“Hail to you, old friend!” he called up to Derek. He broke into a coughing fit-he had plainly been riding hard for some time, and was winded. “A fine day for a ride in the countryside, what?” he wheezed when he found his breath. His red moustache curled above a toothy grin.
Derek was amazed. The green cloak, the red hair, the irrepressible good humor: he knew only one such knight. “Aran?” he called as the man staggered to his feet.
“The last I knew,” returned the red-haired knight. He glanced behind again-it seemed more reflex than conscious action-then back up at the watchtower. “I don’t suppose you’d mind raising the gates and letting me in?”
*****
Derek descended to the bottom of the watchtower and started toward the castle gates. Two young squires preceded him to offer their assistance in helping Sir Aran Tallbow walk. Aran was doing his best to shoo them back. “Get away,” he grumbled. “I’ve just ridden halfway across Solamnia. I can make it to the bleedin’ courtyard on my own.”
“Take his horse,” Derek ordered the squires. “See she’s rubbed down, fed and watered. And brush the burdocks out of her mane.” Nodding and bowing, the squires took the animal’s reins from Aran and led the horse through the barbican into the inner ward.
Aran Tallbow, Knight of the Crown, looked Derek up and down, then limped forward wearily. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, grinning despite his soreness from long hours in the saddle.
Derek stepped forward and clasped Aran’s arms, coming as close to smiling as he ever did. “It looks as if you’ve seen hard times,” he said.
Aran winced, grimaced. “Had a spot of bad luck near Owensburg,” he said. “I ran afoul of a hobgoblin patrol- never seen so many of the buggers-and had to shoot my way through.” He shrugged off the quiver he wore across his back and opened it; he was down to his last two arrows. “It was close, mark me. I rode old Byrnie hard the rest of the way. I was afraid I’d break her.”
“She’ll be all right,” Derek assured him. “But what brings you here in these troubled days? It seems an odd time to be calling on old friends.”
Aran chuckled, shouldering the quiver again. “That it does, but here I am. I was at Castle Uth Wistan when the messenger arrived with your call for reinforcements. I asked Gunthar if I might be sent here.”
Derek stepped back, rubbed his hands with pleasure. “Then Gunthar is sending help!”
Aran’s smile vanished. He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, not as such, I’m afraid. I’m all he could spare.”
“Damn him!” Derek spat, and struck the wall with his mailed fist. Metal rang against stone. “The fool! Doesn’t he realize-” He stopped short, looking around to make sure none of his men had witnessed the outburst.
Aran regarded his friend with concern, then smiled again. “I didn’t say I was the only one coming,” he said. “Before the Council withdrew, I cornered Alfred MarKenin and had a word in his ear. I told him how grateful you’d be, as Lord Knight, to those who helped you when you were in need. He agreed to send a company of Knights of the Sword, without Gunthar’s knowledge. They’ll arrive from Solanthus within the week, and you’ll never guess who’s leading them.”
Derek blinked, taking all this in as he swallowed his rage. “Not Brian Donner,” he said.
Aran flashed his broadest, most disarming smile. “All right, so you did guess.” He clapped Derek on the back. “We three, together again, what? It’ll be just like when we were young, newly dubbed and spoiling for a fight.”
Derek nodded. In his head, he was already sizing up the khas-board and contemplating his new strategy. “Thank you for this, Aran,” he said.
“It was no trouble, old friend,” the red-haired knight returned. He glanced around the gatehouse. “Edwin around?”
“He’s in the inner ward. Seeing to those in need.”
Aran laughed. “Some things never change. Not that I’m surprised. Still dreaming of following in Huma’s footsteps, is he? Well, maybe he’ll have his chance.”