Brian pulled on his thick boots, figuring he might as well get up. The gray light of dawn was seeping into the tent. “Maybe he’s right. If we sneak into the castle—”
“That’s my point,” interrupted Aran, gesturing with the flask. “Since when does Derek sneak anywhere? This is the same Derek who had to turn the Measure upside down to find a way for us to enter Tarsis without proclaiming ourselves as knights to all and sundry. Now he’s sneaking into castles and stealing dragon orbs.”
“The castle of the enemy,” Brian pointed out.
Aran shook his head, unconvinced. “The Derek we once knew would have walked up to the front of that castle, banged on the door, and challenged the wizard to come out to do battle. Not very sensible, admittedly, but that Derek would have never considered turning sneak thief.”
Before Brian could respond, Derek crawled back inside the tent. “I’m certain the elf was eavesdropping, though I couldn’t catch him. It doesn’t matter now. The camp is starting to stir. Brian, go wake Brightblade. Tell him what we’re doing, and order him to keep this to himself. He’s not to tell the others, especially the elf. I’m going to talk to the chief.”
Derek left again.
“Are you going to go along with this crazy scheme of his?” Aran asked.
“Derek gave us an order,” Brian replied, “and… he’s our friend.”
“A friend who’s going to get us all killed,” Aran muttered. Buckling on his sword belt and taking a final pull on the flask, he stuffed it into his coat and stomped out of the tent.
Brian went to wake Sturm and found the knight already awake. A thin sliver of light spilled out from underneath the tent.
“Sturm?” he called softly, pushing open the flap.
The light came from a burning wick placed in a dish of oil. Sturm sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing the blade of Brian’s sword with soft, brushed hide.
“Almost finished, my lord,” said Sturm, looking up. The light of the flame shone in his eyes.
Brian squatted down. “The order to clean my sword was meant to be a jest.”
“I know,” said Sturm, smiling. His hand with the cloth glided slowly, carefully, over the sword’s blade. “What you did for me meant more to me than you can ever know, my lord. This is my poor way of showing my gratitude.”
Brian was deeply touched. “I need to talk to you,” he said. He explained Derek’s plan to use the attack as a diversion, slip into the castle, and steal the orb.
“Derek says he knows where the orb is located,” Brian added.
“How could he?” Sturm asked, frowning.
Brian didn’t want to repeat Derek’s sarcastic gibe about the gods, and so he evaded the question. “Derek has ordered you to accompany us.”
Sturm regarded him in troubled silence. The frown line in his forehead deepened. “Far be it from me to question the orders of a Lord Knight of the Rose—”
“Oh, go ahead—question!” Brian said wearily. “Aran and I have been doing nothing else since we came on this mission.” He lowered his voice. “I’m worried about Derek. He’s become increasingly obsessed with this dragon orb. Almost consumed by it.”
Sturm looked very grave. “I know something of magic, not by choice, mind you, but because I was around Raistlin so much—”
“Your friend the Red Robe wizard,” Brian clarified.
“Not friend, exactly, but, yes, he’s the one I meant. Raistlin always cautioned us that if ever we came upon any object that might be magical, we were to leave it alone, have nothing to do with it. ‘Such artifacts are designed to be used by those who have studied magic and know and understand its deadly potential. They pose a danger to the ignorant’.”
Sturm grimaced. “The one time I did not heed Raistlin’s warning, I paid for it. I put on a magical helm I had found and it seized hold of me—” Sturm stopped, waved the story aside. “But that’s another tale. I think if Raistlin were here, he would caution us against this orb, warn us against coming anywhere near it.”
“You make it sound like the orb has something to do with changing Derek, but how is that possible?” Brian argued.
“How is it possible for a dwarven helm to steal a man’s soul?” Sturm asked with a rueful smile. “I don’t know the answer.”
Tossing aside the cloth, he held the blade to the flame, watched the light flare off the gleaming metal. Sturm placed the sword on his bent arm, knelt on one knee, and offered it, hilt-first, to the knight.
“My lord,” he said with profound respect.
Brian accepted the sword and buckled it on beneath his coat. The belt was not large enough to fit over the bulky fur.
Sturm picked up the ancient blade of the Brightblades, his most valued inheritance from his father. He gestured toward the tent’s entrance. “After you, my lord.”
“Please, call me Brian,” said Brian. “I keep thinking you’re talking to Derek.”
It seemed the gods were with Derek and the Ice Folk, at least at the start, for the day dawned clear, the sun shone bright, and a brisk wind sprang up, an unusually warm wind for this time of year, Harald told them. He consulted Raggart the Elder, who said the gods sent this good weather as a sign they favored the venture. And because the gods were with them, he was going to go on the raid.
Harald and Raggart the Younger were both shocked. The old man could scarcely walk on his own. Both attempted to dissuade Raggart the Elder, but he would not listen. He tottered out to the ice boat unaided, carrying with him his frostreaver. When Raggart the Younger tried to assist him, the old man testily ordered his grandson to quit hovering around him like some damn mother bear.
Laurana brought her own frostreaver. She had planned to bring along her sword to use in battle. She was honored by the gift of the axe, but felt uncomfortable using it, since she was not trained in wielding such a weapon. But her sword was not in her tent. Laurana searched and searched and eventually realized it was probably inside Tasslehoff’s tent, along with everything else that had gone missing from the camp during the past few days. She had no time to go rummaging through the kender’s treasure hoard, so, fearing she would be late, she grabbed the frostreaver and hastened out into the morning.
She was gazing into the bright sunshine, thinking her plan might work after all, when Gilthanas caught up with her.
“Don’t you think you should stay here in camp with the other women?”
“No,” said Laurana indignantly and kept walking.
Gilthanas fell in beside her. “Laurana, I overheard Derek talking to his friends this morning—”
Laurana frowned and shook her head.
“It’s a good thing I did,” Gilthanas said defensively. “When the attack starts, the knights are going to use it as a diversion to enter the castle after the dragon orb. If Derek goes, I’m going with him. Just so you know.”
Laurana turned to face her brother. “You want me to stay here because you plan to take the dragon orb for yourself and you think I’ll try to stop you.”
“Won’t you?” he demanded, glowering.
“What will you do? Fight the knights? All of them?”
“I have my magic—” Gilthanas said.
Laurana shook her head and walked on. Gilthanas called angrily after her, but she ignored him. Elistan, walking toward the ice boat, heard Gilthanas’s shout and saw Laurana’s angry flush.
“I take it your brother does not want you to go,” said Elistan.
“He wants me to stay with the women.”
“Perhaps you should heed his concerns,” Elistan said. “The gods have blessed us thus far and I have faith they will continue to aid us, but that doesn’t mean we will not be in danger—”
“He’s not concerned about my safety,” Laurana said. “Derek and the other knights plan to use the battle as a diversion. They’re going to sneak into Ice Wall Castle to steal the dragon orb. Gilthanas intends to go after them, because he wants the dragon orb. He’s prepared to kill Derek over it or at least he thinks he is, so you see why I have to go.”