The Wayward Knights

by Roland Green

  So it was from the deck of Giggling Wench that Pirvan watched through sweat-blurred eyes Zeskuk's flagship rising higher and higher out of the torpid sea.

  Zeskuk awaited the humans' envoys in the great cabin, rather than his own. It was the only space aboard Cleaver that in this heat would be endurable for both races for as long as the parley might last. Zeskuk knew that minotaurs smelled like a barnyard to humans; did any human know that to a minotaur a human smelled rather like diseased meat?

  To be sure, there was no element of danger here lacking in his own quarters. The great cabin had three doors, and several ports whose shutters had been removed to allow what vagrant breezes might wander by to enter freely.

  Zeskuk's cabin, on the other hand, had been rebuilt by Cleaver's first minotaur captain to make it easy for him to hold against enemies. He had many, or at least enough that he was no longer among the living—but all the carpentry on his cabin had not saved him from a shatang in the back in a waterfront drink shop.

  To Zeskuk's left stood his sister, Fulvura. To his right stood Juiksum, son of Thenvor. Loyal enough to his father that the loudmouthed Thenvor had agreed to let his son represent him, Juiksum was also ambitious enough that he would not go against Zeskuk merely for the pleasure of it. Not when Zeskuk's aid might speed his coming into his inheritance, or else give him wealth and power in his own right.

  The humans entered, the knights armored and with their badges but not visibly armed, the others clad richly enough that their faces were already turning red in the heat. All except for the little man garbed as a priest of Mishakal, who looked as if he would have been equally at ease in the crater of the Smoker or in an ice cave beset by Thanoi. The black-robed wizard looked less comfortable, but held both herself and her staff as if they were weapons.

  "I bid you welcome. I am Zeskuk, chief over this fleet, which has come by the emperor's command to Suivinari Island, to fight or make alliance with you as may seem best for unlocking the island's mystery."

  The emperor had at least not withheld his consent to the voyage, or to others besides Zeskuk's personally sworn crews joining it. That should let Zeskuk's statement pass any truth-testing spell Sirbones or the wizard might have bound into their staves.

  "My sister, Fulvura," the minotaur continued with formal gestures, "one of my honored warriors, Juiksum. What can be said for the fleet of the Destined Race here, we three can say."

  Zeskuk thought that the humans were trying not to look impressed. His negotiating with so few minotaur witnesses implied great control over his fleet and great loyalty from those aboard it.

  Zeskuk only hoped that what he implied did not run too far ahead of reality.

  The humans introduced themselves. The names of the knights and the soldiers in merchant's garb were no surprise; the names of the others were of no interest. The only surprise was the wasted-looking young man (doubtless older than he looked) who named himself Torvik Jemarsson.

  Curiosity as to his being the son of the Jemar would be ill-timed now, but the question needed an answer.

  Fulvura for the minotaurs and one of the merchants for the humans in turn spoke of the reasons for their fleets' coming to Suivinari. As Zeskuk had suspected, both gave the same public reason—to end the mystery and menace now haunting an island useful to both—and both had other, hidden reasons.

  The minotaurs had come to learn if there was any way they could ban the humans from the island. The lack of such a watering place would keep human ships farther from minotaur waters.

  The humans, as far as Zeskuk could judge, had come for the same reason. If they could not claim Suivinari outright, they would be content with some other embarrassment or humiliation of the Destined Race.

  It was Zeskuk's intent to see if the two fleets could be united behind their public purpose, with their private ones left aside until the first was achieved. By then the minotaurs should have learned the human fleet's weaknesses—which might not be many, in a fleet of seventy ships carrying who knew how many fighters.

  Still, one minotaur was fit to overcome at least four humans, if he knew where to strike at them. After some days of searching out the island's secrets together, the minotaurs should know some secrets of the humans'. Perhaps the humans might have learned some of the minotaurs', but Zeskuk trusted his people to keep their ears open and their mouths shut.

  "I should add," Zeskuk continued, "that we know a trifle more than you of what is abroad on the island. We have watchers at a post on the Green Mountain. So we can see some of what moves on the island, and more of what moves on the sea around it."

  He wondered if any human would be stung into saying something imprudent, by the implied accusation of treacherous scheming. None of them were, the warriors being too familiar with minotaur ways and the civilians being too ignorant to know an insult when they heard it.

  This was not quite a surprise. The warriors, after all, had doubtless been taught by the gigantic Knight of Solamnia who had to be Sir Darin Waydolsson. By reputation, Sir Darin walked as much apart from humans as Waydol had from minotaurkind—but the humans had listened to him, and the minotaurs had not listened to Waydol.

  What came as a surprise was young Torvik clearing his throat. "Pray tell how many fighters did you lose, posting watchers on the Green Mountain?" the young captain asked. "And how do you keep them supplied, with the island a weapon wielded against anyone traveling inland?"

  "Yes," the wiry, graying knight who had to be Sir Pirvan the Wayward said. "Be warned, that if you do not tell us, we cannot help them. Not unless we read the messages they send by flag, or fire, or sun-mirror, and that would not be a course so honorable that we would choose it if we could do otherwise."

  Juiksum snorted. Zeskuk was of the same mind. Sir Pirvan was flaunting his knowledge of how to threaten a minotaur without giving him cause to fight. Sir Darin, be it said to his honor, was giving his elder a slightly reproving look.

  Torvik ignored both the knights and continued, "I am indeed the son of Jemar the Fair. If you know that, you should know the name of my mother."

  "Lady Eskaia, of House Encuintras in Istar," Zeskuk said. He would not waste time by pretending ignorance.

  "Indeed, although she is now wed to Gildas Aurhinius, who also stands here before you," Torvik replied, with a nod toward his mother's new husband.

  Zeskuk inclined his head in the most minimal of gestures of honor. Then he inclined his head rather more, toward Torvik.

  "Doubtless you wish to know how Jheegair and his son fare," he told the young man.

  For the first time, Torvik looked bemused, but only for a moment. Zeskuk saw Darin struggle with the urge to kick the young man in the shins.

  "Yes," Torvik said. "My mother dealt with them honorably. I do not remember her ever doing otherwise with anybody. Indeed, I have been curious to know if their lives were afterward filled with honor."

  That was not a bad regaining of his feet after falling down; arena fighters had been cheered for less. Considering that Torvik had plainly not for many years thought of Jheegair, or the son of Jheegair whom his mother had saved from falling overboard from Gold Cup, it was a notable display of coolness and wits.

  Jemar and Eskaia had between them bred a warrior to be reckoned with. Zeskuk would not delay in paying the first part of that reckoning, by answering Torvik's question truthfully.

  "We lost four of the twelve warriors who set out for the mountain before they reached their post, although they tried to stay on bare ground. Another died of her wounds after reaching the mountain.

  "They have water," the minotaur continued, "but scant food, save birds and their eggs. We are of divided minds about how best to assist them. Perhaps you have your own thoughts on the matter?"

  This was addressed to Torvik, which was perhaps not altogether the wisest course of action. The oldest knight, second in height only to Sir Darin, looked sour, as did some of the merchants.

  But Torvik was owed a debt of honor, for his mother as wel
l as himself, and letting him speak first was the cheapest way to pay it. If he was as deep-skulled as he seemed, it might also yield results.

  "I suggest that we send two, perhaps three columns inland," the minotaur said. "We find the safest path to the Green Mountain, and keep it open for your people there."

  Zeskuk awarded Torvik additional honor for avoiding the insulting term "rescue."

  "If we learn this cannot be done safely," Torvik went on, "we think of other stratagems. If the life of the island can be beaten down, then we should post watchers on the Smoker as well. With both mountains well guarded, the island should have fewer secrets, and less dangerous ones."

  "Old wisdom often comes from young hearts," Zeskuk said, although he did not feel quite old enough himself to say that with a straight face. "I suggest that we discuss this proposal of Torvik's, and accept it or reject it. I offer you hospitality. Talking is dry work in any weather, more so in this, and I admit no weakness in saying as much."

  Sir Darin actually smiled, and no one else seemed adverse to accepting the offer.

  "I rejoice," Zeskuk said more formally. "If we agree, then after drinking, we can study ways to march inland without asking more of our warriors than honor allows. If we disagree, we will be refreshed and fitter to discover other courses."

  It will also take all of the day and perhaps part of the night, was Zeskuk's unspoken thought to his companions. We are on our home deck, and it does not look to me as if the humans are united in their counsels, or had a good night's sleep.

  The kender was running as fast as his short legs would carry him, but Gerik was still gaining rapidly on him. Gerik would have overtaken the fugitive long since, if he had dared to spur his mount past a trot. On this narrow, twisting path, anything more would risk the horse. Tree roots, rocks, soft ground, rabbit burrows—all lay in wait.

  The kender turned and made an indescribable gesture at Gerik, The young warrior lowered the tip of his lance and dug in his spurs. The kender darted to one side. Gerik tried to follow him with the lance tip, and the steel rammed itself into a low-hanging branch so hard that the shock nearly unseated the rider.

  Before he could recover fully, a noose dropped over his head and left arm, from higher up in the tree. His horse danced wildly, and suddenly Gerik was dangling in the air, as his horse bolted out from under him.

  Before the noose could tighten dangerously, however, Gerik snatched a dagger free with his right hand. Two slashes, and noose and rope both parted. He landed spring-legged, without going down, and had his sword drawn the moment he had the use of both arms.

  But the rope and noose were the last kender attack. By the time Gerik had retrieved lance and mount, nothing was left of the kender but shrill, mocking laughter and a few rude jests floating out of the trees. A snake would have found it hard to penetrate farther into the forest in pursuit of the little folk; this stretch had not been harvested or even much traveled for generations.

  On horseback, all he could do was back his jittery mount until there was a widening of the path in which he could turn around. Then he trotted back to his comrades.

  "Well done," Bertsa Wylum said. She wore light armor—a helmet and breastplate—and both her armor and her loose clothing showed a mixture of brown and green patches that made her hard to see from ten paces away.

  "It would have been better if I hadn't skewered a tree, instead of that thieving kender." He recounted his adventures on the path.

  "Better than I did the first time I practiced mounted sword drill," the more experienced warrior said. "I clipped my horse's left ear clean off his head."

  "Ouch!"

  "The horse said something stronger, I recall. So did the riding master."

  Gerik, Bertsa, and their five guards all turned their horses and rode at a walk down to the road. When the road had taken them far enough out of the forest that no unwanted ears could be hiding close by, they reined in.

  "I hope I made it convincing," Gerik said, "My only fear is that I may have made it too much so. What if some of the Spillgather kin think I really do want a blood vengeance on friend Elderdrake? They will not be our friends if we are enemies to their guest."

  Bertsa frowned. "Shumeen has done her best to make sure that the truth is spread far and wide. If you want to worry, rather worry about kender who are already friends to our enemies, and will bring word that the Spillgathers work for us."

  Gerik grimaced. "Are any kender that foolish?" he asked.

  "Your friends are never as good as you want them to be," Bertsa said.

  "Does that mean that one's enemies are never as bad?" Gerik countered.

  "It ought to. Sometimes it does. Whether it does here, we can only hope."

  And pray, thought Gerik. He wished he knew more about whom to pray to, or that the local clerics could be trusted. Too many of them seemed to dance to the kingpriest's tune—and was that a coincidence, so many of that breed tending shrines and groves around Tirabot Manor?

  Somehow, Gerik doubted it.

  But at least Horimpsot Elderdrake was well away, with every appearance of having turned against the folk of Tirabot, and could wait upon those priests with that known about him. Priestly indiscretion could be made to cut both ways.

  "So it is agreed," Zeskuk said. "One column of minotaurs follows our original route to the watch post on the Green Mountain. A second column of humans blazes their own trail to the same destination, from their side of the island. When we have reached our comrades, we shall think about posting watchers on the Smoker, if the island has not resisted so much as to force us to some other course of action."

  "It will take much resistance to turn either of us aside," the knight Sir Niebar said. "We did not sail all the way here to go home with the mystery unanswered and comrades unavenged. None of us."

  "Also agreed," Zeskuk said. "Not that I ever expected there to be disagreement. We are all warriors with a knowledge of honor.

  "But one matter remains. It is—"

  "Shelter rights with each other's fleets if the weather gets up," a human merchant said. He was as fat and richly dressed, likewise as apparently unwarlike and landbound, as the rest, but something in his voice said "once a sailor" to Zeskuk.

  The minotaur pitched his voice toward more respect than he would have commonly allowed to an interrupter and said, "I thought the law of the sea covered that. Or do some among you doubt this?"

  If anyone did, he did not care to admit it—at least aloud, to Zeskuk, aboard his own ship. The minotaur sighed. "As well. At this time of year the weather off Suivinari is commonly fair for weeks on end. I hope we shall be done before the summer storms blow, but the magic at work here may have attracted the attention of the gods…."

  Zeskuk thought he saw Torvik's face twitch. Did the young captain know something he had not told the others? The minotaur studied the other humans, seeking for signs of knowledge withheld in a manner that must be denounced as treachery, lest his own fleet not follow him. Human faces were easier to read than those of minotaurs, from the thinner human skin and the more mobile human features.

  No one seemed to be hiding anything, or to have noticed Torvik. Or if they were and they had, they would deny it. Calling one's about-to-be allies liars was the sort of mortal insult best saved until it could do useful work.

  "The matter of which I spoke was that of observers with each column," Zeskuk continued. "Minotaurs with the humans, humans with the minotaurs."

  Zeskuk hoped that no one would now breach the unspoken agreement to avoid using the word "hostage." The observers would be that in all but name, as well as what they were called. But both races had laws and customs that made it difficult to wittingly give hostages.

  As she and her brother had agreed beforehand, Fulvura stepped forward.

  "I am fittest among the fleet of the Destined Race to march with the humans," she said.

  "Ah—if we get into a fight—" a merchant asked.

  "If so, then I will be in the forefront, as
I ought to be," Fulvura said. She put her hands on her hips, to let the humans see her full height and strength. Zeskuk thought that if they had seen his sister fully-armed as well, some of the merchants might have soiled themselves with terror.

  "I stand forth, to march with the minotaurs," Sir Darin said. He stepped forward also, to within a forearm's length of Fulvura. He did not quite match her height, but he looked hardly less strong.

  The speed of Sir Darin's action suggested prearrangement by the humans as well. That was as Zeskuk had expected. What he had not expected was Sir Darin, who would know far more about minotaurs than any other human and be likely to make "observer" really mean "lawful and honorable spy."

  How to turn this danger aside?

  "Sir Darin is not altogether equal to Fulvura, if one measures each by their rank among the fleets," Zeskuk said. "Will another of you with more rank step forward?"

  Before any other human could have had a chance to volunteer, Sir Darin said, "I have a sworn and trusted comrade, veteran of battles beside me, who has spoken of our never being parted. Would that comrade's joining me make the human observers equal to those of the minotaurs?"

  The way he pronounced "observers" darted close to the edge of scorn without flying into the forbidden territory of insult. Zeskuk looked at his companions. He was inclined to give Darin his wish, as long as neither minotaur nor human raised objections.

  Both minotaurs nodded slightly. The humans were either nodding or unsure what to say. Zeskuk decided to lake this for assent.

  So did Darin. Captain Torvik left in haste, and Zeskuk called the servants in to bring more refreshments. Zeskuk would have no obligation to serve the humans dinner. He did not wish to have them aboard his ship that long, nor to burden his cooks with catering to human tastes, nor to serve them simple minotaur fare and watch them wrinkle their ridiculously sharp and small noses at it.

  If Zeskuk wished to attack guests at his table, he would choose a more vital spot than their noses!