The Reign Of Istar (11 page)

“I never thought about the Oath.” Saliak unlatched the chain. “And the Measure was just,
well, classroom stuff.” He unbuckled the muzzle and said, as he untied the gag, “I
wouldn't blame you if you wanted to hit me.”

“Fair enough,” Tarli said, and kicked Saliak in the groin.

The others gasped, in surprise and in sympathetic pain. Maglion and Steyan looked as
though, after a rainy spring, the sun had broken through.

Saliak, when he could rise to his knees, gasped, “Is that any way for a knight to fight?”

Tarli shrugged. “You'd rather fight face-to-face?” Saliak looked green. “I'd rather not
fight just now” “But you insulted my honor. Repeatedly. And now you know it.” Saliak blinked several times; he was having trouble focusing. “The Measure says that if I choose not to fight, and have apologized, then you
must accept my apology.” Tarli nodded. “So it does.” He added, so casually that Moran's heart froze within him, “But my own code is more important than the Measure.
Face-to-face?”

Saliak nodded, grunting with the effort.

“Good.” Tarli tilted Saliak's head up. With the taller boy on his knees, the two boys were
on eye level. Tarli clenched his hands together and swung them both into Saliak's face,
knocking him backward.

“This may hurt a little - ”

After a few more punches, Tarli propped Saliak upright with the thonged stick and began a
systematic top-to- bottom dismantling of Saliak, punches only. Moran, watching in dismay,
had to admit that what Tarli did not know about mercy or the Measure, he clearly made up
for with his knowledge of anatomy.

At length, Tarli, staggering under the weight, carried the beaten Saliak to bed. Steyan
and Maglion shook Tarli's hand several times. Then, to Moran's immense relief, the two
larger boys dressed and bandaged Saliak. Everyone but Tarli seemed at last to understand
what the Measure was, to a knight.

*****

Moran hated doing it.

He could see Loraine's laughing face, quizzical and completely trusting. All that summer,
she had never looked as though she thought anyone would hurt her, and he had tried very
hard never to be the one who did.

After breakfast, Rakiel, with every show of sympathy and every indication of smugness,
went down the stairs and sent Tarli up.

Moran argued with himself a final time. The best I could hope for, he said to himself, is
that it would be many years before he failed. And then it would be trial, and conviction,
and the black roses of guilt on the table.

He sat quietly, rehearsing what he would say. As many years as he had sent squires from
the manor, Moran always hated good-byes - unexpected good-byes the most.

*****

AT THE END OF THE SUMMER, LORAINE CAME TO HIM. “I'M GOING AWAY. DON'T ASK, AND DON'T
FOLLOW.”

HE ARGUED, BUT SHE STOOD FIRM. “YOU HAVE YOUR DUTY. YOUR HONOR IS YOUR LIFE, REMEMBER?
KEEP YOUR HONOR FOR MY SAKE. REMEMBER YOUR PROMISE TO ME.”

SHE KISSED HIM. HE TRIED TO CATCH HER, BUT SHE TWISTED OUT OF HIS HOLD AND WAS GONE - BOTH
FROM HIS ARMS AND FROM XAK TSAROTH. SHE WAS CARRYING A DUFFEL THAT HE HADN'T EVEN NOTICED
SHE'D BROUGHT. HURT, HE WATCHED HER WALK AWAY. AS THE WINDS FROM THE SIDE STREETS BLEW
ACROSS HER, SHE CAREFULLY PATTED HER HAIR IN PLACE OVER HER EARS. SHE DID NOT LOOK BACK.

MORAN RETURNED TO HIS STUDIES. YEARS LATER, WHEN HE HEARD THAT LORAINE HAD RETURNED, HE
DIDN'T GO TO VISIT HER.

*****

Tarli knocked. For once, Moran didn't put on the Mask, but left his face as gentle and
weary as he'd seen it in the mirror. “Come in.”

Tarli had his duffel and thonged stick with him. He looked at Moran quizzically. “I've
never seen you at your desk. Is that where you wrote THE BRIGHTBLADE T ACTICS?”

“Yes.” Moran gestured at the other chair. “Sit down.”

Without further delays, he began: “Tarli, I've watched your progress these past few weeks.
You've done wonders, in spite of your size.”

Tarli nodded proudly.

“And in every situation - and I know that in some training sessions you've faced real
danger - you haven't shown the slightest fear.”

Tarli looked puzzled. “Of course not.”

“Most of your classmates found it harder. In three decades of novices, you're probably the
most courageous boy I've ever taught.”

Tarli beamed.

Moran did not smile back. “However, your courage showed itself in - well, in strange ways.
Instead of using weapons, you broke or ... took them. Instead of accepting training as
offered, you took it and reshaped it. It would not be too much to say that you changed
everyone else's training, too.”

Tarli sat rigidly. “I did my best for them.” He seemed not to understand what was
happening to him.

“There has also been a problem of property” - Moran tried to dance around it - “private
property. You don't seem to acknowledge others' property as off-limits, unavailable.”

Tarli frowned, irked. “If people would just label things -”

“We can't label everything, and what with one thing and another - ” Moran waved his arm.
“Lances, daggers, miscellaneous books, and foodstuffs - this has been the costliest term I
can remember.”

Tarli scratched his head. “I've heard people saying that costs are going up all over the
city.”

Moran said more diffidently, “Finally, in private, you've faced a certain amount of ... of
hardship from the other boys. For the most part, you endured it patiently.”

Tarli's eyes widened. “You knew, then.”

Moran nodded. “I needed to know how each of you would respond. Being a knight is learning
to act like a knight.” He finished, watching Tarli's face, “Not just in training or in
combat, but at all times.”

He waited.

Finally Tarli said, unembarrassed, “Then you know about last night, too.”

“I do.” Moran cleared his throat. “You fought in direct defiance of the Measure. What you
said, even more than what you did, shows that you don't believe in the Measure.”

Moran sighed. “Believe me, Tarli, I'm sorrier than you can imagine. But you just weren't
meant to be a knight. You have your own way of doing things, your own view of others'
rights, and your own code of honor, and they'll never square with becoming a knight.”
Righteous but unhappy, he faced Tarli.

“You're absolutely right, Sire. The knights are all wrong for me.” Tarli made it sound as
though it were the knights' fault.

Moran stared at him. “You don't mind?”

“Not anymore.” Tarli frowned. “I would have minded when I started. Did you know, I
promised my mother that I'd try to become a knight?”

Moran shook his head, partly to clear it.

“She said it would be good for me and for the knighthood.” He sighed loudly. “Sometimes,
these past few weeks, I've wondered if she meant it as some kind of joke.”

Possible, Moran thought, smiling sadly. Very possible.

“Ah, well. Time to go.” Tarli stood up, but he didn't leave. “By the way, I do have
another name, Sire.”

Moran stiffened. “So I assumed.”

“I just don't use it, since my father and mother weren't married.” He looked, clear-eyed
and innocently, at Moran.

“Your mother's name was good enough,” Moran said gruffly. Since that summer, Loraine had
become elevated in Moran's mind into a sort of spirit-woman, someone whose love was too wild and pure for
Moran.

“By rights I can use the other name.” Tarli didn't sound bitter or ironic, merely stating
a fact. “Did you know that?” Moran nodded. “I assumed you didn't know the name.”

He added quickly, “Which is not an insult to your mother. She was a wonderful woman. I
knew her well, you know.”

“I knew that.”

Moran licked his lips, which were suddenly dry. “Of course you have the right to use your
father's name. I think” - he paused and braced himself - “I think he'd be proud.”

“Are you?” Tarli asked quietly.

Moran was stunned by the simple directness of the question. Tarli had to repeat it.

Finally Moran stammered, “I ... uh ... She never told me ...”

“Well, my mother told me. And she always told the truth.” Tarli looked tolerant of someone
else's failing. “She said you probably wouldn't like it if I took your name. She said you
might feel awkward about it, training boys like you do. It didn't make sense to her, but
she thought you'd want it that way.”

Moran nodded. “She was good to me when I needed her most. Except for leaving, she was
always good to me.” He asked a question he'd wondered about for eighteen years. “Did she
know that I would have married her?”

Now Tarli looked startled. “She never told you? She knew, but she didn't think it would
work. You're very different from her.” He added calmly, “But I think she loved you.”

“I think so, too” Moran thought, briefly and with regret, of the demands of knighthood, of
bastardly scandals in the knighthood, and of the fact that conflicts of duty can be every
bit as painful as conflicts of honor. “You have my permission. Use my name if you wish.”

Tarli smiled. “Thank you, but I think I'll keep using my own name, plus my formal name,
now that I'm an adult.” Moran, amused by this sudden eighteen-year-old adult said, “And what name is that?” Tarli answered easily and calmly, “Tarli Half-Kender.”
Moran's jaw sagged slowly, like something settling into a swamp. “Half ... kender?” he repeated faintly. “That's right.” Tarli flipped the broken
lance end-for-

end. Moran remembered Loraine's words. No MATTER WHO THE CHILD IS, OR WHAT IT'S LIKE? And her laughter. I LOVE STRANGE PLACES AND STRANGE
MEN. Even her constant patting of her hair, over her ears. “Half-Kender?”

“I suppose I could use 'Flamehair.' It's a respected name among her people, you know. I
didn't want to use it at first, since it would look like social climbing.”

Moran's room reeled around him. “Half-Kender?” How could he have been so stupid? Or was it
that he just wouldn't admit it to himself?

“That's right.” Tarli stared off into space and said reflectively, “But my mother left her
people and came here. Kender all love wandering. That's why she left here, too, partly.”

Tarli walked around the room with his duffel, looking absently at things. The shaken Moran
would later discover that a bottle of wine, a table knife, and a copy of THE BRIGHTBLADE
TACTICS had disappeared. “I'd better get going.”

But Tarli stopped and rummaged in the duffel, which seemed disturbingly full. “Could you
give these back to your cleric friend?”

Moran took the offered scrolls. “He gave these to you?”

“Not exactly.” Tarli grinned. “I just needed something to read one night, and his room was
unlocked - or almost.” He trailed off, then brightened. “The parts about the knights'
treasury are pretty good.”

Moran unrolled the top scroll (the seal was already broken) and read:

MOST REVERED CLERIC ANSILUS, IN ISTAR. GREETINGS, AND THE BLESSINGS OF THE ONLY TRUE GODS,
FROM THEIR SERVANT AND YOUR BROTHER RAKIEL; MAY YOU AND THEY SPEAK WELL OF HIM.

WRITTEN WHEN THE MOON SOLINARI IS ON THE WANE IN THE MONTH OF THE MOON LUNITARI ASCENDANT
IN THE QUEEN OF DARKNESS.

SO FAR, THINGS GO WELL. I HAVE LEARNED THE EXTENT OF THE KNIGHTS' WEALTH HERE IN XAK TSAROTH AND BELIEVE THAT IT IS MORE THAN IS NEEDED FOR A DEFENSIVE TRAINING FORCE IN
PEACE TIME. I WILL RECOMMEND THAT THE CHURCH COULD MAKE BETTER USE OF IT.

I HAVE GAINED ACCESS ONCE TO THE TREASURY, AND HAVE ENCLOSED AN ITEMIZED LIST OF ITS
CONTENTS. I AM UNSURE HOW THE MONEY AND PRECIOUS METALS ARE TRANSPORTED FROM THE TREASURY
AND WHERE THE KNIGHTS' MAIN STORE IS, BUT I HOPE TO FIND OUT SOON. THE OLD MAN WHO TRAINS
THESE PEASANTS IS A FOOL...

Moran closed his eyes, remembering Rakiel asking questions, Rakiel filling out forms,
Rakiel offering to handle requisitions for the lances.

“Plus this. I kept it because of the map - I love maps - but I don't suppose I'll be back
here ever.”

The “map” was a floor plan of the Manor of the Measure, with the storeroom marked in red.
On the bottom of the scroll was a careful tracing, from the top, bottom, and end, of the
treasure room key.

“I'll kill him,” Moran muttered, but even as he said it he recoiled. There was no honor in
Solamnia's best-trained weapons master killing a cleric who trembled when the knight
brandished a butter knife.

Moran turned the paper over thoughtfully. If he could soothe his honor somehow and refrain
from slaying Ra kiel, this page alone, sent to the Order of the Rose, would humiliate the
clerics and probably keep the knights in Xak Tsaroth free of their influence for years to
come.

“Thank you for showing me this,” Moran said.

Tarli smiled, looked at the knight affectionately. “Uncle Moran, you've been good to me.”

“Uncle Moran? You may call me 'Father.' ”

Tarli nodded, almost shyly. “I'd like that. You know, you've been almost a spiritual guide
to me - ”

Moran, holding Rakiel's tracing of the knights' treasury, had a wild idea.

“I may still be your guide,” he said slowly. “Tell me, Tarli, where will you go from here?”

Tarli frowned, considering. “No idea,” he said finally.

“Maybe to meet my mother's people again. I've been with them, and they're nice.” He
frowned still more, and Moran was reminded forcibly of himself. “But sometimes I think I
ought to make something of myself.”

Moran took a deep breath and said carefully, “Have you considered the clergy?”

From his blank expression, clearly Tarli never had.

The blankness turned to wonder. “You know, you're right,” Tarli said excitedly. “They're
perfect. I'd have a wonderful time. The more I know of clerics, the more their code seems
more like mine than the knights' does.” He looked up suddenly at Moran. “No offense.”

“Oh, none.” Moran hid a smile.

“Tell me, do the clerics accept common - accept people like me?”

Ah, Tarli, Moran thought fondly, there ARE no other people like you. His hand closed in a
fist around Rakiel's letters. It was hard, not killing a man for a debt of honor, but this
way might be better.