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 the 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 an 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 an the field of battle, so he was determined to hide it now from Derek. Throwing back his head defiantly; his eyes an 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 mustaches just before riding into battle.
“Sturm Brightblade, it is our judgement 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 &It 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 add 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.
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