None of these seven knew that he or she in turn was being watched, by two pairs of large brown eyes set in small, sharp-featured faces. They would have found these spies hard to believe if anyone short of a god had told them, and perhaps even then. Kender do not commonly travel the open desert.
But kender can go nearly anywhere when they have sufficient cause. Imsaffor Whistletrot and Horimpsot Elderdrake thought they had sufficient cause.
Chapter 5
The ambush came when Pirvan was within hours of the principal camp of the Gryphons, not from any hostile clan, but from a band of Gryphons themselves, led by Hawkbrother’s eldest brother, Threehands, first heir to Redthorn.
With a seasoned knight’s detachment, Pirvan had to admit Threehands’s skill and that of the warriors under him. Not even the sharpest-eyed of Hawkbrother’s band had seen a single one of his brother’s fifty until they rose from their hiding places. Threehands himself let fly an arrow that hissed into the sand an arm’s length from Pirvan’s mount, plain warning that the leaders at least would have been dead before they knew they were under attack.
When Threehands rode down to greet his brother, Pirvan was not sure that the attack was not continuing. That the brother was using his tongue as a weapon made it no less an attack.
“As I would have expected of you, Hawk’s Egg,” Threehands snapped. “Guiding Istarians and who knows what else into our sacred and secret lands. How much did they pay you?”
Hawkbrother’s dark skin grew darker with shame, but his voice was level. “Few are of Istar, some are Knights of Solamnia, and none are of any folk with whom we have feud.”
“The knights did Istar’s foul work against the ‘barbarians.’ They cannot be friends.”
“That was long ago.”
“Not long enough for memories to die, among gods or men.”
It was plain that Threehands was accustomed to bullying his youngest brother, and that in the eldest’s presence Hawkbrother often grew tongue-tied. Pirvan cupped both hands and shouted “Hola!” so loudly that his mount pecked and reared until he nearly lost his seat. All heads turned toward him.
“We have come without the power or the wish to do harm to the Gryphons,” Pirvan said sharply. “Yet we meet with insult.
“Moreover, so does our friend among the Gryphons, your own brother. It is not for an outsider to judge or take sides in a family quarrel. But this I say and swear, Hawkbrother has sworn friendship with us after a lawful challenge fight, witnessed by warriors of both sides and by all True Gods.
“Insult him, and you insult us.”
This produced a long silence, a still deeper flush in Hawkbrother, a number of drawn weapons on both sides, and finally a clearing of the throat from Threehands.
“Brother, is this so?”
“You insult Sir Pirvan by doubting it, but I will ignore that. It is so.”
“It was still hardly fair, to set a giant against-”
For one of the few times since Pirvan had known him, Darin threw back his head and roared with laughter. The echoes took some time to die. Until they did, further speech was impossible.
“That is another insult to be ignored for now,” Hawkbrother said. He seemed to be regaining his confidence. Pirvan hoped he would not take too much pleasure in bearding an older brother for whom he clearly felt something less than overwhelming affection.
“Sir Pirvan himself challenged me,” Hawkbrother said. “There were those among his comrades who doubted his wisdom, but he had faith in his own prowess and the favor of the gods. That faith earned him victory.
“And before you let your tongue wag about my losing to a man old enough to be my father, when was the last time you felt fit to challenge he who is father to us both?”
This produced another long silence in the gorge. It also gave Pirvan a strong desire to meet Redthorn. If he was physically the master of both of these hard young warriors, the Gryphon chief would be a fighter worth knowing.
Threehands at last broke the silence by translating the last few speeches for those of his band who did not know the common speech. Then he carefully unstrung his bow, keeping both hands in sight as he did, stepped up on a rock, and waved both hands.
Drawn weapons returned to belts, backs, and sheaths. Hawkbrother’s shoulders slumped in relief. Pirvan commanded himself only by sheer force of will.
“If you are sworn friends to Hawkbrother, then it is fit to bring you before Redthorn and Skytoucher,” Threehands said. “Not all of you, to be sure, and any who seek to flee, play the spy, or violate camp laws will die as peace breakers. But I will not follow in my brother’s footsteps, and treat my father as too old to make a fit decision in grave matters of war and peace.”
Hawkbrother had the self-command to neither flinch, flush, nor reply to this final insult. Instead, he turned his horse and addressed both his band and Pirvan’s.
“See to your horses. We ride for the guest camp at once, and it will not go well with those who fall out.”
Witnesses to the lawful marriage of Krythis and Tulia had stood to speak-several of them, and none of them content merely to swear the appropriate oaths.
It was the same, now, at Rynthala’s coming-of-age celebration. Many stood to swear to the day of Rynthala’s birth, her precocious feats of strength and speech, and everything else that had happened over the last seventeen years to or around her.
In time, Krythis wished to unsling his bow and silence one or two of the more interminable speakers. But it would be the worst of omens on this day, in front of hundreds of witnesses, all of whom wished Rynthala and her parents well almost as much as they wished to empty the tables of food and barrels of drink.
“Almost done,” Tulia whispered, squeezing her husband’s thigh. “Here comes Sirbones.”
The priest of Mishakal looked less like a healer than one in need of healing. But he had looked thus when he came striding out of the mountains some five years ago, and had not suffered a day’s illness since. Meanwhile, scores in the citadel of Belkuthas owed life or health to him, as did literally hundreds, of several races, in the lands about.
“By Mishakal and all gods whose will bears upon health of mind and body, this I swear,” Sirbones said. His voice was high pitched and threadier than it had been, but it still carried. Also, he was one of the few in the citadel who spoke only when he had something worth hearing.
“I swear that Rynthala, daughter of Krythis and Tulia, is hale and hearty, blessed with as much health as any two women of her age could commonly expect, fleet and strong for battle, fit and well to wed if such is her choice, and to bear children if it is the gods’ will.
“This I swear, and in the name of Mishakal and all gods whose will bears upon health of mind and body, I defy anyone who says otherwise.”
Then Sirbones slammed the tip of his staff down on to the ground. A sphere of dazzling blue light enveloped him, sending a powerful blast of wind in all directions. Dust, pebbles, hats, and half-eaten biscuits flew about like leaves in an autumn gale.
The light faded. Krythis stared at his daughter. Tulia gripped him.
It was impossible for Rynthala to have grown a hand’s breadth in the passing of a single spell, yet her new garb made it seem that she had. She wore white trousers of fine silk, tucked into boots of amber-hued leather, stiff enough for walking yet loose enough on top to hold weapons.
Around a waist slender only by comparison to the rest of her was a belt, holding her favorite sword and dagger in a scabbard and sheath worked with silver wire. The belt was set with coral beads, and Krythis would have wagered a barrel of dwarf spirits that the buckle was set with rubies.