Tarothin had lost weight in the tropic heat, and his grin had something of a death's-head quality to it. But the wry twinkle in his eyes at putting across a good jest was undiminished.
Pirvan rose stiffly and walked to the railing. A boat rowed by four minotaurs was indeed approaching, with Darin and Rynthala aboard. A pile of baggage lay at their feet, and both wore armor.
The knight decided that the only way to make sense of this was to wait and ask Darin. So he sat back down and tried not to fidget, without great success, until the boat bumped alongside and Darin sprang up the gangway. When Pirvan saw the expression on the younger knight's face, and saw that Rynthala held back, he knew that he was about to hear bad news.
"Let us walk aside, Sir Darin," Pirvan said formally, raising his hand in salute.
Well up on the foredeck, out of anyone's hearing, Darin told Pirvan the story of how Lujimar had contrived the duel between Darin and Zeskuk by revealing the minotaur chief's plans. It had been done for honorable reasons, to smoke out the Istaran treachery of which Lujimar had heard through his own agent, but it had required withholding true knowledge from Lujimar's chief, as well as others to whom he was bound in lesser degrees.
"So Zeskuk fears that Lujimar will seek death in the coming fight," Darin concluded. "Remaining among the minotaurs, I would need to guard him against his own wishes."
Pirvan thought that lack of sleep must be affecting his ears. "Why you?" he asked. "I cannot imagine that only you among all the thousands of minotaurs off Suivinari can guard one aged priest."
"I am the only one who knows his secret, other than Zeskuk, who has other duties," Darin said. "For another minotaur to do the work, he would need to know Lujimar's secrets, which would add to the priest's dishonor and might help Thenvor's intrigues."
Neither, Pirvan agreed, was a desirable outcome. But Lujimar's death was hardly one, either.
"Minotaurs do not fear death, least of all when it frees them from dishonor," Darin continued. "Zeskuk will not wish to stand in Lujimar's path."
Pirvan suspected that was as much from wishing Lujimar forever silent as from wishing him an honorable end. He also knew that the accusation would be a mortal insult.
"Darin, you were led by impulse as much as by honor in doing Lujimar's bidding. You are lucky to be alive, and your lady is lucky not to be a widow. Consider, next time, that however long your legs may be, you cannot stand with foot among the minotaurs and the other among the humans."
Pirvan sighed. "At least having you back among us solves one problem," he continued. "Sir Niebar is determined to go ashore with the rest of the fighters, to have one last battle. He is not seeking death, that I know, but he may find it unless well guarded. Tarothin will give him some warding against magic. If you can do the same against steel…."
Darin was actually shaking his head. He was doing it so mournfully that Pirvan's impulse to snarl at the younger knight died swiftly. He still had an edge in his voice when he said: "Guarding the back of a knight of Sir Niebar's rank is commonly considered a great honor. Who has offered something more?"
Then Pirvan's mouth fell open as Darin replied: "The Dimernesti."
Pirvan's mouth remained open long enough for Darin to explain the message he had received at dawn, from Torvik, Mirraleen, and a Dimernesti named Medlessarn the Silent.
"They believe entering the Smoker from beneath will be costly but successful," Darin said. "It will cost less, they feel, if a seasoned captain in war, and trustworthy for elvenfolk to follow, leads.
"I see," Pirvan said. "I suppose proof of your respect for elves is your lady's blood. You realize that the proof will not be wholly convincing, unless she accompanies you?"
"That might not matter to the Dimernesti," Darin said. "But it would matter greatly to my lady. Rynthala still envies you and Haimya, the number of times you have fought side by side."
Pirvan put both hands on the railing and looked into the water, as if the fish or the Dimernesti would spell out an answer. Seeing only translucent blue-green, he sighed.
"A problem with growing old, which I hope you will live to encounter yourself, is how you come to see your youthful deeds," Pirvan said. "They now as often as not chill your blood, while they heat the blood of those who see only heroism."
"I have never seen anything else in you and Haimya," Darin said with dignity. "No, I have seen more. I have seen you be as generous with your wits as with your strength, blood, and steel. That kind of heroism ages well, Sir Pirvan."
The Knight of the Rose decided that he had been assaulted in front, flanks, and rear by overwhelming odds, and that surrender was acceptable. He clapped Sir Darin on both shoulders.
"Lead our seafaring friends well, then. But both of you oil yourselves well so you are not wedged in narrow passages!"
Gerik's reunited band made a brief camp at the edge of the forest, to drink watered wine and eat cold sausage, rest the horses, and allow pursuers to ride off in every direction but the right one. To reach the campsite they used a trail that even most of the band did not know.
"-so if anyone comes upon us, it will be luck or treason," Bertsa Wylum concluded.
"Not treason, by law," Gerik reminded her. "We are not servants of a king."
"Better a king than a kingpriest," Wylum said. "And coming on us tonight is going to be as fatal as treason even if the law says otherwise."
They made no fires but took turns on sentry duty. Dawn was gray in the east when they broke camp, leading their horses until they were clear of the forest and had a good view in all directions. Seeing no enemies, they mounted and rode for Tirabot.
To further reduce the danger of pursuit, they followed a roundabout way home, though broken, partly wooded country to the southeast of the manor. On that road they began to see small bands of armed men, mostly too well dressed to be bandits but as furtive as if they were.
It was not until just south of Livo's Bridge that they came upon one of these bands so unexpectedly that the men had no time to flee. Archers held them staring down the shafts of a dozen arrows, while Gerik rode forward to speak to them.
"It's no secret that House Dirivan brought us in," the leader said. "It's no secret that our feet are taking us out. Don't know if you've heard it, but they say the whole pay chest went up with that kender-fire last night.
"So even if the chiefs are honest, what's there for them to be honest with? My advice is, take your people home, if they've got one, and keep your ears open. The kingpriest's likely enough able to settle the charge of private warfare for the Dirivans. If he can't, though, I'm for over the border into Solamnia."
Gerik thanked the man and handed him enough silver to divide with his comrades. Then he rode on, and by heroic efforts managed to keep from bursting into laughter before they were out of hearing of the retreating sell-swords.
"The gods grant you've panicked all the ones we didn't knock out of the fight," he told Bertsa Wylum. "We may win our home back yet."
Around the bend, however, laughter died and hope faded. The farm had not been burned; that would have left a warning trail of smoke in the sky. The warning lay in what else had been done. House, barn, and byre had all been looted bare, all the animals carted off or slaughtered and left to grow flyblown, farm implements smashed, manure flung down the well, and obscenities scrawled on the walls.
They found the farmer himself in the barn, his head smashed in, and a haying fork rammed through his belly. After that, Gerik could hardly bring himself to enter the house, and could not keep from vomiting the moment he ran back out.
"All dead," he said, when he could command his voice again. "Even the grandmother. They-the baby-and the mother-"