"As you see," said Merinsaard. "I am not an honorable man." He raised Thresholder for the final, mortal strike, and his eyes got very wide and white. Sturm struggled to bring the tip of his father's sword waveringly into the air.
Suddenly, Merinsaard made a gagging sound and stag gered to the battlement. Sturm was astonished to see an arrow buried in his back. Some distance away, silhouetted against the morning sky, was a figure with a bow.
Sturm got to his feet. Merinsaard grasped the battlement with his mailed hands, but the iron links found no purchase, and the warrior-wizard toppled through a crenelation to the courtyard below. There was a scream, a heavy, ringing thud, and silence.
Sturm raced for the steps. The mysterious archer was nowhere in sight. He found Merinsaard dead, his sightless eyes staring into the mossy flagstones. Thresholder lay just beyond his lifeless fingers. As Sturm watched, the sword flared and vanished with a loud crack. Where it had lain, the stones were scorched.
Sturm wavered and braced himself against the donjon wall. As he tried to make sense of what had happened, another arrow struck the ground at his feet. The gray goose feather fletching on the long black arrow quivered from the impact.
Sturm jerked around and saw the unknown archer atop the outer wall. The bowman raised a hand in salute, then ducked into an empty watchtower and was gone.
He stooped to examine the arrow. Tied to the shaft just behind the head was a slip of paper. Sturm freed it and read:
Dear S
I knew you'd come here and here I find you in a losing fight with a wizard. My new friends don't choose to play fair but I decided to even the odds in memory of our past friendship. Next time you might not be so lucky!
K
PS: You were a sucker to let him point the magic blade at you.
"Kitiara!" Sturm called to the sky and stones. "Kitiara, where are you?" But he knew she was gone, lost to him for ever.
Chapter 41
If took some time, but a message displayed by
Sturm from Palanthas to Sancrist was answered. Stutts, inventor of the practical (well, mostly practical) flying ship, sent Sturm a reply that took up sixteen sheets of foolscap, front and back. It seems that he, Wingover, Sighter, and the rest made it back to Mt. Nevermind eventually, using the hull of the Cloudmaster as a conventional sailing ship. The massive report the gnomes submitted to the High Council of
Gnomish Technology ran into thirty volumes.
"The irony is," Stutts wrote to Sturm, "in all the time we spent on Lunitari we didn't manage to bring back a single sample of soil, air, rock, or plant life. All our copious sam ple collection was abandoned trying to lighten the ship for takeoff. With only our notes, the High Council rendered a verdict of 'Not Proved' about our expedition. Sighter was pretty mad, but I'm not too disturbed. As I write this, the hull of the Cloudmaster Mark II is taking shape on the slopes of Mt. Nevermind. It will have four sets of wings and two bags for ethereal air, and carry…"
Sturm flipped through the letter with a smile. All the rest of the pages were a catalog of the things the gnomes planned to take with them on their next voyage. Only the last lines were of interest: "If you and Mistress Kitiara would like to accompany us again, please make your way to Sancrist by ten days before the winter solstice. That's when we're taking off for Lunitari. Cutwood wants to go to Solinari, but he was overruled. We still have a lot to learn about the red moon. Plus, there is some hope we might find evidence of
Bellcrank…" The letter was signed with several lines of
Stutts's gnomish name.
Sturm set the pages aside. "Safe voyage," he said aloud.
The maid in the inn where he was staying in Palanthas heard him and came to his table.
"Something you require?" she asked. Her name was
Zerla, and she was pretty, with curly blond hair and a warm smile. She reminded Sturm of Tika, were Tika about ten years older.
"No, thank you," he said.
"Been in Palanthas long?" she asked.
"A few weeks."
"Thinking of staying, are youl"
"Actually, I'm ready to leave now."
Zerla frowned attractively. "Not on my account, I hope!"
"Not at all. I have business in the south," said Sturm.
"A girl?"
Tervy came to mind, but Sturm's most pressing task was to get back on his father's trail. That meant going to High
Clerist Tower. He'd come to Palanthas after his encounter with Merinsaard mainly to rest and get his mind calm and focused again. While there, Sturm heard gossip that some knights were gathering at High Clerist for a conclave. He was certain his father's trail would lead there.
Zerla was talking to him, and Sturm snapped out of his daydream.
"The good-looking ones are usually taken," she was say ing. Zerla wiped the table under his cup of sweet cider. "Are you married?"
"What? No, I'm not."
The maid brightened. "Where are you from?"
"Solamnia," he said.
"I thought so! I noticed your helmet and mustache. You're a knight, aren't you?" He admitted that he was. "My grand father tells me stories of the old days, when the knights watched over the land and saw that justice was done. I wish
I'd lived back then. I'd have liked to see the knights on their fine horses, armor all polished, doing good for people."
Zerla blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm talking too much."
"I don't mind," Sturm said. "What you said cheers me. I thought most folk had forgotten the Order, or hated it." He finished his cider and put down two Solacian silver pieces.
"The change is for you," he said.
"Thank you!" Zerla swept the cup and coins off the table.
Sturm walked out into the afternoon sunshine. In the days he'd been lingering in the city, other reports had come in via the seaport. Tales of strange marauders in other regions were growing. When Sturm got to High Clerist he would have plenty to tell the other knights.
But here in Palanthas, the threat seemed far away. Chil dren played in the streets, wagons and carts moved goods about from the wharves to nearby shops and markets. The citizens were well fed and well dressed. Yes, the danger of war was far removed from the life of the average Palanthan.
He could see from the high street that puffy white sails filled the bay. Were there gnomes down there? he wondered.
Did a gleaming white elf ship named High Crest ride at anchor beyond the headland? Sturm could not tarry long enough to find out. Too long he'd allowed himself to be diverted by other matters. The time had come to shoulder the responsibility of his knightly name. The burden of duty was as heavy as the armor Sturm now wore. His father's armor, and the Brightblade sword that hung by his side.
Sturm rested his right hand on the pommel and let his eyes linger on the polished plate of his armor. He took a deep breath and walked down the street.
So it was south to High Clerist. Nearly a year had passed from the time he'd said good-bye to Tanis, Flint, and all his friends in Solace.
And Tervy.
And south again. Abanasinia and Solace. In due time, his old friends would be gathering at the Inn of the Last Home.
They would want to hear about what had happened to him and Kitiara. How could he tell them? How could he explain to Tanis? And what of her brothers? Would they understand any better what Sturm himself did not? So many questions troubled Sturm as he walked the sunny streets of Palanthas.
A cloud passed over the sun, and Sturm looked up. Dark er clouds than that were coming. He could shout it from the rooftops, but the Palanthans wouldn't heed him. Life was good, why worry about war? Weren't the mountains high?
Was not the bay patrolled by Palanthan galleys, armed and ready? Palanthas was safe, absolutely.