“He’s not a knight, Derek, as you keep reminding us,” said Brian. “He doesn’t have to obey your orders.”
“He will unless he wants me to tell his friends the truth,” said Derek harshly. “He can make himself useful on the journey minding the horses and the kender.”
They had kept their voices low, but Sturm must have heard his name mentioned for he looked over at them to see Derek’s disapproving gaze fixed on his breastplate. Sturm flushed, then turned away.
Derek, don’t do this, Brian begged his friend silently. Just let it be. Let them go their way and we’ll go ours.
He had the unhappy feeling that wasn’t going to happen.
“Come with us, Brightblade,” Derek called, making it sound like an order.
The half-elf and the dwarf exchanged troubled glances, then both looked at Sturm, who had not heard, for he was talking in low and reassuring tones to the veiled woman.
“Mark my words—this isn’t going to end well,” the dwarf predicted “and it’s all the fault of that rattlebrained kender!”
The half-elf gave a deep sigh and nodded his head in gloomy agreement.
“They don’t know the half of it!” Aran remarked.
He took out his flask, hefted it, found it was empty. He shook it. Nothing came out.
“Great,” he muttered. “Now I have to put up with Derek while I’m sober.”
7
A last kiss. Fine and blood
The knights and their newfound companions arrived back at the library without incident. Marcus had returned to report that Tas was safely back at the library, regaling Lillith with his tale of how they had fought off six hundred Tarsian guards and a wandering giant.
“Brian,” said Derek, “before we enter the library, go fetch Brightblade. Tell him I want to speak with him.”
Brian sighed deeply, but went to do as he was told.
Sturm Brightblade came of an honored family and he had the backing of Lord Gunthar, who was an old and valued friend of the family. When Sturm had asked that he be considered for knighthood, Lord Gunthar had supported the young man. It was Derek who had opposed Sturm’s nomination to enter the knighthood on various grounds: Sturm had not been raised in Solamnia; he had been raised by his mother, his father having been absent during his formative years; Sturm was not properly educated; he had not served as a squire to a knight; and most damning, Derek had hinted that Sturm’s parentage was subject to question.
Fortunately Sturm had not been present to hear all that Derek had said about him and his family, or there would have been bloodshed in the council hall. As it was, Lord Gunthar had answered the charges, arguing vehemently in favor of his young friend, but Derek’s charges had been enough to sink Sturm’s candidacy.
Rumor had it that when Sturm heard rumors of what Derek had said, the young man had tried to challenge Derek to a contest of honor. That was not possible, however. A mere nobody, such as Sturm Brightblade, could not challenge a Lord Knight of the Rose to mortal combat. Feeling himself disgraced, Sturm had determined to leave Solamnia. In vain, Lord Gunthar had tried to persuade Sturm to remain. Gunthar urged him to wait a year, and his name could be submitted again. In the meantime, Sturm could refute Derek’s charges. Sturm refused. He left Solamnia shortly after, taking with him his inheritance—his father’s sword and armor, part of which he was now wearing, though he had no right to do so.
Two proud and stubborn men, Brian thought, both at fault.
“We need to talk to you, Sturm,” said Brian. “In private. Perhaps the lady would like to take some time to rest,” he concluded awkwardly.
Sturm escorted the veiled woman to a stone bench near what had once been a marble fountain. He gallantly brushed off the snow, removed his cloak, and spread it out on the bench, then graciously assisted her to seat herself. The true elf, whose name was Gilthanas, had not spoken a word to any of them this entire time. He sat protectively beside the woman. Tanis stood fidgeting, looking about. He nodded in acquiescence when Sturm told him he was going to speak with his friends.
Derek led the way to a place where they could talk in private and not be overheard. Brian, who had the dread feeling he knew what was coming, found a chance to say a quick word to Sturm, holding him back when he would have followed Derek.
“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for what happened to you—in regard to the knighthood. Derek’s my friend and there’s no man I love and honor more,” Brian smiled ruefully, “but he can be a horse’s rear end sometimes.”
Sturm made no reply. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground. His face was dark with anger.
“All of us have our failings,” Brian continued. “If Derek would ever take off his armor, we’d find a human being underneath, but he can’t take off that armor, Sturm. He’s just not made that way. He expects perfection of everyone, especially himself.”
Sturm seemed to soften at this. He looked less grim.
“When the dragonarmies overran Castle Crownguard,” Brian continued, “a dragon killed his younger brother, Edwin. That is, we assume he is dead.” He paused a moment, thinking back to that terrible time, and said quietly, “We hope he is dead. Derek’s wife and child are now forced to reside with her father, because Derek cannot provide a house to shelter her. How must any man feel about that, especially a man as proud as Derek? He has nothing left, except the knighthood, this quest of his—” Brian sighed “—and his pride. Remember that, Sturm, and forgive him, if you can.”
Having said this, Brian walked away, lest Derek should suspect he’d said anything. Sturm was silent, stiff and formal when he joined Derek. Aran, peering over Derek’s helm, looked at Brian and lifted his eyebrows in a question. Brian could only shake his head. He had no idea what Derek was doing.
“Brightblade,” said Derek abruptly, “we have had our differences in the past…”
Sturm’s body trembled, his hands clenched. He said nothing, but gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement.
“I remind you that according to the Measure, in time of warfare, all personal animosities must be set aside. I am willing to do so,” Derek added, “if you are. I prove it by taking you into our confidence. I am going to reveal to you the nature of our quest.”
Brian was astonished, as all of a sudden he realized what Derek was doing. He felt himself growing so angry he had to choke back the harsh words; Derek was being conciliatory to Sturm because he needed the kender.
Sturm hesitated, then gave a great sigh, as though letting go a heavy burden, and said quietly, “I am honored by your trust, my lord.”
“You have leave to tell your friends of our mission,” Derek said, “but this must go no further.”
“I understand,” said Sturm. “I answer for their honor as for my own.”
Considering that he was speaking for outlandish folk, such as dwarves and half-elves, Derek raised an eyebrow at this, but he let it go. He needed the kender.
Derek was about to proceed when Aran interrupted.
“Is it true you killed a Dragon Highlord in Pax Tharkas?” he asked with interest.
“My friends and I assisted in a slave uprising in Pax Tharkas that resulted in the death of the Highlord,” Sturm replied.
Aran was impressed. “No need to be modest, Brightblade. You must have had more to do with it than that, for your name to be on the Highlord’s bounty list!”
“Is it?” Sturm asked, startled.
“It is. Your name and those of your companions. Show him, Brian.”
“We can do that another time. We have more important matters to discuss now,” said Derek, casting Aran an irate glance. “We have been sent by the Knight’s Council to find and bring back to Sancrist a valuable artifact called a dragon orb. We heard rumors that this orb might be found in Icereach, and we have stopped here at the ancient library to try to gain more information. The kender has been of valuable assistance to us in this.”
Sturm smoothed his mustaches, embarrassed and uneasy. “I do not like to speak ill of anyone, my lords, especially Tasslehoff, whom I have known for many years and whom I consider a friend—”