Odila turned her horse’s head and began following the clearly marked path. As she rode farther, drawing nearer to the stream, she came upon more evidence that she was on the right trail, sighting various objects that must have tumbled out of the kender’s pouches: a bent spoon, a shining piece of mica, a silver ring, a tankard with Lord Tasgall’s crest. She was among the trees now, riding along the bank of the stream where she had first caught Gerard.
The ground was damp from the morning mists, and she could see footprints: one pair of large booted feet, one pair of smaller feet wearing boots with soft soles, one pair of small kender feet— they were in front—
and another pair of small feet straggling behind. Those must belong to the gnome.
Odila came to a place where three of them had halted and one had gone on ahead—the Knight, of course, going to seek out the dragon. She could see some signs that the kender had started to go with the Knight but had apparently been ordered back, because the small footprints, toes dragging, reversed themselves. She could see where the Knight had returned and the rest had gone forward with him.
Dismounting, Odila left her horse by the side of the river with a command to remain there until summoned. She proceeded forward on foot, moving silently, but with as much haste as she could. The footprints were fresh. The ground was just now starting to dry with the morning sun. She had no fear that she would be too late. She had kept watch on the skies to catch sight of a blue dragon, but she had seen no sign of one. It would take some time, she reasoned, for the Knight to persuade a blue dragon—known to be extremely proud and wholly dedicated to the cause of evil—to carry a kender, a gnome, and a Mystic of the Citadel of Light. For that matter, Odila could not imagine the First Master, who had long ago risked her life to battle blue dragons and all they stood for, agreeing to come near a blue dragon, much less ride on one.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Odila said to herself.
The horn calls were distant, but she could still hear them. The city’s bells were ringing now, too, warning the farmers and shepherds and those who lived outside the city to leave their homes and seek the safety of the city’s walls. Odila strained her ears, focused on one sound, a sound apart from the horn calls and the wild clamoring of the bells. Voices. Odila crept forward, listening. She recognized Gerard’s voice and Goldmoon’s. She loosened her sword in its sheath. Her plan was to rush in, knock down Gerard before he could react, and hold him hostage in order to prevent the dragon from attacking. Of course, depending on the relationship between dragon and Knight, the blue might well attack her with no regard for what happened to its master. That was a risk Odila was prepared to take. She was sick and tired of being lied to. Here was one man who was going to tell her the truth or die in the process. Odila recognized this cavern. She had come across it in her earlier attempts to capture the dragon. She and her patrol had searched the cave but had found no trace of the beast. He must have moved here afterward, she concluded, venturing forward. Concentrating on her footing, taking care that she did not crack a stick beneath her boot, or tread on a pile of rustling leaves, she listened intently to what the voices were saying.
“Razor will carry you into Nightlund, First Master.” Gerard was speaking, his voice low and deferential, respectful. “It as the kender claims, the Tower of High Sorcery is located there, the dragon will find it. You need not rely on the kender’s directions. But I beg you to reconsider, First Master.” His voice grew more earnest, his tone more intense.
“Nightlund has an evil reputation that, from all I have heard, is well deserved.”
A pause, then, “Very well, First Master, if you are committed to this action—”
“I am, Sir Knight.” Goldmoon’s voice, clear and resolute, echoed in the cave.
Gerard spoke again. “Caramon’s dying request was for me to take Tasslehoff to Dalamar. Perhaps I should reconsider and travel with you.”
He sounded reluctant. “Yet, you hear the horns. Solanthus is under attack. I should be back there. . . .”
“I know what Caramon intended, Sir Gerard,” said Goldmoon, “and why he made that request. You have done more than enough to fulfill his last wishes. I absolve you of the responsibility. Your life and that of the kender have been intertwined, but the threads are now untangled. You are right to return to defend Solanthus. I will go forth on my own. What have you told the dragon about me?”
“I told Razor that you are a dark mystic, traveling in disguise. You have brought the kender because he claims to have found a way inside the Tower. The gnome is an accomplice of the kender who will not be separated from him. Razor believed me. Of course, he believed me.”
Gerard was bitter. “Everyone believes the lies I tell. No one believes the truth. What sort of strange, twisted world do we inhabit?”
He sighed heavily.
“You have the letter from King Gilthas,” Goldmoon said. “They must believe that.”
“Must they? You give them too much credit. You should make haste, First Master.” Gerard paused, arguing with himself. “Yet, the more I think about it, the more I am loath to allow you to enter Nightlund alone—”
“I need no protection,” Goldmoon assured him, her voice softening.
“Nor do I think there is any protection you could offer me. Whoever summons me will see to it that I arrive safely at my destination. Do not lose faith in the truth, Sir Gerard,” she added gently, “and do not fear the truth, no matter how awful it may seem.”
Odila stood irresolute outside the cave, pondering what to do. Gerard had a chance to escape, and he was not taking it. He was planning to return to defend Solanthus. Everyone believes the lies I tell. No one believes the truth.
Drawing her sword, gripping the hilt tightly in her hand, Odila left the cover of the trees and walked boldly into the mouth of the cave. Gerard stood with his back to her, gazing into the darkness beyond. He wore the leathers of a dragonrider, the only clothes he had, the same that he’d worn in prison. He had recovered his sword and sword belt. In his hand he held the leather headgear of a dragonrider. He was alone.
Hearing Odila’s footsteps, Gerard glanced around. He sighted her, rolled his eyes, shook his head.
“You!” he muttered. “All I need.” He looked away into the darkness. Odila thrust the tip of her sword into the back of his neck. She noted, as she did so, that he’d made a hasty job of putting on his leathers. Either that or he’d dressed in the dark. The tunic was on backward.
“You are my prisoner,” she said, her voice harsh. “Make no move. Do not try to call out to the dragon. One word and I will—”
“You’ll what?” Gerard demanded.
Whipping around, he shoved aside her sword with his hand and strode past her, out of the cave.
“Make haste, Lady, if you’re coming,” he said brusquely. “Or we will arrive back in Solanthus after the battle has ended.”
Odila smiled, but only when his back was turned and he couldn’t see her. Rearranging her face to look stern and severe, she hurried after him.
“Wait a minute!” she said. “Where do you think you are going?”
“Back to Solanthus,” he said coolly. “Don’t you hear the horns? The city is under attack.”
“You are my prisoner—”
“Fine, I’m your prisoner,” he said. Turning, he handed her his sword.
“Where is your horse? I don’t suppose you brought another one for me to ride. No, of course not. That would have required forethought, and you have all the brains of a newt. As I recall, however, your horse is a sturdy animal. The distance back to Solanthus is not far. He can carry us both.”