Harald stood up and gazed down at Derek.
“Mad or not, if you want my people to attack the castle, Sir Knight, then we do it my way—or rather, the way of the elf woman. Tomorrow morning at dawn.”
Harald walked out. Derek fumed, frustrated, but ultimately impotent. He had to either take this offer or forego his mission. Brian sighed inwardly.
An unwelcome thought suddenly crossed Brian’s mind. No one knew anything about this dragon orb. What if it turned out to be an artifact of evil? Would Derek still take it back to Solamnia just to realize his own ambition? Brian had the unhappy feeling Derek would.
Brian looked at Sturm, a man who had freely admitted he’d been weak, who spoke openly of his flaws and faults. Compare that to Derek, a Knight of the Rose, tested and proven in battle, confident, sure of himself—a man who would scorn to admit he had faults, would refuse to acknowledge any weakness.
Are you sure he’s a knight? the kender had asked.
In many ways, Sturm Brightblade was a truer knight than Derek Crownguard. Sturm, with all his weaknesses, flaws, and doubts, strove every day to live up to the high ideal of knighthood. Sturm had not come on this quest seeking the dragon orb. He had come because Derek had commandeered the kender, and Sturm would not abandon his friend. Whereas Brian knew quite well that Derek would sacrifice the kender, the Ice Folk, everyone, including his friends, to gain what he wanted. Derek would say (and perhaps he would believe) he was doing this for the good of all mankind, but Brian feared it was only for the good of Derek Crownguard.
Derek left the chieftent in a rage. Aran went after Derek to try to calm him down. Harald, Raggart, and Elistan, along with Gilthanas and Laurana, removed to a tent that Raggart had now dedicated to the gods to discuss their plans for assaulting the castle on the morrow. Tasslehoff had not been seen in hours, and Flint, certain the kender had fallen into a hole in the ice, said he was going to see if he could locate him.
Brian had an idea regarding Brightblade. Derek would be furious and likely turn against Brian forever, but he felt this could be the right thing to do. Brian had just one doubt about Sturm, one question to ask him before putting his plan in motion. Sturm was about to go with Flint to search for the kender, when Brian stopped him.
“Sturm,” said Brian, “could I speak to you a moment in private?”
Flint said he could find the dratted kender on his own and left Sturm alone with Brian. Brian’s tent being occupied, Brian asked Sturm if they could go to his.
“I have a question for you,” Brian said, once they had settled themselves among the furs. “This is none of my business, and my question is impertinent. You have every right to be angry with me for asking. If you are, that’s fine. I will understand. I will also understand if you refuse to answer.”
Sturm looked grave, but indicated Brian could go ahead.
“Why did you lie to your friends about being a knight? Before you answer”—Brian admonished, raising a warning hand—“I have seen the regard and esteem in which your friends hold you. I know it wouldn’t have made any difference to them whether you were a knight or not. You agree that this is true?”
“Yes, that is true,” Sturm said in a low voice, so low Brian had to lean forward to hear him.
“And when they found out you had lied, that made no difference to them either. They still admire you, trust you, and look up to you.”
Sturm lowered his head and passed his hand over his eyes. He could not speak for his emotions.
“Then why lie?” Brian asked gently.
Sturm lifted his head. His face was pale and drawn, but he smiled when he spoke. “I could tell you that I never lied to them. You see, I never told them in so many words that I was a knight. But I led them to believe I was. I wore my armor. I spoke about the knighthood. When someone referred to me as a knight, I did not deny it.”
He paused, gazing thoughtfully into the past. “After my return, if Tanis had said to me, ‘Sturm, are you now a Knight of Solamnia?’ I think I would have found the strength to tell him that my candidacy had been turned down.”
“Unjustly,” Brian said firmly.
Sturm looked startled. He had not expected support from this quarter.
“Please go on with your explanation,” Brian urged. “Don’t think I’m asking out of smugness or idle curiosity. I’m trying to sort out some things for myself.”
Sturm appeared slightly perplexed, but he proceeded. “Tanis did not ask me that question. He took it for granted I was a knight, and so did my other friends. Before I could put things right, all hell broke loose. There was the blue crystal staff and hobgoblins and a lady to protect. Our lives changed forever in an instant, and when the time came when I could have told my friends the truth, it was too late. The truth would have caused complications.
“Then there was my pride.” Sturm’s expression darkened. “I could not have endured Raistlin’s smug triumph, his snide remarks.”
Sturm sighed deeply. His voice softened and he seemed to be speaking to himself, as though Brian were not there, “And I wanted to be a knight so badly. I could not bear to relinquish it. I vowed to be worthy of it. You must believe that. I vowed I would never do anything to disgrace the knighthood. I believed that if I lived my life as a knight, I could somehow make the lie right. I know what I did was wrong, and I am deeply ashamed. I have ruined forever my hopes of becoming a knight. I accept this as my punishment. But if the gods will it, I hope someday to stand before the Council, confess my sins, and ask their forgiveness.”
“I think you are a better knight than many of us who bear the title,” said Brian quietly.
Sturm only shook his head and smiled. He started to say something, but was interrupted by Flint, who thrust his head into the tent to yell, “That blasted kender! You won’t believe the fix he’s got himself into this time! You better come.”
Sturm excused himself and hurried off to rescue Tas from his latest predicament. Brian remained in the tent, thinking things over, and at last he made up his mind. He would do it, though he thought it likely Derek would never speak to him again.
That night, the Ice Folk held a celebration to honor the gods and ask their blessing for the attack on Ice Wall Castle. Derek grumbled that he supposed he would have to attend, since otherwise it would offend his host, but he added grimly that he wouldn’t stay long. Aran stated that, for his part, he was looking forward to it; he enjoyed a good party. Brian was also looking forward to the celebration, but for a different reason.
The chieftent had been cleared of all work, leaving room for dancing. Several of the elders sat around an enormous drum, and they beat on it softly as Raggart the Elder related tales of the old gods he had heard from his father and his father before him. Sometimes chanting, sometimes singing, the old man even performed a few dance steps. Raggart the Younger then took over, relating stories of heroes in past battles to embolden the hearts of the warriors. When he was finished, Tasslehoff, sporting a black eye but otherwise fine, sang a bawdy song about his own true love being a sailing ship, which completely mystified the Ice Folk, though they applauded politely.
Gilthanas borrowed a whalebone flute and played a song that seemed to bring with it the scent of spring wildflowers borne on warm, gentle breezes. So evocative was the elf’s playing that the chieftent, hazy with the smoke of the peat fires and the strong odor of fish, smelled of lilac and new grass.
When the singing and story-telling was done and they had all eaten and drunk, Raggart the Elder raised his hands for silence. This took some time, as the children (and the kender) were excited by the festivities and could not settle down. Eventually, however, a hush spread through the chieftent. The Ice Folk looked at Raggart expectantly; they knew what was going to happen. Derek muttered that he supposed they could leave now, but since neither Aran nor Brian moved, Derek was bound to stay.