Temple of the Dragonslayer (9 page)

Catriona looked at Sindri and grinned. “That was a good spell, but sometimes more mundane methods are just as effective.”

“Indeed,” Elidor said.

Catriona motioned for the innkeeper to come over and remove the unconscious man.

Nearra looked at Davyn. He was simply sitting there with his eyes closed, his hands curled into fists. Nearra was surprised. Was he afraid? Nearra tapped Davyn’s arm and he opened his eyes.

“So much for not drawing attention to ourselves,” he said.

A
fter they finished their meal, the group decided to turn in early and get some rest before setting out in the morning. They headed upstairs, the males to Sindri’s room, and the girls to Catriona’s. Unfortunately, there was but a single bed in the warrior’s small room.

“Take it,” Catriona said. “I will sleep on my bedroll.”

“I can’t do that,” Nearra protested. “I’ve imposed on you and the others too much already!”

“I am used to spending the night on my bedroll. I will be perfectly comfortable.” Without waiting for Nearra to respond, Catriona began undoing her bedroll and spreading it out on the floor.

“I … very well. Thank you.” Nearra climbed onto the mattress, but she did not cover herself with the woolen blanket. Though the air had cooled somewhat with the coming of night, it was still hot out, and even with the shutters open, the room was stuffy.

Catriona didn’t even remove her chain mail vest, though she did take off her metal helmet.

“Isn’t it uncomfortable to sleep in that vest?” Nearra asked.

Catriona smiled. “One gets used to it. A warrior is always prepared for whatever may come. I’d rather put up with a little
discomfort than be without my armor should the need for it suddenly arise in the night.”

Nearra wanted to ask what “need” the warrior thought there might be for her armor tonight, but she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

Catriona lay down on her bedroll and said, “Would you mind blowing out the light, Nearra?”

Nearra sat up, leaned over, and blew out the candle on the nightstand next to the bed. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness at once, and there was more than enough moonlight filtering through the open window to help the process along. Soon she could see almost as well as when the candle had been burning. She lay back and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come and terrified of what might happen when it did. It had been only a mere twelve hours ago that she had woken on the forest path. What if she woke tomorrow morning to find goblins hovering over her once again? How had she gotten on the path in the first place? She strained to find something in her mind that might give her a clue, but all she could think of were the terrifying teeth of those goblins.

The air felt humid, and Nearra’s skin was coated with sticky sweat. She tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, but the mattress was too lumpy, and her mind was swirling.

“Can’t sleep?” Catriona asked.

“This is probably going to sound strange, but I’m not sure how to sleep,” Nearra said. She was so frustrated and frightened she thought she might cry. “I don’t remember ever falling asleep before. I can’t even remember where I spent last night.”

Nearra rolled over to face Catriona and saw that the warrior was lying on her side, head propped on her hand. “So you truly have no memories at all?”

“I have no personal memories beyond knowing my name. But I have many general ones.”

“Like how to speak, how to walk, and how to feed yourself?”

“Yes, things like that, but nothing about my past. It’s awful not knowing.”

Catriona was silent for a moment. “You might not believe this, Nearra, but in a way, I envy you.”

Nearra was shocked by the warrior’s words. “You’re right—I don’t believe it.”

“Tell me, Nearra, do you recall anything about the Solamnic. Knights?”

“The name sounds somewhat familiar, but—no, I don’t.”

“They are an ancient and revered order of fighting men and women dedicated to protecting the weak and downtrodden and upholding the highest standards of morality and chivalry. At least, that’s what they once were. After the Cataclysm—a time of great destruction throughout Ansalon—the Knights lost the respect of the people for not being able to, or as some said, being unwilling to do anything to prevent the Cataclysm. For centuries after, the Solamnic Knights were reviled by the folk of Ansalon, but then came the War of the Lance, and the Solamnic Knight known as Sturm Brightblade. It is mainly thanks to him that the knighthood regained its honor. Today the Solamnic Knights seek to restore their order to its former glory.”

“And … you are one of these Knights?” Nearra guessed.

“No!” Catriona practically shouted. Then, in a calmer voice, she said, “But I was in training to become one.”

Catriona fell silent, and Nearra thought the girl would say no more, but then Catriona took a deep breath and continued her story.

“I was a squire who served a Solamnic Knight named Leyana. She was also my aunt. One day we were patrolling the plains on horseback, searching for a group of bandits that had been harassing trading caravans. We found the bandits easily enough, or rather, they found us. They attacked, and I became frightened. I tried to flee, but as I started to ride away, the bandit leader caught my horse’s bridle and stopped me.

“He pulled me from my horse, disarmed me, and set me on his
mount in front of his saddle. He pulled a dagger, pressed it to my throat, and ordered my aunt to surrender or else he would kill me. I wanted to shout for my aunt to ignore the bandit’s command, but I was too terrified to speak. My aunt didn’t hesitate; she dropped her sword—” Catriona reached out and patted her sword in its sheath lying beside her. “The same sword I carry today. My aunt then raised her hands and surrendered.”

Catriona stopped speaking, and even with the moonlight, it was too dim in the room for Nearra to tell for certain if her friend was crying. Nearra decided to pretend that she wasn’t, for the sake of the warrior’s dignity.

“What happened then?” Nearra asked in a soft voice.

“Two of the bandits killed my aunt before my eyes while the bandit leader laughed. I feared I was to be slain as well, but the surviving bandits, seeing how grief-stricken I was, thought it more amusing to let me live. The bandit leader threw me to the ground and they rode off laughing.

“I wept and cursed the bandits, though I knew it was my own cowardice that had caused my aunt’s death. After a time, I stopped crying. I draped my aunt’s body over her horse’s saddle, tied her securely so she wouldn’t slip off, and began the long ride back home. I told the other Knights what had happened, and after my aunt’s funeral service, I took her sword, an old chain mail vest and helmet, and departed in shame and disgrace. That was five months ago.”

Nearra felt sorrow for her new friend. “But you were only a squire. Surely the other Knights would have understood what happened.”

“Perhaps they would have,” Catriona said. “But I cannot forgive myself. I have vowed to travel throughout the land, living without a home and performing chivalrous deeds until such time as I finally redeem myself and regain my honor.”

“And when will that be?” Nearra asked.

Catriona didn’t answer. She lay down and rolled over, her back to Nearra. Several moments later the warrior’s breathing
deepened, and Nearra realized that Catriona had fallen asleep. Or at least she wanted Nearra to believe that she had.

Nearra lay back down and looked up at the ceiling once more and waited for sleep to come. She had to wait a long time.

Oddvar sat in an alley with his back against the wall. Now that it was finally dark, he didn’t have to wear his cloak, though he could have done without the light from the moons above. Solinari was three-quarters full, while the red moon Lunitari was half full. He could have done without the temperature, too. The caverns where the Theiwar lived were pleasantly cool and damp, not hot and sticky like Solamnia in summertime. But if Oddvar ever wished to return home and get revenge on the cursed dwarf wizard who’d exiled him, he’d have to continue to serve his master and serve him well. As payment, he’d been promised enough magical power to destroy the Theiwar wizard, and since Oddvar desired vengeance more than anything, he intended to be a very good servant, indeed.

After a time, Oddvar heard a soft flapping of wings. The shadow of a dark bird passed over Solinari, and then the bird landed next to the dwarf. The black falcon folded its wings against its sleek body and looked at Oddvar with a piercing gaze.

The Theiwar seemed to listen attentively for several moments, though if anyone else had been in the alley with him, they would have heard nothing.

“Yes, my lord,” Oddvar said in the merest of whispers. “I am currently in the alley next to the inn where the children sleep. They plan to leave for the temple at sunrise. But there have been certain … complications.”

The falcon cocked its head, and its small black eyes gleamed with what Oddvar took to be restrained anger. Oddvar then spoke of how Davyn and Nearra, for reasons unknown to the dwarf, were now accompanied by a redheaded warrior and a
kender. He also told the falcon how the elf at the Blind Goose had been hired as their guide instead of him.

The falcon regarded Oddvar for a few moments, then the dwarf nodded. “I will do as you command, my lord.”

The falcon bobbed its head, as if nodding, then spread its wings and once more took to the sky.

Oddvar stood, picked up his cloak, and put it back on. Then he silently walked out of the alley. Making sure to keep to the shadows, he made his way toward the northern edge of town. He needed to meet Slean and tell her of the plan for tomorrow.

Oddvar grinned. For the first time in his life, he was actually looking forward to a sunrise.

Maddoc released his hand from the mirror’s pulsating surface, severing the psychic link to his falcon. He sat in a high-backed leather chair in front of a huge fireplace. To his left stood the large upright mirror that allowed him to contact Shaera, his beloved familiar. His white robe was gone, exchanged for one that was a far more appropriate shade of black. Though there was room for much more wood in the fireplace, only a few logs burned. Since Maddoc was the only one in the room—not counting his faithful pet, of course—he saw no need for a large blaze. The wizard was a practical man and despised waste.

“That boy is more of a disappointment than ever,” muttered Maddoc. Lying next to Maddoc’s chair, the Beast growled softly and lifted its horned head. Its eyes, red slits deeply set beneath a furry red brow, glared at Maddoc. The creature’s enormous back, covered in long, sharp bony ridges, nearly came to the edge of the armrest.

“I was sure my plan would succeed after the goblins led the girl to that clearing. Slean confronted her, just as instructed, and I sensed the power rising in the girl. But she fought it down before the Emergence could take place, forcing Davyn and me to
intervene. I gave the boy simple instructions. He knew what he was supposed to do. Is he too stupid to follow orders?”

After Maddoc had left Davyn and the girl in Tresvka at the building with the sign of the crescent moon—an empty building, which in fact Maddoc owned—he’d hurried back home to Cairngorn Keep. He intended to oversee the rest of this game from his keep, leaving Davyn and Oddvar—as well as those three goblins—to serve as his agents in the field. Maddoc hadn’t expected his plan to be this difficult to execute, but the black-robed wizard wasn’t prepared to give up just yet. No, not at all.