Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [126]
Lord Gunthar was a well-known friend of the Brightblade family, a friendship that traced back generations. It was Gunthar who had advanced Sturm’s claim when the young man appeared out of nowhere five years before to seek his father and his inheritance. Sturm had been able, with letters from his mother, to prove his right to the Brightblade name. A few insinuated this had been accomplished on the wrong side of the sheets, but Gunthar quickly squelched those rumors. The young man was obviously the son of his old friend—that much could be seen in Sturm’s face. By backing Sturm, however, the lord was risking a great deal.
Gunthar’s gaze went to Derek, walking among the knights, smiling and shaking hands. Yes, this trial was making him—Lord Gunthar Uth Wistan—appear a fool.
Worse still, Gunthar thought sadly, his eyes returning to Sturm, it was probably going to destroy the career of what he believed to be a very fine man, a man worthy of walking his father’s path.
“Sturm Brightblade,” Lord Gunthar said when silence descended on the hall, “you have heard the accusations made against you?”
“I have, my lord,” Sturm answered. His deep voice echoed eerily in the hall. Suddenly a log in the huge fireplace behind Gunthar split, sending a flare of heat and a shower of sparks up the chimney. Gunthar paused while the servants hustled in efficiently to add more wood. When the servants were gone, he continued the ritual questioning.
“Do you, Sturm Brightblade, understand the charges made against you, and do you further understand that these are grievous charges and could cause this Council to find you unfit for the knighthood?”
“I do,” Sturm started to reply. His voice broke. Coughing, he repeated more firmly, “I do, my lord.”
Gunthar smoothed his moustaches, trying to think how to lead into this, knowing that anything the young man said against Derek was going to reflect badly upon Sturm himself.
“How old are you, Brightblade?” Gunthar asked.
Sturm blinked at this unexpected question.
“Over thirty, I believe?” Gunthar continued, musing.
“Yes, my lord,” Sturm answered.
“And, from what Derek tells us about your exploits in Ice Wall Castle, a skilled warrior—”
“I never denied that, my lord,” Derek said, rising to his feet once again. His voice was tinged with impatience.
“Yet you accuse him of cowardice,” Gunthar snapped. “If my memory serves me correctly, you stated that when the elves attacked, he refused to obey your order to fight.”
Derek’s face was flushed. “May I remind your lordship that I am not on trial—”
“You charge Brightblade with cowardice in the face of the enemy,” Gunthar interrupted. “It has been many years since the elves were our enemies.”
Derek hesitated. The other knights appeared uncomfortable. The elves were members of the Council of Whitestone, but they were not allowed a vote. Because of the discovery of the dragon orb, the elves would be attending the upcoming Council, and it would never do to have word get back to them that the knights considered them enemies.
“Perhaps ‘enemy’ is too strong a word, my lord.” Derek recovered smoothly. “If I am at fault, it is simply that I am being forced to go by what is written in the Measure. At the time I speak of, the elves—though not our enemies in point of fact—were doing everything in their power to prevent us from bringing the dragon orb to Sancrist. Since this was my mission—and the elves opposed it—I therefore am forced to define them as ‘enemies’—according to the Measure.”
Slick bastard, Gunthar thought grudgingly.
With a bow to apologize for speaking out of turn, Derek sat down again. Many of the older knights nodded in approval.
“It also says in the Measure,” Sturm said slowly, “that we are not to take life needlessly, that we fight only in defense—either our own or the defense of others. The elves did not threaten our lives. At no time were we in actual physical danger.”
“They were shooting arrows at