves. Each was dressed in a gown of blue and had long gray hair. The male also displayed a beard of the same color that descended all the way to the floor.

"I say," remarked the bearded one, ignoring Gilthanas to squint up at Lethagas. "Would you mind stepping back into the Perpetual Prison? Our experiment is far from over."

"I would mind, very much!" snapped the elf, his long-fingered hands curling into fists.

"There's no need to be huffy!" retorted the female gnome sharply. "After all, you've been our guest for five and a half years now. Haven't we fed you every day?"

Leth blanched. "Five and a half years?" he croaked, sagging against the wall.

But the gnomes weren't listening. "Technically, the machine fed him, not us," the male was reminding his partner. "After all, what's the point of a Perpetual Prison if one has to tend the prisoner? Who would still be a prisoner if you would have just let me put a lock on the door!"

"Never mind that! It still worked and will work again—or my name is not Drussilandahooperdaughterasticrellicre—"

"Enough!" snapped Gilthanas, remembering another thing about gnomes: When one started to say his—or her— name, the recitation had to be stopped immediately. Otherwise, it could take several days. "The point is, you have no right to hold this elf prisoner!"

"Why, the very idea!" sniffed Drussi. "Have you no respect for science? For knowledge, or invention, or discovery? You're both ignorant savages!"

"I'll show you savagery," growled Lethagas, stepping forward, clearly ready to wring a gnome's neck. He continued to mutter, "Imprisoning me in a cell for years ... feeding me with foul slime ... leaving your fellow gnomes to rot on the floor around us...."

Gilthanas placed a calming hand on the younger elf's shoulder. "Perhaps we can talk a bit," he said to the gnomes. "Are there more of your people here?"

"There were lots," chirped the male. "There've been a few accidents, though."

"And there'll be more, you old fool!" snorted Drussi. "As if you could do anything right, Spudderapakoosongrandsonfatherianricktillation-"

"How about we just call you 'Spudder?'" Gilthanas interjected. "Now, do I take it you are the only two gnomes left here?"

"For now," admitted Spudder.

"I came here on a quest," the elf continued. "I'm seeking a dragon of silver, and I learned that she was coming to help gnomes in a tower. I think she came here. Did you see her?"

"Silvara?" asked Drussi. "Of course we did!"

"How long ago?" Gilthanas's heart quickened, and he scarcely breathed as he waited for her answer.

"Not long ... a few years, at the most."

"But she was here! Where did she go? Did you talk to her?"

"Only to tell her we didn't need any help. She got kind of huffy, and then she left."

"To where?" cried Gilthanas, feeling his hopes slipping away.

"She wouldn't tell us—or rather, we didn't ask," said Drussi. "Now, if you'll forgive us, we've got work to do ..."

"Not so fast!" Lethagas declared. "First, you'll see that we can get out of here!"

Gilthanas was sagging with defeat, barely listening to the debate as the other elf finally persuaded the two gnomes to see them out of the tower. Drussi and Spudder led them down the stairs until they reached a cavernous room that was apparently underneath the base of the tower.

"My griffins?" Leth asked. "Have you seen them?"

"They're still out there, flying around. Probably waiting for you," Drussi sniffed. "How do we get out?" he asked.

Spudder pointed to a large machine: a wheeled mechanism with a studded drill mounted on the front. "This is our digger. It will take you through the wall."

"You have to dig your way out?" Gilthanas asked in disbelief.

"Us? No! You're the ones who want to leave!"

"Do you have any rope?" he pressed. "I think I'd rather take my chances climbing down from the tower or going out the door."

"If you insist," muttered Spudder, adding an epithet for 'coward' under his breath. The elves ignored the taunt and convinced the gnomes to climb with them to the top of the tower. Although both gnomes insisted the lift worked just fine, going up at least, the elves preferred to trust their feet.

Finally, they stood beneath the trapdoor, each elf wrapped in a heavy coil of rope. Remembering that this portal had been the one part of the tower unblemished by any sort of machine, Gilthanas reached upward to push the door open.

"Wait!" gasped Drussi, too late.

A blade slashed out of the ceiling, slicing down to gash Gilthanas's hand as he snapped it back.

He cursed and clapped a hand over the wound. "A second later and I'd have lost my hand."

"We have a trap to protect the door!" insisted Drussi.

"Most traps try to keep people from coming into a place," growled the elf. He looked at the cut, which did not seem very deep. "Still, there was no real harm done."

"Not yet," said Spudder, shaking his head. "But wait until the poison takes effect...."

 

Opportunities: Valley of Crystal, 26sc

 

From Linsha Majere's Personal Journal

9th day of Reapember, 26sc

I am Linsha Majere, Knight of Solamnia. I am the daughter of Palin Majere, the man who brought sorcery back to the world when mages thought it lost. I am the granddaughter of Caramon Majere, one of the heroes who prevented the Dark Queen from claiming dominion over Krynn during the War of the Lance. I am a Rose Knight, the guardian of two thousand years of tradition. These legacies intimidate me some days, and in my darkest moments I fear I will never live up to them, particularly in light of how I have been called to serve the Orders of the Knighthood.

I serve under Lady Knight Karine Thasally in a clandestine circle in the city of Sanction. Like all other Knights there, I live a lie, but it is a lie I am uncomfortable with. I want to bring honor to my family name as my parents and grandparents did before me. It is not enough to have become the first woman not of Solamnia to be admitted to the Order of the Rose. I want to show I am worthy of my family name, and some days I want it so bad, it hurts. On those days, I am willing to do almost anything and take any chances that don't violate the Measure or endanger the security of my hidden circle. After all, if I spend all my time in service playing the role of a foul-mouthed alley-basher of loose morals named Lynn of Gateway, the chance to live up to the legacy of the Majeres may never present itself. Of course, such a preoccupation with personal glory is in conflict with the Measure, but it's very difficult for me not to succumb to the feeling that serving just isn't enough.

And that's why I've started this journal. It isn't so biographers can someday "get the story right," as my grandfather so frequently says when lamenting that none of his now-famous friends kept consistent journals (and that now hundreds of bards are telling their life stories in as many different ways). No, I am keeping this journal in the hopes that it will find its way into the library of Castle Uth Wistan. But, rather than serving as a record of my great deeds—although I hope to have some of those to record as well, if Lady Karine doesn't find I have violated the Measure so grossly that she casts me out of the Knighthood—the purpose of this journal will be to record my mistakes. It is my hope that as I write of them and reflect upon them, I also will learn from them, and that other young Knights may learn as well. Maybe they will avoid making the same errors I have.

Then again, maybe not. Everyone's been in situations after which they look back and realize they were too cocky or just willfully ignorant of the facts staring them in the face all along. Sometimes we do it because of love, sometimes we do it because of ambition, and sometimes we do it out of inexperience.

I should feel blessed I made it this far and experienced only one such situation. I should feel doubly blessed that I still live so that I can learn from the past and never make the mistake again, whether it was borne of ambition or inexperience. Certainly, love was furthest from any possible motivation I might have had to do what I did, consciously or subconsciously.

It occurs to me that the very purpose of this journal may go against the Measure. Is it too prideful of me to assume that someday a young initiate as I once was might read these words and thus be warned about the folly of overconfidence? No, I don't think so. After all, I got the idea from Gilthanas of Qualinesti, one of the celebrated Heroes of the Lance. Despite what many believe, he was still alive as of the very morning I started this journal. In fact, his words inspired me to start it, and it was his words that made me realize that even when things seem the darkest, there is always hope.

The events that led me to where I am now—sitting by a stream several days' ride north of Sanction while my horse Windcatcher waters herself and I wait for my wounds to heal—started a little over three weeks ago at the Broken Horn, a tavern in the city of Sanction. Unlike many other Sanction taverns, though, the mood at the Broken Horn was generally a friendly one, in some ways not unlike the inn my grandparents run in the Abanasinian tree town of Solace. That night, things were particularly friendly. I was playing dice with several other regulars, and we were exchanging good-natured barbs—mine being the most crude, because that's what everyone expects of Lynn—and I think the general cordial atmosphere probably contributed to my lapse in judgment.

I had just cleared twelve silver off the table when Lonar entered the pub. Ever since I first met him, I'd felt there was something different about Lonar. He was more handsome than the average scum dwelling in Sanction, and I'd seen him conduct himself with honor on more than one occasion. Once, he stepped into a fight involving a minotaur and a boy barely big enough to lift his own sword—and then took the child back to the village he'd come from. Sanction was not the place for kids in search of adventure. Many others would have saved the boy and then sold him into slavery.

I'd enjoyed several conversations with Lonar about topics ranging from which nation produces the best blades to whether there is any link between the arrival of the Great Dragons and the final departure of the gods, and even more esoteric philosophical topics ... although in the latter type of conversations, I always guarded myself. Lynn isn't exactly known as a scholar, and if I was to start discussing things from the point of view of the ideals held either by the Knights of Solamnia or by Goldmoon's mystics, I feared I would raise suspicions. So, I instead just used a series of bastardized Khurrish arguments about Fate and a chosen champion that would drive Evil from the land. Whenever Lonar would push me on my ideas, I'd resort to insults rather than reason or admitting my theories were unsound. I felt awful having to pass myself off as so unknowledgeable in philosophy and so ignorant of even the basest standards of intellectual discourse, but I had appearances to think about.

Still, I wanted Lonar to like me at least, so I tried not to be too offensive. He seemed like a decent man, and he was well read and knowledgeable. I also thought he had a nice smile. The only fault I could see in him was that he was one of Hogan Bight's top men . . . and I found this a fault only because part of me wanted him to be better than that. His service to the shady, mysterious lord of Sanction also guaranteed that whatever friendship we might forge would be forever based on false pretext. How could I ever reveal that, although I genuinely liked Lonar, I befriended him because my mission in Sanction was to discern the goals and motivations of his master? I had on more than one occasion worried about whether deceiving someone I thought to be an upstanding person for my own ends was against the Measure. When I used the mystic abilities I was taught by Goldmoon to examine the nature of his soul and found that he was only slightly more tainted with Evil than my fellow Knights, those concerns grew even greater. Each time I considered them, though, I concluded that as long as I took steps to protect Lonar from physical harm (should the circle move against Bight on information I'd obtained from him), there was no dishonor in deceiving him.

At least no more dishonor than the lie I live in Sanction.

That night, Lonar had come to the Broken Horn for only one purpose. He paused just inside the doorway, scanning the packed common room. His eyes came to rest on me. He pushed his way through the crowd. "Can we talk, Lynn? Outside?"

"Sure," I replied. The other players scowled at me as I left the table. I gave them a sweet smile. "Sorry boys. I'll let you win your money back some other night."

As Lonar and I walked up the street, he said, "I hear you've been asking around for work that's a bit more respectable than the alley-bashing and gambling you've been doing."

I shrugged. "Maybe. So long as the pay's good."

"The pay's good. The pay comes from Lord Hogan."

My heart skipped a beat and my spirit soared. My effort to be friendly toward Lonar and to seem capable whenever he was around was paying off! I kept a calm facade, though. "Lord Hogan? What would Lord Hogan want with me?"

"Nothing, but I could use an extra sword on an expedition on his behalf. It'll take us through ogre territory. Would that be a problem?"

"I can outrun ogres," I said.

He grinned. "I'll pay you fifty steel coins right now. The balance depends on the outcome of our expedition. I'll provide food and fodder, but you need to provide your own horse. Still interested?"

"Definitely. Windcatcher needs some real exercise," I replied. "Plus, fifty steel is more money than I've gotten this month so far. What's the nature of the expedition?"

"I'll tell you once we're underway." He hesitated, looking me up and down, not lasciviously, but rather in an appraising fashion. "You're probably going to be the only woman in our group."

"You know what I do if someone gets grabby" I replied, patting the dagger on my belt. "But if they keep to themselves, I'll do the same."

Lonar flashed me a brilliant smile, one that made him appear even more handsome. He handed me a pouch of coins. "We leave at dawn. Wait at the mouth of the eastern pass."

After Lonar departed, I went to notify Lady Karine of my good fortune. She was the leader of the circle, so it was only right that I inform her of my imminent departure, but I was also hoping for some advice, for she is far more experienced than I am. She was not in, however, and her squire did not know where to reach her. After what I now know was too little consideration, I thought I could handle the situation without any advice from Lady Karine, and I felt confident that she wouldn't have forbade me to undertake this journey. I could think of no reason for Lonar to believe I was anything but what I appeared to be, and even if some sort of setup was in the making here, I had yet to encounter anyone in Sanction who was my equal with a sword. I felt that as long as I kept my guard up, I would be fine. So, I left a message with the squire and went back to my quarters to prepare and get a few hours sleep.

The following morning, Windcatcher and I were the first to arrive. Shortly, Lonar arrived with four other men, bringing our number to six. He also had two pack mules in tow. I only recognized one of the men, a lecher by the name of Kresh. Fortunately, as far as I went, Kresh always had been all talk and no action. He had seen what happened to men who tried to force themselves on me.

"Introduce yourselves if you wish," Lonar said. "As far as I'm concerned, all you need to know about each other is that you're all capable fighters who can hold your own in battle."

The four strangers made no attempts at pleasantries. Kresh looked me up and down, as if he could see straight through my armor and cloak. "Lynn and I already know each other," he said. "But who knows? Maybe we'll have a chance to get closer on the road."

"Careful, Kresh," I replied. "If you get closer than a sword's length, you might impale yourself."

One of the strangers, a man of swarthy complexion that revealed a Khurrish heritage, found this more amusing than I would have thought possible. After he finished guffawing, he said in heavily accented Solamnic, "I like a woman with spirit."

After avoiding Dark Knight patrols, we rode all day through the eastern pass from Sanction, stopping only twice to allow our steeds to rest. As we camped that first night, Lonar finally revealed our destination. "Some of you may have heard of the Valley of Crystal. That's where we're headed. We're going to fill the packs we empty of food with crystals and deliver them to Lord Hogan. Any questions?"

"Yeah," I said, "How is our balance going to be calculated?"

"You'll all get an equal share of ten percent of the value of the crystals we bring back, as appraised by Lord Hogan."

I shrugged. "Sounds fine."

The men thought so, too.

The next few days were uneventful, except for lewd comments and verbal sparring between Kresh and me and belly laughs from the Khur. Lonar spent some time quizzing me about my travels beyond Sanction, placing particular emphasis on the area around the New Sea and Schallsea. At the time, I didn't suspect that it was anything but conversation on his part. After all, he originally hailed from Caergoth, and I believed that he was trying to see if we perhaps had visited the same places. Now I know that he was thinking far more sinister thoughts.

We were traveling through a narrow pass two days away from the Valley of Crystal when the ambush occurred. Three Khurrish men stepped out from behind rocks. "Your money or your life!" one called out.

"'Your money or your life?!'" exclaimed the man who found Kresh and me amusing. "What manner of bandits say such foolishness?"

"Serious ones," replied the speaker. He barked a word in Khurrish, and three arrows cut down our jolly companion.

Lonar let out a roar and spurred his horse forward, drawing his sword. The three men in front of us reacted with surprise, having clearly assumed their demonstration would subdue us rather than enrage us. Still, they shot another volley of arrows. While an arrow felled one more of the strangers who had traveled with us, another tore harmlessly through my cloak as I kneed my horse away.

I spurred Windcatcher forward but leaped from her back onto a ledge on the side of the canyon. She was trained to gallop until clear of the battle area, then stop to await my return.

I scaled the wall swiftly, mentally thanking both my grandparents and the mystics at the Citadel of Light who had let me scamper like a monkey first through the trees of Solace and later up and down the cliffs of Schallsea. I reached the top where the archers were, finding that they were still focused on killing my companions down below. I slowly drew my sword and dagger. Then I cleared my throat.

One archer turned and I flung my dagger at him. It lodged in his neck, and he went down with a strangled cry as I closed on his four companions. They dropped their bows and drew the wickedly curved blades the Khurrish warriors are known.

I ducked under a wild swing by the lead warrior and, as we engaged, stabbed him in the belly. I withdrew my weapon swiftly, slashing another foe's leg before retreating out of sword range. He fell to the ground, screaming.

The last two Khurrish bandits attacked together, stabbing at me from the right and the left. I danced away from the swordsmen, drawing my second dagger as I did. I used it to block a swing from the left foe and used my sword to hack his head from his shoulders. The headless body spasmed as it fell.

The final warrior and I circled for a couple of moments. The screams of the man I had hobbled faded to moans and whimpers. My one remaining foe suddenly rushed me. I parried two of his blows, then he overextended himself with a lunge, and I dove toward his open side. My sword punched through his chainmail. He coughed up blood before falling limply to the hard, dusty ground.

The whimpers behind me suddenly went silent. I whirled to see Lonar standing there, his sword deep in the back of the Khur I had wounded. A bow and arrow lay in the Khur's still-twitching hands. "You left this one alive, alley cat. And he almost got you. Lonar to the rescue."

I set my face in a mocking expression and raised my sword in a salute. "Very gallant of you, Sir Knight, but I could have handled it."

He gave me an odd smile that I now know was born of suspicion. He said, "Based on that display, I'd say you're being wasted in Sanction. You should be leading the life of a sell-sword."

"Maybe you can put in a good word with Lord Hogan," I replied, wiping my sword on a dead enemy. He nodded, clapping me on the shoulder.

We climbed down into the canyon. The four strangers were all dead. Kresh saw this as a good thing—more for him and me to split at the end, and more mounts to carry our crystals. "Only if we don't run into more trouble," I said.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We spent a day burying the bodies. I struggled to hold my tongue as Kresh looted bodies. I looted one myself to keep up appearances, but as soon as I return to Sanction, I'm going to arrange to have the items sent to the Citadel of Light as a donation.

Late in the second day after the ambush, we spotted rays of colors dancing in the blue sky. I pointed them out, commenting on their beautiful and bizarre nature.

"Seen 'em," Kresh said. "Wasn't impressed the first time. Ain't impressed now."

"Those are reflections from the valley," Lonar said in a more conversational tone. "And while those lights may be pretty, they'd burn your eyes out if you were to enter the valley right now. We're going to camp near the entrance and go in only after sundown."

We reached the valley, and I saw a small sample of what Lonar meant. A narrow canyon led from our campsite to the Valley of Crystal, and in it danced sheets of colored light so bright that I saw spots for minutes after I looked at it. Lonar and Kresh both found that amusing.

The sun set as we established camp. While Kresh built a fire pit, Lonar and I went to the valley to gather the first batch of crystals. We took only saddlebags because, Lonar explained, the crystals were sharper than razors and would slice through less sturdy containers. Even in the moonlight, the valley was awash with colors, making it one of the most beautiful sights I had ever viewed. The crystals stretched for miles, covered in undulating waves of colors.

"This is amazing," I said, my breath stolen by awe.

We gathered crystals for about two hours, until each of us had filled two sets of saddlebags. By the end, nay leather gloves had been reduced to tatters, and I had several small cuts on my hands.

Back at camp, Kresh had built a large fire pit. I offered to water the horses. Kresh said there wasn't any water within fifty miles of the valley, so the horses would have to do with only a little until we were ready to leave.

"That's no good," I said. "The horses can't go too long without water."

"If we work hard, we may gather enough crystals to be on the way back tomorrow," Lonar said, retrieving a whetstone from his pack. "The horses will be fine for that long."

I agreed with him, but still spent some extra time on Windcatcher, talking to her and thoroughly brushing her down. When I rejoined Lonar and Kresh at the crackling blaze, I suggested that they should tend to their own horses. "It's bad enough we can't water them until we leave the valley. They'll serve you much better if you treat them right."

"Really?" Lonar said, cocking an eyebrow. "And where did an alley cat such as yourself learn that?"

"On the road. One of the men guarding the caravan I traveled with was a Khur. You know how they are with horses. They eat on them, sleep on them, and they know how to get the most out them. A horse that is brushed and rubbed down after a day's ride will outperform a horse that's been treated like a pair of wooden shoes and just left by the door."

Lonar stopped sharpening his sword. "You may be right, little alley cat," he said. He got to his feet and did that interesting little twirl with this sword he usually did just before sheathing it. Only this time he didn't. He just rested the blade against his right shoulder as he walked around the fire and behind me.

"I ain't rubbing down no horse," Kresh said. "That's not a job for a warrior. If you ask me, that's woman's work."

"Good thing I'm an alley cat," I said, taking a piece of dried meat for myself.

Lonar laughed behind me. "Sharp-tongued as ever, Lynn. I think we might have been friends you and I, under different circumstances."

Pain exploded in the back of my neck, as Lonar struck me with what must have been the pommel of his sword. I fell forward as the world seemed to go white. Before my vision cleared, my training as a Knight of Solamnia caused me to instinctively struggle to my knees and start drawing my sword. Then I was kicked hard in the stomach and collapsed again, taking several more blows over the next few minutes. Every instinct was swept away as a haze of pain consumed my mind. All I could do was gasp for air.

As the world swam in and out of focus, I felt strong hands grasping me and throwing me against one of the boulders. As I struggled to recover my breath, I heard my sword being drawn from its sheath. It clattered against the stones somewhere, and the hands grabbed me again and pulled me into a sitting position with my back against the boulder. Then something tore through the haze of pain: The feeling of cold steel against my neck, followed by warm breath on my right ear. "This is where the game ends, alley cat," Lonar whispered.

Everything snapped back into focus. The pain became sharper than before, and as Lonar moved back to lock his brown eyes with mine, I saw his face in far greater detail than I ever had before. I saw his chiseled features, the beard that was coming in strong after our time on the road, the small wrinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes as he smiled at me, and the coldness in his eyes. I realized that the charm and warmth of his smile had been purely superficial and that it had hidden a dark soul, just as I hid my true nature behind the facade of Lynn. Fighting back both fear and pain, I said, "What's going on, Lonar? Why are you doing this?"

"You might fool the riffraff at the Broken Horn, but you're not good enough to fool Lonar Hiddel." "I don't know what—"

He silenced me by pressing the blade harder against my throat and shushing me. "No more lies, little alley cat. No more lies. I grant you, you're good. Isn't she, Kresh?"

"That remains to be seen," Kresh said.

"Always thinking with his loins, that Kresh," Lonar said with a sigh. "Suffice it to say, dear Lynn, he thought you were just another sword-wielding wench in britches. It wasn't until we ran into those bandits that he saw what I saw the first time I watched you brawling in Sanction."

"So I can fight. I had to learn how. I—"

"Yes, yes. Spare me the sob story. You were taken away by slavers but escaped and a kindly man taught you how to use a sword ... or maybe your father never got a son, so he taught you how to fight, but before you could inherit the bandit empire he'd built, Knights of Takhisis wiped it out. Are either of those close?"

"I have no idea what your problem is, Lonar."

He slapped me. I tasted blood in my mouth. His smile widened and his eyes grew colder. "No more meowing. My 'problem' is that you are too good with that sword to be just another wench in britches. You are too good at fighting, period. I've been watching you. And I've been doing a little bit of checking up on you. For a supposed alley-basher, you don't seem to rack up many victims. You gamble, you brawl, but you spend little time lurking in alleys and waiting for drunks. Why is that? It's a lot quicker than dice games.

"And when you brawl. Hmm ... I think you try to hide it, but you just can't. When it comes to the martial arts, you are simply too good." He grabbed my chin in his hand and leaned closer, putting his face inches from mine. "You're no common rogue, Lynn, no matter how hard you try to pass yourself off as one. But who are you? Certainly, no Knight of Solamnia would be so rude, nor would she ever allow the kind of dishonor to befall her that you engage in nightly. No, there is only one type of person you can possibly be."

His eyes grew even colder as he said, "So, what Order are you a member of? The Lily or the Skull?"

I was so stunned that I barked out a laugh. He didn't understand the nervous reaction and slapped me again. He delivered a knee into my stomach, twice. Each time, I spasmed forward, but Lonar slammed his free hand against my chest, forcing me back against the stone.

"This is not funny, Lady Lynn," he snarled. I vomited forth the bit of dried meat I had eaten, then alternately dry-heaved and tried to catch my breath. "This is your death, and it can be a painful one. What. Order. Are. You. With?"

"Please," I moaned. I'm not ashamed to admit that once the spasms from the blows to my stomach subsided, I started shaking with fear. "I'm not a Knight of Takhisis. You've got it all wrong."

"Have I?" He pushed the tip of his stiletto harder against my neck. I felt the warm trickle of blood as he penetrated the skin.

"Yes," I whispered. "In the name Paladine, I swear I am not a Dark Knight."

"In the name of Paladine? Paladine?! Are you trying to make me think you're a Knight of Solamnia?!" He laughed. "What do you think, Kresh? Could our little alley cat really be a Knight without her shining armor?"

"Too skinny," Kresh said. "And too good-looking. Ain't never been a good-looking woman Knight. That's why they become Knights in the first place.

"I'm a Knight of Solamnia," I said, my words spilling forward swiftly before reason stopped them. Fear of death and the sting of the insults they were heaping upon me had become too much to bear. "I'm a Knight of the Rose! I spit on the memory of Lord Ariakan and I spit on the scaly hide of Takhisis! I came to Sanction on a special assignment from Grand Master Liam Ehrling. My mission is to investigate the activities of your master, Hogan Bight, but I'm not really your enemy as the Dark Knights are. The Orders just want to know what he's up to, but he wouldn't deal with them! I'm not a Dark Knight!"

Revealing my rank with the Orders may be a violation of my vows. I will make sure I emphasize this act when I submit my report to Lady Karine. I did not violate the Measure by leaving Sanction without her permission or knowledge, but revealing myself as a covert Knight to someone who is not a member of the Orders is in all likelihood a grave offense.

It doesn't matter that it didn't do me any good.

Lonar cocked his head, and his eyes still coldly glared. "A Rose Knight? You?! You must take me for an idiot, Lady Lynn! Why didn't you just go ahead and spin a lie about being a personal emissary from the Emperor of Ergoth who wants to take a peek at Lord Hogan's forces from the inside to see if we're worthy of military aid?"

"I'm telling the truth," I said.

He regarded me for a moment, looking thoughtful. The stiletto remained painfully at my throat, still digging past my skin. Suddenly, he said: "What is the sixty-eighth point of the Measure?"

I blinked "What?"

"The 68th point. What is the sixty-eighth point? If you're a Rose Knight, you know it."

"There aren't sixty-eight points in the Measure," I replied, "not anymore. Grand Masters Gunthar and Liam revised it years ago."

"Then we're an impasse. My father was once a Knight. He got thrown out before I was born, but he made me memorize the main points and standards outlined in the Measure because he thought it was a good code to live by. I think he was right to do so. Some of them make a lot of sense. And if you could have told me what the sixty-eighth point was, I might have let you live to present proof of your affiliation. But now, I just think it's a trap.

"At any rate, Rose Knights aren't the type of people who hang out in bars and fraternize with lowlifes. Rose Knights have more honor than that." A new tone had crept into his voice, a tone that struck an even deeper fear in me than before.

Kresh heard it too. Rising to his feet, he asked, "You're not just gonna kill her?"

"That was the general idea," Lonar replied.

"That'd be a waste. Let me have some fun first."

Lonar shrugged and struck me on the forehead with the hilt of his stiletto, causing the back of my head to slam against the rock. I finally lost consciousness. When the world swam back into focus, the stench of Kresh's unwashed body filled my nose. I had been pulled away from the rocks and was flat on my back. The stars swam brightly in the heaven. Someone was tugging at the strings of my breeches. I heard Lonar say, "Don't let her scream. I hate it when women scream."

Kresh laughed, and I realized that he had been struggling with my breeches. "You're awake. Great. I wouldn't want you to miss the last and greatest thrill of your life!" He slapped me hard across the face, and then started struggling with my breeches again.

"Just cut them off," Lonar sighed from somewhere nearby. "She's not going to need them again."

My head suddenly cleared as a different kind of terror flooded my being. Not only was I going to die here, but also they were going to take away every shred of dignity I possessed before they killed me. I had completely misjudged Lonar. I had been taken in by good looks, charm, and the fact that he was less tainted with Evil than many of Sanction's residents.

"I guess you're right," Kresh said. "I can't undo the cursed knot she used."

"Please, Kresh," I whispered. I would not allow these cretins to do this to me. "If I cooperate, will you let me live? I don't want to die. Please."

He grinned at me and ran his tongue over his crooked teeth. "Sure. Maybe I'll decide you're too valuable to kill," he whispered back, leaning close.

I kissed his unshaven cheek and he returned a putrid kiss on my mouth as I ran my hands down his back and over his side, finding his waist and caressing it.

My right hand found the dagger on his weapons belt. With my left, I started to undo the buckle, hoping he truly always thought with his loins as Lonar said. Kresh didn't disappoint me.

"Yeah," he said. "Undo mine first... then take care of that damned knot on yours."

I think Kresh died more startled than in pain. I swiftly drew his dagger from his hilt and slashed his throat. He jerked backward, his hands instinctually going to his neck to stop his life from pumping from his body. Blood poured from between his fingers and spilled upon me as I scrambled out from under him.

Lonar was less surprised than Kresh. He rose to his feet on the far side of the campfire, drawing his sword. "You should have just lain back and taken it, alley cat," he said in an irritated tone. "If Kresh had enjoyed himself, you might have lived a few more days."

"Not a good bargain," I replied, quickly drawing Kresh's sword from its sheath. He was twitching like a fish out of water, not quite dead yet. I kicked his hand aside as he grabbed for me. Lonar and I started to circle around his body. "Why don't I just lay you out next to him and return to Sanction with the crystals and earn Hogan Bight's favor that way?"

"You haven't won yet, Lynn." He twirled his blade as he approached. "I'm going to be hard to kill, particularly since you're using Kresh's inferior weapons. You and I, being real warriors, go for quality in our weapons. Kresh went for what cost the least."

He was right. As we circled, each of us attempting to find just the right moment to strike, I noticed that the sword I was using was horribly unbalanced. I took a chance and scanned the area for my own discarded weapons, but Lonar took that as an opportunity to rush at me.

I parried the swings that came too close, backing away from him. He was very good. I barely held against his blows, as did the weapon I held.

Our battle carried us away from the camp and into the entrance of the Valley of Crystal. The white-blue glow of the crystals beneath the moonlight reflected on Lonar's well-honed blade, making it appear magical. The sword I wielded was so ill-used that it remained a dull gray.

The beating I had suffered at his hand caused me to tire quicker than I normally would, so he managed to knock the sword from my hand with a flurry of blows. However, he left his side open while doing so. I dove forward, intending to punch the dagger through his chainmail. Instead, the blade snapped on the links. Lonar backed away from me as we both looked at the broken weapon in my hand with amazement. He checked his gut for wounds, found none, then swiftly moved between the dropped sword and me.

"Be reasonable, Lynn. Let me know who you really are. That way, I'll know where to send your body."

I backed away from him, my booted feet stumbling across the first few scattered crystals. Several of them shifted loose. I took a couple more steps back. "Yeah. Let's be reasonable. Let's go back to Sanction together. You can bring me before Hogan Bight. Maybe he'll believe me. I promise I'll leave out the part about you standing by while Kresh attempted to rape me. I think Lord Hogan's a bit more honorable than someone who would countenance such a thing."

"First, Lord Hogan would take my word over a Knight of Takhisis—or even a Knight of Solamnia—any day. He knows that I share his concern for keeping Sanction free from oppression by any of your dying religious orders. Lord Hogan is preparing for the future while you keep looking toward the past, at the expense of the people of Krynn. The gods have left the world to the mortals, yet you Knights—on both sides of your little squabble—seem to have missed that entirely."

"The Knights of Solamnia have always been about more than service to the gods," I said.

He continued, ignoring me: "Second, Lord Hogan has made it clear that he doesn't want any members of the so-called 'fighting orders' in his city—last time, you nearly created a massacre when your Dark Knights, the Knights of Solamnia, and the Legion of Steel showed how bad guests can be. You have nothing to say that he would want to hear. You and yours are part of the past."

"I think if your master was to actually talk to a Knight of Solamnia, he'd discover that we've learned from our mistakes in Sanction. I think—"

"You never learn from your mistakes. None of you 'Knights' do. And I think I've given you enough time to come clean and to say your last words."

He advanced toward me. I quickly crouched and blindly scooped up a handful of crystals and dirt and flung them at his face. He screamed in pain as the crystals slashed him, and I moved for my sword. Even partially blinded, however, Lonar managed to swing at me with his sword, catching me across the breast. Although his strike didn't penetrate my armor, it did knock me to the ground. Sharp crystals cut into the back of my legs.

Lonar bellowed wordlessly, blinking as blood from the cuts on his forehead streamed into his left eye. He raised his sword to deliver the killing blow. I fought against my reflexes and kept my eyes open and fixed on the gleaming blade to watch the final strike as it fell. As I stared at Death in the face, I finally beat back my fear. I suddenly felt calmer than I had in years. I whispered, "Paladine, please watch over my soul."

But the killing blow never landed. Instead, Lonar suddenly jerked a half step forward, and the blade of a sword burst from his chest with a crunch of bone and a snapping of chainmail links. He coughed, and blood welled forth from his mouth and the wound on his chest. The sword retreated and he fell to the ground, twitching as life fled from his body.

"Filthy dragonarmy scum," someone said in elven. "You will burn my forest no more."

Standing above Lonar's form, holding my sword, was a figure out of legend. He appeared just as he had in Gramps's tales—an elf with long golden locks, large blue eyes, and a face so handsome that he puts even others of his fair race to shame. Grammy could still make Gramps jealous by describing how her heart had fluttered when she first laid eyes on Gilthanas of Qualinesti. Now that I had seen him myself, I understood why.

"Gilthanas?" I said, still not entirely believing my eyes. He turned his large blue eyes toward me. There was a strange look in them, a look of fury. Then, his expression filled with recognition.

"Tika!" he exclaimed. He helped me to my feet. "Tika, what are you doing here? I thought you were dead!"

That was even more surprising to me than his appearance. My parents and Gramps frequently commented on how much I resembled Grammy about the face, but surely Gilthanas had to know she was much older than I was at this point.

"You're wounded," he continued, noticing the cuts on my legs. "Did that animal do that? And your hair. Did he cut off your beautiful locks?"

From what she told me when I decided to cut mine, Grammy has worn her hair long her entire life, taking advantage of the spectacular curls that nature had gifted her with. Although I had inherited the red color she had when she was young, I had not inherited the curls. I also chose to wear my hair short because it was more comfortable when wearing a great helm.

His question confirmed that he thought I was Grammy, though. I came to question whether this was really Gilthanas. Could he just be a madman? He had a scar down one side of his face, and Grammy had never mentioned a scar. But a long time had passed since she had heard from him, so long, in fact, that she and everyone else thought him dead. As I was trying to decide what to do next, I heard someone calling his name.

"Here, lean on me, Tika," Gilthanas said. "I'm sure Tasslehoff has some bandages in his pack. We'll fix your legs in no time."

"Thank you, Gilthanas." I said. The name felt strange when I said it, somehow false. But, despite his obvious madness, how could he be anyone but Gilthanas?

He helped me back toward the camp. Another elf came into view. "Tasslehoff," Gilthanas cried. "Tika has been attacked by draconians! She needs our help!"

The other elf rushed to our side, and the two of them helped me toward the camp. Once there, the second elf offered me a blanket so I could stay decent while he tended my wounds.

"I will return to the pass," Gilthanas said. "I don't want any of that scum sneaking up on us."

"Don't go too far," the other elf said.

"Your friend seems quite insane," I said as I slowly and painfully slid out of my pants.

"Yes," the elf said, looking in the direction of his fair-haired comrade. "He has been affected by a rare gnome poison. His madness is only going to get worse, and he'll die within a few months if I don't get him a cure. Oh, I'm Lethagas, by the way. His name is Gilthanas."

"I thought I recognized him," I said. "My name is—"

I caught myself. I already had violated my oath of secrecy once that evening, under duress. I wasn't going to do it again out of thoughtlessness.

"—Lynn. I'm from Sanction. We came out here to gather crystals to sell to the lord of the city. My 'partners' decided to take something from me that I was unwilling to part with. So, they died."

"Rest assured, I will attempt no such thing," Lethagas said. "Now, try to relax. This might sting a bit."

"Why are you two here?" I asked through gritted teeth as he poured alcohol on the back of my thighs. "You won't find help in the middle of nowhere."

"I saw your fire. Our griffins need rest, and I hoped that someone here might help us."

"Your mounts can rest, but as for help ... well, it's just like an elf to look in the wilderness for something that can be found in a city." I ended the comment with a snigger, trying to imitate the sound I had heard from a trapper who frequented the Solace inn while I was a child. He was perhaps the most virulent bigot I have ever met, and Lethagas seemed to pick up on my changed attitude.

"That could be so," he replied. "There is occasionally wisdom to be found in nature. However, we did find you, a citizen of Sanction. Can you tell me of any wise men who live there? Anyone who can help my friend?"

"Fix my legs, then we'll talk. And watch that blanket," I replied, forcing a cold tone into my voice. I sensed Lethagas stiffen, and his ministrations became a bit less gentle.

Even at the time, I felt I should have shown more gratitude. A legend had come to save me at a time when I didn't really deserve saving, and had thus given me a second chance. Yet, as I thought about it, I realized the second chance meant that I had to stay true to my vows and stay in the role of Lynn for as long as I was with these elves. And that meant being as crude as I possibly could, reaching deep back into my memory for the very worst of the racial slurs I had heard from the patrons at the Inn of the Last Home.

Eventually, my behavior became too much for him to bear. "I need to get more bandages from my saddlebags," he said, heading toward the trio of griffins that stood silhouetted against the rising moon. Moments after he left, Gilthanas appeared at my side, having arrived without making even the slightest sound. He looked appraisingly at my injured legs. "Tasslehoff did a good job," he said.

"Gilthanas," I said, his name still sounding false on my tongue. I needed to prove to myself that he wasn't just some lunatic who had fooled both himself and Lethagas ... I couldn't help but think the gods, even if they had left Krynn behind, would have rewarded Gilthanas with happiness with Silvara instead of insanity for his service during the War of the Lance. I took his hand and concentrated for a moment, focusing upon the pulsing of my heart and drawing forth the mystical powers that Goldmoon had opened up to me during the summers I spent on Schallsea.

When I opened my eyes again, Gilthanas was looking at me expectantly, but now I also could see the bright green and blue life energy that so brightly represented his soul. I had seen a similar pattern when I had looked at Laurana, the one time I met her. I no longer had any doubt. He was Gilthanas.

But where the glow of his sister's soul had been calm and soothing waves, Gilthanas's form was surrounded by a seething and chaotic mass of colors. He was indeed deeply, perhaps irrevocably, insane.

"Tika?" he said, noticing the sorrow that must have registered on my face at that realization. "Are you all right?"

I held his hand tighter. "This is so unfair," I said. "How could this be, Gilthanas? Why aren't you with Silvara? The stories people tell of you and her.... Are they all just fantasies? Lies? Is everything ugly and grim? Can't there ever be a happy ending?"

He frowned at me. "Silvara? How do you know about Silvara and me?"

The nimbus of light about him seemed to flicker out as I allowed my spell to end. With it went my last bit of hope. "You and she did a great service for Krynn and the children of Paladine. Why didn't Paladine reward you better?"

"Tika, Tika, Tika," he said in a slightly patronizing tone. "The gods give mortals only the rewards they deserve. Truth is, I didn't deserve Silvara. I didn't know what I had in her. She tried telling me—showing me—but I was too wrapped up in myself to realize it. Even after I lost her, it took me decades to realize what I had done. Now I'm trying to get her back, to earn my reward. Do you know I drove her away because she lied to me?"

"You did?"

"Yes, she isn't a Kagonesti at all. She is a ..." He hesitated, looking at me with a slight frown. "Wait. You're not Tika. You look a little like her, but you can't possibly be her. She should be much older."

"Yes!" I shifted excitedly, but the pain shot through my cut legs. Instead, I just clutched his hand. "I'm Tika's granddaughter. I'm Linsha Majere."

"Linsha? You're how old? Eighteen? Nineteen? You look almost like your grandmother did when I first met her. Does she live still?"

"She's as feisty as ever. Caramon, too. But listen, your friend Lethagas told me that you've been poisoned. What happened?"

"Fate," Gilthanas said. "Fate and pride. I drove Silvara away because I was too proud to admit how deeply I had fallen in love and how much her lie had wounded me. And now I'm going to waste away as a lunatic without ever getting back together with her." He looked at me sadly. "At least I got to meet you, Linsha Majere. Are you following in your grandparents' footsteps?"

"A little less successfully, perhaps, but I'm trying," I replied, indicating my wounded legs.

"Draconians will always be a match for a young warrior, no matter how tough she thinks she is." He paused again. "That was a draconian I saved you from back there, was it not?"

I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. "Yes. A Kapak. But, you seem fine now. Tell Lethagas about Silvara while you can. I'm sure he'll help you."

"I have moments like this one, but they are getting rarer and shorter with each passing day. And Lethagas already knows about my quest to reunite with Silvara. He has promised to stay with me until I have found her. First, though, he wants to stop the poison from killing me. He is a very sensible and loyal companion, Leth is." He started to stroke my hair with his free hand, an absent-minded look crossing his face. "You should let your hair grow out. Your grandmother had such lovely hair."

"You know what I think? I think that we've both been granted a second chance here tonight. It was Fate that brought us all here ... Fate, or maybe even the hand of Paladine himself." I shifted again, trying to look into his blue eyes but only wincing with pain. "I think that Lethagas guiding his griffins to our fire was no mistake. You were fated to save me from my attackers, so that I could have the chance to become the Knight I've always wanted to be. And because you saved me, I can give you information on not just one place where you might find a cure, but two! Paladine be praised, Gilthanas, but I think that I can help you and your silver dragon reunite!"

"Silver dragon?"

"Yes, you and Silvara?"

"What are you talking about, silver dragon?" Gilthanas leapt to his feet. "Silvara is not a dragon! How dare you accuse my beloved of being a rampaging monster?!"

I think Gilthanas might have struck me if Leth hadn't returned at that very moment and dragged him away. Gilthanas didn't regain his sanity while I was with him and Leth. Instead, he fought imaginary creatures and set Lonar's body on fire because "zombies will reanimate if you don't!"

It was very difficult for me to maintain the facade of Lynn during that time. I wanted to join their quest, but I knew I couldn't. I had duties to return to. But I still helped Lethagas as best I could. Couched in racist and abusive terms—such as threatening to kill Gilthanas because his insanity was disgusting me even more than elves typically did—I provided them with information on how to reach Godshome (a mystic site my "mother" once visited) and the River of Healing (a place a Knight told me about a few years back). I think Lethagas is a brave and honorable elf, and that Gilthanas did right in placing his trust in him. I just wish I could have left him with a better impression of me. What will he think of my parents if Gilthanas remembers our conversation and tells him who I am?

I continue to attempt to help them on their journey. As I slowly make my way back to Sanction, I offer nightly prayers to Paladine and his two sons, and hope that one of them is listening and is willing to help Gilthanas on his difficult path.

I'd throw a prayer or two in for myself, too, but I'm saving them in case my wounds get infected before I reach Sanction. Hopefully, my infractions against the Measure will be deemed light enough to let me take advantage of the second chance Fate or the gods have given me.

It's my most sincere hope right now. And if you're reading this, it probably came true.

 

Ashes: Godshome, 27sc

 

From the Journal of Lethagas of Qualinesti,

started in the Year 26sc

Entry 14, In Godshome

I have few actual memories of the evacuation of Qualinesti during the War of the Lance. I was still very young at the time, barely more than a baby, and my father believes that the horrors I experienced caused me to block them from my mind. But sometimes, when sitting at a campfire, memories of screaming, the sound of beating dragon wings, and the sight of a forest aflame all around me flash into my mind, leaving me breathless for a moment.

As I sit here in this desolate valley, a fire raging and a skinned rabbit sizzling on a spit, some of those memory fragments are drifting through my mind, along with the both the joys and hardships I experienced while growing up in Qualimori, our city of exile.

One memory in particular echoes through my mind.

My mother was very religious. When I asked her why the gods had let the dragons destroy our home in Qualinesti, she responded that E'li had chosen to let the dragonarmy destroy those elves who were weak in spirit and corrupted by the taint of humans. She believed that the gods had given the forest of Southern Ergoth to us, and that there the best of the elven nations would grow strong. She viewed the return of divine powers to the priesthood as evidence that the elves of Southern Ergoth were indeed chosen over all other peoples. The next step, she said, would be the rebirth of the legendary city of Godshome—only it would be reborn under the banner of a united elven kingdom.

Godshome. My mother loved telling and retelling the legends of Godshome, explaining in a dozen different ways how it was both a city where god-fearing people of all races gathered to worship and a secluded vale where those whom the gods found worthy were given their direct blessing. The city was supposedly built to appear like a giant wheel when viewed from the air, while the vale contained living statues of all the gods and a pool which could grant mortals the power to reach the stars themselves.

I had only ever heard those stories from my mother, and I hadn't heard about or thought of Godshome for years when suddenly Lynn of Gateway mentioned it.

She was a very strange woman, even for a human. She had every appearance of being a rogue and a scoundrel, yet before we parted ways she had used the map from Gilthanas's pack and indicated not one but two places to which I might take him to find healing. A look of pain crossed her face when Gilthanas started howling apologies at Silvara, Tanis Half-Elven, and several others whom I couldn't place. The way she winced made me think that she might have known some of the people he was seeing in his fevered visions, but when I pressed for details, she became rude.

After lambasting me with slurs that I'd heard only the most black-hearted of villains level against my people, she insisted that she was doing this only to repay us for saving her life when the scum she was traveling with attacked her. She insisted that if she didn't help me find a way to cure Gilthanas, she would have to kill him because he disgusted her so much. Yet, when she didn't think I was watching her, I saw her look at my friend with such pity that I knew she felt heartbreak, not disgust, at his state. But, if she chose to lie about her motivations, that was her decision.

The two places she added to Gilthanas's map were "Godshome" and "River of Healing." She explained that she'd heard of the places from a retired explorer, and from other disparaging remarks it seemed this explorer was a mother whom she had little love for and who had shown little love for her. Still, Lynn was sure that the information on these sites was valid, and that I would find a cure for Gilthanas at either one.

The River of Healing was located in the faraway Vingaard Mountains while Godshome was merely a few days flight from our camp. "If there's anywhere the gods can still be found, it's there," the rogue had assured me. "And the gods can heal pretty much anything that might ail a mortal... except lack of faith, I suppose."

That was an interesting statement even if I am still not entirely sure what she meant. After all, how could someone stand in the presence of the gods and not believe? And if the tales my mother told were true, then Godshome would have to be one of the most glorious sites in Ansalon.

But, now that I have arrived at Godshome, I see that it, like so many other places in the world, has lost all magic. I am glad my mother died before the Summer of Chaos, for its end surely would have broken her heart. However, the sight of this vale would have hurt her even more.

I found the ruined city of Godshome first, soaring on griffin back over the arid landscape of Neraka. A large encampment of Dark Knights had established themselves here, although for what reason I do not know; perhaps they were searching for signs of the departed gods as I've heard mystics from the Citadel of Light have done?

Whatever the reason for them being there, it simply added motivation for me to avoid those ruins—to view it simply as the landmark that it is. According to both my mother and Lynn of Gateway, the gods could be reached directly in the vale, not in the city.

So, I flew the griffins into the nearby mountain range, soaring through narrow canyons and circling over valleys that appeared inaccessible to anything but flying creatures. Unlike most other mountain ranges in Ansalon, these did not appear to contain the ruins of ancient ogre cities; perhaps even at the height of their civilization, those Evil beings had shunned this range, sensing that the powers of the divine held sway here. Nor did the range seem to hold any valleys that matched the description my mother had given—bowl-shaped with a circular pool in the middle.

As I searched, I also thought of how my mother had said that the valley could be found only if the gods wished it. I wasn't sure exactly what to expect; if the gods still resided there, they would allow me to find it... or not. I decided that I would search for four days. After that, I would head west in search of the River of Healing.

It took me two days to find the valley. During this time, Gilthanas slipped in and out of a half-awake state, often experiencing violent rages during which he thrashed in the saddle. I eventually had to land and tie his arms to make sure he didn't unfasten his harness and fall to his death. I came to fear that he might kill himself before the poison did. But, the stories about Godshome kept coming to my mind, filling me with hope. Gilthanas was the son of Speaker Solostaran, and he had stood against the hordes of the dragonarmies so the Qualinesti could return to our homeland. Surely, if someone who had sounded as disreputable as Lynn's mother could find Godshome, the gods would extend a welcoming hand to Gilthanas.

My hopes started to wane when I circled above Godshome Vale. It was readily recognizable as the place I sought: a bowl-shaped valley with a lake that formed a perfect circle at its center. The water of the lake seemed strangely black, but something white shone within it. Steeply rising, rocky slopes lined the valley, offering no exits from the valley that I could see from the air. Blackened, toppled stumps covered the area as if the entire valley had been subjected to a fire far greater than even that which had swept through Qualinesti when it fell to the dragonarmy.

I landed the griffins. Gilthanas was unconscious, so I left him bound in the saddle. Nowhere could I see the statues of the gods that supposedly stood within the valley. As I walked toward the curious black lake, the breeze sent a fine gray ash scurrying back and forth across the barren valley floor.