“We expect the citadel to attack us almost any moment,” Gunthar said, calmly staring out the window. “In fact—”
Tanis gripped Gunthar’s arm. “There!” He pointed.
Gunthar nodded. Turning to an orderly by the door, he said, “Sound the alarm!”
Trumpets pealed, drums beat. The knights took their places upon the battlements of the High Clerist’s Tower with orderly efficiency. “We’ve been on alert most of the night,” Gunthar added unnecessarily.
So disciplined were the knights that no one spoke or cried out when the flying fortress dropped down from the cover of the storm clouds and floated into view. The captains walked their rounds, issuing quiet commands. Trumpets blared their defiance. Occasionally Tanis heard the clinking of armor as, here and there, a knight shifted nervously in place. And then, high above, he heard the beating of dragon wings as several flights of bronze dragons—led by Khirsah—took to the skies from the Tower.
“I am thankful you persuaded me to fortify the High Clerist’s Tower, Tanis,” Gunthar said, still speaking with elaborate calm. “As it was, I was able to call upon only those knights I could muster at practically a moment’s notice. Still, there are well over two thousand here. We are well provisioned. Yes,” he repeated again, “we can hold the Tower even against a citadel, I have no doubt. Kitiara could not have more than a thousand troops in that thing... .”
Tanis wished sourly that Gunthar would quit emphasizing that. It was beginning to sound as if the knight were trying to convince himself. Staring at the citadel as it came nearer and nearer, some inner voice was shouting at him, pummeling him, screaming that something wasn’t right...
And yet he couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. The flying citadel was now plainly visible, having dropped down completely out of the clouds. The fortress absorbed his entire attention. He recalled the first time he had seen it at Kalaman, recalled the riveting shock of the sight, at once horrifying and awe-inspiring. As before, he could only stand and stare.
Working in the depths of the dark temples of the city of Sanction, under the supervision of Lord Ariakas—the commander of the dragonarmies whose evil genius had nearly led to the victory of his Dark Queen—black-robed magic users and dark clerics had managed to magically rip a castle from its foundations and send it up into the skies. The flying citadels had attacked several towns during the war, the last being Kalaman in the war’s final days. It had nearly defeated the walled city that had been well-fortified and expecting assault.
Drifting upon clouds of dark magic, illuminated by flashes of blinding multicolored lightning, the flying citadel came nearer and nearer. Tanis could see the lights in the windows of its three towers, he could hear the sounds that were ordinary when heard upon land but seemed sinister and appalling heard coming from the skies—sounds of voices calling orders, weapons clashing. He could continue to hear, so he thought, the chants of the black-robed magic-users preparing to cast their powerful spells. He could see the evil dragons flying about the citadel in lazy circles. As the flying citadel drew nearer still, he could see a crumbling courtyard on one side of the fortress, its broken walls lying in ruins from where it had been dragged out of its foundation. Tanis watched in helpless fascination, and still that inner voice spoke to him. Two thousand knights! Gathered at the last moment and so ill-prepared! Only a few flights of dragons. Certainly the High Clerist’s Tower might hold out, but the cost would be high. Still, they just needed to hold a few days. By that time, Raistlin would have been defeated. Kitiara would have no more need to try to attack Palanthas. By that time, too, more knights would have reached the High Clerist’s Tower, along with more good dragons. Perhaps they could defeat her here, finally, once and for all.
She had broken the uneasy truce that had existed between the Dragon Highlord and the free people of Ansalon. She had left the haven of Sanction, she had come out into the open. This was their opportunity. They could defeat her, capture her perhaps. Tanis’s throat constricted painfully. Would Kitiara let herself be taken alive? No. Of course not. His hand closed over the hilt of his sword. He’d be there when the knights tried to take the citadel. Perhaps he could persuade her to give herself up. He would see that she was treated justly, as an honorable enemy He could see her so clearly in his mind! Standing defiantly, surrounded by her enemies, prepared to sell her life dearly. And then she would look over, she would see him. Perhaps those glittering, hard dark eyes would soften, perhaps she would drop her sword and hold out her hands What was he thinking about! Tanis shook his head. He was daydreaming like a moon-struck youth. Still, he’d make certain he was with the knights...
Hearing a commotion down on the battlements below, Tanis looked hastily outside, although he really had no need. He knew what was happening—dragonfear. More destructive than arrows, the fear generated by the evil dragons, whose black wings and blue could now be seen against the clouds, struck the knights as they stood waiting upon the battlements. Older knights, veterans of the War of the Lance, held their ground, grimly clutching their weapons, fighting the terror that filled their hearts. But younger knights, who were facing their first dragons in battle, blenched and cowered, some shaming themselves by crying out or turning from the awesome sight before them.
Seeing some of these fear-stricken young knights on the battlements below him, Tanis gritted his teeth. He, too, felt the sickening fear sweep over him, felt his stomach clench and the bile rise to his mouth. Glancing over at Lord Gunthar, he saw the knight’s expression harden, and he knew he experienced the same thing.
Looking up, Tanis could see the bronze dragons who served the Knights of Solamnia flying in formation, waiting above the Tower. They would not attack until attacked—such were terms of the truce that had existed between the good dragons and the evil ones since the end of the war. But Tanis saw Khirsah, the leader, toss his head proudly, his sharp talons flaring in the reflected glare of the lightning. There was no doubt in the dragon’s mind at least, that battle would soon be joined.
Still, that inner voice nagged at Tanis. All too simple, all too easy. Kitiara was up to something...
The citadel flew closer and closer. It looked like the home of some foul colony of insects, Tanis thought grimly. Draconians literally covered the thing! Clinging to every available inch of space, their short, stubby wings extended, they hung from the walls and the foundation, they perched upon the battlements and dangled from the spires. Their leering, reptilian faces were visible in the windows and peered from doorways. Such awed silence reigned in the High Clerist’s Tower (except for the occasional harsh weeping of some knight, overcome by fear) that there could be heard from the citadel above the rustling of the creatures’ wings and, over that, faint sounds of chanting—the mingled voices of the wizards and clerics whose evil power kept the terrible device afloat.
Nearer and nearer it came, and the knights tensed. Quiet orders rang out, swords slid from scabbards, spears were set, archers nocked their arrows, buckets of water stood filled and ready to douse fires, divisions assembled within the courtyard to fight those draconians who would leap down and attack from the skies.
Above, Khirsah aligned his dragons in battle formation, breaking them into groups of twos and threes, hovering, poised to descend upon the enemy like bronze lightning.
“I am needed below,” Gunthar said. Picking up his helm, he put it on and strode out the door of his headquarters to take his place at the observation tower, his officers and aides accompanying him.
But Tanis did not leave, nor even answer Gunthar’s belated invitation to come with them. The voice inside him was growing louder, more insistent. Shutting his eyes, he turned from the window. Blocking out the debilitating dragonfear, blotting out the sight of that grim fortress of death, he fought to concentrate on the voice within.