The Wayward Knights

Chapter 13

Zeskuk was hosting this meeting in his personal cabin aboard Cleaver, so it was hotter than usual and as crowded as could be, with three minotaurs. There was Zeskuk himself, there was Thenvor, leader of those who disputed his leadership (more precisely: those who wanted him food for sharks or magical monsters), and there was Lujimar, chief among the magicworkers with the fleet of the Destined Race.

Zeskuk would gladly have had a fourth-his sister-but her post of duty was with the humans. He had allowed himself to feel some happiness that after her feats in the battle she would have less need to guard her back. Not that she would lack enemies ready to thrust steel into it, but she now had human friends who would stand against their own kind even for a minotaur.

The chief judged that his guests were waiting for something. He doubted it was the servant bringing a second helping of supper, although Lujimar clearly suffered no lack of appetite. If he was ill, as rumors babbled, it was not in the stomach.

"We have done-"

"Not well enough," Thenvor said.

Zeskuk raised a fist as politely as one could execute that gesture. "Pray be silent until I am done," he said, "then call what I say nonsense. If you consent, you have leave to speak freely."

He hoped Thenvor would not interpret that as freedom to question Zeskuk's honor. Even here, in such privacy as a ship afforded, that meant a challenge; a challenge meant lost time. That concerned Zeskuk more than the possibility of losing to Thenvor, who was a formidable fighter and might carry the bout to the death. Whatever course the fleet might steer, it had best not wait to turn on to it until after a challenge bout.

Vivid images of the fleet perishing on the reefs had come to Zeskuk several times during the night. Once he had been sure he was asleep and having a nightmare. Once he had been sure he was awake, but perhaps uneasy in his mind. About the other times, he could not be sure, but the images had been just as vivid, including even the cries of the drowning.

Zeskuk was a sensible minotaur, which was to say that he believed in prophetic dreams. Lying awake in the dawn he had seriously considered whether or not he had received a warning. A warning, perhaps, that he risked thousands of lives over mere curiosity about the mysteries of Suivinari Island.

Had he been sure he had received a warning, and from some source he could trust, his course would have been clear. As it was, he thought he could wait a few days, sending no more warriors ashore to die, but remaining off the island to see what happened-in the waking world and in his dreams.

Thenvor's jerk of the head might have been a nod. Lujimar s eyes said that it would be taken as such. Zeskuk went on. "We have done less well than I had hoped. We have sent stores and reinforcements to our comrades on the Green Mountain. We have made no path that we can use day after day."

"The humans did not even do that well," Thenvor said, as politely as he ever spoke.

"No, but their magic allowed us to do as well as we did, by breaking the storm and slowing the attack of the mage-monsters," Lujimar said. "They may well have done this more to save themselves than to aid us, but honor requires one to acknowledge a gift, even if unintended.

"I know the scrolls as well as you do," Thenvor said, reverting to his usual pettishness. "Perhaps I know the scrolls of war better than you. I acknowledge that we owe them something. Not killing them outright would seem to be enough."

"Are you thinking, as I have been, that Suivinari Island is too useless to anyone except the mage who calls it home for us to fight anyone over it?" Zeskuk asked. "That we should withdraw, giving that as our reason?"

"Yes," Thenvor said.

"No," Lujimar replied.

Such needle-horned contradiction was rare for Lujimar. Not only had he never questioned anyone's honor, but he had seldom publicly questioned anyone's judgment.

Perhaps he did not consider this public.

"You think we should remain?" Zeskuk asked Lujimar.

"I know that we should," Lujimar replied.

"The gods have told you?" Thenvor sneered.

"It may have been the gods, speaking to me or to others among us," Lujimar said, with the bland confidence of one who sold horn-strengthening potions in the stands of the arena. "But the message was clear."

Zeskuk wondered if Lujimar had received one of the dreams, or sendings, or prophecies. This was not the time or place to ask, however-certainly not when it would mean he and Lujimar comparing dreams in Thenvor's hearing.

"The danger to the fleet is also clear, if we are here for the next storm and no magic can stand against it," Thenvor said. "We had enough trouble on land when we went armed and by intent. Cast away, we will be doomed."

"You croak," Lujimar said, which was the strongest word Zeskuk could ever recall him uttering to another. For a moment it seemed that Thenvor would ask for Lujimar to appoint a champion for a contest of honor.

"We will remain here three more days," Zeskuk said. He would give Thenvor a cup of water if he were dying of thirst, if only to prevent challenges from his kin. He would not give his rival the satisfaction of watching an open quarrel between war chief and magic chief.

"That is not enough," Lujimar said.

"I say it will be," Zeskuk said, as firmly as the priest. "We shall not leave later, unless a way is found around the mage-monsters to cleanse the island of their creator. We shall not stay that long if we learn that the humans have knowledge that they have withheld from us."

"Ah, that witling Captain Torvik," Thenvor said.

"Not quite," Zeskuk concluded. "Captain, yes. Witling, hardly. Unless he is no true son of either his father or mother."

Two of the three Wayward Knights met with Sir Niebar, in Sir Niebar's cabin. Pirvan would have preferred a boat with no one else but them in it, and he and Hawkbrother would gladly have rowed. But even with Tarothin's healing spells fighting it, ship fever had left Sir Niebar too weak to leave Wavebiter and barely with the strength to come on deck. Even if no unwanted ears would hear, on deck unwanted eyes might see. So they stayed below.

"They will leave if they can't do better than we can," Hawkbrother insisted.

" 'They,' as in the minotaurs?" Sir Niebar asked.

"Of course."

"I would take that better coming from Sir Darin," Niebar said. "Although I must admit that you are as right as anyone could be, Sir Darin included."

"The secret may lie with Torvik," Sir Pirvan said. He crossed one leg over the other and crossed his hands on the upper knee. The others in the cabin knew this meant he was uneasy; he did not care.

He was about to use private and personal knowledge about someone to whom his only ties were old friendship, not the Oath and the Measure, to advance the cause of the knights. Also of the knights' allies, and many others, the minotaurs probably included. But his honor would have been as much engaged if only one person was to be saved, as if it were a multitude. The Measure of the Knights of the Rose distinguished between public and private obligations; Pirvan himself had not grown accustomed to doing so.

"Now, my wife has old sell-sword comrades aboard nearly every ship in the fleet," Pirvan said. "All but those who worship the kingpriest in place of the gods will speak to her. They will also speak to the old fighters and sailors of Torvik's father Jemar the Fair.

"Haimya learned that Torvik's sister Chuina has been promoted to sergeant of archers aboard Windmaster's Gift. She sent Chuina a generous purse-from our own funds-celebrating that promotion. She also sent a letter, saying how worried we were about Torvik, as friends of his mother, his father, and his stepfather. Unless Chuina is a witling-"

"Or enemy to Torvik," Hawkbrother said. "As the last of four brothers, I can assure you that kin are not always friends."

"Chuina has never had Threehand's reasons to quarrel with you," Pirvan admonished the young knight. "But I am grateful for the reminder. Another time, we should think on it."

Hawkbrother looked gratefully at his wife's father, for sparing him embarrassment over interrupting with something the older knights knew perfectly well. Pirvan's reply was a grin. Young Eskaia had chosen well, even if she'd wed in haste; he would not have unmade her choice if he could.

"Sister spying on brother?" Sir Niebar said, frowning.

"Sister taking counsel with brother," Pirvan replied. "Knowing Torvik, who is no more a witling than his sister, he would not be silent unless he held a secret that was not his to reveal.

"But everyone possessed of such a secret needs to unburden himself to someone he trusts, to see if he must truly bear that burden. I do it with Haimya. Torvik has no wife, but I judge him to be willing to speak to Chuina and to hear her as well."

"But she is even younger than-" Hawkbrother began.

"-you?" Pirvan said. "Yes. And no older than your wife, my daughter Eskaia. I hope that does not mean you doubt Eskaia's wisdom."

Hawkbrother suddenly took on the air of one staring at a loaded and cocked crossbow ready to fling a bolt into his chest. His mouth opened.

Sir Niebar laughed, and then spoke quickly, to save the young knight further embarrassment. "Sisters can be positive oracles, if the secret involves a woman. I know. I was the youngest of five, and the elder four were all girls."

"No wonder you joined the knights," Pirvan said.

The sun had just begun to swell to the vast orange ball that would float on the horizon for a while before sinking into the sea when Zeskuk heard two sets of minotaur footsteps on the deck behind him.

He turned to see, instead, one minotaur and one human. Although the error was not surprising; the human was Sir Darin, who could look at least a third of Cleaver's crew in the eye. Zeskuk was enough taller than Darin that the knight had to look up at the minotaur. When the minotaur looked down, he saw something that he did not enjoy.

Darin wore no armor, but he wore sword and dagger. He also wore all his marks of rank as a Knight of the Sword, over a sleeveless jerkin in the minotaur style. This left his massive arms bare but for minotaur-work arm rings. Waydol's gifts.

The minotaur was Lujimar. In spite of the heat, he wore his full priestly robes, red with the spiked yellow borders, broad studded leather belt, dragon-wing bracelets, and white paint on his horns. All of this gave Zeskuk such a sense of foreboding that it was almost painful. The dreams of the fleet's perishing on the reef had not made him half so uneasy.

Being of a warrior race taught to triumph over pain, he let none of this show on his face. Instead he took the most formal stance, arms crossed on his chest. To use any other, he suspected, would be taken as suspecting treachery-and then he would be questioning Darin's honor, instead of the other way around.

Darin raised both arms, hands held with fingers spread to show that they were empty. "By the Oath and the Measure," the knight called, "declaring me Knight of the Sword in the Knights of Solamnia. By my prowess as a warrior. By my fostering by Waydol, a minotaur warrior of unequaled honor.

"Zeskuk," he continued, "chief over the minotaur fleet at Suivinari Island, wishes to depart and leave evil possessing the island save for what humans may do.

"That to do this is a wish that evil triumph.

"That to wish this, if one is not oneself evil, is a betrayal of the true gods of both men and minotaurs, of those sailors, both men and minotaurs, who may come to the island in the future, and to all those whom evil magecraft may put in danger, be they men, minotaurs, or any other race upon the face of Krynn.

"By wishing this, Zeskuk has betrayed his own honor. I call challenge upon him, that he may prove with his own arm and by his own blood his unimpaired honor."

Zeskuk doubted that he could learn anything by looking further at Darin or Lujimar. He would have given ten years off his life to be able to speak to them, but the laws bound him too tightly for that.

He could not inquire what Lujimar might have told Darin without first meeting Darin's challenge. Otherwise his honor would be in question for refusing a lawful challenge, and that would be handing the fleet over to Thenvor.

He would also have to defeat Darin. Otherwise the charge against him would stand, and Lujimar would have the right to refuse to answer any of his questions, or to appoint a champion if Zeskuk was foolish enough to question the minotaur mage's honor. Zeskuk had the sense of having been outmaneuvered and surrounded with sublime skill, on the deck of his own flagship. He looked around, wondering how the audience for this little drama was taking it.

He had never seen so many minotaurs so silent or so still aboard a ship, not since he first stepped aboard one when he was seven. He tried to calm himself with steady breathing, knowing that his reply would reach not only Thenvor's ears (which he could endure) but would be read by minotaurs for five generations to come.

Minotaurs, ha! "Men, minotaurs, or any other race upon the face of Krynn," or at least any who could read and knew war and honor. The thought of the scrutiny of that much posterity nearly clogged Zeskuk's throat. He waited until he could speak clearly before replying.

"I accept the challenge of Sir Darin, Knight of the Sword and fosterling of Waydol, to prove my honor unimpaired, with my own arm and my own blood.

"Those who speak for us shall set a time and a place, not farther from here than one hour's sailing from the shores of Suivinari Island and not later than four sunsets from this time. I further swear that if it is the judgment of this duel that my honor is flawed, I shall remain at Suivinari Island until my death or the defeat of the enemy. I shall also invite all sworn to me to remain with me, and do battle at my side."

He had thought of promising more, but even the most honorable and knightly minotaur-fostered human deserved only so much. Also, he could hardly have promised more in good faith. To try to bind Thenvor, for example, would have made challenges and mutinies sprout about him like weeds in an untended tomb-field, and would have undone any good that came from the match.

When he saw the tightness in Darin's face and stance, Zeskuk almost laughed. The knight was as little at ease over this challenge as he was.

"One sign that this fight is honorable, I think all can see," Zeskuk said. He raised his voice to be heard or at least to break the silence on deck before it played further havoc with his peace of mind. "Sir Darin is minotaur-sized, and taught to fight by a minotaur who was not the least warrior of his day. So I acquit Sir Darin of any intent to make me look as ridiculous as a minotaur usually does, fighting a human."

Darin actually smiled, which made Lujimar frown. "In time, perhaps, you should hear the full story of the fight between me and Waydol on the one hand, and Sir Pirvan and his lady Haimya on the other," he said. "I assure you that no one and nothing in the fight was ludicrous, and it was only by the gods' favor that we all lived to fight again."

"Then let us hope for such favor this time as well, whoever stands first," Zeskuk said. He knew that was close to binding himself not to carry the fight to the death, but that was his firm intent anyway. The more people who knew this, the better.

The fewer people who knew why, however, also the better. And accidents could claim the most accomplished duelists. Zeskuk hoped Fulvura would understand it all, and not mourn in any unseemly fashion if his luck was out. He also hoped that the humans would attempt no treachery against her if the minotaurs did sail, but did not expect to need to avenge her.

By the time Fulvura went down, there would be such a pile of human dead atop her that the little ones would need to dig out her body before they could take her horns for trophies!

The flute and drums from Red Elf floated over the water, out past long bowshot to the boat where Torvik sat facing his sister Chuina.

She was a year younger than he and had not spent as much time afloat, but somehow looked older. Perhaps it was just her new sergeancy, that the flutes and drums (and the wine and the ale, the fish, the pickles, and the cakes, all bought with Lady Haimya's bounty) were celebrating aboard both Red Elf and Windmaster's Gift.

Certainly she had grown since he last saw her. If she had any more growing to do, she would be taller than he, with long arms well made for archery. She was also darker, and her hair grew in tight curls that she had now tied up with red and silver threads that did not quite match her heavy dwarven-work gold earrings.

"Those are new," Torvik said, for lack of anything else.

"A parting gift from a special friend," Chuina said, with a reminiscent smile.

Torvik frowned. She caught the change of expression. "What, brother mine? Surely you did not expect me to be a maiden after all this time?"

"Well, it has not been quite enough time to forget the little sister who wanted me to take her out in my first boat," he said. 'This reminds me of that day. Thinking of you as a grown woman comes a trifle hard."

Chuina patted his cheek. "There are rumors that thinking comes hard to you at all these days," she chided. "From some people I would believe nothing of the sort, but the tales have reached Lady Haimya. When she worries, only a fool ignores the tales."

Torvik had indeed been thinking since before dawn, but about only one thing, and that was not his sister's promotion. The message had been inscribed with a rock on a large fluted trumpet shell that he had found on his cabin deck in the pale gray of early morning. He had memorized it before the change of watch, and had not dared leave it lying about, so he had it in his belt pouch now. He silently pulled it out and as silently handed it to Chuina. She turned it over and over in her hand several times, then took a while to read the message. Torvik wondered if she doubted her eyes, needed to know the rest of the story, or could not make out Mirraleen's writing. The Dimernesti's talents did not include a fine, fair hand.

Without waiting for the question, Torvik told his sister the full tale. She listened in silence, holding the shell, then asked only: "Is this a trap, do you think?"

It was a question on which Torvik had pondered much without finding an answer. He spoke what he believed to be the truth. "There may be a trap along the course I take to her, but I do not think it will be she who sets it."

"Have you lain with her?"

This time Torvik was ready for his sister's frankness. "No, and not because I have not thought of it," he told her. "In elven guise she is very fair, although rather taller than I."

"That was not idle curiosity," Chuina persisted. "If rumor got about that you had-"

"I know what rumor will say," he cut her off, "and what those who listen might do. I am unclean, have lost my virtue to a lesser breed, and on and on like that to no purpose. Would you have me afraid of small-minded rattle-jaws and arrant witlings?"

"No, but you cannot keep me from being afraid for you." She licked her lips and said, "Could I come with you, to guard your back and summon help if a trap does spring?"

Torvik pondered again, then shook his head. "Mirraleen would suspect betrayal. She would also suspect it if I did not come, and consider what she offers."

"A way into the mage's stronghold, outflanking all his magic and monsters," Chuina said. "Yes. That is precious, if only to keep common folly from setting men and minotaurs at odds to no purpose."

"Then we agree, and you can help. Stay at your party, be seen by everybody, and hide as best you can the fact that I am gone. Lady Haimya doubtless thought she was doing us a service with that purse-"

"I saw you eat five helpings of the clams pickled in onion juice," Chuina joked. "You're a fine one to talk!"

"-but she made sure that both of us would be much sought-after. So you have to do the work of both of us," he finished.

"Well and good. I've always wanted to dance on the capstan."

"Dance on the capstan or the bowsprit. Dance in armor or starlight. Dance where and how you please, but keep everyone ignorant that your brother Torvik is-"

He broke off. From seaward, the breeze had carried to his ears the barking of sea otters.

Zeskuk hurried to Cleaver's aftercastle, and the crew made way for him without turning their eyes from the sea.

He followed where they were pointing and saw at least twenty, perhaps twice that, sea otters swimming rapidly eastward. They were staying just out of harpoon range of the ships, and Zeskuk sent a message to hail the few boats in the water, reminding them against any otter hunting.

He had warned the fleet on the matter after Torvik's tale reached him, but there were always fools who forgot the taste of the first drink by the time they ordered the fourth. He did not want to have to clap too many minotaurs in irons for the rest of the voyage, especially not any of Thenvor's folk.

Moreover, he was sure of one thing: If Torvik had any secrets the minotaurs needed to know, their killing sea otters would close the young human captain's mouth as thoroughly as if he were dead.

The sea otters swam out of sight and out to sea as the swift darkness of a tropical night came down on Suivinari Island.