Sliding the tunic, embroidered with the kingfisher and rose of the Solamnic Knighthood, over her head, Odila buckled on her sword, locked her door, and hurriedly left her quarters. She lived on the upper floor of a former inn that had been turned over to the Knighthood to house those who served in Solanthus. Clattering down the stairs, she noted that her fellow Knights appeared to be moving as slowly as she was this morning. She nearly collided with Sir Alfric, who was supposed to be in charge of the changing of the guard at the city’s front gate and who would be late for his duty. Carrying his shirt and his sword belt in one hand, his helm in the other, he came dashing out of his room.
“And a good morning to you, too, my lord,” said Odila, with a pointed stare at the front of his breeches.
Flushing deeply, Sir Alfric hastily laced himself into proper decorum and then fled out the door.
Chuckling at her jest, thankful she was not in for his reprimand, Odila walked briskly to the armorer. She had taken her breastplate to the armory yesterday to mend a torn leather strap and a bent buckle. They had promised to have it mended by this morning. Everyone she met looked sleepy and bedraggled or annoyed and put out. She passed by the man who was the relief for the night warden. The man was yawning and stumbling over his feet in his haste to report for work.
Had everyone in Solanthus overslept?
Odila pondered this disturbing question. What had seemed an odd and annoying occurrence was now starting to take on sinister significance. She had no reason to think this unusual bout of slothfulness on the part of Solanthus’s inhabitants had anything to do with the prisoners, but, just to make certain, she altered her direction, headed for the prison. She arrived to find everything peaceful. To be sure, the warden was sprawled over his desk, snoring blissfully, but the keys still hung from their hook on the wall. She woke the sleeping warden with a sharp rap of her knuckles on his bald pate. He sat straight up, wincing and blinking at her in confusion. While the warden rubbed his head, she made the rounds to find that the prison’s inmates were all slumbering soundly in their cells. The prison had never been so quiet.
Relieved, Odila decided she would check on Gerard while she was here, to let him know that she knew people who might be able to swear to his identity. She walked down the stairs, rounded the corner and stopped and stared in amazement. Shaking her head, she turned on her heel and walked slowly up the stairs.
“And I had just decided he was telling the truth,” she said to herself.
“That will teach me to admire cornflower-blue eyes. Men! Born liars, every one of them.
“Sound the alarm!” she ordered the sleep-befuddled warden. “Turn out the guard. The prisoners have escaped.”
She paused a moment, wondering what to do. First disappointed, she was now angry. She had trusted him, the absent gods knew why, and he had betrayed her. Not the first time this had happened to her, but she intended it should be the last. Turning, she headed for the stables. She knew where Gerard and his friends had gone, where they must go. He would head for his dragon. When she reached the stables, she checked to see if any horses were missing. None were, and so she assumed that the Knight must be on foot. She was relieved. The gnome and kender, with their short legs, would slow him down.
Mounting her horse, she galloped through the streets of Solanthus that were slowly coming to life, as if the entire city was suffering from the ill effects of a wild drinking bout.
She passed through the numerous gates, pausing only long enough to determine if the guards had seen anything of the prisoners in the night. They hadn’t, but then, by the looks of them, they hadn’t seen anything except the insides of their eyelids. She arrived at the final gate to find Starmaster Mikelis there, as well.
The guards were red in the face, chagrined. Their superior was speaking to Mikelis.
“—caught sleeping on duty,” he was saying irately.
Odila reigned in her horse. “What is the matter, Starmaster?” she asked. Absorbed in his own troubles, he did not recognize her from the trial.
“The First Master has gone missing. She did not sleep in her bed last night—”
“She was the only one in Solanthus who did not sleep, apparently,”
Lady Odila returned with a shrug. “Perhaps she went to visit a friend.”
The Starmaster was shaking his head. “No, I have looked everywhere, spoken to everyone. No one has seen her since she left the Knights’ Council.”
Odila paused, considered this. “The Knights’ Council. Where the First Master spoke in defense of Gerard uth Mondar. It might interest you to know, Starmaster, that last night the prisoner escaped from his cell.”
The Starmaster looked shocked. “Surely, Lady Knight, you’re not suggesting—”
“He had help,” Odila said, frowning, “help that could have come only from someone who has mystical powers.”
“I don’t believe it!” Starmaster Mikelis cried heatedly. “First Master Goldmoon would never—”
Odila didn’t wait to hear anymore about First Master Goldmoon. Spurring her horse to a gallop, she rode out of the gate and down the main road. As she rode, she tried to sort all this out. She had believed Gerard’s story—strange and bizarre though it might be. She had been impressed by his eloquent plea at the end of the trial, a plea not for himself but for the elves of Qualinesti. She had been deeply impressed by the First Master, and that was odd, considering that Lady Odila did not put much stock in miracles of the heart or whatever it was clerics were peddling these days. She even believed the kender, and it was at that point that she wondered if she was running a fever.
Odila had ridden about two miles from the city when she saw a rider approaching her. He was riding fast, bent over his steed, kicking his horse in the flanks to urge it to even greater speed. Spittle whipped from the horse’s mouth as it thundered past Odila. She recognized by his garb that the man was a scout and concluded that the news he brought must be urgent, judging from the breakneck pace he set. She was curious but continued on her way. Whatever news he brought, it would keep until she returned.
She had ridden another two miles when she heard the first horn call. Odila reigned in her steed, turned in the saddle, stared back in consternation at the walls of the city. Horns and now drums were sounding the call to arms. An enemy had been sighted approaching the city in force. To the west, a large cloud of dust obscured the horizon line. Odila stared at the dust cloud intently, trying to see what caused it, but she was too far away. She sat for a moment, irresolute. The horns called her back to duty behind the city walls. Her own sense of duty called her to continue on, to recapture the escaped prisoner.
Or, at least, to have a talk with him.
Odila cast a final glance at the dust cloud, noted that it appeared to be drawing nearer. She increased her speed down the road.
She kept close watch along the side of the highway, hoping to find the location where the group had left the road to go in search of their dragon. A few more miles brought her to the spot. She was surprised and oddly pleased to find that they had not even bothered to hide their tracks. An escaping felon—a cunning and hardened criminal—would have worked to throw pursuers off his trail. The party had cut a wide swath in the waving prairie grass. Here and there small excursions slanted off to the side as if someone—probably the kender—had wandered off, only to be hauled back.