a supper of dried fruit, nuts, and bread, regarding the
knight’s sleeping form thoughtfully through the back of the
wagon.
If he still lived when she reached Garnet the next day, she
would leave him at one of the monasteries dedicated to the
new gods – if the brethren would accept a Solamnic Knight
into their sanctuary, she amended. There were many who
frowned upon the Knights of Solamnia these days. Matya
had heard tales that told how, long ago, the knights had
been men of greatness and honor, who had protected all
Solamnia against creatures like goblins. Matya, however,
was not certain she believed such tales.
Most Solamnic Knights she had ever heard of were
little more than fools who expected others to be impressed
simply because they wore ridiculous suits of rusting armor.
Some folk even said it was the knights themselves who
brought about the Cataclysm, the fiery destruction that had
rained down upon the face of Krynn more than half a
century ago, bringing an end to the Age of Might.
“Not that I think the Cataclysm was really such a
terrible thing,” Matya said to herself. “I daresay I wouldn’t
make as good a living as I do if these self-important knights
still patrolled the highways. And while times may be hard,
it only means that people will spend more dearly for the sort
of things I can bring them in my wagon. If anything, the
Cataclysm has been good for business, and that’s all that
matters to me.”
With a start, Matya realized that the knight had heard
her talking, was watching her. His eyes were pale, almost
colorless.
“To whom do I owe my life?” he asked her.
Matya stared at him in surprise. Despite his unlikely
looks, the knight’s voice was resonant, deep and almost
musical, like the sound of a hunting horn.
“My name is Matya,” she said briskly, recovering her
wits. “And as for what you owe me, we can discuss that
later.”
The knight inclined his head politely. “I am Trevarre, of
the House of Navarre,” he said in his noble voice. “For your
assistance, I thank you, but if it is a reward you seek, I fear
we must discuss it now, not later.” He gripped the wagon’s
side and tried to pull himself up, heedless of his injuries.
“What are you doing?” Matya cried.
“Leaving,” Trevarre said. A crooked smile touched his
lips, and determination shone in his deep-set eyes. “You
have been more than kind, Matya, but I have traveled day
and night to reach the end of my journey. I cannot stop, not
yet.”
“Why, you knights are greater fools than the tales say,”
Matya said angrily, hands on her hips. “You’ll only kill
yourself”
“So be it,” Trevarre said, shrugging as if this prospect
did not disturb him. He grimaced, breathing hard, as he slid
from the wagon and balanced on his good leg. “I must go
on” He took a step onto his injured leg. His face went white
with pain. He groaned and slumped to the ground.
Matya clucked her tongue, helped him sit back up
against the wagon wheel. “I don’t think you’re going
anywhere, except to a monastery in Garnet – or the grave, if
you try that again” She poured a cup of water from a
goatskin and handed it to him. The knight nodded in thanks
and drank it down.
“You do not understand, Matya,” Trevarre said, an
intent look on his weathered face. “I must journey to
Tambor. I have received a plea for help. I cannot refuse it.”
Matya scowled. “Why ever not?”
Trevarre sighed, stroking his scraggly moustache. “I do
not know if I can make you understand this, but I will try. I
am a Knight of the Sword, Matya.” He rested his hand
against his steel breastplate, decorated with the symbol of
the sword. “This means I cannot live my life as other men
do. Instead, I must live by another, higher standard – by the
Oath and the Measure. It is written in the Measure that
there is honor in aiding those who cry out in need. And, by
the Oath, I swore that my honor is my life. I will fulfill my