The War of the Lance by Weis, Margaret

when Owen said he was going to turn me upside down

and maybe inside out if I didn’t give it back to him that

Fizban happened to find the painting inside my shirt

pocket.

“See there,” I said, handing it back to Owen, “I kept it

from getting wet.”

He wasn’t the least appreciative. For a minute I

thought he was going to throw me out off the side of the

mountain and for a minute he thought he was going to,

too. But after a while he calmed down, especially when I

told him that the lady inside the painting was one of the

prettiest ladies I’d ever seen, next to Tika and Laurana and

a certain kender maid I know whose name is engraved

forever on my heart. (If I could remember it, I’d tell you,

but I guess that it isn’t important right now.)

Owen sighed and said he was sorry he shouted at me

and he wasn’t really going to slit my pockets or maybe my

gut, whichever came first. It was only that he missed his

wife and son so much and was so very worried about

them because he was here in the snow with us and the

dragonlances, and his wife and son were back in their

house alone without him.

Well, I understood that, even if I didn’t have a wife or

a son or a house anymore. We made an agreement then

and there. If I found the painting I was to give it right

back to him immediately.

And it was amazing to me that he lost that painting as

often as he did, considering how much it meant to him.

But I didn’t mention this to him, because I didn’t want to

hurt his feelings. As I said, I was beginning to like Owen

Glendower.

“Life hasn’t been easy for my lady wife,” he told us

one other night while we were thawing out after having

spent the day trekking about lost in the snow. “From what

you’ve told me about your friend Brightblade, you know

how the knights have been persecuted and reviled. My

family was driven from our ancestral home years ago, but

it was a point of honor among us that someday we would

return to claim it. Our holdings have passed from one bad

owner to the next. The people in the village have suffered

under their tyrannies and though they were the ones who

drove us out, they have more than paid for that now.

“I worked as a mercenary, to keep body and soul

alive, and to earn the money to buy back lawfully what

had been stolen from us. For I would be honorable, though

the thieves that took it were not.

“At last, I was able to save the necessary sum. I am

ashamed to say that I was forced to keep my identity as a

knight secret, lest the owners refuse to sell to me.”

He touched his moustaches as he said this. They were

coming out fairly well, now, and were dark red as his hair.

“As it was, the thieves made a good bargain, for the

manor was crumbling around their ears. We have repaired

it ourselves, for I could not afford to hire the work done.

The villagers helped. They were glad to see a knight

return, especially in these dangerous times.

“My wife and son toiled beside me, both doing far

more than their share. My wife’s hands are rough and

cracked from breaking stone and mixing mortar, but to me

their touch is as soft as if she wrapped them in kid gloves

every night of her life. Now she stands guard while I am

gone, she and my boy. I did not like to leave them, with

evil abroad in the land, but my duty lay with the knights,

as she herself reminded me. I pray Paladine watches over

them and keeps them safe.”

“He does,” said Fizban, only he said it very, very

softly, so softly that I almost didn’t hear him. And I might

not have if I hadn’t felt a snuffle coming on and so was

searching in his pouch for a handkerchief.

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