“I have read the Measure very carefully on this,” said Derek, “and I have also read the writings of the eminent scholar Sir Adrian Montgomery, who points out the fact that the Measure says simply a knight must have faith. The Measure does not say that a knight must have faith in gods, nor does the Measure speak of any god by name, which those who codified it would certainly have done if they thought the gods were an important aspect of a knight’s life. Sir Adrian contends that when faith is mentioned in the Measure, it refers to having faith in oneself, not in some omnipotent, omniscient, immortal being.”
“What if there is no naming of gods in the Measure because it did not occur to the writers that the gods needed to be named?” Brian argued.
Derek frowned. “Are you being flippant?”
“No, of course not,” said Brian hastily. “What I mean is this: what if the knowledge of the gods and belief in the gods was so pervasive that the writers never imagined a day would come when the gods would not be known to the knights? There was no need to mention the gods by name, because everyone knew them.”
Derek shook his head. “That seems unlikely.”
Brian wasn’t so sure. “What about healing? Does Sir Montgomery explain—”
He was interrupted by a shout coming from behind them.
“My lord!”
Both men turned in their saddles to see a rider galloping down the road, yelling and waving his hat in his hand.
“My squire,” said Derek, and he rode to meet him.
“My lord,” said the young man, “I was bidden seek you out to give you this.”
The squire reached into his leather belt, drew out a folded missive, and handed it to his master. Derek took the note, read it through swiftly, and looked up.
“Who gave you this?”
The squire flushed, embarrassed. “I am not quite certain, my lord. I was walking through the marketplace this morning when this was suddenly thrust into my hand. I looked about immediately to see who had given it to me, but the person had vanished into the crowd.”
Derek handed the note to Brian to read. The message was short. I can make you Grand Master. Meet me at the Knight’s Helm at the hour of sunset. If you are distrustful, you may bring a friend. You should also bring 100 steel. Ask for “Sir Uth Matar” and you will be directed to my room.
Brian handed back the note to Derek, who read it again, his brow creased in thought.
“‘Uth Matar’,” Brian repeated. “I know that name. I can’t think why.”
He glanced at his friend.
“You don’t intend to go!” Brian said, astonished.
Derek folded the note carefully and thrust it into his glove. He started riding back in the direction of Palanthas. The squire fell in behind them.
“Derek,” said Brian, “it’s a trap—”
“With what purpose?” Derek asked. “To assassinate me? The note says I may bring a friend to ensure against that. To rob me? Relieving me of my purse could be accomplished far more easily and efficiently by accosting me in a dark alley. The Knight’s Helm is a reputable establishment—”
“Why arrange a meeting in a tavern at all, Derek?” Brian asked. “What knight would do such a thing? If this Sir Uth Matar has an honest proposition for you, why doesn’t he come to call upon you at your dwelling place?”
“Perhaps because he wants to avoid being seen by Gunthar’s spies,” said Derek.
Brian could not allow such an accusation to go unremarked. He glanced back at the squire, to make certain the lad was out of earshot, then said with quiet intensity, “Lord Gunthar is man of honor and nobility, Derek. He would as soon as cut off his hand as spy on you!”
Derek made no comment. He said instead, “Will you accompany me tonight, Brian, or must I seek elsewhere for a true friend to watch my back?”
“You know I will go with you,” Brian said.
Derek gave him what passed for a smile, which was nothing more than the creasing of the firm, tight lips, barely visible beneath long blonde mustaches. The two rode back to Palanthas in silence.
The Knight’s Helm was, as Derek stated, a reputable establishment, though not as reputable now as it had once been. The tavern was located in what was known as the Old City and its current owner liked to boast that it was one of the original buildings in Palanthas, though that claim was doubtful. The tavern was built underground, extending back into a hillside, and was snug and warm in the winter, cool and pleasantly dark in the summer months.
Patrons entered through a wooden door set beneath a gabled roof. Stairs led down into the large common room that was lit with hundreds of candles burning in wrought iron candle holders and by the light of a fire blazing in an enormous stone fireplace.
There was no bar. Drinks and food were served from the kitchen, which was adjacent. In back, cut deeper into the hillside, were the ale and wine cellars, several small rooms for private parties, and one large room called the “Noble Room”. This room was furnished with a massive oblong table surrounded by thirty two high-backed chairs, all of matching wood, carved with birds and beasts, roses and kingfishers—the symbols of the knighthood. The tavern owner bragged that Vinus Solamnus, founder of the knights, used to hold revelries in this very room at this very table. Although no one really believed him, anyone using this room always left an honorary place vacant at the table for the knight’s shade.
Prior to the Cataclysm, the Knight’s Helm was a popular meeting place for knights and their squires and did a thriving business. Following the Cataclysm, when the knighthood was in shambles, and knights were no longer welcome in Palanthas, the Knight’s Helm fell on hard times. The tavern was forced to pander to more common folk in order to pay the bills. The owner continued to welcome the knights, when few other places would do so, and the knights repaid his loyalty by frequenting the tavern when they could. The current owners kept up the tradition, and Knights of Solamnia were always treated as honored guests.
Derek and Brian walked down the stairs and into the common room. This night, the tavern was bright with light and filled with good smells and laughter. Seeing two knights, the tavern owner himself came bustling up to greet them, to thank them for the honor they did his establishment, and to offer them the best table in the house.
“Thank you, Master, but we were told to ask for Sir Uth Matar,” said Derek. He glanced keenly about the room.
Brian stood behind his friend, his hand on his sword’s hilt. Both were cloaked and wore heavy leather vests beneath. It was supper time and the tavern was crowded. Most of the patrons were members of the burgeoning middle class: store owners, lawyers, teachers and scholars from the University of Palanthas, Aesthetics from the famed Library. Many in the crowd gave the two knights friendly smiles or acknowledged them with nods, then went back to their eating and drinking and talking.
Derek leaned over to Brian to say dryly, “Looks like a den of thieves to me.”
Brian smiled, but he continued to keep his hand on his sword.
“Sir Uth Matar,” said the tavern owner. “Right this way.”
He handed them each a candle, saying the hallway was dark, and directed the knights to the back part of the tavern. When they arrived at the room indicated, Derek knocked on the door.
They heard booted feet cross the floor, and the door opened a crack. A lustrous brown eye framed by long dark lashes peered out at them.
“Names?” the person asked.
Brian gave a start. The voice was that of a woman.
If this startled Derek, he gave no outward sign. “I am Sir Derek Crownguard, milady. This is Sir Brian Donner.”
The brown eyes flashed. The woman’s lips parted in a crooked smile. “Come in, Sir Knights,” she said and opened the door wide.
The two knights cautiously entered the room. A single lamp stood on the table. A small fire flickered in the fireplace. Used for private dining, the room was furnished with a table and chairs and a sideboard. Brian glanced behind the door before shutting it.