"Will you follow me, Sturm Brightblade?" Lord Alfred asked, this time in a softer voice. Gunthar and Stephan closed ranks behind him, their ceremonial armor glittering almost blindingly. From their places amid the wreckage of Vertumnus's visit, Lord Adamant and Lord Boniface joined the formidable triad.
Like suns, the lad thought. Like suns and meteors. I cannot approach them, and it is hard even to look at them.
"I thought…" Sturm began, but in the echoing hall, his voice was thin and weak. He couldn't say what he had thought. He could no longer think of it.
Alfred nodded, and Lord Gunthar stepped forward as Alfred gracefully took the younger man's place beside Stephan.
Behind him, the sawing and hacking died. Only the servants continued with their tasks-old Reza and the boy, Jack, sweeping up the last of the shattered crystal. The young men of the Order, reluctant to do a servant's work in the first place, had stopped to listen to the drama unfolding beside Huma's throne, delighting in the discomfort and possibly the punishment of one almost their age. For despite its devotion to the various honors of the Measure, the Clerist's Tower was home to gossip and to rivalry that was not always friendly.
Lord Stephan was a veteran of these wars, too. He stepped toward Sturm and, clutching the lad's arm in his gloved hand, led him past the craning necks and the sidelong glances, straight through the western door into the hush of the chapel. Lords Gunthar and Alfred followed closely behind, and behind them, the renowned Lord Boniface. Those left in the council hall returned to their business, no doubt imagining great mysteries and chastisements unfolding in the tinted light of the locked room.
There Lord Stephan seated the lad none too softly on an oaken bench by the window. Sturm clutched his shoulder and shivered as the wind crept through the old stone tracery behind him. But he shivered also at the ancient patterns in the stained glass: the rose, the horns of the bison, the yellow harp and the white sphere, the blue helix, all within the silver triangle of the great god Paladine, who contains all things and yet transcends them. All were symbols of the old pantheon, which the Order still honored, despite dark times and the dangers of Ansalon.
The shelves sagged with thick, leather-bound volumes of mathematics, physics, architecture-studies the young man had shunned in the sparse days with his mother in Solace. "Sturm," she had warned him then, "it is the books for you now. Sword and Order and father have failed you. A scholar may not be a wealthy man, but a scholar eats, his house safe from fire and his head from the axe." Sturm frowned and shook his head: The Lady Ilys had called out these things from the centermost room of the cottage, a chamber away from the light and windows. He had pretended to listen, then set aside the books and scrambled to the thatched roof of the house. There, above his mother's admonishments, he fixed his eyes to the north, over the Plains of Abanasinia, where the horizon was nothing but light and plains, but a boy could imagine the turbulent Straits of Schallsea and north of that the southernmost coasts of Solamnia.
Now it seemed to Sturm that the chapel's books mocked him and his wasted years among thatch and squirrels and birds. He had traveled far from Solace, only to be brought to another dark room and these same books, on what he now realized to be most somber business.
"The fault is not entirely yours, lad," Lord Stephan began mildly, and yet Sturm heard a strange confusion in his voice as the old man paced before the altar, his eyes downcast. "Not entirely yours. This Vertumnus, it seemed, unsettled and surprised the lot of us."
"How did that happen, Lord Gunthar?" Boniface asked mockingly. "I assumed that the guardianship of the hall was under your… capable command, as is always the case on a banquet night."
Gunthar snorted angrily and leaned against the chapel door. There was no love lost between the two superlative swordsmen, the result of a generation's fierce rivalry.
"'Tis being seen to, Boniface! No need for your damned gloating and delight!" he rumbled, his gray brows smoldering.
"Well…" Lord Stephan interrupted, his dry voice melodious and soothing. "Whatever the circumstance, we have no doubt finally met the fabled Lord Wilderness, and he's every bit as curious as the stories say."
"The stories!" Sturm exclaimed, half rising from his chair. "Do you mean to say you knew of this monstrosity, and… and…"
"We knew indeed," Alfred replied. "Lord Wilderness is the companion to a hundred rumors, and deaf is the Solamnic Knight who hasn't heard one of them. We knew of him but had never seen him. How could we have expected his visit? This chorus and burgeoning of vines?"
Gunthar glanced at Boniface angrily, and the four Knights settled into their private thoughts.
"The hour is late," Alfred replied after a long pause, "and our thoughts border on fancy. Perhaps we should address this in the morning/when sunlight shines on what has come to pass, rather than the curious double light of the moon."
"I agree with Lord Alfred," chimed in Lord Boniface, and Lord Gunthar nodded also.
"But wait. Who is Vertumnus?" Sturm asked.
Nervously the Knights exchanged glances.
"I have heard," Lord Alfred began, "that he is a renegade Knight whose path entangled with elves and all kinds of woodland foolishness. I have heard that he captains a band of Nerakan bandits down in his Southern Darkwoods."
"I have heard Vertumnus is a druid," Lord Gunthar declared. "A great pagan priest whose heart is as hard and knotted as oak. His sanctuary in the Darkwoods is a forbidden place, where birds whisper the last words of criminals and the dead hang like fruit from the limbs of trees."
Sturm frowned. That seemed even more fanciful than the renegade Knight.
"And I have heard," chimed in Lord Stephan, stirring up dust, "that the blood of the man is pure wizardry, that his dark eyes are fashioned from stone from the black moon Nuitari. I have heard that the Southern Darkwoods are all an illusion, born of the black moon and the sorcerer's dreams."
"And yet he visits us in the Yuletide?" Sturm asked. "And wizard or druid or bandit Knight, he gains our most listening ears? How… how did this happen? And why?"
"I expect," Lord Boniface observed dryly, "that Lord Gunthar will see to that answer shortly. How a single man could weave through vedettes of Solamnia's finest young men, leading that great boar after him…
"Great boar?" the four others exclaimed, turning in unison to Lord Boniface. The famous Knight frowned, and Alfred laid an uneasy hand on his shoulder.
"We…we saw no boar, Lord Boniface," the High Justice explained. "Perhaps the night's confusion… or the wine…"
"I tell you, 'twas a boar I saw!" Boniface insisted angrily. "And if I saw it, 'twas there, by Paladine and Majere and whatever good god you could name!"
"Be that as it may, we saw no boar," Alfred repeated patiently. "Only the flock of ravens in the rafters…"
He paused as the other Knights stared at him in puzzlement.
"You… you saw no ravens," he concluded bleakly. "None of you did."
"I did not look above me," Stephan soothed. "Though by Paladine and all the assembled gods, I remember the shrill and insulting dryads the Green Man brought with him."
It was his turn to be the curiosity. The Knights gazed at him in perplexity.