“Now, by the Measure, we are bound to accept the word of a tried and tested knight such as Derek Crownguard over the ward 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.”
Sturm stood before Gunthar, confused and troubled. What was happening? He glanced at the other two knights. Lord Alfred was not bothering to conceal his anger. It was obvious, therefore, that this “agreement” of Gunther’s had been hard won.. ‘
“It is the judgment of this Council.” Lord Gunthar continued, “that the young man, Sturm Brightblade, be accepted into the lowest order of the knights.-‘the Order of the Crown’ -on my Honour. . .”
There was a universal gasp of astonishment.
“And that, furthermore, he be placed as third in command of the army that is due to set sail shortly for Palanthas. As prescribed by the Measure, the High Command must have a representative from each of the Orders. Therefore, Derek Crownguard will be High Commander, representing the Order of the Rose. Lord Alfred MarKenin will represent the Order oc the Sword, and Sturm Brightblade will act-on my honor-a commander for the Order of the Crown.”
Amid the stunned silence, Sturm felt tears course down his cheeks, but now he need hide them no longer. Behind him, he heard the sound of someone rising, of a sword rattling in anger. Derek stalked furiously out of the Hall, the other knights of his faction following him. There were scattered cheers, too. Sturm saw through his tears that about half the knights in the room particularly the younger knights, the knights he would command- were applauding. Sturm felt swift pain well deep from inside his soul. Though he had won his victory, he was appalled by what the knighthood had become-divided into factions by power-hungry men. It was nothing more than a corrupt shell of a once-honored brotherhood.
“Congratulations, Brightblade,” Lord Alfred said stiffly. “I hope you realize what Lord Gunthar has done for you.”
“I do, my lord,” Sturm said, bowing, “and I swear by my father’s sword”-he laid his hand upon it-“that I will be worthy of his trust.”
“See to it, young man,” Lord Alfred replied and left. The younger lord, Michael, accompanied him without a word to Sturm.
But the other young knights came forward then, offering their enthusiastic congratulations. They pledged his health in wine and would have stayed for an all-out chinking bout if Gunthar had not sent them on their way.
When the two of them were alone in the Hall, Lord Gunthar smiled expansively at Sturm and shook his hand. The young knight returned the handshake warmly, if not the smile. The pain was too fresh.
Then, slowly and carefully, Sturm took the black roses from his sword. Laying them an the table, he slid the blade back in the scabbard at his side. He started to brush the roses aside, but paused, then picked up one and thrust it into his belt.
“I must thank you, my lord,” Sturm began, his woke quivering.
“You have nothing to thank one for, son,” Lord Gunthar said. Glancing around the room, he shivered. “Let’s, get out -of this place and go somewhere warm. Mulled wine?”
The two knights walked damn the stone corridors of Gurnthar’s ancient castle; the sounds of the young knights leaning drifting up from below -horses’s hooves clattering on the cobblestone, voices shouting, some even raising in a military song. “I must thank you, my lord,” Sturm said firmly. “The risk you take is very great. I hope I will prove worthy-”
“Risk! Nonsense, my boy.” Rubbing his hands to restore the circulation, Gunthar led Sturm into a small room decorated for the approaching Yule celebration-red winter roses, grown indoors, kingfisher feathers, and tiny, delicate golden crowns. A fire blazed brightly. At Gunthar’s command, servants brought in two mugs of steaming liquid that gave off a warm, spicy odor. “‘Many were the times your father threw his shield in front of me and stood aver me, protecting me when I was down.”
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127