Derek stepped forward and clasped Aran's arms, coming as close to smiling as he ever did. "It looks as if you've seen hard times," he said.
Aran winced, grimaced. "Had a spot of bad luck near Owensburg," he said. "I ran afoul of a hobgoblin patrol- never seen so many of the buggers-and had to shoot my way through." He shrugged off the quiver he wore across his back and opened it; he was down to his last two arrows. "It was close, mark me. I rode old Byrnie hard the rest of the way. I was afraid I'd break her."
"She'll be all right," Derek assured him. "But what brings you here in these troubled days? It seems an odd time to be calling on old friends."
Aran chuckled, shouldering the quiver again. "That it does, but here I am. I was at Castle Uth Wistan when the messenger arrived with your call for reinforcements. I asked Gunthar if I might be sent here."
Derek stepped back, rubbed his hands with pleasure. "Then Gunthar is sending help!"
Aran's smile vanished. He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, not as such, I'm afraid. I'm all he could spare."
"Damn him!" Derek spat, and struck the wall with his mailed fist. Metal rang against stone. "The fool! Doesn't he realize-" He stopped short, looking around to make sure none of his men had witnessed the outburst.
Aran regarded his friend with concern, then smiled again. "I didn't say I was the only one coming," he said. "Before the Council withdrew, I cornered Alfred MarKenin and had a word in his ear. I told him how grateful you'd be, as Lord Knight, to those who helped you when you were in need. He agreed to send a company of Knights of the Sword, without Gunthar's knowledge. They'll arrive from Solanthus within the week, and you'll never guess who's leading them."
Derek blinked, taking all this in as he swallowed his rage. "Not Brian Donner," he said.
Aran flashed his broadest, most disarming smile. "All right, so you did guess." He clapped Derek on the back. "We three, together again, what? It'll be just like when we were young, newly dubbed and spoiling for a fight."
Derek nodded. In his head, he was already sizing up the khas-board and contemplating his new strategy. "Thank you for this, Aran," he said.
"It was no trouble, old friend," the red-haired knight returned. He glanced around the gatehouse. "Edwin around?"
"He's in the inner ward. Seeing to those in need."
Aran laughed. "Some things never change. Not that I'm surprised. Still dreaming of following in Huma's footsteps, is he? Well, maybe he'll have his chance."
Derek frowned. "This is no time for jokes."
Aran started to say that he hadn't been joking. The dour look on Derek's face silenced the knight.
"I'm going to say hello," Aran said, turning to go. "Then I think I'll have a lie down. You wouldn't believe how I ache. I'm not as young as I used to be. We'll have a feast tonight, to welcome me, what?"
Derek nodded, and Aran went into the castle. Though he was tired and sore, the red-haired knight still had a singular ease to his gait-the same ease he'd had many years ago, when they'd been questing-brothers with Brian Donner. Derek turned to dark thoughts. It had been a day full of bad news: first Linbyr's tale of dragons-unconfirmed as yet, he reminded himself-and now, at last, proof of Gunthar's refusal to reinforce Castle Crownguard.
"So, you think you can win by leaving me undefended before the enemy," he whispered to the shadows. "You think you can sacrifice me like a cleric in a khas match. Pray you're right, Gunthar." He curled his fingers into a fist. "Pray you're right."
*****
"I fear our hospitality is not what it used to be," said Edwin as Aran Tallbow helped himself to a slab of roast boar.
Servants bustled about the Great Hall, keeping flagons filled with warm, dark beer. Bread, cheese and summer fruits lay scattered about the great dining table, scarce compared with peacetime feasts. Edwin gestured with his knife at the other knights who had assembled for the meal. "Most of us have grown accustomed to porridge and salt pork by now."
Derek, who had hardly spoken since the first bread had been broken, glared at his brother. "Edwin, be still."
Aran chuckled around a mouthful of meat. He quaffed his beer and shook his head, his red hair bouncing merrily. "No fear, Derek," he said lightly. "I've been through sieges before. At least you're not reduced to eating rat meat. Why I remember a time when-"
He stopped. No one-except Edwin-was even politely pretending to listen.
Aran glanced around the table and shook his head. No matter how he tried to brighten the mood, these men seemed determined to be gloomy. Well, they had every right-or so he was forced to admit. He'd looked at the map table before the feast. Castle Crownguard was all but surrounded. The hobgoblins that had caused Aran so much trouble were coming down from the north. And there was, by all accounts, a sizable army on the way from the south, an army that had razed Castle Archuran. Derek had learned that much from the peasants, before they'd set out to take their chances in the hills. He warned them that they were not likely to survive long in the wilderness, but they'd been adamant about not wanting to stay at the castle.
What worried Aran most, though, was his host. Derek had always been serious-ill-humored, even-but now he was dark and ominous as a thundercloud. Aran wasn't looking forward to seeing the lightning strike.
"How many knights can we expect to aid us, Sir Aran?" asked old Pax Garett, Knight of the Sword, who had been one of Derek's father's closest friends. He stroked his steel-gray moustache. "And when will they arrive?"
Aran cleared his throat awkwardly, setting down his knife. "Um," he said, "twenty or thirty, provided they don't lose any on the way. And they'll be here in five or six days-again, assuming all goes well."
"Twenty or thirty!" Pax returned, shocked. "Five or six days! By the Abyss, man, that's not enough! What does Gunthar think he's doing?"
"Gunthar's doing nothing," Derek growled. All eyes turned to him. "He sits in his castle, hoarding his troops rather than committing them to the front."
Aran shook his head. "Not so, my lord. Truth to tell, there are few knights left on Sancrist. Barely enough to hold the High Council. Most are fighting at Vingaard and Solanthus. Gunthar expressed his regret that he couldn't help-"
"Bah!" Derek snarled. "He and his men are probably laughing at us even now! He's done this deliberately, to get us out of the way. To get me out of the way." His eyes gleamed in the hearthlight. "In fact, it wouldn't surprise me at all to hear he'd made a deal with the enemy-cast us to wolves, while he goes free!"
All noise in the hall stopped. The knights stared at Derek in shock. Aran lowered his gaze to his plate.
"Brother!" Edwin reprimanded. "You don't mean that!"
Derek blinked, glancing around the room, then rubbed his anger-blotched forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," he said wearily. "But Gunthar's left us virtually helpless to bear the brunt of the enemy forces."
"There's little here for the enemy to be interested in- no offense, Derek," Aran responded. It was true enough. Whereas the Crownguard family had once been one of the most powerful in Solamnia, Lord Derek now had little domain. The family's prestige had long been in decline, and only years of careful, constant maneuvering had brought the seat of Lord Knight within Derek's grasp.
But now even that was beginning to come apart, and the realization made Derek jab the table with the tip of his knife. "They will attack," he said.
"But why?" demanded Aran. "What use is there? Even Lord Alfred wasn't sure why he should draw troops away from Solanthus to send to defend Crownguard, when the enemy can simply pass us by and attack rider targets."
"They'll attack us," Derek replied, his gaze steady, "because they can win, and quickly."
"They have dragons," Edwin added.
This time, even the servants stopped and stared. Derek flashed a hot glare at his brother-he hadn't told the others of Linbyr's tale yet. Not that his telling was necessary; they'd all heard the rumors. This was the first time the news had been spoken aloud. Pax and the other knights looked stri
cken.
Aran broke the silence with a hollow laugh. "Dragons! Oh, ho!" he cried, trying to pass it off as a joke. And, indeed, he did not believe it. "You've developed quite the wit, Edwin! Hasn't he, Derek?"
The other knights weren't laughing. Aran glanced sharply at his old friend. "Hasn't he, Derek?" he repeated, more urgently.
Derek poked at the cold meat on his plate. "My brother speaks aright, for all of his bluntness," he said harshly, taking a gulp of beer that tasted like dirty rain-water to him. "The dragons slew Aurik and his men, and leveled Castle Archuran. One and all the survivors told the same tale."
Aran blew a long sigh through his lips. He knew now why the quiet conversation that had buzzed at the table throughout the feast had been so forced and half-hearted. Now, at last, he realized how desperate Derek truly was. He laid his knife aside-his appetite had fled him-and stared up at the rows of gleaming shields that hung high on the walls of the hall. Each bore the crest of a Crownguard, marked with the sigil of a Knight of the Rose. The Tallbows were a less noteworthy clan, but Aran understood the pride Derek took in his heritage. That heritage was doomed now, meaningless.
"What's this, then?" rumbled Sir Pax, thumping his fist on the table. "Gloom in the face of honorable death? Surely these aren't Knights of Solamnia all about me, brooding over their flagons that they might face a dragon in worthy battle!"
That cheered the other knights somewhat, but when the feast was done, they dispersed quickly, off to stand the night watch on the battlements. Before long, only Derek, Edwin, and Aran remained, sipping brandy at the map table.
"How long before the armies arrive?" Aran asked at length, shaking his goblet so the golden brandy sloshed around its edges.
"The villagers said the enemy drove them part of the way here, then withdrew near the Axewood," Derek answered, pointing to a small cluster of trees on the map. "Their supply wagons will have to catch up, but I suppose we'll sight them two days from the morrow."
"Then Brian's company likely won't arrive in time," Aran said flatly. "We can't count on using anything more than we already have."
"The defenses have been raised," added Edwin. "We'd be glad if you would command our archers."
Aran nodded. "I was hoping you'd ask. I'd be honored. With your leave, Lord Derek, of course."
Derek nodded and grunted absently. It went without saying that Aran, one of the finest archers in Solamnia, would lead the castle's bowmen. But Derek's mind was elsewhere. "What do you know of dragons, Aran?" he asked.
"No more than you, I'm afraid-perhaps not even that much, at that. Just what the nursemaid told me when I was a lad," the red-haired knight replied. "They're big, scaly, scary, and they eat bad little boys for lunch."
He chuckled, and Edwin smiled, but Derek continued to brood. Aran sighed and shook his head. He swirled the brandy in the glass. Brandy sloshed onto his fingers. "Confound it, Derek! What do you want me to say? I didn't even know they existed before tonight. I certainly don't know how to kill one of the blasted beasts! Huma needed the dragonlance, if you believe the stories. You don't have any of those lying about in the armory, I trust?"
Derek glared at him, didn't respond. Aran scowled and sucked brandy from his knuckles.
"The Hooded Knight only needed his sword," Edwin said quietly.
"Damn it, both of you!" Derek yelled suddenly. "The Hooded Knight is a fairy story! And so is Huma!"
"And what are the dragons, brother?" Edwin asked. "Fairy story? Real? You're not so sure anymore, are you?"
Aran had heard this argument before, many times. Edwin believed the old stories. His heroes were Huma and Vinas Solamnus and Berthel Brightblade. Derek had always ridiculed his brother for this. Derek believed only in himself. Aran knew the argument could last long into the night. He opted for a strategic retreat.
"I'm afraid the ride here wore me out," Aran said, and feigned a yawn. "I'll retire now, by your leave, my lord."
Derek waved him away, his flinty gaze still on Edwin. Aran made an apologetic face at the younger knight, then rose and left. He shut the door as quietly as possible, but it still boomed like a thunderbolt in the cavernous silence.
*****
After Aran's departure, the two brothers sat in stony silence. Edwin endured his brother's glare as long as he could, then looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. "I-I'm sorry, Derek. I didn't mean-"
"Yes, you did," Derek said coldly. "I'm a fool for not believing every song a bard ever played. Is that it?"
Edwin cringed. "Brother, please ..."
"No, no." Derek sneered, waving his hand. "You're right, of course. There are dragons among the enemy. You'd best run along, find the Hammer of Kharas and forge yourself some lances, so you can save the world."
"Stop it, Derek!" Edwin pushed his chair back and stood, his finger shaking as he pointed at his brother. "I've had enough of your mockery. I'm not a child any more. I don't want to be Huma, Derek. I just want to believe in something. Can't you see that?"
Derek stared at Edwin, his eyes dark, his hands balling into fists under the table. This time, though, Edwin met his brother's glower with defiance. Derek's gaze turned to glittering ice, and he shook his head. "Very well, believe in something," he said. "Believe in the dragons. And, since they're coming, we must send a man on to Vingaard to warn the knights there."
"Aye, that's good thinking," Edwin agreed. He stopped suddenly as he realized what his brother was saying. "No, Derek. Surely you wouldn't-"
"I mean it, Edwin. I want you to go."
"But this is my home! I can't just leave-"
"If the dragons come, you'll have no home," Derek continued. "We will die, one and all, like they did at Castle Archuran. The Crownguard name must not fall. You have a wife, safe in Vingaard. I do not. You must sire an heir, so the family may carry on." He paused, his lips becoming a firm line. "And you must go before Lord Gunthar and accuse him of having part in my death, and those of my men."
Edwin slammed his fist on the table. "So that's what this is truly about!" he yelled, his trembling voice ringing all the way up to the rafters. "If you can't be Lord Knight, you mean to shame Gunthar out of it as well! You've played this damned game for power so long, you can't see anything else! Not even your own honor!"
Derek was not accustomed to such defiance. He stared at his brother in amazement.
"Send another lackey on your errand, brother," Edwin continued. In thirty years, he had never spoken to his brother with such anger. "I won't be a pawn on your khas-board." With that, he turned and left.
Derek stared after him until the fire in the hearth began to gutter out. If only it were as simple as Edwin imagined, he said to himself. How fine it would be if Paladine would drop by and save the day. But Paladine wasn't coming. Not now. Not ever.
Gunthar's refusal to send reinforcements was all part of a plan, Derek decided finally. Gunthar had sapped the hope from Derek's men, turned Derek's brother against him, and consigned the Crownguard family to the ashes. All to keep Derek from ascending to his rightful place.
Snarling, Derek hurled his crystal goblet against the wall. It trailed an arc of golden brandy behind it, before it smashed to flinders against the flagstones. Derek sat quietly, gazing intently at the glittering shards. He sat for hours.
Plotting his next move.
*****
By dawn the skies above Castle Crownguard were heavy with storm clouds the hue of unpolished armor. The lands to the southeast were hazy with approaching rain, and the wind had turned from vaguely chilly to damp and cold. The men on the walls clasped their halberds with shivering hands and lowered the visors of their helms against the slashing wind. No one sang now. Few spoke. The castle's scouts were reported missing. They had been due to return from patrol several hours before, but not even the sharpest-eyed sentry had yet seen any sign of them. With the storm coming and the enemy army not far behind, hopes that they would ever be seen again dwindled hourly.
By morning's end, rain lash
ed the castle walls, and some of the more callow squires were talking of following the folk of Archester into the hills. The knights quickly silenced such talk, but not even the harshest reprimands could lift the shadow of dread from the young men's eyes. Sir Winfrid ordered the watch at the postern gate doubled to prevent desertion, and the worst cowards were locked away to keep them from sowing fear throughout the keep.
Derek was furious when he discovered the dissension, and took special note of each culprit's name-if, somehow, he was spared, he swore to bring up their cowardice before the High Council. None of them would ever be knights, if he had any say in the matter.
That wasn't the worst of it, though. Derek had discovered that his brother had gone to the old chapel to hold vigil in the old custom. Some of the younger knights wanted to join him. It was sacrilegious folly, and Derek considered putting a stop to it. But Edwin's angry words from the night before still stung. Derek reluctantly left his brother to his fancy.
Derek Crownguard was in a dark mood when he left the map table in the Great Hall to inspect the castle's defenses. At the top of the keep's high inner wall he found Aran Tallbow sitting alee of a wooden canopy, patiently whittling a shaft of wood. Aran's fine longbow rested beside him, its string covered to keep it dry. He looked up when he heard the rattle of Derek's armor.
"A fine day to you, my lord," he said with a wry smile.
Derek glowered. He did not return the greeting.
"You don't need to make arrows, Aran," Derek said, crouching beneath the canopy and wiping rainwater from his face. "We've enough to last the winter, if needs be."
Aran shrugged. "You know me, Derek. I'd sooner wear another knight's armor into battle than loose a shaft I didn't fletch myself." He stuck a green-dyed feather onto the arrow with a dab of glue from a clay pot. "Any word of the patrols?" he asked, plucking a second feather from his deerskin pouch.
Derek shook his head. "Perhaps they sought shelter, to ride out the storm."
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