“Then what happened?” Pirvan said, trying not to let his impatience show.
Sea barbarian manners required some time spent discussing family, crops, successful voyages (or other kinds), and so on. Jemar was a friend, to whom Pirvan would not wittingly be rude, but he was also a friend to whom they had come in dire need and with the hot breath of enemies all but searing the backs of their necks.
“Released slowly, nothing might have happened,” Tarothin said. “Released all at once-well, they never found either body, and the hole in the road was twenty paces wide and ten deep. A vallenwood a hundred paces away went over, too, but it might have been rotten-”
“As the gods send,” Jemar said. A servant came in with salt fish, pickled vegetables, hard cakes with hot fruit sauce, and tarberry tea, wine, and brandy. When all had served themselves, Jemar seemed to consider the demands of manners met.
“Now, it seems to me that all the uproar Istar is making concerns this mysterious minotaur. So if we find a way to end his career, we will also end Istar’s excuse for embattling the north shore.
“It won’t be only Karthay that sighs as happily as a well-loved woman when that happens. A good few honest merchants with business in Solamnia and Thorbardin will be happy not to have Istarian captains looking over their shoulders.
“It’s not so bad now, with Aurhinius commanding. He has the name of an honest man. But he also likes to lead from in front, which is another good thing about him but one likely to get him killed. An arrow or a rabbit hole, and he’d be in the family vault and in his place one of those sticky-handed merchant’s boys who know how to make war pay for everyone except the men who actually shed their blood.”
Jemar sighed and rinsed his throat with a hefty gulp of brandy. “Sorry to go on like that. Let me be silent and drink, while you speak. Lady Haimya, beauty should have first place, so if it will not offend Sir Pirvan-”
“So be it,” Pirvan said, and nodded to his wife.
“I think we should begin in Karthay, and as swiftly as the winds and tides allow us to reach it …”
* * * * *
The meeting of Pirvan and his companions with Jemar the Fair was not the only meeting that night that altered the destiny of the races of Krynn.
In the northern town of Biyerones, Aurhinius met with his principal captains. Outside, the streets of the town were silent, except for the thump of boots on cobblestones as the soldiers of the guard patrolled on foot. He hoped the citizens heard the patrolling soldiers as protection rather than menace, but could not concern himself with their opinions now.
“We shall remain here, with the cavalry thrown out as a screen from the shore south to Krovari,” Aurhinius said. “That will keep all the cavalry in the field, but there are not so many ways that a large band on foot can pass through such a screen. Small bands, the townsfolk and villagers can deal with themselves.”
“One may doubt their loyalty,” a high captain of horse said.
“One may, in private,” Aurhinius said sharply. “Say nothing of this where others may hear, however. These northern folk are stubborn. Called traitors aloud, they may take a firmer stand against us. Also, everyone with a feud with a neighbor or an appetite for a neighbor’s flocks and land will use the charge of treason as an excuse to assail that neighbor.
“Istar has not soldiers enough to bring peace to a land torn by such feuds. Nor would the city send them to us if she had them.”
The high captain craved his general’s pardon and was silent thereafter.
Aurhinius rose and strode to the map. “We defend, with both strength and skill, until the fleet comes north to secure our seaward flank. When we assail the Minotaur’s lair by land and sea, he will have no way out. We will be able to maintain the siege with small forces supplied by sea, much longer than his stronghold can endure.”
“And then?” It was another captain, one with a reputation for both valor and cruelty.
“Then we may have a real minotaur’s skull for the Warrior’s Gate, or we may have at least two prisoners who can teach us something of war. I think this-Waydol-has come to our shores at the behest of minotaurs of the highest rank. It never hurts, in war, to learn how much one’s enemy knows about one, or by what methods they seek to spy one out.”
* * * * *
Also in the north, but somewhat farther to the west, a minotaur and his human heir sat on a rock overlooking the sea. Only Lunitari shone clear of clouds, tinting a path across a sea hardly rougher than a millpond.
Waydol shifted in his seat. Over the years, his weight and tough hide had worn a virtual saddle in the rock. Then he drew a katar, a vial of oil, and a whetstone from a pouch at his belt and began sharpening the huge dagger.
As if it was not already sharp enough to shave with, Darin thought. But he knew that Waydol needed something to do with his hands when his thoughts ran in disturbing directions. Darin would throw no stones at Waydol for being uneasy, considering how ill he had slept since returning with Aurhinius’s golden helmet. He had even thought of asking Sirbones for a healing spell to bring restful sleep!
“If Istar comes against us with all the force it can muster, it may go ill with us,” Waydol said at last.
“Not without their paying a price, in more than red-faced generals,” Darin said.
Waydol’s laughter was a sharp, low-pitched boom rather than the long rumble. “I would have given a horn to see Aurhinius’s face after his two attendants fell on him and drove him into the mud. But there is no pleasure without a price, and I think we are about to pay for ours.”
Darin was silent, knowing that Waydol was less seeking advice and counsel than trying to define his thoughts by speaking aloud. It would not be the first time that Darin had played a sympathetic ear, for he had known since he was no more than eight that Waydol’s lot was harsher than his heir’s ever would be. Darin might die in battle tomorrow, but he would not have spent twenty-odd years before that battle alone on a foreign shore, with no sight of any other being of his own race.
Waydol was also silent for a while, so only the sigh of the wind and the distant murmur of waves disturbed the night. At last Waydol turned and looked at his heir. For the first time, Darin saw a pale clouding at the corner of Waydol’s right eye, and vowed to speak to Sirbones about this, with or without Waydol’s permission.
“I have taught you the minotaur way of war,” Waydol said. “At least I have tried. How would you describe that way?”
For a moment, Darin thought he was more likely to be able to sprout wings and fly than to answer that question. Then before shame could silence him for even longer, his lips found words.
“To always be fit and armed. To use all the strength needed in a fight, which is not the same as all one’s strength. To never begin a fight which is dishonorable, and to never yield to a foe who has done so, or who asks your honor as the price of your life.”
This time, Waydol’s laughter raised echoes from the cliffs all around the hidden bay. He clapped an arm across Darin’s shoulders, and for a moment Darin was sure his spine was jarred from neck to waist and several of his ribs cracked. It was a while before he could breathe easily again.
Meanwhile, Waydol sat on the rock, while looking rather as if he wanted to dance, caper, fling his arms about, and sing to the moon like a satyr. As Darin drew his first deep breath in a while, Waydol gave a gusty sigh.
“Well, Darin. I asked many years ago if I could raise you with the soul of a minotaur and the soul of a human in the same body. I forget what I vowed if this prayer was granted, and I know I have not kept those vows.