What would he do if they refused to go on? What would he do if Birak Epron refused to punish the would-be deserters? That would be foolish; Epron had to know, better than the others, that making one’s way alone back through a hostile countryside could end only one way. But Epron could not stand alone against fifty men thinking only of a way out of this wilderness.
Pirvan sat down and began throwing pebbles and bits of bark into the turbid river rushing past his feet. The sense of having failed those for whom he was responsible ate at him from within like a worm at an apple.
The Measure discussed this, of course; there seemed little that it did not. It said that such a state of low spirits was dishonorable for a knight and should be ended as swiftly as possible. It did not say how.
It also said that important decisions should not be made while in this lowness of spirits. It did not say what was to be done if the decisions were urgent and the lowness of spirits not likely to depart before you needed to make them!
It seemed to Pirvan that another two or three seasoned mercenary captains would have done as well as any sort of knight. However, he had his orders, his men had him-and both, to be sure, had Haimya. She had spent time enough as a mercenary so that she could at least advise him how much these men would be prepared to endure. Pirvan suspected that Birak Epron’s men would follow their captain to the uttermost ends of Krynn; he was less sure of the others.
Now to find Haimya. Pirvan rose-and as he did, two of the armed sentries backed into view. They had their swords drawn, but were not wielding them, and seemed immensely careful to make no sudden moves. One of them was so careful that he tripped over a tree root and sprawled backward. His mate helped him to his feet, but did not take his eyes off whatever it was that was following them, invisible to Pirvan but with its own source of light.
Then a little procession stepped into Pirvan’s sight. In the lead was a man carrying a torch and another-man, though showing ogre blood-carrying a white flag.
Behind these two came four more armed men. Two of them had drawn swords. The other two were carrying a blanketed form on a litter of branches and blankets.
Bringing up the rear was a tall half-ogre, with a cloak and helmet that suggested he was the leader. He also held a spear out in front of him, with the point bobbing only a handbreadth from the throat of the person on the litter.
Then the litter bearers set their burden down. The tall half-ogre lifted the blankets away from the person’s throat with the point of his spear.
A knife seemed to drive between Pirvan’s ribs, then twist in his heart.
The person on the litter was Haimya.
Chapter 13
Tarothin had nearly the complete run of Pride of the Mountains after his potion put the new recruits back on their feet. The captain was grateful, the Karthayan leaders were grateful, and the men themselves were grateful.
The only one not grateful was the man who’d offered Tarothin the place aboard Pride to begin with. But then, expecting gratitude from an agent of the kingpriest was like expecting charity from a moneylender.
As the fleet beat its way out of the Bay of Istar and westward toward the meeting with Aurhinius, Tarothin found himself doing other work besides healing. The first money he’d ever earned was for dealing with unruly drunkards in a local tavern, and from that he had progressed to learning the quarterstaff. Except for one year of his training as a wizard, when the work had been too physically demanding and his teachers too strict, he had kept up that skill ever since.
So he was able to serve as an extra instructor at drill for the new recruits, at least when the deck wasn’t at an impossible angle. Walking among the new recruits by day and among the sailors in the evening, he was able to listen a great deal without saying much or drinking anything at all. He thought that it would have been cheaper to buy honest vinegar, rather than pay the price charged for what the vintner had passed off as wine.
One thing he heard about was a good many nightmares similar to his vision of Zeboim and Habbakuk. Nobody was sure what they meant, but rumors of priests of Zeboim being aboard the fleet were rife enough to make some of the mates frown.
Tarothin tried to reassure anyone who seemed seriously alarmed that the priests of Zeboim were as devoted to the balance as anyone. Furthermore, the kingpriest would hardly be so lawless or foolish as to favor one kind of priest to the point of endangering the balance, even if the priests themselves might be less than honest.
The replies to that notion were eloquent, even blasphemous. They made it clear that even Karthayans who favored the rule of Istar did not thereby also favor the rule of the kingpriest.
Long days led to Tarothin sometimes taking a nap in the afternoon, though he no longer needed to prepare himself for long nights with Rubina. It was during one of those afternoon naps that his own nightmare came to him.
A circle of priests wearing the fanged-turtle masks of Zeboim’s devotees was conjuring storm clouds over a mountain. The clouds poured down rain, streams swelled rivers, rivers rose, and men downstream from the mountain were swept away without warning. He thought some of the men were soldiers, but he awoke too soon and with too muzzy a head to be sure.
He was not too muzzyheaded to know that he should keep this dream to himself.
Pirvan’s first decision was to leave his own steel sheathed. He then ordered all the armed men to do the same, including the two sentries who had led the whole procession. Finally, he threw Rubina a look eloquent of what would happen to her if any foolish spellcasting by her put Haimya in further danger.
All of this would no doubt persuade both friend and foe that he was weak where danger to Haimya was concerned. But there was small point in veiling a self-evident truth.
Instead, he stepped forward, hands in plain view.
“To what do we owe the dubious honor of a visit under such circumstances?”
“I should think that we are owed the explanation, as you committed the first offense,” the half-ogre said.
Several of Pirvan’s men turned red and were plainly fighting not to draw their weapons. Pirvan crossed his arms on his chest. This also allowed him to have both of his daggers in their chest sheaths within easy drawing distance. He thought he could put down the half-ogre before the enemy chief’s spear pierced Haimya, but did not intend to put the matter to the test unless matters grew desperate.
They did otherwise. The half-ogre stepped away from Haimya, raised his spear, and thrust it point-down into the ground. He still had a sword large enough for a minotaur at his waist, and several knives slung variously about his person, but he was now standing out of striking range of Haimya.
“I am unaware of any offense we have committed,” Pirvan said in warmer tones. “However, ignorance, while no excuse, is certainly as common as snow in the winter or rain in the summer. If we have been ignorant, we will accept teaching.”
“You came into our territory without warning or asking permission,” the half-ogre said. “We don’t allow this to rival bands. We could hardly allow it to soldiers.”
“We are soldiers on lawful business,” Pirvan said. “That business need not be dangerous to you, but we are prepared to fight if need be.”
“I’m sure your comrades beyond the river will avenge you well enough,” the chief said. “But I would rather not speak of fighting and revenge at all. Unless my memory is fading, I think I owe you a life-debt.”
Pirvan ran as much of his life as he could through his mind, trying to remember where he might have encountered the half-ogre and saved his life. The face and voice rang faint, distant bells in his memory, but the winds of time distorted them-
“Did you lead the band that came down on us the night we took-something-from Karthayan possession? On the western shore of the bay, on a steeply sloping path?”