Roland Green: Knights of the Crown

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.