“Where are we going?” Tas asked. “What’s that bundle you’re carrying? Can I look inside? Are you going to take me to see Dalamar? I haven’t seen him in a long time. Did you ever hear the story of how I met Dalamar? Caramon and I were—”
“Just shut up, will you?” Gerard said in a nasty, snapping sort of way. “Your chatter is giving me a headache. As to where we’re going, we’re returning to the garrison. And speaking of the bundle I’m carrying, if you touch it I’ll run you through with my sword.”
The Knight would say nothing more than that, although Tas asked and asked and tried to guess and then asked if he’d guessed right and if not, could Gerard give him a clue. Was what was in the bundle bigger than a breadbox? Was it a cat? Was it a cat in a breadbox? All to no avail. The Knight said nothing. His grip on the kender was firm.
The two of them arrived at the Solamnic garrison. The guards on duty greeted the Knight distantly. Sir Gerard did not return their greetings but said that he needed to see the Lord of Shields.
The guards, who were members of the Lord of Shield’s own personal retinue, replied that his lordship had just returned from the funeral and left orders not to be disturbed. They wanted to know the nature of Gerard’s request.
“The matter is personal,” the knight said. “Tell his lordship that I seek a ruling on the Measure. My need is urgent.”
A guardsman departed. He returned a moment later to say, grudgingly, that Sir Gerard was to go in.
Gerard started to enter with Tasslehoff in tow.
“Not so fast, sir,” the guard said, blocking their way with his halberd. “The Lord of Shields said nothing about a kender.”
“The kender is in my custody,” said Gerard, “as ordered by the lord himself. I have not been given leave to release him from my care. I would, however, be willing to leave him here with you if you will guarantee that he does no harm during the time I am with His Lordship-which may be several hours, my dilemma is complex-and that he will be here when I return.”
The Knight hesitated.
“He will be pleased to tell you his story of how he first met the wizard Dalamar,” Gerard added dryly.
“Take him,” said the Knight.
Tas and his escort entered the garrison, passing through the gate that stood in the center of a tall fence made of wooden poles, each planed to a sharp point at the top. Inside the garrison were stables for the horses, a small training field with a target set up for archery practice, and several buildings. The garrison was not a large one. Having been established to house those who guarded the Tomb of the Heroes, it had been expanded to accommodate the Knights who would make what would probably be a last-stand defence of Solace if the dragon Beryl attacked.
Gerard had been thinking with some elation that his days of guarding a tomb might be drawing to a close, that battle with the dragon was imminent, though he and all the Knights were under orders not mention this to anyone. The Knights had no proof that Beryl was preparing to sweep down on Solace and they did not want to provoke her into attacking. But the Solamnic commanders were quietly making plans.
Inside the stockade, a long, low building provided sleeping quarters for the Knights and the soldiers under their command.
In addition, there were several outbuildings used for storage and an administrative building, where the head of the garrison had his own lodgings. These doubled as his office.
His lordship’s aide-de-camp met Gerard and ushered him inside. “His lordship will be with you shortly, Sir Gerard,” said the aide.
“Gerard!” called out a woman’s voice. “How good to see you! I thought I heard your name.”
Lady Warren was a handsome woman of about sixty years with white hair and a complexion the color of warm tea. Throughout their forty years of marriage, she had accompanied her husband on all his journeys. As gruff and bluff as any soldier, she presently wore an apron covered with flour. She kissed Gerard on his cheek-he stood stiffly at attention, his helm beneath his arm-and glanced askance at the kender.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Midge!” she called to the back of the house in a voice that might have rung across the battlefield, “lock up my jewels!”
“Tasslehoff Burrfoot, ma’am,” said Tas, offering his hand.
“Who isn’t these days?” Lady Warren returned and promptly thrust her flour-covered hands that sparkled with several interesting looking rings beneath her apron. “And how are your dear father and mother, Gerard?”
“Quite well, I thank you, ma’am,” said Gerard.
“You naughty boy.” Lady Warren scolded, shaking her finger at him. “You know nothing about their health at all. You haven’t written to your dear mother in two months. She writes to my husband to complain and asks him, most pathetically, if you are well and keeping your feet dry. For shame. To worry your good mother so! His lordship has promised that you shall write to her this very day. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t sit you down and have you compose the letter while you are in there with him.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Gerard.
“Now I must go finish the baking. Midge and I are taking one hundred loaves of bread to Laura to help keep the Inn going, poor thing. Ah, it’s a sad day for Solace.” Lady Warren wiped her face with her hand, leaving a smear of flour behind.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Gerard.
“You may go in now,” said the aide and opened a door leading from the main lodging to the lord’s personal quarters.
Lady Warren took her leave, asking to be remembered to Gerard’s dear mother. Gerard promised, his voice expressionless, that he would do so. Bowing, he left to follow the aide.
A large man of middle years with the black skin common to the people of Southern Ergoth greeted the young man warmly, a greeting the young Knight returned with equal and unusual warmth.
“I’m glad you stopped by, Gerard!” said Lord Warren. “Come and sit down. So this is the kender, is it?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Gerard led Tas to a chair, plunked him down, and took out a length of rope. Acting so swiftly that Tas did not have time to protest, the Knight tied the kender’s wrists to the chair’s arms. He then brought out a gag and wrapped i.around Tas’s mouth.
“Is that necessary?” Lord Warren asked mildly.
“If we want to have any semblance of a rational conversation, it is, sir,” Gerard replied, drawing up a chair. He placed the mysterious bundle on the floor at his feet. “Otherwise you would hear stories about how this was the second time Caramon Majere had died. The kender would tell you how this funeral differed from Caramon Majere’s first funeral. You would hear a recitation of who attended the first time and who wasn’t at this one.”
“Indeed.” Lord Warren’s face took on a softened, pitying look.
“He must be one of the afflicted ones. Poor thing.”
“What’s an afflicted one?” Tas asked, except that due to the gag the words came out all gruff and grumbly, sounding as if he were speaking dwarven with a touch of gnome thrown in for good measure. Consequently no one understood him, and no one bothered to answer.
Gerard and Lord Warren began to discuss the funeral. Lord Warren spoke in such warm tones about Caramon that the lump of sadness returned to Tas’s throat with the result that he didn’t need the gag at all.
“And now, Gerard, what can I do for you?” Lord Warren asked, when the subject of the funeral was exhausted. He regarded the young Knight intently. “My aide said you had a question about the Measure.”
“Yes, my lord. I require a ruling.”
“You, Gerard?” Lord Warren raised a graying eyebrow. “Since when do you give a damn about the dictates of the Measure?”