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Dragons of Spring Dawning by Weis, Margaret

Laurana-feeling certain that this must be in reply to a message of her own she had prompted Lord Amothus to send to Lord Gunthar two days earlier-bit her lip in impatience.

“It’s creased,” Lord Amothus said in apology. “The griffons the elven lords have so kindly loaned us”-he bowed to Laurana, who bowed back, suppressing the urge to rip the message from his hand-“cannot be taught to carry these scrolls without rumpling them. Ah, now I can make it out. ‘Lord Gunthar to Amothus, Lord of Palanthas. Greetings.’ Charming man. Lord Gunthar.” The Lord looked up. “He was here only last year, during Spring Dawning festival-which, by the way, takes place in three weeks, my dear. Perhaps you would grace our festivities-”

“I would be pleased to, lord, if any of us are here in three weeks,” Laurana said, clenching her hands tightly beneath the table in an effort to remain calm.

Lord Amothus blinked, then smiled indulgently. “Certainly. The dragonarmies. Well, to continue reading. ‘I am truly grieved to hear of the loss of so many of our Knighthood. Let us find comfort in the knowledge that they died victorious, fighting this great evil that darkens our lands. I feel an even greater personal grief in the loss of three of our finest leaders: Derek Crownguard, Knight of the Rose, Alfred MarKenin, Knight of the Sword, and Sturm Brightblade, Knight of the Crown.” The Lord turned to Laurana. “Brightblade. He was your close friend, I believe, my dear?”

“Yes, my lord,” Laurana murmured, lowering her head, letting her golden hair fall forward to hide the anguish in her eyes. It had been only a short time since they had buried Sturm in the Chamber of Paladine beneath the ruins of the High Clerist’s Tower. The pain of his loss still ached.

“Continue reading, Amothus,” Astinus commanded coldly. “I cannot afford to take too much time from my studies.”

“Certainly, Astinus,” the Lord said, flushing. He began to read again hurriedly. “This tragedy leaves the knights in unusual circumstances. First, the Knighthood is now made up of- as I understand-primarily Knights of the Crown-the lowest order of knights. This means that-while all have passed their tests and won their shields-they are, however, young and inexperienced. For most, this was their first battle. It also leaves us without any suitable commanders since-according to the Measure-there must be a representative from each of the three Orders of Knights in command.’ ”

Laurana could hear the faint jingle of armor and the rattle of swords as the knights present shifted uncomfortably. They were temporary leaders until this question of command could be settled. Closing her eyes, Laurana sighed. Please, Gunthar, she thought, let your choice be a wise one. So many have died because of political maneuvering. Let this be an end to it!

“Therefore I appoint to fill the position of leadership of the Knights of Solamnia, Lauralanthalasa of the royal house of Qualinesti-‘ ” The Lord paused a moment, as if uncertain he had read correctly. Laurana’s eyes opened wide as she stared at him in shocked disbelief. But she was not more shocked than the knights themselves.

Lord Amothus peered vaguely at the scroll, rereading it. Then, hearing a murmur of impatience from Astinus, he hurried on-” ‘who is the most experienced person currently in the field and the only one with knowledge of how to use the dragonlances. I attest to the validity of this Writ by my seal. Lord Gunthar Uth Wistan, Grand Master of the Knights of Solamnia, and so forth.’ ” The Lord looked up. “Congratulations, my dear-or perhaps I should say ‘general.’ ”

Laurana sat very still. For a moment she was so filled with anger she thought she might stalk out of the room. Visions swam before her eyes-Lord Alfred’s headless corpse, poor Derek dying in his madness, Sturm’s peace-filled, lifeless eyes, the bodies of the knights who had died in the Tower laid out in a row…

And now she was in command. An elfmaid from the royal household. Not even old enough-by elven standards-to be free of her father’s house. A spoiled little girl who had run away from her home to “chase after” her childhood sweetheart, Tanis Half-Elven. That spoiled little girl had grown up. Fear, pain, great loss, great sorrow-she knew that-in some ways-she was older than her father now.

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Categories: Weis, Margaret
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