Margaret Weis - Test of the Twins

Your presence required immediately. High Clerist’s Tower, Lord Gunthar uth Wistan.

Splashing cold water into his face, rebuffing the attempts of one of Lord Amothus’s servants to help buckle him into his leather armor, Tanis dressed and stumbled out of the Palace, politely refusing Charles’s offer of breakfast. Outside waited a young bronze dragon, who introduced himself as Fireflash, his secret dragon name being Khirsah.

“I am acquainted with two friends of yours, Tanis Half-Elven,” the young dragon said as his strong wings carried them easily over the walls of the sleeping city. “I had the honor to fight in the Battle of the Vingaard Mountains, carrying the dwarf, Flint Fireforge, and the kender, Tasslehoff Burrfoot, into the fray.”

“Flint’s dead,” Tanis said heavily, rubbing his eyes. He’d seen too many die.

“So I heard,” the young dragon replied respectfully. “I was sorry to hear it. Yet, he led a rich, full life. Death to such a one comes as the final honor.”

Sure, Tanis thought tiredly. And what of Tasslehoff? Happy, good-natured, good-hearted kender, asking nothing more of life than adventure and a pouch full of wonders? If it was true—if Raistlin had killed him, as Dalamar had intimated—what honor was there in his death? And Caramon, poor drunken Caramon—did death at the hands of his twin come as the final honor or was it the final stab of the knife to end his misery?

Brooding, Tanis fell asleep upon the dragon’s back, awaking only when Khirsah landed in the courtyard of the High Clerist’s Tower. Looking around grimly, Tanis’s spirits did not rise. He had ridden with death only to arrive with death, for here Sturm was buried—another final honor. Thus, Tanis was in no good humor when he was ushered into the Lord Gunthar’s chambers, high in one of the tall spires of the High Clerist’s Tower. It commanded an excellent view of sky and land. Staring out the window, watching the clouds with a growing feeling of ominous foreboding, Tanis only gradually became aware that Lord Gunthar had entered and was talking to him.

“I beg your pardon, lord,” he said, turning around.

“Tarbean tea?” Lord Gunthar said, holding up a steaming mug of the bitter-tasting drink.

“Yes, thank you,” Tanis accepted it and gulped it down, welcoming the warmth spreading through his body, ignoring the fact that he had burned his tongue.

Coming over to stand next to Tanis and stare out the window at the storm, Lord Gunthar sipped his tea with a calm that made the half-elf want to rip off the knight’s mustaches.

Why did you send for me? Tanis fumed. But he knew that the knight would insist upon fulfilling the ages-old ritual of politeness before coming to the point.

“You heard about Elistan?” Tanis asked finally.

Gunthar nodded. “Yes, we heard early this morning. The knights will hold a ceremony in his honor here at the Tower... if we are permitted.”

Tanis choked upon his tea and hastily swallowed. Only one thing would prevent the knights from holding a ceremony in honor of a cleric of their god, Paladine—war. “Permitted? Have you had some word, then? News from Sanction? What do the spies—”

“Our spies have been murdered,” Lord Gunthar said evenly.

Tanis turned from the window. “What? How—”

“Their mutilated bodies were carried to the fortress of Solanthas by black dragons and were dropped into the courtyard last evening. Then came this strange storm—perfect cover for dragons and...” Lord Gunthar fell silent, staring out the window, frowning.

“Dragons and what?” Tanis demanded. A possibility was beginning to form in his mind. Hot tea sloshed over his shaking hand. Hastily, he set the cup down on the window ledge.

Gunthar tugged at his mustaches, his frown deepened. “Strange reports have come to us, first from Solanthas, then Vingaard.”

“What reports. Have they seen something? What?”

“They’ve seen nothing. It’s what they’ve heard. Strange sounds, coming from the clouds – or perhaps even from above the clouds.”

Tanis’s mind went back to Riverwind’s description of the Siege of Kalaman. “Dragons?” Gunthar shook his head. “Voices, laughter, doors opening and slamming, rumblings, creakings...”

“I knew it!” Tanis’s clenched fist smote the window ledge. “I knew Kitiara had a plan! Of course! This has to be it!” Gloomily, he stared out into the churning clouds. “A flying citadel!”

Beside him, Gunthar sighed heavily. “I told you I respected this Dragon Highlord, Tanis. Apparently, I did not respect her enough. In one fell swoop, she has solved her problems of troop movements and logistics. She has no need for supply lines, she carries her supplies with her. The High Clerist’s Tower was designed to defend against ground attack. I have no idea how long we can hold out against a flying citadel. At Kalaman, draconians jumped from the citadel, floating down upon their wings, carrying death into the streets. Black-robed magic-users hurled down balls of flame, and with her, of course, are the evil dragons.

“Not that I have any doubts the knights can hold the fortress against the citadel, of course,” Gunthar added sternly. “But it will be a much stiffer battle than I had at first anticipated. I’ve readjusted our strategy. Kalaman survived a citadel’s attack by waiting until most of its troops had been dropped, then good dragons carrying men-at-arms on their backs flew up and took control of the citadel. We’ll leave most of the Knights here in the fortress, of course, to fight the draconians who will drop down upon us. I have about a hundred standing by with bronze dragons ready to fly up and begin the assault on the flying citadel itself.”

It made sense, Tanis admitted to himself. That much of the battle of Kalaman Riverwind had told him. But Tanis also knew that Kalaman had been unable to hold the citadel. They had simply driven it back. Kitiara’s troops, giving up the battle of Kalaman, had been able to easily recapture their citadel and fly it back to Sanction where Kit had, apparently, once more put it to good use. He was about to point this out to Lord Gunthar when he was interrupted.

“We expect the citadel to attack us almost any moment,” Gunthar said, calmly staring out the window. “In fact—”

Tanis gripped Gunthar’s arm. “There!” He pointed.

Gunthar nodded. Turning to an orderly by the door, he said, “Sound the alarm!”

Trumpets pealed, drums beat. The knights took their places upon the battlements of the High Clerist’s Tower with orderly efficiency. “We’ve been on alert most of the night,” Gunthar added unnecessarily.

So disciplined were the knights that no one spoke or cried out when the flying fortress dropped down from the cover of the storm clouds and floated into view. The captains walked their rounds, issuing quiet commands. Trumpets blared their defiance. Occasionally Tanis heard the clinking of armor as, here and there, a knight shifted nervously in place. And then, high above, he heard the beating of dragon wings as several flights of bronze dragons—led by Khirsah—took to the skies from the Tower.

“I am thankful you persuaded me to fortify the High Clerist’s Tower, Tanis,” Gunthar said, still speaking with elaborate calm. “As it was, I was able to call upon only those knights I could muster at practically a moment’s notice. Still, there are well over two thousand here. We are well provisioned. Yes,” he repeated again, “we can hold the Tower even against a citadel, I have no doubt. Kitiara could not have more than a thousand troops in that thing... .”

Tanis wished sourly that Gunthar would quit emphasizing that. It was beginning to sound as if the knight were trying to convince himself. Staring at the citadel as it came nearer and nearer, some inner voice was shouting at him, pummeling him, screaming that something wasn’t right...