Darkness and Light

Chapter 35

Sturm smelled land: wet soil and flowers and fresh- ly turned fields. The sun was in his eyes. He sat up. He was in the wheelhouse, alone. The windows and doors were gone, as was most of the roof. He went out on deck. At the bow was Sighter, surveying the ground below with his tele scope. Aft, by the former tail post, sat Kitiara, Stutts, Fitter, and Rainspot. Kitiara was talking rapidly and making wild gestures with her hands.

"— and then Sturm stepped in and chopped the monster's arm off!" The gnomes all went Ohh, and Kitiara described how the arm had withered before their very eyes.

Stutts saw Sturm approach. "Ah, Master B-Brightblade!

You're awake. We are just hearing about your t-tremendous adventure on board the cursed c-caravel."

Sturm grunted something noncommittal and looked at

Kitiara. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fit as can be. How're you7"

"Rested," he said. "How long have I been asleep?"

"T-two nights and a day," said Stutts.

"Two nights!"

"And a day," added Fitter.

"I came to about an hour ago," Kitiara said."I slept like a dead woman, but now I feel better than I have in ten sum mers."

"You almost were a dead woman." Sturm explained how the Gharm had poisoned her and told her that the elven pen dant had saved her once again. Kitiara brought the ame thyst out of her blouse. Not only was it clear once more, but it was seamed with hundreds of tiny cracks.

"I don't remember using it," she said, puzzled.

"You didn't. I did," said Sturm. Kitiara's eyes widened in surprise.

He turned and went into the dining room. There the water barrel sat, almost empty. Sturm downed a dipper of tepid water.

Outside, Wingover said, "I thought men of his order would not use magic under any circumstance."

"They're not supposed to," Kitiara said. She began to tuck the pendant back under her blouse, but as she did, it crum bled into dust. She stared sadly at the flakes on her tunic;

Tirolan Ambrodel's gift was no more. Then, brushing them away, she rose and said to the gnomes, "Excuse me, fellows.

I need to have a word with Sturm."

Kitiara found Sturm standing by the port rail, staring at the green land below.

"Northern Ergoth," she said." Wingover spotted a flock of terns and followed them. The birds led them to land."

Sturm stared on, saying nothing. "Not very scientific, I thought, but Wingover says, 'Anything that yields good results is scientific."'

"I am tainted," Sturm said quietly.

"In what way?"

"I used magic. Such a thing is forbidden. How am I ever going to become a knight?"

"That's ridiculous! You used magic on Lunitari when you had those visions," she said.

"Those were inflicted on me; I had no choice. On the ship,

I used the power of the pendant to heal your wound."

"I call that a right proper thing to do! Are you sorry you didn't let me die?" she asked sarcastically.

"Of course not."

"But you're 'tainted' nevertheless?"

"I am."

"Then you are a fool, Sturm Brightblade, a hidebound fool! Do you honestly believe that an ancient set of rules for knightly conduct is more important than a comrade's life?

My life? He did not answer. "There's something twisted about such thinking, Sturm."

Sturm shook his head vigorously. "No, Kit. I would have given my life to save yours, but it is a cruel turning of fate that made me break the Measure."

Her jaw clenched in anger and she said stiffly, "I never realized how little value you place on friendship. You want me to believe in your dusty old code. Just like Tanis. He tried to make me into something I wasn't. He couldn't con trol me, and neither can you!" She stamped the deck, barely containing her fury.

Sturm folded his hands and regarded them carefully. "Vir tue is a hard master, Kit. The Measure and the Oath were never meant to be easy burdens to bear. A knight carries them like ponderous stones on his back, and their weight makes him strong and upright." He lifted his gaze until their eyes met. "You will never understand, because all you want from life is to give your burden over to someone else. A lov er, a servant, even a brass dragon. As long as someone else can bear the burden of honor for you, you don't have to feel guilt, or face the consequences of your acts."

Color drained from her face. No one had ever spoken to her like that, not even Tanis. "Then this is the end," she said coldly. "From the moment this soap bubble touches the ground, we're finished."

Kitiara left him watching the canopy of trees unroll. They did not speak to each other again.

"Careful! Careful! Watch those branches!"

The Cloudmaster pushed into a forest clearing. Elm, ash, and birch branches clawed at them. Wingover was atop the deckhouse, trying to direct the landing. Flash and Birdcall had opened the neck of the ethereal air bag, letting some of the lifting power out. The flying ship had scraped over a few bald hills before the wind carried it down. Sturm stood at the bow, fending off dangerous limbs with the boat hook from the Werival — his only souvenir of the perilous hours on the cursed ship. They had no anchor, no grapnel to fix them in place, only timing and control of the air bag. Flash and Birdcall clung to the rope that held the half-empty bag shut.

Branches scraped the length of the deck, snapping when the gaping windows of the deckhouse caught them. Birds fled, chirping, when the ship disturbed their treetop homes.

"Clearing ahead!" Sturm called.

"Get ready!" Wingover cried.

The bow dipped once the trees were out of the way. The keel gently touched the meadow's grass, dragged a few yards, and stopped. Sturm jammed the boat hook into the ground and swung over the rail. He landed on the soil of

Krynn with both feet.

"Praise Paladine!" he said. "Solid ground at last!"

The boarding ramp fell, and seven gnomes boiled out.

Wingover was inhaling deep breaths and patting himself on the chest when he heard Birdcall whistle questioningly.

"Can we open the bag now?" asked Flash.

"Yes, yes, we're landed!"

The two gnomes pulled the zigzag stitching loose. A gust of sulfurous air fled the bag, and the exhausted craft settled, finally and heavily.

Kitiara descended the ramp and dumped what belongings she had left on the ground. In spite of the bitterness of their parting, Sturm couldn't stop his eyes from following her.

She paid no one the slightest heed, but stood a ways off, hanging her water bottle and leather pouch on opposite hips to balance the load. She slung her bedroll over one shoulder by its strap. Sturm had an urge to speak, to say something conciliatory, but her hard expression forestalled him.

"Well, Wingover, it's been a long, strange voyage," Kiti ara said, shaking the little man's hand. "I'll never forget it."

"We couldn't have made it without you, lady."

She moved on to Cutwood, Sighter, Birdcall, and Flash.

"Keep thinking up new ideas," she said amiably, "That way the world will never get dull." She turned to Roperig and Fit ter and chucked the littlest gnome under the chin. "So long, boys. Stick together — you make a good team."

"We will," said the two in unison.

Finally, she approached Rainspot and Stutts. "You're a very lucky fellow, Stutts," she said warmly. "Not many peo ple get to realize their life's dream as completely as you have. Keep flying, old fellow. I hope you will have many more adventures."

"My," said Stutts. "It d-doesn't seem likely. I have so many reports to write and s-so many lectures to give. After all, the

Gnomish Patent Office must be satisfied that we have d-done what we have done." He bowed formally. "Farewell,

Mistress. You were a t-tower of strength."

"I was, wasn't I?"

"Where are you off to?" Wingover asked.

"Wherever the trail takes me," she replied.

Kitiara's crooked smile almost appeared. She squinted into the sky. It was not yet noon. The sun warmed her face.

Sturm stood apart from her leave-taking. He felt the weight of his own resolve and knew that what Kitiara had said was true. They were finished. And yet, he knew he would miss the old Kit, the brash, fun-loving companion.

Kitiara crossed the warm meadow briskly and did not look back. Sunlight burnished her black curls as she cut a swath through the high grass. Sturm bent over to shoulder his own gear. When he straightened again, Kitiara had van ished among the closely growing elms and birches at the field's far end.

"Aren't you going after her?" said Fitter.

"Why should I do that?" Sturm said. He tied a thready piece of twine around his bedroll and tucked it under his arm. "She can take care of herself. It's what she does best."

"I don't understand," Fitter said, scratching his nose. "I thought you two were going to get married one day."

Sturm dropped his cooking kit at that remark. The clay pot banged him smartly on the toe. "Where in the world did you get an idea like that?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"We've always heard how human men and women fight and yell at each other, but always end up married and, you know — " Fitter blushed. "Having babies."

Sturm picked up the spilled contents of his kit. "It will take a man with more riches and power than I'll ever have to claim her hand." He hung the kit bag around his neck. "The man who wins Kitiara Uth Matar had better have the patience of Paladine and the wisdom of Majere to keep her."

The gnomes gathered around him as he adjusted the last of his equipment. "Where will you go?" asked Wingover.

"Solamnia, as before. There are things I must investigate.

The visions I had on the red moon have faded from my memory, but I know my father's trail begins at my ancestral home, Castle Brightblade. That is my destination."

Small hands patted him on the back. "We wish you every bit of luck, Master Brightblade," said Cutwood. 'You're very smart, for a human."

"That means a lot, coming from you," Sturm answered wryly.

"W-we would offer to fly you on t-to Solamnia," Stutts said, "but we are on f-foot now ourselves."

That hadn't occurred to him. Sturm said, "Would you like me to escort you home to Sancrist?" It seemed the least he could do.

"No, no, we've delayed you long enough," said Sighter.

"We'll get to Gwynned, all right. There'll be ships there for

Sancrist."

"I shall miss you," said Rainspot fondly. He held out his small hand. With great solemnity, Sturm shook Rainspot's hand and each of the other gnomes' hands in succession.

Then he hitched up his gear and started out.

Funny, he thought; to have traveled so far and walked so little. His feet were more tender now than before he went to

Lunitari. Walking will be good penance, he decided. He could shed some of the stain of magic by walking and con templating his transgression. Perhaps he could also come to grips with the difficult choices he faced as he tried to live by the Code and the Measure.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" called the gnomes. Sturm snapped out of his reverie and waved to them. They were good fellows indeed. He hoped they would not have any more trouble, but, being gnomes, they probably would.

He entered the humid forest and plunged through thicket after thicket of dense greenery. It cheered him to see vines and bushes with honest green leaves, plants that didn't bleed or cry when he tramped over them. Lunitari was such an unnatural world.

Two miles of woods later, he found a clear creek and filled his bottle. The water was cold, and had a mineral taste. It was a welcome change after weeks of drinking soft rain water. Sturm paralleled the creek bank for four miles, until he came to an arched stone bridge. He climbed the bank to the road that wended away north and south. A road marker was fixed to the corner of the bridge. On its south face, it read, 'Caergoth — 20 Leagues', and on its east face,

'Garnet — 6 Leagues'.

Sturm laughed until tears came. The gnomes had landed in Solamnia, not twenty miles from where they'd left in the first place! And he laughed for other reasons. To be home again, not merely on Krynn (though that was good), but in

Solamnia. He felt light and free, without the gnomes to wor ry about, without the constant apprehension of what strange things might be around the next corner — and free of his curious relationship with Kitiara. Their separation was like the pulling of an aching tooth; a definite feeling of relief, yet tinged with an underlying sense of loss, of a void in him self.

Sturm took the road for Garnet. The roads in this prov ince converged on the city, so it was the best way to get to the northern plains. He set himself a good pace. With his light burden and no dependents to herd, he ought to make

Garnet by the next morning, he thought. As he marched, he took in the sights and sounds and smells of his native land.

The scrub pastures and rolling hills. Peasants ranging through the dales, chasing cattle and driving them with sticks to tumble-down pens made of fieldstone. Once the

Brightblade family had owned a vast herd of cattle, but those had been quickly lost in the upheavals that toppled the great, knightly estates throughout the country. Who knew but that the scrawny, ill-tended beasts that Sturm now saw shuffling over the hills were offspring of the prime

Brightblade herd?

It wasn't cattle or land that bothered Sturm about the fall of the Solamnic Knights. Such things were not the true mea sure of a knight's worth. It was the injustice of it. The com mon folk blamed the Cataclysm and the troubles that followed on the arrogant pride of the knights, as if the

Knights of Solamnia could turn the whole world on its ear and split the land asunder!

Sturm stopped in his tracks. His hands were clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles were blanched white. He let go of his anger and slowly opened his fists. Patience, he admonished himself. A knight must have self-control, or he is no better than a barbarian berserker.

From the time Sturm gained the road at the stone bridge to late afternoon of the following day, he met no other trav elers. This struck him as ominous, especially as he got near er to Garnet. Drovers and merchant caravans always moved from town to town, timing their arrivals to the local market day. An empty road indicated that something, or someone, was keeping the travelers at home.

The road began to rise and wind as the hills of Garnet grew out of the plain. Here he found signs of traffic: hoof prints, wheel tracks, and marks of bare and booted feet.

The prints multiplied until it seemed a small army had marched through not long before.

Sturm saw smoke rising from around a bend. He shifted the pommel of his sword forward to be convenient to his hand.

He could smell the smoke now. Slowly the scene came into view. Several heavy wagons were overturned and burning in the road. From the extent of the damage already done, the fire must have started hours before.

Crows and other carrion birds stirred at his approach.

Between two gutted wagons, Sturm found bodies. One, thick-waisted and richly dressed, obviously was a successful merchant. He had two arrows in his chest. Beside him was a younger man with the stump of a broken mace still clutched in his hand.

A groan brought Sturm running. A few yards away, a big, well-muscled man sat with his back against a scrub pine. He was a warrior. His body bled from a dozen wounds and arrayed at the warrior's feet were six dead goblins.

"Water," moaned the fighter. Sturm put a hand behind the warrior's head and raised his bottle to the man's parched lips.

"What happened here?" asked Sturm.

"Bandits. Attacked wagons. We fought — " The big man coughed. "Too many."

Sturm examined the fighter's wounds. He didn't have to be a healer to know the warrior was doomed, and because the man was a warrior, Sturm told him so.

"Thank you," he said. Sturm asked if he could do any thing to make the man more comfortable. "No, but Pala dine bless you for your mercy."

Something rustled behind the pine. Sturm reached for his sword, then saw the broad brown muzzle of a horse poke through the branches. The dying warrior called the animal by name. "Brumbar," he said. "Good fellow." The horse pushed through the scrub. He was an enormous animal, as black as coal. Brumbar dropped his nose to nuzzle his mas ter's face.

"I see that you are a man of arms," rasped the warrior to

Sturm. "I beg you, take Brumbar as your mount when I am dead."

"I will," Sturm said gently. "Is there anyone in Garnet I can tell about your fated?"

The man slowly closed his eyes. "No one. But do not go to

Garnet, if you value your life." His chin fell to his chest.

"But why?" Sturm asked. "Why shouldn't I go to the city?"

"Loosen my breastplate…"

Sturm undid the sraps and pulled the steel cuirass aside.

Beneath the armor, the man wore a quilted shirt. Embroi dered over his heart was a small red rose. Sturm stared. The dying man was a knight of the Order's highest rank, the

Order of the Rose! Only Solamnic Knights of noble lineage could enter that exalted brotherhood.

"The forces that destroyed the knights control Garnet," the man said. His breath came in ragged gasps. "I know you are one of us. It would not be safe for you there… assassins… "

"Who are you? What is your name?" Sturm asked franti cally, but the Knight of the Rose would never again speak.

Sturm gave the brave fighter an honorable burial. It was well after sundown when he finished. He collected Brumbar and went through the saddlebags thrown across the horse's rump. There were dried rations in one bag, and in the other, surprisingly, were hundreds of coins, all of them small cop per pieces. Sturm understood. The dead knight was living incognito because of the widespread hatred of the Order.

He'd adopted the guise of a guard for hire, and took his wages in copper. No one would ever expect a Knight of the

Rose to live so humbly.

Sturm left the Garnet road. He chose another trail through the highlands, one not frequented by traders, or (he hoped) bandits. Garnet he passed in the night. He saw the glow of its street lamps in the distance. Reining in Brumbar, he listened. Wind whirled around the mountain passes. A wolf gave voice, far away.