Knights of the Crown

Chapter 2

The Willow Wand was not famous throughout Ansalon or even throughout the city of Istar. This was exactly the way the owners wanted it.

“Famous taverns go through three stages,” one of them had said, some years before Pirvan had begun frequenting the place. “First, they flourish because everybody is coming and spending freely. Then the money doesn’t roll in so freely, because people are coming to be seen rather than enjoy themselves. That sort drives the paying customers away, faster than a drunken minotaur.

“Finally, the ‘I was at the Willow Wand last night’ sort find some other place to go. They leave, all the others are gone already, and if you don’t have to shut your doors, it’s only because Shinare is on your side. Now, what kind of ale did you order?”

The owners carried this opinion so far that about the time Pirvan became a notable thief, the Willow Wand became a notable place if you wanted to be invisible while you amused yourself. This a man or woman could do easily enough, as the food was good, the drink better (after the owners disposed of a lot of alleged dwarf spirits, which they bought under circumstances they would never reveal), the rooms were clean, and the service as friendly as anyone might reasonably wish.

Two nights after his night work at the Encuintras estate, Pirvan was sitting at a table in a shadowy alcove, normally reserved for three or four guests. But it was a slow night; Reida had led him straight to the table and put down a mug of beer before he even had a chance to slip his boots off. She came back with bread and cheese, pickles, and word that the special stew was almost hot.

Pirvan went through two servings of the bread and cheese before the stew came (it hadn’t been as far along as Reida had thought), and ordered another beer with the stew. Even a single use of his one modest spell took a good deal out of him, and he’d had to use it again on his way out, making himself look like an elaborately pruned dragon’s-tongue bush for nearly ten minutes. (He’d met the lovers on their way in, with no time to hide. They were disheveled and sweaty, but not so far into passion now that they would overlook a strange man clad entirely in black wandering the grounds.)

The best way to put back into himself what the spell took out was to rest and eat well for a few days. The recovery had gone on longer than it had the last time he’d needed the spell, and he’d begun to think that the years were overtaking him. (If so, he intended to give them a long chase. He also intended to avoid having to use the Spell of Seeing the Expected more than once in any single piece of night work.)

The stew had potatoes, onions, carrots, lamb, and assorted spices. Tonight was one of the milder versions; Pirvan had encountered one batch that was potent enough to fire from siege engines, to spatter over attackers and blind them, or even blister them inside their armor. Pirvan all but inhaled the first bowl, and Reida was there with a second one before he knew that he was going to ask for it.

“Never understood how you can eat so much and stay so lean,” she said, setting the bowl before him.

Pirvan smiled before he touched his spoon. Most women described him as “thin” or something even less flattering. Reida had a reputation of being the friendliest of the serving maids, though she was pleasant-looking rather than pretty. Indeed, it was said that she could be very friendly indeed, if she liked you-but her likes and dislikes were as random as lightning bolts (and she had a tongue that could burn anyone she disliked as thoroughly as the lightning, too).

Pirvan was nearly halfway through the second bowl of stew and beginning to think about fruit tarts when he noticed that Reida was still standing by his table. She also hadn’t returned his smile. In fact, she wore a frown and the general air of one with good cause for worry.

“What is it, Reida?”

She looked around the room, then perched on the table, with her skirt hiked higher than usual. She ran the fingers of one hand through Pirvan’s hair, then bent over to whisper:

“Four men, in the back room. Say they’re looking for you.”

“Four?” That might let out the watchmen; they seldom came to the Willow Wand at all and never more than a pair at a time. But saying that four men weren’t the watch said little about what they were.

“Any of them big, black-haired, and one-eyed?” Any band that Grimsoar One-Eye had joined could hardly mean him harm.

Reida looked uncertain, whether about the men or about whether she should answer at all. Then she frowned again.

“There’s one with a patch over his left eye, that much I saw,” she said. “But he didn’t seem all that big, and his hair was more red than-”

Pirvan held up a hand. Left eye missing and red hair meant Silgor of the Swords (he both wielded and stole them with uncommon skill). He had done little night work in the past three years, and was more likely to be found seeking thieves who had done what they shouldn’t have done or left undone something that they should have done.

Pirvan wondered which group he fell into. He also wondered, very briefly, what his chances were of finding out before he joined the four men. He decided almost at once that they were small, without risking being branded a fugitive from what the elder thieves called “brothers’ justice.”

That was closer to outlawry than any man with wits in his head could wish for. It was apt to end with both the thieves and the watch offering rewards for a man (or his head) sufficient to make a girl like Reida turn him in before her second smile. Perhaps especially Reida, who might otherwise be suspected of having warned Pirvan. (The thieves would not shed her blood, but to end on the streets with no hopes of work in Istar might be only a slower death.)

“Tell them that I will join them-” He paused. “Are they staying here?”

“No.”

“As well. I will meet them at the back gate of the timberyard across the alley when I have finished my dinner.”

Reida’s shoulders sagged with relief. Pirvan smiled. “Don’t worry, Reida. You know what a fuss I make about not dragging the innocent-”

“What are you calling me?” Reida snapped, drawing herself up. The stance plus the low-cut blouse displayed a figure that was rather better than Pirvan had realized.

“Not what you think. You can have my company for the asking when I come back from meeting my friends.”

Her eyebrows rose, and she grinned. “Break that promise, and there’ll be a purgative in your next beer in this house.”

Pirvan mimed horror, then addressed the rest of his meal. The fruit tart, he decided, would take longer than was prudent.

* * * * *

The work that had expanded Lady Eskaia’s bedchamber into one end of the second-floor corridor had also thickened its walls. They barred eavesdroppers almost as effectively as magic could have done.

Tonight, this was just as well.

Haimya (she could have called herself “Lady Haimya” had she thought the title a compliment) glared at her mistress. The maid wore a foot soldier’s armor, except for the helmet, which she had under her arm, and lower, lighter boots. She also wore a sword as formidable as most Knights of Solamnia ever bore, though plainer and more hacked and scarred along the blade than any knight would have allowed.

The sword at Haimya’s waist was hardly deadlier than the look on her face. Lady Eskaia was unaccustomed to having such looks directed at her, least of all from Haimya. In another moment Haimya would unleash her mercenary’s vocabulary, and if anyone heard that, Haimya would be out of Eskaia’s service and off the Encuintras estate before Lunitari dipped below the horizon.

“What I have done is quite lawful,” Eskaia said.

Haimya shook herself, like a horse beset by flies. “It is something you will not be punished for doing,” she replied. “That is not the same as lawful.”

“Perhaps. But would you rather do it yourself and end in the arena?”

“Yes.” That reduced Eskaia to speechlessness. Haimya went on.

“What angers me is not whether you, or I, or anybody will be punished for this. It is that you did it at all, without mentioning it to me.”

“I am not at your beck and call, Haimya.”

Haimya said a word that would have curdled milk if there had been any milch cows within forty paces. She took a deep breath.

“Do you remember a single word of my oath?”

“The one you swore when you entered Kingoll’s Companions?”

“That one. He asked it of all women who entered his band. It was one of the things that proved him a wise man.”

“I might agree, if I remembered it.”

Haimya did not curse again. She sighed. “It is too long to repeat. But there is in it a promise to protect myself with my own strength and not ask for another’s aid.”

“Even if the alternative is death?”

“If I must win or be dishonored, I must accept whatever aid is needed for victory But if it is not a matter of honor-”

“What makes you think this matter is anything else?” Eskaia snapped. Honor was needed, but tonight good sense as well. “Apart from the fate of your betrothed, is it honor to wink at the theft of my gift to you. You did not disdain it when I offered it.

“Of course, if you are eager to end your betrothal, you may do that with my blessing. As long as we regain the jewels-”

Eskaia stopped. Haimya wasn’t crying, but her shoulders were shaking and her eyes were tightly shut. Eskaia gripped her guard-maid by both shoulders.

“Pour us both some wine, Haimya, and let me tell you all of what we are doing. When you learn how many lies I have told, perhaps you will not think so ill of me.”

A furtive tear crept out of the corner of one of Haimya’s eyes. Without opening either eyes, she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Then she forced a smile.

“Speak, Mistress. Your servant hears and obeys.”

Eskaia had to stop giggling before she could begin her explanation.

* * * * *

Pirvan considered himself something of an authority on alleys. Istar had the cleanest he’d known, which meant that work gangs shoveled the refuse into carts every ten days or so. As it had been nearly that long since the last gang’s visit and the weather had been hot and damp, the alley behind the Willow Wand was no flower garden.

The four men waiting for him were also not much to Pirvan’s taste. He didn’t recognize two at all, and he took no heart from recognizing the third. He did not know the man’s name, but knew that he had seldom succeeded at night work. He was more successful as a fighter when one was needed for keeping the thieves in order.

Silgor stepped forward to greet Pirvan. He looked grim, even in the shadowed alley, but then he rarely smiled. Pirvan raised a hand in greeting.

“Hail, Brother. What is your business with me?”

“Best not spoken of here.”

Custom and law allowed it. Good sense discouraged it.

“If I do not know why I must go with you, what duty do I have to go at all?”

“Duty doesn’t matter,” the fighter said. He stopped short of drawing his sword only because Silgor put a hand on his arm.

“Peace. I am sure that Pirvan can be brought to trust us.”

Not without knowing what goes on here, Pirvan thought.

Silgor and the sell-sword were transparently playing the game of one angry, one mild, and less well than some watchmen Pirvan had encountered. He chose not to laugh.

“You do not need to take half the night explaining, Silgor. We do not have that much time, whether I go with you or not.”

“Turn, fugitive,” the second man growled, “and you won’t see sunrise.”

“Who will arrange that?” Pirvan said. “You? And which ten knights will help you?”

The sword started out again. Silgor did not try to restrain the man. Pirvan took two steps backward, made sure that he had his back to a solid wall, then did laugh.

“Silgor, I learned the angry-mild game at my mother’s knee, or as close to it as matters for now. If you think you’ll do anything but waste time by playing it, you’re not the man you were only a month ago. That would be a sad blow to the thieves, enough to make me think of retiring.”

Silgor had the grace to smile. His head jerked at the swordsman, and the blade vanished again. The other two men looked outright relieved.

“Very well. I will ask you a question. Will you answer truthfully?”

“Is the answer under bond, oath, and spell of silence?”

“Will the first two be enough?”

“From you, Silgor, I suppose so.”

“Flattery also can waste time, my friend.” Silgor took a breath. “Did you, two days ago, perform night work at the Encuintras estate? And was the fruit of your work-?”

“That’s two questions, Silgor.”

“Stop quibbling, Pirvan.” Another deep breath. “Did you perform the night work of which I just spoke?”

“Yes.”

“It was not work well done. Do you-oh, forgive me. One question only. But-now will you come with us?”

Pirvan nodded. He doubted that anything much would come of it, but he doubted (and regretted) more that his meeting with Reida seemed unlikely to come about.

* * * * *

Haimya was so long silent after Lady Eskaia had finished her narrative that the merchant princess felt an urge to shout in her guard’s face or shake her.

She resisted both. Neither would cause Haimya to alter her judgment of what Eskaia had done. Either risked a quarrel. A quarrel with her most trusted-nay, very nearly only-friend at this, of all times, would be folly.

If the truth about the stolen jewels ever came to her father’s ears, he might be angry. If he heard of her quarreling with Haimya, he would be furious. Disinheriting her as a witling not to be trusted with her share of her inheritance was not beyond probability.

Haimya at last picked up the wine jug and filled both their cups, then emptied hers with the stiff wrist and busy throat of one who badly needs a drink. The silence returned for a moment, then Haimya frowned.

“Is Tarothin a mage, foresworn to the towers?” Haimya asked.

“He is neutral,” Eskaia replied.

“He says he is neutral,” Haimya corrected. “That’s a claim anyone can make, at least to those unable to test it.”

“I have had some of the cleric’s training. Or have you forgotten that?”

“Not in the least. But consider that one trained in high sorcery can conceal much from even a full cleric with many years of training.”

“Very well,” Eskaia said briskly. “Supposing that he cannot be completely trusted, what do you suggest? A messenger, telling him to do nothing until they have had a chance to reply to my request for the thief’s name?”

“Better yet, tell him to do nothing until you explicitly command him to do so.”

“He will not care for such a sign of distrust, I fear.”

“If his vanity is that swollen, perhaps you need to dismiss him completely and find another to do the work.”

“Haimya, what are the odds of finding another wizard willing, able, and trustworthy? Especially after word spreads of the fate of the first one?”

Haimya was silent. Eskaia decided to press whatever advantage she had.

“For that kind of message, perhaps you should be the messenger yourself. You have more authority. Also, the fewer who know of Tarothin’s existence, the better.”

Haimya smiled. “Go on like this, my lady, and you will be a finished intriguer before you are wed.”

Eskaia was not sure that was entirely a compliment. But she would let it pass, since the danger of a quarrel with Haimya was gone.

* * * * *

The witnesses to Pirvan’s description of his night work at the Encuintras estate were Silgor and three others. Pirvan knew two of these: Cresponis, a retired pirate, and Yanitzia, one of the few women to rise high enough for such duties. The last man was a stranger to Pirvan, clearly near eighty, and with the piercing eyes of a very senior cleric of good. He almost certainly was no such thing, but his presence here made a gut-twisting occasion no easier.

Pirvan at least managed to tell his story without his voice shaking, and if his knees were shaking, his listeners had the decency not to mention it. He wished their decency had extended to at least a “Thank you” when he was done. Instead came a silence that soon had the consistency and palatability of congealed goose fat.

It was Yanitzia who broke it. “You had absolutely no knowledge of the importance of the jewels when you chose to remove some of them?” she asked.

“I have said it was work of opportunity,” Pirvan replied. “Isn’t that saying the same thing?”

“Perhaps I should make my question clearer,” the woman said, then looked at the ceiling.

Don’t take all night about it, was Pirvan’s thought.

At last the woman looked down. “You had no idea these jewels were part of Lady Eskaia’s dowry?”

“No, although if I had known, I might still have taken them. Encuintras can certainly afford more than a pocketful of jewels to dower their daughter.”

“What did you think they were?” Silgor asked. A yawn garbled his question. Pirvan smiled thinly. Silgor might not agree with him, but at least he agreed with the idea of ending this matter before they fell asleep.

“I thought it might be gifts from friends or even lovers. Or perhaps she was saving them, to pay for her flight from a betrothal she rejected or a husband who mistreated her. Need I say that such is not unknown?”

Whatever answer might have come, Pirvan never learned. The earthquake came first.