Dragonlance 02 - Dragons of Winter Night (39 page)

Gunthar watched Derek Crownguard as the knights returned to their places. Derek was the only rival with the money and backing capable of claiming the rank of Grand Master. Hoping to earn additional votes, Derek had eagerly volunteered to undertake the perilous quest in search of the legendary dragon orbs. Gunthar was given little choice but to agree. If he had refused, he would appear frightened of Derek’s growing power. Derek was undeniably the most qualified—if one strictly followed the Measure. But Gunthar, who had known Derek a long time, would have prevented his
going if he could have—not because he feared the knight but because he truly did not trust him. The man was vainglorious and power-hungry, and—when it came down to it—Derek’s first loyalties lay to Derek.

And now it appeared that Derek’s successful return with a dragon orb had won the day. It had brought many knights into his camp who had been heading that direction anyway and actually enticed away some in Gunthar’s own faction. The only ones who opposed him still were the younger knights in the lowest order of the Knighthood—Knights of the Crown.

These young men had little use for the strict and rigid interpretation of the Measure that was life’s blood to the older knights. They pushed for change—and had been severely chastened by Lord Derek Crownguard. Some came close to losing their knighthood. These young knights were firmly behind Lord Gunthar. Unfortunately, they were few in number and, for the most part, had more loyalty than money. The young knights had, however, adopted Sturm’s cause as their own.

But this was Derek Crownguard’s master stroke, Gunthar thought bitterly. With one slice of his sword, Derek was going to get rid of a man he hated and his chief rival as well.

Lord Gunthar was a well-known friend of the Brightblade family, a friendship that traced back generations. It was Gunthar who had advanced Sturm’s claim when the young man appeared out of nowhere five years before to seek his father and his inheritance. Sturm had been able, with letters from his mother, to prove his right to the Brightblade name. A few insinuated this had been accomplished on the wrong side of the sheets, but Gunthar quickly squelched those rumors. The young man was obviously the son of his old friend—that much could be seen in Sturm’s face. By backing Sturm, however, the lord was risking a great deal.

Gunthar’s gaze went to Derek, walking among the knights, smiling and shaking hands. Yes, this trial was making him—Lord Gunthar Uth Wistan—appear a fool.

Worse still, Gunthar thought sadly, his eyes returning to Sturm, it was probably going to destroy the career of what he believed to be a very fine man, a man worthy of walking his father’s path.

“Sturm Brightblade,” Lord Gunthar said when silence descended on the hall, “you have heard the accusations made against you?”

“I have, my lord,” Sturm answered. His deep voice echoed eerily in the hall. Suddenly a log in the huge fireplace behind Gunthar split, sending a flare of heat and a shower of sparks up the chimney. Gunthar paused while the servants hustled in efficiently to add more wood. When the servants were gone, he continued the ritual questioning.

“Do you, Sturm Brightblade, understand the charges made against you, and do you further understand that these are grievous charges and could cause this Council to find you unfit for the knighthood?”

“I do,” Sturm started to reply. His voice broke. Coughing, he repeated more firmly, “I do, my lord.”

Gunthar smoothed his moustaches, trying to think how to lead into this, knowing that anything the young man said against Derek was going to reflect badly upon Sturm himself.

“How old are you, Brightblade?” Gunthar asked.

Sturm blinked at this unexpected question.

“Over thirty, I believe?” Gunthar continued, musing.

“Yes, my lord,” Sturm answered.

“And, from what Derek tells us about your exploits in Ice Wall Castle, a skilled warrior—”

“I never denied that, my lord,” Derek said, rising to his feet once again. His voice was tinged with impatience.

“Yet you accuse him of cowardice,” Gunthar snapped. “If my memory serves me correctly, you stated that when the elves attacked, he refused to obey your order to fight.”

Derek’s face was flushed. “May I remind your lordship that
I
am not on trial—”

“You charge Brightblade with cowardice in the face of the enemy,” Gunthar interrupted. “It has been many years since the elves were our enemies.”

Derek hesitated. The other knights appeared uncomfortable. The elves were members of the Council of Whitestone, but they were not allowed a vote. Because of the discovery of the dragon orb, the elves would be attending the upcoming Council, and it would never do to have word get back to them that the knights considered them enemies.

“Perhaps ‘enemy’
is
too strong a word, my lord.” Derek recovered smoothly. “If I am at fault, it is simply that I am being forced to go by what is written in the Measure. At the time I speak of, the elves—though not our enemies in point of fact—were doing everything in their power to prevent us from bringing the dragon orb to Sancrist. Since this was my mission—and the elves opposed it—I therefore am forced to define them as ‘enemies’—according to the Measure.”

Slick bastard, Gunthar thought grudgingly.

With a bow to apologize for speaking out of turn, Derek sat down again. Many of the older knights nodded in approval.

“It also says in the Measure,” Sturm said slowly, “that we are not to take life needlessly, that we fight only in defense—either our own or the defense of others. The elves did not threaten our lives. At no time were we in actual physical danger.”

“They were shooting arrows at you, man!” Lord Alfred struck the table with his gloved hand.

“True, my lord,” Sturm replied, “but all know the elves are expert marksmen. If they had wanted to kill us, they would not have been hitting trees!”

“What do you believe would have happened if you had attacked the elves?” Gunthar questioned.

“The results would have been tragic in my view, my lord,” Sturm said, his voice soft and low. “For the first time in generations, elves and humans would be killing each other. I think the Dragon Highlords would have laughed.”

Several of the young knights applauded.

Lord Alfred glared at them, angry at this serious breach of the Measure’s rules of conduct. “Lord Gunthar, may I remind you that Lord Derek Crownguard is not on trial here. He has proven his valor time and again upon the field of battle. I think we may safely take his word for what is an enemy action and what isn’t. Sturm Brightblade, do you say that the charges made against you by Lord Derek Crownguard are false?”

“My lord,” Sturm began, licking his lips which were cracked and dry, “I do not say the knight has lied. I say, however, that he has misrepresented me.”

“To what purpose?” Lord Michael asked.

Sturm hesitated. “I would prefer not to answer that, my lord,” he said so quietly that many knights in the back row could not hear and called for Gunthar to repeat the question.
He did so and received the same reply—this time louder.

“On what grounds do you refuse to answer that question, Brightblade?” Lord Gunthar asked sternly.

“Because—according to the Measure—it impinges on the honor of the Knighthood,” Sturm replied.

Lord Gunthar’s face was grave. “That is a serious charge. Making it, you realize you have no one to stand with you in evidence?”

“I do, my lord,” Sturm answered, “and that is why I prefer not to respond.”

“If I command you to speak?”

“That, of course, would be different.”

“Then speak, Sturm Brightblade. This is an unusual situation, and I do not see how we can make a fair judgment without hearing everything. Why do you believe Lord Derek Crownguard misrepresents you?”

Sturm’s face flushed. Clasping and unclasping his hands, he raised his eyes and looked directly at the three knights who sat in judgment on him. His case was lost, he knew that. He would never be a knight, never attain what had been dearer to him than life itself. To have lost it through fault of his own would have been bitter enough, but to lose it like this was a festering wound. And so he spoke the words that he knew would make Derek his bitter enemy for the rest of his days.

“I believe Lord Derek Crownguard misrepresents me in an effort to further his own ambition, my lord.”

Tumult broke out. Derek was on his feet. His friends restrained him forcibly, or he would have attacked Sturm in the Council Hall. Gunthar banged the sword hilt for order and eventually the assembly quieted down, but not before Derek had challenged Sturm to test his honor in the field.

Gunthar stared at the knight coldly.

“You know, Lord Derek, that in this—a declared time of war—the contests of honor are forbidden! Come to order or I’ll have you expelled from this assembly.”

Breathing heavily, his face splotched with red, Derek relapsed back into his seat.

Gunthar gave the Assembly a few more moments to settle down, then resumed. “Have you anything more to say in your defense, Sturm Brightblade?”

“No, my lord,” Sturm said.

“Then you may withdraw while this matter is considered.”

Sturm rose and bowed to the lords. Turning, he bowed to the Assembly. Then he left the room, escorted by two knights who led him to an antechamber. Here, the two knights, not unkindly, left Sturm to himself. They stood near the closed door, talking softly of matters unrelated to the trial.

Sturm sat on a bench at the far end of the chamber. He appeared composed and calm, but it was all an act. He was determined not to let these knights see the tumult in his soul. It was hopeless, he knew. Gunthar’s grieved expression told him that much. But what would the judgment be? Exile, being stripped of lands and wealth? Sturm smiled bitterly. He had nothing they could take from him. He had lived outside of Solamnia so long, exile would be meaningless. Death? He would almost welcome that. Anything was better than this hopeless existence, this dull throbbing pain.

Hours passed. The murmur of three voices rose and fell from within the corridors around the Hall, sometimes angrily. Most of the other knights had gone out, since only the three as Heads of the Council could pass judgment. The other knights were split into differing factions.

The young knights spoke openly of Sturm’s noble bearing, his acts of courage, which even Derek could not suppress. Sturm was right in not fighting the elves. The Knights of Solamnia needed all the friends they could get these days. Why attack needlessly, and so forth. The older knights had only one answer—the Measure. Derek had given Sturm an order. He had refused to obey. The Measure said this was inexcusable. Arguments raged most of the afternoon.

Then, near evening, a small silver bell rang.

“Brightblade,” said one of the knights.

Sturm raised his head. “Is it time?”

The knight nodded.

Sturm bowed his head for a moment, asking Paladine for courage. Then he rose to his feet. He and his guards waited for the other knights to reenter and be seated. He knew that they were learning the verdict as soon as they entered.

Finally, the two knights detailed as escort opened the door and motioned for Sturm to enter. He walked into the Hall, the knights following behind. Sturm’s gaze went at once to the table before Lord Gunthar.

The sword of his father—a sword that legend said was passed down from Berthel Brightblade himself, a sword that would break only if its master broke—lay on the table. Sturm’s eyes went to the sword. His head dropped to hide the burning tears in his eyes.

Wreathed around the blade was the ancient symbol of guilt, black roses.

“Bring the man, Sturm Brightblade, forward,” called Lord Gunthar.

The man
, Sturm Brightblade, not
the knight!
thought Sturm in despair. Then he remembered Derek. His head came up swiftly, proudly, as he blinked away his tears. Just as he would have hidden his pain from his enemy on the field of battle, so he was determined to hide it now from Derek. Throwing back his head defiantly, his eyes on Lord Gunthar and on no one else, the disgraced squire walked forward to stand before the three officers of the Order to await his fate.

“Sturm Brightblade, we have found you guilty. We are prepared to render judgment. Are you prepared to receive it?”

“Yes, my lord,” Sturm said tightly.

Gunthar tugged his moustaches, a sign that the men who had served with him recognized. Lord Gunthar always tugged his moustaches just before riding into battle.

“Sturm Brightblade, it is our judgment that you henceforth cease wearing any of the trappings or accoutrements of a Knight of Solamnia.”

“Yes, my lord,” Sturm said softly, swallowing.

“And, henceforth, you will not draw pay from the coffers of the Knights, nor obtain any property or gift from them.…”

The knights in the hall shifted restlessly. This was ridiculous! No one had drawn pay in the service of the Order since the Cataclysm. Something was up. They smelled thunder before the storm.

“Finally—” Lord Gunthar paused. He leaned forward, his hands toying with the black roses that graced the antique sword. His shrewd eyes swept the Assembly, gathering up his audience, allowing the tension to build. By the time he spoke, even the fire behind him had ceased to crackle.

“Sturm Brightblade. Assembled Knights. Never before has a case such as this come before the Council. And that, perhaps, is not as odd as it may seem, for these are dark and unusual days.
We have a young squire—and I remind you that Sturm Brightblade is young by all standards of the Order—a young squire noted for his skill and valor in battle. Even his accuser admits that. A young squire charged with disobeying orders and cowardice in the face of the enemy. The young squire does not deny this charge, but states that he has been misrepresented.

“Now, by the Measure, we are bound to accept the word of a tried and tested knight such as Derek Crownguard over the word of a man who has not yet won his shield. But the Measure also states that this man shall be able to call witnesses in his own behalf. Due to the unusual circumstances occasioned by these dark times, Sturm Brightblade is not able to call witnesses. Nor, for that matter, was Derek Crownguard able to produce witnesses to support his own cause. Therefore, we have agreed on the following, slightly irregular, procedure.”