Chronicles 5 - Dragons of Summer Flame by Dragonlance

Author:Dragonlance [Dragonlance]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

8

Disappointment. Victory Is Ours.

The Surrender.

Steel Brightblade was alive.

He didn't want to be. He wasn't supposed to be. He should have died in the assault on the High

Clerist's Tower, died nobly, bravely in battle, his life sacrificed for his queen, his honor restored.

And he had been meant to die - his armor pierced by a spear wielded by a noble enemy. Tanis Half-

Elven had thwarted fate by saving Steel from that spear. Tanis Half-Elven had died Steel's death.

Steel stood in the central courtyard of the High Clerist's Tower, his bloodied sword in a hand that

was sticky and gummed with blood - some of it his own, most of it belonging to others. He

couldn't quite comprehend what was happening; the battle-lust burned hot in him still. His most

vivid memory was of his father, bearing away Tanis's body. And he wondered now if he might not

have imagined all that, but for the fact that Tanis's blood stained the stones at his feet.

After that, he knew nothing but the strange silence of battle - the silence that encompasses the

clash of arms, the grunts of the dying, the shouts of orders, the trampling of feet. Yet all these

sounds are blotted out by the silence within, the silence of the warrior, who must concentrate his

being on his objective, who must let nothing distract him, nothing interfere.

For Steel, the silence was broken when he looked around for another opponent to fight- ^and

realized there were none.

"Victory! Victory is ours!" Subcommander Trevalin - his armor blood-spattered and dented, his face covered with sweat and grime - strode into the central courtyard, shouting the news.

"Tell this to my Lord Ariakan!" Trevalin commanded, catching hold of a squire and shoving him toward the entrance. "Tell him - if he hasn't heard already - that the Solamnics want to discuss terms of surrender."

Trevalin glanced around, saw Steel, standing, dazed and bewildered, in the center of the courtyard.

Trevalin strode over, clapped his arms around his friend.

"Brightblade! Sheathe your sword! We've won!"

"Won . . ." Steel repeated. The battle had ended and he was alive.

Trevalin, exhilarated, continued on. "A glorious campaign! It will live forever. The High Clerist's Tower falls for the first time in recorded history! A stunning victory! Palanthas is ours next. Once they hear that their protectors have been defeated, the good dragons fled, the citizens will drop like rotten fruit into our hands. And you, my friend! I've heard tales of your valor already! They say

you are the slayer of Tanis Half-Elven."

"No," Steel mumbled. The fire of battle that had raced through his veins was slowly being stamped out, leaving nothing but ashes and smoke. He was alive. "No, I didn't kill the half-elf. He saved-"

But Trevalin wasn't listening. A courier from Lord Ariakan had ridden into the courtyard. His

horse-trained for swiftness, not battle-shied at the sight of the bodies, the stench of blood. The

courier fought to hold the animal steady, searched for someone in authority.

"His Lordship has seen a white flag displayed from the top of the tower. Messengers report that the tower's defenders wish to discuss terms of surrender.

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