The Second Generation

Steel glanced up, out of curiosity, if nothing more. The wall was not empty these days. Knights walked it, keeping ceaseless vigilance, for, though the War of the Lance was over, Solamnia was not at peace. Yet, as Steel looked, the knights suddenly vanished, left only one, standing alone, knowing he was doomed to die, accepting his death with resignation, believing it was necessary, hoping it would serve to rally the disorganized and demoralized knights to fight on.

Steel saw flame and the bright sun, saw black blood and the red flowing over silver armor. His heart beat * faster, with a secret pride. He had always loved this story, one reason he could recite it with such accuracy. Was that because it held some deeper meaning, some meaning only his soul recognized? ...

Steel was suddenly conscious of the two men, standing quietly at his side.

Of course not. Don’t be a fool, Steel berated himself. You’re playing into their hands. If s just a story, nothing more. He shrugged. “I see a wall. Let’s get on with this.” They had come down out of the hills on the west side of the High Clerist’s Tower. A short distance away from where they crouched, hiding in the brush, a wide causeway led to the main tower entrance. Below that entrance was the Chamber of Paladine, where Sturm Brightblade and the other knights who had fallen during the tower’s defense lay buried.

All the Knights and would-be Knights of Takhisis had spent many hours studying the layout of the High Clerist"s Tower, a layout provided them by Ariakan, who had been imprisoned here.

But it is one thing to look at a drawing, and quite another to look at the structure itself. Steel was impressed. He hadn’t pictured the fortress quite this big, quite this imposing. He made haste to banish the feeling of awe, however, and began to count the number of men walking the battlements, the number standing guard at the main gate. Such information would be useful to his lord.

The causeway was always heavily traveled, and this morning was no different from any other. A knight, his lady wife, and several pretty daughters, rode slowly past them. Various tradesmen were bringing in wagon loads of food and casks of ale and wine. A regiment of knights on horseback, accompanied by their squires and pages, cantered out of the gate, on their way to fight bands of marauding hobgoblins or draconians, or maybe just to parade the streets of Palanthas in an impressive show of force. Steel noted what weapons they carried and the size of their baggage train. Ordinary citizens were leaving and arriving, some with business dealings, some coming to seek charity, others coming to complain of dragons raiding their villages. A group of grinning kender—chained together, hand and foot—were being marched out of the tower by grim-faced knights, who relieved the indignant “borrowers” of all their possessions before turning them loose outside the fortress walls.

“You don’t see Tas, do you?” Caramon was peering intently at the kender, as they ran, giggling, past him.

“Paladine forbid!” said Tanis fervently. “We’ve got enough trouble.”

“Just how do you propose we get inside?” Steel asked coolly. He’d seen—as had both the men—the knights guarding the main entrance stop and question every person who sought admittance.

“They let the kender in,” Caramon pointed out.

“No, they didn’t,” Tanis returned. “You know the old saying, 'If a rat can get in, so can a kender.' You wouldn’t fit in through a kender hole anyway, Caramon.”

“That’s true,” said the big man, unperturbed.

“I’ve got an idea,” Tanis said. He held out the blue cloak to Steel. “Put this on over your armor. Keep behind Caramon. I’ll engage the knights at the gate in conversation and you two slip in past me ...”

“No,” said Steel.

“What do you mean, 'No'?” Tanis was exasperated.

“I won’t hide myself or my allegiance. I won’t creep in like ... like a kender.” Steel’s voice was filled with scorn. “The knights will admit me as I am, knowing who and what I am, or not at all.”

Tanis’s expression hardened. He was about to argue, when Caramon interrupted him by an outburst of laughter.

“I don’t find this particularly amusing,” Tanis snapped.

Caramon choked, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Tanis, but, by the gods, Steel sounded so like Sturm, I couldn’t help myself. Do you remember that time in the inn, when we found the blue crystal staff, and all those goblins and Seeker guards were coming up the stairs, ready to tie us to the stake and burn us? And we were all running for our lives, hoping to escape through the kitchen, except Sturm.

“He just sat at the table, calmly drinking his ale. 'What?' he said, when you told him to run. 'Flee? From this rabble?' My nephew’s face, when he said that about the knights letting him in, put me in mind of Sturm that night.”

“Your nephew’s face puts me in mind of a lot of things,” Tanis said grimly, “like how Sturm and his stubbornness and his honor nearly got us killed more than once.”

“We loved him for it,” said Caramon softly.