Roland Green: The Wayward Knights

Pirvan walked to the bed and began prodding the bulges. At last he was rewarded by a murmured, "Ouch!"

"I thought you were asleep."

"Not quite." Haimya thrust an arm out and drew her husband onto the bed beside her. "Do you think Eskaia was jesting when she said she had accepted Aurhinius?" she asked.

Pirvan frowned. That was a question he had not expected, and for which he had no ready answer. "You were her attendant for two years," he said. "You ought to know her better than I."

"I attended her for two years when she was hardly older than our daughter is now, and greener than our Eskaia was at fourteen," Haimya explained. "And that was many years ago."

"You evade your duties well."

"When have I ever done that?" she asked. "Come here, and I will tend to them this very moment." Her grin and the tight grip on his arm showed what she meant by "duties."

Pirvan laughed, "If the question is serious-"

"To be sure," Haimya said.

"Then I would say that she does not jest. That she may speak of a previous proposal, but that she considers herself to have accepted it regardless. I think she would break Aurhinius's head if he refused now, as she would break his heart if she jested. Eskaia is not the sort to make such jests."

"I am of the same mind," she said. "As well, because with Eskaia and Aurhinius leading Vuinlod's volunteers, there will be space enough for the Knights of Solamnia."

Why do you think any knights will come?" Pirvan asked. "Or that I will even ask for them?"

"Because I have heard you muttering to yourself, in a way you do only when you are composing a letter to Sir Niebar. If you did not intend to ask for knights, you would not be intending such a letter."

Pirvan felt that Haimya's logic leaped ahead at a pace that left him floundering far to the rear. He was, however, used to her mind working as the Free Riders raided: too fast for others to follow. She also made sense.

"If the knights sail to Suivinari in the ships of Vuinlod and its friends," Pirvan said, "then they will blazon their friendship with the town for all to see. For the town, and for all its folk, human and otherwise."

It occurred to Pirvan that the Grand Master might also listen to those who argued that the knights should declare no such friendship, lest Istar take it amiss. Pirvan hoped that no Grand Master could be such a lackwit as to confuse the kingpriest and his minions with Istar and all its folk, great or small, wise or foolish.

Hope was all that he could do, however. That, and not put his doubts into words. That would spoil the warm mood in the chamber tonight.

He realized just how warm it was, when Haimya gripped his arm again, and with her free hand tugged at his beard until he lowered his head to receive a kiss.

"I thought you were too weary," he said.

"Weary, but in need of soothing," she whispered. "I wonder how much of the light loving among the sell-swords came from that need, after a battle or a hard march."

Pirvan let himself be drawn under the bedclothes. He wondered briefly if Haimya had a portion of the "light loving" herself when she was a sell-sword, then decided that it did not matter if other men had once held her.

For twenty years he and his lady had held each other, and held to each other. The gods might take away everything else they had given him, and he would still be richer than he had ever dreamed of being.

Gerik of Tirabot halted his descent from the wall as a loose stair stone turned under his foot. He knelt to examine the stone more closely.

One more piece of work for the masons, he thought. A long list already, certain to become longer and costlier.

He wondered what it would cost to gird the manor house and outbuildings with a wall such as had once defended the old Tirabot Keep up the hill. Or one such as the dwarves were now finishing at the citadel of Belkuthas, far to the south. This would certainly be a sum far beyond his father's means, and likely to daunt even those Knights of Solamnia who supported the idea of a strong Tirabot.

Another reason for not submitting himself as a candidate for the knights, Gerik decided. If they did not think they owed his father protection, then certainly Pirvan of Tirabot did not owe them his only son.

He leaped down the last few steps, landing with flexed ankles and no unexpected pains. He was proud of being as fir and trained in arms as any knight-even Sir Niebar had called him so. Perhaps not having to spend so much time memorizing all the books that the Orders demanded helped, giving him more time for arms practice.

No, that was unjust to the Knights of Solamnia, and flattered himself. Gerik had not asked to join the knights because, as the son of Sir Pirvan, he was captain over the manor when his father was away. Even when Gerik traveled with his father, both Pirvan and his other companion treated him as a full-fledged warrior. To return to being treated as a child, as he would be during his training among the knights, was not something Gerik could face.

This was hardly a reason he could confess to his father, Pirvan had submitted to the training of the knights when he was rising thirty, a seasoned master thief of Istar and all but a married man as well. Pirvan would wonder (aloud) if Gerik thought the rule about learning to obey before you learned to command did not apply to him.

Footsteps behind made him turn. His sister Rubina was hurrying up to him, holding a pewter tray with a letter on it, the ink still drying.

"Brother, can you read this letter of mine to our parents before I seal it?" she asked. "I want to know if I have said everything as I ought to, and not written down any family secrets."

"I thought your tutor does that," Gerik said impatiently.

"He's asleep."

"Not drunk at this time of day, I hope."

"No," she said. "He complained of a headache, but I didn't smell wine on his breath."

"Good."

Chedishin (the short form of his name) was a half-elven retired man-at-arms, whom Pirvan kept on as a tutor for his children; one way of keeping him from starving. With no need to worry about food, Chedishin had for a while indulged himself in wine, until Pirvan frowned and threatened.

Gerik read the letter with great attention, not wishing to offend his younger sister. She wrote a very fair hand and seldom put a word wrong. It was almost as if the great learning of her namesake, a Black Robe wizard who had helped to win Waydol's War but had not survived it, had been passed on to the girl.

As for the rest, she promised to be sturdy rather than tall, and comely rather than beautiful, but Gerik was sure she would have as many suitors as a reasonable girl could wish. He hoped that his parents would live on for many years yet, so that all the work of telling the decent suitors from the others would not fall to him.

He finished the letter and handed it back to Rubina. She read doubt on his face. "Is it the part about how the walls are growing that you do not like?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I thought of that. But Father and Mother have been away long enough that matters have changed. Also, they talked much about strengthening this place, when they thought I could not hear. I know it is a worry to them."

“It is also knowledge our enemies might pay to have," Gerik told her.

"Yes, but if the king-"

"If 'our enemies…' " Gerik said, an edge in his voice.

Rubina shrugged, and said, "We know friends from enemies. Even I do. But I was going to say, if our enemies want to buy the knowledge, they can have it for pennies from any herdsman who has driven his cattle past our gate. They do not need to open our letters."

That was, unfortunately, true. Fortifying Tirabot Manor was not something that could be hidden-any more than could the fortifying of other farms, manors, and estates among their neighbors go unnoticed. A plague of building was abroad in the land, and Gerik thought that by the time it was done, the only folk left with any money would be the masons!