Dragonlance 10 - The Second Generation (4 page)

He gazed long and sternly at Sara, who stared down at the mug of tea, grown cold in her hands.

"I admit I have no proof. That is," she amended, "I have proof, but nothing I can produce at this moment."

She raised her head defiantly. "You believed me up until now."

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Caramon said heavily. He rose to his feet and walked over to stand by the fire.

"Would somebody tell me what's going on? What's the baby's name?" Tika demanded, exasperated.

"Steel," Sara answered. "Steel Brightblade."

"May all the gods preserve us!" Tika gasped. "But that would mean… What a strange lineage! Blessed Paladine!" She stood up, staring, horrified, at Caramon. "She killed him! Kitiara killed the father of her own child!"

"I don't believe it," Caramon said thickly. Hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers, he kicked moodily at a log that threatened to roll out of the grate, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. "Sturm Brightblade was a knight—in his soul, if not by the rules of the order. He would never—" Caramon paused, his face flushed. "Well, he wouldn't."

"He was also a man. A young man," Sara said gently.

"You didn't know him!" Caramon rounded on her angrily.

"But I came to, later. Will you hear the rest of my story?" Tika laid her hand on her husband's broad shoulder. "'Closing your ears won't shut truth's mouth,'" she said, repeating an elven proverb.

"No, but it silences gossip's wagging tongue," Caramon muttered. "Tell me this: Is that baby still alive?"

"Yes, your nephew lives," Sara answered steadily, her expression sad and troubled. "He is twenty-four years old. It is on his behalf that I've come."

Caramon heaved a great sigh that came from the ache in his heart. "Go on, then."

"As you said, Kitiara and the young knight left Solace, headed northward. They sought news of their fathers, who had both been Knights of Solamnia, and so it seemed logical that they should journey together. Although, from what I gather, they were an ill-matched pair.

"Things went wrong between them, right from the beginning. The very nature of their searches was different. Sturm's quest was a holy one. He went looking for a father who had been a paragon of knighthood. Kit's quest wasn't. She knew, or at least suspected, that her father had been cast out of the knighthood in disgrace. She may have even been in contact with him. Certainly something was drawing her to the Dark Queen's armies, forming in secret in the north.

"Kit thought that young Brightblade, with his serious-minded dedication and religious fervor, was amusing at first. But that didn't last long. She was soon bored by him. And then, he began to seriously annoy her. He refused to stay in taverns, claiming they were places of wickedness. He spent every night saying his ritual prayers. By day, he lectured her sternly on her sins. She might have tolerated this, but then the young knight made a terrible mistake. He sought to take charge, to take command.

"Kitiara could not permit this. You knew her. She had to be in control of any situation." Sara smiled sadly. "Those few months she spent in my house, we did things her way. We ate what she wanted to eat. We talked when she wanted to talk.

"'Sturm was infuriating,' Kit told me, and her dark eyes flashed when she spoke of him, months later. 'I was the elder, the more experienced warrior. I helped train him! And he had the nerve to begin to order me around!'

"Another person would have simply said, 'Look, my friend, we're not getting along. This isn't working out. Let us each go our own separate ways.' But not Kitiara. She wanted to break Sturm, teach him a lesson, teach him who was stronger. At first, she said, she considered goading him into a duel, beating him in a contest at arms. But then she decided that wasn't humiliating enough. She devised a suitable vengeance. She would prove to the young knight that his armor of self-righteousness would buckle at the first blow. She would seduce him."

Caramon's jaw was set, his face rigid. He shifted his great bulk uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Much as he wanted to doubt, it was obvious—knowing the two as he did—that he could see the truth of what had happened much too clearly.

"Brightblade's seduction became a game for Kit, added spice to what had become a dull, uneventful trip.

You know how charming your sister could be when she wanted. She stopped quarreling with Sturm. She pretended to take seriously all he said and did. She admired him, praised him. Sturm was honorable, idealistic, perhaps a little pompous—he was young, after all—and he began to think he had tamed this wild woman, led her to the paths of goodness. And, I've no doubt, he was falling a little bit in love with her. It was then she began to tempt him.

"The poor young knight must have struggled long with his passions. He had taken vows of chastity until marriage, but he was human, with a young man's hot blood. At that age, the body sometimes seems to act with a will of its own, drags the reluctant spirit along with it. Kitiara was experienced in such matters. The unworldly young knight was not. I doubt if he knew what was happening to him until it was too late, his desire more than he could bear." Sara lowered her voice. "One evening, he was chanting his prayers. This was the moment Kitiara had chosen. Her vengeance would be complete, if she could seduce him from his god.

"She did so."

Sara fell silent. All three were silent. Caramon stared bleakly into the dying fire. Tika twisted her apron in her hands.

"The next morning," Sara continued, "realization came to the young knight. To him, what they'd done had been sinful. He intended to do what he could to make reparation. He asked her to marry him. Kitiara laughed. She ridiculed him, his vows, his faith. She told him it had all been a game. She didn't love him. In fact, she despised him.

"She achieved her goal. She saw him crushed, shamed, as she had hoped. She taunted him, tormented him. And then she left him.

"She told me how he looked," Sara said. "'Like I'd driven a spear through his heart. The next time he's as white as that, they'll bury him!'"

"Damn Kit," Caramon swore softly. He beat his fist into the brick fireplace wall. "Damn her."

"Hush, Caramon!" Tika said swiftly. "She is dead. Who knows what dread retribution she now faces?"

"I wonder if her suffering is enough," Sara said quietly. "I was young and idealistic myself. I could only imagine how the poor man must have felt. I tried to say as much to Kitiara, but she grew angry. 'He deserved it,' she claimed. And, after all, he'd had his revenge on her. That was how she viewed her pregnancy—his revenge. And that was why she made me promise not to tell anyone that he was the father."

Caramon stirred. "Then why are you telling me? What does it matter now? If it's true, it's best forgotten. Sturm Brightblade was a good man. He lived and died for his ideals and those of the knighthood. My own son's named after him. I won't have that name dishonored." His face darkened.

"What is it you're after? Money? We don't have much, but—"

Sara rose to her feet. Her face was livid; she looked as if he'd struck her. "I don't want your money! If that was what I was after, I could have come to you years ago! I came to seek your help, because I heard you were a good man. I obviously heard wrong."

She started toward the door.

"Caramon, you lummox!" Tika ran after Sara and caught hold of her, just as she was putting on her cloak. "Please, forgive him, my lady. He didn't mean it. He's hurt and upset, that's all. This is a shock to both of us. You… you've lived with this knowledge for years, but this has hit us right between the eyes. Come back, sit down."

Tika drew Sara back to the bench.

Caramon's face was red and hot as the embers. "I'm sorry, Sara Dunstan. Tika's right. I feel like an ox that's been felled by an axe. I don't know what I'm saying. How can we help you?"

"You must hear the rest of my story," said Sara. But she staggered as she tried to sit down and would have fallen but for Tika's hold on her. "Forgive me. I'm so tired."

"Shouldn't you rest first?" Tika suggested. "Surely there would be time in the morning…"

"No!" Sara sat up straight. "Time is what we lack. And this weariness is not of the body, but of the spirit.

"Kitiara's son was six weeks old when she left him. Neither he nor I ever saw her again. I can't say I was sorry. I loved the baby as much as if he were my own. Maybe more, for, as I said, he seemed to have been given to me as a gift from the gods to heal my loneliness. Kitiara kept her promise. She sent money to me and gifts to Steel. I could keep track of Kitiara's rise in fortune over the years, because the sums of money increased and the gifts were more costly. The presents were all warlike in nature: small swords and shields, a small knife with a silver hilt carved with a dragon for his birthday. Steel adored them. As she had foreseen, he was a born warrior.

"When he was four, the war broke out. The money and gifts stopped coming. Kitiara had more important matters on her mind. I heard stories of the Dark Lady. I heard how she had risen in favor with Highlord Ariakas, the general of the armies of evil. I remembered what she'd said to me—how, when the boy was old enough to ride to battle, she would return for him. I looked at Steel. He was only four, but he was stronger and taller, more intelligent, than most children his age.

"If I ever missed him, I was sure to find him in the tavern, listening with open mouth and eager eyes to the stories of battle. The soldiers were mercenaries—a bad lot. They made fun of the Knights of Solamnia, called them weak men who hid inside their armor. I didn't like what Steel was learning. Our town was small and unprotected except for this rabble, and I feared that they were in league with the Dark Queen's forces. And so I left.

"My son"—Sara cast Caramon a fierce look, daring him to defy her—"and I moved to Palanthas. I thought we would be safe there, and I wanted the boy to grow up among the Knights of Solamnia, to learn the truth about honor and the Oath and the Measure. I thought this might… might…" Sara paused and drew a shivering breath before she continued. "I hoped it might counteract the darkness I saw in him."

"In a child?" Tika was disbelieving.

"Even as a child. Perhaps you think it's because I knew the disparity of the two strains of blood that ran in him, but I swear to you, by the gods of good, whose names I can no longer say in innocence, that I could literally see the battle being fought for his soul. Every good quality in him was tainted with evil; every evil quality gilded with good. I saw this then! I see it more now." She lowered her head. Two tears slid down her pale cheeks. Tika put an arm around her. Caramon left his place by the fire and stood protectively near her as she continued her tale.

"It was in Palanthas that I first heard about Sturm Brightblade. I heard the other knights talk about him—not in particularly approving tones. He was said to associate with outlandish folk—an elf maid, a kender, and a dwarf. And he was defying authority. But the ordinary people of the city liked and trusted Sturm, when they didn't like or trust many of the other knights. I talked about Sturm with Steel, took every opportunity to make Steel aware of his father's nobility and honor…"

"Did Steel know the truth?" Caramon interrupted.

Sara shook her head. "How could I tell him? It would have confused him. It's odd, but he never asked me who his parents were. I never made any secret of the fact that I wasn't his real mother. Too many in my small town knew the truth. But I lived—I still live—in dread of the question: who are my real father and mother?"

"You mean"—Caramon looked astonished—"he doesn't know? To this day?"

"He knows now who his mother is. They took care to tell him that much. But he has never once asked his father's name. Perhaps he doesn't think I know."

"Or perhaps he doesn't want to find out," Tika suggested.

"I still think he should have known," Caramon argued.

"Do you?" Sara cast him a bitter glance. "Think of this. Remember the battle for the High Clerist's Tower. As you know, the knights won. The Dragon Highlord, Kitiara, was defeated, but at what a terrible cost. As you said, she killed Sturm Brightblade, killed him as he stood alone on the battlements.

"I was horrified when I heard this news. Can you imagine what I felt? To look at Steel and know that his mother had slain the man who was his father. How could I explain such things to a boy when I didn't understand them myself?"

Caramon sighed. "I don't know," he said moodily. "I don't know." Sara went on. "We were living in Palanthas when the war ended. And then I was truly frightened, terrified that Kitiara might start searching for her son. Maybe she did. At any rate, she didn't find us. Some time later, I heard she had taken up with the dark elf mage, Dalamar—apprentice to her brother, Raistlin, who was now Master of the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas."

Caramon's face softened, grew grave and wistful, as always, when Raistlin was mentioned.

"Forgive me, Caramon," Sara said softly, "but when I heard the stories about your brother Raistlin, all I could think of was—here is more dark blood, running in my child's veins. And it seemed to me that Steel drifted deeper into the shadows every day. He wasn't like other boys his age. All boys play at war, but, for Steel, war wasn't a game. Soon the other children refused to play with him. He hurt them, you see."

Tika's eyes widened. "Hurt them?"

"He didn't mean to," Sara said quickly. "He was always sorry afterward. He takes no pleasure in inflicting pain, thank the gods. But, as I said, the games weren't games to him. He fought with a fierce ardor that shone in his eyes. Imaginary enemies were very real to him. And so the other children shunned him. He was lonely, I know, but he was proud, and he would never admit it.

"And then came the war over Palanthas, when Lord Soth and Kitiara attacked the city. Many people lost their lives. Our home was destroyed in the fires that raged through the city, but I wept with thankfulness when I heard that Kitiara was dead. At last, I thought, Steel is safe. I prayed that the dark cloud would be lifted from him, that he would begin to grow toward the light. My hopes were dashed.