Margaret Weis - The Second Generation

Tanis stood up. Brushing his hand across his eyes, he looked over at Caramon.

The big man knelt on the opposite side of the catafalque. “I’d give up my life for my children,” he said, in a quiet voice, “if I thought that would save them from danger. I know that you’ll... Well, you’ll do what's right, Sturm. You always did.”

With this somewhat enigmatic request, Caramon stood up. Turning his back, he snuffled loudly, then wiped his eyes and nose on his shirt sleeve.

Tanis looked at Steel. The young man had held back. He stood alone, away from the knights, away from the catafalque, though he stared at the body with dark and burning eyes. He continued to stand, unmoving. His face, pale and cold and hard, was the exact copy of the face of the slumbering knight. Both might well have been carved out of marble.

“So much for that,” Tanis said to himself. “Poor Sara. Still, she tried.”

Sighing, he took a step forward. It was time to leave. Suddenly Steel made a convulsive lunge for the marble catafalque.

“Father!” he cried brokenly, and it wasn’t the man’s voice who spoke, but the voice of the child, bereft, alone.

Steel’s hands closed over the cold hands of the corpse.

A flash of white light, a light pure and radiant, cold and awful, surged through all present, left them paralyzed and half-blind.

Tanis rubbed his eyes, trying to knead out the vibrant afterimage, trying frantically to see through a bursting of fiery red and vivid yellow spots. Elven eyesight is keen, and elven eyes adjust better to darkness and to light than do human eyes. Or perhaps, in this instance, it was the eyes of the heart that saw clearer than those of the head. Sturm Brightblade stood in the chamber.

So real was the vision—if vision it was—that Tanis very nearly called out his friend’s name, very nearly reached out to once again clasp his friend’s hand.

Something kept the half-elf silent. Sturm’s gaze was fixed on his son, and in it was sorrow, understanding, love.

Sturm spoke no word. He reached to his breast, clasped his hand over the star jewel. The dazzling white light was briefly diminished. Sturm reached out to his son.

Steel stared at his father; the young man was more livid than the corpse.

Sturm’s hand touched Steel on the breast. The light of the jewel flared.

Steel put his hand swiftly to his breast, fumbled for something there, and closed his hand over it. White light pulsed briefly in Steel’s grasp, welled through his fingers, then the light was darkness. Steel thrust whatever had been in his hand inside his armor.

“Sacrilege!” Sir Wilhelm gave a hoarse cry of outrage and fury, then drew his sword from its scabbard.

At last, the fiery halo disappeared. Tanis could see clearly and the sight unnerved and appalled him.

The body of Sturm Brightblade was gone. The corpse had disappeared. All that remained was the helm, the shining antique armor, and the ancient sword, lying on the bier.

“We have been deceived!” Sir Wilhelm was thundering. “This man is not one of us! He is not a Solamnic Knight. He is a servant of the Dark Queen! A minion of evil! Seize him! Slay him!”

“The magic jewel!” another knight cried. “It’s gone! He has stolen it! The jewel must be on his person!”

“Take him! Search him!” Sir Wilhelm howled. Brandishing his sword, he leapt for Steel.

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.