As Gunthar took a deep drink of his wine, he studied the young man before him. Sturm merely sipped at his wine out of politeness, holding the mug with a hand that trembled visibly. Gunthar laid his hand kindly on Sturm's shoulder, pushing the young man down gently into a chair. .

'Have you failed in the past, Sturm?" Gunthar asked.

Sturm looked up, his brown eyes flashing. "No, my lord; he:'

answered. "'I have not. I swear it!" j

"Then I have no fear for the future," Lord Gunthar said, Emil ing. He raised his mug. '"I pledge your good fortune in battle; Sturm Brightblade:'

Sturm shut his eyes. The strain had been too much. Drop' ping his head an his arm, he wept-his body shaking with pain ful sobs. Gunthar gripped his shoulder.

"I understand . . :' he said, his eyes looking back to a time' Solamnia when this young man's father had broken down an cried that same way-the night Lord Brightblade had sent h' young wife and infant son an a journey into exile-a journey. from, which he would neuter see then return.

Exhausted, Sturm finally fell asleep, his head lying an t table. Gunthar sat with him, sipping the hot wine, lost in m cries off the past, until he, too, drifted into slumber.

The few days left before the army sailed to Palanthas passed swiftly for Sturm. He had to find armor-used; he couldn't afford new. He packed his father's carefully, intending to carry it since he had been forbidden to wear it. Then there were meetings to attend, battle dispositions to study, information on the enemy to assimilate.

The battle for Palanthas would be a bitter one, determining control of the entire northern part of Solamnia. The leaders were agreed upon their strategy. They would fortify the city walls with the city's army. The knights themselves would occupy the High Clerist's Tower that stood blocking the pass through the Vingaard Mountains. But that was all they agreed upon. Meetings between the three leaders were tense, the air chill.

Finally the day came for the ships to sail. The knights gathered on board. Their families stood quietly on the shore. Though faces were pale, there were few tears, the women standing as tight-lipped and stern as their men. Some wives wore swords buckled around their own waists. All knew that, if the battle in the north was lost, the enemy would come across the sea.

Gunthar stood upon the pier, dressed in his bright armor, talking with the knights, bidding farewell to his sons. He and Derek exchanged a few ritual words as prescribed by the Measure. He and Lord .Alfred embraced perfunctorily. At last, Gunthar sought out Sturm. The young knight, clad in plain, shabby armor, stood apart from the crowd.

"Brightblade;" Gunthar said in a low voice as he came near him, "I have been meaning to ask this but never found a moment in these last few days. You mentioned that these friends of yours would be coming to Sancrist. A_-a there any who could serve as witnesses before the Council?"

Sturm paused. For a wild moment the only person he could think of was Tanis. E-its thoughts had been with his friend during these last trying days. He'd even had a surge of hope that Tanis might arrive in Sancrist. But the hope had died. Wherever Tanis was, he had his own problems, he faced his own dangers. There was another person, too, whom he had hoped against hope he might see. Without conscious thought, Sturm Placed his hand over the Starjewel that hung around his neck against his breast. He could almost feel its warmth, and heDRAGONLANCE CHRONICLES

knew-without knowing how-that though far away, Alhana was with him. Then

"Laurana!" he said.

"A woman?" Gunthar frowned.

"Yes, but daughter of the Speaker of the Suns, a member of the royal household of the Qualinesti. And there is her brother, Gilthanas. Both would testify for me:"

"The royal household . . :' Gunthar mused. His face brightened. "That would be perfect, especially since we have received word that the Speaker himself will attend the High Council to discuss the dragon orb. If that happens, my boy, somehow I'll get word to you, and you can put that armor back on! You'll be vindicated! Free to wear it without shame!"

"And you will be free of your pledge;' Sturm said, shaking hands with the knight gratefully.

"Bah! Don't give that a thought:' Gunthar laid his hand on Sturm's head, as he had laid his hand on the heads of his own sons. Sturm knelt before him reverently. "Receive my blessing, Sturm Brightblade, a father's blessing I give in the absence of your own father. Do your duty, young man, and remain your father's son. May Lord Huma's spirit be with you:'

"Thank you, my lord;" Sturm said, rising to his feet. "Fare

well ~:'

"Farewell, Sturm," Gunthar said. Embracing the young knight swiftly, he turned and walked away.

The knights boarded the ships. It was dawn, but no sun shone in the winter sky. Gray clouds hung over a lead-gray se There were no cheers, the only sounds were the shouted con mands of the captain and the responses of his crew, the creak ing of the winches, and the flapping of the sails in the wind.

Slowly the white-winged ships weighed anchor and sails north. Soon the last sail was out of sight, but still no one left the pier, not even when a sudden rain squall struck, pelting t ha with sleet and icy drops, drawing a fine gray curtain across the chill waters.

272

3

the dragon orb. Caramon's pledge.

Raistlin stood in the small doorway of the wagon, his golden eyes peering into the sunlit woods. All was quiet. It was past Yuletide. The countryside was held fast in the grip of winter. Nothing stirred in the snowblanketed land. His companions were gone, busy about various tasks. Raistlin nodded grimly. Good. Turning, he went back inside the wagon and shut the wooden doors firmly.

The companions had been camped here for several days, on the outskirts of Kendermore. Their journey was nearing an end. It had been unbelievably successful. Tonight they would

273

leave, traveling to Flotsam under the cover of darkness. They had money enough to hire a ship, plus some left over for supplies and payment for a week's lodging in Flotsam. This afternoon had been their final performance.

The young mage made his way through the clutter to the back of the wagon. His gaze lingered on the shimmering red robe that hung on a nail. Tika had started to pack it away, but Raistlin had snarled at her viciously. Shrugging, she let it remain, going outside to walk in the woods, knowing Caramon-as usual-would find her.

Raistlin's thin hand reached out to touch the robe, the slender fingers stroking the shining, sequined fabric wistfully, regretting that this period in his life was over.

"I have been happy" he murmured to himself. "Strange. There have not been many times in my life I could make that claim. Certainly not when I was young, nor in these past few years, after they tortured my body and cursed me with these eyes. But then I never expected happiness. How paltry it is, compared to my magic! Still . . . still, these last few weeks have been weeks of peace. Weeks of happiness. I don't suppose any will come again. Not after what I must do-"

Raistlin held the robe a moment longer, then, shrugging, hey' tossed it in a corner and continued on to the back of the wagon which he had curtained off for his own private use. On inside, he pulled the curtains securely together.

Excellent. He would have privacy for several hours, until nightfall, in fact. Tanis and Riverwind had gone hunting. Cars. mon had, too, supposedly, though everyone knew this was just

an excuse for him to find time alone with Tika. Goldmoon watt preparing food for their journey. No one would bother him The mage nodded to himself in satisfaction.

Sitting down at the small drop-leaf table Caramon had cotta structed for him, Raistlin carefully withdrew from the ve .