“Are you certain about this, my lord?” Sturm asked in a low undertone. He cast a sidelong, meaningful glance at Derek, whose face was dark, suffused with anger.
“I am,” Brian said, and he reached out to clasp Sturm’s hand. “You realize what this does for you?”
Sturm nodded and said brokenly, “I do, my lord. I cannot tell you how much this means…” He bowed deeply. “I am honored by your regard, my lord. I will not fail you.”
Overcome with emotion, Sturm could say no more. Flint came over to congratulate him, as did Tasslehoff.
Laurana leaned over to ask Brian, “I heard you say this will do something for him. What will it do? Isn’t Sturm too old to be a squire? I thought squires were young lads who acted as servants to a knight.”
“Generally they are, though there are no age restrictions. Some men remain squires all their lives, content in that position. By making him my squire, Sturm may now apply to take his knightly trials, something he could not have done otherwise.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I have named Sturm my squire, the transgressions he committed which would have barred him from the knighthood are now expunged.”
A small frown line creased Laurana’s smooth forehead. “What transgression could Sturm have possibly committed?”
Brian hesitated, unwilling to say.
“I know he lied about being a knight,” Laurana said. “Sturm told me. Is that what you mean?”
Brian nodded, then looked up as a blast of frigid wind blew through the chieftent, causing the fires to waver. Derek had stalked out.
Laurana’s troubled gaze followed him. “You mean Derek would have used that to block Sturm’s application?”
“Oh, yes,” said Brian, nodding emphatically. “By making Sturm my squire, I’m telling the Council that I have decided his error in judgment should be forgiven and forgotten. Derek won’t even be able to bring up the fact that Sturm lied about being a knight.”
Sturm was patiently answering Tasslehoff’s questions, promising him that if he ever rode in a tourney, Tas could be the one to carry his shield, an honor that left the kender aglow with pleasure.
“I do not think Sturm lied,” said Laurana softly.
“As it happens, neither do I,” said Brian.
Aran walked over to shake Sturm’s hand and extend his congratulations, then went to Brian.
“Derek wants to see you outside,” he said in Brian’s ear.
“Is he very angry?” Brian asked.
“I figure he’s out there gnawing the edge off his sword blade,” Aran said cheerfully. He clapped Brian on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You did right. I’ll say as much over your grave.”
“Thanks,” Brian muttered.
The dancing started. The elders began beating out a lively rhythm on the drums and chanting. Young and old took the floor, forming a circle, joining arms, dipping and bobbing and weaving. They drew Laurana in, and even persuaded Flint, who kept falling over his own feet and tripping up the line, much to everyone’s mirth. Brian, sighing, headed for the tent opening.
Sturm stopped him. “I fear this will cause trouble between you and Derek.”
“I fear you’re right,” said Brian with a wry smile.
“Then don’t go through with it,” said Sturm earnestly. “It is not worth it—”
“I think it is. The knighthood needs men like you, Sturm,” Brian said. “Maybe more than it needs men like us.”
Sturm started again to protest. Brian unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to him. “Here, Squire. Have that weapon cleaned and polished by morning when we ride to battle.”
Sturm hesitated, then he accepted the sword with a grateful smile. “I will, my lord,” he said, bowing.
Brian walked into the icy wind blowing off the glacier. He saw pale shapes slinking outside the ring of tents—wolves, watching them. He wondered if Raggart was right, if the wolves were spies. They certainly seemed intent upon them. He shivered in the cold, and found more cold awaiting him—cold fury.
“You did that deliberately to discredit me!” Derek said accusingly. “You did it to destroy my credibility and make me look the fool!”
Brian was astonished. Whatever else he had expected, it wasn’t this. “I don’t believe it! You think I made Sturm my squire just to get back at you?”
“Of course,” Derek returned. “Why else would you do it? Brightblade is a liar, quite possibly a bastard. Ye gods, you might as well have made the kender your squire! Or perhaps you’re saving that for tomorrow night!” he snapped viciously.
Brian stared at Derek in amazement too great for words.
“I want both you and Aran in our tent before moon rise,” Derek continued. “You will need your rest for the morrow. And tell Brightblade he is to report to me then as well. As a squire, he now falls under my jurisdiction. He will obey my orders. No more siding with the elves against me. Mark my words—the first time Brightblade disobeys me will be the last.”
Derek turned and walked off toward the tent the knights shared, his boots crunching on the ice, his sword clanking at his side.
Brian, sighing deeply, went back to the warmth and merriment of the chieftent. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, the wolves slinking and sidling about the outskirts of the camp.
12
Feal-Thas sets a trap. Derek dreams of dragons
Upon his return to Ice Wall Castle from Neraka, Feal-Thas sent for the leader of the draconians to ask if any strangers had been seen in the vicinity. The draconians reported that a group of outsiders, including three Solamnic knights, had attacked two draconian guards. The knights and the rest of their companions were skulking about the camp of the Ice Folk. Feal-Thas had no doubt these were the knights sent by Kitiara, part of Ariakas’s scheme to plant the dragon orb among the Solamnics.
Ariakas had explained his plan to Feal-Thas when he’d been in Neraka. The emperor had used the analogy of besieging armies throwing the carcasses of plague-ridden animals over the walls into the enemy city so the disease could infect the defenders. Ariakas was applying the same principle here, except that the dragon orb would take the place of a plague-ridden cow. The knights would carry the dragon orb into Solamnia and there fall under its sway, as had the wretched King Lorac of Silvanesti.
Feal-Thas had agreed to go along with the scheme. He could do nothing else. Ariakas wore the Crown of Power. Takhisis loved him, while the Queen and Feal-Thas were barely on speaking terms. Feal-Thas took comfort in the fact that accidents happened, especially to glory-seeking knights. Ariakas could hardly fault Feal-Thas if this Solamnic ended up in the dragon’s belly.
There was another problem that Ariakas had not considered, because Feal-Thas had not told him. The dragon orb had its own plots and schemes.
For hundreds of years, ever since the dragons had gone to sleep following the Dark Queen’s defeat at the hands of Huma Dragonbane, the dragon orbs, made of the essence of dragons, had waited for their Queen’s return. Finally they heard Takhisis’s voice call out to them, as it had called out to her other dragons. Now this orb yearned to be free of its prison and back in the world. Feal-Thas heard its whispered temptations, but he was wise enough to shut his ears to them. Others—those who wanted to hear it, wanted to believe it—would listen.
Having heard the draconian report, Feal-Thas hastened to Sleet’s lair to make certain the dragon orb was safe. The white dragon had been ordered to guard the orb, and she would obey that order to the best of her abilities. Unfortunately, Sleet’s abilities did not fill the wizard with confidence. The white dragon was not particularly intelligent, nor was she clever, subtle, or cunning, whereas the dragon orb was all these and more.
Feal-Thas walked the frozen tunnels beneath the castle. He carried no light. At his coming, an icy enchantment caused the tunnels to shimmer with blue-white radiance. He passed the chamber that had once housed the orb and glanced inside. The traces left by the Guardian’s victims was still visible-blood covered the floor, spattered the walls. He paused to regard the gruesome scene. Some of that blood was Kitiara’s. Feal-Thas had been informed, just as he was leaving Neraka, that Kitiara had escaped her execution. Feal-Thas was disappointed, but hardly surprised. She was lucky, that one, lucky and fearless and smart—a dangerous combination. Ariakas should have never allowed her to live this long. Feal-Thas would be doing everyone a favor by getting rid of her.