Knights of the Sword

Chapter 17

The logs in Waydol’s snug hut crackled pleasantly and gave off a soothing smell of pine.

Those were just two of many pleasant sounds and smells-and sights and tastes-that Pirvan had savored in the days since the trial. He always savored them more after he’d put his life in the balance, and for a time he wondered if he would ever savor anything again.

He sipped from a cup of Sirbones’s mulled wine. It had no effect against great hurts, the priest of Mishakal had said, but it did not slow their healing by proper spells. As to the minor hurts not worth serious magic, it at least makes one forget them for a while.

This time Pirvan drank deeply. He wanted to forget many things besides minor hurts, then sleep beside Haimya, to wake and savor her warmth and the soft sound of her breathing.…

A time would come for all of this, but that time was not yet.

Waydol emptied his goblet, which was larger than Darin’s, and Darin’s was as large as Haimya’s and Pirvan’s put together. He set the goblet down, wiped his mouth with a clean cloth, and, with a delicacy of movement that showed his hands still pained him, he coughed.

“I fear I cannot dismiss the trumpeter,” Waydol said. His voice was hoarse, like a man’s with congestion, but otherwise undiminished. Sirbones was a healer of high skill, and while all of the fighters would have aches and pains reminding them of the trial for some days, none would suffer lasting hurt.

“It would shame him,” the Minotaur added. “He came to my band fleeing from apprenticeship to a harsh master. Playing the trumpet was his only pleasure.”

“It is only pain to all who listen,” Pirvan said. “Let us strike a bargain over the trumpeter. If he goes into the world, I will find him a teacher who can tell him if he has any musical art. If he does, well and good. If not, then we can seek some other work for him.”

“You are firm in your honor,” Darin said. He spoke softly, so that he did not need to move his head. Of the four fighters, he had come closest to death; without a skull thicker than most, he might have gone before Sirbones could heal him.

“I am a Knight of Solamnia,” Pirvan said. “I know that only begins the explanation, but I do not have time to tell you every thought that I have had about honor. Leave it that I will no more abandon your men than I would have abandoned mine, and let us go on to the best way of saving them.”

When he accepted Waydol’s oath of peace, Pirvan demanded only that Waydol agree to allow any of his band who so wished to go free. Jemar the Fair’s ships would bear them to Solamnia, where, if they chose peaceful lives, it was unlikely that Istar would seek them out.

Waydol was not bound by anything save his loyalty to his men. Pirvan suspected that the Minotaur intended to seek his homeland again, with his precious burden of knowledge about human ways.

No doubt the minions of the kingpriest would say that Pirvan ought to halt Waydol, even slay him if necessary. No doubt, also, Pirvan would not lift a finger to stop Waydol, and would offer bare steel to anyone else who attempted it.

The knight’s major regret in letting Waydol sail north was not what he might tell his folk. It was losing the chance to know the Minotaur better. Waydol could teach the knights a thing or two about honor and oaths; Pirvan wanted to learn them.

“What of those who do not wish to flee to Solamnia but wish to give up the outlaw life?” Darin added. “Can you do anything for them?”

“The knights would doubtless honor any pledges I made for them, if they took the field,” Pirvan said. “But I think Aurhinius means to settle matters before that happens. So I would urge that all who wish to flee by land do so before we find ourselves besieged. If they quietly vanish from your band and reappear elsewhere as honest men, I doubt that anyone will trouble them.

“The one thing to be avoided like dishonor is anyone trying to be chief of an outlaw band in your place. Then the Istarians will harry this land until it lies ruined, and their fleet and army will loom over Karthay until that city loses patience.”

Those words were out of Pirvan’s mouth before he realized that, to a minotaur, Karthay and Istar spending each other’s strength in a witless war could be a welcome prospect. Yet he did not fear Waydol thinking along those lines.

Waydol believes in the superiority of the minotaurs, as do all his folk. But he believes that they must show their superiority by winning honorably.

“I will have words with any ambitious little men,” Waydol said. “Darin, are you fit to take Gullwing to sea and seek out Jemar the Fair?”

“I feel well, Waydol.”

“Has Sirbones said you are well?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you remain ashore until he speaks,” Waydol said. There could be no more arguing with him than with a battle-axe.

“Jemar may well find us without Darin’s voyage,” Pirvan suggested. “Also, there are signals that he will recognize. If you can build beacon fires on the headland above the cove, they will be visible far out to sea.”

“To the Istarians, as well as to Jemar,” Darin put in.

“I think the place of our stronghold is no longer much of a secret,” Waydol said. “Now we must help our friends win the race to it, against our enemies.”

* * * * *

Aurhinius awoke to the sounds of a great deal of shouting and running about overhead. This seemed to be his normal manner of waking aboard Winged Lady, or indeed any other ship. Fortunately he was a sound sleeper; his good digestion gave him more than a certain roundness of belly.

The running ceased, but the shouting continued. Aurhinius began to make out words. It seemed there was an unidentified ship in sight.

He decided to dress and go on deck, to see how the captain dealt with this. It was the first such sighting since he had come aboard; all the others had been plainly merchant ships of one nation or another. All except one, a low-built sailing vessel that had darted off into a fogbank at a speed that suggested its crew did not wish to be identified.

Aurhinius made less of a business of dressing than usual. Fond as he was of fine attire, he was fonder still of his own dignity-and dressing aboard a warship as though one were at audience with the kingpriest was a sure way to be laughed at.

In long woolen tunic and linen hose, Aurhinius came on deck, about the time the lookout called from the masthead.

“Deck, there! It’s a light galley, under sail. No flag that I can see, but she’s coming toward us.”

Aurhinius looked at the captain, who shrugged. “None of our scouts are missing. Could be a messenger ship, though if she’s coming from the west, she’s likely to be from Solamnia. Can’t be carrying too many men, though, so I won’t hope for knights joining us.”

“Much as I think,” Aurhinius said.

The next hail from the top surprised everyone. “She’s resting on her oars and raising a truce flag. No banners yet, but there’s something painted on her foresail.”

“Nothing hostile, that’s for certain,” the captain said. “Otherwise she’d be running.” He raised his speaking trumpet and shouted aft.

“Port your helm. I want to run down and speak to this galley. And send the men to quarters.”

“Signal the same to the rest of the fleet,” Aurhinius said.

“Begging your pardon, my lord,” the captain said, “but there’s no call for that. If Winged Lady can’t handle a light galley by herself, then you can take your banner elsewhere with my blessings.”

“I can’t think of that,” Aurhinius said, smiling. “Your figurehead is too enticing.”

The captain returned the smile. The bannership’s figurehead was a life-sized carving of a splendidly proportioned woman, wearing nothing but a pair of spreading wings, with every feather exquisitely carved and gilded. There were many different opinions as to which goddess or heroine the figurehead represented. The one that Aurhinius favored was that it was a likeness of the woodcarver’s mistress.

Before the men had taken their stations for battle, the lookout hailed again.

“Deck, ho! The galley’s turned toward us and shaken out her foresail. I can just about make out-Habbakuk guard us!”

“What do you see?” the captain shouted. “Answer, or Habbakuk won’t save you from me!”

“It’s a minotaur’s head on the sail, Captain. A great, huge red minotaur’s head.”

“Any minotaurs aboard?”

“Can’t-no, wait. I can see the people on deck. All human, looks to me.”

Aurhinius snapped his fingers, and one of his servants stepped forward. “My everyday armor and sword, if you please.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He turned to the captain. “We have been seeking Waydol. It appears now that he has also been seeking us.”

* * * * *

Since he set sail three days before, Darin had wondered what his fate would be, if he met the Istarians before he met Jemar. He had not expected to encounter the whole fleet, and with the wind blowing so that Gullwing could not possibly flee.

However, since he recognized Aurhinius’s banner as well, he decided that honor did not require a fight to the death. He ordered the truce flag raised, and considered what he would say to Aurhinius if that flag was to be honored.

He had not expected the Istarian bannership to come down on Gullwing itself, looming over the galley like a draft horse over a pony. Neither did he expect the hail from amidships.

“Ahoy, Waydol’s galley! If there is one aboard with the power to speak for the Minotaur, Gildas Aurhinius would be pleased to host him aboard Winged Lady.”

“Mark my words,” the galley’s Mate of the Deck muttered. “It’ll be hoisted, and by the neck, not hosted.”

“Then we’ll learn that the Istarians have no honor, without losing any of our own,” Darin said.

“But we’ll lose-” the mate began.

“We lose time already, and soon I will lose my patience,” Darin said. His voice did not rumble like Waydol’s, but he managed to be as emphatic.

“Aye-aye, Heir,” the mate said.

Darin went across to Winged Lady in a boat sent from the bannership, a further unexpected courtesy. It arrived so quickly that he barely had time to change the shirt he had worn since sailing day and give his boots a quick rub with a coarse cloth.

Then he swung down into the boat, conscious of a great many of his men directing their eyes upward as if in prayer. He himself wondered if he should ask the gods at least to keep him from saying anything stupid.

He had little chance to say anything at all for a while, as he was courteously rushed aboard and then below, rather as if he were to be hidden from eyes elsewhere in the fleet. If this was so, whose eyes?

That concern left him swiftly as he was ushered into Aurhinius’s cabin. Confronted with a man whom he had gone to some trouble to embarrass, and who now had the power of life and death over him, he knew he needed to do more than to avoid anything stupid. He really needed the eloquence of a scholar-priest.

“I trust my helmet is receiving proper care,” Aurhinius said. He made no move to rise.

Darin kept face and voice bland. “I entrusted it to Waydol himself. He honors trophies from worthy foes.”

“Then perhaps I may return the courtesy, in time,” Aurhinius said. “If you had left it with that kender-”

“Imsaffor Whistletrot is a trusted and loyal comrade of many battles,” Darin said.

“I do not doubt that. But kender are not the best folk for taking care of others’ valuables.”

Now Aurhinius rose. He still did not offer to shake hands or step out from behind his desk, let alone suggest that Darin sit.

“I believe that we both seek Jemar the Fair. It that not so?”

Lying seemed futile or worse. “Yes.”

Aurhinius clasped his hands behind his back. “Now, Heir to the Minotaur. We can either sink your ship and take your men aboard to continue the quest for Jemar as our guests, or we can sail in company. The choice is yours.

“What will earn you your ship and your men’s freedom is an answer. For what purpose do you seek Jemar?”

“None that can injure Istar or offend the gods.”

“You seem to believe that you know all about Istar’s intrigues and also the will of the gods. That makes you wise beyond your years. Also beyond belief.”

Aurhinius slapped both hands down on the desk. Inkwells and pens jumped. “Do not take me for a fool! I have no reason to trust you and every right and power to take your head and those of your men.”

“You have those,” Darin said, then swallowed. “But you also have the wisdom, and I believe the sense of honor, not to do so.”

Before Aurhinius could reply, Darin continued. “Lord Aurhinius, let us therefore deal honorably with one another. Let each of us say why he seeks Jemar, under oath to tell the truth. If we do this, and you mean Jemar no harm, I will sail with you.

“Otherwise, you will have to pay for Gullwing and every man aboard her in blood. Do not be sure that your blood will not be part of the price, either.”

Darin had not expected the threat to move Aurhinius to either fear or violence. Even less had he expected what came next, which was laughter.

“If you are what comes of a minotaur’s teaching, then perhaps we should hire minotaurs to teach more of Istar’s young men. You have an old head on young shoulders, which is far too rare these days and promises to become rarer.”

Aurhinius pushed a stool out from behind the desk. “Sit down, Darin, and tell me if Jemar means to aid Waydol in any way that can harm Istar.”

“He does not. Waydol is oathbound to Sir Pirvan of Tiradot, Knight of the Crown, by right of Sir Pirvan’s victory in a combat trial.”

“A human beating a minotaur?”

Darin flushed. “Two humans, beating a minotaur and-another human.”

Aurhinius was too polite to ask the obvious question. “So Waydol means to withdraw from Istarian land-at least what he holds now-and trouble our peace no further? And he will do this aboard Jemar’s ships?”

“The gods willing, yes. You may also have something to say about that.”

Aurhinius had a good deal to say about what he and Istar’s sailors and soldiers could and could not do. But in the end, Darin felt that the Istarian could be trusted to make no hostile move against Jemar, as long as the sea barbarian removed Waydol and the outlaws and did nothing else.

But how to warn against treachery, if Aurhinius was not perhaps complete master in his own house? Darin realized that, indeed, his sailing with the Istarian fleet would give him the earliest warning of any treachery. He would then have to gamble on finding darkness or bad weather to slip away, as well as the soundness of his ship and crew, and even then hope for the favor of the gods.

But he was being given as a free gift what he now realized he should have eagerly sought. Perhaps the gods were already with him.

The handshake between the Istarian general and the Minotaur’s Heir was that of two men who each felt that they had come out ahead in honest bargaining.

* * * * *

Sir Niebar contemplated the four men-at-arms standing in front of him, and the locked door behind them.

“I am asking you to accompany me and two other knights in a matter of grave concern to the Knights of Solamnia and the peace of the realms. If any of you feels that you cannot promise to obey me as you would Sir Pirvan, you may leave now. You will lose nothing thereby.”

All four men stared back. No doubt they found him far more mysterious than he found them. None of them, however, so much as looked toward the door.

“Very well. This matter is one not only of concern to the knights, but it is also close to Sir Pirvan’s heart. It concerns the unlawful captivity of a kender.”

He told briefly of Pirvan’s discoveries at the Inn of the Chained Ogre, then continued. “Since Sir Pirvan embarked on the remainder of his journey, we have learned more about the inn. It may be a center of certain-rites-conducted without the knowledge or blessing of the kingpriest.”

The training of the Servants of Silence was only partly a rite, and Sir Niebar and Sir Marod both gravely doubted it went on without some blessing of the kingpriest. But to ask these men to follow him into open warfare against the kingpriest would be asking too much. Moreover, if they could claim ignorance of the true purpose of the raid, any vengeance would be more likely to fall on Sir Niebar alone.

Beyond the loss of honor, through lying to these good men.

“So-the kender’s a witness?” one of the men said.

“Of that, and other things.”

“Against humans, or kender, or who?”

Niebar reined in tongue and temper. “Does it matter?”

“Well, Sir Niebar, to my way of thinking, it’s overdue for us to be taking a hand on the side of the other folk. I’m no great lover of any of the odd breeds, but I think-I won’t say the kingpriest, but maybe some close to him-are trying to gull us. Let folk get into bad habits toward kender, and next thing you know, they’ll be doing it to each other.”

“Aye,” said a second man. “I’d do this, too, for anyone but a gully dwarf.”

Who are not likely to need our help, Niebar considered. What the gully dwarves lacked in wisdom, they made up for in centuries of experience in hiding, so that would-be persecutors often gave up even trying to find them.

Kender, on the other hand, were about as hard to overlook as the Towers of High Sorcery.

* * * * *

Darkness clamped down on the sea like a vast lid on a bowl. Tarothin stood in the waist of Pride of the Mountains, judging the distance to the ship with the minotaur head on its foresail.

All he could see of it now was its stern lantern. Darkness had long since swallowed the minotaur head and everything else aboard, including the young giant, as tall as a minotaur himself, who strode the deck.

The Minotaur had sent his heir to sea, probably in search of Jemar rather than what he had found. The heir had even survived this unexpected meeting, thanks to the favor of the gods, the honor of Aurhinius, and very probably the ignorance of the priests of Zeboim.

Tarothin had used the spell-hearing trance sparingly since the first time, and not at all in the past few days. The priests of Zeboim seemed quiet for the moment, and the wizard would have given ten years of his life to know why.

Did they think that victory was already won, without further need to exert themselves? Or were they saving their strength, to fight desperate battles they saw ahead?

Which, of course, depended on how they defined “victory”-and Tarothin would not even venture a guess at that. The priesthood of Zeboim was more secretive than most, and priests of Zeboim set afloat with all restraints removed by the command of the kingpriest himself were likely to defy ordinary human or even wizardly understanding.

However, if Tarothin could not understand them, he could at least carry a warning. The Red Robe ran through his mind the estimate he had already reached, about the distance to Waydol’s ship. He was not an accomplished swimmer, having come to that skill late in life, but he was not what he had been aboard Golden Cup on the voyage to Crater Gulf, a man who would have sunk like a stone if he’d gone overboard.

Also, the water was warmer than farther south, the wind light, and the darkness fit to hide him. If he could just get overboard without a splash that would have the alarm up and boats scurrying about in search of him-

Boats. Like many ships of the fleet, Pride of the Mountains was towing a couple of seagoing barges, fitted to sail or row and able to carry heavy loads of soldiers or stores. The towlines trailed from the waist. If he could just climb down one of them, without being seen, then slip quietly overboard from the barge …

This was one of those decisions, Tarothin realized, that had to be turned into action before thinking about it drained the courage to even try. He had his staff with him, and a waterproof pouch of herbs for certain spells never left his person, even when he bathed.

He was as ready to go now as he ever would be. He refused to think about losing his way, about encountering hungry fish, about being in the water so long that it chilled him to weakness.

Instead he waited until no one was looking toward the port side. Then he climbed over the railing, wrapped arms and legs around the towline, and began a clumsy slide down it toward the barge.