Ник О'Донохью - Kender, Gully Dwarves, and Gnomes

“Could you not make up for your mistake?”

“The friend would still be dead. It would still be my responsibility.”

The minotaur sighed, a sound much like a roaring wind. “How long would you go on paying for that mistake? Ten years? Twenty? If you should save a dozen lives, would you still punish yourself for that one?”

“Your question is beyond the point of ridiculousness.”

“Is it?” The man-beast studied his own hands. “Would you run a man through from the back? A man who did not even know there was a hint of danger?”

Torbin gasped. “A minotaur might slay a man in such a way, but a Knight of Solamnia would never do such a foul deed! I would challenge him!”

“Indeed? What if you knew this man could easily outfight you? What if you knew that, if he survived, he would cause the deaths of many?” The minotaur’s eyes now bore deep into the young knight’s. “I ask again, are honor and pride such good things? Must we always do ‘the right thing’? ”

Torbin did not answer. He was confused. The minotaur’s words made some sense, yet, they could not.

The man-beast turned away from him, an almost sad look in his eyes. Torbin waited, but the minotaur would not speak. Instead, he commenced once more with his carving. The knight sat and watched him for a few minutes more, and then he stood up. The minotaur paid him no mind and went on carving another shaft. Torbin returned to his horse and mounted up.

He rode away without looking or speaking to the minotaur again.

The mayor, the chief fisherman, and the tax collector were all waiting for him. As he rode up to them, he noticed how their eyes kept returning to the sword in his sheath. He remembered his earlier promise and gritted his teeth. The mayor stepped forward.

“Is the beast dead, then? Would that I had been there! We feared for you—such a silly thing! Did you severe his head from his body? Campos!” The chief fisherman trundled forward, picking his yellowed teeth as he walked. “Have some of your boys drag the carcass back here! We’ll put it where all can see it!”

“The minotaur is not dead.”

Torbin might well have demanded the mayor’s firstborn child by the look on the man’s pudgy face. The chief fisherman looked grim and spat. The tax collector smiled knowingly.

“Not dead?! Wounded? Run off, has he?”

This part was even more difficult for Torbin to get out. “I did not fight him. We talked.”

“Talked?!?” all three shouted in one voice. A number of villagers popped their heads out of windows and doorways to see what the noise was all about. A few began muttering and pointing in Torbin’s direction. Someone laughed harshly.

“I do not think he will harm you.”

“Coward!” The mayor raised his fist, though his distance to the knight did not shrink by even the minutest amount. “I should have you run out of Dragon’s Point!”

Torbin was turning red with anger. On top of everything else, he did not need idiotic backwoods fishermen calling him a coward for no reason at all. He pulled out his sword with one swift motion and tucked the point neatly under the plump man’s chin. The mayor let out a gurgle and froze. Villagers began pouring out of their homes, though none moved close enough to lend the stout, blustery man a hand.

“I did not come here to be insulted. You know very little about the situation as it really is. If it will satisfy you, I’ll keep an eye on the minotaur. Should he attempt to cause any harm, I’ll deal with him. Will that suit you?” In truth, he could not have cared less if it did or did not. This village, this whole region could be damned for all he cared. It stank. The people stank even more.

The chief fisherman whispered something into the mayor’s ear. The mayor nodded as best he could, considering the circumstances. The tax collector joined in. Breathing a little slower now, Torbin removed the point from the mayor’s throat. After several seconds of swallowing, the man was able to speak.

“It—it has b-been decided that your suggestion is quite reasonable—” He paused as Torbin’s grip grew tight around the hilt of the sword. “—I mean really reasonable. Therefore, we will let you deal with the situation as it stands. Provided—” The mayor hesitated again until he felt it safe “—provided that you give us your oath that you will kill the creature at the first sign of hos-hostility.”

Torbin sheathed his sword and eyed the three in disgust. “Agreed.”

The meal he received that evening was far inferior to the one the night before, though Torbin was unaware of it. He had a great desire to leave this village. He was sick of fish already and sick of these people. The minotaur was better company than these thieving worm-diggers, despite his maddening questions. Were it not for his pride, the young knight might have ridden out of the village there and then. As it was, he merely retired early, relieved to be away from the inhabitants of this godforsaken village and anxious to see what the next day would bring.

Sunrise saw him far from the village, nearing the shore where the minotaur made his home. The man-beast was there; in fact, he looked as if he had not budged from the spot since yesterday. As usual, he was carving. Torbin wondered why the ground was not littered with short spears from his previous efforts. Perhaps the minotaur used them for hunting at night, the knight reasoned.

He steered the horse toward the minotaur. The animal snorted its displeasure at being forced to go peaceably toward what it considered a major threat. Training won out, though. Torbin was master and must be obeyed. The minotaur continued to gaze out at the sea so intently that the young knight was unsure whether the creature knew of his presence.

As if on cue, the minotaur spoke. His gaze remained fixed on the Blood Sea. “Welcome back, Knight of Solamnia. You’re early.”

Torbin had not been aware that he had had an appointment, but he chose to say nothing. Today, he wanted to talk to the minotaur, find out more about the man-beast’s homeland. By his manner, the minotaur was unlike many of his race. The tales of bloodthirsty, arrogant monsters was too consistent to be entirely false.

Buried in his subconscious, hidden by a number of excuses, lay the true reason for his visit; Torbin’s mind was now riddled with doubts about himself and that which he had believed in until now.

” I have come to a decision today.”

The knight blinked. “A decision?”

The minotaur spoke as if Torbin’s words had gone unheard. “I have come to a decision today. Honor and pride are nothing without reason. It is not an abrupt decision; in fact, it is the same decision I made long ago. There is a time to fight, a time to give up one’s life for another, and a time to run. Tomorrow, the run will be over.”

“Run?” Torbin climbed off his horse very quietly lest he destroy the minotaur’s chain of thought. The man-beast ignored him. He seemed to be watching every wave, marking every turn of the breeze.

“Minotaurs must fight for their place in society. A minotaur who does not fight does not exist. He shames his family. They call him ‘kenderwhelp’ or ‘elf-bastard.’ Even ‘manling.’ He is shunned by those who know him and cursed by those who do not. Might makes right; honor is all.”

The minotaur abruptly turned to Torbin, who had forgotten to sit, so intent was he on following the other’s words. “Tomorrow, honor will be returned. No longer will they hold their heads in shame.” The final word sounded almost like a curse. The minotaur threw his latest effort far into the sea. He watched it hit with an unruly splash and then vanish from sight.

Torbin found himself oddly concerned. “What happens tomorrow?”