After assisting the minotaur with the leg wound aboard the boat, the other three quietly turned to the task of picking up the dead. They carried both of their fallen comrades to the vessel, but completely ignored the remaining corpse.
Torbin could stand no more. He had sworn that he would not interfere, and he had not. The pure callousness of the man-beasts, however, had shaken him completely. He pulled forth his sword and stepped forward, shouting such violent curses at them that they could not possibly pretend to not hear.
At first he thought they would all come charging at him. The leader, though, raised his good arm and prevented any movement by his warriors. Alone, he walked calmly over to the knight.
"We have no quarrel with you, Knight of Solamnia. You are here as witness, no more. Do not force disaster upon yourself." The minotaur eyed Torbin's weapon as if it were a child's toy. Compared to his own massive weapon, it might have been.
"You can't leave him there! He fought against impossible odds and fought admirably!"
The minotaur glanced coldly at the remaining body. "It was to be expected of him… to make up for his cowardice. He brought shame upon his family, so great and strong… until now." The cold stare fixed on Torbin. "You would not understand. You are still only a human, even if one of the Knights of Solamnia."
Torbin's grip tightened on his sword hilt. "Then explain it to me. Please."
The man-beast sighed. "His family is great and powerful. For ten generations, they have had a champion, a living symbol of our superiority. He was to be the symbol of this generation." The voice lowered. The coldness slipped away without warning, revealing a figure silently fighting anguish. "Some say he must have met a cleric on one of his journeys to the continent. They are known to seek out our kind, subvert them to the weak gods of the humans and the other races. No one would have expected it of him. Not the preaching of peace, of dwarves and kender being our equals
ha! — or of us abandoning the games! How else can we
find our place in society? Who would we choose for our leaders? An unblooded cow?"
The minotaur stiffened, his mask on once more. "Thus he was given the choice. His family was disgraced. Combat was their only hope. We would see if his cowardice was so great that he would pull his family down with him, for they would have suffered if he had refused combat. Such weakness can only be inherited."
Torbin sheathed his weapon, but did not otherwise move from his place. "This? This is combat?"
"He could have run. We gave him days to prepare or flee. The choice was his."
"That is no choice."
The minotaur sighed once more. "As I said, you would not understand our way of honor. It is not your fault. Forget it and return to your kind. The scales have been balanced; honor has been returned to his family."
"He deserves burial."
"His honor has been vindicated. His crimes can never be. It is forbidden to bury criminals on home soil."
One of the other minotaurs came up behind the leader and whispered something. The leader thought for a moment and nodded. "This one would speak to you alone. He is kin to the condemned."
The leader returned to the boat. The newcomer sniffed in the direction of Torbin, apparently finding his odor offensive. He pointed at the body. "I have been given permission to make a request of you."
Puzzled, the knight allowed the minotaur to continue.
"Despite his weakness, I would have my kinsman buried with some sort of ceremony. He was good before the madness overtook him."
Torbin mentally questioned who was actually mad. Aloud, he said, "What do you want of me?"
"You seem to be a fr — companion or acquaintance. I ask if you will give him burial. I will compensate you for your time. I know how much humans value m — »
The knight cut him off, shocked by the insinuation. "I will bury him. I want no money."
The minotaur blinked in confusion, then nodded slowly. "Thank you. I must return to the boat now."
Torbin watched while the creatures pushed the boat back into the water. Only then did he realize that the minotaur who had asked for the burial of his kin had also been the final executioner. He wondered briefly if this were another part of minotaur custom.
The leader glanced at him briefly, but made no attempt to communicate. Torbin continued to watch the vessel as it began its journey home. He did not turn away until it was no more than a tiny speck on the horizon.
The knight chose a spot near the site of the lean-to yet well hidden from the prying eyes of the locals. It was a shallow grave; the ground was too loose on top and too hard about four feet down. In addition, he was forced to use make-shift tools left behind by his friend, the minotaur.
The prayers lasted until the sun set. Torbin, his body stiff, rose and wandered over to the lean-to. He picked up the small, crude blade with which the lone man-beast had created his handiwork. After studying it, he put it into one of his pouches.
His mount greeted him energetically, inaction and the scents of the minotaurs having caused him no end of frustration. Torbin soothed the animal and then slowly climbed on. He did not look back.*****
His reappearance in the village caused a great commotion, despite the lateness of the day. Villagers pressed around him, asking if the beast was dead. The mayor and his cronies located him some five minutes later while he was packing the rest of his gear onto his horse.
"Is it true? Have you dispatched the beast?" The mayor's breath smelled of fish and beer.
"The minotaur is dead." Torbin continued to concentrate on packing his equipment.
The group let out a rousing cheer. The mayor declared the next day a holiday. A feast would take place, each villager bringing food or drink as a contribution. The victorious Knight of Solamnia would be the guest of honor. Various members of the town council began vying for spots at the main table. Others formed committees and subcommittees designed to coordinate the feast. A few talked of bringing the body back to the village. Eventually, most of the townspeople drifted off to plan the next day's events.
His own preparations complete, Torbin steadied his horse and then remounted and moved away at a trot. Villagers smiled or bowed in his direction as he rode;
others looked at him with puzzlement. The knight kept his eyes on the path before him.
At the edge of town, a breathless mayor caught up to him. "Sir Knight! Where are you going? Will you not join us at our feast tomorrow? We wish to do you honor."
Torbin pulled the reins tight, bringing the trained warhorse to a dead stop. He turned the animal around and matched gazes with the round man for a full half-mmute. The mayor shifted like a small child under his stare.
Then, as abruptly as he had stopped, Torbin turned his horse back around to the path and rode off at a trot.
He did not look back.
The golden tabby eyed the caged squirrel with sleepy interest. The squirrel panted miserably, not certain which was worse: the grim possibilities inherent in the cat's white teeth or the aching reality of his own imprisonment. The cage, he decided wretchedly.
The cage made his bones hurt and his heart race hard in frightening fits and starts. But when he saw the fire smouldering in the cat's almond-shaped, green eyes, the squirrel thought that it might not be such a bad thing that there were bars between them.
Tell me, squirrel, the cat murmured, When do you think he'll feed us again?
Oh, soon, soon, I'm sure! the squirrel chattered. Very soon. But I can't imagine you're still hungry. You ate two mice only a little while ago… The squirrel winced, then flicked his tail and scrubbed at his whiskers with his small white paws. He didn't like to think about the mice or their helpless scurrying. And he especially did not like to think about the cool and deadly look of the cat as he licked his lips with his rough pink tongue, or the pitiful crunch of little mousy bones.