The rescue. Sturm settles an argument. he knights and the kender emerged from the library’s secret entrance to find themselves in a snow storm, a startling change in the weather, for the day had been sunny when they went underground.
Large, heavy snowflakes were plummeting down from the sky, obscuring their vision and making walking on the stone streets slippery and treacherous. Though Marcus had been gone only a few moments, his footprints were already being covered up by the fast-falling snow. As Tas said, the snow was so thick they could barely see their noses in front of their faces, and they were startled when a figure suddenly loomed out of the white curtain.
“It’s me, Marcus,” he said, raising his hands as he heard the rattle of steel. “It occurred to me you’ll need a guide to the Hall of Justice.”
Derek muttered his thanks as he sheathed his sword, and they hurried on through the storm, blinking the snow out of their eyes and slipping on the icy pavement. Though the rest of the world had gone still and silent beneath a snowy blanket, their little part of it was quite lively, for the kender talked incessantly.
“Have you ever noticed how snow makes everything look different? I guess that’s why it’s really easy to get lost in a blizzard. Are we lost? I don’t remember seeing that tree before-the one that’s all humped over. I think we’ve taken a wrong turn-”
Eventually they came to a street corner and a building the kender did recognize, though this didn’t stop his flow of talk.
“Look at all the gargoyles! Hey, I saw one of them move! Brian, did you see that very fierce-looking gargoyle move? Wouldn’t it be exciting if it flew off its perch on that building and swooped down on us and gouged out our eyes with its sharp talons? Not that I want to have my eyes gouged out, mind you. I like my eyes. I couldn’t see much without them. Say, Marcus, I think we’re lost again. I don’t remember going past that butcher-oh, wait, yes, I do-”
“Can’t you keep him quiet?” Derek grumbled.
“Not without cutting out his tongue,” Aran returned.
Derek seemed to be considering this as a viable option. By this time, however-fortunately for Tas-they had arrived at the Hall of Justice, a large, ugly brick structure. Despite the storm, a crowd had gathered out front, some of them shouting for the detested Solamnic to quit skulking about behind the lord’s skirts and show himself.
“These people truly hate us,” said Derek.
“You can’t really blame them,” said Marcus.
“They were the ones who turned on us,” returned Derek. “Many Solamnics died in this city after the Cataclysm at the hands of the mobs.”
“That was a tragedy,” Marcus admitted. “And after the riot was over, some of the people here were genuinely ashamed of themselves. The Tarsians sent a delegation to Solamnia to try to make peace. Did you know that?”
Derek shook his head.
“Their overtures were rebuffed. They were not even permitted to leave their ship to set foot on Solamnic soil. If the Solamnics had been forgiving to those who wronged them, as the Measure states they should,” Marcus added with a sidelong glance at Derek, “the knights would have been welcomed back to Tarsis and perhaps the city might not find itself about to be attacked by the dragonarmy.”
“Much of Solamnia is now in the hands of the enemy,” said Derek.
“Yes, I know,” Marcus replied. “My parents live in Vingaard. I have not heard from them in a long time.”
The knights were silent a moment, then Brian asked quietly, “You are from Solamnia, then?”
“I am,” said Marcus. “I am one of the ‘Pathetics’ as the kender terms us.” He smiled through the snow at Tasslehoff. “I was sent here with Lillith and several others to protect the library.”
“There’s no way you can protect it!” said Brian, suddenly and unreasonably angry at the man. “Not from the dragonarmies. The library’s safely hidden. You and Lillith should just lock it up and leave it. You’re putting your lives in danger over a few books.”
He paused, flushing. He had not meant to speak with such passion. They were all staring at him in astonishment.
Marcus was gentle, sympathetic, but resolute. “You forget, Sir Knight, that our god is with us. Gilean will not leave us to fight alone, if fight we must. Wait here a moment. I see one of my colleagues. I’ll go ask him what’s going on.”
He hastened through the snow to speak to a man who had just come out of the Hall. After a moment’s conference, Marcus came hurrying back.
“Your friends are going to be taken to prison-”
“I hope it’s a nice prison,” Tasslehoff said to no one in particular. “Some are and some aren’t, you know. I’ve never been in the Tarsis jail before, so I haven’t any idea-”
“Silence, Burrfoot!” Derek ordered peremptorily. “Aran, put that damn flask away!”
Tasslehoff opened his mouth to give the knight a piece of his mind, but he sucked in a gigantic clump of snow-flakes and spent the next few moments trying to cough them back up.
“The constable won’t risk bringing them within sight of this mob,” Marcus continued, “not after what happened when he tried to arrest them. He’ll take them round by an alley in the back.”
“Luck is on our side, for once,” said Derek.
“Not luck,” said Marcus gravely. “Gilean favors us with his blessing. Hurry! This way!”
“Perhaps it was Gilean who choked the kender,” suggested Aran. He had put the flask back in his belt and was patting the coughing Tasslehoff on the back. “If he did, I may become his disciple,” said Derek.
Marcus led them around the side of the Hall to an alleyway that ran behind the building. As if the storm delighted in playing tricks, the snow shower ended, and sunlight sparkled on the new fallen snow. Then more clouds scudded across the sky and the sun began to play at peek-a-boo, ducking in and out of the snow showers, so that one moment the sun shone brightly and the next snow was falling.
The building cast a shadow over the alley that was dark and gloomy. Just as they entered it, Brian saw two cloaked and hooded figures detach themselves from the wall at the far end and walk off in the opposite direction.
“Look there!” he said, pointing.
“Draconians,” said Aran, sneaking a drink when Derek wasn’t looking. “They’re dressed exactly like those who stopped us at the bridge.”
“Do you think they saw us?”
“I doubt it. We’re in shadow. I wouldn’t have seen them but they walked into the sunlight. I wonder why they left so quickly-”
“Hush! This must be them!” Marcus warned.
A door opened and they could hear voices.
“Take the kender,” Derek told Marcus.
Tasslehoff tried to insist they would need his help in the upcoming battle, but Marcus clapped his hand over Tas’s mouth and that ended that.
The constable emerged from the Hall. He was leading five prisoners, one of whom, they were astonished to see, was a woman. Three guards marched alongside. Brian recognized Sturm walking protectively near the woman, and they had been told correctly: Sturm was indeed wearing a breastplate on which was engraved the rose and the kingfisher, symbols of the knights.
Whatever Derek might say of Sturm Brightblade, Brian had always found the man to be the personification of a Solamnic knight-gallant, courageous and noble-which made it strange that Sturm would do something so dishonorable as to lie about being a knight, wear armor he had no right to wear.
Brian drew his sword, sliding it slowly and silently from its sheath. His friends had their weapons in hand. Marcus drew the muzzled kender back further into the shadows.
The door slammed shut behind the prisoners. The constable marched them down the alleyway. Brian saw Sturm exchanging glances with one of the other prisoners, and he guessed that they were going to try to make a break for freedom.
“I’ll take the constable,” said Derek. “You take the other guards.”
The constable could hear the shouts of the mob in the front of the building, but he believed they were safe in the alley. He wasn’t looking for trouble and consequently wasn’t keeping a very good watch. The first he knew of trouble was when he caught a flash of steel. Seeing three cloaked figures rushing toward him, he put his whistle to his lips to sound the alarm. Derek clubbed him with the hilt of his sword, knocking the man unconscious before he could summon help. Aran and Brian menaced the three guards with their swords, and they ran off down the alleyway.
The knights turned to the prisoners, who were blinking in astonishment at their sudden rescue.
“Who are you?” demanded the half-elf.
Brian regarded the man curiously. He was tall and muscular, clad in leather and furs, and he wore a beard, perhaps to conceal his elf features, though they weren’t that noticeable that Brian could see, except for his pointed ears. He appeared no older than his mid-thirties, but the expression in his eyes was that of someone who has lived long in the world, someone who knew life’s sorrows as well as its joys. Of course, the elf blood in him would give him a life-span far longer than most humans. Brian wondered how old he really was.
“Have we escaped one danger only to find a worse?” the half-elf demanded. “Unmask yourselves.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Brian realized they must look more like assassins than saviors. He pulled down his scarf, turned to Sturm, and spoke swiftly in Solamnic, “Oth Tsarthon e Paran,” meaning, “Our meeting is in friendship.”
Sturm had placed himself in front of the female prisoner, keeping her protectively behind him, shielding her with his body. The woman was heavily veiled and wore a thick cloak, so that Brian could gain no clear impression of her. She moved with flowing grace and her hand, resting on the knight’s arm, was remarkable for its delicacy and alabaster purity.
Sturm gasped in recognition.
“Est Tsarthai en Paranaith,” he replied, meaning, “My companions are your friends.” He added in Common, “These men are Knights of Solamnia.”
The half-elf and the dwarf both looked at them suspiciously. “Knights! Why-”
“There is no time for explanation, Sturm Brightblade,” Derek told him, speaking in Common out of politeness, since he assumed the others could not speak Solamnic. “The guards will return soon. Come with us.”
“Not so fast!” stated the dwarf.
He was an elder dwarf, to judge by the gray in his long beard, and like most dwarves Brian had known, he appeared to be irascible, obstinate, and headstrong. He snatched up a halberd one of the guards had let fall, and grasping it in his large, strong hands, he slammed it down on his bent knee, snapping off the handle so that he could wield it more easily.
“You’ll find time for explanations, or I’m not going,” the dwarf told them. “How’d you know the knight’s name and how came you to be waiting for us-”
Tasslehoff had, by this time, managed to escape Marcus’s grasp.
“Oh, just run him through,” the kender cried cheerfully. “Leave his body to feed the crows. Not that they’ll bother; there’s few in the world who can stomach dwarf-”
The half-elf relaxed and smiled. He turned to the red-faced dwarf. “Satisfied?”
“Some day I’ll kill that kender,” the dwarf muttered into his beard.
All this time, Sturm had been staring hard at Derek, who had removed his scarf from his face.
“Brightblade,” Derek acknowledged coldly.
Sturm’s lips tightened, his face darkened, and his hand clenched over the hilt of his sword. Brian tensed, foreseeing trouble, but then Sturm glanced at those with him, especially at the veiled woman. Brian could guess what Sturm was thinking. Had he been alone, he would have refused to accept any aid from the man who had publicly insulted him and his family.
“My lord,” said Sturm, his voice equally cold. He did not bow. If either had been going to say more, they were cut off by the sound of whistles and shouts heading in their direction.
“The guards! This way!” called Marcus.
Sturm’s friends looked to him and he gave a nod. Marcus led them into a maze of streets and alleyways that twisted and turned back in on themselves like a drunken serpent. They soon lost the guards, and when they could no longer hear the whistles, deemed they were safe from pursuit and slowed their pace to mingle with the people in the street.
“Are you glad I rescued you, Flint?” asked Tasslehoff, walking alongside the scowling dwarf.
“No,” he answered, glowering, “and you didn’t rescue me, you doorknob. These knights did.” He cast Brian, who was keeping near the kender, a grudgingly grateful glance.
Tasslehoff grinned and winked conspiratorially at Brian, then said, “That’s a fine halberd you have there,
Flint!”
Flint had been about to toss away the broken weapon, but at the kender’s teasing, he held onto it firmly. “It suits my purpose,” he said, “and besides, it’s not a halberd. It’s a hauberk.”
“No, it isn’t!” Tasslehoff gave a smothered giggle. “A hauberk’s a shirt made of chain mail like the one Sir Brian is wearing. A halberd’s a weapon.”
Flint snorted. “What would a kender know about weapons?” He shook it at Tasslehoff, who was now so overcome with laughter he was having difficulty keeping up with his friends. “This is a hauberk!”
“Oh, yes! Just like that helm you’re wearing has the mane of a griffon! All of us know it’s horse hair,” Tasslehoff retorted.
Flint was already red in the face and puffing from the running. At this accusation, he went purple. He put his hand to the white tail that dangled down from his helm. “It is not! Horse hair makes me sneeze! This is the mane of a griffon!”
“But griffons don’t have manes!” Tasslehoff protested, skipping alongside the dwarf, pouches bouncing and spilling their contents. “Griffons have an eagle’s head and a lion’s body, not the other way around. Just like that’s a halberd, not a hauberk-”
“Is this or is this not a hauberk?” Flint demanded. He shoved his weapon practically in Sturm’s nose.
“That is what we knights know as a halberd,” said Sturm, moving the point away from the mysterious woman, who continued to hold onto his arm.
Tasslehoff gave a whoop of triumph.
“However,” Sturm added diplomatically, seeing Flint look chagrined, “I believe the Theiwar dwarves have a word for ‘halberd’ that sounds similar to ‘hauberk’? Perhaps that is what you were thinking, Flint.”
“That’s true!” stated Flint, his dignity upheld. “I… er… can’t rightly recall the word right at this moment, not being fluent in Theiwar, you understand, but it sounds like hauberk, which is what I meant.”
Tasslehoff grinned and seemed about to comment, but the half-elf, exchanging smiles with Sturm, put an end to the discussion by seizing hold of the kender and hustling him up to the front of the group so fast that his boots skimmed the street.
Brian was impressed by the good fellowship among this oddly assorted group of friends. He was particularly impressed with Sturm. He kept fast hold of the woman he had taken under his protection, and though clearly concerned with her, he had the patience to end the argument between the kender and the dwarf, while managing to maintain the dwarf’s dignity.
As if aware of what Brian was thinking, Sturm met his eye and gave a half-smile and a slight shrug of the shoulders.
They continued moving through the side streets, avoiding the major roads. Tanis Half-elven had hold of the kender and was keeping hold of him. The kender wriggled and squirmed in his friend’s grasp, his shrill voice raised in pleading. Whatever Tas wanted, Tanis was obviously having none of it.
They came to the marketplace, and here they would have to leave the side streets and move out into the open, taking the main road that led to the library. A few guards could be seen searching for them, but finding a handful of people amidst the throng of shoppers was going to be difficult and the guards were obviously not all that interested in capturing the escaped prisoners.
Brian recalled Lillith saying that something was wrong in this city. The guards apparently thought so, for they looked dour and unhappy. Ordinary citizens were still going about their business, but now that he paid attention, he saw people huddling together in knots, talking in hushed voices and glancing nervously over their shoulders. Sturm and the others kept their heads down, their eyes lowered, and did nothing to call attention to themselves. Obviously they’ve been in tense situations like this before, Brian realized. The half-elf even managed to squelch the kender.
They made their way safely through the market and came at last to the road that led to the old part of the city and the library. Here Tanis called a halt. Kender in tow, he came to speak to the knights.
“I thank you, sirs, for helping us,” Tanis said. “We must take our leave of you. We have friends in the Red Dragon Inn who have no idea what has happened-”
“You can’t, Tanis!” Tasslehoff cried. “I keep telling you! You have to come to the library to look at what I’ve found. It’s really, really important!”
“Tas, I don’t need to see another petrified frog,” Tanis said impatiently. “We have to go back to tell Laurana-”
“Oh, tell Laurana!” Tasslehoff said through a smothered giggle.
“-and Raistlin, Caramon, and the others that we are safe,” Tanis continued. “The last they saw of us, we were being taken off to prison. They will be worried.” He held out his hand. “Sir Derek, thank you-”
Tas took advantage of his friend’s distraction to give a wrench and a leap, and managed to twist himself out of Tanis’s grasp. Derek made a grab for the kender, but he missed, and Tas ran off down the alleyway.
“I’ll meet you in the library!” Tas called over his shoulder, waving his hand. “The knights know where!”
“I’ll go fetch him,” Flint offered, though he was so winded he stood doubled over, his hands on his knees. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing.
“No!” said Tanis. “We’re already split in two. I won’t have us going off in three directions. We keep together.”
Marcus volunteered to go after him, and he set off in pursuit.
“I say leave the kender and good riddance,” stated Flint.
“Actually, he has found something of vital importance,” said Derek. “I think you should come see what we have discovered.”
Brian and Aran exchanged startled glances.
“What are you doing?” Aran asked Derek, drawing him to one side. “I thought this dragon orb was a secret.”
“I’m going to need the half-elf’s cooperation,” Derek said in a low voice. “I intend to take the kender with us to Icereach-”
“You’re joking!” Aran exclaimed, horrified.
“I never joke,” said Derek sternly. “He’s the only one who can translate these magical writings for us. We will need him.”
“He won’t go,” said Brian. “He won’t leave his friends.”
“Then Brightblade must persuade him, or better yet, I will order Brightblade to accompany us.”
“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.”