“Ah-pardon me again, if I’m asking for dwarven secrets-”
“Oh, we never mind being asked about our secrets. A mite flattering, even. Just don’t expect answers.”
Pirvan looked at the ceiling, trying to make a sensible choice of the words chasing themselves around in his mind. Finally he looked down at the dwarf.
“I suppose you got into the well you came out of-”
That was not going to work.
Pirvan took a deep breath and started over. “Suppose there was a tunnel from the far side of the outer well, leading clear out of Belkuthas. Anyone who wanted to come in or out of the citadel without being seen could use it.”
“And suppose there was? Who would you be thinking to see using it, besides dwarves, as it might make humans a bit stoop-shouldered?”
Pirvan told his heart not to leap before time. “Well, there are some folk here in Belkuthas who would gladly crawl on hands and knees, to be away from here. They and their children.”
“Aha. The refugees.” Nuor seemed to be waiting for confirmation, so Pirvan nodded. The dwarf continued, “And where would they go, once they went through this tunnel?”
“I think your people would have done enough by then. Many of the refugees are able-bodied. They can forage, cut firewood and timber for shelters, and wait in the forest until the fighting’s done.”
“Or until the sell-swords track them down,” Nuor said. “A bad business, that would be.”
“They’d still have a better chance than staying here,” Pirvan said. Pleading with a dwarf was like getting a kender to pay close attention: a near-miracle. But he was ready to try it.
“Well, if they didn’t mind following a few dwarves, so they wouldn’t see anything they shouldn’t-”
Pirvan held his breath.
“There’s caves aplenty we don’t use much, so they’re not connected to anything we wouldn’t want humans to know. Or if they are, we could do a bit of masonry before the refugees came out.”
“You’ll shelter the refugees in the caves?”
Nuor glared. “Of course we will. Didn’t I just say that we would? Of course there’s a tunnel into the outer well! You were wandering all over the potato patch, so I couldn’t be sure what you were driving at! You thought I walked to that well on the open ground, through all the sell-swords? I’d rather ride a pegasus!”
“I think we can spare you that,” Pirvan said, once he’d regained the breath he let out in a sigh of relief. “Besides, Belot would have my blood if I let anyone but him ride his mount.”
“Elves,” Nuor said, shaking his head as some humans would have when they said, “kender.”
Pirvan looked at the floor. While he had been watching Nuor, somehow the dwarf had contrived to add another tunnel, stretching from the outer well off into the distance.”
“Well, I think we can make it worth the dwarves’-”
“Who is this ‘we’ of whom you speak?” came a voice that was about as welcome to Pirvan as a lewd proposition from Takhisis the Dark Queen. The knight turned, to see Sir Lewin standing in the chamber door.
“Who let you out?” leapt to his lips.
“None confined me. Rynthala and Tharash departed after they found us quarters-very damp and verminous, I fear-and I said to the guards remaining that I had to speak to you. They did not dispute my word of honor.”
Strictly speaking, Lewin had broken his word, by not remaining in confinement. But if he argued before a tribunal that he had indeed desperately needed to speak to Pirvan, he would probably not be called foresworn.
Pirvan wished to call Lewin a number of things, but none would be to any purpose.
Then he noticed that Lewin was staring at the dwarf, who was returning the stare. “By Paladine! Nuor of the Black Shovel.”
“Black Chisel, Knight. I see your tongue’s as glib and your memory’s as poor as ever.”
“What are you doing here?”
“That’s for you to ask and for me not to answer, seeing as how your first question should have been about my wife.”
Lewin seemed to recall something unpleasant. “I apologize.”
“You’re doing a lot of that, but don’t wager it will be enough.”
“I trust she is well.”
“Oh, your healer was good enough. And now, by your leave, Sir Pirvan, I will go back whence I came and start putting our folk to the work I promised you. Tell your Red Robe what I said, won’t you?”
Nuor rose, and as he walked past Pirvan, he carefully scuffed the map on the floor into a series of dark smears. Pirvan hoped Lewin had not been listening at the door, but could hardly ask him that.
“Since you are here and claim need to speak to me, and I would not doubt such a claim from another knight, then sit down and speak.” Pirvan picked up a chair and set it before Sir Lewin, with as much graciousness as he could muster.
Lewin was seated before Nuor was out the door.
Pirvan searched for words to begin a conversation instead of a quarrel. He realized Lewin was doing the same.
Nuor had given Pirvan a gift almost as precious as water or the refugees’ escape. He had embarrassed Sir Lewin, something Pirvan would have sworn no mortal being could do, leaving the Knight of the Sword able to dominate the Knight of the Rose-if he wished.
When he thought of what was at stake, Pirvan decided he would do far worse to Sir Lewin than dominate him, if necessary.
“Sir Lewin, I have the right to know what has passed between you and Nuor of the Black Chisel.”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“I doubt that. What concerns one of our allies, one who has offered to see justice done to innocent folk, also concerns me. I would not care to hear callous words from you about the refugees.”
Indeed, if he heard them, Pirvan was quite prepared to challenge Sir Lewin to a test of honor, or even simply have him thrown in irons. That fact was better not put into words-but he did put it into his voice, and Sir Lewin seemed to hear it.
“Very well. It was a small matter of a mistake by one of my archers.”
It was at least not a large matter. Even after hearing all the details, Pirvan had to agree with that. The Solamnic men-at-arms were superior fighting men, but even such grew uneasy and quick to shoot or slash on unknown ground facing unknown foes.
Lewin concluded with: “I have answered enough of your questions and more. You have exceeded all the bounds allowed to a knight of your rank toward a knight of mine, by asking them at all. But I will say no more of the matter if the questions are at an end.”
“They are not.”
“Then I command-”
“I suggest you sit down, Sir Lewin.”
“That ‘suggestion’ sounds like an order. Will you tie me to the chair if I disobey?”
“Do you wish to wager our ability to work together for the good of the knights, and to avoid a tribunal, on my not doing so?”
Sir Lewin sat down. “Perhaps we should pray for less hasty tongues and tempers,” he said after a moment. “They can do as much harm as hasty archers.”
“I will not dispute that,” Pirvan said. “As to those questions, I was thinking more of your asking me, and others who can answer them to your satisfaction. You see, Sir Lewin, you are not in all respects my superior here in Belkuthas. I hold the rank of commander of the citadel by appointment of its lawful lord and lady, Krythis and Tulia. I also command those men I brought from Tirabot, and hold the rank of chief equal to Threehands in authority over the Gryphons.”
Lewin muttered something that sounded like, but that Pirvan hoped was not, “sand-eaters.”
“So you see, I am your commander in truth, except by the standard of the Knights of Solamnia. And even by those standards, you do not command here. The Measure says plainly that regardless of rank, on detached duty, the knight who has the greatest knowledge of the land has command until his superiors have equaled his knowledge. That may take you a few days, so I suggest you start asking those questions.”