They arrived at the Hall of Knights, the oldest building in Solanthus, dating back to the city’s founding by, so legend had it, a son of the founder of the Knighthood, Vinus Solamnus. Made of granite faced with marble, the Hall of Knights had originally been a simple structure, resembling a block house. Additional levels had been added down through the ages—wings and towers and spires—so that now the simple block house had been transformed into a complex of buildings, surrounding an inner courtyard. A school had been established, instructing aspiring Knights not only in the art of warfare, but also the study of the Measure and how its laws were to be interpreted, for these Knights would spend only a small portion of their time fighting. Noble lords, they were leaders in their communities and would be expected to hear pleas, render judgment. Although the vast complex of structures had long outgrown the term “hall,” the Knights continued to refer to it as that, in deference to the past.
Once, temples to Paladine and Kiri-Jolith, a god particularly honored by the Knights, had been a part of the complex. After the departure of the gods, the Knights had politely permitted the priests to remain, but—their power of prayer gone—the priests had felt useless and uncomfortable. The temples held such sorrowful memories that they had departed. The temples remained open. They had become a favorite place for Knights to go to study or to spend evenings in long philosophical discussions. The temples had a peace about them that was conducive to thought, or so it was said. Many of the younger students found them a curiosity. Gerard had himself never visited Solanthus, but he had heard his father describe it, and recalling his father’s descriptions, he tried to figure out which buildings were which. He knew the Great Hall, of course, with its sharply pointed roof and flying buttresses and ornate stonework. Odila led him inside the Great Hall. He caught a glimpse of the enormous chamber, where town meetings were held. Odila escorted him up a winding stone stairway and down a long, echoing corridor. The corridor was lit with oil lamps mounted on tall, heavy pedestals carved from stone to resemble maidens holding lamps in their outstretched hands. The sculptures were extraordinary—each maiden was different, having been modeled from real life—but Gerard was so absorbed in his thoughts that he paid them scant attention.
The council, made up of three Knights, the heads of the three Orders of the Knighthood—Knights of the Sword, Knights of the Rose, Knights of the Crown—was just convening. The Knights stood together at the end of the hallway, apart from the noble lords and ladies and a few common folk who had come to witness the proceedings and who were now filing quietly into the chamber. A Knights’ Council was a solemn procedure. Few spoke, or if they did, they kept their voices low. Lady Odila brought her prisoner to a halt and, leaving him in the care of guards, went to inform the herald the prisoner was present.
When those seated in the gallery had all entered, the Lord Knights walked into the room, preceded by several squires carrying the emblem of the Knights of Solamnia with its sword, rose, and kingfisher. Next came the flag of the city of Solanthus, and after that the banners of the Lord Knights who sat upon the council.
While waiting for them to take their places, Gerard scanned the crowd, searching for someone who might know either him or his father. He saw no signs of anyone he recognized, and his heart sank.
“There is someone here who claims to know you,” said Lady Odila, returning. She had seen his scrutiny of the assembly, guessed what he was doing.
“There is?” he asked, relieved. “Who is it? Perhaps Lord Jeffrey of Lynchburg or perhaps Lord Grantus?”
Lady Odila shook her head, her mouth twitched. “No, no. None of those. Not a Knight at all, in fact. He’s going to be called to testify on your behalf. Please accept my condolences.”
“What—” Gerard began angrily, but she cut him off.
“Oh, and in case you were concerned about your blue dragon, you will be pleased to know that he has thus far escaped our attempts to slay him. We discovered the cave empty, but we know he is still in the vicinity. We have received reports of livestock disappearing.”
Gerard knew that he should be on the Knights’ side in this contest, but he found himself rooting for Razor, who had been a loyal and gallant mount. He was touched by the fact that the dragon was risking his own life to remain in the area, even though Razor must realize by now that something unfortunate had happened to Gerard.
“Bring forth the prisoner,” cried the bailiff.
Lady Odila reached to take hold of Gerard, to lead him into the hall.
“I am sorry you must be manacled,” she said to him quietly, “but that is the law.”
He looked at her in astonishment. He could not, for the life of him, figure her out. Giving her a grudging nod, he evaded her grip and walked past her. He might have to enter the council room clanking and shackled, but he would enter on his own, carrying himself proudly, with his head high.
He hobbled into the room to the whispers and murmurs of those seated in the gallery. The Lord Knights sat behind a long wooden table placed at the front of the chamber. Gerard knew the custom. He had attended Knights’ Councils as a spectator before, and he advanced to the center of the room, to make his obeisance to the three who would be sitting in judgment upon him. The Lord Knights watched him with grave countenances, but he guessed by their approving looks and nods that he was creating a favorable impression. He rose from his bow and was turning to take his place at the dock when he heard a voice that dashed all his hopes and expectations and caused him to think that he might as well call for the executioner and save everyone the trouble.
“Gerard!” cried the voice. “Over here, Gerard! It’s me! Tasslehoff! Tasslehoff Burrfoot!”
The spectators were located at the far end of the large, rectangular room. The Lord Knights were seated at the front. The dock, holding the prisoners and their guards, was to their left. On the right, against the wall, were chairs for those who had business before the Knights’ Council, petitions to present, or testimony to offer.
Goldmoon rested in one of these chairs. She had waited two hours for the council to convene. She had slept some during that time, her sleep disturbed as usual by the spinning wheel of whirling, multicolored forms and images. She woke when she heard the people filing in to take their seats at the gallery. They looked at her strangely, some staring, others painfully careful to avoid doing so. When the Lord Knights entered, each bowed low before her. One knelt to ask for her blessing.
Goldmoon understood by this that Starmaster Mikelis had spread the word of the miracle of her renewed youth.
At first she was annoyed and even angry with the Starmaster for having told people when she had specifically requested him not to do so. On reflection, she admitted that she was being unreasonable. He would have to offer some explanation for her altered appearance, and he had saved her the weary work of having to describe yet again what had happened to her, to relive the night of that terrible transformation. She accepted the Knights’ homage and reverence with patience. The dead flitted around her, as well, but then the dead were always around her.
Starmaster Mikelis returned to sit protectively beside her, watching over her with a mixture of awe and pity and perplexity.