quest, Matya.” A faint light glimmered in his pale eyes. “Or
die trying.”
“And what reward will you get for performing this
‘honorable’ task?” Matya asked with a scowl.
“My honor is reward enough.”
Matya sniffed. “This ‘Oath and Measure’ hardly sounds
practical. It’s rather difficult to eat one’s honor when one
gets hungry.” She paused a moment. Her real interest was in
the doll, but she couldn’t think of how to ask about it
without rousing the knight’s suspicion. Maybe, if she could
keep him talking about himself, he’d tell her what she
wanted to know. “And how is it you came to hear this plea
for help, Knight? How do you know it’s not simply a trick
to lure you into a den of robbers?”
“I know.” The crooked smile touched Trevarre’s lips
once again. “By this, I know.” He slipped the porcelain doll
from the leather pouch.
Matya was thrilled. She had not thought to get another
glimpse so easily. Seeing it closely now, Matya realized the
doll was even more beautiful than she had thought. She
clasped her hands behind her back so she would not be
tempted to reach out and touch its smooth surface.
“Passing fair, would you not say?” Trevarre said softly.
Matya could only nod. “It is a most remarkable thing. I
came upon it some days ago, by the banks of a stream that
flows from the mountains. It lay in a small boat woven of
rushes, caught in a snag by the shore.” He slipped the
figurine back into its pouch. “By it, I learned of a maiden
who lives in a village called Tambor. She is in dire need.
The code of the Measure is most clear on this. I must go to
her.”
Matya raised an eyebrow. It was a peculiar tale. She
guessed Trevarre had stolen the doll and simply was
making up the story. After all, he looked more like a thief
than a knight, despite his armor. If so, stolen goods were
fair game. Ask any trader.
“How is it you learned of this maiden?” she asked,
hoping to trip him in his lie. “Was there a message in the
boat?”
“No,” the knight replied, “not as you mean, at least.
You see, the doll is magical. Each night, when Solinari
rises, the doll speaks with the maiden’s voice. That is how I
heard her call for help.”
Matya laughed aloud, slapping her knee. “A wondrous
tale indeed, Trevarre, but I believe you have taken up the
wrong vocation. You should be a storyteller, not a knight.”
Trevarre’s expression became grave, serious. “You
must know, Matya, that on his life a Knight of Solamnia
cannot speak falsehood. I can understand why you do not
trust in magic. We knights do not think much of sorcerous
powers either. But wait until Solinari is on the rise. Perhaps
you will change your mind.”
Matya studied the knight attentively. His was not
exactly a trustworthy face, despite his pretty voice. Still,
there was something about the intentness of his pale eyes.
“Perhaps I won’t,” she said.
*****
It was nearly midnight. The knight had slipped into a
doze, less fitfully this time, and Matya rummaged through a
wooden box in the back of her wagon. The light of a single
candle illuminated scrolls and parchments. Finally, she
found what she was searching for – a bundle of yellowed
sheets of vellum.
Matya untied the bundle’s silken ribbon and unrolled
the sheets, spreading them out on the lid of the box. They
were maps, rendered in fading ink. A kender had given
them to Matya some years ago in exchange for a silver
knife. It had proved to be one of the few unprofitable trades
Matya had ever made. She soon had learned that the maps
contained many mistakes. They showed land where there
were seas, mountains where there were deserts, and
populous cities in which no one lived. She should have
known better than to trust a kender. They were little
tricksters, all of them. Still, poor as the maps were, they
were the only maps she had, and she was curious about
something.
She shuffled through the maps until she found one that