Knights of the Rose

Chapter 15

With the air of a prince visiting a petty noble, the Knight of the Rose rode into the citadel of Belkuthas. It almost seemed as if the heavy guard around him was an honor, rather than a precaution.

It was a precaution Pirvan would not have required if Lewin and his company had submitted to having their weapons peace-bonded, with leather or cloth thongs. The knight had refused, coming close to raising his voice in anger or at least offended dignity, and Pirvan had been forced to choose an alternative.

That alternative was to bring the Solamnic newcomers into Belkuthas surrounded by a guard of nearly every able-bodied mounted fighter the citadel could command. Pirvan hoped the sell-swords wouldn’t regained their courage while he was appeasing Sir Lewin’s dignity.

He had to admit, however, that the odds were long against that. The near-mob with whom Lewin had been riding had not only lost whatever leadership he gave it, it had lost near a hundred men killed or taken, never mind how many had limped off with wounds that would keep them out of the fighting for a while. None would be heard from today.

From prisoners’ tales and scouts messages, one of the other two columns had lost its captain, to what was variously reported as a kender assassin or a plot by High Captain Zephros. Zephros, leader of the other column, was nowhere to be found. Again there were assorted rumors, that he was dead, fled, ensorcelled, or otherwise not where he could command his men.

Pirvan was of two minds about the tale of the assassin. On the one hand, it would account for the two kender, who had been missing since before dawn and who deserved to avenge for Edelthirb’s death. On the other, such an assassination would hardly shrink the “lesser races” problem. Judging from remarks overheard from Sir Lewin’s men-at-arms, this problem already was almost insuperable.

Within the courtyard, Sir Lewin dismounted, without waiting for Pirvan’s permission, and began doing an arms ritual with his sword. Pirvan waited until Sir Lewin had-looking at the matter with charity-restored limberness to his body, then also dismounted.

“I must ask you and your men to give your word of honor to remain where we send you, until you and I have spoken,” Pirvan said. “I do not command this, but the Measure speaks against hindering a fellow knight, even of lesser rank, in the performance of his duties. You will certainly be hindering me if you do not-to put it plainly-stay out of the way until certain matters are further forward.”

Lewin drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable, if not as great as Darin’s. “That provision of the Measure applies only to honorable and lawful duties to which a knight has been ordered by a superior. I permit myself to doubt that your commanding Belkuthas is such a duty.”

“I permit myself,” Pirvan replied, “to doubt that you know what my orders are. They came from Sir Marod, and they were to learn all I could about the tax soldiers and whether they would do justice or not.” That was a free interpretation of what Sir Marod had said, but well short of a lie.

The mention of Sir Marod stopped Lewin, as Pirvan had prayed it might. Taking the silence for agreement, Pirvan embraced Lewin, although he would on the whole have as willingly embraced an ogre. “I rejoice in your safe journey, the valor you showed in battle, and your coming here to aid me in my duties. I am sure we shall see that justice is done once we have a moment together, but that must wait.

“Rynthala, Tharash. Find suitable quarters for these noble knights and their men-at-arms and provide them with food, water, and whatever else they may require after their journey and fighting.”

“Water?” exclaimed Rynthala, in a tone of stark outrage. “We have-”

Pirvan and Tharash both raised their voices without much caring what they said, but it was too late. Pirvan saw a smile flicker on Sir Lewin’s face.

The first impulse that swept through Pirvan was to have Sir Lewin disarmed, bound, and confined. That, of course, would lead nowhere save immediately to a brawl with Lewin’s company, and in the end, to a tribunal of the knights. The second impulse was to pretend he had seen nothing, leaving Sir Lewin believing that the gutter-knight (a name Pirvan knew well, though none used it to his face) had been thoroughly deceived. On the whole, that seemed wiser.

As the new arrivals marched off under escort, Rugal Nis approached and saluted. He was, Pirvan noted, wearing his sword, but one of Pirvan’s men-at-arms was with him.

“Wishing to report, my lord, that we lost no men in the attack. The lads are out picking up after the enemy. We met a dwarf, and he says he wants to talk to you.”

“A dwarf?”

“Aye. He gives his name as Nuor of the Black Chisel and says he needs to speak to the chief of the citadel. That’s you.”

“The chief of the citadel is actually Krythis. I know you came against him in arms, but he doesn’t eat honorable sell-swords. Neither does his lady.”

“What about their daughter?” Nis said impudently.

Pirvan mock-glared. “Where did you find this dwarf?”

“Out to the other side of the walls, near the first of the outer wells. We were seeing that no one had heaved bodies down it to poison it, when all of a sudden this dwarf popped out.”

“Out of the well?”

“So it looked.”

“Thank you. Well done, Rugal Nis. Finish your work. I will see this dwarf.”

Nuor of the Black Chisel was tall for a dwarf, and somewhat the worse for a long underground journey. He sat astride one of Pirvan’s camp stools and, with a finger dipped in ashes from the fire, sketched a map on the floor. He could have used much fouler materials without Pirvan’s protesting.

What the dwarf was offering was life itself, to Belkuthas and, above all, to those innocents who had sought the safety it could no longer provide.

“We couldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for the wells feeding from two different underground waters,” Nuor said. “That mage-Wilthur the Turd-Colored, or whatever-”

“Has he been working the spells against us?”

“Of course. Gran Axesharp had it from our own thane himself, so if you want to call all three of us liars besides interrupting me-”

Pirvan hastily assured Nuor that he would rather commit several gross crimes (he made the dwarf laugh describing them) than do any such thing. Mollified, the dwarf continued.

“We can cut a tunnel across from the outer well to the one inside. At night, so we can dump the spoil without anyone seeing. Of course, it will mean a deal of stoop work for your people, fetching water through the tunnel, but we’ll size the tunnel for humans.”

Pirvan looked at the map. “Couldn’t you cut a new well?”

“I serve you venison and you want dressed beef as well?”

“Pardon, but-”

“Oh, I’ll explain or you’ll be fretting at me. Can’t do a new well inside the citadel, without tapping into the same water as the old one. That water’s gone, or if there’s any left, most likely it’s not fit to drink. Ask your Red Robe about that.”

Pirvan started to return to the matter, then stopped. The dwarves’ aid promised another possibility, and Pirvan would rather have cut out his tongue than foreclose it.

“Ah-pardon me again, if I’m asking for dwarven secrets-”

“Oh, we never mind being asked about our secrets. A mite flattering, even. Just don’t expect answers.”

Pirvan looked at the ceiling, trying to make a sensible choice of the words chasing themselves around in his mind. Finally he looked down at the dwarf.

“I suppose you got into the well you came out of-”

That was not going to work.

Pirvan took a deep breath and started over. “Suppose there was a tunnel from the far side of the outer well, leading clear out of Belkuthas. Anyone who wanted to come in or out of the citadel without being seen could use it.”

“And suppose there was? Who would you be thinking to see using it, besides dwarves, as it might make humans a bit stoop-shouldered?”

Pirvan told his heart not to leap before time. “Well, there are some folk here in Belkuthas who would gladly crawl on hands and knees, to be away from here. They and their children.”

“Aha. The refugees.” Nuor seemed to be waiting for confirmation, so Pirvan nodded. The dwarf continued, “And where would they go, once they went through this tunnel?”

“I think your people would have done enough by then. Many of the refugees are able-bodied. They can forage, cut firewood and timber for shelters, and wait in the forest until the fighting’s done.”

“Or until the sell-swords track them down,” Nuor said. “A bad business, that would be.”

“They’d still have a better chance than staying here,” Pirvan said. Pleading with a dwarf was like getting a kender to pay close attention: a near-miracle. But he was ready to try it.

“Well, if they didn’t mind following a few dwarves, so they wouldn’t see anything they shouldn’t-”

Pirvan held his breath.

“There’s caves aplenty we don’t use much, so they’re not connected to anything we wouldn’t want humans to know. Or if they are, we could do a bit of masonry before the refugees came out.”

“You’ll shelter the refugees in the caves?”

Nuor glared. “Of course we will. Didn’t I just say that we would? Of course there’s a tunnel into the outer well! You were wandering all over the potato patch, so I couldn’t be sure what you were driving at! You thought I walked to that well on the open ground, through all the sell-swords? I’d rather ride a pegasus!”

“I think we can spare you that,” Pirvan said, once he’d regained the breath he let out in a sigh of relief. “Besides, Belot would have my blood if I let anyone but him ride his mount.”

“Elves,” Nuor said, shaking his head as some humans would have when they said, “kender.”

Pirvan looked at the floor. While he had been watching Nuor, somehow the dwarf had contrived to add another tunnel, stretching from the outer well off into the distance.”

“Well, I think we can make it worth the dwarves’-”

“Who is this ‘we’ of whom you speak?” came a voice that was about as welcome to Pirvan as a lewd proposition from Takhisis the Dark Queen. The knight turned, to see Sir Lewin standing in the chamber door.

“Who let you out?” leapt to his lips.

“None confined me. Rynthala and Tharash departed after they found us quarters-very damp and verminous, I fear-and I said to the guards remaining that I had to speak to you. They did not dispute my word of honor.”

Strictly speaking, Lewin had broken his word, by not remaining in confinement. But if he argued before a tribunal that he had indeed desperately needed to speak to Pirvan, he would probably not be called foresworn.

Pirvan wished to call Lewin a number of things, but none would be to any purpose.

Then he noticed that Lewin was staring at the dwarf, who was returning the stare. “By Paladine! Nuor of the Black Shovel.”

“Black Chisel, Knight. I see your tongue’s as glib and your memory’s as poor as ever.”

“What are you doing here?”

“That’s for you to ask and for me not to answer, seeing as how your first question should have been about my wife.”

Lewin seemed to recall something unpleasant. “I apologize.”

“You’re doing a lot of that, but don’t wager it will be enough.”

“I trust she is well.”

“Oh, your healer was good enough. And now, by your leave, Sir Pirvan, I will go back whence I came and start putting our folk to the work I promised you. Tell your Red Robe what I said, won’t you?”

Nuor rose, and as he walked past Pirvan, he carefully scuffed the map on the floor into a series of dark smears. Pirvan hoped Lewin had not been listening at the door, but could hardly ask him that.

“Since you are here and claim need to speak to me, and I would not doubt such a claim from another knight, then sit down and speak.” Pirvan picked up a chair and set it before Sir Lewin, with as much graciousness as he could muster.

Lewin was seated before Nuor was out the door.

Pirvan searched for words to begin a conversation instead of a quarrel. He realized Lewin was doing the same.

Nuor had given Pirvan a gift almost as precious as water or the refugees’ escape. He had embarrassed Sir Lewin, something Pirvan would have sworn no mortal being could do, leaving the Knight of the Sword able to dominate the Knight of the Rose-if he wished.

When he thought of what was at stake, Pirvan decided he would do far worse to Sir Lewin than dominate him, if necessary.

“Sir Lewin, I have the right to know what has passed between you and Nuor of the Black Chisel.”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“I doubt that. What concerns one of our allies, one who has offered to see justice done to innocent folk, also concerns me. I would not care to hear callous words from you about the refugees.”

Indeed, if he heard them, Pirvan was quite prepared to challenge Sir Lewin to a test of honor, or even simply have him thrown in irons. That fact was better not put into words-but he did put it into his voice, and Sir Lewin seemed to hear it.

“Very well. It was a small matter of a mistake by one of my archers.”

It was at least not a large matter. Even after hearing all the details, Pirvan had to agree with that. The Solamnic men-at-arms were superior fighting men, but even such grew uneasy and quick to shoot or slash on unknown ground facing unknown foes.

Lewin concluded with: “I have answered enough of your questions and more. You have exceeded all the bounds allowed to a knight of your rank toward a knight of mine, by asking them at all. But I will say no more of the matter if the questions are at an end.”

“They are not.”

“Then I command-”

“I suggest you sit down, Sir Lewin.”

“That ‘suggestion’ sounds like an order. Will you tie me to the chair if I disobey?”

“Do you wish to wager our ability to work together for the good of the knights, and to avoid a tribunal, on my not doing so?”

Sir Lewin sat down. “Perhaps we should pray for less hasty tongues and tempers,” he said after a moment. “They can do as much harm as hasty archers.”

“I will not dispute that,” Pirvan said. “As to those questions, I was thinking more of your asking me, and others who can answer them to your satisfaction. You see, Sir Lewin, you are not in all respects my superior here in Belkuthas. I hold the rank of commander of the citadel by appointment of its lawful lord and lady, Krythis and Tulia. I also command those men I brought from Tirabot, and hold the rank of chief equal to Threehands in authority over the Gryphons.”

Lewin muttered something that sounded like, but that Pirvan hoped was not, “sand-eaters.”

“So you see, I am your commander in truth, except by the standard of the Knights of Solamnia. And even by those standards, you do not command here. The Measure says plainly that regardless of rank, on detached duty, the knight who has the greatest knowledge of the land has command until his superiors have equaled his knowledge. That may take you a few days, so I suggest you start asking those questions.”

“I suppose this would have to be called detached duty,” Lewin said. His smile seemed glued on, rather like a cheap seal to a letter. “But duty also implies doing what it is lawful for a knight to do.”

“What have I done that is unlawful?”

Lewin’s answer at least came swiftly to his tongue. “You have set yourself in arms against the servants of Istar-you, a Knight of Solamnia and therefore sworn to Istar. You have shed blood of comrades in fighting the tax soldiers!”

“They may rank as such,” Pirvan admitted, “but my orders were to see if the tax soldiers would seek justice between Istar and the Silvanesti. They have not as yet fought the Silvanesti, but have behaved, where I have seen them, more like thieves and outlaws.”

“You would know, I am sure.”

Pirvan took a deep breath. “I also fear that the tax soldiers, left unopposed, will provoke a war with the Silvanesti.”

“Our honor demands that we fight at Istar’s side, if so.”

“If the war comes, then so be it. But the Measure also commands that justice be sought in peace, before one draws the sword. And it is commanded that if we see those to whom we are sworn doing injustice, we consider where our honor lies. You know as well as I do the times knights have refused to keep an oath that would require them to wrong the innocent-or the times they have slain themselves after obeying such a command.”

Lewin’s eyes were on the floor. Was he trying to read the smudges that had been Nuor’s map, or was he merely unable to meet Pirvan’s eyes? Or, as likely, was he just weary from a long journey and unfit to make hard decisions?

Pirvan considered the questions, turning them over in his mind like a joint on a spit over hot coals-which seemed to rather describe his situation.

The Measure of all the orders, the True Gods of Krynn, and the common sense of any man able to find the jakes when he needed them spoke against doubting another knight’s honor. His wisdom was fair game; his honor was not.

What did you do when your own honor was deeply engaged to folk whom the other knight might endanger? What if you erred on the side of charity toward him? What happened to your honor if you ended with their lives on your conscience for the remainder of your days?

What Pirvan did was decide, yearn briefly for the days of his youth when he thought the gods and even some men knew what was just, and spoke.

“Sir Lewin, I do not beg your pardon, but say it will be a pleasure to learn I have misjudged you. I have seen far too many follies these past few days, and men have died of them. I will not stand by to see more follies and more dead.

“But I promise you this: You may feel free to go where you wish, anywhere in the citadel. We are none of us safe outside it, so I cannot allow you beyond the walls.

“Within them, however, you may see whatever you wish to see, ask any questions you wish answered, of anyone you think will answer them, and otherwise do as you please as long as you do not hinder our work of defense.

“Within days, I think you will see that the tax soldiers are not serving justice, honor, or even Istar. Our oath demands that they be kept from doing further harm, not that they be aided in doing it.

“Have I your word of honor about doing no harm?”

“I thought I had already given it.”

“No one ever swore too many oaths.”

“Except at bad wine and ugly serving wenches, perhaps,” Lewin said with a flicker of a smile that now seemed to come from within. “Very well. Upon my word of honor, I will do naught that you consider hindering the defense of Belkuthas, while learning the truth of its situation. Will that suffice?”

It would. Pirvan hastily scribbled and sealed a pass for Sir Lewin. Even so, as the Knight of the Rose departed, Pirvan felt an itching between his shoulder blades and a hollow feeling in his stomach.

I do this for you, Sir Marod, more than for Sir Lewin, he thought. But none will be happier than I if he proves he can learn from his errors, and with us seek justice among all the folk of Krynn.

Pirvan’s bodyguard was waiting outside the chamber. He had ordered that they be sent up, a man-at-arms and a Gryphon warrior, before he went to meet with Nuor. He looked at them; they tried not to look at him, sensing his embarrassment. He had never been one for keeping state, or holding his life more precious than the lives of the fighters he led.

This had changed. It was not, in his opinion, a change for the better.

“Summon an escort for Sir Lewin, and then go find the Lady Rynthala.”

“The escort is on the way,” the man-at-arms said.

“Lady Rynthala is in the stables, with the pegasus,” the Gryphon said.

Pirvan frowned at both of them. He thought they were too new to the role of guards to be undertaking the management of his comings and goings, so that he never had a moment alone.

“Very well. One of you stay here until the escort arrives. The other will be enough to keep me safe between here and the stables.”

The man-at-arm’s salute was more polished than that of the Gryphon. On the other hand, the Gryphon warrior did a better job of keeping his face straight.

Pirvan had never seen a pegasus so close as he saw Amrisha when he reached the stables. Rynthala had arranged for two stables to be thrown together to provide Amrisha enough room for her wings. Now she stood tall and proud, favoring one leg as if weight on it strained her wounded flank.

“She hasn’t tried to spread the wounded wing yet,” Rynthala said. “I hope Belot can at least exercise her in the courtyard within a day or two.” She looked at Pirvan in appeal, and the knight would have sworn the appeal was echoed in Amrisha’s almost luminous green eyes.

A shrug would have been as accurate an answer as any number of words. But Pirvan knew the requirements of courtesy.

“One-company, or maybe alliance of companies-has had a bloody nose. The other two seem to have lost their chiefs. They’ll be back, but we may be able to find fresh water supplies and evacuate the refugees while they’re sorting themselves out.”

“So said Darin.” Rynthala cocked her head to one side, a curiously girlish gesture considering that Pirvan had to look up to meet her eyes. “Is that the truth, or are you knights conspiring to deceive us-not only me, but my parents?”

“We’re only conspiring to avoid raising false hopes or throwing people into despair without reason,” Pirvan said, more sharply than he had intended. “Either kind of folly has overthrown more fortresses than siege engines, dragons, and spells put together.”

“I am sure you know better than we do,” Rynthala said. “Perhaps even as well as you think you do.” She turned and walked away. Her hips swayed naturally as she walked, rather as Haimya’s had done-and indeed, Rynthala was built like a younger, taller version of Haimya. The elven slenderness of both her parents had given way to a more human solidity of bone and fullness of hip and breast.

If she wed anyone of her own stature or taller, they might breed up a race of giants.

Meanwhile, Pirvan had completely forgotten what he had come down to the stables to say. He resolved to see if Sirbones or Tarothin could do anything to further speed the pegasus’s healing. If they could do anything for the flying mare … after they had healed the day’s wounded among both defenders and prisoners, without needing healing themselves!

The dwarves seemed to interpret “nightfall” rather generously. The sun had barely touched the horizon and the evening coolness had yet to flow over Belkuthas when Pirvan felt the ground quiver faintly.

“Good for the dwarves,” Tharash said, coming up on the wall behind Pirvan.

“I thought that was a secret,” the knight snapped.

“From men, maybe. From elves-elves with my kind of hearing, at least …” He shrugged.

“Let’s talk of this somewhere else,” Pirvan said. He tried to moderate his tone, but today his tongue seemed to have a will of its own and an edge like a razor.

Tharash followed him down the stairs and across the courtyard, past the refugees, toward the living quarters.

“Not all of those folk can shift for themselves in the forest,” the old elf said. “They’ll need guarding, maybe a few rangers to hunt for them. While they’re out, the rangers can also hunt sell-swords, I should think.”

“You are asking to lead the rangers?”

“Well …”

“If Rynthala consents, I may also.”

“If Lady Rynthi doesn’t consent, I won’t go.”

Once upon a time, long, long ago, Pirvan had read in one of the knights’ books on the principles of war about something known as “unity of command.” This apparently meant having one undoubted leader, to say yea or nay, in each body of fighters.

Pirvan wondered what the writer would have thought of the situation at Belkuthas. He hoped the man would have at least found it worthy of laughter. As for himself, he had not much laughter left.

“Knight!”

They turned, to see Lauthin marching toward them. He could certainly stride out finely, considering his age and long robes (if now somewhat smeared with smut). He bore his staff of office and wore a look on his face that drove the last traces of laughter from Pirvan. Tharash looked none too happy either.

“My name is Sir Pirvan of Tirabot,” the knight said. If Lauthin was determined to fight for dominance like a none-too-shrewd wolf, Pirvan had no intention of baring throat.

“Are you conspiring with this dark elf to seduce my guards away from their duty?”

The question actually had Pirvan goggling like a dying fish, until Tharash gripped his arm and pointed. Lauthin had brought some of his guards with him. Four of them, with short swords at their belts.

“I think we could discuss what has been done or left undone in a less public place,” Pirvan said.

“That may be your wish or your way. We of Silvanesti do justice in the light, so that all can see.”

“Well, then,” Tharash said. “The light’s going fast, and I always heard that justice should be swift to be sure. So, speak your piece, my lord judge.”

Lauthin actually gobbled wordlessly for a moment. The four guards stepped forward. Pirvan resolved that if they drew their swords, he would disarm them without bloodshed, if possible. He doubted it would be. Elves had good reason to be proud of their swiftness.

Tharash moved first. He sidestepped, then whirled on one leg, kicking out with the other. The foot hooked the high judge’s staff of office, sending it flying. Tharash dived for it, snatched it up, rolled, sprang to his feet, then rested it on his shoulder like a spear.

For all his years, Tharash had been so swift that only one of Lauthin’s guards even tried to draw his sword. Pirvan slapped the elf’s wrist with the flat of his own blade, and Tharash pushed the fallen weapon back to its owner with the end of the staff.

“Lauthin,” Tharash said. “I am no Silvanesti elf, so your high and mighty judgeship means nothing to me. I will give back your staff, though, when I have spoken.

“Lauthin, some of those elves who fought on the walls today want to go into the forest because they’re afraid you’ll punish them. Some of them just don’t like the sell-swords. I don’t blame them.

“Other elves are ashamed of staying out of Rynthala’s fight, or have lovers and friends among those going. They want to go. Oh, you can try to keep them there, and maybe they won’t desert the way humans would. Some will, though, wandering out in twos and threes, likely to their deaths.

“If you force them to that, Lauthin, their blood will be on your hands and their kin before your seat, demanding that you step down from it. If you don’t see that, you are the biggest fool the gods ever allowed to walk the face of Krynn!”

Lauthin stepped back as if slapped, his mouth working. After a while a sound came out, then words.

“How many?”

“A good half. They’ll need folk who know the land with them, but I and my lads and the dwarves could help them there.”

“Half,” Lauthin murmured. “My embassy-it needs to be guarded.”

“Your precious person may need guarding, but you do not here and now have an embassy. Until somebody comes along who’s interested in talking rather than shooting, your guards can do better guarding what’s more useful than you, which is just about everything and everybody in Belkuthas, starting with the midden-heap gully dwarves!”

Tharash sagged, rather out of breath and to Pirvan’s eyes somewhat astounded at his own boldness. Then he handed the staff back to Lauthin, who nearly let it drop to the trampled ground from nerveless fingers. He finally gripped it with one hand, and used a corner of his robe to wipe off the smears of dirt.

He stood motionless for a time, hardly even breathing. Then he turned and marched off, striking his staff rhythmically on the ground ahead of him. His four guards fell in behind him, although Pirvan saw one look briefly back; he could almost imagine that the elf had winked.

Perhaps he had. Perhaps Lauthin would see reason. His archers would certainly be taking to the walls and the woods whether he did or not. Even Silvanesti elves could not forever pass by those in need. Even Silvanesti elves could succumb to the love of a good fight.

If there was such a thing. Pirvan remembered the face of one of the men he’d killed today-hardly more than a boy, and too slender to really wear armor. The soldier hadn’t worn anything except a helmet, which helped him not at all when Pirvan’s dagger ripped open his neck-

He remembered another dead opponent-a man who was as much too old for the field as the boy had been too young. Gray in his beard, wrinkles on the face above the beard, probably a sell-sword to keep his farm or earn a dowry for his daughter … No dowry now, and his family turned out on the road like the refugees, without dwarves or elves or Knights of Solamnia to help them.

Before a third face could present itself, Pirvan turned and stumbled blindly toward the stairs to the keep. He wanted to be alone for a while …

… alone when somebody brought him the news that Threehands and Rynthala had come to blows and needed him to counsel peace!

Haimya found Pirvan, sitting on the bed in the dark chamber. His hands dangled between his knees, and his eyes stared at the floor, or perhaps at nothing.

“Pirvan?”

He recognized the name and even the voice, but the name was not his, and the voice was a stranger’s.

“Pirvan. The dwarves have almost finished the tunnel. Tarothin helped them.”

Tarothin? He was a Red Robe wizard, wasn’t he? Where was this tunnel?

Oh, he was in the citadel of Belkuthas, which needed water. The tunnel would bring it.

As a matter of fact, he commanded the citadel of Belkuthas. He was Sir Pirvan of Tirabot, Knight of the Sword, and this day he had with his sword slain-

“Gods!”

Pirvan wept. Presently the woman who was no longer a stranger, whom he remembered sharing joy and sorrow with for twenty years, sat down on the bed beside him. She took him in his arms and held him as he had seen her hold their children.

After what seemed half the night, the tears ended.

“Don’t talk,” Haimya said. “Unless you want to,” she added.

Pirvan knew there was one person in the world who would listen to anything he had to say. That was one more person than most people had. Moreover, she was right here on the bed with him.

He still feared to sound-not like a coward; he had heard too many noble confessions of weakness to fear that-but like a witling. Belkuthas needed him in his right senses.

He needed himself in his right senses.

Pirvan began to talk.

“It was the men I fought today-the men I killed.”

“Everyone speaks of your valor. You see it-otherwise?”

“Tonight, the word ‘valor’ chokes me.”

She stroked his hair. “Go on.”

“They started coming to me. I could see them in front of me as clearly as I can see you now. I started thinking about how each one had a life of his own that I had ended. For what I thought-I think now-is a good reason. But they’re still dead, all of them. I hoped one of them would speak.”

“To forgive you?”

“No. I-no, not that. Just to show that we could talk to each other. If-I thought of apologizing, but that would have been silly. Many of them probably couldn’t even speak Common.”

Pirvan became aware that his head had begun resting on cloth, and now rested on bare skin. Then he became aware of hands at work on his own breeches, his only garment.

“What are you doing?”

“We are going to talk in an old language, that we have spoken for twenty years. Do you remember it?”

Pirvan’s reply lacked words.

“It was the language we spoke that night, when I came to your house in the village. I said that we had stood far apart long enough and now it was time to stand close.”

“We aren’t standing now.”

Haimya pulled off the last of her husband’s garments and the last of her own. “No, we are lying down on the bed.”

On that bed, in that language, they had a long conversation. Pirvan fell asleep quickly afterward, and Haimya was slower getting to sleep only because her husband started to snore as she had never heard him do, and she had to stifle her giggles to keep from waking him.