When I reached the edge of the sunken area at the valley's center, instead of seeing dark and polluted water, I found myself gazing down upon a solid glasslike substance. It was cracked, almost as if a giant had struck it dead-center with a fist. Despite the cracks and the ashes that the wind pushed across it, the surface appeared highly polished, allowing me to see reflected in it the pale, scarred moon that had appeared in the heavens on the night following the defeat of the god Chaos. I looked to the clear blue sky. The sun was sinking behind the mountains, and the moon was nowhere in evidence.

I could see no statues of the gods. I could see no lake in which mortals could swim to the stars. Nothing but ash remained, making this place a mockery of what it had once been.

I cursed the gods, then and there. I cursed them for abandoning Ansalon, for giving people like my mother false hope with their brief return after the War of the Lance. I cursed them for leading Lynn of Gateway to give me false hope and waste precious days in my quest to save the man who had saved my life. I dared them to strike us both dead. I dared them to show themselves, to prove to me that they were nothing but cowards who so feared for their own safety that they first shattered the world in response to the Kingpriest of Istar's demands of submission. I taunted them for fleeing in the face of the god of Chaos and then cursed them again for leaving those who worshiped them not even the magic of wizards. I raged at the heavens until my throat grew soar, and until I noticed that Gilthanas had freed himself and was raging right along with me.

I realized the futility of crying out to the gods. They are either deaf or dead. The ashes in this valley, the ashes that will be impossible to keep from clinging to the rabbit that I am roasting, are probably their remains. Whatever the truth is, the gods are gone. I sought their aid, and they could provide none. I will once again restrain Gilthanas in the saddle of one of the griffins and then we will travel toward Solamnia in search of the River of Healing. Or, better yet, a sage who can provide a cure even sooner.

 

Of Elves and Adventures: River of Healing, 27sc

 

Have I got a scheme for you, my friend! A genuine money-maker that can't fail. All we have to do is.... Will you look at that? Just like an elf to draw a knife on a guy for doing what comes naturally. If she didn't want menfolk coming onto her, she bloody well should stay out of taverns—or at least she should dress in a more modest fashion!

Have I ever told you how much I hate elves? Gods, it makes my blood boil just to think about those pointy-eared know-it-alls breathing the same air I do.

Why? Because they've made my life a living hell, that's why. Just about every time I had a racket that looked like it would work for the long haul, some damned elf has come along and screwed it up!

When I was a kid, I'd set up this nice little scheme where me and a partner were peddling visions from Takhisis. We'd set up shop in one of the temples in the Old District where we'd found a hollow that would let someone in a secret chamber pose as the "voice of the god." You've no idea how much drunken or stupid Dark Knights would pay to hear their goddess speak once I "channeled her" through my body. Worked like a charm . . . until some damn elf showed up. Didn't know there were elves among the Dark Knights, did you? Well, there are. And this one had been around for the construction of the rooms we were using. I barely escaped with my life, and my partner—who had taught me everything I knew—was lynched by the Dark Knights right there on the spot.

But, hey, that's what happens sometimes. That's the risks we take. I could have let it go if it'd been just that one time.

But a few years later, another elf ruined things for me. I'd gotten settled in Caergoth where I was doing a brisk business in selling Kagonesti herbal cures for everything from gout to impotence. Of course, the cures were nothing but applesauce, oatmeal, and thyme, but people were snatching 'em up anyway. Until this holier-than-thou elven wench with feathers and flowers in her hair and a leaf tattooed on her cheek showed up, I was doing fantastic business. I guess she came looking for me, thinking I was one of her pointy-eared cousins or something, and when she discovered I wasn't, she first gave me a lecture about truth and honesty . . . and then she started kicking my ass.

Hey, there's nothing funny about this. Between her and the townsfolk I barely escaped!

But that's not it. If that had been the end of it, I might have just chalked it up to bad luck. But two months ago, it happened again! Another damn elf showed up and ruined by life!

After Caergoth, I eventually ended up in Korval. I'd headed north instead of south, because the idea that somehow elves in general were just bad news for me was already starting to form in my head—I had no desire to get any closer to Qualinesti than I'd already been.

At any rate, Korval looked like the perfect place for a completely fresh start. It was a quaint little village with about a dozen citizens that still held regular services to Mishakal and Paladine in a little temple at the heart of the town, and everyone was the perfect stereotype of 'salt of the earth.' Basically, it seemed like the perfect place to take it easy while dusting off some of the old stand-bys like faith healing, spirit channeling, and fortune telling.

For the first four months, Korval was paradise. All I had do was 'read' a few goat entrails and correctly guess that one of the town leaders was sleeping around with another town leader's wife and I had free room and board.

But when I heard the legend of the River of Healing, I knew I had it made. According to a favorite local story there, there was this river in the mountains where Mishakal liked to skinny-dip. A by-product of this was that the waters permanently took on part of her divine essence so that those who bathed in them would be cured of whatever ailed them. Problem is, terrible creatures haunted the only pass leading to the valley where this river could be found.

Being the resident all-around supernatural good guy, I announced that I would brave whatever foes lurked in the pass to bring back bottles filled with the blessed waters. After all, if anyone deserved the benefit of Mishakal's gift, the people of Korval did, and, clearly, it was fate that had sent me to them. The good people said there was no need for me to risk myself—they were doing fine without the healing waters they said—but, being the brave and selfless soul that I am, I put myself on the line for them.

Well, no, not really. All I did was load up on dried fruit and cheese and rough it for a few days in the hills to the east of town. I'd brought a dozen or so bottles along, too, and after three weeks, I filled them from one of the many streams running through the hills and then headed back into town.

Of course I knew that the yokels would eventually catch onto the fact that the bottles had nothing but drinking water in them. Part two of the plan was to tell them that I had discovered a way to put the evil spirits of the pass to rest so that they could safely travel to the River of Healing themselves ... all it would take was that platinum holy symbol from their temple and that jewel-encrusted medallion that's been the mayor's symbol of office since the time of the Cataclysm. You see, the angry spirit in the pass is really a priest of Takhisis and only those two mighty symbols of Good can smite him. Yeah, you can see right through it, but I'm sure the good people of Korval would have swallowed that line without hesitation.

I never got a chance to even try it, though. While I was enjoying my hero's welcome and distributing water to the old, infirm, and sufferers of colds, a trio of griffins flew overhead.

Yeah, you're absolutely right. Griffins mean elves. Believe me, my blood ran cold at the sight. I silently prayed that they would just keep going, but no. They circled back and spiraled in for a landing.

There were two of them ... two males. One of them was a total loon. He thought the mayor's daughter was his sister and mistook me for Sturm Brightblade one moment and a draconian the next. Oh, and he thought Korval was some place in Qualinesti and that we'd assembled a feast in his honor.

At any rate, the sane elf, named Left or some-such, said he'd come looking for a guide to the River of Healing, or at least a map—his raving pal had been poisoned and needed to be dunked in it before it was too late.

First, everyone pointed fingers at me. Then the villagers offered up some of the bottles of water I'd given them. The crazy elf—who at that point in time believed himself to be Kith-Kanan, founder of Qualinesti—guzzled three bottles of 'sweet wine, the like of which he had never tasted before' and suddenly seemed lucid.

I was the only one who was startled, of course. After the madness went out of his eyes, Left started relating a whole string of very confusing events to the other elf—you know how elves can babble, and babble he did. He spoke of all sorts of nonsense like diamond-filled valleys.

Meanwhile, I did what I could to subtly encourage them to get their scrawny butts out of my town. "There's a storm coming," I said, "and if you don't leave now you may be trapped."

He looked like he was buying it... but then the Salt of the Earth decided to pipe up again. "Are you sure, Seer?" asked Old Man Wellbyt. "My knee ain't swollen." And then the Widow Nell started talking about her arthritis. And then they all started talking about wanting to feed the elves before they got on their way. And of course the lighter-blond one had to use his ne-found coherence to say, "It's not that we doubt your abilities, soothsayer, but my experience says that the ailments of the elderly are more accurate in predicting the weather than even most Wizards of High Sorcery could. I think we'll do just fine if we leave tomorrow rather than today. Plus, I'm famished, and I would be honored to share a meal with the good folk of Korval." And, of course, Left agreed with him. Those pointy-ears stick together like glue. Wait... was his name Left? Perhaps it was Leapt? Oh well, it doesn't matter.

Naw. It's never a problem to recover from the 'But my knee doesn't hurt!' when doing the weather prediction bit. C'mon, give me more credit than that! Plus, I had the advantage of demurring to "the wisdom of many lifetimes, collected in this one man, in he who is Gilthanas."

Yeah, I laid it on thick, but it worked. If there's one thing I know about elves, it's that they have egos as big as their ears ... and if you want to distract one, you appeal to his ego.

But, as it turned out, I shouldn't even have bothered. I was still buttering up Blondie and making suggestions for the feast when his face suddenly took on a hateful expression and he said, 'I'm going to tell you something I should have said years ago: I find the whole idea of you and her making love revolting. She's still a child, and she's only going after you because it makes her feel like an adult. If you lay a hand on her, I may just have to kill you.'

I don't know what he meant, and I never found out, because the next thing he did was shriek, "Silvara! Silvara!" and run up to the Widow Nell, run his hands through her white hair and start raving about how he has desperately searched for her and how only she could fill the emptiness in his heart. Flowery elf courting nonsense like that.

Yeah. He'd flipped out again. It was all we could do to keep him from running off with the old bat. Left turned on me angrily, and I thought the gig was up, but then Wellbyt piped up, "The legends of the River of the Healing says that people must bathe in it for its effects to take hold. Wylan will take you there, I'm sure."

Yeah. 'Wylan' is what I told them my name was. Seemed sort of magical-like. I mean, who'd ever buy into a magical-mystical-worker named Pehter?

At any rate, Left started pushing me to show him to the River of Healing, and once again, the Salt of the Earth decided to be helpful. "No, you should go with them. That poor elf needs your help more than we do. Perhaps they can assist in slaying the spirits in the pass?" And of course, Left said "We will help you in any way we can ... if Gilthanas recovers, I've no doubt he will join your mystic in slaying the Evil spirits that are keeping you from the River of Healing." And then he proceeded to bore us all with the mighty deeds of Gilthanas—who was hiding under a nearby handcart, screaming about blue dragons with the heads of snails.

No, I'd never heard of Gilthanas until that day. Huh. So, he really was some kind of elfking. I never would have guessed. Not that it would have made a difference one way or other. He still got strapped to the back of one of the griffins like an unruly baby and we took off for the mountains, flying low along the pass that the yokels thought led to the River of Healing.

Here's a bit of advice for you—if someone ever offers you a ride on the back of a griffin, turn it down! Not only is it damn cold—why those pointy ears don't fall off while they're flying around on those beasts I'll never know—but you'd never think that creatures with beaks could have such foul breath! That, and they're damn unruly. As I was mounting mine, it almost bit me in half.

At any rate, we flew low through the pass, the lifeless gray slabs of rock that make up the Vingaard Mountains rising on either side of us. Then Left—who was riding the lead griffin and seemed to be commanding all three of them somehow— lost control of his griffin. It seemed to buck in midair, and if he hadn't been strapped into the saddle, I'm sure he would have been thrown to his death. A split second later, mine did the same and it started screeching and climbing steeply into the air as it thrashed its head back and forth. I found myself flung against the back of the saddle so hard I feared my spine would break

The griffins were screeching and Left was shrieking orders to get them back under his control and the one I was riding suddenly went from a climb to a steep dive, throwing me forward in the saddle ... and when it did, I saw what was causing the problem. Then I started screaming, too!

Clinging to the griffin's side was the ghostly shape of a strange man-hawk—a creature with a human torso and head but winged arms and the legs of a bird. Its transparent talons were tearing the mount's belly and it was stripping flesh off the griffin's side with its ghostly teeth. When I screamed, it glared at me with red eyes and released my mount. The griffin snapped at the phantom with its beak but the terrible creature was unaffected. Instead, it fixed its eyes on me and shrieked, 'Huuumaaaan! The destroyer of our aerie!' My mount once again jerked upward in a sudden climb, Left pulled his griffin away from his attacker, and the monstrous creatures pursued, swarming all around me.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I wet myself as they came at me. I'm a con artist, not an adventurer, so real ghosts are not my forte—and ghosts of some bizarre flying humanoid are not even on my list of things I knew existed! So I started screaming like a lady-in-waiting confronted with a spider: "Get me down! Get me on the ground!"

The phantoms were swarming all around me. One of them came straight at me, its glowing red eyes locking onto mine and a sensation rushed through me that said that gaze was searing my very soul!

"Huuumaaaaaaan!" the creature shrieked, bearing fangs and preparing to rip into me with its talons.

I squeezed my eyes shut and started whispering a prayer to Reorx. Why? Well, honestly, it was the only god I could think of at the time! I'm not very religious, to be honest, but I found that dwarves part with their cash easily if you convince them that you've got a piece of something that Reorx touched or regurgitated during a drunken binge. So, Reorx came to mind because he's the god I've dealt with the most.

Ha! No, I don't pray regularly. The gods have never really done anything for me, but they haven't done anything to me either. Why attract potentially negative attention? Plus, if you can believe those people from Schallsea, the gods aren't listening anymore. Interesting. I never had you pegged for the religious sort. Branchala, huh? Well, you'll have to introduce us some time.

At any rate, I closed my eyes as the ghost rushed toward me and muttered a prayer. My mount changed directions again, once more plunging downward. The air rushed against my face with unprecedented force and the icy chill of the phantom claw as it cleaved the air where my head had been moments before. I huddled in the saddle, keeping my eyes shut as the rush of wind in my ears drowned out the cries of the ghosts. I thought my skin grew so numb that I could no longer feel the wind upon it, and then the rush of wind faded in my ears as well.

And then Left's voice: "It's all right, Wylan. You can open your eyes now."

I looked around and discovered that the griffin had landed; my face hadn't gone numb . . . the wind had just stopped. I looked up and saw that the ghostly bird-men were still circling above. They seemed unable to come closer.

"You saved our lives," Left said. "And I owe you an apology. Back in Korval, I was thinking you were a fraud, but you've proven me wrong. I have some small knowledge of spirits, but even I never would have guessed that their existence is restricted to the air. What kind of spirits are they? They remind me of banshees, but their behavior is different."

I was so stunned that it took me a moment to find my voice. I had impressed an elf! My mind started reeling with the possibilities. Where to begin, I was thinking. How much could I make out of this? So many ideas flooded my mind that I didn't know where to take things from there. So I started talking to stall for time, basically spinning lies about the ghosts. I started explaining how the spirits were slain by Dark Knights during the Summer of Chaos and how the bird-men have been haunting the pass every since.

"Were they aarakocra or kyrie?" Left asked.

"Aarakocra," I told him, not really knowing what either of those things are but, as you know, as long as you sound authoritative, people believe you. No, it's not strange how I remembered those two names when I didn't catch Left's. Just let me tell my story! I told Left, "They were once peaceful, loving creatures . . . look what kind of monsters they have become in the afterlife, all because of those hateful Knights. It's terrible. Terrible." Which, of course, triggered the response I wanted. The Dark Knights have been squatting in Qualinesti for at least thirty years now, and I was pretty sure Left wasn't too happy about it.

Anyhow, I got him ranting about the Dark Knights for a bit, successfully making him forget all about whether those ghosts were aarakocra or kyrie. And when Gilthanas started howling about the slugs that were filling the sky, Left decided that we should get underway. The River of Healing awaited and soon Gilthanas's mind would be restored.

That was one of the moments I wished I was a violent man. I could have bashed Left's head in, right then and there and turned back. Oh yeah, "the danger was over." Don't you know anything, Selin? I thought being a worshiper of a bard god and all you would be familiar with all those stories about adventuring parties that either go up a mountain or climb down a hole. The first monsters met are never as bad as the ones that follow!

But, since I'm not a violent man, and since I couldn't come up with a reason why we shouldn't take the loony up to the top and dunk him in the river, we started out again, walking the griffins along the ground instead of flying on them.

That was a creepy couple of days, let me tell you. It felt like we were being watched the whole time. I didn't dare look up because I knew what was watching us—those ghostly birdmen. They were just waiting for us to take to the sky again so they could rip our hearts out. The only upside was that Gilthanas slipped into a semiconscious state and stopped his howling.

Eventually, the pass opened up into a beautiful lush valley, the kind of place where in those stories I mentioned before you'll find two-headed ogres enslaving unicorns and fair maidens.

No, of course there was nothing like that in the valley. It was just a valley, although a beautiful one. It was shaped a bit like a bowl and from the mouth of the pass we could see a lake of sparkling clear water with a small building by its side. A broken and overgrown road led to the building, and a river that glittered like the lake snaked its way out of view among some evergreens.

I proudly pronounced that this was the River and the Lake of Healing. Left asked what the building was, and as I fumbled for an answer he volunteered one. "Is it a temple of Mishakal?"

I quickly agreed with him and made a lucky guess that it was abandoned based on its run-down appearance. I told him that priests had settled here after the War of the Lance but that the Dark Knights had killed them too. That triggered another round of cursing and condemning of Dark Knights— Left was about the easiest guy to manipulate that I've ever come across and I was starting to wonder if I should just go ahead and join him and his friend. Living off them would no doubt be easy.

But then I remembered that these were elves I was dealing with. I just had to get rid of them before they ruined my sure thing in Korval. So, I reminded Left of his unfortunate buddy.

We walked the griffins down the shore of the lake. Here, we untied Gilthanas and started to undress him. At that point, he started muttering about Silvara again. Hey, that isn't funny. But I can tell you that I let Left deal with undressing him after that.

At any rate, he got stripped and we walked him to the shore of the lake. Left asked me what we were to do. I shrugged and pushed Gilthanas in. Left cursed my name and jumped into the water after his friend. They both emerged moments later—I don't know if you can picture it, but elves look even skinnier when they're wet. And, based on Left's foul mouth, I think they get about as angry as a cat in water as well.

Gilthanas seemed okay, though. For a split second. Then he slugged Left, shouting, "Foul Konnal! You will not imprison me again! Not when I am this close to finding my beloved Silvara!"

Cursing under my breath, I waded into the lake. Gilthanas was trying to drown the stunned Left, still screaming about Konnal and Silvara. I grabbed hold of his shoulder and he whirled on me. "Tanis!," he bellowed when he spotted me. "Tanis, you will pay for robbing my sister of her virtue!" And then he grabbed me by the throat and thrust me under the water.

I have no idea who this Tanis guy is, but I hope for his sake that he never crosses paths with Gilthanas. I don't think he'd walk away from it. Gilthanas would have killed me if not for Left. Left hit Gilthanas upside the head and dragged both of us from the water.

"Why didn't it work?" he demanded as I tried to cough the water out of my lungs. I suggested that maybe there's a reason it's called the "River of Healing." Then I realized that my sarcasm might have tipped my con and I quickly added: "Drinking the water of the lake works for minor ailments, but perhaps only the river itself can cure serious conditions."

Left looked doubtful and distrustful, but he still grabbed the unconscious Gilthanas and tossed him over the back of one of the griffins. He then rode the beast across the lake. I watched as he submerged Gilthanas in the river. The crazy elf regained consciousness and struggled. But Left forced him under the water and held him there for several moments. Then he dragged Gilthanas out and threw him on the shore. He stood over the other elf for a moment, and then Gilthanas stumbled to his feet. They stood across from each other for what seemed like a very long time, and then they embraced. It had worked. The river had cured Gilthanas of his madness. It was a happy ending for everyone but me.

Well, I guess it might have been if Gilthanas hadn't turned out to be such a damn "credit where credit is due" honor freak. First he apologized profusely for attacking me, explaining that he remembered mistaking me for Tanis, his sister Laurana's dead husband.

Really? That Tanis. Huh. I didn't know the Golden General was married to him. That does make sense, though. And I can understand why Gilthanas would be ticked. After all, he wouldn't want human blood contaminating his precious elven bloodline, now would he?

At any rate, we spent the night in the ruins of the Temple of Mishakal—which was quite the place, by the way. There were images of a naked woman bathing in the lake. Gilthanas thought that it was an image of the goddess Mishakal. There were a couple of statues of her in there as well. Selin, let me tell you, if I were to start attending service on a regular basis or worship someone, I think it would have to be Mishakal. If the service gets boring, I'd just sit back and enjoy the scenery.

Okay. You're right. That's being disrespectful to the goddess. I apologize. And I got myself sidetracked again.

As I was saying, after spending the night in the ruins, we headed back to Korval. I tried convincing Gilthanas and Left that I would make it back just fine on my own. And once I got there, I told them, I'd round up a bunch of the young men and we'd come up here and repair the temple and use it as a shelter for the sick who need the healing waters. I think I could have convinced Left to go, but damned Gilthanas wanted to travel to Korval and thank the people there for their kindness. What kindness? All they did was point their fingers at me and say, "He'll take ya to where you want to go!"

But, being that he was the elf prince, he got his way. We walked the griffins back through the pass—Gilthanas was a lot harder to bamboozle as far as the ghosts go than Left was but I nonetheless did it—and we eventually reached Korval. The Salt of the Earth gave Gilthanas his promised feast. They hailed me as the greatest thing to happen to their village since they discovered fire. They offered Left their daughters. No, not really. I'm kidding about that last part. But they did go way over the top. Still, if Left and Gilthanas had just eaten their pork and been on their way, it might still have been a happy parting for me as well as them. But have you ever known an elf to keep his mouth shut where there's a chance to get in front of an audience and impress them? No, of course not. And neither have I. And let me tell you, Gilthanas behaved true to type.

During the feast, the Lord-Grandwhathaveyou of Kalaman and Qualinesti got up and gave a toast and a speech in my honor. He told them all about how I intended to reopen the Temple of Mishakal in the valley and started urging all of them to relocate up there where the ground was fertile and the magical waters would keep them healthy. "You can create an island of tranquility, joy, and health . . . and you have Wylan of Solanthus to thank for it!"

The next morning the elves left. By the end of the week, some of the younger people of Korval were preparing for a mission to explore the pass to the River of Healing. After Gilthanas's little pep talk and grand explanation of how I'd discovered the ghosts were no threat, they were no longer afraid. That Gilthanas. He could probably sell sand to the people of Relgoth. By the end of the month, the young folk had come back and they decided that moving to the valley was the thing to do. Everyone was so excited that I was going to lead them to this wonderful new place, away from illness, bandits, and probably even bad weather.

The following night, I gathered my belongings and left town. Why? What do you mean why? I'm not interested in having villagers fawn over me unless there's a take to be had. Helping them move their damn town would have been hard work, and being a real spiritual leader is a lot harder than just pretending to be one. Leadership is for blabbermouths like Gilthanas and Dark Knights. Me, I just want people's money. Once Gilthanas told the people of Korval that the River of Healing was safe, there was no money to be had. There weren't even any free meals, because they were going to expect something of me. Something real. Damn elves. Like I said, they've ruined every good thing I've ever—

No, don't you give me that. Gilthanas and Left didn't leave me the opportunity to do good. They fouled an opportunity to ... hey, isn't that just the strangest damn thing. Look at that. That elf woman, the one who threatened Stumpy with a knife ... isn't that her? Heading up the stairs with Sir Lorannus? Elves are crazy. She'll turn down a perfectly good guy like Stumpy, but is perfectly willing to share her bed with an officious ninny like Lorannus.

Damn Dark Knights. They're almost as bad as elves if you ask me. They deserve each other.

Oh, speaking of Dark Knights and deserving each other, I didn't come here to bore you with stories about elves. I came to recruit you for my latest scam. How does this grab you: Fragments of Sturm Brightblade's sword. I have just the buyer lined up.

 

Hargoth, 27sc

 

The port city of Hargoth was a bustling center of humanity about a day's flight from Korval. The constant movement of people made Gilthanas immediately long for the days of wandering, of solitary living and study, or of the sole companionship of Lethagas.

The younger elf, in contrast, seemed to welcome the surrounding activity and threw himself into the life of the city with boisterous enthusiasm. It was Leth who found them a clean, inexpensive room in an inn where elves were welcomed, but not questioned. Now that they were traversing western Ansalon, Gilthanas had decided to keep his identity a secret. Nearly all the elves they encountered came from Qualinesti, and he wished to avoid attention, as well as the attendant rumors that would arise if the wandering prince was known to be this close to home.

Instead, he waited around the inn or wandered the city as an anonymous vagabond. He let his companion ask the questions, knowing that Leth was getting around Hargoth and seeking any information he could regarding silver dragons. The youngster was subtle and coy, never mentioning Silvara by name as he looked around the busy waterfront and worked his way through the many crowded inns.

Late one evening, after ten days in the city, Leth awakened Gilthanas when he returned to their room. The prince noticed the traces of dawn already brightening the horizon.

"I have found an elf who wants to talk to you ... who says he has information about silver dragons."

"Where is he?" Gilthanas blinked the sleep from his eyes and shrugged into his tunic. Pulling on his boots and buckling his sword around his waist, he stood, wide awake and ready to go.

"He will meet us near the Sailor's Guildhouse at the wharf," Leth replied. "He's waiting for us now."

In a few minutes, the pair made their way through the nearly empty streets of the town. The sky had brightened to a very pale blue when Gilthanas saw the peaked roof of a large hall. Nearby was the shadowy entrance to a small, stone building.

"There he is." Leth indicated the figure waiting within the dark alcove.

"That's an elf?" The fellow's furtive manner and heavy cloak reminded Gilthanas more of a human scoundrel—some pirate or back-street cutthroat. He couldn't see the elf's face, except for a vague outline of his chin.

"I hear you's looking for silver dragons," said the mysterious fellow in a hoarse voice that did nothing to dispel Gilthanas's earlier impression.

"Who are you?" demanded the prince, immediately suspicious.

"Forgive me, O Great Lord," sneered the fellow in a voice dripping with mockery. He pushed back the deep hood and Gilthanas saw the pointed ears that proved him an elf. His long hair was tied in a narrow tail down his back, which was a style unusual for a fellow elf. "I am but a humble servant unworthy even of being named in your presence."

Gilthanas decided not to press the issue. "What do you know of a dragon of silver?"

"A dragon ... not just any one of them? Are you going hunting for specific prey, then?"

"The reason I seek this dragon is not your concern."

The elven scoundrel shrugged. "Maybe ... maybe not. But I'll show you where we can find the answers."

The mysterious informant abruptly pushed open the door behind him. Within, Gilthanas saw a dark corridor, dimly lit by candles. But his eyes immediately fastened on the horrible image rendered on the interior wall.

Five heads gleamed black at him, leering with unblinking stares. Each was the terminus of a serpentine neck, and even before he saw the five colors Gilthanas knew that this was a place of Takhisis, the Queen of Darkness.

"Traitor!" he cried, seizing the elf's cloak and roughly pushing him against the stone wall.

"No!" insisted the other with surprising conviction. "You should know that other elves are aiding the Dark Knights also—they offer the only hope of victory in this dying world. Enter and see for yourself. Listen! You will learn—you will see!"

"I will not!" Gilthanas insisted, furious. He drew his sword and pressed the tip against the elf's throat. "What do you know of silver dragons?"

"Nothing!" wailed the miserable wretch. "Just that the Knights will help you find them and kill them! There is a reward for each Good dragon slain. They will pay you well!"

Gilthanas's arm trembled and he felt a powerful urge to drive the sword home and end the quivering life of this foul creature. Only some vague memory of kindness held his hand, and at last he cast the elf to the ground, drawing back his foot to kick ...

And abruptly turning away.

He slammed his blade back into the sheath as Leth fell in behind him.

"I'm sorry," said the young elf miserably. "I thought he was ... that is...."

"Never mind," said Gilthanas, still sickened at the thought of his people turning to the Dark Queen.

"Should I keep looking and asking?" inquired Leth.

"There's nothing for us here," Gilthanas said with a sharp shake of his head. Silvara's trail was cold, lost in the tangle of a vast continent. He fought against a wave of hopelessness, and knew there was only one thing he could do.

"It's time to go home," he said, and his thoughts brightened at the memory of Qualinesti.

 

The Endless Moment Shatters

 

I saw Gilthanas's expression shift as he turned toward me again, completing the spin during which one or both of us had delivered the final and fatal cut to the other. The tense look that had appeared on his face as he prepared to fight me softened, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. For some reason, my awareness focused on the scar that now marred his features, which otherwise remained unchanged from the first day I met him. It had been a decade since we had first met and during that time the first wrinkles had appeared on my forehead and the beard of manhood had sprouted on my chin. However, if it hadn't been for that scar upon Gilthanas's face, I might well have thought that we had met each other for the first time only moments ago.

Not only did elves live a very long time, but they did not change in appearance as they aged.

How long would a life such as mine seem to one such as he? Would it be like a moment to him? Does it seem as though we age and die, as he stays young?

He moved away from me, but he didn't move. Magic must be at work again.

In any case, it would be over in a moment.

"Why?" I heard Gilthanas say. He moved closer to me. For some reason, the sun no longer glinted off his sword.

Why? Would there be time to explain? There are those who say that the moment of a man's death lasts forever, but that would only be from the perspective of the dying man. I could not possibly tell Gilthanas what he wanted to know. For in another heartbeat, he would be gone. A killing blow had been struck, and I felt certain that it was mine.

 

The Footprint of Chaos, 28sc

I lost Gilthanas's trail completely after the Peak of Clouds. The dwarves living at its base knew only that warriors had attacked him while he had been living with a hermit who dwelt on the peak—they knew this because they had tended to his wounds. When I asked about a silver dragon, they reported that such a creature had indeed resided here for a few years, but it was before Gilthanas showed up. The dwarves couldn't agree on when the dragon had departed, although they knew that it had either gone north, east, or northeast. They had told the elf the same thing, and he had headed in one of those directions as well.

The encounter with the dwarves made me realize how badly I wanted to be back on Elian Isle. On Elian, people are honest and straightforward. They tell you what they think when you ask, they offer to help whether you need it or not, and they are all honorable and honest in all things. In the rest of the world, everyone always looked for an angle that they could exploit to get something from you whether they had earned it or not. I left the dwarves, wondering if their confusion about what direction Silvara and Gilthanas had gone in was genuine or because I didn't pay them enough.

The only honest and straightforward people I'd encountered were the kender, who somewhat resembled the elves but exhibited a completely different personality. Kender always told me exactly what they thought and, in contrast with the rest of the peoples of Ansalon, were very refreshing. Predictably, all others despised them for their unassuming ways.

The encounter with the dwarves made me realize how much I had grown to miss my people. As near as I could tell, I was the last surviving Master of Rank who had been charged with the slaying of Gilthanas. It was up to me and me alone to finish the mission. Even if I could fabricate some excuse to return home, I would be returning in failure. That was not an option, for it would stain the honor of my children.

For the next several weeks, as I moved along the borders of a land claimed by a black dragon known to men as Pitch, my children were foremost in my thoughts. So many years had passed since I left. They would not remember or recognize me, for although the years had flown by for me as though they were nothing, they added up to a lifetime for them ... a lifetime which I had not been part of.

They would not recognize me, nor I them, if we were to meet. My woman had undoubtedly told them of my glorious mission, but I was just a name to them. They would honor this name, but they might never get a chance to know their father. Even if they did, I could never reclaim the joy that I know my father derived from watching me grow from a baby into an adult.

Masters of Rank knew that they might need to pay the price of not seeing their sons grow up. During my lonely trek, this suddenly seemed like an unbearable price. For the first time since I left Elian, I again wondered if I had made the right choice, although the questions no longer revolved around Gilthanas and his honorable heart. No, now the doubts revolved around me. Had the honor of this mission cost me more years than the honor was worth?

I pursued these thoughts no further, for suddenly the magical ring I had received from Stalker seemed to vibrate on my finger. I looked at the stone and found that its color had shifted! She had found him! Now, I would see if the ring truly worked, as she believed that it would

I grabbed the stone between two fingers and twisted it. I felt arcane energies surging through me, and the world around me dissolved into a swirling sea of colors. I closed my eyes as I started to feel dizzy. Within a moment, the air around me went from humid and heavy with the sour smell of rotting vegetation—for I was in the middle of a swamp— to cool and heavy with the acrid smell of something burning. I opened my eyes and found that the world around me had coalesced again but that it was completely different.

It was a barren and brown place, a stark contrast to the lush greenery of the swamp I had come from. Overhead, flourishing trees had obscured the dome of the sky just moments before. Now they didn't. But where was Gilthanas? And where was the fire that caused the smell of burning vegetation?

I scanned my surroundings. I stood on a grassy ridge. To my left was a verdant and pleasant landscape that retreated toward the horizon in a series of hills. To my right was a canyon incongruously shaped like a giant foot. Its sides and the ground around it appeared as though they had been subjected to great heat—as though the canyon had been scoured into the surface of the world itself by huge gouts of fire. The smoke I could smell appeared to be the fire burning at the bottom of the rift, for the canyon was filled with smoke.

But I could see Gilthanas nowhere. Neither was Stalker apparent, nor any other living beings. I was completely alone. Why had I appeared here, at this deserted place?

I inspected the canyon to make sure Gilthanas wasn't within its smoky depths—although I felt that I was not alone as I searched it; no one responded when I called out for the elf and Stalker. It occurred to me that perhaps Gilthanas had already been here and that he had slain Stalker as she attempted to capture him. I could easily picture that—she was playing games, but Gilthanas was too swift and intelligent for her, turning the stalker into the one being stalked.

But since I saw no evidence that any violence had befallen either Stalker or Gilthanas, and since I had no knowledge of where in the world I was, I established camp near the strange canyon and waited until someone arrived who could give me some information. I noticed that the gemstone had returned to its original color, indicating that there was yet magic in the ring, and that I could possibly try calling Stalker to my location should I discover Gilthanas nearby after all.

Around noon the next day, three gigantic birds appeared in the sky. As they drew closer, I realized that they were some curious hybrid between lions and eagles, and that upon two of the beasts' backs were riders. I had never seen such creatures before, but they matched roughly the descriptions of griffins that were detailed in the Forbidden City's storehouses of knowledge.

As they landed on the very ridge I had first appeared on, I saw that both riders were elves—and I saw that one of them was Gilthanas, his golden hair flowing in the breeze as his magnificent mount came in for a landing.

Gilthanas dismounted and waved to me. I waved back. He called out to me in a language I had not yet mastered, but I responded to him in the elven tongue. I had learned it before leaving Elian and had recently practiced it with Stalker. Gilthanas seemed pleasantly surprised by my greeting, which was a formal one that denoted friendship and a willingness to assist the person to whom it was being offered. It was my hope to draw him near while keeping him off-guard so that I could strike quickly.

As he moved closer, Gilthanas said, "You speak Qualinesti very well. "Are you from Abanasinia?"

"No, but I have had an opportunity to learn your tongue," I said, weighing my words as I spoke. I would slay Gilthanas so I could return to my family, but I would not do him the dishonor of lying to him. "For a time, one of your race was a traveling companion of mine. How can I help you?"

"We have heard that a silver dragon has been seen around here. Have you seen one? Or a Kagonesti elf, perhaps?" Gilthanas's eyes suddenly widened as he examined my face. "Solov? Solov, is that you?"

I smiled. "Yes, it is indeed. It has been a long time."

"A very long time! I never thought I would see you here! What brings so far from your homeland?"

"You." Before he had a chance to react, I drew my sword and slashed. He leapt back with reflexes that would have put a cat to shame. I swung again, and again he avoided my blow, sidestepping my attack and drawing his own sword to further deflect mine.

His friend cried out and drew his own weapon, but Gilthanas waved him back. The elf prince backed away and demanded, "Why are you attacking me? We parted friends those many years ago. What has changed?"

My response was to attack again. The sounds of our clashing swords rang across the countryside. As our battle carried us toward the strange, smoke-filled canyon, it soon became apparent that we were evenly matched—while he may have centuries at his disposal, not even elves could exceed the combat skills of a Master of Rank.

Faced with this knowledge, we stepped back. It was clear that our duel would be won by a single sword stroke and that victory would come through luck as much as skill.

We both dropped our guard and lunged at each other in all-out attacks. Sunlight danced along the edge of his well-honed sword. Only one of us would survive the next moment. Still, our skills asserted themselves and our blades clanged against one another once, twice, and then we both did a spinning slash, moving away from each other and then taking stock of the situation.

"Why?" I heard Gilthanas say. His sword no longer glinted in the sunlight.

In the hands of a master, a well-honed sword can kill a man so quickly that he doesn't realize he's dead until several moments later... until he feels the blood starting to trickle. It is in that final moment that some people say the dying one relives his life, repeatedly, so that the moment becomes an eternity. Is that what Gilthanas was about to experience?

He moved closer to me, yet he didn't appear to be walking. He moved farther away, but still his legs did not seem to move. His sword no longer shone in the sunlight. Something dark was smeared along its edge.

"Why did you attack me?" His face appeared sorrowful, the face that was unchanged from the day I had first met him, aside from the scar on the right side of his face. I should give him an answer, but he wouldn't have time to hear it. He was about to die, and I was about to go home to my family.

I remembered the day I first met Gilthanas. I never would have thought it would come to this. He was the most wondrous thing to have entered my life up to that point....

 

*****

 

"Why?" Gilthanas asked again, gazing down upon the crumpled form of Solov. There would be no answer. The battle could have ended in only one way, and as it did, the time for answers passed and could never again be reclaimed.

 

Anaya's Tree, 28sc

 

This place called Qualinesti was not the land that Gilthanas remembered. So many changes had affected it that he found it hard to convince himself that he and Lethagas had in fact returned to their homeland.

The natural forest of the elven kingdom had always been wild and trackless, but now a tangled maze of shrubbery grew so densely that, in most places, it all but blocked travel. Tendrils of moss draped from the loftiest branches, while vines and brambles fought for control around the mighty trunks. There were good, well-maintained roads, but—as the two elves had been warned—Dark Knights patrolled them.

They had heard the stories in Hargoth of the massive green dragon, Beryl, who now claimed this forest as her own. She tolerated the elven leaders, but only because she had intimidated them to the point of abject slavery. They knew of the Dark Knights, who presumed to walk as lords here since their conquest of the elves during the Summer of Chaos.

And even the Knights ruled only at the sufferance of the mighty green.

The current ruler of his people, inheritor of the Sun Medallion once held by Porthios, was the Speaker of the Sun Gilthas Solostaran. He was the son of Gilthanas's sister Laurana and of Tanis Half-Elven. Gilthanas had learned that his sister now lived with her son in the capital of Qualinost, but he had already decided against going there. Instead, he would seek his brother Porthios, reputed to live as an outlaw in the depths of the tangled forest.

For that quest, Gilthanas could think of only one place to begin.

To reach the grove, the two elves rode their griffins, the original trio of the flyers that had brought the pair from Winston's Tower on Karthay. To avoid discovery by Beryl or the Dark Knights, the creatures flew beneath the towering treetops in the wide canopy of space above the middle branches. Progress was slow, with the griffins and their elven riders gliding from one tree to the next and then perching on stout limbs, searching before them with eyes, ears, and nostrils.

Finally, near nightfall, they came to a place where the gnarled and monstrous trees of the forest came to an abrupt end. Before them was a strip of meadow, beyond which rose a line of stout oak trees. The massive oaks formed a broad ring and grew so closely together that the center of the grove was lost in shadow and tree bark.

"This is the place ... I know it is," Gilthanas told Leth.

"There'll be guards," whispered the younger elf, peering out through the branches.

Gilthanas nodded. He could smell the presence of men; their sweat and smoky clothes mingled with the taste of fire and steel, marking them as Dark Knights. "Let's leave the griffins here."

The three creatures settled watchfully on stout limbs above the forest floor while the two elves scrambled down to the ground. As night fell, they saw that the Knights, some on foot and others on horseback, made regular rounds about the oak grove. Still, the two stealthy visitors did not find it an insurmountable challenge. After the passage of a quartet of riders, they crept across the strip of open ground and soon entered the cool freshness among the ancient trees.

The scent and ambiance of the familiar forest surrounded Gilthanas like a welcoming cocoon. He remembered when this had been the air of all these woods, and his heart broke at the thought of what his nation had become.

But he would take no time to grieve.

Instead, he led Leth through the thick trees and in between clumps of mushrooms on soft, mossy paths. Though the foliage created a thick canopy overhead, the pair of elves could see clearly. Soon they reached the heart of the grove and stopped before a massive tree.

The trunk of the oak was as big around as a cottage, and the limbs rose, gnarled but mighty, high into the night. A great crack was scored down the face of the tree, and Gilthanas felt a momentary reverence. He knew the history of this place—the legacy not just of his nation but of his family. This was the tree of Anaya, lover of Qualinesti's founder Kith-Kanan. And from that crack had stepped Silveran Greenhands, Kith-Kanan's heir and successor as the Speaker.

Now, Gilthanas could only hope that legacy would lead him to his brother.

"I heard you had come to Qualinesti... I thought you might come here."

He whirled in disbelief as the words—as the unmistakable voice of Porthios—reached him from behind a nearby oak.

"My brother! I could only hope to find you here!" Gilthanas started to step forward but was halted by the stern voice.

"Wait! I will let you look at me, but know that I have changed, brother ... I am scarred by grief and war," Porthios stated in a low voice.

Gilthanas fingered the slash that crossed his eye. "So am I," he replied.

Even so, he was not prepared for the view of his elder brother. Porthios concealed his head with a deep hood, but scars wrinkled his face. His lips merged smoothly into his skin, making his smile seem ghastly, like the leer of some fleshless skull. But his eyes danced with joy, and his arms clasped Gilthanas in an embrace of deepest affection. For long moments the two brothers hugged, without speaking, barely even breathing.

"I dreamed you'd come," Porthios said softly. "I waited for you and knew your travels would bring you here."

"I have wandered far, brother." Gilthanas drew a breath, and talked of his quest, of the madness and deception and despair that had marked his path. "But when I came home, I knew that I had to come here, to Anaya's Tree."

"It is good that you did not go to the city," Porthios said. "The Dark Knights would have taken you in a minute—even if our nephew didn't turn you over to them himself."

"Gilthas... he has betrayed his people ... his family? I've heard the stories, but I can't believe he would do this or that our sister would let him!"

Porthios shrugged with real regret. "Truth to tell, I don't think he has much choice. He is pulled in every direction, and to embrace one master would be to die before another. Suffice to say that Qualinesti is not the land you left."

The elder brother put his hands on Gilthanas's shoulders and looked at him frankly. "Nor is it a place you should plan to stay, my brother."

The younger prince was shocked. "But you live here ... an outlaw, I know, but you resist the Dark Knights and the green dragon! Are you saying I'm not good enough to fight at your side?"

Porthios shook his head. "Of course you are . . . but I know this about you: You are seeking a treasure, and you will not find it here. Nor should you abandon your quest."

"Silvara? I have lost her, my brother. She is gone to me!"

"Perhaps ... perhaps not. You know that you are close to her ancient home and to the place where Paladine touched Krynn."

"Whitestone—on Sancrist!" Gilthanas said. He remembered hearing her speak with reverence of Whitestone Glade. Before she left Kalaman many years ago, she had mentioned that she wanted to visit that hallowed site to meditate for several days. "Of course she would seek communion with her god there. I'll visit the Glade first, and if she isn't there still, I can visit Foghaven Vale in Southern Ergoth."

"I cannot say for certain ... but only suggest that, if I had come as far as you, I would find a way to finish the rest of the journey."

"You are right, brother. I must go."

Leth and Gilthanas left the grove before the dawn, crawling through the meadow to the trees of the forest proper. Above them they could barely make out the white shapes of the three griffins, still perched on their limbs.

They were about to climb the tree when a nearby exclamation startled them.

"Let go! Stop that!" A voice, the musical tones of a female elf, jolted through the night.

"Here, now," growled a deep, unquestionably human response. "You know these woods are off limits—you'll be speaking to the captain, you will."

"No!" Now the elven voice was shrill with terror.

Before Gilthanas could react, Lethagas, sword in hand, bolted through the darkness. The prince heard a sharp oath, followed by a gurgling grunt. He had just risen to follow when Leth came back, leading a disheveled—but very pretty—white-haired elf woman by the hand. She wore leathers cut similarly to that of a Kagonesti elf. "C'mon!" he whispered. "Get to the griffins!"

"Thank you—you saved my life!" gasped the female. Abruptly she pulled Leth to her, and their lips met in a fierce, crushing kiss.

"We've got to get out of here!" Gilthanas hissed urgently.

Only after another few seconds of taut embrace did the elf woman release Lethagas. She looked at him with pure adoration, while Leth, for his part, seemed unsteady on his feet. He was breathing hard, and his face was locked in a giddy grin.

Somehow, the pair held hands while they climbed the trees to the griffins. They paused for another passionate kiss before mounting the three flyers. The feathered creatures flew away before further sounds of alarm rose from below.

"I am called Alla," said their new companion, addressing Lethagas. "And I owe you my life ... everything that I have."

"Why were the guards attacking you?" demanded the young elf, his voice tight with rage as he remembered the scene.

"I... I was trying to enter the sacred grove and honor my father," Alla replied. "But that is forbidden by the Dark Knights. They would have killed me!"

"You are safe, now, with us," Leth declared gallantly. Riding three abreast, the trio of elves on their griffins flew over the sea toward the Isle of Sancrist.

 

The Abduction: Whitestone Glade, 28sc

 

"Do you think they still watch over us?"

I had been waiting for this question ever since I took on the duties of preparing and then testing Sir Willam for advancement in the Order of the Sword. As part of my effort to get to know him, I had assigned myself to share his watch in the Whitestone Glade, one of the most holy sites in Ansalon. Until just a few years ago, we had believed magic had fled, but then a young Rose Knight named Linsha Majere believed that the intervention of the gods themselves saved her from an attacker in the Glade. This night, the winter wind blowing through the barren forest seemed particularly harsh, and the young Knight probably needed the conversation to take his mind off the cold.

"What do you think, Willam?"

His eyes wandered across the Whitestone Glade before us. The massive stone glinted under the light of the pale moon. "I don't know. My father taught me to honor the gods whether they are present or not. Anything less would be a violation of the Measure: Just because the gods are absent doesn't mean we should stop honoring them or obeying their strictures. But do you think they're really gone?"

"Well, you've heard of Lady Linsha's experience in the Glade. She believes it came from the gods, not from within her. I'm inclined to believe her because of two things. First, she was taught to master the Final Gift of the gods at the feet of Goldmoon herself. Second, she is a Rose Knight and I consider her honor to be beyond question."

"I would never question her honor, Sir, nor the truthfulness of her statement. Lady Sheryl beat me soundly on the training field to defend her friend's honor when she suspected I was doing that very thing, and I do not want to repeat the mistake with the Knight who may sponsor me for admittance into the Order of the Sword. I just can't help but wonder. Much changed in the wake of the gods' departure. Can we truly be certain that we guard a holy site?"

"We can't," I said. "All we can be sure of is our own beliefs and the Measure. If you learn to be true to those and to uphold their standards, you will serve effectively as a Knight of the Sword."

"Just once," Willam muttered. "I'd like to see the stars flash as they did for Vinas Solamnus. I'd like to know that there really is something greater than us that isn't a dragon. I would really like to have a sign that they are still out there and that our service to them means something."

"If there is proof, Willam," I said, "then what does belief matter? We cannot pretend we know the minds of gods, nor will we ever be certain that they will again give us proof of their existence beyond life itself and the Final Gift of mystic magic that they bestowed upon the world."

"Takhisis still whispers to the Dark Knights. Or so they claim."

I shrugged. "If you wish to believe the Dark Knights, Willam, then you have your proof that the gods are still active in the world. If you seek hard enough, maybe you'll find your own proof. Or maybe it's right here in this Glade."

He looked back at the stars. "What do you believe, Sir Gavin?"

"What I believe is unimportant. Your beliefs are what matter. I will tell you this: I believe in the good of the Knighthoods. I believe that our duty to oppose Evil in all its forms, the duty that Paladine, Kiri-Jolith, and Habbakuk charged Vinas Solamnus with, is still ours. The gods do not need to impress me with priestly parlor tricks for me to know that.

Willam gave me a thoughtful look, then fell silent.

I looked at the Whitestone. I hate thinking about the gods, because it always starts me thinking about the Orders when I was a child. I grew up during an age of revival for the Solamnic Knighthood. The ranks were swelling with new members and the gods were again guiding them forward. I dreamed of being like my father, a Sword Knight, a holy warrior who in his youth had brought the will of Kiri-Jolith to the remnants of the dragonarmies all across Ansalon.

Sadly, I was not to follow his example. Within weeks of my becoming a squire to Lady Riva Silverblade of Castle Eastwatch, the Dark Knights invaded and seized Palanthas. As the Orders rallied to counterattack, Chaos walked the surface of Krynn and we had to unite with the Dark Knights to drive him back to the Abyss from whence he had come.

Blue and silver dragons united as their human allies had, and together the Knights of Solamnia and the Knights of Takhisis plunged into the Abyss. But not squires. Squires remained behind to hold the fortifications along with common warriors and the heads of the Orders. Chaos was defeated, but at the cost of virtually everyone who went to oppose him.

If it hadn't been for Lord Liam Ehrling and Lord Gunthar's revised Measure, the Knighthood would probably have died. The attempt to join with the Dark Knights in rebuilding Ansalon almost led to our own Knighthood's destruction anyway . . . they murdered Lord Gunthar and attempted to seize control of Sancrist and destroy us. This was before Takhisis supposedly started whispering in their ears again, but it clearly demonstrated the fact that they pay lip service to the concept of honor but in fact have none.

Although we've survived, I still feel as though we are but a pale imitation of our forebears. My father's armor glittered in sun. He was like a giant walking among men when he inspected his troops. I have to struggle to keep my armor polished, and I have to struggle to keep focused on the Measure and to keep my actions devoted to furthering the precepts of the gods... because in my darkest moments, my faith both in them and in the Solamnic Orders is weak.

"Ho!" Willam cried, his voice and the hiss of his sword leaving its scabbard bringing my attention back to our guard duty. "Who goes there?"

"Stay your hand, Sir Knight," said a dark figure among the trees, his Solamnian tinged with a slight accent. "We are friends who have come in search of information."

The speaker emerged from the trees, stepping into the moonlight-drenched glade. He was a blonde-tressed elf male who was slightly taller than is the average among his kind. Something about him was slightly familiar. When two other elves emerged from the woods, my heart almost stopped. One was a fairly nondescript male, but the other ...

White hair flowed around her face, which was a vision of beauty, and under her thick winter cloak I caught sight of the buckskin garments traditionally worn by the Kagonesti elves on Southern Ergoth. Because of her, I knew where I'd seen the blond elf before! In Kalaman, in the castle of the lord, there hangs a portrait of the two painted shortly after the War of the Lance! Gilthanas and Silvara had just stepped into my life!

But weren't they both dead? Could the gods have answered my prayers? Could they have come from the past to take me back with them? But these joyous thoughts were swiftly proven as silly as I should have recognized them to be the moment they entered my head.

"I am Gilthanas of Qualinesti," Gilthanas said, "and these are my trusted companions, Leth and Alla. We have come to Sancrist in search of information about the Good dragons."

"You are not Silvara?" I asked the Kagonesti Gilthanas identified as Alla.

She blinked. "By the gods, no!"

Alla and Leth exchanged looks. My first thought was that they were amused at my expense, but then I noticed that she reached out and touched Leth's hand. It was a quick and very brief movement, but enough to make me realize that if she was anyone's love, she was his.

My thoughts must have appeared in my face, for Gilthanas said, "No offense has been given, Sir Knight, let me assure you of that. But we do need your help, if you can grant it."

"I will help in whatever way I can, but first forgive my manners. I am Sir Gavin, Knight of the Sword and this is Sir Willam, Knight of the Crown. Further, a prince such as yourself should have been directed to the castle, Your Highness," I replied. "Which of the men at the docks sent you here instead?"

"None. We arrived on the backs of griffins, but I thought it best to land in the woods and not cause alarm in the castle. I wanted to revisit the Whitestone Glade along the way... and, honestly, I was as surprised to see you two here as you must have been to see me."

"How so?" Willam asked.

"I thought the gods gone. Why guard this place?"

"Your commander's absence does not mean that it is appropriate to disrespect him by forgetting to tend to his equipment or accomplish the tasks he set before you," I said. "Besides, we believe that Paladine's power still resides here."

"Is that so?" Gilthanas swept his eyes across the Glade, undoubtedly noting the withered grass and the absence of the eternal spring that once had existed there. He did not comment on that, but instead looked at me with an earnest expression. "Then Silvara must have been here. She honored Paladine above all other gods."

"Is that what you require our assistance with? Finding the Lady Silvara?"

"Yes. We parted ways in Kalaman. I am desperately trying to find her. Has she been here? Has she been assisting the Knighthoods in continuing their service to the gods?"

"Perhaps," I said. "I don't know. If she has visited Sancrist, Lord Liam would know. Come, follow us to the castle. Willam will attend to your beasts."

"No, I believe it's best if we take care of that, Sir Knight," Leth said. "Griffins don't take particularly well to strangers, especially not ones that are barely tamed such as these."

"Understood. If you would be so kind, Leth, we will wait here while you and Alla take care of them then."

"I should go along," Willam said. "There may be gnome creations in the forest."

This took me somewhat aback, but I saw no reason to deny his request. As he followed Leth and Alla from the clearing, I again saw her touch her companion very briefly.

 

*****

 

When we returned the castle, Lord Liam had, naturally, already retired for the night. Gilthanas insisted that he not be disturbed, and so I had Willam contact the seneschal to arrange quarters for them while I contacted the shift after ours to tell them to start their watch in the Glade early.

The following morning, I heard from a page that Gilthanas had asked Lord Liam about Silvara, but that Liam knew not of her whereabouts. My thoughts drifted back to a dispatch from Southern Ergoth dating back a few years. It claimed that a silver dragon had been spotted there. I wondered if I should tell the elf-prince, or if it would just be sending him off on a fruitless chase. But, then I received word through another page that Lord Liam expected my attendance at a feast that evening in Gilthanas's honor. I decided to speak with the elf-prince then. I had Willam's training to think about during the day. Lady Sheryl and I were to drill him in skill with polearms today.

 

*****

 

Although hastily arranged, the feast was nonetheless as splendid as protocol required when honoring royal visitors like Gilthanas of Qualinesti. The Grand Master wanted his senior Knights there, so a pair of recent initiates in the Order of the Sword took my next shift in the Glade. I wanted Willam at the feast, as I feel that a mentor should attend to all aspects of his student's training—and learning to sit still for hours on end during feasts can be an important diplomatic skill.

As I looked around the Grand Hall, I noticed that the chamber could accommodate perhaps five times the people that were currently seated here. As Lord Liam rose to his feet and offered a brief speech and a welcome toast to Gilthanas and his companions, I noticed how his voice echoed in the hall. My mind again drifted back to when I was a child. I would sometimes sneak onto the balconies that circled the hall on the second floor and there watch Lord Gunthar and the Knights feast, the light of the torches dancing off their armor. When Lord Gunthar or another Knight would toast the assemblage, his voice would not echo from the walls, because the room was almost full.

I shifted in my seat, allowing my eyes to slide across the Knights, most of whom were watching Lord Liam as he spoke. Of the two who weren't, one was watching Willam— Lady Sheryl, who has been pining for his attentions since she took command of Revered Daughter Crysania's honor guard, at the specific request of the venerable priestess—and Willam himself, who was watching Alla.

Lady Sheryl is a sad case. She isn't very skilled in the courtly arts, having been raised in the less-than-gentile town of Newports, and Willam is a bit too thick skulled to realize that her overtures on the training fields are not to belittle him but instead to get his attention. It's interesting how adults often behave like children in affairs of the heart, as in Sheryl's case, where she relies on jibes and punches when she should just tell him how she feels. She is no shrinking violet in all other matters, so no one would bat an eye if she were to do so. Except perhaps Willam, who would probably be as surprised as can be.

I looked briefly at Alla. She wore a borrowed gown and jewelry and appeared even more stunning than she had earlier in the day. It was clear to me why Willam couldn't keep his eyes off her. Her exotic appearance in the Glade intrigued the boy, and now he appeared to be completely entranced by the image of her as a noble woman of unsurpassed beauty. I found myself hoping that Willam was wise enough to not let his heart become captured by her beauty.

That hope strengthened when I saw Leth's hand wander to her fingers as they lay on the table and gently squeeze them. Alla turned to him, and he smiled warmly. It confirmed to me what I had suspected yesterday: They were a couple, which meant there was no room for the likes of Willam.

As the feast progressed, Gilthanas spent most of his time speaking with Sir Liam. Clearly, he had been out of touch for some time, and much of what he knew of the tumultuous years since the Chaos War was rife with misinformation. On the current state of the Knights of Solamnia, Gilthanas interrupted the Grand Master's explanation of how covert circles are being established in many areas by cursing the name of Sir Aurrafil. He quickly apologized for his outburst, but then explained that Aurrafil had told him a variety of lies during the year he spent in Kalaman, including the "fact" that the Knights limited themselves to Sancrist.

"He might not have been purposefully lying," Lord Liam said. "Few people realize how extensive our rebuilding efforts have been. Most of the attention is being focused on the Legion of Steel, which serves our purpose rather well. We are finding ourselves with capable allies in many cities when we attempt to establish our covert circles, and while the Knights of Takhisis are busy watching the Legionnaires, we can regain the footing we lost in the Chaos War."

"Speaking of the Legion, Lord Liam, have you had a chance to review Lady Karine's latest dispatch from Sanction?" asked Lord Quintayne. "The notion of using a single Knight as the visible contact point between our circle there and the Legion seems like the perfect way to avoid the debacles of years past."

"I agree," Lord Liam replied. "Now, if only Lady Linsha, or any of the other Knights, could discern Hogan Bight's motives in the city, we might actually get somewhere."

The discussion about Sanction continued as kender tumblers rushed onto the floor of the Grand Hall and began performing the classic routine "Lord Toede's Hunt." During this, Gilthanas turned to me and said, "I have been hearing tales of great dragons larger and more powerful than any we ever faced during the War of the Lance that have seized huge swaths of territory. What of the metallic dragons? Surely, they must oppose these beasts?"

"Alas, I wish it was so. I know of two metallic dragons who have survived the Dragon Purge: a brass dragon who has taken up residence along the Silvanesti border in the south, and a silver dragon known as Mirror at the Citadel of Light."

"Yes. I heard of Mirror while in Kalaman." A sudden sadness appeared on his features as his eyes drifted to the kender clowns. "As I told Lord Ehrling, Sir Knight, I came to Sancrist hoping to find a dragon, or at the very least someone who knew where she was last seen . . . and if not her, then maybe one that could tell me where she may have gone."

"I don't know if this means anything, but we recently had word from Castle Eastwatch stating that a silver dragon had settled in the nearby area."

"Any word as to whether it is a male or female?" Gilthanas suddenly straightened in his chair, his face brightening.

"No, I'm afraid not. At any rate, I don't put much stock in the report. This wouldn't be the first time that Lady Riva and her Knights have either misinterpreted or simply imagined something. One can hardly blame them as their assignment is not an enviable one."

Gilthanas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard? About fifteen years ago, the biggest white dragon anyone had ever seen claimed dominion over most of Southern Ergoth. People just call him the White these days. By all reports, the beast has buried Huma's Tomb and much of the Last Gaard Mountains under magically generated ice."

"What of Qualimori? And Silvamori?"

"Most of the citizens fled to the isle of Cristyne. The Kagonesti stayed and attempted to defend their lands from the dragon. As far as we can tell, they were mostly wiped out in the process."

Gilthanas sat stunned for moment, the building excitement I had detected in him dispelled. I noticed that Alla was gripping Leth's hand so hard that her knuckles were white. Her eyes seemed to shimmer with tears. The poor woman must have been witness to some of the atrocities perpetrated against her people by the White Dragon. Chivalry dictated that I end this particular line of conversation.

"With the almost total absence of metallic dragons on Ansalon now, I think that the silver dragon in question is more likely a product of their imaginations rather than your Silvara."

"Still," Gilthanas said, "this is the best lead I have had since I started my quest to reunite with her! And it makes sense— Castle Eastwatch is close to Foghaven Vale where she once made her home! If any dragon were to attempt to drive off that white beast, it would be her. Are you personally acquainted with Lady Riva, Sir Gavin?"

"She was one of my sponsors," I said.

"Excellent. Could I trouble you for a letter of introduction? I would very much like to travel to Castle Eastwatch and speak with her and her Knights about this silver dragon. If it is not Silvara, at least my mind will be at ease. She has no reason to trust me, however, and may not be as hospitable as you are here on Sancrist—I know I would think twice about trusting strangers if I were living in the shadow of a powerful dragon. Even white dragons can be devious if they put their minds to it."

"I'd be happy to write you a letter of introduction, Your Highness. And I feel confident in assuring you, Lady Riva will give you every bit of cooperation she can."

"I am in your debt, Sir Knight."

"Nonsense." I smiled gently. "This is but a trifle, and if you find your beloved, my ability to take joy from it due to the small part I played will place me in your debt."

Gilthanas nodded and smiled, this time with radiant joy. He turned to watch the kender performers with an absent look on his face, almost as if he was reliving a pleasant memory or perhaps imagining something pleasant to come.

"Sir Knight, what happened to the Kagonesti?" I turned my gaze toward Alla. Her large, dark eyes were still shimmering with threatened tears. "Do any live still?"

"I believe so, milady. Some have fled to Cristyne, but others continue to resist the White. The Kagonesti most definitely still live."

Tears finally spilled over her cheeks. "I didn't have the courage to stay. May the Blue Phoenix forgive me, but I could not bear the destruction any longer. But they live still?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"By my honor, milady, the Kagonesti continue to bear arms against those who would take their ancestral lands from them."

"Good." She lowered her head, continuing to weep silently, her tears flowing freely. My eyes drifted to Leth. The young Qualinesti put his arm around her and leaned close. He whispered something in her ear. She nodded and swiftly wiped the tears from her eyes. She stood and with an obvious effort of will steadied her voice to say, "Sir Liam, I appreciate your gracious hospitality... but I have grown tired. I bid you good night."

Sir Liam rose to his feet. "I shall have a Knight escort you—"

"No need, Sir Liam," Leth said. "I shall see Alla safely to her chamber. Allow your Knights to continue to enjoy themselves."

Liam nodded. "As you wish."

"Are you all right?" Gilthanas asked, genuine concern in his voice.

"Yes," Alla said, another tear trickling down her cheek. She swiftly wiped it away. "I am tired. That's all. Just tired."

Leth took her arm. Although he was trying to hide it, I saw in his face a pain at her sorrow. As they left the table, Willam came into view. My young charge was watching them as they left—watching her to be specific. And he made no effort to hide the pain he was feeling. The damn boy was smitten and every tear that she had just shed at the table had probably felt like a dagger in his heart.

I swear that the gods made elven women the way they did to torment young men.

 

*****

 

The next night, Willam and I again stood at our post in Whitestone Glade. We had been on watch for mere minutes when the topic I knew he would broach came up.

"You spent time on Southern Ergoth, didn't you Gavin?"

"Yes, Willam. I served under Lady Riva for three years before returning to Sancrist. At the time, the White was expanding his domain. We helped many elves flee the island to Crystine."

"So, you've seen many elves?"

"Yes, lad. And before you even ask, I have seen some that rival Alla in beauty."

"But none as graceful, I am certain." His face took on a distant expression. "When she moves . . . it's as though the wind itself has taken mortal form."

I grunted. "She's taken, boy."

He snapped back to reality. "What?"

"She's taken. Did you see the way Leth looks at her?"

"No," he said, his tone guarded.

"Well, when you're around them tomorrow, take a closer look. It's more than just chivalry for him, and she returns his feelings. Spare yourself embarrassment and heartbreak." He looked so crestfallen that I had to laugh. "Consider yourself lucky, boy. You know what happened the last time an upstanding Knight got involved with an elf-maid, don't you?"

"He died a heroic death, defending the Tower of the High Clerist against the forces of Evil."

"All right. I forgot about Sturm Brightblade. I was thinking of Lord Soth, Willam. Don't let lust override your sense of honor."

"I think you insult me, Sir."

"No, Willam, I'm just imparting to you the benefit of my years. Elven women are beautiful, exotic creatures. The first few times a young man encounters them, they set his head spinning. I know, because I've been there. And I know that you should put her out of your mind because she and Leth are already in love with one another."

A silence fell between us. For several long minutes, the only sound was the wind snapping at our cloaks.

"I can't get her out of mind, Gavin."

I looked at him, trying not to laugh. "You'll never become a Knight of the Sword with that kind of willpower, Willam."

A miserable expression crossed his face. "I've gotten past the gender of Lady Sheryl and Lady Hannah—I view them now just as fellow Knights—but how can I ever reclaim my heart from Alla?"

"She doesn't have your heart, you young fool! And I suspect that Lady Sheryl wouldn't mind if you were to acknowledge that she's a woman as well as Knight."

"Now you mock me. She belittles my abilities as a swordsman every chance she gets."

"And she also offers to train with you every chance she gets! Why do you think that is?"

Willam blinked. Then a startled expression appeared on his face. "But she turned me down when I asked to escort her to the Autumn's Twilight festival."

"Of course she did. She was leaving for Gwynned the day of the festival, escorting Lady Crysania and her party to the emperor's court for an audience."

"She never said that."

"No, because you scurried out the hall so fast she didn't have a chance to explain. Lady Crysania was traveling to Ergoth to see if the emperor's daughter was ill or strong in the mystic arts—the child was claiming that spirits spoke to her. Sir Liam wanted the Revered Daughter to have extra escort while away from Sancrist."

Willam looked like he was about to say something, but then closed his mouth and turned his gaze up at the moon.

"Talk to Lady Sheryl tomorrow, Willam. Her you might be able to win, but Alla is as unreachable for you as the moon."

"Lady Sheryl is a beautiful and intelligent woman indeed, but she is to Alla as the moon is to the sun—she pales by comparison."

I sighed. "I've done what I can for you in this matter. This conversation is at an end."

The rest of the watch passed in silence, with Willam deep in thought. After we had been relieved and were walking back to sleeping Castle Uth Wistan, he said, "I'm not sure I can accept your estimation of Lady Sheryl."

"My advice is that you seek out Lady Sheryl to at least clarify her feelings toward you," I said. "Don't be surprised if she laughs at you initially and challenges you to a sparring match. If she does, I am right. If she instead gets serious and apologizes to you, then I am wrong." One of the tales of Gilthanas and Silvara came to mind—the version where he doesn't discover what he has lost until it is too late. "I have given you my best advice already, but I want to add this: I truly believe you should seek out Lady Sheryl and talk to her, man to woman. If you don't, you may find it's too late and then you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

As I spoke, we climbed the steps to the battlement, intending to enter our quarters from there. Alla, in her cloak, appeared at the top of the stairs, starting down them without really looking ahead. After a few steps, she noticed us, a startled look on her narrow face. She began to apologize and to retreat up the stairs.

"No, milady, please, you go first," Willam said, moving back down the stairs, pushing me behind him. "We would not think of impeding your progress,"

The elf lowered her eyes demurely, a slight smile on her face. I got the sense that she was embarrassed by Willam's chivalry.

"Why are you up at this late hour?" Willam asked. "Is there something you need assistance with?"

"No, kind sir. I just found myself unable to sleep, so I decided to visit with the griffins."

"Allow me to escort you, milady."

She lowered her eyes again. "I don't want to be a bother, Sir Knight. I will be fine. You need not concern yourself."

"Nonsense. It is no bother. Further, I would be fascinated to hear of your travels with Gilthanas of Qualinesti. I have heard many tales of his deeds in the years during the War of the Lance, and I would like to hear some more."

"Okay," she said with a sweet, bright smile. He offered her his arm and she took it.

I caught Willam's eye and frowned at him. "We have an early morning tomorrow, Sir Willam."

"You've no need to concern yourself, Sir Gavin. I will go straight to bed once Lady Alla has checked on the griffins."

"Please, Sir Knight! I am not of noble blood!"

"But your beauty alone makes you deserving nonetheless of the honorific," he said, smiling at her. She dropped her eyes again, blushing and smiling slightly. He then looked back at me, an imploring look on his face.

"Very well," I said. "On your honor, you will rest this evening. And you will uphold the Measure in every way."

"Of course, Sir Gavin!" He sounded startled. Yet, there he was, arm in arm with another man's woman. "My honor is my life!"

I frowned at him again, unsure as to whether he understood how serious I was taking this matter... but if I brought it up, I would have embarrassed young Alla. I felt that if I were to berate Willam in front of her, I would be dishonoring myself, as I feared he was about to dishonor both her and himself.

Instead, I merely said, "I know, Sir Willam. Escort Alla back to her chamber when she is done inspecting the griffins. I will see you at sunrise tomorrow." I headed up the stairs without looking back.

As I entered my quarters, a page was returning the bed-warmer to its stand. "Good evening, Sir Gavin," the boy said. "How was your watch?"

"Cold," I replied, dismissing him with a gesture. My thoughts revolved around Willam as I removed my weapons belt. Greater Knights than he had fallen victim to the temptation of an elven woman. In my youth, I myself had done so. She hadn't been involved with another man, however. As I started to remove my armor, a pounding on the door and shouts in the hallway interrupted my thoughts. I swiftly grabbed my sword and threw the door open. The page was outside, white as a sheet.

"Monsters!" he shouted. "There are monsters on the castle walls! Sir Willam is fighting them!"

I pushed the boy aside and stormed down the hallway. "Sound the alarm!" I shouted. From beyond the reinforced door that led to the battlement of the castle came a strange screech, a sound that could only have been uttered by a creature from the Abyss, I thought. I hesitated briefly, but then my courage rose again and I flung open the door.

Hovering above the wall was one of the griffins. Willam clung to its side, his arms wrapped around the waist of a black-clad person—I could not tell if it was a man or woman, for a billowing cloak obscured his or her form and hid the face in the shadows of a drawn hood.

Willam looked over his shoulder as I rushed forward. "Gavin! Thank the gods!"

Then I saw a flash of steel amidst the folds of the cloak. The rider twisted in Willam's grasp and drove a short sword through the crack where his breastplate and back armor met. Willam let out a strangled cry and released his grip. The griffin soared upward, Willam's weight pulled him free of the blade, and he clattered to the hard stones of the battlement.

I leapt over his prone figure and onto the crenellation. I swung wide with my sword, hoping to strike the griffin before it was too far away, but all I achieved was to almost lose my balance and plunge into the icy moat forty feet below. Against the bright disk of the moon, I could see all three griffins that Gilthanas, Leth, and Alla had arrived on. The one I had witnessed on the wall was lagging significantly behind the others. A single cloaked figure sat upon each of the two trailing griffins—but I could see two figures upon the lead one... and one of the people had long hair that fluttered in the wind. It was Alla!

I jumped off the wall and strode to Willam's side. Blood was streaming from the wound and the page stood over him, looking confused and frightened. The boy was actually wringing his hands.

"Fetch one of the mystics," I barked. "And make sure it's one who knows how to heal!"

The page blinked at me, then rushed into the castle, leaving the door open behind him. I put my sword aside and kneeled next to Willam. I pulled him into my arms and said, "It'll be all right, Willam. Just relax."

He looked at me, his face twisted with pain. Then he coughed, and blood spilled forth from his mouth as he trembled in my arms. I'd seen enough good men die to know that he didn't have much time.

"Get a healer to the northern battlements," I shouted. "To the Abyss with the damn mystics, just bring me a healer!" Elsewhere in the castle, someone finally sounded the alarm.

Willam clutched at my cloak. His breath hissed over his lips, forming bubbles in the blood. "Alla," he moaned, his eyes locking with mine. "Alla."

"You did your best, Willam. There is no dishonor in failing, only in not trying to perform your duty. You and I shall hunt down the villains that abducted her when you have healed. They will pay for what they've done with their lives, and we shall mete out justice together."

His eyes widened and a strange look passed over his face, a look the meaning of which I could not determine—it almost seemed like desperation. He drew a shuddering breath and spoke her name again. "Alla."

Then his eyes went blank. His final breath bubbled across his lips as life fled his body.

"By Mishakal!" I heard someone cry. It was the young girl who served as the Revered Daughter's assistant and the page I had dispatched. She was wearing only a dressing gown and ran across the icy flagstones of the battlement in bare feet. "I will help him, Sir Knight. Goldmoon has instructed me in healing magic!"

She kneeled at our side and placed her hands on Willam's bloody chest. She closed her eyes and prepared to use the final gift of the gods, but then her eyes flew open and she drew back her hands as though she had been burned.

"It's too late," I said, regretting the words even as they left my lips. It had been an unbidden phrase, said without consideration. They were not the words this child needed to hear.

She raised her hands and looked at the blood upon them. They were trembling. Her doelike eyes drifted to Willam's body, and she burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here in time. I was sleeping. I'm sorry!"

"It's not your fault," I said, forcing back tears of my own, struggling to keep my voice steady. I lowered Willam to the cold stones and covered him with my cloak. I then helped the girl to her feet. She put her arms around me and sobbed against my armor. I lifted my eyes to sky, to where I had seen the three griffins pass by the moon. "It's not your fault, milady. They killed Willam, not you. And, by my honor, they will pay."

The battlement exploded with activity. Squires and a healer arrived. Knights in varying states of dress with their swords drawn suddenly seemed to be everywhere. Somewhere, I heard Leth calling the name of his beloved. That odd, desperate expression in Willam's eyes flashed in my mind. I wondered if the boy had died with a burning passion for a woman with another man in her life—died afraid that he would never see her again.

Then I heard Gilthanas's voice. "What happened?" the elf asked.

I turned to him after passing the sobbing girl off to the page. As he led her away, I said, "The castle was infiltrated. Someone has abducted Alla, stolen your griffins, and used them in their escape. Sir Willam was slain trying to stop them."

The elf-lord's brow furrowed in a frown. "That's not possible."

"You saw the blood on that girl's hands, did you not?" I said, anger welling up inside me. "Do you see the body here on the ground before us? If you check the courtyard, you will see that your mounts are indeed gone. It is possible, Lord Gilthanas, and it has happened."

"Yes, Sir Knight, I understand, but what you are suggesting has happened here is impossible."

"Are you saying I am lying? Are you calling my honor into question?"

"No, Sir Gavin," he replied softly. "I was thinking about the griffins. They won't obey anyone but Leth. How could they have taken the griffins with him still here?" As if to prove Gilthanas's point, Leth howled Alla's name. Someone had told him the news.

"They could have taken the griffins if they used dark mysticism to usurp the bond that Leth has nurtured with them." Lady Sheryl emerged from the chaos of Knights that were streaming back and forth along the battlement. She was dressed in her nightgown and steel-toed boots. In one hand, she carried her sword. In the other, she held a piece of parchment she had picked up from the flagstones. She offered it to me, her eyes drifting to the shrouded form on the ground. Blood was starting to seep from beneath the cloak.

I examined the parchment. On it was a crude representation of the Seal of the Emperor of Ergoth with a black spot at the center.

"What do you mean, dark mysticism usurped Leth's bond with the griffins?" Gilthanas asked.

"I went through my trials on Schallsea with a Knight who spent part of her childhood at the Citadel of Light. She could communicate with animals through the powers of the heart, and I once saw her convince a hunter's loyal hound to abandon the scent of a deer she wanted to go free. If she can do it, so can mystics who are of a darker spirit."

"And this symbol relates to them?" I passed the parchment to Gilthanas who studied it intently.

"Yes," Lady Sheryl replied. "While at the Ergothian court earlier this year, the emperor's daughter said that the spirits that speak to her warned her of an Evil that is represented by this symbol. When the librarians researched it, they discovered that it stands for a movement that rose during the War of the Lance—a movement devoted to the service of Sargonnas and the destruction of the Empire of Ergoth."

"But why abduct Alla?" Gilthanas asked.

"I don't know," Lady Sheryl said. She shivered violently as she looked at Willam's body again. "The Revered Daughter would know. We should go ask her."

"Yes," I said. "Let us go. You'll catch your death, Sheryl."

"He should be brought in from the cold as well," she said, her eyes still on the body. "He's going to be much colder than I."

"Go, Sheryl. Ask the Revered Daughter to prepare herself for an audience with myself and Prince Gilthanas."

"Yes, Sir Gavin." Her eyes fluttered to my face. Her lower lip trembled, but her voice remained steady as she said, "I kept asking him to let me teach him how to use his sword better."

I barked at a couple of squires who were gawking open-mouthed at my fallen charge. "Take him to the crypt, you lazy dogs. Start preparing the body for its time in state!"

"Were they close?" Gilthanas nodded toward Sheryl who was walking down the hall, too slowly and with her shoulders slumping. The blade of her sword was barely off the floor.

"No," I replied. "But they should have been."

 

*****

 

Sir Liam, Gilthanas, Leth, and I stood in the Revered Daughter's audience room, listening as Sheryl—now more appropriately dressed in a tunic and trousers—explained what she knew of the cult. I confess that I barely heard a word she said. The sight of Willam dying in my arms hovered before my eyes and the echo of his final word reverberated with deafening intensity in my head.

The events that brought Willam and the kidnappers to the battlements of the castle were shrouded in mystery, but for some reason, he had left his weapons belt in the courtyard below. Perhaps the villains had threatened to harm Alla unless he dropped his blades. They then took to the air and he leapt up and grabbed hold of one of the riders. Perhaps it was something else. We will never know, for although a Rose Knight with the ability to communicate with the spirits of the recently dead attempted to speak with Willam, he had already gone to join Paladine in the Beyond. Only those who had flown off on the griffins could now tell us what had transpired.

"I will hunt these animals to the very edge of the Abyss," Leth cried, shaking with rage. "And if they have harmed her, I will kill each and every one of them!"

Gilthanas put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a stern look. "Be calm, my friend. We will hunt these villains together . . . but first we must allow Lady Sheryl and the Revered Daughter tell us what they know about these cultists."

"There isn't much more to tell," Lady Sheryl said. "They have their lair somewhere in the mountains along the border between the Ergothian Empire and the goblin kingdom of Sikk'et Hul. They are rumored to perform some manner of rites on the Winter Solstice at a place called Raekel's Pit, so it is quite possible that they kidnapped Alla to sacrifice her in some foul ritual."

"But why her?!" Leth wailed. "Why her?!"

"Few places in Ansalon have such a concentration of men and women who are valiant and pure in body and soul as Sancrist," Crysania said softly, her sightless eyes turning toward us. "Perhaps they abducted Alla over one of the Knights because of the reputed bond that the Kagonesti share with the land. The very fact that they subverted Leth's bond with his griffins show that they are powerful dark mystics. Perhaps they intend to tap into her energies."

"Is such a thing possible?" Sheryl asked.

"The dragons absorbed the life energies of their slain foes during the Dragon Purge. Perhaps these followers of Sargonnas at Raekel's Pit are engaged in similar activities."

"Or perhaps they are merely honoring their god," Gilthanas muttered. He looked around the room with a pained expression. "Several years ago, I encountered people who I now believe to be members of this cult on the island of Elian, off Ansalon's eastern coast. Almost a decade later, in Solamnia I met a man I thought I had befriended back then but he was bent on killing me.

"Alla's predicament is my fault, for I believe she was abducted as part of an attempt to gain revenge upon me. For what, I'm not sure, but it could be as straightforward as them wishing to avenge the death of a comrade. It could be bigger than that. But that is why she was chosen, I am certain of it." He placed a hand on Leth's shoulder. The other elf looked at him with smoldering eyes. "If Lord Liam will provide us with a fast ship, we will travel to Northern Ergoth together ... and I shall see that you are reunited with the woman you love, or I will die in the attempt."

"You will not go alone," I said, a knot of anger clenching in my breast. "I will join you to avenge my friend. He was murdered most foully, and I will be the one to destroy these followers of Dark Vengeance."

"It won't be an easy task," Sheryl muttered, a look of deep sorrow appearing on her face. "I should be there at your side. But I can't. I have a duty here. I have to stay and protect the Revered Daughter. For all we know, she was their intended target, and may still be."

Crysania held out a hand and Sheryl took it. The aged priestess said, "I appreciate your devotion to duty even if your heart cries out to avenge Willam. The gods will reward your sacrifice some day, dear Sheryl, because you are putting Good above the need to expunge your pain."

"My thanks, Revered Daughter," Sheryl replied so softly that it was almost inaudible. "That is small comfort, as I don't think the gods have ever heard a single one of my prayers."

"You may take my ship," Crysania said after a slight pause. "Sheryl, would you please go wake the crew and tell them to prepare to depart with the tide?"

"I will fetch my gear," I said to Gilthanas. "I will meet you at the ship."

 

*****

 

I chose to travel light: a cloak, my broadsword, two daggers, a crossbow and ten quarrels, and a rucksack containing extra clothes, a spare pair of boots, oil for my weapons and armor, and my armor. These evil priests were going to know that they were meeting their end at the hands of a Knight of the Sword.

I renamed to the Whitestone Glade before heading to the harbor. The Knights posted there realized with a single glance at my grim visage that they should not speak to me. They retreated deeper into the forest as I kneeled in front of the cracked and broken Whitestone.

The wind rushed through the glade, biting at my cheeks as I looked up into the heavens where the mad swirl of stars left in Chaos's wake glimmered dimly.

Do you think they still watch over us?

I pushed the sound of Willam's voice out of my mind. I cleared my mind and whispered a prayer to Kiri-Jolith, the patron of my Order. I kept my face turned skyward, my eyes scanning the stars. Kiri-Jolith would guide me in this quest. Kiri-Jolith would ensure that I conducted myself honorably, as a man devoted to his service should. I didn't want to be sent to a different age. I just wanted strength to comport myself with honor. Do you think they still watch over us?

I stopped praying. "No," I whispered to the echo of the dead man. " I do not. If Linsha Majere found anything in this grove, it was the memory of the gods but not their presence."

I went to the docks.

 

Rackel's pit 29sc

 

Gilthanas slashed hard on the back swing and the goblin's head flew from its skinny shoulders, trailing blood and freezing the creature's horrified grimace into a death mask. The head tumbled away like a misshapen ball, and by the time the prince looked around to seek his next target, the rest of the runts were scattering into the night.

Nearby Sir Gavin was already cleaning his sword on a rag he'd ripped from a dead goblin's cloak. Lethagas was panting, with his bloody blade still raised. Nervously the young elf spun about, hearing an imaginary threat behind him.

Perhaps two dozen goblins sprawled around the trio in various postures of grievous injury or death. A few moaned, or gasped for breath, but for the most part the loathsome creatures remained still. The rest of the tribe had run away, vanishing into the cracks and crevices of their mountain home, and Gilthanas felt that there was little chance they would be back.

"Are either of you hurt?" he asked his companions.

"I'm fine ... a few nicks, that's all," replied the young elf.

"Quite untouched, thank you," stated the Knight.

Gilthanas looked at the old man with fresh appraisal. He had wielded his great sword like it was a twig, carving away at goblins to all sides. In the end, his full-throated battle cry— "For the Oath and the Measure"—had put the panic into the attacking goblins.

"They must have been watching us for the last few miles," Sir Gavin suggested. "That gave them time to make their attack in numbers."

"And this was the last place they could get close to us without being seen—at least, the last place on this side of the pass." Gilthanas looked at the sharp ridge etched against the skyline before them. From this valley, their path would take them onto the broad mountainside, where the trail was steep, but visibility was clear for miles in any direction.

"Perhaps the superstitious buggers feared to cross over and get too close to the Pit," suggested Sir Gavin.

"Do you think the gully dwarves knew what they were talking about when they told us to come here?" asked Lethagas, hesitantly. "There could be more than one 'Black Mountain' along here."

Gilthanas shrugged. "They're all we have to go on ... and I've known gully dwarves to be helpful a time or two in the past. I think we should take their word."

"You're right—we don't have any other choice," Leth said. "And if they can help us find Alla—and whoever took her away—then I couldn't be more grateful."

Grimly the three travelers started onto the steep slope. Breathing hard, they leaned into the climb and plodded resolutely up the trail. Gilthanas thought of the task that had brought them here, to Northern Ergoth—of the stormy crossing from Sancrist, the trek through village after village of barbarians or gully dwarves, finally the ambush by a hundred goblins. He was relieved at the thought that they were almost done. Then, finally, he would go seek the silver dragon that just might be the one he loved.

These thoughts carried him all the way to the crest, where he stood with his companions just before dusk and looked into a barren, rock-strewn valley. In the center of the vale the ground plunged away to form a deep hole—a gap in which mists writhed and strange winds moaned.

"We've found it!" Leth declared. "That has to be Raekel's Pit!" He started down the slope at a trot. "This is where the cult worships and where those bastards must have brought Alla!"

"Wait!" hissed Gilthanas, still taking in the rest of the surroundings. "If this is their ceremonial center, they'll have guards!" Hundreds of small caves, rough knolls, and little ravines could conceal an enemy. And the mouth of the pit was at the bottom of the hill, in clear view from all directions.

"Hurry!" was Leth's only reply.

The Knight and the elven prince did the best they could, gasping for breath as they joined their companion at the very lip of the pit.

"Mark my words—it's a hole straight to the Abyss," declared Sir Gavin grimly. Indeed, the bottom could not be seen because of the mist and smoke that curled through the air below them. Even so, they could see far enough to realize that the hole descended a hundred feet or more without reaching bottom.

"There's a trail, with steps leading down," said Leth, pointing.

"We know that the cult worshiped around Raekel's Pit. We don't know that they went inside it," Gilthanas argued.

"Where else?" demanded the young elf, almost contemptuously taking in the barren valley with a gesture. "I'm going down there. That's where we'll find Alla!"

"We're going with you, lad," said Sir Gavin, and Gilthanas nodded curtly in exasperated approval. "Just go slow enough that we can stay together."

The trio of travelers started down the narrow stairs, which were black stone steps that had been carved directly into the steep wall of the pit. Lethagas took the lead, followed by Gilthanas and then Sir Gavin. After two dozen steps, the route led to a small platform, like a balcony overlooking the obscure depths of the pit. More stairs led down from there, and they passed a succession of such platforms, dropping deeper and deeper into the cylindrical cavity. They couldn't see the bottom, but they began to make out outcrops of rock below them.

"There she is—Alla!" cried Leth, abruptly racing down a dozen stairs to come to another platform. Here no further steps led down deeper into the pit, but as he arrived at his companion's side Gilthanas, too, saw the elf maid.

Alla was sprawled upon the top of an obelisk of rock thirty or forty feet below. She lay spread-eagled, on her back. Her eyes were closed, but she did not have any visible wounds.

"By all the gods—if's she's hurt I'll kill every cultist in this hole!" Lethagas cried.

"Too late, I'm afraid ... we already did the job for you."

The three companions whirled to confront a tall Dark Knight standing on one of the platforms just above them. The man was dressed in black armor, even to the grotesque mask that fully concealed his face. Other Knights, the armor less elaborate in decoration but just as complete in coverage, flanked their leader and glared impassively down at the two elves and the Solamnic Knight.

Lethagas choked out a strangled curse but Gilthanas spoke loudly, before the younger elf could do anything rash.

"Whom did you kill?" he asked.

"Three of them, the cultists of Raekel's Pit. They were little more than children, really. They lived like savages in that valley up above. Still, the wench among them was a handsome thing—too bad she fought so hard that we had to kill her." "You butchers! What have you done to Alla?" cried Leth.

"Why, nothing at all." The Knight raised his voice, shouting down into the pit. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

"Of course." Alla's voice was as firm, as strong as ever.

When Gilthanas looked back, he saw that the elf maid had risen to stand easily atop her obelisk of rock. She waved mockingly to the speechless trio as one of the Knights threw down a rope. She scampered up the line like an acrobat, some distance away from the platform where Leth, Gilthanas, and Sir Gavin watched in shock.

"She's mad ... under some dark spell!" gasped the young elf, finally, before calling out to her. "Alla—beware sorcery!"

She only laughed, and let go of the rope as several Knights assisted her to stand next to their captain. "Oh, Lethagas," she chided. "You're such a child. Still, it was fun to toy with you for awhile." Touching the captain on his broad shoulder, she struck a coy pose beside the burly human. "But it's here, with the Dark Knights, that the future lies—mine, Qualinesti's, and all Krynn's. I have made my choice, and my master is called Khellendros now. You should have made yours, as well... though it will be up to Fate to see where it carries you."

With a groan the young elf covered his eyes and dropped to his knees.

"Why?" Gilthanas demanded. "Why did you do it?"

"Why, she did it to bring you to us, of course," said the Knight commander. "She was an important part of a scheme that has been in place for many years. Perhaps you will be interested to know that she is the stalker who accompanied the assassins you encountered earlier in your journeys."

"Why do you want me?" asked the prince.

"It's not us," said the Knight, "But someone who will pay a good price for you. Still, our own Order will rest more comfortably in Qualinesti, knowing that you are safely out of the way."

"Vile treachery!" shouted Sir Gavin. "You shall not have us!"

Before Gilthanas could stop him, the elder Knight drew his sword and charged up the stairs. Two much younger warriors clad in black armor, each with a great blade raised, met him. Sir Gavin hacked at the first one, knocking him off the stairs. With a hysterical scream, the Dark Knight toppled into the depths of Raekel's Pit.

But the other Knight was ready. His blade cleaved down, cutting deeply into the elder warrior's shoulder. Sir Gavin fell face first, slipping back down the stairs, leaving a trail of fresh blood.

"We can fight them!" Lethagas hissed, rising and stepping to Gilthanas's side. "Take them down—or die trying!"

The prince sighed. He gestured to the array of Knights glaring down at them, easily two score blocking their route out of the pit. And how many more were lurking in the valley without?

"We have been captured." Gilthanas glared at Alla. "Betrayed, true, but only captured. Now is not the time to die."

Leth grimaced in reluctance, but made no move to advance.

"I surrender to you," declared Gilthanas, drawing the sword of Purstal and holding it, hilt first, before him. "Though if the dungeons of Silvanesti couldn't hold me, I doubt that yours will do any better."

Alla laughed, while the Dark Knight took Gilthanas's sword with a good-natured shrug. "It's only for a short time," he said. "And then the blue dragon will decide what to do with you."

"As to Silvara," teased the elf maid, as a rope was secured around Gilthanas's wrists. "It seems that she will just have to wait."

 

Silver Hearts

 

Castle Eastwatch, 28sc

Castle Eastwatch is an ugly place. It is a drab and gray building of stone, unimaginative in its construction. Built from the stones of a fortress that rebels cast down during the civil war that gave birth to Solamnia, it was constructed with very little else but functionality in mind.

The one flourish it has is a balcony outside of what was intended to be the Lord's quarters. After I expressed an appreciation for the view it afforded of the harbor and the sea beyond it, Lady Riva had given it to me as my quarters, despite my protestations.

"I want to be treated as just another Knight," I had said.

"You are not 'just another Knight,'" she had responded. "And while not everyone serving at Castle Eastwatch knows this, Sir Francis and I do. That is why he is stepping aside as the ranking Rose Knight and why you will take his place. It is also why you will have these quarters."

When a Knight of Solamnia has made up her mind, one can do nothing to change it. Riva even showed me, both in the revised Measure and in the one that was in effect in my youth, why taking her quarters was in accordance with the Code that we both upheld.

My eyes drifted to the windows and the balcony beyond them. I had felt his presence stronger than I had in years. He was out there.

The bond silver dragons share with mortals is not something I can ever fully explain to someone who isn't one of us. Many decades ago, I had an opportunity to have civil dealings with a blue dragon who called himself Cobalt. I tried to explain it to him, but it was impossible. Even gold dragons find the concept unfathomable, although they acknowledge intellectually that the bond exists. Blue dragons like Cobalt, of course, furiously insist that we merely possess weak spirits and that we imagine our bond with mortals because we wish to be like them.

Only other silver dragons know that we feel the emotions that we inspire in mortals as surely as others might feel a gentle caress or the harsh blow of a fist. Those sensations are increased dramatically should we ever be fortunate—or unfortunate, depending on your point of view— enough to meet that one single mortal with whom our spirit is in complete harmony. Most silver dragons live their entire lives and never experience such bliss and torment, but those who do must pursue this relationship or wither and die. Some would say that the brood that gave birth to me was cursed, for both my sister and I met that one mortal. For her, it was Huma. For me, it is Gilthanas.

I wanted him to love me as I loved him. I needed him to love me. For a time, it seemed I had his love as we battled together against the forces of the dragonarmy and risked our lives for the good of all. But after we settled in Kalaman that changed. He started to ignore me, to lose himself in "work" created for the sole purpose of allowing him to avoid me. Only when the city was in crisis had he seemed to acknowledge the bond between our souls. At other times, he refused to listen to all my attempts to explain how his disregard of me wounded me at other times.

As I called upon him to understand that the bond we shared was not a casual thing for me, we had occasional arguments. During one of them, he told me that he could never forgive me for not revealing my true nature as we lay in each other's arms on the shore of the Thon-Sorpon in Southern Ergoth. He refused to see that I had been frightened at the idea that he might reject me. He never could have understood the pain his fear and horror would have inflicted upon me, just as he couldn't comprehend the pain his indifference was putting me through in Kalaman. No matter how hard I tried to explain it to him, he failed to understand the nature of a silver dragon's soul, and so he refused to let his resentment fade. He simply could not accept that Silvara, the elf maid who he loved, did not truly exist.

I finally decided that the only way to make him understand my suffering was for me to put him through the same pain. I had no choice but to leave Kalaman behind. Once he realized that my absence was as painful to him as his indifference had been to me, he would come for me, I thought. I left Kalaman and drifted through the nearby hills for several months, longing desperately to have him near, expecting him to come searching for me. But he never did.

Finally, the pain became too much to bear. I had to retreat to the Dragon Isles and the comfort of my own kind.

But even there, I found no solace. My longing for Gilthanas was too great. I eventually returned to Ansalon, where I struggled with my pain for many months, hoping and praying that he would finally recognize that he needed me as much as I needed him.

But he didn't. I eventually came to face the fact that my mortal soulmate had rejected me and that the pain of his rejection would kill me. But then I found a way to be as free of him as he had made himself of me: by abandoning the form of Silvara. I found a way back to the life of contentment I had once known, and I threw myself into that life with abandon.

But now, decades later, I felt as though I had woken up from a dreamless sleep, my soul again singing with the love that Gilthanas had for me ... or the love that he had for Silvara, to be more specific.

I rose and put on a robe. I called for a page and asked him to bring me a ranking scribe and all the dispatches about Dark Knights, elves, and any ships that were expected to arrive on Southern Ergoth. The page tried to argue with me. He suggested that it could wait until morning. Further, he said, he was afraid that he might be whipped if he were to awaken a senior scribe at this early hour. I proved to him that I was a far greater threat than a scribe's leather belt. I displayed the strength I possess even in the apparently frail human form I have adopted and with one hand lifted him up under the ceiling. "You will fetch a scribe," I snarled at him, allowing my human form to waver, permitting him to look into my eyes as they truly are. I dropped him to the floor. He fled in terror, a dark stain spreading down his trouser leg. The scribe arrived less than fifteen minutes later.

I stood on the balcony, that one touch of beauty on the castle, letting the wind wash over my skin as the portly man entered, with what few hairs he still possessed standing on end from his pillow. He went on about Dark Knights threatening the stability of Ergoth, about more thanoi arriving in Southern Ergoth, about nothing that I had any interest in hearing and nothing that brought to mind the sensations I had felt when Gilthanas touched me in my sleep.

I eventually realized that the man's teeth were chattering, as the icy wind from the sea—which merely slid across my skin as pleasantly as silk slides across a mortal's body—was rushing into my quarters and chilling him to bone. I dismissed him.

"Y-y-yes, L-lady Arlena," he said, shivering violently. "I h-h-hope the inf-formation was of use."

"Yes, Dolan. You have been very helpful."

I remained on the balcony for another few minutes after he departed, looking in the direction from which I had sensed Gilthanas. I saw the snow-shrouded hills of Eastwatch glittering under the pale moon. Beyond them, I could barely make out the night-black sea.

This was not the first time in recent months that I had sensed Gilthanas in my sleep. On other nights, I had awoken unsure whether it had merely been a dream. But tonight... tonight, I was certain. I had dreamt about Gilthanas in the past months. I had sensed him on other nights, but the sensations had never been as strong as they had been this night. Somewhere, nearby, Gilthanas was thinking of me. I could go to him. The dream was still strong enough in my memory that I could find him. I spread my arms and stepped closer the railing, preparing to take on my true form and to soar into the sky.

No. I would not do this.

Gilthanas never loved me. He loved Silvara, a Kagonesti elf. And she no longer exists.

I turned from the balcony and returned to the comfortable surroundings of my quarters. I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror in the dressing area. I paused to study the form of Lady Arlena Plata, Knight of the Rose.

In recent years, I've found that I cannot adopt a form that isn't pleasing to the eyes of the species I am trying to emulate. In the years immediately following my return to Ansalon from the Dragon Isles, I made several attempts to do so—I found myself longing to be among humans, but I did not want to attract attention, so I endeavored to make myself plain. I failed. I made one last attempt a few months after I had returned to Castle Eastwatch, but settled on the form I wear to this very day.

I let the robe slip from my body and studied myself carefully. I appeared thinner than what I've come to know that most human males find attractive. As Sir Francis once put it, I appeared like the kind of female who "dies trying to bring a baby into the world, but who kin dance circles 'round most Dark Knights while carvin' 'em to bits." The bridge of the nose was too straight. The lips were too thin. The hair with its plain straw color would never inspire bards to write songs. Nonetheless, everything was in perfect proportion; I was as beautiful as the average woman, and more than many—and that after an attempt to not be attractive.

Still, this form was no Silvara. With that thought, my form changed, almost unbidden. My shoulders narrowed as my body grew shorter and slimmer, my skin darkened, and my eyes grew larger and more slanted. My hair turned a silvery-white. The image looking back at me in the mirror was Silvara, a female who was the very pinnacle of what the Kagonesti considered beauty.

"We want your guidance," Lady Riva had said when I first came to Castle Eastwatch with the intent of aiding the Knights here. Naturally, I wore the form of Silvara. "Your experience, wisdom, and insights will be an invaluable aid as we gather strength to oppose Gellidus the White and his minions. But I cannot tolerate you appearing in that fashion. My Knights will find it difficult, and the mercenaries will find it impossible to take you seriously when you appear like that. They will either view you as a fantasy come to life, or they will treat you as a barbarian savage. I need you to be a Knight of Solamnia, not an elf whom my troops might look down upon. "

This form had inspired bards to write songs. This form had set the heart of my beloved Gilthanas aflame. This form had brought me much pain and suffering.

It was also the body of a woman who was dead as far as I was concerned. And with her, the bond I had shared with Gilthanas had died. The day I became Lady Arlena was the day the pain ceased.

With a thought, I resumed the appearance of Lady Arlena. She was respected by her peers and feared by those who would do evil both in Southern Ergoth and in the goblin nation of Sikk'et Hul. She was a warrior whom other Knights trusted and whom they knew would always come to their aid no matter how impossible a battle might seem.

Lady Arlena is a woman who has no need for love. The Knighthood is both her husband and child. She has many friends and enjoys their company, but she never brooks any suggestion of romance between herself and anyone else. She is married to the Order of the Rose, and she has no room for anything else in her heart. Silvara loved a mortal and now she is dead. Lady Arlena now exists where once Silvara had been, and Lady Arlena loves only the Solamnic Orders.

I am Lady Arlena now. The dreams of a dead woman mean nothing ... and Lady Arlena will not cry over such trifles. The heat from the fireplace is causing her eyes—my eyes—to water.

Lady Arlena does not cry over the lost love of a different life.

I do not cry over the lost love of a different life.

I do not feel Gilthanas's love burning my soul. I feel nothing. I feel nothing.

 

*****

 

The creaking of the hull timbers was a steady rhythm, reminding the prisoner that he was in fact still alive. The manacles, soaked with saltwater, had long since chafed his wrists raw. His tongue was swollen with thirst, but Knights gave their prisoners only enough water to keep them alive.

Though he was barely conscious, Gilthanas knew that Lethagas was here, as were Banatharl, Carranias, and the other elves. The Knights had told them something of their fate: They sailed toward the mainland—toward a destiny with a monstrous blue dragon called Khellendros. He had plans for the prisoners . . . plans that were unknown, but clearly horrifying, to the Dark Knights.

Gilthanas leaned his head against the hull and closed his eyes. When he squinted hard, turning his imagination back to a full remembrance of his past, he saw just a glimmer of silver scales.

 

Using the Appendix

 

Each entry (or site) contains several sections, which contain information similar to that found within the Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home book. All entries have an introduction, a history, and an adventure seed. Each one also contains a section either on secrets or on present-day information, or both:

§ Introduction: A brief paragraph or two describes a particular site, region, or phenomenon visited by Gilthanas in this book. These descriptions provide cursory information that anyone on Ansalon might know about the place.

§ History: This section contains information known to people living near the site but not those from other regions. The information in the history often sheds some light on events you read about earlier.

§ Secrets: This section contains knowledge that very few (if indeed any) people in Ansalon are aware of. Sometimes it includes specific game characteristics so that Narrators or Dungeon Masters (those who mediate the game and directs the storyline for the players) can immediately use the secrets in a roleplaying game.

§ Present Day: This section describes the present-day condition of the site.

§ Adventure Seed: This section contains the essential nugget of an adventure that might take place at the site in question. Not all of these seeds take place in the present day.

 

If the information in this appendix piques your curiosity about adventure games, but you don't know how to get started, ask for the dragonlance: fifth age Dramatic Adventure Game or dungeons & dragons Game at your local book or hobby store.

 

The Hill of Sol-Fallon

 

Silvanesti is a lush, rolling land with a forest that covers hundreds of acres of gently sloped countryside. Some hillocks lie buried by the cultivated oaks and pines, with a leafy canopy above so thick that it never seems brighter than dusk even when the sun shines directly overhead. Waving grass covers other bluffs, allowing visitors to gaze out over the rest of Silvanesti. Such places are quite popular among the elves for stargazing.

No hill in all of Silvanesti, however, offers a view as wondrous as the one from Sol-Fallon.

 

A History of the Hill of Sol-Fallon

The view from Sol-Fallon has, for as long as any elf can remember, been considered the most breathtakingly beautiful in all of Silvanesti. Those who have visited this site say that the stars seem close enough to reach out and pluck from the sky. Perhaps that explains why Silvanos, the first leader among elves, chose this hill as the site for the first Sinthal-Elish (the Silvanesti elf Council of High Ones) in the year 4000PC.

It was on the Hill of Sol-Fallon that representatives of the most powerful elf families met. There they struck an accord to form the first elven nation and made preparations to defend their new nation from dragon attack. They met here again some seven-hundred-fifty years later, after the dragons were defeated and the elves' sovereignty secured, to elect Silvanos the first Speaker of the Stars.

From that time forward, the Silvanesti elves have revered and honored the Hill of Sol-Fallon. Elves have crafted great works of song and poetry here, and Silvanesti leaders of every generation have come here to consider matters of grave importance. They say that the view from the hill inspires one's mind, and the souls of all those who have come before bolster one's spirit. Also, in the wake of the Chaos War, a new quality has been attributed to the hill.

While the view from Sol-Fallon has always been majestic, in the dead of night it now transforms into something that can be described only as miraculous. At the stroke of midnight, the now-familiar sky with its one pale moon disappears and is replaced by a vision from the past. Three moons once again ride high in the sky, lighting up the countryside as they did before the gods' departure: one white, one red, and one black—though only those who have been trained in the art of dark magic can see the black Nuitari.

This sight, though, is witnessed only from the summit of the hill. Those standing anywhere else, at the foot or even halfway up the Hill of Sol-Fallon, notice nothing strange (other than the look of wonder on the faces of those atop the hill). One must be atop the hill at the stroke of midnight in order to see the display; climbing it later reveals nothing, even if others are still in the midst of their revelation. The vision lasts for as long as the viewer remains on top of Sol-Fallon or until dawn brightens the eastern sky.

Former practitioners of High Sorcery flocked to Sol-Fallon in hopes that the light of the moons would restore their abilities to cast spells. While some of them claimed to feel a sense of euphoria, none ever exhibited a return of their old powers, leading scholars to conclude that the vision is merely an illusion rather than some gods-created miracle (though they have reached no agreement as to the source of the illusion).

Since the raising of the Silvanesti Shield, no one can enter Silvanesti to examine the site. The more paranoid members of the academic community fear that the elves raised the shield for the express purpose of keeping the Hill of Sol-Fallon to themselves. They claim that the moons give off an infinitesimal amount of magical power, which the Silvanesti plan to use to expand their forest home to cover all of eastern Ansalon (an assertion which is belied by the fact that the forest behind the shield seems to be shrinking at an alarming rate). The Secret of the Hill of Sol-Fallon

While the nightly vision is a well-known mystery of the hill, there is another less-publicized enigma. Some visitors to Sol-Fallon have reported hearing distant, pain-wracked moans that coincide with the vision of the moons.

The truth of the matter is that these sounds have nothing to do with the nightly illusion. Rather, they come from a secret facility built into the base of the hill. In the years after he seized control of Silvanesti, General Konnal needed a cell in which to detain prisoners whose capture, should it become public knowledge, would cause his regime trouble. Konnal's men hollowed out a small cave in the hill and fitted it with bars, making a perfect dungeon into which any dissident could be thrown. As it turned out, shortly after its completion, the cell became home to Gilthanas Solostaran. For twelve years the Qualinesti prince rotted beneath the hill and was certainly the source of every rumor of ghostly moaning.

Gilthanas escaped on the day before the Silvanesti Shield sealed the forest nation from the prying eyes of the outside world. No one knows whom, if anyone, Konnal has imprisoned in the cell since Gilthanas's flight.

 

Adventure Seed

Though it has been proven that the illusion of the three moons provides no return of High Sorcery or clerical powers, stories circulate within Silvanesti that the vision does have an effect on practitioners of the new magic. Both sorcerers and mystics who have recently visited the Hill of Sol-Fallon report that their spellcasting abilities were severely impaired (and in some cases completely eradicated) after viewing the illusion. The effects have lasted from a few days to nearly an entire month, but so far it has not caused any permanent losses.

One sect of priests of E'li (the elven name for Paladine) claim that this is the punishment the gods of magic inflict on those who would practice the new magic (which these priests consider to be blasphemous). Dissidents whisper that the effect is part of some great scheme by General Konnal to eradicate the practice of magic by anyone who has not sworn allegiance to him. Still others say that Sol-Fallon's illusion is a sorcerous working powered by the magical energy of the forest itself. Since the Silvanesti Shield has been draining the forest of life, the hill has had to find an alternative source of power—spellcasters who visit the site.

Does the illusion actually impair the use of sorcery and mysticism? If so, why is this just being discovered now? If not, what is causing this effect? The gods? General Konnal? To what end? Or is the hill actually a natural energy sponge that soaks up the magical abilities of its visitors?

 

The Missing City

 

In the realm of Brass Dragon Overlord lyesta stands as odd a place as there is in all of Ansalon. Those who travel along the Courrain coastline in this realm eventually see a medium-sized city on the horizon. The city shimmers in the desert heat, occasionally seeming transparent or even blinking out of existence. Many people assume it is merely a mirage. As they draw closer, though, it becomes clear that at least some of the buildings are solid. This is the Missing City.

On the one hand, the city is a spectral town with buildings of the style that the Silvanesti elves built in the years before the first Cataclysm. But that's not all—ghostly figures inhabit the city; these spirits seem to live normal lives completely unaware of the real world around them.

The Missing City is more than a magical curiosity, though. The Legion of Steel, an organization devoted to championing the cause of justice in Ansalon, has built an outpost here, constructing solid buildings that look exactly like the mirage beneath the translucent images. They also have built structures outside the spectral walls (for those whose nerves cannot handle living in the midst of ghostly activity) and constructed a pier so that they can engage in sea trade (since the nearest city is more than one hundred miles away).

 

A History of the Missing City

Scholars agree that the mirage of the Missing City represents the ancient Silvanesti town of Gal Tra'kalas. A Silvanesti tome records that in the months following the Cataclysm, griffin riders traveled to check on all the elves' settlements. One rider reported that not only was Gal Tra'kalas destroyed, but also noted the following: "The city was haunted by fiends, who took the forms of our brothers and sisters in order to entice us to lower our guard. The city too is reborn in an unholy mockery of life, for though rubble litters the place, the likeness of every building and barn still is visible." From that day forward, Gal Tra'kalas became a shunned place. No Silvanesti was to visit there on pain of death.

So, the site stood empty for centuries. Certainly, nomads and travelers visited occasionally (scholars presume that several plains barbarian folktales regarding "the city of the dead" actually tell of real excursions to the ruins), but no organized group of civilized people set foot on the site until after the Second Cataclysm.

Shortly after the Legion's founding, members of the Legion of Steel scoured the continent for places to build enclaves away from the influence of either the Knights of Solamnia or those of Takhisis. The Missing City seemed an ideal location and symbolically well suited to the Legion's task. They meant themselves to be an invisible order, living among the people and fighting for neither Good nor Evil, but instead for truth and fairness. To build a headquarters under the cover of an existing (if insubstantial) city was perfect.

Today, this Legion cell operates under the leadership of Falaius Taneek, a giant of a barbarian whose reputation of being "tough but fair" has won him the respect of nearly everyone in town. Falaius uses the Missing City as a place to coordinate the actions of their operatives in neighboring dragon realms, as well as a safe haven for any Legionnaires on Ansalon's eastern coast whose activities make it impossible for them to move about at large.

Residents of the Missing City draw a strong distinction between their home and Gal Tra'kalas. Any solid item belongs to the Missing City, while anything spectral or immaterial is from Gal Tra'kalas. Nearly everyone who visits the city remarks about the unsettling feeling of watching the ghostly residents of Gal Tra'kalas move about their very ordinary lives.

Oddly enough, the residents of the mirage city change in the same way anyone in the real world would. They age, bear and raise offspring, and eventually die. Some occasionally move out of the city. Despite the fact that the population of Gal Tra'kalas was, at the time of its destruction, almost wholly Silvanesti, the ghostly residents of today come from a variety of races and regions.

Many scholars believe the city represents an alternate reality—some tributary of the River of Time in which neither the First nor Second Cataclysm occurred. The Missing City is a window, they say, into a more perfect world than modern-day Krynn. Other scholars believe the mirage is a magical illusion with an unknowable purpose, created by one of the gods (either Majere or Hiddukel, depending on the scholar's bias) before departing Krynn at the time of the first Cataclysm.

 

Secrets of the Missing City

The Missing City is one immense set of ruins. None of the original buildings still stand (though here and there a section of a wall has survived two cataclysms and several centuries). While the Legion has removed most of the rubble from the sections of town it inhabits, visitors to the rest of the city should move about cautiously: One never knows when an apparently clear doorway might lead to a pit full of jagged boulders.

The city of Gal Tra'kalas was (and still is) divided into four districts. The eastern quarter, known as the Port District, was where most of the city's commerce took place. Small open-air markets dotted the district, and shops of all varieties lined its streets. This district is where the Legion constructed most of their buildings. The hustle and bustle of Gal Tra'kalas is nearly matched by the goings on in this section of the Missing City. Visitors must be wary, lest they mistake a real person for a phantom and walk headlong into him or her.

The other three sections of the ancient city were the Garden District (filled with the ornate and opulent homes of the richest and most powerful families), the Artisans District (where masters of various creative arts made works of unsurpassed beauty), and the Northern District (the only place for those without money, breeding, or skills to live).

In recent years, the Missing City has grown beyond the borders of Gal Tra'kalas (so that people might have a place to go when they tired of walking among the "ghosts"). Falaius Taneek has his base here, and it is the only place a person may build without keeping within the style of Silvanesti architecture.

 

Adventure Seed

While staying at an inn within the confines of the mirage city, one might awaken in the morning to find that one or more of his or her belongings have become incorporeal. At the same time, one of the items in the room (of roughly the same size as the affected article) that had been ghostly the night before has now turned completely solid. While one ponders what to do, a ghostly figure you've never seen before enters the room, picks up the incorporeal item, and walks out of the room. Before he does, though, he looks directly at him or her and winks mischievously.

What is happening? Who is the old man? If he is from Gal Tra'kalas, why can he see the "real" person when no one else from the mirage city can? How did he switch the articles, and is there a way to reverse the process? Is it possible to bring people back and forth in the same manner?

 

Ruined Purstal

 

Stretching across the eastern Plains of Dust like the shattered spine of a long-dead giant is the King's Road. Prior to the Cataclysm, the Silvanesti nobles and merchants traveled in marvelous carriages on this elevated highway. Trade cities lay along its length, the greatest of these being Purstal. Once the pride and joy of the nation of Kharolis, the city became another victim of the circumstances that led to the Cataclysm.

 

A History of Purstal

As the Empire of Ergoth entered its Golden Age, some two thousand years before the Cataclysm, one of its ancient enemies became an ally: the nation of Kharolis. Founded when scattered tribes united to stand against the conquering hordes of Ackal Ergot, the Kharolish inscribed the name of their nation alongside the other signatures of the original Swordsheath Scroll, despite irreconcilable cultural differences with their Ergothian neighbors. (The Kharolish, named for the warrior woman who united them, were ruled by a matrilineal monarchy while the Ergothians were patriarchal in all things.)

Following the signing of the Swordsheath Scroll, trade between all the civilized nations greatly increased, and the border town of Purstal was in a perfect location to benefit. Located where the borders of Ergoth, Silvanesti, and Kharolis met, the city became a hub of overland trade between the three nations. As it grew in size and importance, the elves of House Mason constructed one of the wonders of pre-Cataclysmic Ansalon: the King's Road. Molded rather than carved from stone, this marvel ran thirty feet above the ground and was supported by great pillars for some six hundred miles, starting from the western shore of the River Thon-Thalas in Silvanesti and terminating in Purstal. The city was never widely recognized for anything—such as the fabled ships of Tarsis, the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, or the golden domes of the Imperial Palace in Daltigoth—but in the space of two hundred years it nonetheless became very important.

When the provinces that would eventually become Solamnia declared their independence from Ergoth, Purstal's importance only grew. The newly established nation was hungry for trade goods, and its leaders anxiously wished to remain on good terms with the Silvanesti Speaker of the Stars because of the nation's well-crafted elven goods. The Kharolish people were more than happy to oblige and performed a balancing act between Solamnia and the Empire of Ergoth, trading with both nations without offending either side.

As Istar became increasingly powerful in the wake of the Third Dragon War, however, Kharolis's balancing act came to an end. With Solamnia and Istar taking hostile stances toward Ergoth, the nation of Kharolis joined them; Solamnia was dominant militarily and Istar was increasingly powerful as a trade nation, so there seemed little point to appease Kharolis—a nation in shambles. When Istar began imposing and aggressively enforcing trade standards upon other realms, Kharolis willingly adopted them. The political stance of the nation lessened Purstal's importance somewhat, as the Silvanesti remained allies of the Empire of Ergoth, but elven merchants continued nonetheless to come to Purstal even after they had stopped trading with Istar proper.

In 280PC, with the installation of the first Kingpriest, Kharolis saw a glimmering of what the future was to bring. In his first address to the people of Istar, the Kingpriest stated that mortal women were to be subservient to mortal men, as Mishakal was subservient to Paladine. Although Istar's ambassadors quickly apologized to the outraged Queen of Kharolis, a succession of Kingpriests carried this viewpoint forward. When Istar finally implemented the Proclamation of Manifest Virtue, with its lists of "evils" the nation was devoted to combating, a passage appeared to be directed squarely at Kharolis: "It is a sin for Woman to elevate herself above Man. As Paladine rules over the gods of Good, so shall Man rule over righteous mortals. Any Woman who elevates herself above Man is doing the will of the Dark Queen."

Kharolis expelled all of Istar's priests from within its borders, triggering several uprisings among the people. Many of them had accepted Istar's position that the Kingpriest was the chosen intermediary between Krynn and the gods. As the nation descended into chaos, Istar's legions invaded. Purstal was the first major city besieged. The legions swiftly took control of the eastern province of the nation, as well as the western portions of Silvanesti that Speaker Lorac left uninhabited (he had ordered his people to the far side of the River Thon-Thalas after the Proclamation of Manifest Virtue).

The siege of Purstal lasted from 89PC to 82PC. Kharolis had not made much effort to muster an army, trusting instead in the might of Solamnia to protect them against the only potential enemy they had feared: Ergoth. While the Solamnic Knights were initially happy to help the Kharolish army subdue the armed uprisings in various parts of the nation, in 83PC, the Kingpriest ordered the Grand Master to withdraw all Knights and troops from Kharolis, except for those serving in the garrison in Tarsis. While the pretense was one of reinforcing the legions fighting the goblin and ogre uprisings in the Khalkist Mountains, it was clear to all observers that the objective was to weaken the Kharolish government's ability to control its countryside. The Grand Master, however, withdrew only half the number of troops that the Kingpriest had requested, and the Silvanesti House Advocate had been covertly supporting Purstal ever since Istar's legions marched on it. Nevertheles, Kharolis no longer had the resources to both fight Istar for control over its eastern lands and keep the uprisings from spreading like wildfire.

In the fall of 82PC, the legions of Istar broke down the gates of Purstal. The streets ran red with the blood of both its defenders and civilian citizens. The city's last mayor is said to have called upon the darkest of magics to raise the spirits of the slain citizens and turn them upon the legions.

Whether the tale is true or not, Purstal's defenders inflicted terrible casualities upon Istar's legions as their city fell. The city was then set ablaze, the earth around it salted, and it was never resettled. The legions left the bodies of the slain citizens for scavengers to consume, but they carried all of Purstal's riches back to Istar. Within the next fifty years, the wealth of most of Kharolis followed; the last queen is said to have been reduced to a personal concubine of the Kingpriest. When the Cataclysm destroyed Istar, the resulting quakes around Purstal toppled the remaining few buildings left standing.

 

Secrets of Purstal

Five centuries after its destruction, Purstal remains in ruins. The harsh desert climate around the city has discouraged any civilized folk to resettle the site. Additionally, the rumors of the curse imposed by its last Lord Mayor keep most nomads away from it.

Still, such locations are to adventurers as honey is to flies. By all reports, several types of undead inhabit the city. Some say they are the citizens of Purstal and the legionnaires of Istar still fighting for control of the city. Others say the place has become a magnet for the spirits of Evil dead from all across Ansalon, and that these creatures attack anyone who enters the ruins. Yet others claim the undead go through everyday routines and remain oblivious to the living when they enter their realm. (This last rumor is largely discounted as coming from ignorant folks confusing Purstal with Missing City to the south.) Despite this threat, many brave bands have ventured into Purstal and had varying experiences, though by all accounts nobody has any forgotten hoards.

 

Adventure Seeds

While visiting Tarsis, the heroes meet Davin Luckwand, the eldest son of Sharina Luckwand, the Lady of Tarsis. While working to catalog the long-neglected records of the city, he came across a missive that dates from four years before the Cataclysm. One of these was a letter to Queen Kharolis XII, the young monarch who was reputed to have been enslaved in Istar. In it, an unnamed agent stated that he had confirmed that the bulk of the Purstal City Treasury was still concealed in the secret vault. Part of the letter contains directions to that vault and a warning about the many new traps that the agent has built around it. He says that he will await the queen's arrival in Elial, and that they will then go with a force to Purstal to collect the wealth and use some of it to buy safe passage to Ergoth. "The spies of the Kingpriest will never suspect that you are fleeing in that direction," the message ends. The scholarly young man knows this to be wrong— Istar's priests supposedly took the queen captive the year the letter is dated.

Davin wants the heroes to help him find the treasure hidden in Purstal. He believes that some of the references in the letter will help them succeed where no one else has. He wants to use the bulk of the money to hire mercenaries or to help the Legion of Steel in Tarsis muster a large armed force and liberate its people from the oppressive rule of Beryl the Green Wyrm and her Dark Knight minions. A bitter twist in this tale may be that Davin is actually an agent of Beryl. He betrays the heroes after they have helped him get through the dangers of the city

Is there hidden treasure in Purstal? Is the city truly infested with thousands of undead? That's up to you to decide. (In the case of Davin the Betrayer, here's a suggestion: A trio of adventurers looted the treasury of Purstal decades ago. All that remains are sacks of copper pieces and a couple of dented gold crowns. The total value of the treasure in this betrayal scenario is 230 steel pieces.)

 

The town of Stone Rose

 

As towns go, Stone Rose is small. Home to about two hundred hardy souls, it is one of only three permanent settlements along the Run in the Plains of Dust. Unlike the other two (Duntol and Willik), Stone Rose is not a trading post, though centaur and human barbarian tribes occasionally use it as a convenient meeting spot. In fact, the town seems to serve no purpose other than as a navigation point, and it likely would have become deserted long ago if not for the garden from which Stone Rose draws its name.

 

A History of Stone Rose

The settlement that later became Stone Rose was founded during the Age of Dreams, when the plains were still fertile, farmable land. In fact, the town began as a marketplace where farmers and artisans from the region could sell their goods.

Little or nothing of interest is known to have happened in the town, until roughly one hundred years before the First Cataclysm, when a Solamnic Knight brought tales of a town with "a garden of stone roses" to Vingaard Keep. It soon became fashionable, and later expected, for Knights to make a pilgrimage to Stone Rose within five years of passing the Knight's Trial; the Knighthood encouraged members of the Order of the Rose to make the journey at least once every decade. This tradition faded in the wake of the Cataclysm.

No reliable data exists on the creation of the Garden in Stone Rose, but two legends have survived to the present day. The first concerns a Black-Robed mage who laid a curse upon an existing rose garden (scholars are in agreement that, if this tale is true, the spell must have been cast around the time of the Kinslayer War). The other tale centers around a Kharolish princess named Kojen who defied the dictates of the Proclamation of Manifest Virtue. Many folktales of the time center on similar figures, and there is no reason to give one particular story credence over any of the others.

Following the first Cataclysm, Stone Rose remained one of the most intriguing places in southern Ansalon, and anyone brave enough to travel made it a point to visit. However, due to its now remote location, the town drew fewer and fewer travelers until it nearly stopped appearing on maps.

A community still lived within the town, though. Many of the folk who, in years past, provided lodging and amenities to the journeying Knights remained in Stone Rose. They adjusted their way of life, irrigating and farming where possible. After all, they reasoned, the Garden is still here—eventually people will start visiting again. This, however, turned out to be far from true.

Today, the only people who regularly visit Stone Rose are merchants taking their caravans along the Run (the road that follows the borders of the modern realm of Duntollik), nomadic tribes of humans or centaurs looking for trading partners, and travelers who have lost their way. None of them, as a rule, have any clue that the Garden of Stone Rose (and occasionally, even the town itself) exist.

 

Stone Rose in the Present Day

The modern town of Stone Rose is nothing more than a collection of aging buildings. The town square is the remnant of the town's once popular open-air market. Now, the only merchants who visit the square are those who bed their horses or camels down there for the night.

Although the desert has taken a severe toll on nearly every building in town, several impressive mansions from Stone Rose's heyday still stand. The most noteworthy edifice in town, though, is the arched marble doorway and crumbling tower that locals call "the Castle."

Although these structures seem as though they might once have belonged to a great palace or manor, nobody can find evidence that any such building stood on the site. Historians believe the locals built faux ruins as an added attraction to the Garden, which lies directly behind the archway.

The Castle stands at the top of a low hill. After walking through the arched marble doorway, visitors step directly up to a low wall that overlooks the Garden of Stone Rose. At first, one might not notice anything unusual; from a distance, the bushes and hedges in the Garden appear quite natural and seem quite reminiscent of rose gardens in many typical affluent neighborhoods. Five topiaries mark the Garden's western boundary (the southernmost sculpture is of a silver dragon, followed by a griffin, gold dragon, pegasus, and finally a brass dragon). The bulk of the Garden contains various styles of hanging roses interspersed with short, round bushes. At the center stands a low hedge maze radiating out from a tiny vallenwood tree.

A visitor who gets closer to the Garden proper, however, notices that the plants have a strange, off-white color, and shine as though covered in a thin film of wax. Only when one draws very near is it evident the roses, stems, and leaves of every plant within the Garden all are made of stone.

No one knows exactly what type of stone composes the garden—it has many of the same properties of polished marble, but scholars insist it does not resemble any natural rock found in Ansalon. Geomancers who came to study the Garden found that, even with their magical control over rocks of all sorts, they could not affect the stone roses. In fact, as far back as anyone can recall, no weapon, spell, or force of nature has so much as scratched any of the "plants" here.

The Garden is generally a quiet and solemn place where people are left alone with their thoughts. The caretaker, a kindly man in his mid-fifties named Tam Granger, has quite a keen eye for assessing people's moods. When he sees someone who needs a body to talk to, he ambles up with a friendly smile on his face and lends them his ear.

 

Adventure Seed

One day a party of heroes are summoned to investigate reports that the stone roses in the Garden are actually growing. In fact, anyone who has been to the Garden before notices that all the hedges are larger and more disheveled than they appeared on the last visit. This has Tarn Granger in a snit, because the plants remain impervious to all his gardening tools. To make matters worse, stone seedlings are springing up all over the city. One woman became trapped in her home when several stone plants grew across the only door to the building.

Why have the stone roses suddenly begun to grow after so many centuries of lifelessness? Is there an outside force at work, or is this merely part of the Garden's curse? Can the heroes find a way to stop the growth, or at the very least, an effective method of trimming the plants? What will happen if these petrified plants begin to spread across the continent?

 

Frozen Past

 

Millennia ago, a bizarre race of diminutive creatures known as the huldrefolk dwelled in distant corners of Krynn. Their origins remain a mystery and all that remains of them are ancient ruins of their cities and sacred sites. Without fail, these sites remain virtual sinkholes of magical energy even to the present day.

 

A History of Frozen Past

Untold centuries ago, the huldrefolk built one of their mightiest cities on the storm-tossed waters of the Courrain Ocean. Their skill with elemental magic has yet to be matched by any save the gods, and it was a fusion of earth, water, and air magic that allowed them to create a city the size of Palanthas that hovered above the waves.

The earliest records of this city are found in Silvanost. They tell of elven sailors trading with the huldre and learning elemental magic from them. Only the bravest or greediest of seafarers would trade with the huldrefolk, as the strange race was just as likely to destroy the vessel and enslave the crew as offer them favorable trade terms and insights into their magical secrets.

The accounts indicate that the city was a tangle of spires, streets, bridges, twisting alleys, and tremendous statues of beings that no elf had ever witnessed. The most amazing of these was, according to Daralthanias Farsailer, one of the founders of House Mariner, a levitating statue of a spherical creature whose face consisted of a single huge eye and a wide mouth filled with terribly sharp teeth. Upon its top writhed sculpted stalks, at the end of which ogled a dozen additional stone eyes. The huldrefolk said it was a terrible beast from beyond the stars. Daralthanias didn't press for more information, but his brief account of this encounter gave rise to a variety of dramatic bard tales where foolish wizards cast spells that bring the toothy-mawed monsters down upon Silvanesti by the dozens.

The huldrefolk city's name sounded vaguely like "Frozen Past" pronounced in the huldre tongue. Since the huldre just repeated the name when asked "What does it mean?" that's how the elves started referring to the city.

Although the huldrefolk abandoned Frozen Past many centuries later, the city seemed oddly unaffected by the passage of time. Although the huldre had left the city with food remaining in their pantries and, in some cases, even forges still burning in workshops, the food never spoiled, dust never gathered, and flames never flickered out. It was as though time no longer mattered in the city—nothing decayed, fire burned but didn't consume any fuel, and those who spent time in the city never got tired or hungry. If they tried to eat, they felt sick and bloated. Sleep was impossible.

However, as soon as someone left the city, hunger and fatigue would overtake them. One report tells of an elven scholar who spent three weeks searching the city in the hopes of finding a way to translate the bizarre huldrefolk written language. Whether he did will never be known, because the moment he stepped from the city's wide dock and onto the gangplank leading to his ship, he dropped dead from starvation and dehydration.

After making this discovery, the elves avoided the city, believing it dangerous, pointless, and impractical to attempt to unlock the secrets of the huldrefolk. They did discover that a large arch in the city's southwestern quarter actually functioned as a teleportal. It allowed those who figured out how to activate it to cross hundreds of miles to another abandoned huldrefolk city that hovered above the waves of the Turbidus Ocean, off the southern shores of Kharolis. Unfortunately the elves could never activate this wondrous teleportal the same way twice, so soon they abandoned it as well.

After the Cataclysm, the southern glacier rapidly moved northward. Although its advance crushed islands and southern coastal cities, the huldrefolk cities south of Ansalon remained immovable and indestructible; soon they were completely encased in the ice ... all but two massive arches that rose over the glaciers. These arches are the focus of the teleportals that allow instant passage between the two cities, and they have reportedly remained functional even in the wake of the gods' departure.

So encased, the name Frozen Past seems even more appropriate for the mysterious huldrefolk city than ever before.

 

Frozen Past in the Present Day

Despite the efforts of the white dragons living in this area, the southern glacier is slowly starting to retreat from this part of Ansalon. In contrast with the incredible speed at which it expanded from the south pole in the centuries following the Cataclysm, it is pulling back very slowly, moving only a fraction of an inch each year.

Still, despite the fact that Frozen Past and its sister city lay buried under tons of ice, the teleportals remain visible. They appear like giant stone arches surrounded by irregular bumps in the ice. Drawing closer, explorers who look down can see the hazy forms of the buried city beneath their feet. As in ages past, it is virtually impossible to figure out how the teleportals function or when they will activate. Rumors about these miraculous devices aren't hard to come by—including stories of adventurers who have stepped through an active arch never to be seen again.

As the glacier has started to retreat, another legendary area of Frozen Past has been freed from the ice. Warmer winds may have caused the glacier that had engulfed it to melt quicker than other parts of the ice, or perhaps the city's magic caused it to retreat more quickly.

Shortly before the Silvanesti decided that Frozen Past was too dangerous to explore, a young elf named Eli Brightsun found a finely crafted, enchanted boat. According to the stories he told, this magical boat took him to whatever destination his heart desired; his father had been taken captive by human pirates a few weeks earlier, and while Eli sat in the boat wishing he could sail it to where they might have taken him, the boat suddenly moved. It delivered the young elf unfailingly to a secret coastal village on the shores of what someday would become the mighty merchant nation of Istar.

The story was written down, but ultimately was lost in the dusty archives of the Imperial University in Ergoth and the Royal Archives in Silvanesti. When Emperor Mercadior Redic VI of Ergoth ordered the Imperial library refurbished, the story resurfaced. Recognizing the potential of a boat that could transport passengers unfailingly to whatever destination they desire, the emperor dispatched adventurers to Icewall to look for the huldrefolk city and the boat. Several returned to Ergoth, some even brought a boat along with them, but it was never the correct boat. Many other groups simply vanished without trace.

 

Secrets of the Huldreboat

The huldreboat is an artifact created by the huldrefolk, and like most of their other creations, it functions in a way that seems bizarre and impractical to other beings.

The boat is twenty-five feet in length and it appears as new as though its creators had just hammered the final nail into its hull. The planks are smooth and the hull always remains polished to a high sheen. The boat and its passengers are never subject to the elements no matter how severe. The boat is also immune to the passage of time, although its passengers aren't. Therefore, at the aft end there is a cask of water and a crate containing loaves of bread. Upon inspection, the passengers can see that the provisions would last a single person for an entire month.

Carved upon the ship's transom is elaborate scrollwork. The words are written in the huldre language—a script which no mortal is ever known to have mastered. Appropriate divinatory magic allows passengers of the boat to decipher the writing:

 

I gift this vessel to my people

So that we can travel safely where we will

Trading Meaningless Time for Precious Life.

You who would pilot, touch these words

Speak of the place or person you seek

And you shall arrive safely and without fail at your destination

So long as it stands by the Element of my birth—Eternal Water

 

If someone touches the writing and focuses on a destination (or person) after launching the boat into open water, it starts to head away from the shore. After some three hundred yards of travel, a fogbank mysteriously rolls in and rapidly engulfs the boat. The riders then find themselves in a fog-shrouded environment where all sounds, except the lapping of the waves against the boat's hull, seem strangely subdued—the sound of the water in contrast is somehow amplified.

For those riding in the boat, twenty-five hours pass for every one hundred miles of distance between the destination and the point of origin; if the trip is less than one hundred miles, a full twenty-five hours pass anyway. The distance is calculated in a straight line, regardless of whatever terrain might exist between the point of origin and the destination. The boat can even carry its controller and passengers to unconnected bodies of water. The destination must have enough water for the boat to sail upon, though.

However, no matter how many days the trip seems to take for the passengers in the boat, five years pass in the world beyond the fog bank. It doesn't matter whether the distance covered is ten miles or on thousand miles—five years always pass between the moment the boat enters the fog bank to the point it emerges at its destination.

Once engulfed in the fog, it is possible for the controller to change the destination by touching the transom again and expressing his or her new desire. However, the distance to the new destination is calculated from the point of origin. No actual time is added to the journey.

The exact properties of the boat cannot be immediately discerned by any group of heroes should they find it. For example, only experience will tell them of the effect that causes five years to pass whenever a journey is undertaken. (Narrators should think carefully before introducing this boat into their campaigns unless they want time to pass without the heroes being able to affect events.)

Finally, the huldreboat always returns to Frozen Past after use. If left for more than three days in a port other than one within fifty miles of Frozen Past, the boat vanishes without warning or trace. In truth, it is magically transported back to Frozen Past, appearing there instantly. Anyone who is onboard at the time of this transport travels with it.

 

Adventure Seed

The Emperor of Ergoth commissions a party of heroes to find Frozen Past and the magical boat that is mentioned in the ancient Silvanesti text. Should the heroes successfully reach Frozen Past, they may have to face thanoi, other adventurers, or perhaps even some huldrefolk who have returned from wherever they disappeared to so long ago.

Perhaps the heroes accidentally activate the huldre portal while there. The portal might take them to other abandoned cities, or it may take them to an inhabited place where they can learn the secrets of the huldrefolk.

 

Claren Elian

 

Located east of the Goodlund Peninsula, Claren Elian has been the object of legends since the days when Silvanesti merchant vessels were common sights in Istar's harbors. A heavily forested island, it has nonetheless not been plundered by minotaurs for lumber and virtually no known exploration of it has been undertaken—even by kender.

Most people in eastern Ansalon believe the tales that powerful forest spirits dwell on the island. The fact that those known to have embarked on expeditions to Claren Elian have failed to return, or have returned with tales of terrible beasts lurking in the forests, reinforce the perception that the stories of the island are anything but kender tales.

In truth, the island is home to beings who are at once much less and much more than the legends claim.

 

A History of Claren Elian

Claren Elian is inhabited by the Ran-Eli, a little known culture that has lived in isolation for many centuries. They were once peaceful philosophers, but after being enslaved by magic-using dwarves, called scions, to help build the city of Claren Elian, they sought to master every form of combat so they would never be enslaved again.

Their society is strongly patriarchal, and the measure of a man equals his skill at arms. The greatest honor for a male of the Ran-Eli is to become a Master of Rank. These are the greatest warriors among them, and one reaches this stage only by surviving a grueling series of tests. The highest honor for a woman is to bear the children of a Master of Rank.

Before the Cataclysm, the Ran-Eli dwelled high in the eastern mountains of Istar, interacting with others only when they were sought out. More than once, they served as assassins for the Kingpriest, but mostly they kept to themselves. When the Cataclysm struck, the vast majority of the Ran-Eli warriors were killed, leaving only women, children, and the elders—the master philosophers of the fighting orders. Only the highest of the mountain villages and the city of Claren Elian survived. Claren Elian itself is now known as the Forbidden City, for only the Masters of Rank go there or can give permission to visit it.

From this base, they rebuilt. They continued to hone their fighting abilities and became the greatest of all warriors and assassins in Ansalon, despite the fact that they rarely used their skills beyond the confines to their island. (Many explorers, however, met their end on an Elian blade.)

 

Claren Elian in the Present Day

Only skilled sailors can approach Claren Elian safely. The waters around it are fraught with reefs, and both the winds and currents are unpredictable, making the waters dangerous even for expert crews.

The eastern, southern, and most of the northern shores of the island rise steeply from the Southern Courrain Ocean. These sheer cliffs and the local currents can pound ships with unwary crews to tinder. Dark, forbidding forests stand atop the cliffs.

The western and part of the northern coasts are lined with narrow beaches of black sand. However, reaching these beaches can be very dangerous. The waters are shallow and rife with reefs, making it dangerous to bring even small boats close to the island. As the shore continues north, cliffs start to rise about fifteen to twenty feet from the beaches.

Larger vessels can approach the island at only one well-known place. In the decades before the Second Cataclysm, Illtide Bay emerged as a regular portage for the vessels under the command of the notorious Gad Maccaby. He charted a safe course through the reefs, reportedly at the cost of two ships. His raiders could anchor in a well-sheltered natural harbor and replenish their water supplies from the falls of pure, sweet-tasting water that tumbled over the fifteen-foot cliff onto the beach.

Although Maccaby's grandson, Scarrel Maccaby, continues to plague shipping in the Blood Sea, he does not make use of Claren Elian. When Malystryx, the great red dragon, seized control of the Goodlund Peninsula in 3sc, she almost failed to notice the Ran-Eli.

Almost.

Upon transforming the Goodlund Peninsula into a volcanic wasteland, she turned to the islands off the coast. She realized that the skilled killers on the island could be of use, and she set about to intimidate them. After burning a swath across the island and destroying the entire population of a village, she realized they would die rather than submit. She tried a different approach and sent an emissary to learn how she might earn their submission. The leader of the Masters of Rank, the Superior Master, said that the Emissary would have to best him in combat. She did, and the people of Ran-Eil swore allegiance to Malys. As a result, Scarrel does not want to draw too close to the shores controlled by the Red Marauder.

The majority of Claren Elian is covered by lush green forests, and even though Malys demonstrated her power by scorching the island's center, the hearty forests have already started to reclaim that land.

No obvious paths lead from the island's shores to its interior, and would-be explorers must cut their own trails. This is slow going, with a party covering only one mile in an hour. Once away from the shore, however, they start to encounter overgrown blocks of stone and toppled pillars here and there.

These signs of ancient civilization become more common as one moves northward. Finally, the forest falls away to reveal the crystal ruins of a once glorious city, now overgrown and resembling a gigantic garden. Pillared courtyards vie for attention with many tiered buildings that tower as high as sixty feet. Friezes of serpents and flowers decorate everything. Ornate statues stand everywhere, representing idealized dwarves, and many walls are carved with scenes of dwarves being served by human slaves. At the heart of the city is a one-hundred-fifty-foot building. Slender crystal towers capture and focus the light onto the center palace, which sparkles like a thousand stars.

Claren Elian enjoys a mild climate for most of the year, thanks to warm southern currents from the Blood Sea. Summer lasts for nine months of the year, and winter is only a dulling of the ever-present heat.

 

Adventure Seed

Mysterious assassins are stalking Palin Majere and several of the students at the Academy of Sorcery. Palin believes these are the same group of assassins who attempted to kill Goldmoon a few months prior. Is there a connection? Is someone trying to stop the resurgence of magic in Ansalon? If so, who?

Heroes can become involved and find themselves targeted for assassination themselves. Eventually, they find clues that lead them to Claren Elian. Here, the Superior Master directs them to the city of living crystal, explaining that many of his people have fallen victim to the sorcerous control of an insane scion who has recently reappeared within the city. He says that unless the heroes slay this evil being, the scion will continue to force the Ran-Eli to destroy those working to unlock the foundations of Krynn's magic.

The heroes must brave a maze of fantastic creatures and living plants before coming face to face with one of the most powerful magical beings the world has ever known.

 

Dragon's Graveyard

 

On the northeastern coast of Ansalon is a secret graveyard for the Good dragons. Dragons too sick or too severely injured to reach the Dragon Isles come to this secluded area where they can enter the sea and disappear. For centuries, adventurers who heard the legend of the Dragon's Graveyard have sought for this place where dragon bones and treasure are piled higher than a kender's head.

 

A History of the Dragon's Graveyard

Although the Dragon's Graveyard has been popularized through stories that are told and retold in taverns, few people, save Ergothian bards and a handful of scholars, know the true origin of the tales. Fewer still realize that the stories actually have basis in fact.

In one of the compilations of works credited to Quivalen Soth, a brief song tells the story of a silver dragon who cried out to the gods for protection after the body of his mate was seized by humans and used for food, clothes, and tools. Although Paladine seemed deaf to the dragon's fears, Habbakuk and Branchala answered, creating a place to which dying metallic dragons could retreat and where their physical forms would be protected from desecration by mortals. The gods combined their powers and raised a tiny island from the sea, a few miles off the northern shore of Ansalon. Here, if a Good dragon raised his or her voice in song, a grave would open. The dragon would lie down and when the might creature expired, the earth would bury them body in a grave that no one would ever find.

For once, the legends are completely accurate. Although the island itself sank beneath the Turbidus Ocean when the lands of Nordmaar rose from the depths during the Cataclysm, the Dragon's Graveyard still exists as a place where Good dragons can magically inter their bodies at death. Where before the dragons would either have to fly or swim roughly thirty miles from the coast, they need now only walk to a secluded cove on the northern shore of Estwilde. There the waves open up to swallow them after they sing a song that is holy to Branchala and Habbakuk.

 

The Dragon's Graveyard in the Present Day

The Dragon's Graveyard remains a key site to metallic dragons. Parents are considered derelict in their duty to educate their offspring properly if they fail to tell their young about the Dragon's Graveyard. Despite the departure of the gods from Ansalon, the site retains its magic and continues to render the corpses of Good dragons inaccessible to those who want to desecrate them.

The cove that allows access to the Dragon's Graveyard can be reached by boat or through a narrow pass that leads through the hills and granite cliffs that make up Estwilde's northern shore.

Although apparently free of dragon domination, members of the normally peaceful Lor-Tai tribe of Estwilde have taken an oddly militant posture recently against those who enter their territory, which includes the hills and cliffs around the Dragon's Graveyard. In ages past, the Lor-Tai were simple shepherds, but with the advent of the Age of Mortals, they seem to have been transformed into fierce warriors—perhaps a natural reaction to the perpetual twilight that has descended to the west and the dragon overlords that have seized territory to the east of them. Further, they have been seen constructing idols of dragons, before which they perform some ceremonies. Few outsiders have witnessed these ceremonies and escaped with their lives.

 

Adventure Seed

An Aesthetic from the Library of the Ages might hire a group of heroes to escort him safely to the Isle of Schallsea. Iryl Songbrook, long retired from the life of an adventurer, operates the Cozy Hearth Inn in the town of Schallsea and writes histories of the Citadel of Light and its members for the Great Library. The Aesthetic claims to have been sent to the isle by Bertrem to gather more details about the Dragon's Graveyard, as well as directions on how to get there. (Iryl's histories consist mostly of her own observations and thoughts and pay little attention to trivialities like where the events she talks about took place.)

As the heroes and the scholar meet with Iryl, a group of men from Claren Elian attempt to kidnap her. If the heroes take any of the attackers alive, the heroes can force them to reveal that Malys has been tracking the scholar's progress and is determined to find the location of the Dragon's Graveyard herself. They don't know her plans or what aroused her interest in the site.

 

The City of Kalaman

 

Kalaman is a key port on the northern shore of Ansalon. The city sits on the estuary of the Vingaard River, and its harbor is deep enough to accomodate all but the largest of merchant ships.

 

A History of Kalaman

Grown from a fishing village by ambitious Istar merchants three centuries before the Cataclysm, Kalaman has been the center of trade in Nightlund for well over half a millennium. The city's population remained constant from the Cataclysm to the Chaos War, though Palanthas eclipsed its status as the chief northern port after the destruction of Istar.

Almost since its foundation, the people of Kalaman were, generally speaking, happy and prosperous. The poor inhabited a small section of the city, but even they lived better off than the poor of other cities did. The lords of Kalaman descended from a line of Solamnic Knights who, after the Cataclysm, swore off that heritage for political reasons. Still, these lords still held to the ideals of the Knighthood. For generations, Kalaman kept its walls in good repair, trained its defenders to be vigilant and competent, and even maintained a small fleet of four war barges to assist in the defense of the harbor.

In the early stages of the dragonarmies' western offensive, Kalaman fell through treachery rather than siege or honest battle. Dragonarmy agents infiltrated the city and murdered most of its defenders, the lord Knight, and his family as they slept. Only one member of the ruling family was spared— Calof, the third and youngest son of the lord. Dragonarmy galleys sailed into the harbor uncontested and defeated Kalaman's war barges with little resistance. When the new day broke over the city, the citizens awoke to find themselves with new masters.

Just as the city was the first to fall to the dragonarmies, so was it the first to be liberated by the Whitestone Army under the command of Laurana, the Golden General. Around the time Gilthanas assumed the position of military governor, elements of the Blue Dragonarmy made several attempts to retake the city, each of which failed due to the expert military leadership of Gilthanas and Silvara.

As the threat of the dragonarmies waned, Gilthanas involved himself more and more with the politics of Kalaman. During these years, citizens reported seeing Silvara wandering listlessly through the streets in her guise as a Kagonesti. Occasionally, her spirits would seem to lift when someone needed her help in settling a dispute or when a merchant or mapmaker invited her on an expedition. More often than not, however, the citizens felt uncomfortable about approaching her.

Eventually, Silvara was seen no more. Some claim she left the city after a cabal of corrupt merchants and shipbuilders tried to trick her into eliminating their competition. Others claim she left because Gilthanas had grown to hate her since she was not truly an elf. Whatever the truth, several people last saw her flying north along the coast, the setting sun glinting off her magnificent silver scales.

When the Dark Knights invaded Ansalon during the Summer of Chaos, the citizens of Kalaman found themselves wishing for the dragon and the elf who had led them through the dark years. Those men the Dark Knights didn't kill were relocated to Neraka to serve as slaves.

In the wake of the Chaos War, the strange twilight that spread from Dargaard Keep to encompass all of Nightlund seeped across Kalaman and the estuary. For more than two decades, the city has seen neither night nor day, leaving the local vegetation weak and sickly. A steady migration of people away from the darkness has drained the population even further.

 

Kalaman in the Present Day