“Yes, and so did your Grandfather Lorac. Listen to me, Silvan,” Kiryn said earnestly. “Don’t make the same mistake. Your grandfather’s downfall was not the dragon Cyan Bloodbane. Pride and fear were Lorac’s downfall. The dragon was the embodiment of his pride and his fear. Pride whispered to Lorac that he was wiser than the wise. Pride whispered that he could flout rules and laws. Fear urged him to act alone, to refuse help, to turn a deaf ear to advice and counsel.”
Silvanoshei halted. “All my life, Cousin, I’ve heard that side of the story, and I have accepted it. I have been taught to be ashamed of my grandfather. But in recent days I’ve heard another side, a side no one mentions because they find it easy to blame my grandfather for their troubles. The Silvanesti people survived the War of the Lance. They are alive today because of my grandfather. If he had not sacrificed himself as he did, you and I would not be standing here discussing the matter. The welfare of the people was Lorac’s responsibility. He accepted that responsibility. He saved them, and now instead of being blessed by them he is denigrated!”
“Who told you this, Cousin?” Kiryn asked.
Silvan saw no reason to answer this, and so he turned on his heel and continued walking. Glaucous had known his grandfather. He had been very close to Lorac. Who would know better the truth of the matter?
Kiryn guessed the name Silvan did not speak. He walked a few paces behind his king, said no more.
Silvan and his oddly assorted escort, consisting of his cousin and the clamoring guards, strode rapidly through the corridors of the palace. Silvan passed by magnificent paintings and wondrous tapestries without a glance. His boots rang loudly on the floor, expressive of his haste and his determination. Accustomed only to silence in this part of the palace, the servants came running to see what was amiss.
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty,” they murmured, bowing in fluttered confusion and looking at each other askance when he had gone by, as much as to say, “The bird has flown the cage. The rabbit has escaped the warren. Well, well. Not surprising, considering that he is a Caladon.”
The king left the royal quarters of the palace, entered the public areas, which were crowded with people: messengers coming and going, lords and ladies of House Royal standing in clusters talking among themselves, people bustling about with ledgers under their arms or scrolls in their hands. Here was the true heart of the kingdom. Here the business of the kingdom was accomplished. Here—on the side of the palace opposite the royal quarters where Silvan resided.
The courtiers heard the commotion, paused and turned to see what was going on, and when they saw it was their king, they were astonished. So astonished that some lords forgot to bow, remembered only belatedly and then because scandalized wives poked them in the ribs.
Silvan noted the difference between the two sides of the palace immediately. His lips tightened. He ignored the courtiers and brushed aside those who tried to speak. Rounding a comer, he approached another set of double doors. Guards stood here, but these guards were alert, not dozing. They came to attention when the king approached.
“Your Majesty,” said one, moving as if to block his way. “Forgive me, Sire, but General Konnal has given orders that he is not to be disturbed.”
Silvan gazed long at the man, then said, “Tell the general he will be disturbed. His king is here to disturb him.”
Silvan enjoyed watching the struggle on the guard’s face. The elf had his orders from Konnal, yet here stood his king before him. The guard had a choice to make. He looked at the pale eyes and set jaw of the young king and saw in them the blood line that had ruled Silvanesti for generations. This guard was an older man, perhaps he had served under Lorac. Perhaps he recognized that pale fire. The guard bowed with respect, and, throwing open the doors, announced in firm tones, “His Majesty, the King.”
Konnal looked up in amazement. Glaucous’s expression was one of astonishment at first, but that swiftly changed to secret pleasure. Perhaps he, too, had been waiting the day when the lion would tear free of his chains. Bowing, Glaucous cast a glance at Silvan that said plainly, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I am under the general’s control.”
“Your Majesty, to what do we owe this honor?” Konnal asked, highly irritated at the interruption. He had obviously received some unsettling news for his face was flushed, his brows contracted. He had to struggle to maintain a show of politeness, and then his voice was cold. Glaucous was disturbed by something as well. His face was grim, he seemed disturbed and anxious.
Silvan did not reply to the general’s question. Instead, he turned to the elf of the kirath, who immediately bowed very low.
“You bring news, sir?” the king asked imperiously.
“I do, Your Majesty,” said the kirath.
“News of importance to the kingdom?”
The kirath stole a glance at Konnal, who shrugged in response.
“Of the utmost importance, Your Majesty,” the kirath replied.
“And you do not bring that news to your king!” Silvan was pale with anger.
The general intervened. “Your Majesty, I would have apprised you of the situation at the proper time. This matter is extremely serious. Immediate action must be taken—”
“So you thought you would tell me of the matter after you had taken the action,” said Silvan. He looked back at the kirath.
“What is your news, sir? No, don’t look at him! Tell me! I am your king!”
“A force of Dark Knights has managed to penetrate the shield, Your Majesty. They are inside the borders of Silvanesti and marching toward Silvanost.”
“Dark Knights?” Silvan repeated, astonished. “But how. . . ? Are you certain?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the kirath replied. “I saw them myself. We had received reports of an army of ogres assembling outside the shield. We went to investigate these reports and it was then we discovered this force of about four hundred human soldiers inside the shield. The officers are those known to us as the Dark Knights of Takhisis. We recognized their armor. A company of archers, probably mercenaries, marches with them. They have among their number a minotaur, who is second in command.”
“Who is their leader?” Silvan asked.
“There is not time for this—” Konnal began.
“I want to know all the details,” Silvan stated coldly.
“The leader is very strange, Your Majesty,” the kirath replied.
“She is a human female. That in itself is not surprising, but this leader is a child, even among their kind. She cannot be more than eighteen human years, if she is that. Yet she is a Knight, and she is their commander. She wears the black armor, and the soldiers defer to her in everything.”
“That is odd,” said Silvan, frowning. “I can hardly believe it. I am familiar with the structure of the Dark Knights, who now call themselves Knights of Neraka. I have never heard of a person that young being made a Knight, much less an officer.”
Silvan shifted his gaze to Konnal. “What do you plan to do about this threat, General?”
“We will mobilize the army, at once, Your Majesty,” Konnal replied stiffly. “I have already given orders to do so. The kirath are following the enemy’s progress through our land. We will march out to meet them, and we will repulse them and destroy them. Their force numbers only four hundred. They have no supplies, no means of acquiring supplies. They are cut off, isolated. The battle will not last long.”
“Do you have any experience fighting against the Knights of Neraka, General Konnal?” Silvan asked.
Konnal’s face darkened. He pursed his lips. “No, Your Majesty. I have not.”
“Do you have any experience fighting against any foe other than a dream foe?” Silvan pursued.
Konnal was extremely angry. He went livid. Two bright flaring spots of red stained his cheeks. Jumping to his feet, he slammed his hands on the desk. “You young—”