Roland Green: Knights of the Rose

Sir Marod wished he could be certain whether the man before him was a friend to be trusted, an enemy to be deceived, or merely a neutral party in whose presence to be discreet, without actually lying. He had prayed for knowledge, but received none. Now he prayed only that if Sir Lewin of Trenfar was an enemy, the gods would send the older knight the strength to bear learning of his pupil’s betrayal.

“A man has lived too long if he buries his sons,” was a saying in some lands. Sir Marod thought it could be translated: “A knight has lived too long when he sees dishonor among his pupils.”

Sir Lewin frowned, and the older knight realized he had given the appearance, or worse, of not listening. His position could survive stiffness of joints, but not stiffness of wits.

“Your pardon, Sir Lewin,” the elder knight said. “I was trying to calculate how far our friend Sir Pirvan and his company will have come by now.”

“Within reach of the desert barbarians, unless they have been delayed by weather or accident,” Sir Lewin replied. “I find myself forced to wonder if we are not sending good people into a bad business-and therefore needless danger.”

“How so?” Sir Marod asked.

Sir Lewin frowned again. Two frowns in such a short time meant that the younger knight had some weighty matter on his mind. Moreover, it was most likely to be something that even Marod would consider worth sober discussion.

Sir Lewin’s loyalty and honor might be somewhat in question. His intelligence was not. If he was a friend, he deserved respect and answers; if a foe, he still deserved respect, if not answers.

“I suppose it is a question of what legal claims Istar has on the Silvanesti,” Lewin said. He raised a hand as Marod opened his mouth. “Please, hear me out. I know that the language of the treaties and compacts is reasonably explicit as to the amount of taxes Istar may collect in Silvanesti. At least compared to what is written down about collecting taxes from the kender.”

Both knights smiled. Few human authorities ever worried about collecting anything from kender that the kender did not offer freely. Most did not even mention kender in their tax laws. Those who did usually wrote down, for the discouragement of overzealous petty officials, advice that could be summarized: Don’t even think about taxing kender. It only wastes your time and annoys the kender.

“So we are agreed that the Silvanesti elves are not kender, neither in fact nor in law,” Marod said. “I suppose your concern turns on what they are .”

Lewin flushed as though he were still a young Knight of the Crown, reproached by the elder he most respected. Marod vowed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but knew it would be a futile vow, short of cutting his vocal cords, if Lewin continued to ramble.

Whatever was unsettling him to this extent must at least seem cataclysmic.

“The Silvanesti are obligated to render certain payments,” Lewin went on, assuming his lecture-hall tone. “They are to be collected internally and handed over to Istarian officials at four points on the agreed-on borders.

“However, these past ten years, the Silvanesti have withdrawn more and more from contact with humans. This withdrawal has included abandoning the border tax posts, in plain violation of the laws. Payments, when made at all, are simply left by night. If the Istarians notice them before the outlaws do, so much the better. If not-”

“Yes,” Marod said, trying to keep from his voice the slightest note of impatience. “We are agreed on that. Also that the taxes are somewhat in arrears.”

“The Istarian Treasury claims arrearages of nearly three million silver towers. This is apart from what is owed to the kingpriest’s purse.”

“What is considered to be owed to the kingpriest,” Marod reproved gently. “Remember the reasons the Silvanesti gave for withdrawing from dealings with humans. The kingpriest’s leadership in the hostility to nonhumans was one.”

“The obligation is still part of the law.”

“The obligation to the kingpriest may be paid in kind or service, as well as coin,” Marod pointed out. “I admit that it would be easier to calculate if it were required in coin. But the Silvanesti have the right to do otherwise, and it is the kingpriest’s obligation to accept such payments if offered.”

“We are beginning to sound like law counselors arguing a dubious case,” Lewin said irritably.

Marod decided not to remind the other that it was he who had first raised the legal questions. “Are you suggesting a solution to the problem that has not occurred to anyone else? If you have such a thing, Oath, Measure, the gods, and common sense demand that you speak at once.”

Lewin took a deep breath. “I am suggesting that the Silvanesti have grievously broken the law. As long as they honored it, Istar abided by its agreement to have all taxes collected by public officers and to send no tax collectors into Silvanesti itself.

“By riding south to investigate the rumors of ‘tax soldiers’ gathering on the borders, is Pirvan interfering with Istar’s right to collect its own? Is he not in fact taking the side of the thief against the property owner? Is this the proper course for the Knights of Solamnia?”

Marod thought briefly that he had wished too hard for Lewin to speak swiftly. As a masterpiece of reducing to simple slogans complex issues with justice delicately balanced on either side, Lewin’s speech was worthy of a street-corner rabble-rouser.

It was tempting to say as much, and ask if inciting riot was a proper course for a Knight of Solamnia. However, there was a great deal in the Measure about resisting temptation in all dealings, whether with kings or with gully dwarves.

Also, Marod had no intention of turning Lewin into an enemy before the younger man made himself one.

“You are not, I trust, suggesting that the knights ride with the mercenary ‘tax soldiers?’ I admit that we have fought Istar’s battles against barbarians before, but the Silvanesti are not barbarians. Ask any man who has tried to pry them out of their native forest in the face of their woodscraft and archery. If you can find one alive, that is.”

Lewin shook his head. “The mercenaries certainly will need discipline, and I suppose the knights could provide it. But Istar also has men of its regular host on the border, under Gildas Aurhinius.”

Lewin said the name of the Istarian general as though it would be news to Marod. The older knight only nodded.

“So I have heard. A good man, although some call his post on the borders a demotion.”

“It might well be one,” Lewin said. “And suppose it is, for his failure in Waydol’s War?”

“If so, it would be a very belated punishment from the lords of Istar, seeing how long it has been since that minotaur’s body slipped into the sea. Long enough for him to have reached home by now, I suspect.”

Lewin could not conceal what was doubtless impatience with an old man’s ramblings-or, perhaps, eagerness rising from suspicions that Sir Marod would soon yield both wits and power to the advance of time.…

Be sure the owlbear is dead before you string his claws on your belt, young hunter .

“All this could well be true,” Marod said briskly. “But Sir Pirvan is nearly the best man we have for learning what is true and what is not. Even his contending with Aurhinius in Waydol’s War gives him a particular knowledge of the man.”

“It also gives Aurhinius cause to hate Sir Pirvan,” Lewin said. He seemed almost pleading. “Whatever Sir Pirvan may learn, will he and his companions live to tell us?”

You do not know the half of what Pirvan and Haimya have survived, Marod considered. Not to mention their companions, in this case including Knight of the Sword Sir Darin-the minotaur’s heir and as stout a fighter as ever swore the Oath-and a double handful of other seasoned warriors.