If so, Derek didn’t quote those parts, for he had his own spies in the court of Lord Gunthar. Perhaps Derek’s spies had told him that Aran was a spy. Brian leaned his head against the horse’s neck. He could almost believe Queen Takhisis had returned to the world, planting the seeds of discord among those who had once been the champions of honor and valor. The seeds had taken root in fear and were now flourishing into noxious weeds of hatred and mistrust.
“Where is Aran?” Derek’s voice roused Brian from his dark reflections.
“He went to get some ale,” Brian said.
“We’re not on a kender outing,” Derek said grimly. “He takes nothing seriously, and now I suppose we must go haul him out of some bar.”
Derek was wrong. They found Aran, wiping foam from his mouth, waiting for them on the road that led to Tarsis.
The three set out, with Aran in the middle, Derek on his right, and Brian on his left. He recalled with sudden vividness another quest, their very first.
“Do you remember when the three of us were squires, and we were tired of tilting at the quintain and whacking each other with wooden swords. We decided to prove ourselves and so we—”
“—decided to go to Nightlund to seek the death knight!” Aran began to chuckle. “By my soul, I had not thought of that in a long time. We rode three days into what we fancied was Nightlund, though in truth we never got close, and then we came to that empty castle. It was deserted. The walls were cracked, the battlements crumbling. One of the towers was charred and burned, and we knew we’d found it—Dargaard Keep. The accursed home of the dread Lord Soth.” Aran’s chuckles turned to laughter. “Do you remember what happened next?”
“I’m not likely to forget,” said Brian. “I lost five years of my life that night. We camped out near the keep to keep watch on it, and sure enough, we saw a strange blue light flickering in one of the windows.”
“Ha, ha! The blue light!” Aran guffawed.
“We girded on our armor—”
“—that didn’t fit us, because it was stolen from our masters,” Aran recalled. “All of us were scared out of our wits, but we would none of us admit it and so we went forth.”
“Derek was our leader. Remember, Derek? You gave the signal, and we charged inside and”—Brian could barely speak for mirth—“we were met by a dwarf—”
“—who’d set up an illegal spirit distillery inside the keep…” Aran roared with laughter. “The blue light we saw was the fire cooking his mash! He thought we were there to steal his brew and he came roaring at us from the shadows, waving that bloody great ax. He looked ten feet tall, I swear!”
“And we gallant knights ran off in three different directions with him chasing after us, shouting he was going to chop off our ears!”
Aran was doubled over the pommel of his saddle. Brian was laughing so hard, he could barely see. He wiped his streaming eyes and glanced over at Derek.
The knight sat bolt upright on his horse. He gazed straight ahead, slightly frowning. Brian’s laughter trailed off.
“Don’t you remember that, Derek?” he asked. “No,” said Derek. “I don’t.”
He spurred his horse to a gallop, making it clear he wanted to ride alone.
Aran brought out his flask, then fell into line behind Derek. Brian chose to bring up the rear. There were no more stories, no more laughter. As for singing songs of heroic deeds to enliven the journey, Brian tried to recall one, but found he couldn’t.
Singing would only annoy Derek anyway.
The three rode north in silence, as the gray clouds massed and the snow began to fall.
2
Abrupt end of a peaceful journey. The Measure reconsidered
The journey to Tarsis was long, cold and miserable. The wind blew incessantly across the Plains of Dust and was both a curse and a blessing; a curse in that its chill fingers plucked aside cloaks and jabbed through the warmest clothing, a blessing in that it kept the road clear of mounding snow drifts.
The knights had brought firewood with them, figuring there would be little chance of finding wood on the way. They did not have to make use of it, however, for they were invited to spend the first night with the nomads who lived in this harsh land.
The Plainsmen gave them shelter consisting of a hide tent and food for themselves and their horses. All this, yet they never spoke a word to them. The knights woke in the gray of dawn to find the Plainsmen dismantling their tent around them. By the time the knights had made their morning ablutions, the nomads were ready to depart. Derek sent the affable Aran to give the Plainsmen their thanks.
“Very strange,” Aran commented on his return, as Brian and Derek were readying the horses.
“What is?” Derek asked.
“The man we took for their leader seemed to be trying to tell me something. He kept pointing north and frowning and shaking his head. I asked him what he meant, but he didn’t speak Common or any other language I tried. He pointed north three times, then he turned and walked off.”
“Perhaps the road to the north is blocked by snow,” Brian suggested.
“Could be what he meant, I suppose, but I don’t think so. It seemed more serious than that, as if he were trying to warn us of something bad up ahead.”
“I was thinking to myself last night it was odd to find the Plainsmen traveling this time of year,” said Brian. “Don’t they usually make permanent camp somewhere during the winter months?”
“Maybe they’re fleeing something,” said Aran. “They were in a hurry this morning, and the chief certainly looked grim.”
“Who can tell what such savages do or why,” said Derek dismissively.
“Still, we should be on our guard,” Brian suggested.
“I am always on my guard,” returned Derek.
The snow let up and a freshening wind whisked away the clouds. The sun shone, warming them and making their journey more pleasant. At Derek’s insistence, they still wore the accoutrements of knighthood: tabards marked with the rose, the crown, or the sword, depending on their rank; their ornate helms; tall boots with the spurs each had won; and fine woolen cloaks. They had covered many miles the day before and hoped that by hard riding and stopping only long enough to rest the horses they would reach Tarsis before nightfall.
The day passed uneventfully. They did not find any places where the road was blocked. They met no other people, nor did they see signs anyone else had traveled this way. They gave up trying to puzzle out what the Plainsman had meant.
Toward late afternoon, the clouds returned and the sun disappeared. The snow started, falling furiously for a time, then the squall lifted and the sun came back. This continued on the rest of the afternoon, the knights riding from patches of snow into patches of sunlight and back to snow, until the weather grew so confused—as Aran quipped—they could see the snowflakes glitter in the sun.
During one of the flurries, the knights topped a slight rise and found, on their way down, the vast expanse of the plains spread out before them. They could see bands of snow glide across the prairie, and during a break in one of the small storms, a walled city.
The city disappeared in a sudden burst of blowing snow, but there was no doubt that it was Tarsis. The sight cheered them, as did the thought of an inn with a blazing fire and hot food. Aran had said no more about camping in the hills.
“The captain of the ship recommended an inn known as the Red Dragon,” Brian said.
“Not exactly a propitious name,” Aran remarked dryly.
“You can throw salt over your shoulder and turn around in a circle thirteen times before you go inside,” said Derek.
Aran looked at him in astonishment, then he caught Derek’s smile. The smile was stiff, as if not much used, but he was smiling.
“I’ll do that,” Aran said, grinning.
Brian breathed a sigh of relief, glad to feel the tension between them ease. They rode on, climbing yet another gentle rise. Topping this one, they saw ahead of them a deep, rock-strewn gully spanned by a wooden bridge.