The Second Generation

Tanis and Caramon stood silently by, waiting. Steel gazed at her, his face a battlefield, revealing the struggle waging within. Then, with a dark, sidelong glance at the two older men, he said coldly, “I will accompany you, sirs—for her sake.”

Turning on his heel, he walked to the edge of the ledge, leapt lightly onto another rock ledge below it, and started down the mountainside, picking his way among the tangle of rocks with the nimble dexterity and strength of youth.

Caught flat-footed by the unexpected move, Tanis hurried after, but his elegant and expensive boots—meant for walking his estate, not climbing mountains—slipped on a patch of gravel. He lost his balance and might have tumbled down the cliff had not a strong hand grasped the collar of his tunic and dragged him back.

“Take it slow, my friend,” said Caramon. “We’ve a long way to go, and this isn’t going to be easy on either our boots or our bones.” He nodded down at Steel, whose dark curls could barely be seen among the boulders. “Let our young friend go it alone awhile. He needs time to think. His mind must feel about like that creek there.”

Water, white-frothed and bubbling, swirled and eddied among the rocks, occasionally finding itself stranded in dark pools, then freeing itself to plunge on in a headlong rush to its final destination, the eternal sea.

“He’ll be cooler when he reaches the bottom,” Caramon finished.

“We won’t,” Tanis grumbled. The sun was hot on the cliff face. He was already sweating beneath his leather armor. Resting his hand on Caramon’s arm, he smiled at the big warrior. “You’re a wise man, my friend.”

Caramon, looking embarrassed, shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve got three boys of my own, that's all.”

Tanis heard words unspoken.

“Let's go,” he said abruptly. He looked back at Sara.

“I’ll wait for you here,” she said, standing in front of the cave. “Flare’s upset. It would never do to leave her alone. She might follow Steel.”

Tanis nodded and started down the mountainside again, this time moving more slowly, taking more care.

“The gods bless you for this,” Sara called fervently.

“Yes, well, one of the gods is likely going to bless us,” Tanis muttered.

He didn’t care to think which one.

Chapter Nine Black Lily, White Rose

“The fortress, known as the High Clerist’s Tower, was built by Vinas Solamnus, founder of the Knights of Solamnia, during the Age of Might. The fortress guards the West-gate Pass, leading into and out of one of the major cities of Ansalon, the city of Palanthas.

“After the Cataclysm, which many people mistakenly blamed on the Knights of Solamnia, the High Clerist’s Tower was practically deserted, abandoned by the knights, who were in hiding for their lives. During the War of the Lance, the tower was reoccupied and was crucial to the defense of Palanthas and the surrounding countryside. Astinus has recorded the heroic deeds of those who fought and held the tower. You can find the record in the great Library of Palanthas, under the title Dragons of Winter Night.

“In that book, you will read of Sturm Brightblade, who died, facing alone the terror of the dragons. Thus it runs:

“ 'Sturm faced east. Half-blinded by the sun’s brilliance, Sturm saw the dragon as a thing of blackness. He saw the creature dip in its flight, diving below the level of the wall, and he realized the blue was going to come up from beneath, giving its rider the room needed to attack. The other two dragon riders held back, watching, waiting to see if their lord required help finishing this insolent knight.

“ 'For a moment the sun-drenched sky was empty, then the dragon burst up over the edge of the wall, its horrifying scream splitting Sturm’s eardrums, filling his head with pain. The breath from its gaping mouth gagged him. He staggered dizzily, but managed to keep his feet as he slashed out with his sword. The ancient blade struck the dragon’s left nostril. Black blood spurted into the air. The dragon roared in fury.

“ 'But the blow was costly. Sturm had no time to recover. ” 'The Dragon Highlord raised her spear, its tip flaming in the sun. Leaning down, she thrust it deep, piercing through armor, flesh, and bone.' ”

Steel cast a smug glance at the two men accompanying him. He observed the effect of his recitation on each of them. “Good god.” His uncle’s jaw sagged, the big man’s round and somewhat stupid (so Steel thought scornfully) face was dumbstruck. The half-elf was eyeing the dark paladin grimly.

“You have a good memory,” Tanis remarked. “It is requisite, so my lord Ariakan teaches, for a warrior to know his enemy,” Steel returned. He did not mention that it was his mother, Sara, who had first told him the tale, long ago, when he was a child.

Tanis’s eyes shifted their gaze to one of the high walls near the central tower. “On that battlement, your father died. If you go up there, you can still see his blood on the stones.”