Wordlessly Sturm rose from the table and stood by the fireplace, then moved to the window. Outside, the snow had stopped, and the stars peeked out of a low netting of clouds. At the edge of the eastern sky, the white rim of Solinari glittered on the horizon.
The red moon was nowhere in sight.
Sturm took a deep breath and turned to face his companions.
" 'Then my sword shall redeem me from insult and calumny,' Boniface said, and then he raised his sword in the traditional challenge to trial by combat. Vertumnus nodded and extended his sword hand, and they tell me that green fire danced over his fingers. Then he winked at Lord Gunthar, once and mysteriously, and asked in a stage whisper, 'Will no man lend me the use of a sword?'
"Gunthar claims that he doesn't know why he gave Vertumnus his sword. The Crownguards are calling him a traitor. They've called him worse names through the winter and into the spring, and even Lord Alfred says that Gunthar was charmed or ensorcelled.
"Gunthar says it was something else. He says that, despite the commotion and the accusings, he's glad he did it.
"But whatever it was, charm or freewill, he drew his sword and handed it to Vertumnus, who stretched, yawned, and leapt to the center of the room, not a sword's length from Lord Boniface.
" 'Arms extreme', is it? Lord Wilderness asked.
" 'Arms courteous', Boniface replied nervously, and he sheathed his sword as Derek Crownguard stepped by the nibblesome elk and made his way to the chest where the wicker swords lay ready.
" 'As you wish,' Vertumnus replied. 'Arms courteous it shall be, and may truth rest in the sword arm of the victor.'"
Caramon leaned forward. It was the part of the story he had awaited.
Otik coughed impatiently behind the bar. Closing time had come, and the three lads had made no motion to their cloaks and belongings, much less toward the door. The innkeeper whistled loudly as he wiped off the empty tables, but making his way across the room, he overheard and paused, caught up like the twins in Sturm's unfolding story.
Sturm closed his eyes. "Three hundred pairs of eyes watched expectantly as the two men circled one another, wicker swords humming in the smoky air. I know what it sounds like. I heard it myself almost a year ago to this night.
"And having faced both of them in the Barriers, I can tell you how it must have begun. Vertumnus handled the weapon deftly and thoughtlessly, like a juggler, while Boniface stalked about him, his movements stronger, more labored. It was a match of equals but of opposites, I would have wagered.
"But Gunthar told me otherwise. He told me that from the outset Lord Wilderness ruled the contest. Once, twice, a third time he parried Lord Boniface's lunges and thrusts, on the third occasion vaulting through the air and landing lightly on the other side of his adversary, slapping his bottom with a sharp stroke from the flat of the wicker blade. 'Sauce for the goose!' Vertumnus cried in a honking, mocking voice, and Boniface flushed and charged after him. This time Vertumnus's sword was at the Knight's face, delivering round slaps to each ear before Boniface had the speed or balance to block either blow."
"Such… such insult!" Caramon exclaimed delightedly, and Sturm nodded, struggling guiltily with his own vengeful delight.
"Gunthar said it was an indignity, said he was tempted to turn his head away, but that he was glad he didn't. He said that, curiously enough, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the High Justice's shoulders shaking with laughter.
"Playfully Vertumnus backed his opponent around the room, his blade humming and whining. He touched sword-point to the brooch at Boniface's throat, and with a flick of his wrist, sent the bauble flying and the cape to the floor. Then the Green Man switched his sword to the left hand, shielded his eyes with his right, and fought Solamnia's finest swordsman to a standstill. Even blinded, he made true his parries and thwarted the skill and speed of Lord Boniface's attacks."
Caramon let out a low whistle. Otik coughed again and leaned over the table next to the lads, wet rag in his meaty hand.
Lost in the story, Sturm was beyond attentiveness and courtesy. With a sigh, Otik seated himself behind Caramon and listened to the rest of the tale unfold.
"At the far corners of the council hall, dazzled by Lord Wilderness's display of bravado and skill, some of the younger Knights began to applaud. Lord Wilderness moved with the panther strides of a younger man, and his sword hand, flashing with a reckless brilliance, dodged in and out of the torchlight as the blade whistled and sang like a flute.
"And this is what Lord Gunthar told me, and all of the Knights saw it happen this way: Suddenly the ancient stone walls of the council hall cracked and crumbled and burst forth with branches. Trees lurched from the ancient tiles on the floor, maple and oak and blackthorn springing from the masonry. Vertumnus stalked toward Boniface, waving his wicker sword.
"Then Boniface wheeled toward the nearest door, but there a very old man, white-bearded and garlanded in green, blocked his escape. Boniface wheeled into and out of the shadows. The baffled torchlight glinted off his armor, off his ceremonial targe, as the old man brought forth a trumpet and sounded a hunting call."
"Stephan?" Raistlin asked with an ironic smile.
Sturm nodded. "Gunthar knew him at once. Boniface must have, too, for he clutched at a chair to recover his balance.
"By the door, Lord Stephan bent to a fencer's stance of his own. 'Let foliage become foilage, Lord Wilderness!' he whooped, and nearby a nervous squire tittered and was silent. 'And let the stones of Castle Brightblade cry out against Boniface of Foghaven!' "
"By Paladine, it's shaping into a real donnybrook!" Otik cried out from behind the rapt Caramon. All three of the companions turned in surprise to the hefty innkeeper, who flushed and motioned at Sturm. "Go on, young master. The hour is young, though the inn be closed."
Sturm nodded and returned to his story.
"Vertumnus wheeled about, his gaze following his opponent 'with serenity and scorn,' as Lord Gunthar put it. He plucked an olive branch from the dense greenery above and extended it to the Knights on the platform, who moved away as Boniface backed between the chairs, his sword still raised.
"Abandoned and set upon, the Knight glanced toward the shadowy exit behind the dais, covered by a wooden screen. There was somebody standing there, too-somebody green and young and strangely familiar…"
Sturm smiled at the thought of Jack Derry. Silently he wished his young friend well.
"So there was no escape. In the crowded council hall, in the midst of the Order, Boniface Crownguard of Foghaven played his last scene by the Measure.
'By the Measure, Lord Vertumnus,' he said, and his voice was loud and assured and battle-seasoned, rising above the murmur of Knights and the bugles and the drumming of the dryads, which had taken up once again in the rafters of the council hall. 'I insist that we fight by the rules of the Solamnic Order.'
" 'Very well,' Vertumnus agreed. 'One measure is as good as another, from where I stand.'
"Then Boniface marched from the dais, and the wicker swords clashed for the last time."
Sturm paused here. He sipped tea and looked dreamily toward the fire.
If you have learned anything, Sturm Brightblade, thought Raistlin, you have learned how to tell a story.
"Almost from the beginning," Sturm continued, "the outcome was obvious. Boniface fell twice, stumbling over the very rules he knew so well. His sword seemed heavy, his movements planned, and though the Green Man's weapon also moved slowly at first, it gathered speed and inspiration. Lord Wilderness fought by code and rule, as precise a fencer as one could imagine or fancy, and yet Lord Gunthar told me that Vertumnus found room to frolic, explore, invent.