Roland Green - Knights of the Sword

She seemed to vanish between one breath and the next, and it was a moment before Tarothin realized that while-they talked she had maneuvered him close to one of the doors. She had simply stepped through it the moment her last breath flowed past him-though it was not entirely Tarothin’s imagination that he could still smell her perfume in the air, and under the perfume the essential scent of woman.

What might come of this, Tarothin did not know; he was not even going to waste time guessing. However, there was one stop he would make on his way to Rubina’s chambers.

Jemar the Fair was in port, with three ships, one of them Sea Leopard , whose Mate of the Deck was another old comrade of the quest into Crater Gulf, Grimsoar One-Eye. Grimsoar One-Eye was once comrade in night work with Sir Pirvan the Wayward.

What mortal men could know of matters along the north coast of Istar, Jemar and his men might know-or at least know who did. With Grimsoar helping, Tarothin might even be able to draw on Pirvan’s wits-although as an oath-bound Solamnic Knight, the man could hardly offer more than advice without the permission of his superiors.

Tarothin told himself that he was not seeking all this to raise his standing in Rubina’s eyes and advance himself toward a more agreeable conclusion to the dinner. He was seeking knowledge that might altogether prevent a needless war, or at least turn a large war into a small one. And those who said all wars were evil had never talked to those who lived because someone kept a war small.

For centuries, the world had accepted the reign of Istar because it had brought peace and a fair degree of justice. If this was about to change, by the folly of kingpriests or anyone else, it was not something to endure idly.

It was only the remnants of a storm from far to the north, beating on the rocks at the foot of the cliff. But even those remnants turned into breakers two men high when they reached shoal water.

When the breakers reached the rocks, the spray leaped to the top of the cliff, silver as it leaped, leaving rainbows as it fell back. By long-nurtured and finely honed instincts, the homecoming raiders of Darin, Heir to the Minotaur, opened the distance between them and the cliff, as much as the narrow path would allow.

All except Imsaffor Whistletrot. He perched on a jutting rock, just above the highest reach of the spray, and stared down into the water.

“No shellfish for dinner tonight,” he said with a grimace.

“I thought you hated oysters,” one of the men said.

“Oh, I do. But most of you big folk love them, which is one reason I’m not sure the same gods created you and kender, and you’ll be in a bad mood, which-”

Darin reached out one long arm, gripped Whistletrot by the collar, and drew him back to safer or even somewhat dry ground. This stretch of the coast seldom went long enough without rain for the ground to dry completely, which meant slippery footing for those unaccustomed to walking it.

Darin and his comrades did not complain of the weather. Their food came from root crops (which could well-nigh flourish in a swamp), from the trees and the animals of the forest, and from the sea. That this land was no friend to farmers was all the better for them, as they had no love for neighbors.

The big man looked up at the sky, alternately veiled and exposed by the dance of the clouds. “Best we make haste,” he said. “I can endure a cold victory feast, but the cooks will mutiny if they must serve it, and Waydol will have something to say as well.”

The pace quickened. Among the men, only Darin could have truly said that he loved Waydol. But every man here respected Waydol, valued his wisdom in war and council, and feared his tongue as much as, or more than, they did his fist.

Within minutes the path turned away from the sea and began to climb. No one who had not walked this path many times could have easily told where he was climbing to; the trees grew that quickly. Ferns and livid fungi that did not need sunlight also grew thickly where the trees left them space, and even a few ground-hugging vines flaunted dew-wet leaves among the decaying branches and needles.

Darin inhaled deeply. This forest was the true smell of home for him, for all that he had raided deep inland and far out to sea. He would ask nothing better of any god than to live out his life here, taking Waydol’s place when the Minotaur at last lay on the pyre, and continuing Waydol’s battle until the time came for him to pass the burden to his own heir.

Bird whistles sounded from ahead. Sirbones quickened his own pace, to draw level with Darin, curiosity plain on his face.

“Best not hurry,” Darin said. “This path is treacherous.”

“I think those bird whistles mean more than treacherous paths,” the priest of Mishakal said. For all that he seemed old enough to be father to most of the raiders, he had kept up with them all the way from Dinsas without much effort.

“Oh?” Darin said. He was hardly surprised, though some of his men were a little uneasy at Sirbones’s deftness in winkling out the band’s secrets. None of them had been foolish enough to attack a man under Darin’s protection, not to mention a priest of Mishakal, whom it would be impious and perhaps impossible to harm.

“Yes. Were I in your shoes-”

“I am barefoot, as you have doubtless noticed.”

“So I have. But one need not say everything in the simplest fashion. Words, I have discovered, sometimes need to be caressed to bring them to a proper state.”

Darin refused to contemplate how a priest would learn of caresses-though, to be sure, he had heard that celibacy among the followers of Mishakal was a common choice rather than a rigid law.

Pray that Sirbones has no eye for woman that will break the peace of the band .

“I am not worried about your words. I worry about your ears. Are they open to listen? Waydol says, truthfully, that our having only one mouth but two ears means that we should listen more than we talk.”

Sirbones grinned and nodded in total silence.

“Very well. The paths and the land are a good defense against anyone less surefooted than a ranger or hunter. But if anyone should send a host of rangers or hunters against our stronghold, we have added to nature’s defenses. Some intruders would be slain or crippled; we would have warning of the rest.”

“You do not say that I should ask no more questions, but I hear it in your voice,” Sirbones said.

“You hear truly,” Darin said. “I also ask of you one further bit of wisdom: stay in single file with me and my men. Some of our gifts to strangers reach close to the edge of the path.”

“Pits of poisoned spikes and the like?”

“You promised to ask no more questions.”

“I made no such promise. I merely understood your command.”

“Then why do you defy it?” Darin snapped. He was just weary enough and eager enough to be home and at rest to have small patience for the priest’s jests.

“Your pardon, Heir to the Minotaur. I presume greatly on your hospitality.”

Not so greatly, when you know as well as we that having a healer-priest among us will be a blessing worth enduring much worse than your tongue .

But Darin did not put his thoughts into words, not only from courtesy but also to save the breath he would need for the rest of the climb.

* * * * *

Pirvan and Haimya met Grimsoar One-Eye in the same solar where Pirvan had earlier that day dealt with Sir Niebar.

The great hall was the most honorable place for feasting an old friend, a guest who had traveled far, and a mate in the service of Jemar the Fair. It was also the most open to the curious and the indiscreet.