"Isherwood is no more, but the dragon retreated without ascertaining that the Knights and the priest of Chislev were inside," the Knight said.
Iulus slammed his clawed fist on the table, cracking the heavy oaken plank down its full length. "A flight of red dragons would have served better," he cursed. "At least we can control them."
"Pyrothraxus won't allow reds onto the island," Zen said.
"Fool, don't you think I know that?" the Grand Master snarled.
Zen scowled at the rebuff, but said nothing. Meanwhile, Iulus seemed to regain control of his emotions.
"Well, it is of no concern," Iulus said. "Even if they escape, they'll never make it to Castle uth Wistan before the council. Liam has agreed to an open vote for the succession. Once Lady Mirielle is in command, the Knights of Solamnia will be finished."
"They'll demand someone be sent to rescue the gully dwarf," the helmed Knight said. "He can still cause problems. It were best if he is killed now."
"I think you overestimate the importance of our little friend," Iulus said. "When we find out his secret, then we'll dispose of him immediately. Meanwhile, with Pyrothraxus threatening their border, they'd never risk sending a contingent just to rescue a gully dwarf."
"Very well," the Knight said. "Oh, by the way, I've brought you a little present."
"Really? And what, pray tell, is that?" Iulus asked.
The Knight removed her helm and shook out her dark hair. "Something called a highbulp, the fugitive gully dwarf slave," she said. "Her name is Mommamose. She would already be dead, and I wouldn't be so inconvenienced, if it wasn't for the incompetence of your soldiers."
"Really, something must be done about Shaeder," Zen said as he motioned the Knight to have a seat at the table.
"Bring another bottle of that excellent wine," Iulus ordered one of the servants.
"Bring two," Alya said with a laugh as she tossed her dragon helm in the corner.
24
A knock on the door startled Liam from his reverie. He'd been nodding off, dreaming of things that could have been, while atop his desk, Gunthar's desk, the old man's manuscript lay just as he had left it in disgust some three weeks earlier. He'd spent nearly every day since the reading of the will in Gunthar's study, supposedly editing the Revised Measure into some kind of workable order. Instead he'd spent most of that time looking out the window, examining the paintings on the wall, picking at his fingernails, or simply dozing. He couldn't bring himself to sit down at the desk and try to organize Gunthar's life's work, his parting gift to the Knighthood, the work for which he'd be remembered throughout the ages. For Gunthar's Measure frightened Liam as no mortal enemy ever had. He'd faced dragons in battle, thousands of feet above the ground, but this task he'd set himself, to edit the Measure, paralyzed him with its enormity.
The first third was not only legible, it was perfect, the work of a brilliant mind. Gunthar had begun this section of the Revised Measure not long after the War of the Lance. Strict and mindless adherence to the Measure had very nearly destroyed the Knights during the War of the Lance, so Lord Gunthar made it his life's goal to revise it into a fluid document of broad all-encompassing guidelines, from which a Knight could draw inspiration for any particular situation. He'd worked on it carefully and diligently during the years between the War of the Lance and the Chaos War.
However, the death of his last surviving son during the Chaos War wrought a change in Gunthar's mind. Where his previous work had been clear and concise, the newer writings were little more than outlines and incomplete ideas. It needed expansion and elaboration, although it was not wholly corrupted. After the death of his wife, Gunthar's work on the Measure deteriorated. He began to ramble, mixing his thoughts on his work with thoughts of the past and musings upon everyday life. He filled pages and pages just doodling, with maybe an idea about ceremony hastily scrawled at the bottom of the paper. There were unfinished letters to his wife written on the same pages as directions for various types of battle, and he repeated himself endlessly. After just a cursory glance through these disappointing pages, Liam found eleven variations of instructions for sentry placement in mountainous terrain. At that point, he threw the Revised Measure down in disgust and hadn't looked at it since.
Tomorrow, Liam had told himself. I'll begin tomorrow. What's one more day? I need to get my thoughts together before I begin.
Preoccupied with the Measure, Liam had reluctantly handed over temporary leadership of the Knights to Tohr Malen, and he was forced to admit that the Dark Knight handled things admirably. His quick command and powerful personality had already won over many of the Knights of Solamnia. With his charisma and magnetism, it seemed all too easy for them to forget that once Tohr had dedicated his life to the cause of evil. While Liam sank into depression, Tohr Malen was forging the Knights of Sancrist Isle into a powerful well-organized body of warriors. He was breathing new life and energy into men and women who'd become jaded with inactivity. Liam felt his authority, his control, slipping away.
That's why he'd called the Grand Chapter, to force a vote before Tohr Malen won everyone over to his side.
The knock on the door awakened Liam to the reality that he must now go down and face the assemblage. He rose slowly to his feet, while the page pounded impatiently on the door. Liam settled his sword in its baldric and ran a nervous hand through his graying locks, then strode to the door and opened it.
The page bowed. "Forgive me, my lord. The Chapter is ready," he said.
Liam took a deep breath, then nodded. The page led the way down the hall. Liam fell in behind and walked with his head proud, his eyes level, as though walking out to what might likely be his last battle.
They arrived before a low arched doorway just as the midday bell was being rung, sounding a changing of the watch. "How appropriate," Liam muttered. The page opened the door and stepped back. Liam ducked and passed through.
It brought him to a small antechamber, where several other Knights of renown were waiting. There was Lord High Clerist Meredith Turningdale smiling at him sympathetically, and Lord High Warrior Quintayne Fogorner purposefully avoiding his eyes. So Quintayne has already gone over, Liam thought.
The strange and aloof Thorn Knight Trevalyn Kesper brooded in the corner, while Tohr Malen anxiously paced the tiny confines of the chamber. As Liam entered, Tohr smiled and approached him, his hand extended.
"I just want to say, Sir Liam, that no matter how the vote goes, I do not consider you my adversary. In fact, I hope that we can one day be friends," Tohr said as he earnestly shook Liam's hand.
"As do I," Liam responded politely, "and I shall put aside my personal feelings and abide by the lawful decision of this Chapter."
A tall door in the opposite wall from the entrance opened with a creak. Sir Ellinghad Beauseant stuck his head inside the antechamber and whispered, "My lords and ladies, we are ready."
Liam nodded, indicating his readiness. Sir Ellinghad then looked at Lord Tohr for confirmation. And Ellinghad as well, Liam noted with some sadness. How many others? he wondered. Tohr nodded.
Ellinghad stepped back. "Gentlemen, ladies, Honorable Knights of Sancrist Isle," he said in a loud and forceful voice. "All rise for the Lord High Justice Liam Ehrling, Lord Tohr Malen, Lord Trevalyn Kesper," he announced as each presiding Lord Knight entered the chapel.
It was the same place where they'd held Gunthar's funeral, but before the altar they'd set up a table and six chairs. In the center of the table stood a clay pot filled with small circular tiles. Most were white, though a single black tile peeked through the top. The five leaders of the Knights took their seats behind the table, facing the congregation, which was made up of every available Knight in the area. The sixth seat at the table remained empty, and it was only then that Liam noticed the representative of the Knights of the Lily was not present. He looked around, but no one proposed to fill the vacant chair.