The Wayward Knights

Chapter 6

Gerik wore his second-best tunic and his best traveling cloak for his supper in Ellysta's chamber. Everything else fit for visiting ladies either direly needed a stiff brush and a hot iron, or else had been a winter home for the moths.

He doubted that Ellysta was expecting a fine Istaran gallant, in either manners or garb, but if she was, she would just have to be disappointed. There was too much work at Tirabot, and too few hands to do it, for him to devote much effort to his clothing. Indeed, he wondered what Ellysta might be expecting in matters besides clothing. She said she was a merchant's daughter, who had lived on in the country after both her betrothed and her mother died, for her father had wed again and Ellysta and her stepmother struck sparks whenever they met.

It was not an implausible story, but Gerik remembered how in old tales women who came out of nowhere with such stories so often turned out to be wizards, dragons, or even goddesses in disguise.

Gerik doubted that Ellysta was any such thing. He had heard enough about her experience to know that no one able to prevent it would have endured it. Therefore she was mortal, and likely to be offering friendship in return for his hospitality. From such an honorable beginning, they need not go any farther. But if they did, it seemed likely that they would be good company for each other.

At least that was what Gerik told himself, as he strode across the courtyard, conscious of eyes on him and even one or two grins hastily hidden as he passed by. He was also conscious that under his tunic was a chain of fine gold, with good-luck blessings put on it by both Tarothin and Sirbones.

He wondered if the Red Robe wizard and the priest of Mishakal were ever coming back to Tirabot, even for a friendly visit. Or perhaps, hearing of his parents' embarking for Suivinari, the two old magicworkers would find the strength to go along with them?

He would have to ask, in his next message to his parents, although it might not reach them before they sailed. Indeed, he had begun to wonder if they had received his first message. Certainly he had received no reply.

"Your pardon, good sir."

Bertsa Wylum stood before him. He halted.

"What news?" he asked.

"A hunter came in, with word of a great roaring sound over toward the Huichpa Forest."

"That's Dirivan land, isn't it?"

"Near enough," she said, nodding. "They try to keep anyone but their foresters from cutting timber in it at least."

Gerik mentally calculated distances. "If it was that great, shouldn't we have heard it here?" he asked.

"Sometimes sound travels in freakish ways, so that you can be standing right in the middle of the thunder and not hear it." She lowered her voice. "But a sentry said he saw a big cloud of smoke off that way, just before the light went."

Gerik looked up. The sky was not only dark but starless. The air held the smell of oncoming rain, and the wind was rising.

"Unless you hear more," he told her, "there's no need to send anyone out with a storm coming on."

"We can't send people into the Huichpa by day, I'm afraid."

"No, but there will be less wild nights. Besides, tonight all the Dirivan riders will be out and alert."

"They might also find us hard to see," she said, "in the storm."

"Or we might find it hard to see anything, including ambushes and even where the sound came from."

"There's sense in that," Wylum admitted, though she sounded as if there was not normally enough sense for her to follow Gerik's orders. If he had not been the son of her sworn chief and commander…

Gerik watched Wylum turn away, and wondered why he had so little fear of such women. Doubtless most of it had to be the influence of his mother, who never held back a word she thought needed saying. His father had played a part as well. He had never questioned Haimya's right to say those words, or failed to listen to them-even when he afterward told her they were nonsense.

Horimpsot Elderdrake had never been so battered and miserable in his life as on his journey back to Tirabot, and that was before it started to rain.

After it started to rain, he would have been the most miserable kender on Krynn, not to mention the most improperly clad (at least among those kender doing things that required clothing). Fortunately, he had a small turn of luck just before the skies opened.

The lights of a farm shone off to his left, and by those lights he saw a farm wife taking in laundry from a rope strung between two pear trees. Elderdrake quickly darted into the orchard, and came out at what he intended to be the end of the rope farthest from the woman.

Instead, he emerged from the trees practically under her feet. She screamed and threw up her hands. The laundry basket fell, and the laundry flew. The kender did not stop to sort for size or color. He merely snatched the first three pieces that came to hand and darted back into the darkness.

The woman's screams pursued him for some way, until the advancing thunder drowned them out. He hoped that the storm would discourage pursuit, until he was back at Tirabot and had explained everything to Lord Gerik, who should be able to explain them to the woman.

Elderdrake had the feeling that with the ghost paint all over him he had frightened the woman even more than he would have otherwise. Now, if he could just talk Shumeen into loaning him another Istaran tower's worth of copper pieces, he ought to be able to at least pay for the laundry.

Thunder tore at his battered ears. It would have torn more fiercely, if he had been able to hear it more clearly. Than a fat drop of rain struck his nose, and another trickled down one singed ear.

Elderdrake stopped to put on the stolen garments-or wrap them around him, at least, for he seemed to have stolen mostly the bed linens. He managed a semblance of garb by using his belt and the rags of his old clothes to tie the bedding on to himself.

Then he strode on, as the air turned to water and the ground to mud. He realized that he would reach Tirabot Manor as wet as if he had not stopped to clothe himself, and he might look just as ridiculous.

But if fear of looking ridiculous had ever stopped or even slowed a kender, the race would long since have died out.

The supper Ellysta had arranged was simple enough: stew, light cakes, and wine. But the stew and wine had traces of herbs Gerik had never encountered, and doubted were from the castle kitchen. The cakes were plainly not of the cook's baking, and Gerik swore that he would hire whoever had baked them to prepare his parents' home-coming banquet, even should they prove to be hobgoblins!

"They looted the cottage quite enough to please themselves," Ellysta said, in answer to his question about the herbs. "But they did not break all the pots and vials. Shumeen snatched up a few before we left."

The old tales spoke of wine used as the base for magical potions to enslave men, but Gerik did not feel enslaved. He was not entirely sober, either, after the third cup of the herb-altered wine, but he was seeing the woman who was at the same time his guest and his host with clear eyes.

She had to be only a handful of years older than he, if that much. Even a few days free from want, war, and fear had taken the hunted animal look from her blue eyes and the gauntness from her face.

The visible wounds on her hands and face were healing under Serafina's deft touch and abundant potions; all the rest were hidden under one of Serafina's borrowed gowns. It was rather too large for Ellysta, and had not been designed to display the wearer's figure even when it fit.

Altogether, Gerik found himself enjoying Ellysta's company, with no sense of further obligation or fear of consequences. If this came from the wine, it was the most pleasant sensation he had won from the grape since he first tasted it as a boy.

He could spend half his evenings for a year like this, if they were all as agreeable.

Ellysta added details of her adventures, over the last of the wine in the jug. Some of Gerik's comfort departed, because he sensed she was holding things back. At last he held up a hand.

"Ellysta, you are telling me either too much or too little," he said. "Either too much for your peace mind, or too little for mine."

"I am not a spy for the kingpriest," she said, without indignation, real or forced. She might have been saying that the jug was empty.

"I was not even thinking that!" Gerik wondered how to put his next thought into words. "The-those who healed you-told me enough."

Ellysta closed her eyes. She also bit her lip. Before tears could trickle down her cheeks, she turned away.

Gerik wanted to brush a hand across her cheek or her hair. By Branchala, he wished he dared to take her in his arms and hold her while she wept, to tell her that with him she did not need to pretend to more courage than she had!

He reached for the napkin to shake the crumbs off it and hand it to her to wipe her eyes. She reached for it at the same moment. Their fingers brushed against one another. He felt her hand tremble, but she did not draw it back. After a moment, he decided to also leave his hand where it was.

They sat there for what seemed enough time for all three moons to go through their phases. In truth, it could not have been more than a few minutes, because a wine stain on the tablecloth was still damp when Ellysta moved her fingers on to Gerik's hand, then past his wrist and up his arm.

At the elbow, she stopped. She was trembling, her breath came short, and also Gerik's sleeves were tight above the elbow and loose below. That last brought a smile to both their faces, but Ellysta's faded at once.

Gerik was indeed no innocent in the matter of women, but was careful never to say so, knowing that few women liked to hear it. It often sounded more like boasting than a promise. Therefore, he knew something about when a garment becomes an obstacle. But now he found that he was far from experienced enough to know what he should do now, here, with Ellysta. He doubted that Paladine himself would know.

Gerik also resolved that although he was not a god, with eons before him, he would wait at least all through this night rather than give Ellysta a moment's unease. The honor of Tirabot Manor, and his own, demanded nothing else.

At last Ellysta reached out with her other hand, and moved it up Gerik's other arm. She tightened her grip, with a strength that surprised Gerik. A sudden picture in his mind made him laugh.

She almost glared.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"I remember a song, where the lady grips both the man's arms so that her friend can strike him down from behind."

"Not very honorable."

"No, but the man had treated the lady most shamefully."

"Then you have nothing to fear," Ellysta said. She pulled herself to her feet. Gerik thought she swayed for a moment, then she stepped around the table.

She did not sway as she stood there for another week's-long moment. Instead, she took three deep breaths. Then she stepped forward, into Gerik's arms.

"If I can be afraid of you, then I am too fear-ridden to go on living," she breathed. "Hold me."

Gerik began his embrace as gently as if he had been picking up a week-old chick. Ellysta quickly tightened hers. Indeed, she seemed almost angry until he replied with a firmer embrace of his own.

Elderdrake decided to make his way into the manor house through a window, rather than a door. Windows were less likely to be guarded by those who would ask questions or even halt him.

He wanted to tell Gerik and Shumeen at once about what he had seen and learned. But more than that, he first wanted to wash the grime off himself and put on at least one garment that didn't look like a stolen, sodden, filthy rag.

The luck that had walked with the kender so far tonight now deserted him. The only open window he could see happened to be Ellysta's. So he climbed to that.

Then his half-deafened ears did not let him hear the sounds from within the chamber, even when the thunder was not crashing and rolling. Finally, as he gathered himself for a leap into the chamber, a flash of lightning close by dazzled him. He did not see what the people within were about, and how little they would care to have visitors flying in through the window.

This time Elderdrake landed on his feet. It did not help much, because a scream battered one ear and a savage oath battered the other.

He found himself confronted by Gerik and Ellysta, both rather less clad than he himself. Each of them had snatched up a garment, although Elderdrake wanted to laugh when he saw that Gerik had snatched up Ellysta's shift and Ellysta held Gerik's shirt.

It did not make him want to laugh, however, to see the point of Gerik's sword a finger's length from his nose, and a dagger in Ellysta's free hand.

Then Gerik swore again, more softly "By all the foul creatures of the Abyss, what are you doing here, friend?"

"Eh…" was the first thing Elderdrake said. He realized that that might not tell his hosts much, so he tried harder the next time.

It came out, "Ahhhh-" followed by "-choo!" as he sneezed violently.

Then he started coughing. Ellysta managed to pull Gerik's shirt over her head, ran to the kender, and knelt beside him.

"Mishakal be merciful!" she exclaimed. "He's burned, bruised, lame, and wearing what looks like someone's stolen bedclothes. Where have you been?"

Between coughs, Elderdrake tried to tell his story.

In the intervals between the thunder, however, he also heard shouts outside, and even worse, pounding feet on the stairs. When pounding fists on the door joined the pounding feet, Elderdrake wanted to sink into the floor. He started shaking, and found that he could not stop.

"Gerik," Ellysta said firmly. "Put some of our clothes beside the brazier. Don't set them on fire, just warm them up while I take our friend out of these rags.

"And call off those hounds of yours barking in the hall. They have no work here!"

Gerik laughed.

Ellysta stood up, and Elderdrake had a moment to appreciate the fine sight she made, with her hair spilling down her back and long legs thrust out of Gerik's shirt.

"Now what is funny?" Ellysta asked.

"The gods have put me in charge of commanding women, from the day of my birth," Gerik replied.

"You are going to regret that day, if your guards come charging in here like Solamnic heavy cavalry!" she threatened.

Gerik was still laughing as he moved to the door and shouted through it. "There is no cause for alarm. One of the kender was sick and lost his way. Send a messenger to Shumeen, and also to Lady Serafina."

Elderdrake heard mutterings outside the door. It sounded less like disobedience than who would have these unwelcome tasks. Shumeen was hard to find, like any good kender, and Serafina was not soft-spoken toward those who awoke her when her husband was visiting.

Finally the voices died away and departing footfalls replaced them. Elderdrake's one remaining dread was that Shumeen would come quickly and find him here, like this.

"Gerik, turn your back," Ellysta said. She went over to the brazier, picked an undershift and girdle from the pile there, and handed them to the kender.

"Put these on. They're warm, and they'll be a better fit than anything of Gerik's that I'm not wearing myself."

Then she turned her back, and Elderdrake endured another coughing fit.

Gerik feared that the kender would cough himself into exhaustion, but Elderdrake was made of tougher fiber than that. He managed to greet Shumeen in Ellysta's borrowed garments, rather than his bare and battered skin.

Shumeen did not help matters by laughing until Gerik was ready to shake her and Ellysta looked ready to help him. But she finally put an arm around Elderdrake's waist and led him off, murmuring things like "no more sense than a frying pan" and "soothing syrup" and "ask the cook for hot bricks."

When the kender were gone, Ellysta turned to Gerik. "We will be as chilled as he, if we stand about like this much longer."

Gerik nodded, groping for words. "If we wish-if we don't wish to be cold-let me take the other clothes off the brazier-"

What he wanted to say was that if they were to go on, they could retire to her bed, and if they were not, he could retire to his.

Ellysta laughed. "I couldn't expect you to put on my shift the way I put on your shirt, of course. So perhaps we should exchange garments."

She drew his shirt off. Gerik swallowed, and dropped the shift.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

Ellysta flushed. "Even-the wounds?"

"Honorable wounds do not mar beauty." Gerik wished he could be sure that was original.

Then he knelt before Ellysta, and with great gentleness kissed each of the honorable wounds. She sighed. He stopped worrying about whether he was saying anything original. Shortly thereafter, neither of them were using words at all.

Ellysta did weep before they slept, but on Gerik's shoulder, with joy and hope. Then they fell asleep so deeply and so swiftly that they barely remembered to pile the bedclothes over themselves.