Roland Green: Knights of the Sword

“Delia, I can hardly walk or ride in a litter all the way home,” Eskaia said briskly. “Shall we agree that I stay ashore once we are home?”

“Oh-of course.”

That easy agreement sounded so unlike Delia that Jemar turned toward her. Then he stepped forward to catch her in his arms to keep her from falling off her stool.

Delia seemed to have gone from nearly plump to nearly half-starved in hours. Her face was so pale that it seemed to repel color, except for the dark circles under her eyes. Jemar could feel her trembling and the foul sweat on her.

“A pallet!” he snapped at the girl.

“Aye, Lord.”

He held Delia. “You did not spare yourself, and-the gods tell me how to thank you. I don’t know. Just-whatever I can-we can do to ease you-”

“The pallet will be enough for now,” Delia said.

“But Sirbones-”

“He has more important work, as the wounded come in. And Rubina-she does good, not harm, now. But-her touching me now-would not be wise.”

“I should think not!” Jemar and Eskaia exclaimed together.

“No, really. Rubina made-chose the wrong color. Her heart-Neutral, at worst. Now-now she betrays Takhisis. The Dark Queen will make her pay. Oh, she will pay.”

The girl appeared at that moment with the pallet, and Delia lay back in Jemar’s arms with a grateful sigh. In a moment she was stretched out on the pallet, apparently asleep.

Jemar bent and kissed her, then turned to his wife. “I will have you know, my lady, that I have kissed no other woman but you since we were wed. My oath upon it.”

“Well, I hope you do not soon have another such occasion for kissing,” Eskaia said. Then she actually laughed.

* * * * *

The afternoon shadows had stretched nearly across the clearing when Niebar reached the edge of it. On the far side began a path that led to the rear of the Chained Ogre. It passed a few farms that would surely have watchdogs and the like, but no villages, let alone towns, where seven armed strangers would stand out like a minotaur in a kender village.

Niebar looked behind him to be sure that the horses were invisible from the clearing. He saw no horses, but he did see a kender standing in a shaft of sunlight.

Niebar’s first thought was of betrayal.

The second was of the horses! If the raiders came back, with or without Gesussum Trapspringer, and found that their mounts had been “handled” until they wandered off-

“Oh, don’t worry about your horses,” the kender said. This had the opposite of a reassuring effect on Niebar.

“Are you a wizard?”

“No, and we’re standing too close to the clearing to chat, unless there’s somebody you want to listen to us.”

Niebar flushed at being reminded by a kender of the discipline of silence. He let his new companion lead him to a stand of pine saplings, in what must have been a clearing not too many years before.

“You are here for Gesussum, aren’t you?” the kender asked. “Because if you aren’t, then we’d take it kindly if you explained-”

The kender went on for a while, but Niebar was able to extract from the monologue that he was a Rambledin, that they were a little sorry for their abandoning Gesussum Trapspringer, and that they wanted to help anyone trying to rescue him.

“We can guard your horses,” the kender finished. “We can …” He went off again on a long list of possible services, half of which would cause more danger than they gave help.

“We can warn you of the tattooed men,” the kender said finally. “We can’t fight them-they belong to the temples and we’d have to flee if we did, but-”

“The tattooed men?” Niebar said. Involuntarily, his right hand came up and scratched under his left armpit.

“Yes, yes. That’s where they have the tattoo. Silly custom, but I suppose the kingpriest asks it. At least they seem to work for him, and I suppose he needs help. He wouldn’t be able to spend all day preparing or whatever he does if he didn’t. He-”

The knight had stopped listening. The blood was pounding in his ears, and his whole body seemed a little more alive.

Tonight they might do more than rescue the kender and learn what he’d seen during his captivity. They might encounter the Servants of Silence-and Niebar vowed that if it cost him his own life, one of them would leave the inn a prisoner.

It was time that honest folk learned why the kingpriest was, in the name of virtue, turning criminals loose on Istar.

It was also time for him to start listening to the kender Rambledin again. Kender could talk your arm off, then start on your toes, then be insulted when they discovered that you weren’t listening to them!

* * * * *

Aurhinius stamped his boots firmly into place and looked over his shoulder at his secretary.

The young man was busy strapping on a helmet in a way that showed he’d seldom worn one. A breastplate leaned against the chair beside him.

“Are you going to wear armor?”

“I won’t have many chances, my lord.”

“Are you expecting universal peace tomorrow, or my imminent death?”

The secretary flushed. “Well, neither. But-well, it’s the biggest fight I’ve ever been close to.”

“Also the first one you’ve had to reach by boat,” Aurhinius said. “Have you ever tried to swim in armor?”

“No.”

“I have. I don’t recommend the experience. Nine men out of ten who try it end up feeding the fishes. It’s a small boat we’re taking to shore. While our magic and theirs seems to be holding a balance, that could change. There’s also the odd wave escaping from the balance.”

“Take the armor if you will, but put it on after we’re ashore.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The crew of Winged Lady cheered Aurhinius when he appeared on deck. He wished he had given them something to cheer about. Indeed, he felt more like a rat deserting a sinking ship in going ashore than a general putting himself at the head of his men.

It didn’t make it easier when he realized that, ashore, he would be beyond reach of this duel of storm magic. The fleet could perish with all hands, but he would be safe to lead his men into Waydol’s stronghold.

Or it might be Waydol who perished with his whole band. Aurhinius had asked every god he thought might have an answer, but none of them had told him if he should wish for the success of Zeboim’s minions or not!

* * * * *

Tarothin?

The Red Robe’s concentration on his spells left him enough physical awareness to know that water was seeping into his cabin. At least it seemed to be from below, so doubtless Gullwing was still afloat.

Idiot!

The tone was almost affectionate, and unmistakable.

Rubina. What do you want?

For you to take on yourself the whole burden of the battle .

You jest .

Hardly. What I have put into the storm magic will remain there. The priests of Zeboim lack the power to drive it out. Remember, I am a Black Robe, and I know more of their secrets than you .

But, why-?

Work ashore. The Istarians threaten to advance and cut off our folk. They have no wizard with them, and the minions of Zeboim cannot work ashore. Also, you can now do better at sea alone than with me .

But, Rubina-

Tarothin, I will not miss you long. But I will put into you a memory that you can call up whenever you wish .

If it’s the kind I suspect, wait until we have the victory .

Just like a man. Mind always on work, never allowing himself any time for pleasure .

Then there was gentle laughter, without a trace of mockery, and Rubina was gone from his mind.