The Second Generation

Weaponless, Steel reached instinctively for the nearest blade at hand. He grabbed the sword—his father’s sword—from atop the catafalque. Bringing the blade up, he easily blocked Sir Wilhelm’s wild downward slash. The young man threw the older knight backward, to fall with a clatter of armor among the ancient, dust-covered coffins.

The other knights closed in. Strong and skilled as he was, Steel could never hope to fight off seven at once.

Tanis drew his sword. Leaping over the catafalque, he jumped down beside Steel.

“Caramon! Guard his back!” Tanis yelled.

Caramon stood gaping. “Tanis! I thought I saw—”

“I know! I know!” Tanis shouted. “I saw it, too!” He had to do something to jolt the big man from his dazed wonderment. “Caramon, you took an oath! You swore you’d protect Steel like your own son.”

“So I did,” Caramon said with dignified gravity. Picking up the knight nearest him, who happened to block his way, the big man flung the knight bodily aside. Drawing his sword, Caramon put his back to Steel’s.

“You don’t have to do this for me,” Steel gasped through bloodless lips. “I don’t need you to fight my battles!”

“I’m not doing this for you,” Tanis returned. “I’m doing this for your father.”

Steel stared at him, suspicious, disbelieving.

“I saw what happened,” Tanis said simply. “I know the truth.”

He pointed at the dark paladin’s breastplate, the armor decorated with the foul insignia of the Dark Queen. And shining from beneath it was a glimmer of white light.

Relief flooded Steel’s face—the young man must have been wondering if what had happened had truly happened or if he were going mad. Immediately, he recollected himself, his face hardened. Steel was, once again, one of Takhisis’s Knights. He turned grimly to face his foes.

The Solamnic Knights stood with swords drawn, but did not immediately pursue the attack. Tanis Half-Elven was a powerful force in the land, and Caramon Majere a respected and popular hero. The knights looked uneasily to their commander for orders.

Sir Wilhelm was struggling to regain his feet. For him, the answer was obvious. “The other two have been subverted by evil! They are all the servants of the Dark Queen. Seize all three!”

The knights leapt to the attack. Steel fought well; he was young, skilled, and had been waiting for just such a contest all his life. His eyes gleamed and his blade flashed in the torchlight. But the young Knights of Solamnia were his equals. Now that they could see the evil in their midst, their eyes shone with a holy light; they were defending their honor, avenging sacrilege. Four of them surrounded Steel, intent on capturing him alive, determined to wound him, not kill him.

Blades dashed. Bodies heaved and shoved. Soon, Steel was bleeding from a gash across his forehead. Two of the knights were also blooded, but they fought with renewed strength and fervor. They backed Steel up against the catafalque.

Tanis did what he could to help, but he hadn’t wielded a sword in anger in many years. Caramon was huffing and wheezing and grunting, sweat rolling off the big man’s head. He was getting in one blow to his opponent’s six, but Caramon—with his size and strength—always managed to make that one blow count. His sword rang like a hammer falling on an anvil.

All three were trying to fight their way through to the stairs, but the knights were equally intent on cutting off this escape route. Fortunately, Sir Wilhelm had not thought of sending one of the knights for reinforcements. Probably he was hoping for the glory of capturing the Dark Queen’s paladin himself.

Either that, or he didn’t dare risk reducing the size of his small force.

“If we can make it up the stairs,” Tanis said to Caramon, as the two fought side-by-side, “we can rush the main gate. There were only two guards there. And after that...”

“Let"s just... get that far!” Caramon was leaning on the side of the catafalque, still fighting gamely, though the big man' was gasping for breath.

“Damn heavy ... chain mail!”

Tanis could no longer see Steel; he was encircled by a wall of silver armor.

But Tanis could hear the ring of the young man’s sword and could tell, by the numerous fresh wounds on the Knights of Solamnia, that Steel was still battling. He would keep fighting until they cut him down. He would never let himself be taken alive.

He wouldn’t disgrace the memory of his father.

Every muscle in Tanis’s body ached. Fortunately, his opponent, a young knight, was in such awe of the great hero that he was fighting only halfheartedly. Sir Wilhelm was looking exasperated. This battle should have been over by now. He glanced at the stairs. Now he was going to raise the alarm, shout for reinforcements.

If that happened, they were doomed.

“Sturm Brightblade,” Tanis said softly, “you got us into this. The least you can do is help get us out!”