Dragonlance Tales, Vol. 3 – Love and War

something before the final attack.

Huma, his army spread out on the hills overlooking the

black tower, climbed from the back of the silver dragon he

rode and studied the scene below him, looking for the trap

he knew to be there. The Queen’s line of retreat had been

straight, as if this had been her destination.

Glancing to his right, he could see the movement of his

men, the knights on horseback, and the bowmen in front of

them but behind the pikemen, as they formed just below the

crest of the hills. Long, straight lines, marked by colored

flags. The movement of their feet, the pawing of the horses,

stirred the dry soil, creating a choking cloud of dust that

engulfed them like a thick, morning fog. Slowly, their

equipment rattling as the metal pieces struck one another,

they fell into a strict military formation. They were a silent

group, tense and strained, waiting for Huma to order them

forward to the attack.

The scene to the left looked much the same. The men

were moving forward. Their weapons, held at the ready,

flashed in the afternoon sun. The women and children

stayed at the rear of the battle line, setting up their camp and

preparing bandages and splints, preparing to clean up the

battlefield after the fighting.

The support vehicles, ox carts and wagons, the support

men – those who made the weapons, the squires who aspired

to be knights, the grooms, and the drivers – stood in the rear,

sweating in the hot sun and watching everything, wishing

that they could somehow get into the battle.

Near them was the makeshift band. Pipes and drums

and flutes that could stir the men with their melodies and

inspire them to greater efforts. They choked on the dust that

stuck in their throats. Wiped the sweat from their faces as

they waited for someone to do something. Waited for Huma

to order them forward.

The silver dragon that Huma rode was gone suddenly,

and standing next to him was a tall, slender woman with a

mane of silver hair. She wore a breastplate of green armor,

molded to her, a short, leather skirt, and shin guards that

matched the green of her breastplate. In her right hand – a

delicate, thin-boned hand with long, slender fingers – she

held the hilt of a jeweled broadsword, the silver tip stuck in

the dust at her feet. There was a look of grim determination

on her face, because she knew what this event meant. She

knew what the outcome of the battle had to be, and knew

the cost to her and to Huma.

She turned to look at Huma, a huge man with a big,

flaming mustache and long/black hair that brushed his

shoulders. He wore armor of silver, a helmet with a plume

of crimson on his head, and he held the dragonlance that

was nearly twelve feet long. The barbed tip was of pure

silver, and the shaft was of polished wood. It was a special

weapon, forged by the dwarves with the Hammer of Kharas.

The weapon that could destroy the Queen and her army –

maybe the only weapon in the whole world that could do

the job.

Huma stepped to his right and touched the woman’s

shoulder, as if assuring himself that she was real flesh and

blood and not a mirage created by the enemy. She reached

up and took his hand in hers, turning her face, framed by

her silver hair, so that she could smile at him.

“We have her trapped now,” said the woman, her voice

quiet, almost soothing.

“Yes,” Huma agreed. “There is nowhere for the Dark

Queen to go now. Still . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence,

feeling an anxiety that he couldn’t place. It was almost as if

evil were radiating from the obelisk … as if the Dark Queen

had led them to the spot to be destroyed.

“It will soon be over,” she said, quietly, as if speaking

to herself. “All over.” She stared at Huma, her heart

pounding in her chest. Slowly, she reached out and touched

his bearded cheek with the tips of her fingers.

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