Read Online Dragonlance 15 - Dragons Of A Fallen Sun by Margaret Weis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Weis
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through. Cinders fell on their
matted hair and sparked in their beards, but the ogres, in a
battle rage, ignored the pain of their burns and lurched
forward.
Now being attacked from the front and on their flank, the
elven archers grappled desperately for their arrows, tried to
loose another volley before the ogres closed. The flaming
haystacks thundered down on them. The elves did not know
which enemy to fight first. Some lost their heads in the chaos.
Samar roared orders. The officers struggled to bring their
troops under control. The elves fired a second volley, some into
the burning hay bales, others into the ogres charging them on
the flank.
More ogres fell, an immense number, and Silvan thought that
they must retreat. He was amazed and appalled to see the ogres
continue forward, undaunted.
"Samar, where are the reserves?" Alhana called out.
"I think they have been cut off," Samar returned grimly. "You
should not be out here, Your Majesty. Go back inside where you
are safe."
Silvan could see his mother now. She had left the burial
mound. She was clad in silver armor, carried a sword at her
side.
"I led my people here," Alhana returned. "Will you have me
skulk in a cave while my people are dying, Samar?"
"Yes," he growled.
She smiled at him, a tight strained smile, but still a smile.
She gripped the hilt of her sword. "Will they break through, do
you think?"
"I don't see much stopping them, Your Majesty," Samar said
grimly.
The elven archers loosed another volley. The officers had re-
gained control of the troops. Every shot told. The ogres charging
from the front fell by the score. Half the line disappeared. Still the
ogres continued their advance, the living trampling the bodies of
the fallen. In moments they would be within striking range of the
archers' position.
"Launch the assault!" Samar roared.
Elven swordsmen rose up from their positions behind the
left barricades. Shouting their battle cries, they charged the ogre
line. Steel rang against steel. The flaming haystacks burst into
the center of the camp, crushing men, setting fire to trees and
grass and clothing. Suddenly, without warning, the ogre line
turned. One of their number had caught sight of Alhana's silver
armor, reflecting the firelight. With guttural cries, they pointed
at her and were now charging toward the burial mound.
"Mother!" Silvan gasped, his heart tangled up with his stom-
ach. He had to bring help. They were counting on him, but he was
paralyzed, mesmerized by the terrible sight. He couldn't run to
her. He couldn't run away. He couldn't move.
"Where are those reserves?" Samar shouted furiously. "Ara-
nosha! You bastard! Where are Her Majesty's swordsmen!"
"Here, Samar!" cried a warrior. HWe had to fight our way to
you, but we are here!"
"Take them down there, Samar," said Alhana calmly.
"Your Majesty!" He started to protest. HI will not leave you
without guards."
"If we don't halt the advance, Samar," Alhana returned. HIt
won't much matter whether I have guards or not. Go now.
Quickly!"
Samar wanted to argue, but he knew by the remote and res-
olute expression on his queen's face that he would be wasting his
breath. Gathering the reserves around him, Samar charged down
into the advancing ogres.
Alhana stood alone, her silver armor burning with the re-
flected flames.
"Make haste, Silvan, my son. Make haste. Our lives rest on
you."
She spoke to herself, but she spoke, unknowingly, to her son.
Her words impelled Silvan to action. He had been given an
order and he would carry it out. Bitterly regretting the wasted
time, his heart swelling with fear for his mother, he turned and
plunged into the forest.
Adrenaline pumped in Silvan's veins. He shoved his way
through the underbrush, thrusting aside tree limbs, trampling
seedlings. Sticks snapped beneath his boots. The wind was cold
and strong on his right cheek. He did not feel the pelting rain. He
welcomed the lightning
matted hair and sparked in their beards, but the ogres, in a
battle rage, ignored the pain of their burns and lurched
forward.
Now being attacked from the front and on their flank, the
elven archers grappled desperately for their arrows, tried to
loose another volley before the ogres closed. The flaming
haystacks thundered down on them. The elves did not know
which enemy to fight first. Some lost their heads in the chaos.
Samar roared orders. The officers struggled to bring their
troops under control. The elves fired a second volley, some into
the burning hay bales, others into the ogres charging them on
the flank.
More ogres fell, an immense number, and Silvan thought that
they must retreat. He was amazed and appalled to see the ogres
continue forward, undaunted.
"Samar, where are the reserves?" Alhana called out.
"I think they have been cut off," Samar returned grimly. "You
should not be out here, Your Majesty. Go back inside where you
are safe."
Silvan could see his mother now. She had left the burial
mound. She was clad in silver armor, carried a sword at her
side.
"I led my people here," Alhana returned. "Will you have me
skulk in a cave while my people are dying, Samar?"
"Yes," he growled.
She smiled at him, a tight strained smile, but still a smile.
She gripped the hilt of her sword. "Will they break through, do
you think?"
"I don't see much stopping them, Your Majesty," Samar said
grimly.
The elven archers loosed another volley. The officers had re-
gained control of the troops. Every shot told. The ogres charging
from the front fell by the score. Half the line disappeared. Still the
ogres continued their advance, the living trampling the bodies of
the fallen. In moments they would be within striking range of the
archers' position.
"Launch the assault!" Samar roared.
Elven swordsmen rose up from their positions behind the
left barricades. Shouting their battle cries, they charged the ogre
line. Steel rang against steel. The flaming haystacks burst into
the center of the camp, crushing men, setting fire to trees and
grass and clothing. Suddenly, without warning, the ogre line
turned. One of their number had caught sight of Alhana's silver
armor, reflecting the firelight. With guttural cries, they pointed
at her and were now charging toward the burial mound.
"Mother!" Silvan gasped, his heart tangled up with his stom-
ach. He had to bring help. They were counting on him, but he was
paralyzed, mesmerized by the terrible sight. He couldn't run to
her. He couldn't run away. He couldn't move.
"Where are those reserves?" Samar shouted furiously. "Ara-
nosha! You bastard! Where are Her Majesty's swordsmen!"
"Here, Samar!" cried a warrior. HWe had to fight our way to
you, but we are here!"
"Take them down there, Samar," said Alhana calmly.
"Your Majesty!" He started to protest. HI will not leave you
without guards."
"If we don't halt the advance, Samar," Alhana returned. HIt
won't much matter whether I have guards or not. Go now.
Quickly!"
Samar wanted to argue, but he knew by the remote and res-
olute expression on his queen's face that he would be wasting his
breath. Gathering the reserves around him, Samar charged down
into the advancing ogres.
Alhana stood alone, her silver armor burning with the re-
flected flames.
"Make haste, Silvan, my son. Make haste. Our lives rest on
you."
She spoke to herself, but she spoke, unknowingly, to her son.
Her words impelled Silvan to action. He had been given an
order and he would carry it out. Bitterly regretting the wasted
time, his heart swelling with fear for his mother, he turned and
plunged into the forest.
Adrenaline pumped in Silvan's veins. He shoved his way
through the underbrush, thrusting aside tree limbs, trampling
seedlings. Sticks snapped beneath his boots. The wind was cold
and strong on his right cheek. He did not feel the pelting rain. He
welcomed the lightning
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