Eskaia now twitched all over. She slipped out of the saddle and dashed uphill. She had left her healing packet tied to her saddle, but no doubt Gerik would remember his.
First love and first battle-at the same time, Pirvan mused. That would shake anyone.
Then Pirvan realized he had used the word “love” for what lay between his daughter and Hawkbrother. That might have shaken him, except that he had more important matters at hand. The battle, if it deserved the name, had been won. Any remaining work could be left to Darin, Threehands, Haimya, and the other captains.
He turned his horse to search for the elves, and realized that, in the short time of the battle, they all had vanished into the forest.… All but a lone archer, taller than most elves, who stood by a pine tree, his bow slung, cleaning his nails with the point of an arrow.
Pirvan beat down the urge to strangle that archer, responsible for his own bad manners if not the criminal folly of his chief. Only after gathering his resolve was the knight able to ride over to the elf in silence and dignity.
“Good archer, I am Sir Pirvan of Tirabot, Knight of the Sword. Pray, tell me if you will take a message to your chief.”
“I may.” The elf spoke the common speech with such an accent that Pirvan had to mentally translate what he said.
“Then tell-”
Silence.
“Then tell your chief, whom I would wish to honor by addressing by name-”
At the bite in Pirvan’s words, the elf looked up, and hastily put his knife away.
“High Judge Lauthinaradalas,” the elf said. He also seemed to believe he had to pay in gold or perhaps blood for every word he uttered.
“Then tell High Judge Lauthinaradalas to take a different path to Belkuthas, unless he explains his conduct in this battle. I will not be responsible for the safety of any of his party who come within bow shot before we reach the citadel. We shall see you at Belkuthas, and hope to hold more civil discourse when we do. My word of honor, as a Knight of the Sword.”
The elf gaped, as if he either did not understand the words or could not understand why anyone spoke at such length. Then he nodded.
“The message will go.”
A moment later, only trembling leaves showed where the elf had vanished. Pirvan turned his horse and rode slowly back to his people, who were now busily adding some captive archers to the sell-swords.
Sir Lewin trusted dwarves no more than he had at the pass, but he thought shooting at the dwarven family was ill-done on the part of his men-at-arms. Not even a gully dwarf would be so foolish as to attack an armed Solamnic band when he was traveling with his whole family.
Fortunately dwarves were small, hardy targets. The only arrow that found its mark before Lewin halted the shooting hit the dwarf’s wife in the arm, and Lewin’s cleric was able to remove the arrow at once and end her pain quickly.
This done, Lewin squatted before the dwarf and said, “Friend dwarf-”
“My name is Nuor of the Black Chisel, Knight.”
“Then my name is Sir Lewin, Knight of the Rose.”
“A bit wilted, aren’t you, doing this sort of work?”
“The archers will be punished. They shot without orders.”
“Without skill, either. Otherwise, we’d be dead. If we’d been elves, you’d be dead.”
Lewin decided that whatever the loyalty of the local dwarves, their manners were the same as those of dwarves everywhere.
“I accept the accusation. In return, will you tell me how far it is to Belkuthas?” The dwarf’s answer, if it came, would tell Lewin something more about the local dwarves.
“If I saw a rock falling on your head, I’d not call out, Knight. I might turn my back, though. The sight of blood turns my stomach.”
“Oh, hush, Nuor,” the dwarven woman said. “It was a stupid accident, but the knight wasn’t the only stupid one here. You’ve been telling me about rumors of sell-swords under every clump of mushrooms. So why do you insist we visit your brother today? And go out of the tunnels?”
Nuor cringed from his wife’s tongue as he had not from Lewin’s glare. He shrugged. “Good horses, good weather, no need to stop and refill waterskins-a day and a half, maybe two. Enough?”
It was not, but Lewin realized it was all he was going to hear.
“Thank you, good sir and madam,” he said, and bowed.
Nuor did turn his back, but his wife returned the bow.
Without having seen it before, Pirvan recognized Belkuthas. Rynthala spurred her horse to a gallop, and her archers swarmed after her. Threehands pursued her with oaths, but nothing except arrows or dragons could have caught the riders.
Threehands was still swearing when Pirvan rode up to him.
“If that wild girl will obey no one except Darin, and her people obey no one except her-!”
“Easy, brother chief. The journey is over, and who obeys whom is not so important when you come home from your first campaign. Or was that so long ago that you have forgotten how you felt?”
Threehands was too dark to flush visibly, but he could not meet Pirvan’s eyes while he laughed. “Smooth-tongued as always, Sir Knight. But no fool, either. Also, I realize now that she might want to see if her home is safe, from both enemies and High Judge Lauthin the Loud.”
“Are you not saying two words that mean the same thing, Threehands?”
They were still laughing over that when a small dust cloud broke off from the larger cloud of Rynthala’s riders and began to return. As it came closer, Pirvan saw that it was one of the riders, the weather-beaten old elf Tharash who seemed to be her second in command.
“I am bidden to welcome you to Belkuthas, in the name of Krythis and Tulia, likewise their daughter Rynthala. It is requested that for tonight you camp outside the walls, in a place of your choice. There are several good springs on level ground.”
“Are any of them in use?” Pirvan asked. “As, for example, by a certain high judge of the Silvanesti and his company?”
“Yes. An outrider has come in from them. We will direct them to a camp elsewhere than yours.”
“We are grateful,” Pirvan said. “I trust Belkuthas has suffered no mishap.”
“It is not that we do not trust you within our walls,” Tharash said. “Nor Lauthin either. But we are preparing the place for defense. Everywhere we are not digging or moving stones, those who have fled the sell-swords are camped, with their animals and goods. Few are well-armed, let alone warriors.”
“And camping outside, we will be in the path of any attack, giving warning?” Threehands said.
The elf shrugged.
Threehands smiled. “Take no offense, Tharash. We would do the same in your place, and you and yours have honor with us. We might even make a good warrior maiden of Rynthala, if she can ever learn to follow orders.”
Tharash laughed softly. “You would have to live as long as I have, Free Rider, to have any hope of seeing that.”
Chapter 12
Pirvan’s party reached the citadel of Belkuthas later than he had wished, but earlier than he had expected. Rynthala’s wild ride brought out a swarm of able-bodied refugees, who helped water the horses, tend the wounded, and carry the dead.
From what the refugees said, the bands of sell-swords wandering the country under the name tax soldiers were either ill disciplined or seeking to terrorize the people. Most of the farmers and herdsmen who had seen their homes burned and their flocks slaughtered could not tell the difference, nor did Pirvan really blame them for not remaining to find out.
The refugees were pathetically grateful to Pirvan, and almost equally so to the Gryphons, although some of them from outlying areas had experienced Free Rider raids. As they saw it, somebody was giving the sell-swords a badly needed lesson, after which they would all go home and leave peaceable farmers and herdsmen in peace.
Pirvan hoped so. He did not have the heart to suggest that this might be the beginning of a long ordeal. He had still less heart to suggest that the lord and lady of Belkuthas might not have done the best for the refugees by taking them in.