Legacy of Steel Read online

  The young knight ignored her. He gripped his belongings in a fierce embrace and braced himself for the landing.

  Cobalt came down so fast that the jolt of his landing threw Sara into the high back of the saddle. Twisted as she was, the impetus strained her back muscles and slammed the side of her face into the wooden frame. Blood poured out of her nose. Half-stunned, she tried to right herself to stop Derrick, but he moved too fast. Slick as a weasel, he slid out of his seat, dropped to the ground, and took off at a run.

  "Cobalt, stop him!" she cried. Her tears slipped loose and mingled with the blood and rain on her face.

  "I didn't see where he went," Cobalt replied. He searched through the pouring cascades of rain and saw nothing but a flat area of fetid bog. "Sara, I think we're on the fringes of the swamp around Xak Tsaroth. We need to move farther inland."

  "Not without Derrick," she cried frantically. "We can't just leave him. Xak Tsaroth may be a ruin, but it's full of goblins and other things." Wiping her face on her tunic, she slid down the wet dragon and landed in soft, shallow mire up to her ankles. Cobalt's weight had sunk him to his knees. He was right. If they didn't get out of that spot soon, the dragon could be mired.

  She ran forward into the rain, looking desperately for some sign of the knight. There was nothing. All she could see through the driving rain were tall clumps of reeds and copses of twisted black trees intertwined with sprawling vines and underbrush.

  "Derrick!" she tried, but her cry was swept away by the wind and lost in the rush of the rain.

  "Sara, can we go?" Cobalt trumpeted. "I'd rather fly in the rain than sink in the mud!"

  The woman stopped, blinded by tears and the driving rain. "I've got to find him!" she begged.

  "Not now. He's gone. I will take you to Solace. You go to the tomb, and I will come back and see if I can find him."

  Sara came slowly back, her expression devastated. "I lost him. I lost him just like Steel," she mourned.

  "I'll do my best to find him. Maybe he'll listen to me," Cobalt suggested gently. He curled his neck around her back and guided her gently to his side.

  It wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to search for Derrick, but she could not selfishly put Cobalt in jeopardy. She took one last look around, checking to see if the rain would ease soon. There was little hope. The storm showed no sign of letting up. In fact, it was getting colder and night would soon be at hand. Sick at heart, she climbed up to the saddle.

  As soon as she was seated, Cobalt pulled his from legs free of the mire and spread his wings. He jerked his back legs free at the same time he pumped with his wings and lumbered into the air. Flying low, he skimmed westward toward the Sentinel Peaks.

  He did not like flying in this murky weather so close to mountains he could not see. He had to strain all his senses to seek out the terrain below and read its rising and falling. Unfortunately the closer he drew to the mountains, the colder the temperature dropped. Soon the rain turned to sleet, and the sleet gradually soaked through Sara's already wet clothes. She put on her cloak, which helped for a while, but she was badly chilled and shivering uncontrollably. Cobalt knew he had to get her to shelter soon.

  Like a great eagle, he warily picked his way between the peaks of the eastern side of the Sentinels. The light grew dim under the lowering clouds, and dusk loomed on the horizon. The sleet turned to snow that whirled around the flying dragon in white streams.

  After a short while, he passed over the mountains and flew above a broad strip of flat grasslands. The snow slowed a little, granting him better visibility, and he was able to fly faster. Then he entered the second range of mountains and was forced to slow down to navigate between the towering ramparts.

  The way to Solace from the coast was not long by dragon wing, and yet it seemed to take forever to Sara. The cold wind only added to the misery begun by Derrick's anger. She had to find him again, to make him understand. Surely when he calmed down, he would be willing to listen. Cobalt could locate him better than she, and he would bring the knight to the tomb where, in that revered place, she could explain about honor and pride and sacrifice.

  She held on to that thought like a lifeline, unaware that her hands held on to her saddle with a bloodless grip.

  Blessed lights suddenly twinkled through the murk ahead, and Sara realized they were nearing Solace. The mountains below them fell away into a magnificent valley, where Crystalmir Lake lay like a deep blue jewel in the snowy breast of the mountains and the town of Solace perched in its rare and beloved vallenwood trees.

  Cobalt found an open hillside where he could land out of sight of the town. Gently he touched down and waited for Sara to slide off. "Do you want me to come back at sunrise or wait for your summons?"

  Sara forced her hands to let go of the saddle. Her fingers were swollen and cold and gave her no support as she dismounted. She fell heavily onto her feet and barely stifled a cry of pain. Her feet, too, were aching with cold and she could barely feel her legs.

  She limped around the big dragon to his head. "Keep looking for him. If you find him, bring him here. Other-wise I will summon you when I am finished." She tugged his head down to her level and gently scratched his eye ridges. "Be careful. It's almost dark."

  "Yes," he rumbled. "And you're nearly frozen. There is an inn here I've heard about. Go there and get warm."

  She smiled a sad, bitter grimace and watched as he flew out of sight. She knew he did not like to fly in this miserable weather, and she appreciated his willingness to go more than she could say. Fortunately the wind had slowed and the snow had dwindled to a light fall, which would make flying easier for him, and without a rider, he could fly higher above the mountain slopes.

  She found a path that led down the hillside toward Solace and carefully made her way to the valley. Not far away, the vallenwoods, splendid in their winter browns and grays, reared their tall crowns through the dusk. Lamplight gleamed through the silent snowfall from the houses high in the trees, and from the largest building in Solace, the Inn of the Last Home, owned by Caramon and Tika Majere.

  Sara stumbled to a stop. Memories bitter and sweet flooded into her mind of the time so many years ago when she fled to that inn late in the night and begged for help from a man she knew only by reputation. She had stunned Caramon Majere with her news of a nephew young Steel, yet despite his reluctance and his shock, he had come with her and given his best to help a total stranger. For that and for the days after Steel's departure, when Caramon and Tika took care of her, she was deeply grateful.

  But some strange reluctance held her back from the inn. She didn't want to go there just yet. As cold and wet and shivery as she was, she wanted to go first to the tomb to spend a few minutes alone with her son.

  Sometimes she wondered if he had ever forgiven her for kidnapping him that night. Sara knew she could not bear it if he had hated her all those years before his death. Although it was too late to ask for his forgiveness, she could offer her own love at his tomb and perhaps let him know that nothing had ever changed her devotion.

  She looked around to get her bearings and spotted a wide field close to the vallenwoods. Through the glimmering snow, her eyes were drawn to the pale shape of a building unlike any other in Solace. It had not been there nine years ago.

  Automatically her legs moved forward off the path and toward the field. The snow wasn't deep enough to make the going difficult, and she soon came to another path leading directly to the building. Pale and numb, she came at last to the Tomb of the Last Heroes.

  22

  The tomb had been built three years ago, after the Second Cataclysm, to honor both the Knights of Solamnia and the Knights of Takhisis who died fighting Chaos in the battle of the Rift. People from all over Ansalon had gathered together to pay their respects and erect a tomb of stone worthy of the knights' sacrifice. Built of polished white marble and black obsidian brought from Thordardin by dwarven artisans, the monument was simple, elegant, and ageless.

  Around the
tomb grew a row of trees lovingly brought by the elves of Qualinesti and Silvanesti. Although they were only saplings, the trees were tall and strong and full of health. Sara could imagine them a few summers from now in full leaf, giving their shade to the pilgrims who visited the tomb.

  This night there was no one else about. The tomb lay silent in its snowy shroud, alone in the darkness except for Sara.

  Well, not totally alone. Away to her right, she saw the ghostly glimmer of lights shining through several small tents. A party of kender had camped in the field close by to visit the memorial of their hero, Tasslehoff Burrfoot. But even the inquisitive, irrepressible kender had retreated to their shelters in the cold, wintry night. Sara had the tomb to herself.

  The path she had found followed an oblique angle down from the hills to the north and ended on the low steps at the front of the tomb. Exhausted beyond measure, Sara sank down on the steps, too tired to care about the icy chill that seeped up from the stone. Bleary-eyed, she looked around the entrance to the tomb.

  Two brass lamps hung on either side of the double doors and burned perpetually through the night. Their clear light illuminated the images carved on both doors by the Knights of Solamnia. The gold door bore the rose of Solamnia; the silver carried a death lily. On blocks of stone around the doors were engraved the names of the knights who lay within and the knights whose bodies had never been found. One name was chiseled alone above the door with the image of a kender's hoopak, It was to honor Tasslehoff Burrfoot, a kender of boundless courage and wondrous adventure, whose small body was never recovered from the rift.

  Sara let her breath out in a slow sigh. Wearily she rested her arms on her knees. She lifted her eyes to the names chiseled into the walls and began to read them until she found the one closest to her heart: Steel Brightblade.

  Oh, my dearest child, did Takhisis honor your soul when you died? Did she grant you anything for the supreme sacrifice you made? Or had she already abandoned you?

  Sara's head drooped to her arms. Her eyes closed, and a tear slid down her cheek.

  How long she stayed that way, Sara never knew for sure. The silence of the tomb gathered close around her in a deep, boundless peace. She felt it as a comfort and let the soundless company of the dead lull her into tranquility. Her worry and grief fell behind, her confusion vanished. For this moment, there was only the contemplative stillness of her own heart. Listen, the silence told her.

  Something clicked beside her.

  Sara lifted her head, curious to see what had disturbed the profound quiet, and saw that the silver door of the tomb had opened a crack. Surprised, she climbed stiffly to her feet. She had heard the tomb was sealed to protect the bodies of the knights within. Yet the door stood open.

  She laid her hand on the silver edge and gently eased it toward her. The darkness within was complete. She saw nothing beyond the lintel but blackness. Strangely, she felt no fear. She knew without a doubt there was nothing inside that meant any harm to her.

  Removing one of the lamps from the wall, she stepped to the open doorway. Perhaps she wasn't supposed to go in there, but at that moment, Sara didn't care. She wanted to see her son.

  She lifted the lamp above her head and stepped beneath the lintel. The small brass lamp made a golden ball of light from her hand to the stone floor and gleamed like a tiny star in darkness that had not seen light for three years.

  Three paces within the door, Sara reached the first of a long row of low stone biers. The body of a knight lay on the bier. His sword lay by his side, and a shield bearing the rose of the Knights of Solamnia rested on his chest. His face beneath the visor of his helm looked as if it had been carved from marble.

  Beyond him, on the second bier, lay a Knight of Takhisis, his skull helm leering up at Sara in the faint light. She nodded once to him and moved on. A second row of biers sat to her right, and Sara realized there was no order among the dead men. The knights of the light and the dark rested together as they had fallen.

  Soundlessly Sara walked deeper into the tomb. Points of light reflected from swords, shields, breastplates, and helms played across the dark ceiling. She was surprised to see there was little dust and no smell beyond the odors of old leather and cold stone. The bodies seemed to be remarkably preserved in the cold, dry air.

  The reason for their preservation appeared a moment later in the gloom. Two stately pedestals stood to her left and right between the rows of biers. If Sara could have seen the entire interior, she guessed she would see a complete circle of these pedestals, each bearing a polished orb of bloodstone. Many years ago she had seen such stones, spelled with magic and set in a tomb to preserve a body. These stones, carved by the loving hands of the dwarves, were large and polished to a sheen that set their flecks of red gleaming like drops of blood.

  Sara passed the pedestals carefully and moved deeper toward the center of the room. Something large and black loomed out of the darkness, a larger catafalque crafted from black marble. A knight clad in black armor rested on the stone, his father's antique sword in his lifeless hands.

  Steel.

  His face was as pale as granite and hollowed where the skin had sunk around the bones, and yet even after three years of death, Sara could still marvel at the look of peace on his face. The internal battle between his mother's evil and his father's good had finally come to an end and left their son in peace.

  Just beyond Steel's bier, at the edge of her light, Sara saw a second large catafalque, this one made of white marble. On it, she recognized the noble form of Tanis Half-Elven. His body was clad in green leather, and a blue crystal staff lay by his side, a gift from the children of his friends, Goldmoon and Riverwind.

  Sara bowed her head to the grief that welled up within her. Her arm holding the lamp faltered and dropped to her side. She was stepping closer to Steel's catafalque when the edge of her cloak caught on the stone corner of another man's bier. The cloak wrenched her off-balance, then slipped loose from the stone, sending her stumbling up against the black marble. She fell to her knees at its base. Her hands reached out to stop her fall into the stone table, and her fingers inadvertently touched Steel's gloved hand. The light crashed to the floor, flickered once, and went out.

  Everything stilled.

  Out of the intense darkness, a light began to glow, as if at a great distance. Tiny as a firefly, it pulsed with life and color, and with each pulse, it grew larger while the darkness coalesced around it, like the walls of a deep well. Sara stared down the well, marveling as the light and color filled her vision with a panorama of brilliant forms and hues that blurred and ran together like watercolors.

  All at once the colors and forms took shape and became a recognizable portrait of a swamp—or rather the edge of a swamp, where the land met the water and gradually vanished into a world of dark fens and peatcolored meres. Sara choked on a cry. She knew that dismal-looking swamp was the one surrounding Xak Tsaroth.

  As soon as she made the recognition, the vision before her began to move. Wind swayed the rushes and the scrub willows, water birds soared above the trees, and something black slithered out of the shadows of a clump of swamp grass into the dark, noisome waters.

  The time could have been that day or the next, for the land was locked in winter's grip, its water edged in ice and its rushes browned by frost. Daylight filtered down through a slate roof of clouds. A few lonely snow flurries drifted on the wind.

  Unnerved, Sara gazed wide-eyed at the vision before her. She could see everything so clearly, yet the images were strangely silent.

  She saw a rustle of movement in a tall stand of grasses, and a knight on foot appeared out of the underbrush, bent low over a trail he followed along the rim of a grove of trees. It wasn't until he straightened and rubbed his neck with one hand that Sara saw his breastplate bore the rose design of the Solamnic Knights.

  Suddenly he crouched low, alert, and his hand flew to his sword and slid it loose from the scabbard in one flowing movement.

 
A second knight stepped out of the trees, a tall, dark-haired knight in black armor. Derrick.

  Sara wanted to cry out to him, but she couldn't move or make a sound. She was locked in place as the vision unfolded before her.

  Aching, she watched Derrick approach the Solamnic with his hands outstretched in a gesture of peace. The older knight took in Derrick's muddy boots and his tunic, torn from thrashing around in the swamp, and he relaxed enough to let him come close to talk. A long, animated conversation ensued. The Knight of the Rose seemed very agitated about something, for he continually pointed toward the south and then to the trail in front of them.

  Derrick bent his head to examine the ground and listened intently to every word. Concern hardened his lean face.

  Soon it became apparent the knights had reached some accord. The older Solamnic and young Derrick set off together, single file, down the winding trail deeper into the swamp. They walked warily, their swords drawn, their eyes on the trail and the swamp ahead.

  They passed a huge skeleton of what could have been a dragon half-submerged in a slimy pool. More bones, dented rusting armor, and bits of junk littered the trail. Here and there a shattered tree lay to the side as if something large had kicked it aside.

  Sara felt her heart beat faster.

  Ahead of the knights, the trail widened into a large, egg-shaped piece of land surrounded on three sides by the dark waters of a mere. Grasses and shrubs had been trampled flat or uprooted; bones lay scattered everywhere.

  In the clearing sat the most peculiar and hideous structure Sara had ever seen. A huge rounded dome, similar in shape to a beaver's den, straddled the center of the stripped earth. But this domicile had none of the careful engineering and only a few trees in common with a beaver's house. The rest of the material consisted of anything some foul creature had tossed there: bones, armor, wagon wheels, half-devoured cows, plowshares, battered shields, a child's doll, rags, a broken chair, pieces of a raft, a headless ogre, a dragon's skull, and those were only the things Sara recognized. A crude doorway penetrated the revolting structure, and from the height of it, the owner had to be abnormally tall.