Dragons of a Lost Star

25 Alone Together

After a few more questions and some desultory discussion, the commanders departed. Medan and Laurana said nothing to each other, but between them words were no longer needed. She remained when the others had gone, and the two of them were alone together.

Alone together. Medan pondered that phrase. It was all two people could ever be to each other, he supposed. Alone. Together. For the dreams and secrets of our heart may be spoken, but words are poor handmaidens. Words can never fully say what we want them to say, for they fumble, stammer, and break the best porcelain. The best one can hope for is to find along the way someone to share the path, content to walk in silence, for the heart communes best when it does not try to speak.

The two sat in the garden beneath the moon that was strange and pale, as if it were the ghost of a moon.

“Beryl will come to Qualinost now,” said the Marshal with satisfaction. “She will not pass up the opportunity to see you— the Golden General who defeated Queen Takhisis—shrink in terror before her bloated majesty. We will give Beryl what she wants. We will put on an excellent show.”

“Indeed we will,” said Laurana. “I have some ideas on that score, Marshal Medan. I spoke to you of them earlier in the evening.” She cast a regretful look around the garden. “As beautiful as this place is, it seems a shame to leave it, yet what I have to show you should best be viewed under the cover of darkness. Will you accompany me back to Qualinost, Marshal?”

“I am yours to command, Madam,” he replied. “The road is long and might be dangerous. Who knows if Beryl has assassins lurking about? We should ride, if that will be suitable to you.”

They rode through the moonlit night. Their talk was of dragons.

“It is said of the Golden General that she was never daunted by dragonfear,” Medan said, regarding Laurana admiringly. She sat a horse superbly, although she claimed it had been years since she last rode one. Laurana laughed ruefully, shook her head. “Those who claimed that never knew me. The dragonfear was horrible. It never went away.”

“Then how did you function?” he asked. “For certainly you fought dragons, and you fought them well.”

“I was so afraid that the fear became a living part of me,” Laurana replied, speaking softly, looking not at him, but into the night. “I could feel its pulse and beat inside me as if I had grown a terrible kind of heart, a heart that did not quite fit in my chest, for it always seemed to cut off my breathing.”

She was silent a moment, communing with voices from the past. He no longer heard the voices from his past, but he remembered how they haunted a man or a woman, and he remained silent.

“I thought at first I could not continue on. I was too frightened, but then a wise man—his name was Elistan—taught me that I should not fear death. Death is inevitable, a part of life. It comes to all of us—humans, elves, even dragons. We defeat death by living, by doing something with our lives that will last beyond the grave. What I fear is fear, Marshal. I have never rid myself of that. I fight it constantly.”

They rode in silence, alone together. Then she said, “I want to thank you, Marshal, for paying me the compliment of not trying to dissuade me from this course of action.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment but remained silent. She had more to say. She was thinking how to say it.

“I will use this opportunity to make reparation,” she continued, speaking now not to him alone but to those voices in the past. “I was their general, their leader. I left them. Abandoned them. The War of the Lance was at a critical stage. The soldiers looked to me for guidance, and I let them down.”

“You were faced with a choice between love and duty, and you chose love. A choice I, too, have made,” he said with a glance at the aspen trees through which they rode.

“No, Marshal,” she returned, “you choose duty. Duty to that which you love. There is a difference.”

“At the beginning, perhaps,” he said. “Not at the end.”

She looked over at him and smiled.

They were nearing Qualinost. The city was empty, appeared abandoned. Medan drew up his horse. “Where are we bound, Madam? We should not ride openly through the streets. We might be seen.”

“We are going to the Tower of the Sun,” she said. “The implements of my plan are to be found inside. You look dubious, Marshal. Trust me.”

She regarded him with a mischievous smile, as he assisted her to dismount. “I cannot promise to make the moon fall from the sky. But I can give you the gift of a star.”

The streets of Qualinost were empty, deserted. The two kept to the deep shadows, for they could feel the presence of watchers in the skies though they could not see them. Dragons would be difficult to see in the moonlight through the predawn mists that rose from the river, wound lovingly among the boles of the aspen trees.

The early morning was silent, eerily silent. The animals had gone to ground, the birds huddled hushed in the trees. The smell of burning, the smell of the dragon, the smell of death was in the air, and all creatures fled its coming.

“All those with sense,” Medan said to himself. “Then there are the rest of us.”

So deep was the silence that he thought if he listened closely he could hear the heartbeats of those hiding within the houses. Hearts that beat steadily, hearts that beat fast, hearts that trembled with fear. He could^imagine lovers and friends sitting in the darkness in the silence, hands clasped, their touch conveying the words they could not speak and must be inadequate anyway.

They reached the Tower of the Sun just as the moon was dropping down from the sky. Located on the far eastern border of Qualinost, the tower graced the tallest hill. It provided a spectacular view of the city. The tower was made of burnished gold that shone as brilliantly as another sun when morning’s first rays struck it, setting it aflame with warmth and life and the joy of a new day. So bright was the light that it dazzled the eyes. Approaching the tower in the daytime, Medan had often been forced to look away, lest it blind him.

At night, the tower reflected the stars, so that it was difficult to distinguish the tower—a myriad stars floating on its surface— from the night sky that was its backdrop.

They entered the tower through an entry hall whose doors were never locked and walked from there into the main chamber. Laurana had brought with her a small lantern to light their way. Torchlight would be too bright, too noticeable to anyone outside.

Medan had been inside the tower before for various ceremonies. Its beauty never failed to impress him. The tower rose hundreds of feet into the air with one central spire and two smaller ones jutting out to the sides. A person standing on the floor could see straight up to the top, to a wondrous mosaic. Windows placed in a spiral pattern in the tower’s walls were positioned to capture the sunlight and reflect it downward upon the rostrum that stood in the center of the main chamber.

It was too dark for him to see the mosaic that portrayed the sky by day and the sky by night. Thus symbolically had the Qualinesti portrayed their relationship with their cousins, the Silvanesti. The creator of the mosaic had been optimistic, separating the two by a rainbow. He would have done better to separate them by jagged lightning.

“Perhaps this is the reason,” Laurana said softly, looking upward to the mosaic not yet illuminated by the sunlight but hidden in darkness and in shadow. “Perhaps the sacrifice of my people is necessary for a new beginning—a beginning in which our two sundered people are finally one.”

Medan could have told her that the reasons for the destruction of Qualinost had nothing to do with new beginnings. The reasons were evil and hideous, embedded in a dragon’s hatred for all that she admired, the need to tear down that which she could never build and destroy that which she most desired to possess.

He kept his thoughts to himself. If her idea brought Laurana peace, he was more than willing to let her believe it. And, maybe, after all, their thoughts were but two sides to the same coin. Her side the light, his side the dark.

Leaving the main chamber, Laurana led the Marshal up one flight of stairs and onto a balcony that overlooked the main chamber. Doors made of silver and of gold lined the circular hallway. Laurana counted the doors as she went. When she came to the seventh door, counting from either direction, she drew a key from a blue velvet bag attached to her wrist. The key was also made of silver and of gold. The seventh door was decorated with an image of an aspen tree, its arms extended upward to the sun. Medan could see no lock.

“I know what is in this room,” Medan said. “The Royal Treasury.” He placed his hand over hers, stopped her from continuing. “Are you certain you want to reveal this to me, Madam? In there are secrets the elves have kept for a thousand years. Perhaps it would not be wise to betray them, even now.”

“We would be like the miser in the story who hordes his money against the bad times and starves to death in the process. You would have me keep locked up that which well might save us?” Laurana asked.

“I honor you for your trust in me, Madam,” said the Marshal, bowing. Laurana counted seven tree limbs up from the bottom branch, counted seven leaves upon the trees and touched her key to the seventh leaf. The door did not open. It vanished.

Medan stared into a vast hall that held the wealth of the elven kingdom of Qualinost. As Laurana lifted the lantern, the sight was more dazzling to the eyes than the sunlight striking the tower. Chests of steel coins, golden coins, and silver covered the floor. Weapons of fabulous make and design lined the walls. Casks of gems and pearls stood on the floor. The royal jewels— crowns and scepters and diadems, cloaks heavy with rubies and diamonds and emeralds—were displayed on velvet stands.

“Don’t move, Marshal,” Laurana warned him.

Medan had no intention of moving. He stood frozen inside the door. He gazed around and was angry. Coldly furious, he turned to Laurana.

“You speak of misers, Madam,” he said, gesturing. “You have wealth enough here to buy the swords of every mercenary in Ansalon, and you horde gold while you spend the lives of your people!”

“Once, long ago, in the days of Kith-Kanan, such wealth was ours,” said Laurana. “This is only its memory.”

The moment she said the word, he understood. He saw through the illusion to the reality.

A large hole gaped at his feet. A single spiral staircase carved of stone led straight down into blackness. Anyone who did not know the secrets of that room would take no more than two steps across that illusory floor before plunging to his death.

Their only light was the single ray shining from the small lantern. By its steady and unwavering light, Medan followed Laurana down the stairs. At the bottom lay the true wealth of the elven kingdom of Qualinost: a single chest with a few bags of steel coins. Several empty chests, whose lids stood open, the homes of spiders and mice. Weapons had once been displayed on the walls, but these had long since been removed. All except one. Hanging on the wall was a footman’s lance. The beam of light from her lantern struck it, caused it to shine silver as once had shone the silver moon of Solinari.

“A dragonlance,” said Marshal Medan, his voice tinged with awe. “I have never seen one before, yet I would know it anywhere.”

Laurana looked up at the lance with quiet pride. “I want you to have it, Marshal Medan.” She glanced back at him. “Do you now understand what I have in mind?”

“Perhaps I do,” he said slowly. He could not take his rapt gaze from the dragonlance. “Perhaps I am starting to.”

“I wish I could tell you it had some heroic history,” she said, “but if it does, we do not know it. The lance was given to Tanis shortly after we were married. A woman brought it to him. She said they had found it among her husband’s possessions after his death. He had taken loving care of it, and he’d left a note saying that he wanted it given to someone who would understand. She knew he had fought in the war, but he never spoke of his deeds-He would say that he had done his duty, as did many others—He’d done nothing special.”

“Yet, as I recall, only renowned and proven warriors were granted the honor of carrying the dragonlance,” said Medan.

“I knew him, you see, Marshal. I remembered him. Oh, not him personally. But I remembered all those who gave up so much to join our cause and who were never honored with songs or immortalized with tombs or statues. They went back to their lives as butchers, seamstresses, farmers, or shepherds. What they did they did for no other reason than because they felt it was their duty. I thought it appropriate we should use this lance.

“As to the other weapons that were stored here, I sent many of them with those who departed Qualinost. I gave many more to those who remain to fight. In this casket”—Laurana ran her hand over a box carved plainly and simply of rosewood—”are the truly valuable jewels of antiquity. They will remain here, for they represent the past and its glory. Should a time come in the future when we are at peace, they will be recovered. If the time should come when no one lives who remembers us, perhaps these will be discovered and bring back the dreams of the elves to the world.”

She turned from the rosewood casket, rested her hand on a tree limb. Odd, he thought, that a tree limb should be lying in the room. Kneeling beside it, she reached down and removed a piece of wood that was all but invisible in the center of the tree limb. Now Medan could see that the limb had been split lengthwise to form a case. Laurana lifted the lid. Inside lay a sword. The weapon was enormous—a two-handed broadsword—and it would require two immensely large and strong hands to wield it. The blade was of shining steel, perfectly kept, with no spot of rust anywhere, no notches or scratches. The sword was plainly made, with none of the fancy ornamentation that sends the amateur into raptures but that veterans abhor. The sword had only a single decoration. Set into the pommel was a lustrous star sapphire, as big as a man’s clenched fist. h The sword was lovely, a thing of deadly beauty. Medan reached out his hand in longing, then paused.

“Take it, Marshal,” said Laurana. “The sword is yours.”

Medan grasped the hilt, lifted the sword from its tree-limb case. He swung it gently, tested the balance. The sword might have been made for him. He was surprised to find that, although it appeared heavy, it was so well designed that he could wield it with ease.

“The sword’s name is the Lost Star,” said Laurana. “It was made for the elven paladin, Kalith Rian, who led the elves in the battle against Takhisis in the First Dragon War.”

“How did the sword come by the name?” Medan asked.

“Legend has it that when the smith brought the sword to Kalith Rian, he told the elf lord this tale. While he was forging the sword, the smith saw a star flash across the heavens. The next morning, when he came to finish his work, he found this star sapphire lying amid the embers of his forge fire. He took it as a sign from the gods and placed the jewel in the sword’s pommel. Rian named the sword the Lost Star. He slew the great red dragon Fire-fang with this sword, his final battle, for he himself was slain in the fight. The sword is said to be magical.”

Medan frowned and handed the sword back hilt-first to Laurana. “I thank you, Madam, but I would much prefer to take my chances with an ordinary sword made of ordinary steel. I have no use for a sword that suddenly starts to sing an elven ditty in the midst of battle or one that transforms both me and it into a matched pair of serpents. Such occurrences tend to distract me.”

“The sword will not start to sing, Marshal, I assure you,” Laurana said with a ripple of laughter. “Hear me out before you refuse. It is said that those who look into the Lost Star when it is shining cannot look away, nor can they do anything else but stare at the jewel.”

“That is even worse,” he returned impatiently. “I become enamored of my own sword.”

“Not you, Marshal. The dragon. And although I give the dragonlance to you, you will not wield the lance. I will.”

“I see.” Medan was thoughtful. He continued holding the sword, regarded it with new respect.

“This night as I was walking to the meeting in the darkness, I remembered this sword and its story, and I realized how it might be of use to us.”

“Of use! This could make all the difference!” Medan exclaimed. He took down the dragonlance from the wall and regarded it with interest, held it with respect. He was a tall man, yet the lance topped him by two feet. “I see one difficulty. This lance will be difficult to hide from Beryl. From what I recall, dragons are sensitive to the lance’s magic.”

“We will not hide it from her,” Laurana replied. “As you say, she would sense its magic. We will keep it in the open, where she may see it plainly.”

“Madam?” Medan was incredulous.

“Your gift to your overlord, Marshal. A powerful magical artifact from the Fourth Age.”

Medan bowed. “I honor the wisdom of the Golden General.”

“You will parade me, your hostage, before the dragon on top of the Tower of the Sun, as arranged. You will exhibit the dragonlance and offer that to her as a gift. If she tries to take hold of the lance—”

“She will,” Medan interjected grimly. “She thirsts for magic as a drunkard his liquor.”

“When she takes the lance,” Laurana continued, “the lance— an artifact of light—will send a paralyzing shock through her. You will lift the sword and hold it before her eyes. Enthralled by the sword, she will be unable to defend herself. While the dragon stares mesmerized at the sword, I will take the lance and thrust it through the jaw and into her throat. I have some skill in the use of the lance,” she added with quaint modesty. Medan was approving, enthusiastic. “Your plan is an excellent one, General, and insures our success. I believe that, after all, I may yet live to walk my garden again.”

“I hope so, Marshal,” Laurana said, extending her hand to him. “I would miss my best enemy.”

“And I mine,” he replied, taking her hand and kissing it respectfully. They climbed the stairs, leaving the treasure chamber to illusion. As they reached the door, Laurana turned and threw the velvet bag containing the key inside the room. They heard it strike the floor with a faint, muffled clink.

“My son now has the only key,” she said softly.