Jean Rabe - The Day of the Tempest

“If you don’t know which lance was Huma’s, and you’re the keeper of this place, how will we ever find it?” Ulin asked.

The youth shrugged his shoulders. “You’re a sorcerer, as is your companion here. Perhaps you’ve the means to—”

“Wait a minute,” Ulin interrupted. “How could you know that?”

The youth smiled.

“My magic is limited” Ulin continued.

“I am not a sorcerer,” the keeper said. “But I have the means to enhance your magic, great-nephew of Raistlin Majere. I have been looking for an opportunity to work with one with such skills as yourself.”

“How? You won’t even explain yourself or—”

Ulin was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the staircase.

“For a very long time no one has come here,” the youth sighed. “Tonight, it seems there is a convention.”

Climbing the last step was a striking woman, with white-blonde hair that flowed out from a silver helmet, and startling blue eyes that sparkled in the torchlight She was dressed in the shining plate armor of the Knights of Solamnia. Behind her came a half-dozen men, also Solamnic Knights.

“Lady Plata!” Fiona called. “See, Ulin, I told you someone would come looking for me!” The young Solamnic was quick to join her comrades and they formed a tight circle. The hall was instantly abuzz with their reports to each other, Fiona gesturing toward Ulin and pointing to the Knights of Takhisis.

Gilthanas stared at the group of Solamnics for a moment. He placed his hand over his heart, and slowly walked up behind one of them. “Silvara?” he whispered.

Ulin cleared his throat loudly so as to gain everyone’s attention. “What do you mean ‘enhance’ my magic?” he asked the youth.

“There is a bit of magic in my veins.”

“You state the obvious.”

“You can draw on that magic. I can show you how.”

“We can find the lance that way?” Ulin dragged his fingers through his hair, then glanced over his shoulder at the Solamnics.

“We can try.”

Gilthanas still stood behind the Solamnic. “By all the gods! Silvara?” The Qualinesti reached out to touch the knight’s armored shoulder, and the woman quickly turned around.

“My name is Lady Arlena Plata now. I’m with the East-watch Solamnic Knights,” she said, not making eye contact with Gilthanas. “My life is tied to the Order. I am happy and satisfied, and there is purpose to my life. Silvara is a name I used in the past. What we once had… is also in the past.” Despite the coldness of her words, she allowed him to draw her away from the other knights.

“Forgive me, Silvara… Arlena,” Gilthanas choked out. His voice was strained, and a sob caught in his throat. “I was confused decades ago. I should have met you here. I was so very wrong and foolish. I should have—”

“We came in search of Fiona,” Lady Plata continued. “I was… worried about her. I didn’t know… what had happened to her,” she said, her voice breaking. She looked down at the floor and swallowed hard. “We determined that the Dark Queen’s knights would bring her here. We’ll take them along with us. Justice will be served,”

“Silvara ” Gilthanas was insistent, “1 never thought I’d see you again. Somehow we’ve been given a second chance.”

“Have we?” she asked, looking up. She made eye contact with him for the first time. “It was you who decided there was no chance for us. I waited for you. I waited here for months, nearly a year.”

“I didn’t understand my own feelings.”

“I loved you.”

“I still love you,” Gilthanas replied, his voice cracking, “more than life. Please, Silvara… you have to feel something for me. I’ve learned that love transcends everything—race, flesh. Although you now look human, I still knew it was you. We are connected.”

For an instant the knight’s face softened. She appeared to hesitate. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Please.”

“Gilthanas,” Ulin cut in. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But if we’re not going to get any sleep tonight—except for Groller who is blissfully unaware of all this racket—we might as well look for the lance. The keeper thinks he can help.”

Groller was about to get a rude awakening, however. Fury nudged the half-ogre with his wet nose. Groller was twitching, his big hands opening and closing, his brow furrowed. The wolf barked, licked Groller’s face, and eventually resorted to pawing the half-ogre until his eyes fluttered open.

Groller groggily got to his feet. He looked back and forth between Ulin and Gilthanas, and his face registered surprise at the addition of the small band of Knights of Solamnia.

The sorcerer drew his lips into a thin line and brought his hand to his face, cupping it just above his eyes, as if he were shading them from the light so he could look for something. Then he pointed to the weapons and raised his index finger to signal the number one. He repeated the gestures for emphasis.

“Uma’z lanz ” Groller said. “Ino where. Foddow me.” The half-ogre walked down the hallway. Ulin, Gilthanas, and the keeper exchanged puzzled looks as they fell in step behind the half-ogre. The Knights of Solamnia were quick to join the procession. Fury walked at the half-ogre’s side.

Groller took them to a niche made of green marble that housed a gold breastplate. He opened a panel that revealed a small room.

The keeper was visibly surprised. “Few know of this,” he said.

Groller stepped inside, talking about specters of men and his brief vision of Huma in gold plate. “Uma’s lanz zaid come. Wands to be uze.”

He led them into the round chamber he’d seen in his dream and reverently circled the coffin-shaped block of green marble. He ran his hand across its surface, over the gold lance design. His index finger paused on the oval piece of jade. “Uma waz great man.” Groller pressed on the stone and a part of the circular wall behind him slid away. The lance beyond hovered in the air, suspended by magic cast long before the Chaos War. It was an elegant weapon, a lance with a satin steel tip. The handle was polished brass with gold and silver relief—the images of dragons circling and fighting.

The keeper’s mouth fell open. “Here, and I never knew it,” he said, a hint of awe in his voice.

The half-ogre stepped forward, and reverently plucked the lance from its resting place. Then he returned to the coffin and again depressed the stone. The wall slid back.

Groller, oblivious to their words, led the way from the chamber back to the hall of lances. “And-vel now?” he asked Ulin.

The sorcerer shook his head. He held his hands out to his side, palms facing each other, and then slowly drew them together. It was the gesture for near… soon. Then he laid his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes. “Magic is difficult when I’m this exhausted,” he said, hoping Groller would understand his message. “I won’t be able to contact my father until I’ve slept a little.”

“Ulin tard,” the half-ogre said. “Rest. Go morrow?”

Ulin nodded, settling on his bed of furs. “It must be late,” he said to the Solamnic knight. He was uncertain whether to call her Arlena or Silvara, so he avoided using any name. “You might as well stay with us and get some rest, too.”

“We’ll leave in the morning.” She turned to the keeper. “Sunrise, do you mind if we pass the night here?”

So the keeper has a name, Ulin thought to himself as he drew one of the furs over him.

“You are always welcome here, my friend,” the youth returned. “Ulin, we will talk later.” He pivoted on his bare feet and disappeared into one of the alcoves.

“You know the keeper?” Gilthanas asked the knight.