Роджер Мур - The Reign of Istar

Although it might be a sin in the eyes of Paladine, Tremaine could not help feeling repulsed by the man’s countenance. Brother Gurim had eyes like a rat that watched everything. His nose was long and crooked. It looked as if it had been broken and had not healed properly, which made little sense, considering that Gurim should have been able to heal himself. The priest was nearly bald, his sparse hair combed into a poor semblance of a monk’s crown.

A twisted smile stretched Brother Gurim’s thin lips, which only made the resemblance to a rodent even stronger.

The knight realized he’d been staring impolitely. He finally remembered to acknowledge the cleric’s introduction. “I am honored by your acquaintance. If you will forgive me, I must retire to my quarters to prepare for evening prayer.”

Gurim nodded in understanding, but did not bid the knight farewell. “How pleasing it is to meet one of our brothers engaged in the struggle against the Dark Mistress. How pleasing to know that not all of you knights have lapsed in your faith.”

Arryl was angered, but careful to maintain his poise. “We knights are faithful to the tenets set down by Paladine. Our faith lapses in man, not the god.”

Gurim nodded and smiled unpleasantly. “Is that so?” The gloved hands separated. Brother Gurim placed them on the table, palms down. “I shall not detain you from your vigil, then, Sir Knight. I merely wished to state that I am pleased you are visiting Istar. I pray for the day when the knighthood once more takes its rightful place as His Holiness’s tool against the minions of evil. Your presence has encouraged me in that respect.”

“I am glad I have pleased you, Brother.” Tremaine bowed low so that the look of disdain was not visible. The knighthood a tool of the Kingpriest? The Knights of Solamnia were as strong in their beliefs as any in holy Istar. Strong and independent … as Paladine ordained when he and the gods Habbakuk and Kiri-Jolith appeared before Vinas Solamnus, the knighthood’s founder, and instructed him to break from his evil master, the emperor of Ergoth.

There had been a knighthood long before there had ever been a Kingpriest.

Tremaine started toward the stairs. Brother Gurim drew a symbol in the air. “Go in peace, Sir Knight. May the blessings of the Kingpriest be upon you.”

Arryl glanced back. “And may Paladine watch over you, Brother.”

Brother Gurim’s rat smile remained in Arryl’s mind all the way up the stairway and down to where his quarters were located. Only when he began his evening prayers did the sight at last fade, and only when he was deep within his own mind did Brother Gurim’s distasteful countenance disappear.

The memory of the man, unfortunately, did not.

By the end of his fifth day in the holy city, Arryl Tremaine had seen enough. He doubted the sanctity of Istar and its leaders. Istar was not the bastion of good that he had imagined during his childhood. It was not the city of miracles. Parts of the city were beautiful, certainly, but parts of it were ugly, filled with unfortunates living in poverty and squalor. The bad parts were ignored, however, by most of Istar’s citizens, who seemed to think they might pray them away.

That day, Arryl told Brek he would be leaving Istar on the morrow.

That night, Arryl was within sight of the inn when he heard a stifled cry and a grunt. A warrior experienced in combat, Arryl recognized the sound of someone being beaten or stabbed. It came from an alley to his right.

This being holy Istar, the law forbade men to carry weapons, unless they were part of the priesthood or the city guard. Daggers were allowed, since no one liked to go about the city completely unarmed, but they were to be bonded, strapped securely in their sheaths.

Arryl struggled with the bond that held his dagger in place as he hurried to the alley. Whoever had bound the dagger had done a good job, however, and he finally gave up, deciding to rely upon his other skills instead.

Solinari shone brightly. By the moons light Arryl could see three men fighting among themselves. Or rather, two of them were beating a third. The two attackers wore swords at their sides.

When he was almost within arms reach of them, the knight shouted, “Stand away and surrender!”

The two men released the third, who lay unmoving. One attacker already had a knife out. The second assailant drew a broadsword. In the shadows, Arryl could not make out the features of either man, but he guessed their type: bullies, who relied on brute strength and quick results. Skill was unimportant.

The first slashed with his blade, then tried to follow through with a meaty fist. Tremaine let the dagger pass him by, fended off the oncoming hand with a sharp blow of his own, and kicked out with his foot.

The hard toe of his boot caught the man just below the kneecap. Yelping, the attacker fell to the street, his empty hand clutching his leg.

The tip of a sword grazed Arryl’s forearm. Tremaine, rather than stepping back as most people would have done, dove forward while the second assailant was still completing his swing. His adversary realized what was happening, but by the time he began to pull his sword back, Arryl had him by the waist.

The two men crashed against the alley wall. The swordsman, caught between the wall and the Solamnian, grunted, dropped his blade, and tried to regain some of the air that had been shoved out of his body by the crushing blow.

Tremaine gave him no quarter. With his left hand balled into a fist, he struck his hapless opponent hard in the stomach.

Folding over, the second man fell.

Arryl heard movement near him, and he kicked out to the side with his foot. The first attacker, just about to leap, went flying against the opposite wall.

There was no resistance after that.

Barely breathing hard, Arryl looked for the victim. It did not surprise him when he found no one. The unfortunate had likely crawled off as soon as he had been able to do so. Arryl could not blame the man. There were few whose courage and abilities matched those of a Solamnic Knight.

Arryl was just debating what to do with his two charges when a group of armed soldiers, obviously the city guard, appeared at the end of the alley.

“What goes on here?” asked another man, stepping forward. Unlike the others, he wore the robes of the priesthood.

“These men were beating another. I ordered them to surrender, but they chose to attack me instead.”

The soldiers began to filter into the alley. Several men reached the two dazed assailants and half-dragged the limp forms away. The cleric, meanwhile, ordered a torch brought so that he might better survey the scene. After observing the alley and the weapons dropped by Tremaine’s adversaries, the cleric turned his attention to the waiting knight. Seen by the flickering light of the torch, the priest’s pale face and emaciated countenance made him look like a week-dead corpse.

“Why did you not call the guardsmen?”

“They wouldn’t have arrived in time. A man’s life was in danger.”

“So you say.” The cleric sounded skeptical.

Arryl’s temper rose a bit at the thought that someone would dare question his word, but he reminded himself that the priest did not know he was a Knight of Solamnia.

“Is the sword your weapon?” The cleric pointed at the blade lying on the street.

“I had no weapon. These belonged to them.”

The cleric was genuinely impressed. “You took on two men without a weapon?”

Tremaine shrugged. “I am a Knight of Solamnia, a Knight of the Sword. I have been trained to fight with or without weapons. The two who attacked were hardly a threat.” Arryl shrugged. “Swords and knives in the hands of novices are generally more dangerous to themselves than to anyone else.”