Michael Williams - The Oath and the Measure

He told his story, scarcely mentioning the various ambushes, snares, and traps he had encountered on his journey to and from the Darkwoods, nor did he speak of Jack Derry or Mara, though he wasn't certain why he kept his friends from the recounting. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on him in the telling, and when he finished, the council hall settled into a thick, uncomfortable silence.

"Well," Lord Boniface began, with a sidelong glance at Lords Alfred and Gunthar. "I suppose a certain honesty lies in any account of failure."

"More than that is revealed in this telling," Lord Gunthar protested, turning to Boniface in irritation. "And if the Lord Boniface were… more seasoned in matters of the council, he would realize the virtues and merit of the lad's journey."

"Perhaps the Lord Gunthar would care to instruct me," Boniface replied ironically, addressing his words to Sturm as he pivoted in his chair. "The boy was sent to the Southern Darkwoods to meet with Lord Wilderness on the first night of spring, there to resolve a mysterious challenge. By his own admission, Sturm fulfilled only the first of his duties-to reach the Southern Darkwoods. No matter that he might as well have gathered mushrooms or… consorted with fairies."

He smiled cruelly, and with a deft swordsman's movement, drew forth his dagger and began to pare his fingernails.

Sturm's jaw dropped. Setting aside the Measure with the same recklessness that had guided his sword against the draconian on the banks of the Vingaard, he turned to his antagonist.

"Mushrooms and fairies are less… nightgrown and unbelievable than what I did see, m'lords. For I saw one of the Order… a renowned Knight of the Sword… in dark conspiracy against me, and for reasons that I know not!"

The hall was ominously silent. A servant's broom rustled over the stairwell outside the door, and an incongruous owl hooted in astonishment somewhere in the eaves of the castle. The Solamnic Lords didn't move, and Sturm thought of Castle di Caela, of its marbled monuments to family and folly, as he told the story anew.

This time he left nothing out. Jack Derry emerged in the tale, with all his unstudied know-how, and the elf maiden Mara in her petulance and music and her odd devotion to a cowardly spider. For the first time, Sturm mentioned the druidess, the name Ragnell stirring old memories on the faces of the council.

But through all his story one name returned again and again, from the moment the door of Castle di Caela closed behind him all the way to the last words of Tivok, the draconian assassin.

Boniface it was. "Grimbane." Lord Boniface of Foghaven, Solamnic Knight of the Sword.

Conspirator. Traitor to the Measure.

It was as though the world had stopped. After a minute's silence, in which nothing whatsoever spoke or sounded or even stirred, Lord Alfred cleared his throat.

"These," he intoned, "are the most ominous of charges, Master Sturm Brightblade."

"Charges for which," burst in Lord Boniface, "I shall demand satisfaction!"

Angrily the swordsman pushed away from the table, knocking over his chair and scattering paper and leather-bound volumes of the Measure. He drew his sword and stalked to the center of the room, where he turned and faced them all-his accuser and the council members who had heard the story.

"I believe, Lord Alfred," Boniface announced, his voice quivering with emotion, "that in the sixteenth volume of the encoded Measure, on the twenty-second page in the third article, it is related that the Order of the Sword, which takes its Measure from affairs of courage and heroics, enjoins all members thereof to accept the challenge of combat for the honor of knighthood. I believe, Lord Alfred, that the honor of knighthood has been impugned."

Gunthar stood up and walked calmly to Boniface's abandoned chair. He picked up three of the leatherbound volumes that lay on the floor by the table, thumbing through each of them with a dry, ironic smile.

"Sturm Brightblade impugns no Order," Gunthar corrected, his eyes on the High Justice. "Instead, he accuses a single Knight-Lord Boniface of Foghaven."

"Then trial by combat is enjoined," Boniface argued, turning briskly toward Lord Alfred. "The Lord Alfred should recall from his recent… contentions with Lord Adamant Jeoffrey that such is the prescribed ruling of the Measure on questions of honor."

"And yet we settled that through reason and goodwill," Gunthar insisted.

"Through the blandishments of an old man who walked off into the woods, leaving the Order behind him!" Boniface snarled. All eyes turned uneasily to the legendary swordsman, who looked to the rafters of the hall, where doves nested and gurgled. He closed his eyes and seemed to gather himself.

"If you will notice the forty-fifth page of the aforesaid sixteenth volume," he said, his voice hushed, almost rapturous, "in the first article, it states unequivocally that trial by combat is the preferable recourse for matters individual between Knight and Knight."

"Have it one way or the other, Boniface!" Gunthar exclaimed angrily. "Is Sturm to be judged as a Knight or an un-Ordered lad?"

Lord Alfred thumbed idly through the volume in front of him, his eyes on the glowing mahogany walls, his thoughts entangled and bottomless. Finally he spoke, and even the doves ceased their noises to listen.

"Boniface is correct," he declared, his voice dry and shaken. 'Trial by combat is the recourse, if but one disputant insists upon it. What remains for Sturm is the choice of arms extreme or arms courteous, of swords deadly or blunted."

Sturm swallowed hard and shifted on his feet.

"No matter the outcome," Lord Alfred announced, "neither charges nor judgment will ever leave this room. Nor will any of us, until those charges are settled, the judgment given according to Oath and Measure and our sacred tradition."

"Arms courteous" Sturm said quietly.

Lord Boniface smiled. "I have won the first pass," he declared.

Lord Gunthar walked to a chest at the far corner of the room and produced the padded wicker swords that would decide the issue. "You have beaten a green boy at the Barriers," he said to Boniface through clenched teeth.

The swordsman's back stiffened.

"I am schooling the lad to a demanding Measure, Gunthar Uth Wistan," Boniface retorted. "As his father would have it, were he alive."

"His father would have more," Lord Gunthar muttered. "And he would exact it from your skin."

"By the Measure, Lord Gunthar," Boniface said, his voice jubilant, taunting. "By the Measure now and always, and let the swords fall as swords will fall."

In the center of the hall, they squared off, the green lad and the legendary swordsman. Sturm hoisted his shield, then rolled the weapon in his hand. The wicker sword was lighter than he had imagined, and it felt assuring, familiar.

The Solamnic trial by combat was an ancient, honorable practice, sanctioned from the Age of Might and the days of Vinas Solamnus. When charges were brought against a Knight of the Order, the man could defend his innocence by sword. Victory assured innocence in the eyes of those present and the Order itself, regardless of the evidence against him; if, however, he were defeated, honor bound him to confess his crime and accept the exacting punishment of the Measure.

Sturm swallowed nervously. It was serious business against a serious swordsman. And yet for a moment, his hopes sprouted. Stranger things had happened in the Order than an upstart catching a champion off balance or nodding.

Stranger things had happened to Sturm himself.

He rocked on his heels, awaiting his fabled opponent.